sign of sympathy or pity, and if they see it they will report it to the Inquisition. The auto-da-fé takes many hours, but no matter how tired and hungry you become, you must not relax your guard for an instant.’
‘Do try to keep up, child. We must hurry if we want the best seats.’
Senhora Dona Ofelia peered anxiously behind her to ensure I was still with her. But much as I would have liked to lose her, it would have been impossible, for that vast billowing scarlet gown was surely visible even to ships far out at sea. Dona Ofelia was the wife of a Court official and my father had persuaded her to act as my chaperone, for he was required to attend upon the young king’s pleasure.
I stared glumly at her massive backside as she deftly squeezed her hoops between the benches on the raised platform. I was still struggling to force my skirts to walk in a straight line in the street without knocking over small children or dragging stray dogs and startled pigeons in their wake.
Dona Ofelia sat down, then immediately stood up again, moving along the bench before sitting and at once bouncing up again, trying half a dozen positions until she had assured herself she had secured the best possible view not only of the square, but of the royal dais to the side of us. Opposite us a great altar had been erected, on which stood huge fat yellow candles and what I guessed must be a cross, though it was covered with a heavy black cloth.
The benches around us were filling up fast with families of Court officials, town dignitaries and wealthy merchants. The ordinary populace of Lisbon was gathering along the other two sides of the square and lining the streets beyond. The air throbbed with chattering and laughter, and with the bellows of the street vendors offering wine or cooling sherbet drinks; and for those who were hungry there were oranges, olives, cheese, almonds, custard pastries, roasted sardines and hot spiced bread fresh from the ovens. Friars and priests were trying to drive them away, for the auto-da-fé was supposed to be witnessed while fasting, but the standing crowd had come determined to enjoy themselves and no disapproving priest was going to stop them.
Dona Ofelia snapped her fingers, attracting the attention of one of the vendors who was renting out well-stuffed cushions. She rejected the one he proffered and insisted on pinching and poking almost a dozen until she found two that she considered worthy of our posteriors.
‘Some of these cushions have more lumps than a cobbled yard,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to get one that’s been sat on by a great fat sow like her, ruins them,’ she added, nudging me and gesturing to a woman two benches down from us, who looked as thin as a whippet compared to Dona Ofelia.
Finally settling herself with a sigh of contentment, she drew out a long fan and flapped it vigorously, though the morning sun had barely risen above the great buildings.
The banners of the Holy Office of the Inquisition fluttered from the roofs and balconies around the square. On each flag was painted a bright green cross flanked by an olive branch and a sword, to reassure everyone that the Inquisition dealt equally in forgiveness and justice, mercy and punishment.
I peered around, trying to see my father, and glimpsed him standing among the throng of courtiers behind the royal dais. His head was bowed slightly as he listened to the chatter of the man beside him. He wouldn’t say much, he never did. Mother said he was a fool for not pushing himself forward. She complained that he made no attempt to ingratiate himself and win friends who could help him rise.
Dona Ofelia nudged me and gestured towards the royal dais itself. A line of soldiers stood guard in front of it, their breastplates polished until their own nostril hair was reflected in them. At the slightest movement of their chests, dazzling bursts of sunlight bounced off the metal and darted about the square like dragonflies.
‘There’s King Sebastian himself.’ Dona Ofelia levered herself up for a better look. ‘See how regally he holds his little head. Bless him. Poor little mite, he’s the whole weight of the kingdom on his tiny shoulders. But he’s going to be a heartbreaker, that one. When he was born, the astrologers said that every noblewoman in the world would throw themselves in his