Текст книги "Daughters of Spain "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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‘He cannot learn his state duties too early,’ she said; but what she really meant was that she was not going to be separated from the child more than she could possibly help.
Ferdinand smiled indulgently. He was ready to pass over Isabella’s little weaknesses as long as they did not interfere with his plans.
The Court was on its way to Seville, and naturally Isabella would call first at Granada to see her little Miguel.
Catalina, who was with the party, was delighted to note her mother’s recovery from despair, and she herself thought as tenderly of Miguel as Isabella did. Miguel was the means of making the Queen happy again; therefore Catalina loved him dearly.
Leisurely the Court moved southwards, and with them travelled the Archbishop of Toledo.
Ximenes had been deeply affected by the death of Tomás de Torquemada. There was a man who had written his name large across a page of Spanish history. He had clearly in his heyday been the most important man in his country, for he had guided the King and Queen and in the days of his strength had had his will.
It was due to him that the Inquisition was now a power in the land and that there was not a man, woman or child who did not dread the knock on the door in the dead of night, the entry of the alguazils and the dungeons of torture.
That was well, thought Ximenes, for only through torture could man come to God. And for those who had denied God the greatest torture man could devise was not bad enough. If these people burned at the stake, it was but a foretaste of the punishment which God would give them. What were twenty minutes at the stake compared with an eternity in Hell?
Riding south towards Granada, Ximenes was conscious of a great desire: to do, for Spain and the Faith, work which could be compared with that of Torquemada.
He thought of those who were in this retinue, and it seemed to him that the conduct of so many left much to be desired.
Ferdinand was ever reaching for material gain; Isabella’s weakness was her children. Even now she had Catalina beside her. The girl was nearly fifteen years old and still she remained in Spain. She was marriageable, and the King of England grew impatient. But for her own gratification – and perhaps because the girl pleaded with her – Isabella kept her in Spain.
Ximenes thought grimly that her affection for the new heir, young Miguel, must approach almost idolatry. The Queen should keep a sharp curb on her affections. They overshadowed her devotion to God and duty.
Catalina had withdrawn herself as far as possible from the stern-faced Archbishop. She read his thoughts and they terrified her. She hoped he would not accompany them to Seville; she was sure that, if he did, he would do his utmost to persuade her mother to send her with all speed to England.
Granada, which some had called the most beautiful city in Spain, was before them. There it lay, a fairy-tale city against the background of the snow-tipped peaks of the Sierra Nevada. High above the town was the Alhambra, that Moorish Palace, touched by a rosy glow, a miracle of architecture, strong as a fortress, yet so daintily and so delicately fashioned and carved, as Catalina knew.
There was a saying that God gives His chosen people the means to live in Granada; and Catalina could believe that was so.
She hoped that Granada would bring happiness to them all, that the Queen would be so delighted with her little grandson that she would forget to mourn, that there would be no news from England; and that, for the sunny days ahead, her life and that of her family would be as peacefully serene as this scene of snowy mountains, of rippling streams, the water of which sparkled like diamonds and was as clear as crystals.
She caught the eye of the Archbishop fixed upon her and felt a tremor of alarm.
She need not have worried. He was not thinking of her.
He was saying to himself: It is indeed our most beautiful city. It is not surprising that the Moors clung to it until the last. But what a tragedy that so many of its inhabitants should be those who deny the true faith. What sin that we should allow these Moors to practise their pagan rites under that blue sky, in the most beautiful city in Spain.
It seemed to Ximenes that the ghost of Torquemada rode beside him. Torquemada could not rest while such blatant sin existed in this fair city of Spain.
Ximenes was certain, as he rode with the Court into Granada, that the mantle of Torquemada was being placed about his shoulders.
While Isabella was happy in the nursery of her grandson, Ximenes lost no time in examining the conditions which existed in Granada.
The two most influential men in the city were Iñigo Lopez de Mendoza, the Count of Tendilla, and Fray Fernando de Talavera, Archbishop of Granada; and one of Ximenes’s first acts was to summon these men to his presence.
He surveyed them with a little impatience. They were, he believed, inclined to be complacent. They were delighted at the peaceful conditions prevailing in this city, which, they congratulated themselves, was in itself near the miraculous. This was a conquered city; a great part of its population consisted of Moors who followed their own faith; yet these Moors lived side by side with Christians and there was no strife between them.
Who would have thought, Ximenes demanded of himself, that this could possibly be a conquered city!
‘I confess,’ he told his visitors, ‘that the conditions here in Granada give me some concern.’
Tendilla showed his surprise. ‘I am sure, my lord Archbishop,’ he said, ‘that when you have seen more of the affairs in this city you will change your mind.’
Tendilla, one of the illustrious Mendoza family, could not help but be conscious of the comparatively humble origins of the Archbishop of Toledo. Tendilla lived graciously and it disturbed him to have about him those who did not. Talavera, who had been a Hieronymite monk and whose piety was indisputable, was yet a man of impeccable manners. Tendilla considered Talavera something of a bigot but it seemed to him that such an attitude was essential in a man of the Church; and in his tolerance Tendilla had not found it difficult to overlook that in Talavera which did not fit in with his own views. They had worked well together since the conquest of Granada, and the city of Granada was a prosperous and happy city under their rule.
Both resented the tone of Ximenes, but they had to remember that as Archbishop of Toledo he held the highest post in Spain under the Sovereigns.
‘I could not change my mind,’ went on Ximenes coldly, ‘while I see this city dominated by that which is heathen.’
Tendilla put in: ‘We obey the rules of their Highnesses’ agreement with Boabdil at the time of the reconquest. As Alcayde and Captain-General of the Kingdom of Granada it is my duty to see that this agreement is adhered to.’
Ximenes shook his head. ‘I know well the terms of that agreement, and pity it is that it was ever made.’
‘Yet,’ said Talavera, ‘these conditions were made and the Sovereigns could not so dishonour themselves and Spain by not observing them.’
‘What conditions!’ cried Ximenes scornfully. ‘The Moors to retain possession of their mosques with freedom to practise their heathen rites! What sort of a city is this over which to fly the flag of the Sovereigns?’
‘Nevertheless these were the terms of surrender,’ Tendilla reminded him.
‘Unmolested in their style of dress, in their manners and ancient usages; to speak their own language, to have the right to dispose of their own property! A fine treaty.’
‘Yet, my lord Archbishop, these were the terms Boabdil asked for surrender. Had we not accepted them there would have been months – perhaps years – of slaughter, and no doubt the destruction of much that is beautiful in Granada.’
Ximenes turned accusingly to these two men. ‘You, Tendilla, are the Alcayde; you, Talavera, are the Archbishop. And you content yourselves with looking on at these practices which cannot but anger our God and are enough to make the saints weep. Are you surprised that we suffer the ill fortune we do? Our heir dead. His child stillborn. The Sovereigns’ eldest daughter dead in childbirth. What next, I ask you? What next?’
‘My lord Archbishop cannot suggest that these tragedies are the result of what happens here in Granada!’ murmured Tendilla.
‘I say,’ thundered Ximenes, ‘that we have witnessed the disfavour of God, and that it behoves us to look about and ask ourselves in what manner we are displeasing Him.’
Talavera spoke then. ‘My lord, you do not realise what efforts we have made to convert these people to Christianity.’
Ximenes turned to the Archbishop. It was from a man of the Church that he might expect good sense, rather than from a soldier. Talavera had at one time been Prior of the Monastery of Santa Maria del Prado, not far from Valladolid; he had also been confessor to the Queen. He was a man of courage. Ximenes had heard that when Isabella’s confessor had listened to the Queen’s confession he had insisted on her kneeling while he sat, and when Isabella had protested Talavera had remarked that the confessional was God’s tribunal and that, as he acted as God’s minister, it was fitting that he should remain seated while the Queen knelt. Isabella had approved of such courage; so did Ximenes.
It was known also that this man, who had previously been the Bishop of Avila, refused to accept a larger income when he became Archbishop of Granada; he lived simply and spent a great deal of his income on charity.
This was all very well, thought Ximenes; but what good was it to appease the hunger of the poor, to give them sensuous warmth, when their souls were in peril? What had this dreamer done to bring the heathen Moor into the Christian fold?
‘Tell me of these efforts,’ said Ximenes curtly.
‘I have learned Arabic,’ said Talavera, ‘in order that I may understand these people and speak with them in their own tongue. I have commanded my clergy to do the same. Once we speak their language we can show them the great advantages of holding to the true Faith. I have had selections from the Gospels translated into Arabic.’
‘And what conversions have you to report?’ demanded Ximenes.
‘Ah,’ put in Tendilla, ‘this is an ancient people. They have their own literature, their own professions. My lord Archbishop, look at our Alhambra itself. Is it not a marvel of architecture? This is a symbol of the culture of these people.’
‘Culture!’ cried Ximenes, his eyes suddenly blazing. ‘What culture could there be without Christianity? I see that in this Kingdom of Granada the Christian Faith is considered of little importance. That shall not continue, I tell you. That shall not continue.’
Talavera looked distressed. Tendilla raised his eyebrows. He was annoyed, but only slightly so. He understood the ardour of people such as Ximenes. Here was another Torquemada. Torquemada had set up the Inquisition, and men such as Ximenes would keep the fires burning. Tendilla was irritated. He hated unpleasantness. His beloved Granada delighted him with its beauty and prosperity. His Moors were the most industrious people in Spain now that they had rid themselves of the Jews. He wanted nothing to break the peaceful prosperity of his city.
He smiled. Let this fanatical monk rave. It was true he was Primate of Spain – what a pity that the office had not been given to a civilised nobleman – but Tendilla was very well aware of the agreement which Isabella and Ferdinand had made with Boabdil, and he believed that Isabella at least would honour her agreement.
Therefore he smiled without much concern while Ximenes ranted.
Granada was safe from the fury of the fanatic.
Isabella held the baby in her arms. The lightness of the little bundle worried her.
Some children are small, she comforted herself. I have had so much trouble that I look for it where it does not exist.
She questioned his nurses.
His little Highness was a good child, a contented child. He took his food and scarcely cried at all.
Isabella thought, Would it not be better if he kicked and cried lustily? Then she remembered her daughter Juana who had done these things.
I must not build up fears where they do not exist, she admonished herself.
There was his wet nurse – a lusty girl, her plump breasts bursting out of her bodice, smelling faintly of olla podrida in a manner which slightly offended the Queen’s nostrils. But the girl was healthy and she had the affection which such girls did have for their foster children.
It was useless to question the girl. How does he suck? Greedily? Is he eager for his feed?
She would give the answers which she thought would best please the Queen, rather than what might be the truth.
Catalina begged to be allowed to hold the baby, and Isabella laid the child in her daughter’s arms.
‘Here, sit beside me. Hold our precious little Miguel tightly.’
Isabella watched her daughter with the baby. Perhaps it would not be long before she held a child of her own in such a manner.
The thought made her uneasy. How could she bear to part with Catalina? And she would have to part with her soon. The King of England was indicating that he was growing impatient. He was asking for more concessions. Since the death of Juan and his child the bargaining position had not been so favourable for Spain. It was very likely that Margaret would be married soon, and her share of the Habsburg inheritance was lost.
Ferdinand had said to her during their journey to Granada: ‘The English alliance is more important to us now than ever.’
So it would not be long.
Ferdinand came into the nursery. He too took a delight in the child. Isabella, watching him peering into the small face, realised that he suffered from none of those fears which beset her.
‘How like his father Miguel begins to grow,’ he said, beaming. ‘Ah, my daughter, I trust it will not be long before you hold a child of your own in your arms. A Prince of England, eh, a Prince who will one day be a King.’
He had shattered the peace of the nursery for Catalina. It was no use being annoyed with him. He could never understand Catalina’s fears as her mother could.
Ferdinand turned to Isabella: ‘Your Archbishop is in a fine mood,’ he said with an ironical smile. ‘He begs audience. I did not think you would wish to receive him in the nursery.’
Isabella felt relieved to leave Catalina and Miguel, for poor Catalina’s face was creased in pitiable anxiety.
‘I will receive the Archbishop now,’ she said. ‘Does he ask to see us both?’
‘Both,’ echoed Ferdinand.
He held out his hand to Isabella and led her from the room.
In a small ante-chamber Ximenes was pacing up and down; he turned as the Sovereigns entered. He did not greet them with the homage etiquette demanded. Ferdinand noticed this and raised his eyebrows slightly in an expression which clearly said to Isabella: Your Archbishop – what manners he has!
‘You have bad news, Archbishop?’ asked Isabella.
‘Your Highness, bad news indeed. Since I entered this city I have received shock after shock. Who could believe, as one walks these streets, that one was in a Christian land!’
‘It is a prosperous and happy city,’ Isabella reminded him.
‘If it is prosperous, it is the prosperity of the devil!’ cried Ximenes. ‘Happy! You can call people happy – you a Christian – when they wallow in darkness!’
‘They are an industrious people,’ Ferdinand put in, and he spoke coldly as he always did to Ximenes. ‘They bring great wealth to the place.’
‘They bring great wealth!’ repeated Ximenes. ‘They worship in a heathen way. They pollute our country. How can we call Spain all-Christian when it harbours such people?’
‘They have their own faith,’ said Isabella gently, ‘and we are doing our best to bring them to the true faith. My Archbishop of Granada has been telling me that he has learned Arabic and has had the catechism and part of the Gospels translated into Arabic. What more could we do?’
‘I could think of much that we could do.’
‘What?’ demanded Ferdinand.
‘We could force them to baptism.’
‘You forget,’ Isabella put in quickly, ‘that in the agreement we made with Boabdil these people were to continue in their own way of life.’
‘It was a monstrous agreement.’
‘I think,’ Ferdinand interrupted, ‘that it would be well if the men of the Church confined their attention to Church matters and left the governing of the country to its rulers.’
‘When an Archbishop is also Primate of Spain, matters of State are his concern,’ retorted Ximenes.
Ferdinand was astonished at the arrogance of this man, but he could see that Isabella immediately forgave him his insolence on the grounds that all he said was either for the good of the Church or State. She had often defended him to Ferdinand, by reminding him that Ximenes was one of the few men about them who did not seek personal advantage, and that he seemed brusque in his manners because he said what he meant, without thought of any damage this might do to himself.
But she was adamant on this matter of the Moors. She had given her word to Boabdil, and she intended to keep it.
She said in that cool, somewhat curt voice of hers which she reserved for such occasions: ‘The treaty we made with the Moors must stand. Let us hope that in time, under the guidance of our good Talavera, they will see the light. Now you will retire, my lord, for there are matters which the King and I must discuss, since shortly we must continue our journey.’
Ximenes, his mind simmering with plans which he had no intention of laying before the Sovereigns, retired.
‘The monk over-reaches even his rank,’ said Ferdinand lightly. ‘Do you know, it would not surprise me if Master Ximenes became so arrogant that in time even you would be unable to endure him.’
‘Oh, he is a good man; he is the best to fill the position. We must perforce put up with his manners.’
‘I do not relish the thought of his company in Seville. The man irritates me with his hair shirt and his ostentatious saintliness.’
Isabella sighed. ‘In time you will appreciate him … even as I do.’
‘Never,’ said Ferdinand, and his tone was harsh because he was thinking of young Alfonso and how grand he would have looked in the fine vestments of the Archbishop of Toledo.
Ferdinand was glad when they left for Seville and Ximenes did not accompany them.
THE FATE OF THE MOORS
Ximenes was excited. He looked almost human as he waited to receive his guests. He had planned this meeting so carefully and it was to be the first step in a mighty campaign. He had not asked the Sovereigns’ permission to act as he did; he was very glad that they were on their way to Seville. They would be delighted when they saw the results of his work; they would also know that, well as he served them, he served God and the Faith better.
He had had some difficulty with those two old fools, Tendilla and Talavera. They had assured him that his proposed methods would not work. The Moors were courteous by nature; they would listen to what he had to say; they would not contradict his word that the most fortunate people in the world were those who called themselves Christians; but they would remain Mohammedans.
He must understand that these were not savages; they were not as little children to be taught a catechism which they could repeat parrot fashion.
‘Not savages!’ Ximenes had cried. ‘All those who are not Christians are savages.’
He was not going to diverge from his plan in any way. He was the Primate of Spain and as such was in complete authority under the Sovereigns; as for the Sovereigns, they were on their way to Seville and none could appeal to them.
He ordered that bales of silk and a quantity of scarlet hats should be brought to him. He now studied these with a wry smile on his lips. They were the bait and he believed the expenditure on the articles would be well worth while.
When his guests arrived he received them graciously. They were alfaquis of Granada, the learned Moorish priests whose word was law to the Mussulmans of Granada. Once he had seduced these men from their faith, the simple people would be ready to follow their leaders.
The alfaquis bowed low. They knew that they were in the presence of the greatest Archbishop in Spain, and their eyes lighted when they saw the bales of rich silk and the scarlet hats which they greatly admired, for they guessed these were gifts.
‘I am delighted that you should have accepted my invitation,’ said Ximenes, and his face showed none of the contempt that he felt for these people. ‘I wish to talk to you. I think it would be of great interest to us all if we compared our respective religions.’
The alfaquis smiled and bowed again. And eventually they sat cross-legged around the chair of Ximenes while he talked to them of the Christian Faith and the joys of Heaven which awaited those who embraced it; also of the torments of Hell which were reserved for those who refused it. He spoke of baptism, a simple ceremony which enabled all those who partook of it to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
He then took one of the bales and unfurled the crimson silk.
There was a murmur of admiration among his guests.
He wished to make presents, he told them, to all those who would undergo baptism.
Black eyes sparkled as they rested on the bales of coloured silks, and those delightful red hats were irresistible.
Several of the alfaquis agreed to be baptised, a ceremony which Ximenes was prepared to perform on the spot; and they went away with their silks and scarlet hats.
There was talk in the streets of Granada.
A great man had come among them. He gave rich presents, and to receive these presents all that was required was to take part in a strange little ceremony.
Each day little companies of Moors would present themselves before Ximenes, to receive baptism, a bale of silk and a scarlet hat.
Ximenes felt such delight that he had to curb it. It seemed sinful to be so happy. He was anxious that Talavera and Tendilla should not know what was happening, for he was sure they would endeavour to let the innocent Moors know what they were undertaking when they submitted to baptism.
What did it matter how they were brought into the Church, Ximenes asked himself, as long as they came?
So he continued with his baptisms and his presents. The costliness of the silk and hats was disturbing, but Ximenes had always been ready to dig deep into the coffers of Toledo for the sake of the Faith.
News of what was happening came to the ears of one of the most learned of the alfaquis in Granada; this was Zegri, who, quietly studious, had not known what was taking place in the city.
One of his fellows called on him wearing a magnificent red hat, and he said: ‘But you are extravagant. You have become rich, my friend.’
‘This is not all,’ he was told. ‘I have a silk robe, and both were presents from the great Archbishop who is now in Granada.’
‘Costly presents are often given that costlier presents may be received.’
‘Ah, but all I did to earn these was to take part in some little Christian game called baptism.’
‘Baptism! But that is the ceremony which is performed when one accepts the Christian Faith.’
‘Oh, I was a Christian for a day … and for this I received my silk and hat.’
‘What is this you say?’ cried Zegri. ‘You cannot be a Christian for a day!’
‘It is what the Archbishop told us. “Be baptised,” he said, “and these gifts are yours.” Our fellows are crowding to his Palace each day. We play this little game and come away with our gifts.’
‘Allah preserve us!’ cried Zegri. ‘Do you not know that once you have been baptised you are a Christian, and do you not know what these Christians do to those whom they call heretics?’
‘What do they do?’
Zegri seized his robe as though he would rend it apart. He said: ‘Here in Granada we live in peace. In other parts of Spain, there is that which is called the Inquisition. Those who do not practise Christianity – and Christianity in a particular manner – are called heretics. They are tortured and burned at the stake.’ His visitor had turned pale.
‘It would seem,’ said Zegri impatiently, ‘that our countrymen have been lulled into stupidity by the beauty of the flowers that grow about our city, by the prosperity of our merchants, by the continued brilliance of our sunshine.’
‘But … they are going in their hundreds!’
‘We must call a meeting at once without delay. Send out messages to all. Tell them that I have a stern warning to give. Bring here to me as many of the alfaquis as you can muster. I must stop this at once.’
Ximenes waited for more visitors. They did not come. There were his bales of silk, his scarlet hats, but it seemed that now nobody wanted them.
Ximenes, enraged, sent for Talavera and Tendilla.
They came immediately. Tendilla had discovered what had been happening and was very angry. Talavera also knew, but he was less disturbed; as a Churchman he admired the zeal of Ximenes; never had he seen such rapid proselytism.
‘Perhaps,’ said Ximenes, ‘you can tell me what is happening in this city.’
‘It would seem,’ replied Tendilla lightly, ‘that certain simple men have become Christians without understanding what this means.’
‘You sound regretful,’ accused Ximenes.
‘Because,’ Tendilla answered, ‘these men have accepted baptism without understanding. They have accepted your gifts and in return they wished to give you what you asked – baptism into the Christian Faith for a bale of silk and a red hat. I should be glad to hear they had accepted our Faith without the bribe.’
‘Yet there are more conversions in this city since the Archbishop of Toledo came here,’ Talavera reminded him.
‘I do not call this true conversion to Christianity,’ retorted Tendilla. ‘These simple souls have no knowledge of what they are undertaking.’
‘We need not discuss your views on this matter,’ Ximenes put in coldly. ‘For the last two days there have been no conversions. There must be a reason. These savages cannot have taken a dislike to bales of silk and scarlet hats.’
‘They have become wary of baptism,’ said Tendilla.
‘You two go among them as though you were of the same race. You doubtless know the reason for this sudden absence. I command you to tell me.’
Tendilla was silent, but Talavera, as an Archbishop himself, although of junior rank, answered his superior’s command: ‘It is due to the warnings of Zegri.’
‘Zegri? Who is this man Zegri?’
Tendilla spoke then. ‘He is the leading alfaquis, and not such a simple fellow as some. He understands a little of what baptism into the Christian Faith means. He has heard what has been going on and has warned his fellow Moors that baptism demands more of men and women than the acceptance of gifts.’
‘I see,’ said Ximenes. ‘So it is this man Zegri. Thank you for your information.’
When they had left him he sent for one of his servants, a man named Leon, and he said to him:’ I wish you to take a message from me to the house of the alfaquis, Zegri.’
Zegri stood before Ximenes, while Ximenes showed him two bales of silk. ‘You may take as many of the hats as you wish,’ he told his guest.
‘No,’ said Zegri.’ I know of this baptism. I know what it means. Here in Granada we have not known the Inquisition, but I have heard what it does to Jews who have accepted baptism and go back to their own Faith.’
‘Once you were a Christian you would not wish to go back to your own Faith. Each day you would become more and more aware of the advantages which Christianity has to offer.’
‘I am a Mohammedan. I do not look for advantages.’
‘You are a man stumbling in darkness.’
‘I live very well, I am a happy man … with the love of Allah.’
‘There is only one true Faith,’ said Ximenes. ‘That is the Christian Faith.’
‘Allah forgive you. You know not what you say.’
‘You will go to eternal torment when you die.’
‘Allah will be good to me and mine.’
‘If you become a Christian you will go to Heaven when you die. Allow me to give you baptism and eternal joy shall be yours.’
Zegri smiled and said simply: ‘I am a Mohammedan. I do not change my religion for a bale of silk and a red hat.’ His eyes flashed defiance as he stood there, and Ximenes realised that argument would never convince such a man. Yet it was necessary that he should be convinced. This was a powerful man, a man who would sway a multitude. One word from him and the conversions had ceased.
It was not to be tolerated, and in Ximenes’s eyes all that was done in the service of the Faith was well done.
‘I see,’ he said, ‘that I cannot make you a good Christian.’
‘I do not believe that I could make you a good Mussulman,’ retorted Zegri, smiling widely.
Ximenes crossed himself in horror.
‘Here in Granada we shall continue in our own Faith,’ said Zegri quietly.
But you shall not! thought Ximenes. I have sworn to convert this place to Christianity, and I will do it.
‘I will take my leave of you,’ said Zegri, ‘and I will thank you for receiving me in your Palace, oh mighty Archbishop.’
Ximenes bowed his head and called to his servant Leon.
‘Leon,’ he said, ‘show my guest the way out. He will come and talk with me again, for I have yet to persuade him.’
Leon, a tall man with broad shoulders answered: ‘So shall it be, Your Excellency.’ He led the way, and Zegri followed. They went through chambers which he did not remember seeing before, down some stairs to more apartments.
This was not the way he had come in, Zegri was thinking as Leon opened a door and stood aside for him to enter.
Unthinking, Zegri stepped forward. Then he stopped. But he was too late. Leon gave him a little push from behind and he stumbled down a few dark steps. He heard the door shut behind him and a key turned in the lock.
He was not outside the Archbishop’s Palace. He was in a dark dungeon.
Zegri lay on the floor of his dungeon. He was weak, for it must have been long since food had passed his lips. When the door had been locked on him he had beaten on it until his hands had bled; he had shouted to be let out, but no one answered him.
The floor was damp and cold and his limbs were numb.
‘They have tricked me,’ he said aloud, ‘as they have tricked my friends.’
