Tendilla and his friends took their leave of Ximenes, who laughed aloud when he was alone.
Tendilla! A soldier! The Queen had been mistaken to appoint such a man as Alcayde. He had no true spirit. He was a lover of comfort. The souls of Infidels meant nothing to him as long as these people worked and grew rich and so made the town rich.
They thought he did not understand these Moors. They were mistaken. He was fully aware of the growing surliness of the Infidels. He would not be in the least surprised if they were making some plot to attack him. They might attempt to assassinate him. What a glorious death that would be – to die in the service of the Faith. But he had no wish to die yet, for unlike Torquemada he knew no one who would be worthy to wear his mantle.
This very day he had sent three of his servants into the Albaycin. Their task was to pause at the stalls and buy some of the goods displayed there, and to listen, of course. To spy on the Infidel. To discover what was being said about the new conditions which Ximenes had brought into their city.
He began to pray, asking for success for his project, promising more converts in exchange for Divine help. He was working out new plans for further forays against the Moors. Their literature was destroyed. What next? He was going to forbid them to follow their ridiculous customs. They were constantly taking baths or staining themselves with henna. He was going to stamp out these barbarous practices.
He noticed that the day was drawing to its close. It was time his servants returned. He went to the window and looked out. Only a little daylight left, he mused.
He went back to his table and his work, but he was wondering what had detained his servants.
When he heard the sound of cries below, he went swiftly down to the hall and there he saw one of those servants whom he had sent into the Albaycin; he was staggering into the hall surrounded by others who cried out in horror at the sight of him. His clothes were torn and he was bleeding from a wound in his side.
‘My lord …’ he was moaning. ‘Take me to my lord.’
Ximenes hurried forward. ‘My good man, what is this? What has happened to you? Where are your companions?’
‘They are dead. Murdered, my lord. In the Albaycin. We were set upon … known as your servants. They are coming here. They have long knives. They have sworn to murder you. My lord … they are coming. There is little time left …’
The man fell swooning at the feet of the Archbishop.
Ximenes ordered: ‘Make fast all doors. See that they are guarded. Take this man and call my physician to attend to him. The Infidel comes against us. The Lord is with us. But the Devil is a formidable enemy. Do not stand there. Obey my orders. We must prepare.’
There followed hours of terror for all those in the Palace with the exception of Ximenes. From an upper chamber he watched those glowering faces in the light of their torches. He heard their shouts of anger.
He thought: Only these frail walls between myself and the Infidel. ‘Lord,’ he prayed, ‘if it be Thy will to take me into Heaven, then so be it.’
They were throwing stones. They had tried to storm the gates but the Palace had stood many a siege and would doubtless stand many more.
They shouted curses on this man who had come among them and destroyed their peace; but Ximenes smiled blandly, for the cursings of the Infidel, he told himself, could be counted as blessings.
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, Iñigo,’ 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.’
‘Iñigo, what are you going to do now?’