When Doves Laughed

The day of the trial promised to be hot. Heat waves spiraled up from the cobbled streets. The white-chested shrikes and many-colored goldfinches retreated to leafy trees. Animals gathered in the shadows. A parched stillness settled like dust over the town. People had streamed into Moguer seeking lodging at the few inns operating. During the hottest time of year, many families flew to the hills or the seaside to seek relief from the cruel rays of the sun. Sara sighed and waited. I wish I could be any place but here. The church bell tolled its deep voice. People milled about in the morning sun. Three inquisitors walked with measured steps around the square. Their finery made the ladies murmur. Black satin collars atop finely woven dark wool and leather shoes! Sevilla had sent its finest specimens in these religious men. Aguilar's long nose came to a point like an eagle's. Piercing eyes and sunken cheeks completed the raptor-like effect. Father Bautista's wild brown hair fluffed around his face, a nest for the bald, egg-shaped head in the middle. He held his pale hands limp, folded one over the other. Father Castillo had a jutting chin and cold, blue eyes. The crowd fell silent at the spectacle. Juan's eyes followed the three judges. Aguilar strutted in front of the procession. I'd like to knock that leering smile off his face. Then, the jailer and his guard guided Sara around the square, to be seen by everyone. Juan gazed at Sara, but she didn’t look up. The jailer had bound her hands but unbound her hair. Auburn waves cascaded around her shoulders in bold display. The sun made her hair glisten like a warm halo. Whispers buzzed when people saw her. “A pretty woman. Doesn’t she know married women conceal their hair?” “What do you expect? She’s a murderer.” “If the inquisitors are telling the truth.” “Poor thing. Chased by that old goat.” “Shh.” The three priests filed into the room. Brother Mateo followed. He was the scribe. Tribunals happened infrequently, but always promised grim entertainment. The accused rarely got a reprieve. After all, truth resided with the righteous, the sons of the church. People made the sign of the cross as Sara walked by. Sara stood in the prisoner's box, a raised rectangle enclosed by wooden balusters and handrails. Once in the courtroom, the three judges took their seats. “The charge of murder is brought against Sara Elena Sanchez,”said Aguilar. “She willfully provoked Don Antonio Morales to the sin of lust and while living in Naples, she accepted his invitation to become his lover. On the night they came together, they argued and she struck him with a large candlestick. He fell to the ground. She ran out of his residence, not even rendering assistance to wipe the blood off his brow or see if he was alive.” Aguilar's voice cut through the stale air of the courtroom. Sara frowned and wrung her hands. Gasps and murmurs skittered through the room like mice seeking a place to hide. “Because of the complex nature of the proceedings, I will ask Father Bautista to delve into the nature of the shameless behavior of Senora Sanchez. Father Castillo will set out in detail the sequence of the events that led up to the death of Don Antonio, including the night of the murder. I, Father Aguilar, will ask Senora Sanchez to elaborate her confession and I will summarize all the proceedings at the end.” He turned to face Sara. “Please begin. Tell us what you confessed to the three of us judges a few days ago.” He nodded to her. Sara gripped the handrail and took a deep breath. Her voice wavered at first, but grew stronger and louder as she went on. “I admitted I killed Morales with a silver candlestick, but it was an accident. Father Morales kept following me and watching me. I thought he wanted to find a reason to bring my family and me before the Inquisition. But, after a while I realized he wanted to possess me—and he's a monk, an officer of the Inquisition!” “Keep to your confession,” yelled Aguilar. “Well, I left Spain at the time of the great expulsion and thought surely I would be rid of his prying. But no, when the ship reached Tangier, a hired man tried to abduct me and take me to Morales. And he would have succeeded, except the local police saw him.” “How did this happen?” “I was knocked on the head and rolled in a large rug. I woke up and struggled to free myself. They dropped me. The police came by and ordered them to stop. Father Morales was brought before the local authorities. I think it embarrassed him.” She looked around, “My friend Margarita was there, too.” “Your personal opinions are not needed. Continue.” “The ship continued on to Naples and I thought I would not be followed anymore. But, somewhat later, Father Morales came into the restaurant I owned and beat me with a broomstick. I was great with child then, and the baby came before its time because of the blows to my abdomen.” Gasps exploded in the room and the women shrieked and cradled their stomachs. “Yes?” “Morales received injuries when I fought back and he disappeared. A body was found in the bay. I was a suspect, but the investigation stalled. Then, while I walked one day in the streets of Naples, two of his servants knocked me on the head and took me to the residence of Morales. And he was there—not dead at all. He told me I was now his lover. He gave me a gown to wear and had an elegant dinner served. I said I never wanted to be his paramour and blew the candles out. He followed me, using his hearing to guide him.” Sara paused to catch her breath.