priest, Judaizing was the most unforgivable crime you could ever commit against Christ. Father Tomàs reminded us of the list of thirty-seven signs of Judaizing almost every Sunday at Mass. He said that if you saw a friend or neighbour showing any one of these signs it was your duty as a faithful Christian to report it at once. Did your neighbour wear a clean shirt on a Saturday? Was he seen giving fruit to a friend in September near the time of the festival the Jews called the Feast of the Tabernacles? Was there no smell of pork fat in the smoke from his cooking fire? Had the fishmonger remembered that they had never bought eels from him? Did you see a mother wash her infant too soon after it had been christened? Even a person cutting their fingernails on a Friday might be a sign that they were practising their Jewish faith in secret.
Father Tomàs assured us that the accused would never learn who had reported them, so no one need fear retaliation from the accused’s family or have cause to worry about being cursed by these heretics. On the contrary, whoever denounced their masters or their servants, their neighbours or even their own parents, would be blessed by the Church and God for their piety and devotion in helping to rid Portugal of this evil. My mother would nod emphatically in agreement each time Father Tomàs reminded us of this. For our family could trace our Catholic lineage back almost to St Peter himself, even counting abbesses and bishops among our forebears, so she was constantly vigilant for any suspicious signs among our neighbours, proud and eager to play her part in purifying Portugal.
It was late in the afternoon now, my mouth was dry and my stomach was growling with hunger. Sitting in the full glare of the merciless sun, the penitents must have been crazed with thirst, but they were herded to kneel before the great altar to repeat after the Inquisitor-General phrase by painful phrase the lengthy public abjuration of their sin.
The sentence for most was to be seated upon a donkey, the women bare-breasted, and flogged with two hundred lashes through the town. The shame, they called it. Children were taken from their parents to be re-educated in the Catholic faith. Then, after the shame, most of the penitents would be taken to the secular prison, there to remain for the rest of their lives. Those lucky few who, after their ride of shame, were set at liberty would have to appear in public in the sanbenito for the rest of their lives, so that all decent Christians would know what they were and shun them.
‘What a pity your mother could not attend today,’ Dona Ofelia said suddenly.
She vigorously fanned her deep puckered cleavage, down which rivulets of sweat ran from the great mounds of her breasts like melting snow from mountain peaks.
‘She’s ill,’ I told her. It was the excuse Father and I had agreed upon.
‘But witnessing the auto-da-fé is a pious act. Why, I have known people brought here on their deathbed to witness the procession who have leapt up and walked home on their two feet, cured by God for their faith.’
‘She has a contagion.’
Dona Ofelia looked at me suspiciously as if I was one of her maids she had caught out in a lie. ‘Do convey my sympathies to her. She must suffer a good deal from poor health. I seem to recall your father saying she was unwell on the last occasion too. But perhaps she does not understand how important it is to witness the auto-da-fé, for you seem to know so little of what occurs. Has your father not shared with his family the mercy of the Inquisition? Perhaps he does not altogether approve?’
‘Of course he does,’ I protested hotly. ‘My father doesn’t talk much, but there is no one who is more loyal to the Inquisition than he is, and my mother is constantly –’
She reached across and patted my hand. ‘Don’t get upset, child. I’m sure you’re right. It is just that there has been some talk. You know how gossip spreads through the Court, not that I ever listen to it myself, naturally.’
‘What have they been saying?’ I demanded, furious that anyone should question the loyalty of my parents. We came from one of the oldest Catholic families in Portugal, probably a great deal older than hers. How dare she?
Dona Ofelia’s eyes flashed. She