(Bilao, in the Provence of Biscay, Spain 1498)

Descending from the church along another street, Antonio led Diego and Beatriz to a two story older-looking structure in the town. Its once white stucco exterior was yellowed by years unpainted in the sun. Looking up, the couple could see it was still quite charming with heavy wooden beams supporting the balconied roofs, but it had seen better days. A few plants in need of water trailed off the wrought iron railings. This metal filigree was decorative and sported the silhouettes of two stags with majestic antlers facing each other. On the street level there was a sign listing to one side which read La Posada del Ciervo ("The Stag's Inn"). It all looked perfectly vacant.

Antonio pounded loudly on the door, but no one came out.

"My friend Jorge has land in the mountains above us," he explained. "He's usually there in the mid-day. Working on his fruit trees or playing with his bee houses. He's the bee master of the town and sells his honey in the markets."

He pounded again louder.

Soon there appeared at the door an elderly gentleman of about seventy years with a gray mustache. He wore the classic Basque beret and his thin tanned face featured striking China blue eyes.

"Good morning, Jorge," Anthony greeted him in a loud voice. "I am pleased we found you here. This is my cousin and her husband from Avila. Beatriz and Diego. They need a place to say for few weeks . . . to get established here."

The man stepped out into the street with the assistance of a twisted mountain stick to greet them formally.

"I'm pleased to meet anyone from the Herrera family," he said, reaching out his hand to Diego first, then Beatriz.

"And we are pleased to meet you, Senor," Diego offered cordially.

"Well . . ." he continued, looking up with some effort. "My top room is empty for the time being, but if you come back tomorrow, I will have it cleaned and ready for your stay."

Antonio smiled and nodded at his old friend.

"That would be wonderful," Beatriz replied graciously, and looked over at Antonio placing her hand on her chest as a gesture of thanks.

"Very well Jorge," Antonio warmly offered back. "They shall return at this time tomorrow. I will be putting them up in my house tonight. For a dinner and a small family reunion."

"I am glad to assist," the old beekeeper said humbly. He bowed his head slightly and left the couple to depart in the company of Antonio.

* * *

That evening Beatriz and Diego were treated exquisitely as guests in her cousin's home. Several friends and a pair of distant relatives were invited as well. The food had been sumptuously prepared by Pilar, Antonio's wife, and the red local wine flowed freely over childhood stories of the Herrera and Ferrara clan.

Prior to the dinner party they were offered in this home a guestroom, a private bath, and a servant to wash their clothes and attend to their needs. Pilar gave to Beatriz in preparation for the evening a handmade dress which fit perfectly and had belonged to her daughter, now recently married and living in Madrid. A pair of silver earrings in the shape of dolphins was presented to her over dinner by Antonio, which he had purchased that very afternoon from the silversmith. It was a gala event, despite its small size, and the couple felt truly moved by the hospitality and good- heartedness shown to them by all attending.

Around midnight, however, the mood darkened as the sound of men's chanting and a single slow drumbeat approached the street of Antonio's shop and house above. Citizens were outside at the late hour lining the streets to view the somber event. The eight dinner guests of Antonio all quietly got up from the festive table and went out on the balcony to view the spectacle below. It was in line to pass directly beneath them.

First a group of monks wearing all black marched carrying a large, almost life-size crucifix, as the leaders of the procession. To this all the people made the sign of the cross while the large symbol of the Church moved past them. Next, marched a contingent of five or six different holy officials in different robes—red and white and wearing elaborate golden medallions. To these, members of Antonio's party whispered, "the Inquisitors." Everyone knew these men to be the hardened investigators of the Church, assigned to ferret out evil in the villages and cities of the provinces. One of the women on the balcony, freshly up from the table, cursed under her breath as these individuals passed by.

Next in line in the street parade were the armed "Holy Brotherhood," Las Santa Hermanada, some of the same men Beatriz and Diego encountered outside the town. They were, as always. consigned to bring order at any cost, and police the citizenry. A force of twenty such men with swords and tall pikes marched by, some with helmets and breastplates and some without. Finally, with members of the armed guards escorting them closely on both sides, were a ragtag group of slow-moving individuals wearing black pointed hoods. They were perhaps eight to ten in all, seemingly both men and women. They were sadly being led before the townsfolk towards the large church where the shocking proceedings would culminate.

Beatriz knew too well who these people were. They were the unwanted—those branded and exposed by their neighbors as heretics—Jews, Moslems, homosexuals, atheists, Protestant dissidents of the Church, and yes, a number of women in the procession who had been accused of being brujas—witches.

Antonio's guests were silent as the procession of those convicted, hooded and chained passed by. Several of them walked with great difficulty, obviously as result of the torture they endured to extract admissions of their alleged wayward behavior and practices. Beatriz immediately thought of the courageous old woman who had taken her in and had given her sanctuary inside her forest cabin. The elderly Senora Las Casas.

She painfully recalled the woman's unfair ordeal back in Torres. How she had been accused of dealing in the "black arts." How she had been tortured by the inquisitors at the Inn in town and was forced to admit she was a bruja. It was all the same now in so many communities across the provinces. She herself had been on the run from just such persecution.

Beatriz imagined now with fresh horror, how the poor "Senora Vieja" must have been marched to the church square in Cordoba or Avila where she would have removed her hood before the jeering crowd. How she would have been given the choice. Either admitting to her terrible sins against the Church, cavorting with Satan, and asked for forgiveness—only to be given many long years of incarceration and assigned tortuous penance. Or on the contrary, boldly still deny her wrong-doings as false charges and give no false contrition. For this heroism she would be burned at the stake. This is what the procession below them would materialize into before dawn when the church square below the towering campanile only blocks away would become a theater of terror and death.

As the parade below moved slowly past, the crowd followed dutifully—men, women and children behind it. It led directly into the great churchyard of Bilbao. Though the official process of auto-da-fé was still a relatively new phenomenon, it would eventually spread like fire throughout Spain and France. This highly effective tool of terror and instrument of control upon the people would be the last word in dictating the Church's decree to eradicate evil.

While a few of Antonio's guests expressed a desire to dutifully leave the party and attend the Church's procedure that night, most stayed behind and tried to recover from the emotional shock of knowing what lay in store for at least half of the unfortunates who had passed below them wearing the hoods of pity and shame. The smell of smoke from the fires only blocks away wafted into the streets, as a reminder of the times Bilbao now lived in. The continued cadence of the drums in the distance stopped only intermittently for the crowd to hear a heretic's feeble plea, followed by cheers as they witnessed another ignition of God's fiery retribution.

It was needless to say that the lovely evening at Senior Antonio's home that night—welcoming Beatriz and Diego into the community, ended in a quiet and final series of: Buenas noches y vaya con Dios ("Good night and go with God").

* * *