Inquisitioned

The young man was taken to the deep bowels of the castle, where Valera had had an inquisition torture chamber set up in one of the stone walled, floored, and ceilinged dungeons. Other moaning bodies were there on other racks when Guarin was stripped and bound to one. The rack was turned just one notch, to get Guarin’s attention and assure him that Valera meant business.

The Inquisitor leaned in close to Guarin’s panting face and, running his hand lovingly over the young man’s beautiful body, whispered, “It would be a shame to ruin this fine young body of yours. I know that you are of Hebrew ancestry. But I don’t care about that. You have only recently come to this court; you are not Spanish. You’re French. You can as easily be expelled back to France. It would be a crime to break the bones of a perfect body like this. You just need to tell me who else at court is a hidden Jew. Your mistress, Margaret, perhaps?”

“No, no. I know of no one who is. And I’m not either. I am faithful to the Faith,” Guarin cried out in fright. His mind was racing. Miguel? Had Miguel betrayed him? Father Mendoza had interrogated him on what he might have told Miguel. And he said that Miguel had a Jewish background. Could it have been Miguel who . . .?