Carlos said: "The price is still too low."
Barney spoke to Sancho for the first time. "Why don't you just build another furnace for your second son?"
Sancho stared haughtily, as if he had not previously noticed Barney's presence. He seemed to think Barney should not speak until he was spoken to. It was Carlos who answered the question. "Like most industries in Spain, metalworking is controlled by a 'corporation,' somewhat like an English guild, only more conservative. The corporation limits the number of furnaces."
Sancho said: "The regulations maintain high standards and keep crooked operators out of the industry."
Barney said: "And they ensure that prices are not undermined by cheap alternatives, I suppose."
Carlos added: "Sancho is on the council of the Seville metal guild, Barney."
Sancho was not interested in Barney. "Carlos, my friend and neighbor, just answer a simple question: What price would you accept for your business?"
Carlos shook his head. "It's not for sale."
Sancho visibly suppressed an angry retort and forced a smile. "I might go to fifteen hundred."
"I would not sell for fifteen thousand."
Barney saw that Aunt Betsy was looking alarmed. Clearly she was scared of Sancho and worried that Carlos was antagonizing him.
Carlos saw her look and forced a more amiable tone of voice. "But I thank you for the courtesy of your proposal, neighbor Sancho." It was a good try but it did not sound sincere.
Sancho dropped the facade. "You may regret this, Carlos."
Carlos's voice became disdainful. "Why would you say a thing like that, Sancho? It almost sounds like a threat."
Sancho did not confirm or deny that. "If business turns bad you will end up wishing you had taken my money."
"I will run that risk. And now I have work to do. The king's armorer needs iron."
Sancho looked furious at being dismissed. He got to his feet.
Aunt Betsy said: "I hope you enjoyed the wine, senor--it's our best."
Sancho did not trouble to reply to such a routine remark from a mere woman. He said to Carlos: "We'll talk again soon."
Barney could see Carlos suppressing a sarcastic retort as he responded with a silent nod.
Sancho was turning to leave when he caught sight of the new furnace. "What's this?" he said. "Another furnace?"
"My old furnace is due for replacement." Carlos stood up. "Thank you for calling on me, Sancho."
Sancho did not move. "Your old furnace looks perfectly all right to me."
"When the new one is ready, the old one will be demolished. I know the rules as well as you do. Good-bye."
"The new one looks peculiar," Sancho persisted.
Carlos allowed his irritation to show. "I'm making some improvements on the traditional design. There's no corporation rule against that."
"Keep your temper, son, I'm simply asking you questions."
"And I'm simply saying good-bye."
Sancho did not even bristle at Carlos's rudeness. He continued to stare at the new furnace for a full minute. Then he turned and left. His two bodyguards followed him. Neither had spoken a word the whole time.
When Sancho was out of earshot, Aunt Betsy said: "He's a bad man to have as an enemy."
"I know," said Carlos.
That night Ebrima slept with Carlos's grandmother.
On the men's side of the house, Carlos and Barney had beds on the upstairs floor, while Ebrima slept on a mattress on the ground floor. Tonight Ebrima lay awake for half an hour, until he was quite sure the house was silent; then he got up and padded across the courtyard to Elisa's side. He slid into bed beside her and they made love.
She was an ugly old white woman, but it was dark, and her body was soft and warm. More importantly, she had always been kind to Ebrima. He did not love her, and never would, but it was no hardship to give her what she wanted.
Afterward, as Elisa dozed off, Ebrima lay awake and remembered the first time.
He had been brought to Seville on a slave ship and sold to Carlos's father ten years ago. He was solitary and homesick and in despair. One Sunday, when everyone else was at church, Carlos's grandmother, whom Barney called Aunt Betsy and Ebrima called Elisa, had come upon him weeping in desolation. To his astonishment she had kissed his tears and pressed his face to her soft breasts, and in his yearning for human affection he had made love to her hungrily.
He realized that Elisa was using him. She could end the relationship any time she pleased, but he could not. However, she was the only human being he could hold in his arms. For a decade of lonely exile she had given him solace.
When she began to snore he returned to his own bed.
Each night, before going to sleep, Ebrima thought about freedom. He imagined himself in a house he owned, with a woman who was his wife, and perhaps some children too. In the vision he had money in his pocket that he had earned by his work, and he wore clothes he had chosen himself and paid for, not hand-me-downs. He left the house when he wanted to, and came back when he pleased, and no one could flog him for it. He always hoped he would go to sleep and dream this vision, and sometimes he did.
He slept for a few hours and woke at first light. It was Sunday. Later he would go to church with Carlos, and in the evening he would go to a tavern owned by a freed African slave and gamble with the little money he made from tips, but now he had a private duty to perform. He put on his clothes and left the house.
He passed through the north gate of the city and followed the river upstream as the daylight grew stronger. After an hour he came to an isolated spot he had visited before, where the river was bordered by a grove of trees. There he performed the water rite.
He had never been observed here, but it would not matter anyway, for he looked as if he were merely bathing.
Ebrima did not believe in the crucified god. He pretended to, because it made life easier, and he had been baptized a Christian here in Spain, but he knew better. The Europeans did not realize that there were spirits everywhere, in the seagulls and the west wind and the orange trees. The most powerful of them all was the river god: Ebrima knew this because he had been raised in a village that stood on the edge of a river. This was a different river, and he did not know how many thousands of miles he was from his birthplace, but the god was the same.
As he entered the water, murmuring the sacred words, tranquillity seeped into his soul, and he allowed his memories to rise from the depths of his mind. He remembered his father, a strong man with black burn scars on his brown skin from accidents with molten metal; his mother, bare breasted as she weeded her vegetable patch; his sister holding a baby, Ebrima's nephew, whom he would never see grow into a man. None of them even knew the name of the city where Ebrima now made his life, but they all worshipped the same spirit.
In his sadness, the river god comforted him. As the rite came to an end, the god granted his final gift: strength. Ebrima came out of the river, water dripping down his skin, and saw that the sun was up, and he knew that, for a little while longer, he would be able to endure.
On Sunday Barney went to church with Carlos, Aunt Betsy, and Ebrima. They made an unusual group, Barney thought. Carlos looked young to be head of a family, despite his bushy beard and broad shoulders. Aunt Betsy looked neither old nor young: she had gray hair, but she had kept her womanly figure. Ebrima wore Carlos's cast-off clothes, but he walked upright and managed somehow to look neatly dressed for church. Barney himself had a red beard and the golden-brown eyes of the Willards, and his earring was unusual enough to draw glances of surprise, especially from young women, which was why he wore it.
The cathedral of Seville was bigger than that of Kingsbridge, reflecting the fabulous wealth of the Spanish clergy. The extraordinarily high central nave was flanked by two pairs of side aisles plus two rows of side chapels, making the building seem almost as wide as it was long. Any other church in the city would have fit inside it, easily. A thousand people looked like a small group, cluste
red in front of the high altar, their responses to the liturgy lost in the emptiness of the vaults above. There was an immense altarpiece, a riot of gilded carving that was still unfinished after seventy-five years of work.
Mass was a useful social event, as well as an opportunity to cleanse the soul. Everyone had to go, especially the leading citizens. It was a chance to speak to people one would not otherwise meet. A respectable girl might even talk to a single man without compromising her reputation, although her parents would watch closely.
Carlos was wearing a new coat with a fur collar. He had told Barney that today he planned to speak to the father of Valentina Villaverde, the girl he adored. He had hesitated for a year, knowing that the business community were waiting to see whether he could make a success of his father's enterprise; but now he felt he had waited long enough. The visit from Sancho indicated that people recognized the success he had achieved--and that at least one man wanted to take it from him. It was a good moment to propose to Valentina. If she accepted him, not only would he win the bride he loved, but he would be marrying into the Seville elite, which would protect him from predators such as Sancho.
They met the Villaverde family as soon as they entered the great west doors of the cathedral. Carlos bowed deeply to Francisco Villaverde, then smiled eagerly at Valentina. Barney observed that she was pink skinned and fair haired, more like an English girl than a Spaniard. When they were married, Carlos had confided to Barney, he was going to build her a tall, cool house with fountains, and a garden thick with shade trees, so that the sun would never scorch the petals of her cheeks.
She smiled back happily. She was fiercely protected by her father and an older brother, as well as her mother, but they could not stop her showing her pleasure at seeing Carlos.
Barney had courting of his own to do. He scanned the crowd and located Pedro Ruiz and his daughter, Jeronima--the mother was dead. Pushing through the congregation to where they stood, he bowed to Pedro, who was panting after the short walk from his home to the cathedral. Pedro was an intellectual who talked to Barney about whether it was possible that the Earth moved around the sun, rather than vice versa.
Barney was more interested in his daughter than his views. He turned his hundred-candle smile on Jeronima. She smiled back.
"I see the service is being conducted by your father's friend Archdeacon Romero," he said. Romero was a fast-rising churchman said to be close to King Felipe. Barney knew that Romero was a frequent visitor to the Ruiz house.
"Father likes to argue with him about theology," said Jeronima. She made a disgusted face and lowered her voice. "He pesters me."
"Romero?" Barney looked warily at Pedro, but he was bowing to a neighbor and had taken his eyes off his daughter for the moment. "What do you mean, he pesters you?"
"He says he hopes to be my friend after I'm married. And he touches my neck. It makes my skin crawl."
Clearly, Barney thought, the archdeacon had developed a sinful passion for Jeronima. Barney sympathized: he had the same feeling. But he knew better than to say so. "How disgusting," he said. "A lascivious priest."
His attention was caught by a figure ascending the pulpitum in the white robe and black cloak of a Dominican monk. There was going to be a sermon. Barney did not recognize the speaker. He was tall and thin, with pale cheeks and a shock of thick straight hair. He seemed about thirty, young to be preaching in the cathedral. Barney had noticed him during the prayers, for he had seemed possessed of holy ecstasy, saying the Latin words with passion, his eyes closed and his white face lifted to heaven, by contrast with most of the other priests, who acted as if they were doing a tedious chore. "Who's that?" Barney asked.
Pedro answered, having returned his attention to his daughter's suitor. "Father Alonso," he said. "He's the new inquisitor."
Carlos, Ebrima, and Betsy appeared alongside Barney, moving forward to get a closer look at the preacher.
Alonso began by speaking of the shivering fever that had killed hundreds of citizens during the winter. It was a punishment from God, he said. The people of Seville had to learn a lesson from it, and examine their consciences. What terrible sins had they committed, to make God so angry?
The answer was that they had tolerated heathens among them. The young priest became heated as he enumerated the blasphemies of heretics. He spat out Jew, Muslim, Protestant as if the very words tasted foul in his mouth.
But who was he talking about? Barney knew the history of Spain. In 1492 Ferdinand and Isabella--"the Catholic monarchs"--had given the Jews of Spain an ultimatum: convert to Christianity or leave the country. Later the Muslims had been offered the same brutal choice. All synagogues and mosques had since been turned into churches. And Barney had never met a Spanish Protestant, to his knowledge.
He thought the sermon was hot air, but Aunt Betsy was troubled. "This is bad," she said in a low voice.
Carlos answered her. "Why? There are no heretics in Seville."
"If you start a witch hunt, you have to find some witches."
"How can he find heretics if there are none?"
"Look around you. He'll say that Ebrima is a Muslim."
"Ebrima is a Christian!" Carlos protested.
"They will say he has gone back to his original religion, which is the sin of apostasy, much worse than never having been a Christian in the first place."
Barney thought Betsy was probably right: the dark color of Ebrima's skin would throw suspicion on him regardless of the facts.
Betsy nodded toward Jeronima and her father. "Pedro Ruiz reads the books of Erasmus and disputes with Archdeacon Romero about the teachings of the church."
Carlos said: "But Pedro and Ebrima are here, attending mass!"
"Alonso will say they practice their heathen rites at home after dark, with the shutters closed tightly and the doors locked."
"Surely Alonso would need evidence?"
"They will confess."
Carlos was bewildered. "Why would they do that?"
"You would confess to heresy if you were stripped naked and bound with cords that were slowly tightened until they burst through your skin and began to strip the flesh from your body--"
"Stop it, I get it." Carlos shuddered.
Barney wondered how Betsy knew about the tortures of the Inquisition.
Alonso reached his climax, calling for every citizen to join in a new crusade against the infidels right there in their midst. When he had finished, communion began. Looking at the faces of the congregation, Barney thought they seemed uneasy about the sermon. They were good Catholics but they wanted a quiet life, not a crusade. Like Aunt Betsy, they foresaw trouble.
When the service ended and the clergy left the nave in procession, Carlos said to Barney: "Come with me while I speak to Villaverde. I feel the need of friendly support."
Barney willingly followed him as he approached Francisco and bowed. "May I beg a moment of your time, senor, to discuss a matter of great importance?"
Francisco Villaverde was the same age as Betsy: Valentina was the daughter of his second wife. He was sleek and self-satisfied, but not unfriendly. He smiled amiably. "Of course."
Barney saw that Valentina looked bashful. She could guess what was about to happen, even if her father could not.
Carlos said: "A year has passed since my father died."
Barney expected the murmured prayer that his soul would rest in peace that was a conventional courtesy whenever a dead relative was mentioned, but to his surprise Francisco remained silent.
Carlos went on: "Everyone can see that my workshop is well run and the enterprise is prospering."
"You are to be congratulated," said Francisco.
"Thank you."
"What's your point, young Carlos?"
"I'm twenty-two, healthy, and financially secure. I'm ready to marry. My wife will be loved and cared for."
"I'm sure she will. And . . . ?"
"I humbly ask your permission to call at your house, in the hope that your wonde
rful daughter, Valentina, might consider me as a suitor."
Valentina flushed crimson. Her brother gave a grunt that might have been indignation.
Francisco Villaverde's attitude changed instantly. "Absolutely not," he said with surprising force.
Carlos was astonished. For a moment he could not speak.
"How dare you?" Francisco went on. "My daughter!"
Carlos found his voice. "But . . . may I ask why?"
Barney was asking himself the same question. Francisco had no reason to feel superior. He was a perfume maker, a trade that was perhaps a little more refined than that of metalworker; but still, like Carlos, he manufactured his wares and sold them. He was not nobility.
Francisco hesitated, then said: "You are not of pure blood."
Carlos looked baffled. "Because my grandmother is English? That's ridiculous."
The brother bristled. "Have a care what you say."
Francisco said: "I will not stand here to be called ridiculous."
Barney could see that Valentina was distraught. Clearly she, too, had been astonished by this angry refusal.
Carlos said desperately: "Wait a minute."
Francisco was adamant. "This conversation is over." He turned away. Taking Valentina's arm, he moved toward the west door. The mother and brother followed. There was no point in going after them, Barney knew: it would only make Carlos look foolish.
Carlos was hurt and angry, Barney could see. The accusation of impure blood was silly, but probably no less wounding for that. In this country, "impure" usually meant Jewish or Muslim, and Barney had not heard it used of someone with English forebears; but people could be snobbish about anything.
Ebrima and Betsy joined them. Betsy noticed Carlos's mood immediately, and looking inquiringly at Barney. He murmured: "Valentina's father rejected him."
"Hell," said Betsy.
She was angered but did not seem surprised, and the thought crossed Barney's mind that somehow she had expected this.
Ebrima felt sorry for Carlos, and wanted to do something to cheer him up. When they got home, he suggested trying out the new furnace. This was as good a time as any, he thought, and it might take Carlos's mind off his humiliation. It was forbidden for Christians to work or do business on a Sunday, of course, but this was not really work: it was an experiment.