“Why do you complain so?” asked Inez, watching him with reflective eyes. “The end would be much gentler than that which you righteous folk mete out to many more honest men, yes, and women too. For my part, I think that the Señor Bernaldez gives good counsel. Better that you should die, who are but one, than all of us and others, for you will understand that we cannot trust you. Has any one got a rope?”
Now Henriques grovelled on the ground before her, kissing the hem of her robe, and praying her in the name of all the saints to show pity on one who had been betrayed into this danger by love of her.
“Of money you mean, Toad,” she answered, kicking him with her slippered foot. “I had to listen to your talk of love while we journeyed together, and before, but here I need not, and if you speak of it again you shall go living into that baker’s oven. Oh! you have forgotten it, but I have a long score to settle with you. You were a familiar of the Holy Office here at Seville—were you not?—before Morella promoted you to Motril for your zeal, and made you one of his chaplains? Well, I had a sister.” And she knelt down and whispered a name into his ear.
He uttered a sound—it was more of a scream than a gasp.
“I had nothing to do with her death,” he protested. “She was brought within the walls of the Holy House by some one who had a grudge against her and bore false witness.”
“Yes, I know. It was you who had the grudge, you snake-souled rogue, and it was you who gave the false witness. It was you, also, who but the other day volunteered the corroborative evidence that was necessary against Castell, saying that he had passed the Rood at your house in Motril without doing it reverence, and other things. It was you, too, who urged your superiors to put him to the question, because you said he was rich and had rich friends, and much money could be wrung out of him and them, whereof you were to get your share. Oh! yes, my information is good, is it not? Even what passes in the dungeons of the Holy House comes to the ears of the woman Inez. Well, do you still think that baker’s oven too hot for you?”
By this time Henriques was speechless with terror. There he knelt upon the floor, glaring at this soft-voiced, remorseless woman who had made a tool and a fool of him; who had beguiled him there that night, and who hated him so bitterly and with so just a cause. Peter was speaking now.
“It would be better not to stain our hands with the creature’s blood,” he said. “Caged rats give little sport, and he might be tracked. For my part, I would leave his judgment to God. Have you no other way, Inez?”
She thought a while, then prodded the Fray Henriques with her foot, saying:
“Get up, sainted secretary to the Holy Office, and do a little writing, which will be easy to you. See, here are pens and paper. Now I’ll dictate: