(Bilbao, the Province of Biscay, Spain 1498)

The next morning Beatriz and Diego were allowed to sleep late in the home of Antonio and Anila. They had provided them a warm welcome to Bilbao with food, drink and gifts commemorating the event. The night was strangely balanced between the horrific procession of the black-clad Dominican Inquisitors passing below with their accused hooded heretics, and the incongruous meal, superb with light conversation and a rich Basque wine which after many hours settled over the guests like an elixir of forgetfulness and bliss.

When the two awoke in the comfort of a real bed and to the aroma wafting upstairs of the midday meal, the lovers dressed in haste. They had planned to take their few belongings earlier that morning to Jorge's inn. By then it would be prepared for them to move in. And this they insisted on doing, though Anila cheerily extended their invitation to stay as guests in her home for several days.

Finding Jorge at his hotel, La Posado del Ciervo, the couple graciously moved their few bundles of belongs inside. They found the small abode more than adequate for their present needs, and freshly cleaned with a bouquet of flowers on the table. For this they thanked the pleasant proprietor, and for the key, when he left them to their new lodgings.

Looking down over their small balcony, Beatriz thought about the scene she had witnessed the night before with trepidation. She wondered about her own plight now in this their new town. How long it might take before someone would suggest, or perhaps even fabricate, that she was a woman in hiding from a past which involved accusations of evil sorcery? For this was indeed the climate of the times, with brutal officials of the Church standing by to eagerly eliminate only on suspicions such a woman as herself.

Diego walked up behind his pensive love on the balcony and put his arms around her.

"What is wrong, mi novia? Are you not happy with our new temporary home in Bilbao?"

"It is a lovely place, Diego. But fear is thick in the air here. I am afraid of what might become of us should my past ever be revealed."

"No, my love. We must not let the fear of that step in the way of our happiness. We are both willing to make the best of this move. In time we will be accepted here. And for the good hearts we have."

Beatriz turned toward him, smiled and placed her hand lovingly against his cheek. "Thank you, Diego for supporting me. Loving me. And joining me in this journey." They kissed sweetly and heard in the distance the bells of the church pealing out for the afternoon prayers.

* * *

In the early evening Beatriz had gone out to purchase a few meager items to make their new abode more livable and attractive—a few wooden utensils, towels and candles. Diego spent the time inquiring of the neighborhood butcher what game he needed most from the surrounding countryside. The young man found the proprietor agreeable and fair. And much more likable than the butcher from Torres who constantly cheated him, weighing out unfairly the fat pheasants and rabbits he would bring to him by the sack full.

As Beatriz was walking back through the narrow streets to the inn, she was confronted by two women of middle age, and nicely dressed.

"Good evening," one of them addressed her in Spanish, refraining to use her native Basque dialect.

"And good evening to you both," Beatriz replied cordially.

"We don't often see new faces in town," the woman said a little cryptically. "Are you the visitors from the south who are staying with Senor Antonio and his family?"

Beatriz was taken aback that the women already knew of her and the facts of her foreign origins.

"Yes . . . Senor Antonio and I are relatives. We have not seen each other for many years."

"And is that why you have come to Bilbao?" the other asked in a softer, more inquisitive voice.

Beatriz did not want to answer the woman. She felt the less people knew about her and Diego, the better it would be toward their future and stability in the town. Her aristocratic ways told her to dismiss the women in a curt way, but she also knew how they would go away with their perceptions of her.

"Yes. I have made it an important part of my life to visit all my relatives. Close and distant to my origins. We are a supportive clan, and I am happy to see that Antonio is, like us all, respected and well-liked in his town."

"And just where are your origins, senora?" the first woman asked, prying further. "We see you arrived with a man . . . but you wear no wedding ring."

Again, Beatriz was offended by this line of questioning and the obvious tone of mistrust.

"Ladies. If you see, I wear none of my fine jewelry on the streets. Not until I learn of the civility of your citizens here. My husband and I came a great distance at the risk of thieves. I have still chosen to be cautious with my most prized possessions."

The two matronly women, realizing they could not argue with or intelligently respond to the fair Beatriz's rebuttal, simply nodded politely, smiled in agreement, and went on their way. This nevertheless left her with the sinking feeling that the sinister forces of suspicion were already brewing about her. And they might only increase over time.

The experience of the encounter in the street with the overly inquisitive women sent Beatriz home that evening feeling depressed. Arriving the Inn tired and out of breath, she felt little energy to beautify hers and Diego's humble living space with what she had purchased for the occasion. For the next week she fell into a weakened state in which she did not want to go out of their lodging and frequently slept.

Having established himself securely with the three butchers in the Bilbao port area, Diego was already gone long hours hunting, but returned each evening with his abundant catch of fresh game for sale. It was after that long first week that Antonio came by their place one evening to inquire of his cousin and see how their transition to the town was going.

Her cousin was shocked to see the pale and gaunt-looking Beatriz and immediately sent for his doctor that evening to check on her vital signs and possibly give some explanation of her weakened state.

After some questioning of her symptoms and a simple test of her urine, using herbs and an educated sense of smell, the old physician formally announced his diagnosis, surprisingly in a celebratory mood to Antonio, Diego and Anila, who all stood anxiously at her bed.

"The senora seems to be with child," he said authoritatively.

All in the room were stunned before an expression of joy broke out among  them like a wave of good fortune. Only Beatriz was reserved in her happiness and of little emotion. When asked if she was not pleased with the prospect of a healthy family, she smiled and held Diego's hand firmly. Undetected was her belief that hers was now a future to be manifested by warm sunshine, or the scintillating embers of a cathedral yard fire.

* * *