There was a murmuring in the crowd. They were all remembering the experiences of Zegri.
Tendilla saw that the angry mood was returning, the fury which the conduct of Ximenes had aroused was bursting out again.
Tendilla made a decision. ‘I shall go to Seville,’ he said. ‘You well know the love I bear my wife and two children. I will leave them here with you as hostages. That will be a token of my good intentions.’
There was silence in the crowd.
Then the leading alfaquis said: ‘You have spoken, oh lord Alcayde.’
The crowd began to cheer. They did not love violence. They trusted Tendilla and Talavera to rid them of the trouble-making Ximenes that all might be peace once more in their beautiful city of Granada.
News of what had happened in the Albaycin was brought to Ximenes. He was now alarmed. He had hoped to continue with his proselytising unimpeded; he realised now that he must be wary.
Tendilla had come storming into his Palace and had not hesitated to say what he meant. He blamed Ximenes for the first trouble that had occurred in the city since the reconquest, adding that within the next few days he was leaving for Seville, and there he would lay the matter before the Sovereigns.
Ximenes coldly retorted that he would do all that he had done, over again, should the need arise, and the need was sore in Granada.
‘You will do nothing,’ retorted Tendilla, ‘until this matter has been laid before their Highnesses.’
And Ximenes had of course agreed to the wisdom of that.
As soon as Tendilla had left, Ximenes fell on his knees in prayer. This was a very important moment in his life. He knew that the version of this affair which Tendilla would carry to the Sovereigns would differ from the tale he had to tell; and it was all-important that Ferdinand and Isabella should hear Ximenes’s account first.
It might well be that on the following day Tendilla would set out for Seville. Ximenes must therefore forestall him.
He rose from his knees and sent for one of his Negro servants, a tall long-limbed athlete who could run faster than any other known in the district.
‘I shall want you to leave for Seville within half an hour,’ he said. ‘Prepare yourself.’
The slave bowed, and when he was alone Ximenes sat down to write his account of what had happened in Granada. The need to save souls was imperative. He wanted more power and, when he had it, he would guarantee to bring the Moors of Granada into the Christian fold. He had been unable to stand calmly aside and watch the heathenish habits which were practised in that community. He had acted under guidance from God, and he was now praying that his Sovereigns would not shut their eyes to God’s will.
He sent for the slave.
‘With all speed to Seville,’ he commanded.
And he smiled, well satisfied, believing that Isabella and Ferdinand would receive the news from him hours before they could possibly see Tendilla. By that time they would have read his version of the revolt, and all Tendilla’s eloquence would not be able to persuade them that Ximenes had been wrong in what he had done.
The Negro slave ran the first few miles. As he sped onwards there passed him on the road a Moor who was riding on a grey horse; and the Negro wished that he had a horse on which to ride, but he quickly forgot it and gave himself up to the pleasure of exercise.
He was noted for his fleetness of foot and proud of it. Anyone could ride a horse. None could match him for running speed.
But the way was long and even the fleetest of foot grew tired; the throat became parched, and there on the road between Granada and Seville the slave saw a tavern. Tied to a post was the horse which had passed him on the way, and standing close to the horse was the rider.
The man called to the Negro: ‘Good day to you. I saw you running on the road.’
‘I envied you your horse,’ said the Negro, pausing.
‘ ’Tis thirsty work, running as you run.’
‘You speak truth there.’
‘Well, here is an inn and the wine is good. Why do you not fortify yourself with some of this good wine?’
‘Oh … I am on a mission. I have to reach Seville with all speed.’
‘You’ll go the quicker for the wine.’
The Negro considered this. It might be true.
‘Come,’ said the Moor. ‘Drink with me. Let me be your host.’
‘You are generous,’ said the Negro, smiling.
‘Come inside and wine shall be brought for us.’
They sat together drinking the wine. The Moor encouraged the Negro to talk of his triumphs: how he had won many a race and had not in recent years met the man who could outrun him.
The Moor replenished his glass, and the Negro did not notice how much he was drinking, and forgot that he was unused to such wine.
His speech became slower; he had forgotten where he was; he slumped forward and, smiling, the Moor rose and taking him by the hair jerked his face upwards. The Negro was too intoxicated to protest; he did not even know who the man was.
The Moor called to the innkeeper.
‘Let your servants take this man to a bed,’ he said. ‘He has drunk much wine and he will not be sober until morning. Give him food then and more wine … a great deal of it. It is necessary that he should stay here for another day and night.’
The innkeeper took the money which was given him, and assured his honoured customer that his wishes should be carried out.
The Moor smiled pleasantly, went out to his horse and began the journey back to Granada.
Later that night the Count of Tendilla set out for Seville with his retinue. There was rejoicing in the Albaycin. The cunning of Ximenes would be foiled. Isabella and Ferdinand would first hear the story of the Moorish revolt from their friend, not from their enemy.
When Ferdinand heard from Tendilla what had happened in Granada his first feeling was of anger, then dismay, but these were later tinged with a faint satisfaction.
He lost no time in confronting Isabella.
‘Here is a fine state of affairs,’ he cried. ‘Revolt in Granada. All brought about through this man Ximenes. So we are to pay dear for the conduct of your Archbishop. That for which we fought for years has been endangered in a few hours by the rashness of this man whom you took from his humble station to make Archbishop of Toledo and Primate of Spain.’
Isabella was astounded by the news. She had taken great pride in maintaining the treaty. She had always been delighted to hear of the prosperity of her city of Granada, of the industry of the Moorish population and the manner in which they lived peaceably side by side with the Christians. She was overjoyed when she heard of the few conversions to Christianity which Talavera had brought about. But revolt in Granada! And Ximenes, her Archbishop – as Ferdinand always called him – was apparently at the very root of it.
‘We have not heard his side of the story …’ she began.
‘And why not?’ demanded Ferdinand. ‘Does your Archbishop think he may act without our sanction? He has not thought fit to inform us. Who are we? Merely the Sovereigns. It is Ximenes who rules Spain.’
‘I confess I am both alarmed and astonished,’ admitted Isabella.
‘I should think so, Madam. This is what comes of giving high office to those who are unable to fill it with dignity and responsibility.’
‘I shall write to him at once,’ said the Queen, ‘informing him of my displeasure and summoning him to our presence without delay.’
‘It would certainly be wise to recall him from Granada before we have a war on our hands.’