a kind of waiting area for petitioners who came to beg favors or entreat justice from the Alcalde. Four Indian men and a woman sat on benches, hoping for an audience. The woman wore a battered cavalier’s hat and had fallen asleep with her chin on her chest.
The square space open to the sky, the brick paving overlooked by shuttered windows, reminded the priest of another such place and brought him a new mea sure of pain. “Give me penance as if I had committed the worst sin you can think of,” Inez had said. He himself had committed the worst sin he could think of, and he had done so in a place very like this, in Spain. The young men with him had laughed and enjoyed their sport. Fear had filled him. But he had proven his manhood. “Dear Lord,” he whispered up to the cold, dark sky over Morada’s patio, “accept the painful act I must now perform as penance for that crime.”
At the far end of the entrance court, before a second portal, stood one of Morada’s armored guardsmen. “I must speak to the Alcalde urgently,” the priest told the burly man.
“He is busy, but I will take you inside to wait, Father.”
“Thank you. Please send word to him that I come on a matter of the greatest importance.” The priest fought to keep his grief from showing.
The footman drew an enormous key from behind his breastplate and turned it in a complicated pattern in three different keyholes to open the inner door. He motioned for the priest to enter and then bolted the door behind them. They crossed the interior patio. Great balconies projected over it like the prows of ancient warships, each supported by humanlike figures—too ugly to be angels, not horrible enough to be devils. Like Inez’s soul? Like his own?
The guard showed him into a spacious side room where the only light came from a meager fire in a brazier. On a stand in the corner was a saddle and a cloth embroidered with gold and encrusted with pearls and diamonds; above it perched the Alcalde’s ceremonial helmet, sporting varicolored plumes.
The priest ran his fingers over the cloth. In Inez, the Alcalde had lost his most precious jewel. Perhaps somehow Morada already knew. News traveled fast in this city. Suppose the boy Juanito had thought to come here, to beg a few pesos in exchange for important information about the family? Perhaps the Alcalde was already over the shock.
This was wishful thinking. Junipero knew he would be the one to inflict the wound. And what could he offer the girl’s father by way of an explanation? The priest had long feared the girl bore some heavy guilt she wished to conceal from her father. Did the Alcalde suspect anything? The priest could not imagine a sin Morada would not forgive her.
And who on earth might have wished Inez harm? Her contemporaries disliked her, but that was just jealousy—because she was more gifted, prettier, richer than they. The Abbess did not believe Inez had a true vocation. She had wanted to re unite the girl with her father as soon as Inez was ready. Perhaps the great Abbess herself felt threatened by the girl, feared that one day Inez would outshine her. The priest’s own thoughts annoyed him. How absurd to think the Abbess would do anyone harm. She was a beacon of profound grace. Though he, as chaplain to her convent, was supposed to be her spiritual guide, she was often his. Not that she preached to him. Quite the opposite. More than a few times, in the midst of a philosophical discussion, she had asked him a question so subtle and pertinent that it had illuminated vistas of knowledge of God’s ways and the world’s.
The door opened. A different guard entered and eyed the priest’s fingers on the bejeweled cloth.
The padre jerked his hand away. “Remarkable work, this,” he said lightly.
The guard squinted over the priest’s shoulder, as if he suspected the padre had prized loose and pocketed an emerald or two. When he was satisfied to the contrary, he escorted Junipero back across the
The square space open to the sky, the brick paving overlooked by shuttered windows, reminded the priest of another such place and brought him a new mea sure of pain. “Give me penance as if I had committed the worst sin you can think of,” Inez had said. He himself had committed the worst sin he could think of, and he had done so in a place very like this, in Spain. The young men with him had laughed and enjoyed their sport. Fear had filled him. But he had proven his manhood. “Dear Lord,” he whispered up to the cold, dark sky over Morada’s patio, “accept the painful act I must now perform as penance for that crime.”
At the far end of the entrance court, before a second portal, stood one of Morada’s armored guardsmen. “I must speak to the Alcalde urgently,” the priest told the burly man.
“He is busy, but I will take you inside to wait, Father.”
“Thank you. Please send word to him that I come on a matter of the greatest importance.” The priest fought to keep his grief from showing.
The footman drew an enormous key from behind his breastplate and turned it in a complicated pattern in three different keyholes to open the inner door. He motioned for the priest to enter and then bolted the door behind them. They crossed the interior patio. Great balconies projected over it like the prows of ancient warships, each supported by humanlike figures—too ugly to be angels, not horrible enough to be devils. Like Inez’s soul? Like his own?
The guard showed him into a spacious side room where the only light came from a meager fire in a brazier. On a stand in the corner was a saddle and a cloth embroidered with gold and encrusted with pearls and diamonds; above it perched the Alcalde’s ceremonial helmet, sporting varicolored plumes.
The priest ran his fingers over the cloth. In Inez, the Alcalde had lost his most precious jewel. Perhaps somehow Morada already knew. News traveled fast in this city. Suppose the boy Juanito had thought to come here, to beg a few pesos in exchange for important information about the family? Perhaps the Alcalde was already over the shock.
This was wishful thinking. Junipero knew he would be the one to inflict the wound. And what could he offer the girl’s father by way of an explanation? The priest had long feared the girl bore some heavy guilt she wished to conceal from her father. Did the Alcalde suspect anything? The priest could not imagine a sin Morada would not forgive her.
And who on earth might have wished Inez harm? Her contemporaries disliked her, but that was just jealousy—because she was more gifted, prettier, richer than they. The Abbess did not believe Inez had a true vocation. She had wanted to re unite the girl with her father as soon as Inez was ready. Perhaps the great Abbess herself felt threatened by the girl, feared that one day Inez would outshine her. The priest’s own thoughts annoyed him. How absurd to think the Abbess would do anyone harm. She was a beacon of profound grace. Though he, as chaplain to her convent, was supposed to be her spiritual guide, she was often his. Not that she preached to him. Quite the opposite. More than a few times, in the midst of a philosophical discussion, she had asked him a question so subtle and pertinent that it had illuminated vistas of knowledge of God’s ways and the world’s.
The door opened. A different guard entered and eyed the priest’s fingers on the bejeweled cloth.
The padre jerked his hand away. “Remarkable work, this,” he said lightly.
The guard squinted over the priest’s shoulder, as if he suspected the padre had prized loose and pocketed an emerald or two. When he was satisfied to the contrary, he escorted Junipero back across the
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