The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (41 page)

I disguised my amusement at his rigidity. If he’d possessed an ounce of shame, he would have blanched. But he didn’t. Instead he declared, “I cannot be expected to surrender anything else while Cádiz is left at large,
Majestad
. He takes no greater delight than in raiding my lands, carrying away my crops, my horses, my cattle, even my serfs.”

“Then he too must atone for his actions and render homage to me” was my dry reply.

The duke laughed harshly, to my unpleasant surprise. “Cádiz, atone? He will never do it. He disdains all authority, even that of his sovereign. He is no better than a common criminal! You should order him arrested and disemboweled for his defiance.”

“Should I?” I didn’t appreciate Medina Sidonia’s tone. I didn’t appreciate his lecturing me before my court. He was evidently oblivious to the fact that neither he nor Cádiz had ever held any right to the myriad territories they’d usurped between them. In truth, the proud duke was no less a villain than his enemy and I had half a mind to inform him of it. Instead, I maintained my composure as I said, “I assure you, I am here to see justice served and to have this quarrel between you
and the marquis settled. To that effect, my lord of Cádiz will be summoned to appear before me forthwith.”

Medina Sidonia scoffed. “We’ll see how long it takes for him to respond, if he responds at all.”

I was not dissuaded. While I waited for Cádiz’s answer to my dispatch, I decided to teach the duke by example. I ordered a dais set up in the hall so I could spend every morning receiving the populace. Once they heard of my willingness to entertain their grievances, the people lined up for hours to present themselves to me.

I required that Medina Sidonia attend these sessions as a warning, for, as I suspected, I’d not been told the half of the situation in the city. Beneath Sevilla’s fabled luxuriance beat a dark and twisted heart. Everyone sought an advantage, and usually it involved another’s death or destitution, such as in the case of a man who came before me to declare that his herd of goats had been stolen by thieves terrorizing his neighborhood. He had lodged a complaint with the local magistrates but instead of receiving aid, he was made to pay a fine. When he refused, masked men entered his home and beat him; his young daughter was also, to my horror, violated before his very eyes.

“No one would believe me,” he said to me, twisting his cap in his gnarled hands, his gaze darting nervously to Medina Sidonia, standing like a granite pillar by my throne. “They say we all lie, every one of us, though I later found my entire herd being sold in the marketplace.
Majestad
, I implore you for justice. My goats are my livelihood: I need their milk to make my cheese and provide for my family. And my daughter—” his voice broke. “She has been despoiled. No man of honor will have her now.”

“What’s another despoiled Jewess?” cut in Medina Sidonia, before I could speak. As I turned my stare to him, he added, “This man blasphemes, like all his foul race. He obviously refused to abide by the law and keep to his ghetto. If he insists on peddling his cheese in the marketplace, how can our magistrates possibly be held responsible for what befalls him?”

Medina Sidonia’s callousness didn’t catch me unawares. He’d appeared at court every day clad in costly silk and velvet, accompanied by
a retinue worthy of a potentate. His sword was of the finest craftsmanship, his gloves and sleeves adorned in jewels and gold; to live as he did, he required a substantial income. And as most grandees had done for centuries, he no doubt supported the magistrates, who, in turn, paid him a percentage of whatever their bands of larceners brought in. It was a time-honored method used to uphold a lavish lifestyle and achieve a stranglehold over large swaths of territory; and precisely the sort of despicable corruption I was determined to stamp out in my realm.

Without taking my eyes from the duke, I asked, “Are the Jews forbidden from mixing with the Christian populace in the marketplace?” I already knew they were not. Unlike Castile, where tolerance had always been uneasy, at best, Andalucía had enjoyed a more convivial history. Segregation from the Christian population had not been required for centuries here, though many of the region’s Jews preferred to remain within their old designated areas.

Medina Sidonia looked startled. “No,” he said, “but common sense dictates—”

“Common sense? My lord, even if Jews were forbidden from the marketplace, which they are not, this man was extorted and assaulted, his property stolen, his daughter gravely dishonored. What sense can there possibly be in citizens of this city fearing for their livelihoods, for their very lives?” I turned back to the man, who cringed, as though he wished he could disappear. “Do you know the men who entered your home?”

He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “They are the same as the thieves. They … they’ve done such things to others, with the magistrates’ full knowledge. They steal from us because we are Jews and cannot use arms to defend ourselves against Christians.”

I motioned to Cárdenas, who acted as my chief secretary in these judiciary proceedings, overseeing a committee of legal experts drawn from the university. “Inform my secretary here of who the criminals are and where they can be found,” I told the man. “I shall see they are arrested and”—I shot a pointed look at Medina Sidonia—“judged. If found guilty, as I am sure they must be, they will be disemboweled, their body parts hung on the city gates to warn others that Isabella of
Castile extends her protection to
all
her subjects, regardless of their creed or status.”

His head bowed, tears slipping down his cheeks, the man whispered, “God bless you,
Majestad
,” and Cárdenas led him to the table to record his complaint.

“Your Majesty should not indulge the rabble,” I heard Medina Sidonia say in a clipped voice. “It only encourages their defiance.”

“It seems to me that it is you, my lord, who encourages the rabble,” I retorted, fixing him with a glare. He bowed low, muttering an apology.

Tasting iron in my mouth, I turned my attention back to the line of waiting petitioners. Medina Sidonia knew what I expected, and when, several days later, I was told that the gates of Sevilla had been festooned with the torn and bloodied pieces of the condemned, I was encouraged. If the denizens of this cauldron of anarchy thought I would yield toward mercy or shirk the harsher aspects of my duty because I was a woman, they were mistaken. Come what might, I would not falter until I had restored full obedience. I proceeded to dispense justice without regard for rank or gender, not allowing anyone who had committed a crime to escape punishment. To instill fear of me, and of the laws so flagrantly flouted, I deliberately remarked aloud in the hall one afternoon that nothing gave me greater pleasure than to see a thief mount the steps to the gallows—which caused many of those waiting to see me to cower, even as others slipped furtively out of line and fled.

Finally, the bishop of Sevilla came to request a private audience.

I waved Medina Sidonia out and once I heard what the bishop said, I was glad I had. The bishop had a reputation for being a kind man, given to learning and compassion, but I did not expect the words that came out of his mouth.

“Your Majesty has proven herself a paragon of virtue,” he began, “but the people of Sevilla … they grow afraid. Many are leaving the city for fear that your arrival has closed the door to all hope of clemency.”

I frowned, glanced at Cárdenas. “Is this true?”

Cárdenas consulted a folder in hand before giving assent, his green-blue
eyes sober. “It is,
Majestad
. Over a hundred cases we’ve heard thus far are unresolved because either the claimant or the accused have not returned to hear our judgment.”

I returned my gaze to the bishop, discomfited. “I had no idea. I regret if I’ve instilled fear in my subjects, for that was not my intent.”

“I never thought it was,” he said hastily. “It’s just that … well, men are more inclined to evil here in the south, where we’ve languished for so long under ineffectual lords and the constant threat of the Moors. Your Majesty’s appearance is a blessing, a great honor; but, if I may be so bold, such wrongs as those that plague Sevilla cannot be righted overnight.”

His words jolted me. With sudden clarity I realized that my zealous ardor to restore order to Sevilla was, in part, a vain attempt to somehow redeem myself in God’s eyes, to prove I was still worthy of His favor. I had left my daughter and husband, my duties in Castile, on an ephemeral quest for redemption. Once again, I had let vanity overcome reason, just as I had on that awful day on the fields outside Tordesillas, when I had berated Fernando before our army.

“No,” I said softly, “I suppose not. You are wise to advise me of it, my lord.” I stood, my gem-encrusted gown pooling like liquid gold at my feet. My ornamental crown dug into my brow; I longed to retire to my rooms, to shed myself of these contrivances of power, which suddenly seemed so meaningless.

“Pray, tell the people I’ve no desire to deny mercy,” I said. “All those who have transgressed will be granted amnesty for their crimes, providing they do not offend or break the law again—all save heretics and murderers, of course,” I added.

The bishop nodded. “Thank you,
Majestad
,” he said, and then, as I started to turn away, he added, “In regards to heretics, there is something I hope you’ll consider.”

I looked over my shoulder. “Yes?”

“The Jews,” he replied, and it was as though with this one utterance, he darkened the room around us. “Here in Sevilla, the hatred toward them has increased. They are not technically heretics, of course, as they have not converted; but since your arrival, there have been several incidents in their quarter that I think you should be aware of.”

I nodded that he should continue, though I dreaded what was coming next. I recalled the poor man whose goats had been stolen. I could only imagine how many more such terrible deeds had been committed that I had not been informed about.

“A family in the ghetto of the goat-herder whose case you heard was recently dragged from their home and stoned to death,” said the bishop. “Several synagogues have also been vandalized, with one burned to the ground. Many Jews are being denied the right to buy or trade in the marketplace or are being severely taxed for the privilege.” He sighed. “None of this is new, I’m afraid. It comes and goes, this hatred, like a pestilence. But now, some of the aggressors cite Your Majesty’s presence as an excuse; they claim the queen of Castile will not abide Christ’s killers in her midst and take the law into their own hands, even though you yourself saw justice served to a Jew.”

I stiffened. “Anyone who claims to serve the law in my name risks grave punishment. The Jews of this realm are also my subjects and thus are under my protection.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, not too long ago the Jews suffered extremities of forced conversion or death in Castile. I’d not wish to see such misery again. It is said they bring it upon themselves, because they hoard riches while Christians starve, and conspire with the conversos to undermine our Church. But I have seen no evidence of this.”

He surprised me. I’d not expected a churchman to cite the horrors of the past, which had been sanctioned by our ecclesiastical authorities, or to plead the plight of the Jews.

“I’ll consider this matter,” I said, looking again at Cárdenas. “In the meantime, have a decree issued at once that any molestation of Jewish property or person will incur immediate retribution. Have it posted in every plaza in the city.”

When I returned my regard to the bishop, I found unabashed admiration on his face. “I must admit, I was unsure of you at first,” he said. “We’ve had rulers before who promised change, but you, my queen, exceed all expectations. Your decree will go far in helping to restitute wrongs perpetuated on the Sephardic people. However,” he paused, as if considering how to phrase his next words. “There will be consequences. Few share your sense of justice.”

I smiled. “Consequences are not something I fear. Let those who disapprove come to me and they’ll learn soon enough where the queen of Castile stands.”

He bowed and left. By the time I’d heard the rest of the day’s petitioners and sat down for my afternoon meal, I was no longer concerned with my own personal travail.

I had caught a glimpse into a future I was determined to avoid at any cost. This simmering discord between Jews and Christians could spread and kindle a conflagration that would affect the rest of the realm. I could not afford to have our fragile, newfound unity threatened now, after so much strife.

“We must take further action in defense of the Jews,” I declared at a morning council meeting the next day. “Though I don’t share their beliefs, I’ll not abide them being maltreated or accused of inciting conversos, who, by all accounts, are faithful Christians.”

I paused, watching my confessor, Fray Talavera, exchange a knowing look with Don Chacón. My steward had grown grizzled, his hair thinning, his big, muscular figure softening with age. But his character remained as discerning as ever, and I’d come to respect those rare occasions when he offered his opinion.

“Perhaps Your Majesty should join us for a sermon tomorrow,” he said.

“A sermon?” I frowned. “By whom? On what?”

“It’s best if you simply came,” explained Talavera, his dark eyes solemn. “No one need know you’re there. I can arrange for you to sit behind a screen, above the pulpit.”

“Why on earth would I wish to hide?”

“Because if the orator knows you are there, he might not be as candid,” replied my confessor. “Trust me,
Majestad
, you’ll be most interested in what he has to say.”

The following day, I sat behind a celosia with Inés at my side, as a thundering voice belonging to a Dominican priest, one Father de Hojeda, sent cold horror through me.

“They deliberately cultivate a false face so they can practice their foul rites,” Hojeda thundered. “They abhor our Holy Sacraments, the
sanctity of the saints, and deny the chastity of our blessed Virgin. They go to Mass by day, these two-faced Marranos, but by night they refute the rites by which they were welcomed into our Holy Mother Church, communing with their foul brethren, who abet their defiance. They must be found, revealed, expunged in the flesh, before their infection rots us all!”