But he steepled his fingers and pressed the tips against his lips. ‘What first? We must discuss the provenance of your various prophecies. But it occurs to me that the time is so short that this Dove of yours, if he exists, must already have been born. The Holy Brotherhood is rather good at finding people. I’ll pass this on; we will find your Dove, if he lives.’

A young monk came into the room and apologetically whispered in Ferron’s ear.

Ferron stood. ‘We will continue our business later. For now, please, join me. I asked you to delay our meeting until today because I thought that you, as guests in our city, would like to witness the first triumph of the Inquisition.’

Grace stood with polite eagerness. ‘And what triumph is that?’

Ferron smiled. ‘We call it the Act of Faith.’

Auto-da-fé.

VII

VII

That February day, the procession formed up before Seville’s unfinished cathedral. At its head was a company of Dominicans, barefoot, with their heads covered by black and white cowls like Ferron’s. They bore the banner of the Inquisition, a knotted cross flanked by the olive branch of peace and the sword of retribution. Behind the monks walked magistrates, then soldiers carrying wood for the fires.

And then came the condemned - seven of them, six men and a woman, flanked by soldiers bearing lances to ensure they could not escape. More hooded monks followed, chanting for repentance, and finally drummers who hammered out a heavy, doleful rhythm.

Ferron led Grace and James to join a gaggle of other notable citizens who trailed the drummers. They passed along narrow streets crowded with people who came to stare at the condemned. Some of them were foreigners, James thought, Portuguese explorers or Italian merchants, ambassadors from an entirely different world, who watched this gruesome parade with sneers of disgust - and yet they watched.

James himself was horribly fascinated by the faces of the condemned. They wore yellow gowns, carried candles, and had nooses around their necks. They were influential conversos - Jews converted to Christianity, or even the descendants of converts - whose treacherous reversion to Judaism had been rooted out, tried and sentenced. One young man looked frightened, and he continually crossed himself and mumbled prayers; if he was secretly Jewish he didn’t look it now. The others merely looked stunned, or disbelieving.

The procession snaked out of the city walls to an open field. Here bare wooden stakes had been set up in a row, their purpose blunt and obvious. The condemned were tied to these stakes. One man struggled, another wept, and that younger man crossed himself until his arms were pinned. The rest bore the procedure in stoical silence.