took the life of his wayward daughter and her lover. The man was within his rights. Our Holy Roman Catholic Majesty’s kingdom is vast and cumbersome.Here on the outskirts of the empire, where there are more dancing schools and gambling houses than churches, we must be doubly vigilant against wrong thinking such as Maria Santa Hilda’s. When Satan worms his way into the empire, he will choose just such a vulnerable place as this. The purity of the Faith is paramount.”
The Bishop put on a magnificent cross encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. He handed DaTriesta his miter and bowed while the Commissioner placed it on his large but apparently empty gray head. “That does not mean we must abandon civilized behavior,” the smug Bishop said. “I insist you go and speak to the Abbess tomorrow, before the burial.” Crowned with the miter, the Bishop had let his voice become annoyingly authoritative.
DaTriesta did not have to obey. He was answerable only to the Grand Inquisitor in Lima, not to this noble son born on the wrong side of the sheets. The Bishop was not debauched and riotous like so many who gratified their desires through an ecclesiastical career far from the seat of power, but he was idle, worldly, and self-indulgent. DaTriesta bowed to him. “And if I warn the Abbess and still she goes ahead? Then will you cooperate in her prosecution?”
“Maria Santa Hilda has the highest pedigree of anyone in Perú. She is first cousin to the Marqués of Catera, to the Count of Villafranca, and also to Juan Ponce de Léon, a distant relative of my own. We must be careful with one who is so powerfully allied.”
“She will never use those connections. She has severed those ties forever. You know that.”
The Bishop moved toward the others waiting near the arch leading to the sanctuary. “Speak to her tomorrow morning. I insist. If our paternal warnings do not dissuade her, we shall be obliged to put the yellow robes of the heretic on her.” He gave the signal, and a young man holding a tall gold-and-silver crucifixopened the small door to the main church. The musicians fell into line and struck their instruments. Somber music filled the small vestry and opened to a huge echo as the players exited under the stone arch. The altar boys swung their censers; clouds of sweet, pungent blue smoke billowed forth. The Bishop adjusted his miter, firmly grasped the golden shepherd’s crook that was the symbol of his authority, and followed the deacons into the cathedral.
DaTriesta went out and took a place in the first pew and prayed. He basked in the glory of the ritual, forcing himself to separate the holy ceremony from the unworthy man who performed it. Eventually, sentences he would have to say to Mother Maria Santa Hilda began to form in his mind and interrupted his thoughts of God.
PADRE JUNIPERO PRAYED unceasingly as he made his way to the Casa de la Morada in the Calle Linares. He had lingered too long on his knees before the statue of Santa Isabella in the dark, deserted convent church, listening to the muffled chanting of the nuns, struggling to banish from his mind the powerful image of Inez’s corpse. Finally, totally unprepared to break the news to the Alcalde but driven to escape the scene of Inez’s strange, troublesome death, he had set out on his grievous mission.
His pace slowed as he rounded the corner of the Calle Zarate, where he met a train of llamas carrying the last silver to the Mint. Work would stop now for the Easter holiday and for the festival in honor of Visitador Nestares.
Each beast bore up to two hundred pounds, yet they stepped gracefully along between their flanking guards. Would that he could bear his own burden so lightly. But unlike the Lord’s beasts, men must endure the pain of consciousness and conscience.
The Alcalde, who had always respected the padre, had beenangry and vindictive the last time they had talked. He had blamed Padre Junipero for Inez’s flight to the
The Bishop put on a magnificent cross encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. He handed DaTriesta his miter and bowed while the Commissioner placed it on his large but apparently empty gray head. “That does not mean we must abandon civilized behavior,” the smug Bishop said. “I insist you go and speak to the Abbess tomorrow, before the burial.” Crowned with the miter, the Bishop had let his voice become annoyingly authoritative.
DaTriesta did not have to obey. He was answerable only to the Grand Inquisitor in Lima, not to this noble son born on the wrong side of the sheets. The Bishop was not debauched and riotous like so many who gratified their desires through an ecclesiastical career far from the seat of power, but he was idle, worldly, and self-indulgent. DaTriesta bowed to him. “And if I warn the Abbess and still she goes ahead? Then will you cooperate in her prosecution?”
“Maria Santa Hilda has the highest pedigree of anyone in Perú. She is first cousin to the Marqués of Catera, to the Count of Villafranca, and also to Juan Ponce de Léon, a distant relative of my own. We must be careful with one who is so powerfully allied.”
“She will never use those connections. She has severed those ties forever. You know that.”
The Bishop moved toward the others waiting near the arch leading to the sanctuary. “Speak to her tomorrow morning. I insist. If our paternal warnings do not dissuade her, we shall be obliged to put the yellow robes of the heretic on her.” He gave the signal, and a young man holding a tall gold-and-silver crucifixopened the small door to the main church. The musicians fell into line and struck their instruments. Somber music filled the small vestry and opened to a huge echo as the players exited under the stone arch. The altar boys swung their censers; clouds of sweet, pungent blue smoke billowed forth. The Bishop adjusted his miter, firmly grasped the golden shepherd’s crook that was the symbol of his authority, and followed the deacons into the cathedral.
DaTriesta went out and took a place in the first pew and prayed. He basked in the glory of the ritual, forcing himself to separate the holy ceremony from the unworthy man who performed it. Eventually, sentences he would have to say to Mother Maria Santa Hilda began to form in his mind and interrupted his thoughts of God.
PADRE JUNIPERO PRAYED unceasingly as he made his way to the Casa de la Morada in the Calle Linares. He had lingered too long on his knees before the statue of Santa Isabella in the dark, deserted convent church, listening to the muffled chanting of the nuns, struggling to banish from his mind the powerful image of Inez’s corpse. Finally, totally unprepared to break the news to the Alcalde but driven to escape the scene of Inez’s strange, troublesome death, he had set out on his grievous mission.
His pace slowed as he rounded the corner of the Calle Zarate, where he met a train of llamas carrying the last silver to the Mint. Work would stop now for the Easter holiday and for the festival in honor of Visitador Nestares.
Each beast bore up to two hundred pounds, yet they stepped gracefully along between their flanking guards. Would that he could bear his own burden so lightly. But unlike the Lord’s beasts, men must endure the pain of consciousness and conscience.
The Alcalde, who had always respected the padre, had beenangry and vindictive the last time they had talked. He had blamed Padre Junipero for Inez’s flight to the
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