Read Online Daughters of Spain by Jean Plaidy, 6.95 - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jean Plaidy, 6.95
Ads: Link
In a matter of seconds the Sovereigns would find themselves without their Archbishop of Toledo.'
'Bernardin, you should not even think of murder.'
'I will think what I will,' cried Bernardin. 'What good will you ever do me? What good have you ever done? Had you been a normal brother to me I should have been a Bishop by now. And what am I? Steward in your household! Brought before my Lord Archbishop to answer a charge. What charge? I ask you. A charge of getting for myself what most brothers would have given me.'
'Have a care, Bernardin.'
'Should I have a care? I ... the strong man? It is you who should take care, Gonzalo Ximenes ... I beg your pardon ... The name our parents gave you is not good enough for such a holy man. Francisco Ximenes, you are at my mercy. I could kill you as you lie there. It is you who should plead with me for leniency ... not I with you.'
A lust for power had sprung up in Bernardin's eyes. What he said was true. At this moment his brilliant brother was at hismercy. He savoured that power, and longed to exercise it.
He will never do anything for me, he told himself. He is no good to our family ... no good to himself. He might just as well have stayed in the hermitage at Castanar. A curse on him! He has no natural feeling.
All Bernardin's dreams were remembered in that second. Ximenes could have made them come true.
Ximenes had recovered his breath and was speaking.
'Bernardin, I sent for you because what I heard of your conduct in the Courts distressed and displeased me ...'
Bernardin began to laugh out loud. With a sudden movement he pulled the pillow from under his brother's head and laughing demoniacally he held it high. Then he pushed Ximenes back on the bed and brought the pillow down over his face and held it there.
He could hear Ximenes fighting for his breath. He felt his brother's hands trying to pull at the pillow. But Ximenes was feeble and Bernardin was strong.
And after a while Ximenes lay still.
Bernardin lifted the pillow; he dared not stop to look at his brother's face, but hurried from the room.
Tomas de Torquemada had left the peace of his monastery of St Thomas in Avila and was travelling to Madrid. This was a great wrench for him as he was a very old man now and much of the fire and vitality had gone from him.
Only the firm belief that his presence was needed at Court could have prevailed upon him to leave Avila at this time.
He loved his monastery - which was to him one of the greatest loves in his life. Perhaps the other was the SpanishInquisition. In the days of his health they had fought together for his loving care. What joy it had been to study the plans for his monastery; to watch it built; to glory in beautifully sculptured arches and carvings of great skill. The Inquisition had lured him from that love now and then; and the sight of heretics going to the quemadero in their hideous yellow sanbenitos gave him as much pleasure as the cool, silent halls of his monastery.
Which was he more proud to be - the creator of St Thomas in Avila or the Inquisitor General?
The latter was more or less a title only nowadays. That was because he was growing old and was plagued by the gout. The monastery would always stand as a monument to his memory and none could take that from him.
He would call first on the Archbishop of Toledo at Alcala de Henares. He believed he could rely on the support of the Archbishop for the project he had in mind.
Painfully he rode in the midst of his protective cavalcade. Fifty men on horseback surrounded him, and a hundred armed men went on foot before him and a hundred marched behind.
The Queen herself had implored him to take adequate care when he travelled. He saw the wisdom of this. People whose loved ones had fed the fires of the Inquisition might consider revenge. He could never be sure, as he rode through towns and villages or along the lonely roads, whether the men and women he met bore grudges against him.
Fear attacked him often,
'Bernardin, you should not even think of murder.'
'I will think what I will,' cried Bernardin. 'What good will you ever do me? What good have you ever done? Had you been a normal brother to me I should have been a Bishop by now. And what am I? Steward in your household! Brought before my Lord Archbishop to answer a charge. What charge? I ask you. A charge of getting for myself what most brothers would have given me.'
'Have a care, Bernardin.'
'Should I have a care? I ... the strong man? It is you who should take care, Gonzalo Ximenes ... I beg your pardon ... The name our parents gave you is not good enough for such a holy man. Francisco Ximenes, you are at my mercy. I could kill you as you lie there. It is you who should plead with me for leniency ... not I with you.'
A lust for power had sprung up in Bernardin's eyes. What he said was true. At this moment his brilliant brother was at hismercy. He savoured that power, and longed to exercise it.
He will never do anything for me, he told himself. He is no good to our family ... no good to himself. He might just as well have stayed in the hermitage at Castanar. A curse on him! He has no natural feeling.
All Bernardin's dreams were remembered in that second. Ximenes could have made them come true.
Ximenes had recovered his breath and was speaking.
'Bernardin, I sent for you because what I heard of your conduct in the Courts distressed and displeased me ...'
Bernardin began to laugh out loud. With a sudden movement he pulled the pillow from under his brother's head and laughing demoniacally he held it high. Then he pushed Ximenes back on the bed and brought the pillow down over his face and held it there.
He could hear Ximenes fighting for his breath. He felt his brother's hands trying to pull at the pillow. But Ximenes was feeble and Bernardin was strong.
And after a while Ximenes lay still.
Bernardin lifted the pillow; he dared not stop to look at his brother's face, but hurried from the room.
Tomas de Torquemada had left the peace of his monastery of St Thomas in Avila and was travelling to Madrid. This was a great wrench for him as he was a very old man now and much of the fire and vitality had gone from him.
Only the firm belief that his presence was needed at Court could have prevailed upon him to leave Avila at this time.
He loved his monastery - which was to him one of the greatest loves in his life. Perhaps the other was the SpanishInquisition. In the days of his health they had fought together for his loving care. What joy it had been to study the plans for his monastery; to watch it built; to glory in beautifully sculptured arches and carvings of great skill. The Inquisition had lured him from that love now and then; and the sight of heretics going to the quemadero in their hideous yellow sanbenitos gave him as much pleasure as the cool, silent halls of his monastery.
Which was he more proud to be - the creator of St Thomas in Avila or the Inquisitor General?
The latter was more or less a title only nowadays. That was because he was growing old and was plagued by the gout. The monastery would always stand as a monument to his memory and none could take that from him.
He would call first on the Archbishop of Toledo at Alcala de Henares. He believed he could rely on the support of the Archbishop for the project he had in mind.
Painfully he rode in the midst of his protective cavalcade. Fifty men on horseback surrounded him, and a hundred armed men went on foot before him and a hundred marched behind.
The Queen herself had implored him to take adequate care when he travelled. He saw the wisdom of this. People whose loved ones had fed the fires of the Inquisition might consider revenge. He could never be sure, as he rode through towns and villages or along the lonely roads, whether the men and women he met bore grudges against him.
Fear attacked him often,
Similar Books
