Daughters of Spain - Plaidy Jean - Страница 46

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How long could the Palace hold out against the mob? And what would happen when those dark-skinned men broke through?

There was a lull outside, but Ximenes guessed that soon the tumult would break out again. They would storm the walls; they would find some way in, and then …

‘Let them come, if it be Thy will,’ he cried aloud.

He stood erect, waiting. He would be the one they sought. He wondered if they would inflict torture on him before they killed him. He was not afraid. His body had been schooled to suffer.

He heard a shout from without and in the light of the torches he saw a man on horseback riding up to the leader of the Moors.

It was Tendilla.

Ximenes could not hear what was said, but Tendilla was clearly arguing with the Moors. There he stood among them all, and Ximenes felt a momentary admiration for the soldier who could be as careless of his safety as Ximenes was of his.

He was now addressing the Moors, waving his hands and shouting, placating them no doubt, perhaps making promises which Ximenes had no intention of keeping.

But the Moors were listening. They had ceased to shout and it was quiet out there. Then Ximenes saw them turn and move away.

Tendilla was alone outside the Palace walls.

Tendilla was let into the Palace. His eyes were flashing with anger and that anger was directed not against the Moors but against Ximenes.

‘So my lord,’ he said, ‘perhaps now you begin to understand.’

‘I understand that your docile Moors are docile no longer.’

‘They believe they have suffered great provocation. They are a very angry people. Do you realise that in a very short time they would have forced an entry into this place? Then it would have gone hard with you.’

‘You are telling me that I owe you my life.’

Tendilla made an impatient gesture. ‘I would not have you imagine that the danger is past. I persuaded them to return to their homes, and they agreed to do this … tonight. But this will not be an end to this matter. A proud people does not see its literature burned to ashes and murmur, Thank you, my lord. You are unsafe in this place. Your life is not worth much while you stay here. Make ready at once and accompany me back to the Alhambra. There I can give you adequate protection.’

Ximenes stood still as a statue.

‘I shall not cower behind the walls of the Alhambra, my good Tendilla. I shall stay here, and if these barbarians come against me, I shall trust in God. If it be His will that I become a martyr to their barbarism, then I say, Thy will be done.’

‘They believe that they have been victims of your barbarism,’ retorted Tendilla. ‘They seek revenge. They will go back to the Albaycin and prepare for a real attack on your Palace. They will come again … this time in cold blood, fully armed. Do you realise, my lord Archbishop, that a major revolt is about to break out?’

For the first time Ximenes felt a twinge of uneasiness. He had believed he could successfully proselytise without trouble of this nature. If he were setting in motion warfare between Moors and Christians the Sovereigns would not be pleased. Their great aim had been to preserve peace within their own country so that they might conserve their strength for enemies beyond their borders.

But he held his head high and told himself that what he had done had been for the glory of God; and what was the will of the Sovereigns compared with that!

Tendilla said: ‘I will ask one thing of you. If you will not come to the Alhambra, then stay here, as well guarded as possible, and leave me to deal with this insurrection.’

He bowed briefly and left the Archbishop.

Tendilla rode back to the Alhambra. His wife, who was waiting for him, betrayed her relief when she saw him.

‘I was afraid, Inigo,’ she said.

He smiled tenderly. ‘You need have no fear. The Moors are my friends. They know that I have always been fair to them. They are a people who respect justice. It is not I who am in danger but that fool of an Archbishop of ours.’

‘How I wish he had never come to Granada.’

‘There are many who would echo those words, my dear.’

‘Inigo, what are you going to do now?’

‘I am going into the Albaycin. I’m going to talk to them and ask them not to arm themselves for a revolt. Ximenes is responsible for this trouble, but if they kill the Archbishop of Toledo they will find the might of Spain raised against them. I must make them understand this.’

‘But they are in a dangerous mood.’

‘It is for this reason that I must not delay.’

‘But, Inigo, think. They are rising against the Christians, and you are a Christian.’

He smiled at her. ‘Have no fear. This is something which must be done and I am the one to do it. If things should not go as I believe they will, be ready to leave Granada with the children and lose no time.’

‘Inigo! Do not go. This is the Archbishop’s affair. Let them storm his Palace. Let them torture him … kill him if they will. He has brought this trouble to Granada. Let him take the consequences.’

Tendilla smiled gently. ‘You have not understood,’ he said. ‘I am the Alcayde. I am responsible for this zealous reformer of ours. I have to protect him against the results of his own folly.’

‘So you are determined?’

‘I am.’

‘Go well armed, Inigo.’

Tendilla did not answer.

Meanwhile Talavera had heard what was happening in the Albaycin. Something must be done quickly to calm the Moors.

They had always respected him. They had listened gravely when he had preached to them of the virtues of Christianity. They knew him for a good man.

Talavera was certain that he, more than any man in Granada, could help to restore order to the Albaycin.

He called for his chaplain and said: ‘We are going into the Albaycin.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ was the answer.

‘You and I alone,’ went on Talavera, watching the expression on the face of the chaplain.

He saw the man’s alarm. The whole of Granada must know, thought Talavera, of the trouble which was brewing in the Moorish quarter.

‘There is trouble there,’ went on the Archbishop of Granada. ‘The Moors are in an ugly mood. They may well set upon us and murder us in their anger. I do not think they will. I think they will listen to me as they have always done. They are a fierce people but only when their anger is aroused, and I do not think we – you and I, my dear chaplain – have done anything to arouse their anger.’

‘My lord, if we took soldiers with us to protect us …’

‘I have never gone among them with a bodyguard. To do so now would make it appear that I do not trust them.’

‘Do you trust them, my lord?’

‘I trust in my Lord,’ was the answer. ‘And I would not ask you to accompany me if you would not do so of your own free will.’

The chaplain hesitated for a few moments, then he said: ‘Where you go, my lord, there will I go.’

‘Then prepare, for there is little time.’

So with only his chaplain to accompany him the Archbishop of Granada rode into the Albaycin. The chaplain rode before him carrying the crucifix, and the Moors stared at these men in sullen silence for a few moments.

The Archbishop rode right into their midst and said to them: ‘My friends, I hear that you are arming yourselves, and I come among you unarmed. If you desire to kill me, then you must do so. If you will listen to me, I will give you my advice.’

A faint murmuring broke out. The chaplain trembled; many of the Moors carried long knives. He thought of death which might not come quickly; then he looked into the calm face of his Archbishop and felt comforted.

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