Part 23 (1/2)
The answer was a furtive, frightened whisper. ”Last night--the Alguazils of the Holy Office.” And the door was shut and bolted in his face.
He stood rooted to the spot, speechless and motionless, in a trance of horror. At last he was startled by feeling some one grasp his arm without ceremony, indeed rather roughly.
”Are you moonstruck, Cousin Don Carlos?” asked the voice of Gonsalvo.
”At least you might have had the courtesy to offer me the aid of your arm, without putting me to the shame of requesting it, miserable cripple that I am!” and he gave vent to a torrent of curses upon his own infirmities, using expressions profane and blasphemous enough to make Carlos s.h.i.+ver with pain.
Yet that very pain did him real service. It roused him from his stupor, as sharp anguish sometimes brings back a patient from a swoon. He said, ”Pardon me, my cousin, I did not see you; but I hear you now--with sorrow.”
Gonsalvo deigned no answer, except his usual short, bitter laugh.
”Whither do you wish to go?”
”Home. I am tired.”
They walked along in silence; at last Gonsalvo asked, abruptly,--
”Have you heard the news?”
”What news?”
”The news that is in every one's mouth to-day. Indeed, the city has well nigh run mad with holy horror. And no wonder! Their reverences, the Lords Inquisitors, have just discovered a community of abominable Lutherans, a very viper's nest, in our midst. It is said the wretches have actually dared to carry on their wors.h.i.+p somewhere in the town.
Ah, no marvel you look horror-stricken, my pious cousin. You could never have dreamed that such a thing was possible, could you?” After one quick, keen glance, he did not look again in his cousin's face; but he might have felt the beating of his cousin's heart against his arm.
”I am told,” he continued, ”that nearly two hundred persons have been arrested already.”
”_Two hundred!_” gasped Carlos.
”And the arrests are going on still.”
”Who is taken?” Carlos forced his trembling lips to ask.
”Losada; more's the pity. A good physician, though a bad Christian.”
”A good physician, and a good Christian too,” said Carlos in the voice of one who tries to speak calmly in terrible bodily pain.
”An opinion you would do more wisely to keep to yourself, if a reprobate such as I may presume to counsel so learned and pious a personage.”
”Who else?”
”One you would never guess. Don Juan Ponce de Leon, of all men. Think of the Count of Baylen's son being thus degraded! Also the master of the College of Doctrine, San Juan; and a number of Jeromite friars from San Isodro. Those are all I know worth a gentleman's taking account of.
There are some beggarly tradesfolk, such as Medel d'Espinosa, the embroiderer; and Luis d'Abrego, from whom your brother bought that beautiful book of the Gospels he gave Dona Beatriz. But if only such cattle were concerned in it, no one would care.”
”Some fools there be,” Don Gonsalvo continued after a pause, ”who have run to the Triana, and informed against themselves, thinking thereby to get off more easily. _Fools_, again I say, for their pains.” And he emphasized his words by a pressure of the arm on which he was leaning.
At length they reached the door of Don Manuel's house. ”Thanks for your aid,” said Gonsalvo. ”Now that I remember it, Don Carlos, I hear also that we are to have a grand procession on Tuesday with banners and crosses, in honour of Our Lady, and of our holy patronesses Justina and Rufina, to beg pardon for the sin and scandal so long permitted in the midst of our most Catholic city. You, my pious cousin, licentiate of theology and all but consecrated priest--you will carry a taper, no doubt?”
Carlos would fain have left the question unanswered; but Gonsalvo meant to have an answer. ”You will?” he repeated, laying his hand on his arm, and looking him in the face, though with a smile. ”It would be very creditable to the family for one of us to appear. Seriously; I advise you to do it.”