(Bilbao in the Provence of Biscay, Spain 1499)

As the fall season fell over the northern regions of the Basque territories, cold winds blew over from the sea and an early frost was also experienced in the valleys and on the hilltops by a hardy people who had endured the winter's grip there for millennia. But now things were different over the lands. It was not the hostile elements which gave the gentry in towns like Bilbao the tremors and reasons to fear, but rather the new political and religious adversities—namely the purging of evil across the landscape, which the Church in Rome, in all its glorious power, was bent on accomplishing.

To Beatriz and Diego, this meant keeping a low profile. It was already determined by the inquisitors, upon her entrance into the town, that this' woman of Avila' was a person of interest. A woman with suspicious elements in her background, according the gossip which had followed her into Bilbao. And following that devastating first interrogation she had endured several months before, she had returned dejected and sad in the presence of her loving partner. She told him of her possible dismal fate, would they one day come to take her to a second, more intrusive tribunal.

The younger Diego, ever one to be positive in the face of calamity, encouraged her to be strong and not paint the canvas with such brooding colors. For he was during these months constantly buoyed up by the simple fact that Beatriz, the love of his life, was now in her sixth month of pregnancy. It had always been Diego's dream to father a strong and agile son to teach the tactics and skills of hunting.

As winter neared and Beatriz became more burdened with her condition, she felt the responsibility of her unborn child upon her shoulders. For she had learned of terrible cases in the past of women accused by the Inquisition to be the bearers of evil. For these there was no lighter consideration if they were with child or not. It was common knowledge to the people of Avila, before she left, that there had been several women burned at the stake in the church square of Seville who were pregnant. It was remembered by many in those parts, that the crowd, hypnotized with faith and glory that night, were said to have cheered as the mothers with child were dispassionately consumed in the flames of retribution by God.

Other cases she had learned of involved such torment and excessive interrogation, that the indicted women's unborn children were so damaged through the procedures of torture that they were in most cases delivered stillborn. For these reasons, Beatriz stayed inside, close to the fireplace, knitting clothing for her future child and engaging in some activities curious and not easily understood by Diego for their arcane significance. Fort it was secretly understood by some of the citizens of the town that Beatriz was capable of seeing outcomes of events with near perfect accuracy. It was a skill she had known and perfected as a child. People who knew or learned of this inexplicable talent found it irresistible to know their future in certain dilemmas of the heart or fortune or the outcomes of illnesses which befell them or their loved ones.

This ability was learned most dramatically by her cousin Antonio's wife, Anila. In getting to know Beatriz over her lengthy stay in Bilbao and while living in the room of her and her husband's vacant inn, the woman confided in her about issues which were worrisome to her. Beatriz would simply close her eyes and for several moments remain still and quiet. When she resumed their conversation, she would offer to Anila what she saw as the eventual outcome of such issues. It did not take long before the good woman saw the uncanny accuracy of Beatriz's ability in this and came to consult her secretly about many others events and concerns which consumed her with curiosity.

Anila was, for instance, concerned for about nephew. He had been for the past half-year away fighting the Moors in Granada as a mercenary soldier. She worried if he was presently safe and would soon return—or had perished on the battlefield. There was at that point no way of knowing. She told Beatriz that she dreamed of him often but had not heard from anyone how the battle was turning out. She had only worried for many months and was losing faith he was alive.

By closing her eyes and having Anila her repeat the young man's name over and over, she was able to see him so far away either alive or dead. In a short time, Beatriz was able to tell her, the one Anila called Stefanos was indeed alive, and would be returning to Bilbao in just six days. She further told her that Stefanos' friend, one they called Jorge, and who had left the city with him, would accompany him back Bilbao. But this young man, Beatriz claimed had not fared so well in the battles to the south. She saw in her mind that he would return with only one arm—the other he had lost to infection as a result of a deep sword wound.

Anila was of course amazed at the detail of Beatriz's vision, and was hopeful for her nephew's sake, that she was correct about his good fate. She was not half so perplexed and astonished as when six days later to the hour, her nephew Stephanos rode into the gates of the city half-starved but alive and well. Indeed, his friend, whom the village knew as Jorge, was alongside him—one of the sleeves of his overcoat empty as a result of the brutal clashes with the last remaining Moslems to depart the city of Granada.

This prescient phenomenon did not go undescribed to Anila's closest friends who, in time, were asking her if they could visit Beatriz with specific questions about their own anxieties and uncertainties about the future. There was a heavy danger associated with the knowledge of such powers, and to those individuals who might claim to have it. Beatriz was all too familiar with that danger. She pleaded with Anila to not let out any information about the phenomenon which she had been able to perform since a girl in Avila. Anila tried to keep the secret between them, but as it was irresistible to anyone to have special insight into their future, soon Beatriz was doing favors for a select few women who were all sworn to secrecy about this beautiful expectant woman who lived as a recluse in Anila's lofty room at the inn.

More out of loneliness in her isolation than anything else, Beatriz allowed Anila to bring in carefully selected friends and family members during the winter to gather by the fire. There they would sit freely—as Beatriz would charge no fees for her gift, often in awe of the lovely woman, glowing with radiance in her expectant state. Beatriz would conjure up for them—using her uncanny assistance, answers and suggestions in matters of love, fortune, life and death.

But her participation in this human failing of resistance to temptation, involving the weak women of Bilbao—would be short lived and seen accusingly as dabbling in the "dark arts" by the authorities. For they had only been waiting for such an opportunity to submit this 'wayward woman of Avila' to a second, more serious ordeal of questioning.

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