Ximenes recalled that moment with a shudder, giving silent thanks to his Lord Jesus Christ for sparing Spain that particular calamity. If a Moor had entered the Queen’s chamber, who could predict the turn that History might have taken? He shook his head violently as if the very thought was heretical. History could have moved in no other direction. If Isabella had blunted her own capacities, then a sharper instrument would have been found.
Ximenes was the first truly celibate Archbishop of Spain. One night in Salamanca, during his university days, he had heard the noises which often marked a male dormitory in those excitable times and realized that his fellow students were busy mimicking the behaviour of overheated animals. The pleasure that some of the mating couples were giving each other was there for all to hear. Ximenes had felt a twinge of excitement below his groin. The shock had been enough to send him to sleep, but when he woke the next morning, he was horrified to discover his nightshirt drenched in what could only be his own seed. What made it worse was a sinful coincidence. The liquid imprint bore an uncanny resemblance to the map of Castile and Aragon.
For two whole days, Ximenes had been beside himself with dread and anxiety. At church, later that week, he described the scene to his confessor, who, much to the disgust of the future Archbishop had roared with laughter and responded in a voice so loud that it had made Ximenes tremble in embarrassment.
‘If I…’ the friar had begun with a laugh, but then, observing the pale, trembling young man before him, he had hesitated to search for a more sombre conclusion to the sentence. ‘If the Church were to treat sodomy as an unforgivable sin, every priest in Spain would go to hell.’
That encounter in the confessional, much more than the events in the dormitory, had led Ximenes to take a vow of celibacy. Even when he was working at Siguenza on the estates of Cardinal Mendoza, at a time when a priest was expected to pick any peasant woman or boy he desired, Ximenes resisted temptation. Unlike a eunuch, he could not even take pride in his master’s penis. Instead he turned to monasticism, embracing the Franciscan order to underline his heartfelt commitment to an austere and pious life.
Cardinal Mendoza, when informed of the exceptional self-restraint of his favourite priest, grunted his disapprovaclass="underline" ‘Parts so extraordinary’—it was generally assumed that this was a reference to the intellectual qualities of Ximenes—‘must not be buried in the shade of a convent.’
Ximenes walked up and down the room. From his arched window he could see the cathedral which the masons were building on the ruins of an old mosque overlooked by the palace. He was thinking elevated thoughts, but unforeseen and unwanted images will sometimes break into the mind’s core, disrupting even the most lofty meditations. Ximenes had been informed of a deeply offensive act of sacrilege committed in Toledo a month before, when a follower of Islam, imagining that he was unobserved, had been caught in the act of dipping his bared penis into the holy font. On being apprehended by a couple of vigilant friars, he had made no effort to deny what he had done or plead for mercy or indicate that he deeply regretted his rash behaviour. Instead he claimed he was a recent converso and had been instructed by an old Christian friend to perform this special type of ablution before he offered prayers in the cathedral.
The offender had refused to name his friend. He was tortured. His lips remained sealed. The Inquisition found the story unconvincing and handed him over to the civil authorities for the final punishment. He had been burnt at the stake some days ago. The image of the offensive act continued to haunt Ximenes. He made a mental note to send for the papers of the Inquisition referring to this particular case.
Ximenes was not bereft of a conscience. The man who was proposing himself as the cruel executioner of Islamic Gharnata had once himself been a victim. He had spent time in an ecclesiastical prison on the orders of the late Cardinal Carillo. The Cardinal, who was soon to be succeeded by Archbishop Mendoza, had asked Ximenes to abdicate a minor position in the Spanish Church, to which he had been appointed by Rome, in favour of one of the circle of sycophants which surrounded Carillo. Ximenes refused. His punishment had been six months’ solitary confinement. The experience had left the priest sensitive to questions such as the difference between guilt and innocence, and it was this that made him reflect on the death of the man in Toledo who had cleaned his private parts in the holy water. Perhaps he had been innocent, but no Catholic would have sent him to the cathedral with those instructions. It must have been one of those French heretics who had escaped punishment. The prelate’s eyes began to gleam as he felt he had uncovered the real truth. He would study the papers closely.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Enter.’
A soldier entered and whispered in his ear.
‘Send him in.’
Ibn Hisham entered the room. He went straight to the Archbishop who extended his hand. Ibn Hisham bent on one knee and kissed the ring. Ximenes lifted him up and indicated a seat.
‘My uncle Miguel left firm instructions that I must call on Your Grace and pay my respects.’
Ximenes looked at the newest converso from the ranks of Granada’s nobility and attempted a smile.
‘How were you christened by the Bishop of Cordova?’
‘Pedro de Gharnata.’
‘Surely you mean Pedro de Granada.’
Pedro nodded, his eyes betraying the sadness and humiliation which he had inflicted upon himself. He saw the half-triumphant, half-contemptuous look on the face of the man whose hand he had kissed and he wanted to be dead. Instead he smiled weakly, cursing himself for his servility.
Ximenes looked at him and nodded.
‘Your visit was unnecessary. I have already intimated to your uncle that you would be permitted to carry on your trade. I am a man who keeps his word. Tell me something, Pedro. Did your daughter convert to our faith as well?’
Pedro de Granada began to sweat. The devil knew everything.
‘She will on her return from Ishbi… I mean Sevilla, Your Grace. We are awaiting her return.’
‘Bless you, my son. Now if you will excuse me it is time for evensong, and after that I have other business to which I must attend. Just one more thing. As you probably know, seven of our priests on their way to Holy Communion last week were ambushed. A deluge of human excrement contained in wooden buckets was emptied over their heads. Do you by any chance know the names of the young men who perpetrated this act?’
Pedro shook his head.
‘No, I thought not. If you did you would have already reported the matter. Try and find out if you can. Such outrages cannot remain unpunished.’
The newly baptized Pedro de Granada agreed with these sentiments most forcefully.
‘When God wants to destroy an ant, Your Grace, he permits her to grow wings.’
After Pedro had bowed and taken his leave, a wave of nausea overpowered Ximenes.
‘Hateful, spineless, confused, witless wretches,’ he thought to himself. ‘Every day they come and see me. Some out of fear. Others to protect their future. Ready to betray their own mothers if… if… if… always an if… if the Church will guarantee their property; if the church will not interfere with their trade; if the Church will keep the Inquisition out of Granada. Only then will they happily convert to our faith and bring to it their relentless pursuit of greed. God curse them all. Our Church does not need such pitiful wrecks. Pedro de Granada will remain a Mahometan till the day he dies. May God curse him and others like him.’