The Last Song (2 page)

Next came women in black sambenitos painted
with images of flames pointing downward and grotesque pictures of the devil. They all carried unlit tapered candles in their hands and had tall miters on their heads. Their tall hats should have been comical, but the sight of them made me want to cry.

Behind the female prisoners followed a group of male prisoners, also dressed in yellow and black sambenitos.

A long row of the Inquisition’s familiars, its officers, in black clothing trailed the procession.

“Heretics!” cried a woman in front of us. “The pox on you!”

“May your souls rot in hell!” an onlooker taunted the prisoners.

A painfully thin young woman in a black sambenito flinched at his words and pulled the crying baby in her arms closer to her chest. The cheek of the infant rested against the face of the devil on her tunic. The woman’s tears intermingled with the tears of her child. I felt my own eyes filling up.

At the front of the group of the male prisoners walked an older man whose dignity shone through his degradation. He held himself straight, as would a soldier leading his men into battle. As he passed us, the butcher Garcia hoisted a bucket of blood and flung it into the man’s face. The man wiped his eyes with his
sleeve and walked by his tormentor silently, not even glancing at him.

“Heretics!” someone shrieked. “Beg the forgiveness of our Lord and his blessed mother!”

“These poor prisoners,” I said to Sofia. “There are so many of them. How can there be so many heretics?”

She looked around carefully. “Hush! You don’t want to be overheard asking such questions.”

Somebody in the crowd threw a rotten pomegranate at the prisoners. A boy picked up a stone from the ground and pitched it at an old woman in a black sambenito passing by him. Before long, the air was thick with flying stones. The angry barrage did not subside until the procession left Butchers’ Row.

Sofia picked up her basket and we set out for home.

“I’ve seen such a procession once before, when Mama and I went to visit friends. Mama wouldn’t answer my questions about the prisoners we saw. She would only say that they were heretics being punished by the Inquisition. She told me to stop asking questions about them, that I was too young to concern myself with such matters. She thinks that I am too young to understand anything!”

Sofia stopped in her tracks, oblivious of the people who bumped into us as they passed, muttering foul curses. “I told you to keep your voice down,” she whispered urgently.

“I felt so sorry for the young mother and her babe,” I said. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“Save your sympathy for those who deserve it.”

She spat on the ground, her dark face bristling with hate. It was like looking at a stranger.

“If you must know,” she said quietly, “as far as I am concerned, those prisoners, those Marranos, those pigs deserve everything they get! They profane the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Those Conversos pretend to worship our Lord but secretly they practice their cursed Jewish customs. They commit heresy against the holy church. The holy Inquisition roots them out and punishes them for their sins. The sambenito, the tunic of shame, is fitting garb for them.”

“Why would so many of them profane our Lord? That woman with the baby – she was so young. How could she – ”

“No more questions!” Sofia said, hastening her steps so that I had to pick up my skirts and break into a trot to keep up with her.

By the time we arrived at the Bisagra Gate it was late in the afternoon. The gentle breezes felt fresh and cool on my face. Chattering people were waiting their turn to pass through the city gates to leave Toledo for their
homes in the countryside. It seemed that every guild was there. A white-haired, wrinkled old woman was harnessed like a donkey to a cart festooned with laces of every kind, selling her wares. A tanner balanced a pole tied with animal skins on his shoulders. A dwarf, dressed in the colorful clothes of a jester, was turning cartwheels in the dust.

Our villa was located not far beyond the gates. Sofia and I didn’t speak much as we trudged along the scrubby path to the estate. We saw laborers making their way toward the houses of their masters. Litters on the shoulders of sturdy slaves were transporting fine ladies back to their homes after spending the day visiting friends in Toledo. Cavaliers on horseback kicked up so much dust that it was difficult to breathe. I couldn’t get the image of the young mother and her child out of my mind.

Yussuf, the Moorish slave in charge of the other servants in the house, opened the door to us. He bowed deeply.

“Doña Isabel! Welcome home. Your lady mother is asking for you.”

“Where is she?”

“Doña Catarina is waiting for you in the rose garden. She asked me to take you to her as soon as you got home.”

Mama was sitting among the blooms behind the house, her needlework in her lap. Unicorns and courtiers in bright garments were spread over her knees. Her eyes were closed and she was snoring gently.

I kissed her cheek.

She woke with a start. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“You did.”

“You’re home, finally,” she said. “I was getting worried. I told Sofia that I wanted you home early. It’s unsafe for a maiden to be on the streets of Toledo after dark.”

“I know, Mama. We left Brianda’s house on time, but we had a long wait at the city gates. There were a lot of people there.”

I felt bad about lying, but I had no choice. I didn’t want her to be angry with Sofia or with me.

Mama folded her tapestry and stood up.

“I’ll go into the house with you,” I said. “I want to lie down before supper. I have an aching head.”

“An aching head?” She placed her hand over my brow.

“Your forehead is cool. Do you feel any pain? I haven’t heard of any new cases of the plague, but we can’t be too careful.”

“I am fine, Mama. I am just a little tired. What did you want to talk to me about?”

She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up. The sun had just begun to set, burning up the sky with hidden fire. “It’s getting late. We’ll talk tomorrow. It’s time for your bath.”

“I am too tired. I’ll bathe tomorrow. I’ll be fresher for church on Sunday.”

“No! You must bathe tonight before the sun sets.”

“Why can’t I wait to have my bath until Saturday morning? Why do you always insist that I bathe on Fridays, before sunset? I am old enough to decide what I want to do!”

“So many questions. Just do as you are told.”

I could tell by her tone that it was useless to argue with her.

“Your dress is splattered with mud. Please change. You know what your father expects of you.” She squinted into the distance as if trying to catch sight of him. “I pray to the good Lord that he’ll return safely from his journey, and soon.”

Sofia brought two buckets of water up to my room. She warmed up the water in a caldron in the fireplace and then poured it into a metal tub. I lay back in it and
closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth.

“Let me help you, young mistress,” she said, scrubbing my shoulders with a cloth and easing me forward so she could reach my back. She also washed my hair and helped me dry myself. It took her a few moments to untangle my long, curly, black hair. Twilight was falling by the time we finished. She helped me change into my newest gown. I ran my hands down its skirt. I loved the cool feel of the silky material. Its pink color and gold embroidery warmed my complexion. I knew that I looked my best.

I skipped down the wide staircase that led to the center hall. The large carved wooden table we used for our meals was covered with a velvet cloth and set with metal plates. There were more dishes on the sideboard. There was no sign of Mama.
She probably hasn’t finished dressing yet
, I told myself. I decided to go and help her get ready.

The door to Mama’s chamber was closed. A muffled sound came from inside. Though I stepped closer, I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Every member of our household had strict instructions not to enter my mother’s room without knocking first, so I rapped on the door. There was no answer, but the sound ceased. I knocked again, louder.

“It’s me, Mama. Let me in!”

“Just a minute.”

I heard the key turning in the lock and the door swung open. My mother stood there looking at me. Beside her on a small table I saw two tall tallow candles, their wicks smoky as if they had just been snuffed out.

“Dinner is ready to be served.” The smoke made my nose twitch. “Did you just put out those candles? You’re always telling me not to use tapers because they cost so much.”

“I’ll come downstairs in a minute, but first let me arrange your hair.” She gathered my curls on top of my head. “You have lovely hair, Isabel, the same curls my mother used to have.” She took a white cap out of the armoire and handed it to me. “Put this on.”

“You’re not answering my question about the candles, Mama,” I said while tucking my hair under the cap. “Who were you talking to?”

Sofia appeared in the doorway, breathless. As she curtsied, I saw her looking at the candles with a puzzled expression. “My lady, horsemen are approaching!”

The brush fell out of Mama’s hand. She picked up her skirts and hurried past me and out of the room. I followed.

Somebody was banging loudly on the heavy oak door. Yussuf was standing at the door, waiting for instructions. Mama motioned to him to open it. He
darted a concerned glance at her before slowly lifting the latches. The door swung open with a creak – and there was Papa! Next to him stood an older cavalier dressed in somber clothes and a boy about my own age. The boy wore gold silk hose, a short blue gown, and a black velvet doublet. A foppish hat covered most of his dark hair. He was a little taller than me and would have been handsome except for the closeness of his dark eyes and the smirk on his lips. He looked at me coldly, as if I were a mare he wanted to buy. Two turbaned Moorish slaves held the horses.

Papa spread his arms wide. I ran into them and he hugged me so hard that all the breath was squeezed out of me. Next it was Mama’s turn to be grabbed by the waist and swung around before being carefully set down. Her face was flushed.

“My dear, I am finally home from their majesties’ court, and I brought Alfonso de Carrera and his son, Luis, with me. Don Alfonso is their royal highnesses’ most trusted advisor. Don Alfonso, Luis, I want you to meet my lady wife Catarina and our daughter, Isabel.”

Mama and I both curtsied, and Don Alfonso bowed with a flourish of his hat. Luis nodded frostily.

“Welcome to our home, Don Alfonso, Luis,” Mama said. “You must be tired and hungry.”

“Rather dirty, too, my lady,” Don Alfonso laughed
ruefully, his gaze traveling down his dusty clothes.

Mama nodded to Yussuf. “Show Don Alfonso and his son to the apartment on the third floor. Carry water upstairs and warm it for them to wash. In the meantime,” she said, now turning to our guests, “I’ll have the servants prepare refreshments for you.”

The Moor led Don Alfonso and Luis inside and up the stairs.

Mama ordered Sofia to lay more places at the table. It wasn’t long before Mama was plying Don Alfonso and Luis with food. Papa kept refilling their cups with ale. It loosened the cavalier’s tongue. At Mama’s gentle prodding, he told us about his wife and daughters and described his sprawling estates in the town of Valencia in the Kingdom of Aragon.

“My family is awaiting my return. I’ll be honest with you, mistress. I dislike travel, but when I heard your husband’s proposition, I told my slaves to saddle our horses and we set out immediately to meet you, Doña Catarina, and your charming daughter,” he said with a courtly smile.

Luis remained silent, his expression even more sullen.

“What did Papa suggest to the cavalier?” I whispered to Mama.

She looked daggers at me and I fell silent.

Dinner went on for so long that my eyes kept closing. Mama’s elbow in my ribs kept me awake.

When the meal finally ended, Papa ushered Luis and his father to their chambers. I, too, stood up, ready to withdraw to my own bed. Mama motioned for me to remain in my seat.

“Wait for your papa. We have to speak to you.”

“What about?”

The solemn expression on her face made my heart beat faster, but she would not explain herself until Papa had returned.

My father clasped my hand when he finally came back downstairs. “I missed you, Isabel,” he said. “You have grown into a lovely young woman.”

He cleared his throat several times and gave my mother a beseeching look. Finally, she took pity on him.

“What your papa is trying to tell you is that you are a grown woman now, and it is time that you become betrothed,” she said. “I was promised to your father when I was your age. Your father and I have chosen Luis to be your future husband.”

I stared at them, at a loss for words. I jumped up from my chair. “What do you mean?” I finally croaked. “You promised to wait until I was fifteen! You said that you would pick a boy I liked.”

Papa leaned so close that I could smell the ale on his breath. “Sit down, Isabel.” His voice was more serious than I had ever heard it before. “I would be remiss in my duties as your father if I did not provide for your safety and comfort in the future.”