Chapter 17 Columbus by Rafael Sabatini
CORPUS CHRISTI
Under the broiling Andalusian sun of June, in the vast Court of Oranges of the Mezquita, a motley human swarm made up of noble and simple, courtiers in silk and velvet, men-at-arms in steel, knights mantled in crimson or blue, ecclesiastics in black, friars in brown or grey or in white under flowing black cloaks, tabarded heralds, and trumpeters in red and yellow. All this was being resolved into order by the Alcalde-Mayor of Cordoba, Don Miguel de Escobedo.
Occasional arguments between the civil and ecclesiastical authorities, human stupidity and official impatiences, productive of a good deal of objurgation which none accounted out of place in those sacred precincts delayed operations, so that the sun was high and the heat and reek becoming oppressive when at last at a signal from the Alcalde the trumpets wound a shrill flourish.
In instant response the bells of the Cathedral crashed forth from the belfry that once had been a minaret, and the great bronze doors were thrown open to give egress to the procession’s noblest and essential part.
Whilst there was a general scurry and lighting of candles, one from another, the Alcalde-Mayor, in black corselet and black morion crested by a deep comb of polished steel, passed briskly down the court.
Outside the red walls which in their embattled massiveness suggested the enclosure of a fortress rather than a temple, his mounted alguaziles were ranged, waiting.
He mounted the horse one of his men held for him. At his word of command and a wave of the gloved hand that held his truncheon, the horsemen wheeled into double file, so as to form the head of the procession, and began to advance at a walking pace through the lines of spectators that thronged the streets. Above their heads, at windows and balconies hung with tapestries, with cloth of gold or silver or with velvets, crowded those whose dwellings lent them this advantage.
The alguaziles paced sombrely forward in the sunshine flooding down from a sky that was like a dome of polished steel. In their wake, pouring from the Court of Oranges by the Gate of Pardon, headed by a Franciscan bearing a crucifix, came some three score surpliced choristers, the sweet young voices of these boys intoning the Veni Creator Spiritus. They were followed by the Inquisitor-General of Cordoba, the sable banner of the Holy Office, charged with the green cross between the olive branch and the naked sword, borne before him by a Dominican Friar. At his side walked the Provincial of the Dominicans, and after them came some fifty friars of their order, walking two by two and each bearing a lighted candle. A like number of lay tertiaries followed, all of them noble, bearing embroidered upon their black mantles the red cross of St. Dominic. There were more banners, more friars, of the Order of St. Francis now; and then came a herald and six trumpeters, and the very heart of the procession was reached. High above the heads of the walking fraternities appeared as if enthroned the flaming figure of the Cardinal of Spain. He rode a milk-white mule, whose red housings fringed with gold trailed in the dust. From head to foot, from the toe of his shoe to the crown of his wide hat, he was a flame of vivid scarlet. A cloud of grooms and pages in his red liveries surged about him.
His approach was as a signal to the people to kneel to receive the blessing he dispensed from his raised right hand that was scarlet-clad like all the rest of him, the cardinalitial sapphire worn over the glove.
Kneeling the people remained obedient to the bell that a surpliced acolyte was clanging. He advanced between two thurifers, who rhythmically swung their censers ahead of a great canopy of cloth of gold, borne on gilded poles by six bare-headed knights of Calatrava. Under the canopy the great golden monstrance was carried by a prelate in a cope of cloth of gold that was studded with gems. He was attended by four ecclesiastics in white surplices and crimson stoles, and flanked by files of candle-bearing friars.
Thurifers followed again; then another herald and more trumpeters, and King Ferdinand, bare-headed, as Grand Master of Alcantara wearing over his gilded armour the white mantle with the red fleur-de-lysée cross of the order and followed by twenty knights similarly mantled.
After these came a long orderly train of gentlemen of the Court, headed by the Chancellors of Castile and Aragon, with grandes of Spain immediately following, and lesser folk composing the tail. Among these, distinguished by his height and bearing, dutifully walked Cristobal Colon.
Men-at-arms in steel came next, trailing pikes, and in their midst a colossal armoured figure of St. George, swaying precariously on a great war-horse, and retained in the saddle by the grooms who held the figure’s legs on either side.
Slowly and with many halts the long procession wound its way under the increasing ardour of the Andalusian sun, through the crowded, crooked streets. It pursued an encircling course that brought it round and back by the Almodovar, where in a pavilion that had been specially erected the Queen and her ladies awaited it.
It would be a full three hours after its setting out before it re-entered the Court of Oranges, where part of it was disbanded, whilst the remainder went on into the Cathedral for the Te Deum that was to close the day’s devotions.
Those three hours had been profitably spent by the Venetian agents.
Bensabat’s shop was shut, as were all the shops of the city on that great feast-day. But the gate of his courtyard remained unlocked, and the street was deserted, all the world having gone to the show. There was none to observe Gallina and Rocca as they passed in, nor would any have given it a thought even had they been seen.
They reached the head of the stairs, and the ingenious Rocca went to work with a collection of keys with which he came supplied. At the sixth attempt the lock responded and the door swung open.
Their search was not a long one. A few moments sufficed for an investigation of the contents of the clothes-press, whereafter they passed to the coffer under the window. This, locked as they found it, seemed more promising. Because none of his keys would fit, Rocca would have smashed the lock. But the more expert Gallina knew how to investigate its contents without leaving obvious traces. With Rocca’s help he turned the coffer on its side, so as to examine the bottom. It consisted of no more than two planks of thin pinewood, attached by a half-score nails to the more solid chestnut sides. He went to work, using a stout dagger as a lever. The nails yielded, and in a moment one of the planks had been removed. Through this opening he drew out the contents: some few articles of wear, some odd books, a couple of rolls of parchment and a thin metal case. From this last Gallina extracted a parchment folded almost to its exact size, which, being opened out, proved to be a piece of cartography of Colon’s own. But amongst some other parchments, less prominent from their smaller size, he came upon a chart that bore Toscanelli’s seal and signature, and with this the precious Toscanelli letter, setting forth the scientific justifications for those parts of that chart which still remained assumptive.
Gallina’s almost lipless mouth was stretched in a grin. “Here we have it all.”
He closed the case and replaced it, and with it, as best he could, the contents of the coffer; then, having tapped the nails of the plank into their original holes, so as to restore the bottom to its first condition, he set the coffer upright again, precisely as it had stood before, and with no sign of having suffered violence.
In less than half an hour, even before the procession in which Colon would be detained had left the Mezquita, the two Venetians were on their way home in triumph.
In their room at the Fonda del Leon, exultant and in mutual felicitations, Gallina locked away the precious documents in a shallow iron box.
“His Serenity’s gratitude should be worth at least a year’s pay,” he chuckled. “The thing is done, and so very simply, after all. As for Beatriz, the trull may hang herself in her garters now. That is, if Colon doesn’t strangle her when he discovers the theft. We had better quit at once,” he added. “To-morrow.”
But Rocca shook his head. “It would not in any case be possible. There are arrangements to be made, horses to hire, and the like. With all Cordoba making holiday to-day, there is none to supply us. And, after all, there is no need for haste. We’ll wait until we know the finding of the Salamanca doctors, so that we may report it to his Serenity.”
“That is not important.” Gallina was harshly impatient.
“Not in your view, perhaps. But it will be in the Doge’s.”
“Delays are dangerous.”
“Where is the danger? A day or two will not matter. And his Serenity must account it justifiable.”
Reluctantly Gallina yielded. “I shall know no peace,” he said, “until we have taken ship at Malaga.”