City of Silver by Annamaria Alfieri Read Free Book Online Page B

her dark eyes. Two possible fates awaited her: endless days as empty as this in the convent or, if she gave in to her father, a life at the beck and call of some odious man chosen because he had money and connections. Both choices filled her with dread. The rock of fear in her heart flamed into molten anger. She would not give her body to anyone but Domingo Barco. If she could not have him, she would be the bride of Christ. She would never submit to a husb—
    Her heart went cold again. Her breath faltered. This wish might come true. Her stubbornness might condemn her to spend the rest of her life here, with nothing but her woolen habit and God to keep her warm.
    God was supposed to be enough. Sor Olga, the Mistress of Novices, said so. To be a worthy person, she must leave off herselfishness and take on the cross of humility. She was willful. Her prescribed penance—a flail—lay on the table beside her narrow bed. She should mortify herself as Christ was tortured—loosen her novice’s habit, expose her back, take the silver handle, and swing the chains so that the barbs on the ends bit into her skin. Punish herself for her pride.
    She fell to her knees before the crucifix on the wall and begged Jesus to forgive her unwillingness to use the flail.
    Her father would want to see her whip herself. “Marry Rodrigo or I will put you in the convent,” he had said. He had commanded her in a harsher tone than he used with his Indian miners.
    “Then I choose the convent.” How could she answer otherwise? She would never marry this Rodrigo, whom she had never met. She was in love with Domingo Barco. But she could never tell her father because Domingo was Mestizo—half Spanish, half Indian. And he had no money. But he was good, not at all as people described others of his ilk—as wastrels who cared about nothing but clothes and gambling and fighting duels. Domingo was the mayordomo of the ingenio —her father trusted him to command the men of his mine and refinery. Why, then, could she not marry him? He worked hard. He was so handsome and forceful. She had no brothers or sisters. As her husband, Domingo could one day take the place of her father as Captain of the mine. Like her noble father, he knew how to fight with a sword. When she was ten, he had taught her to do it, secretly, when her father and mother were away. That was when she fell in love with him. He took off his doublet and stood in the patio in his shirt, his straight black hair gleaming in the sunlight, and showed her how to hold a sword, how to parry, and laughed when she said she wished she could grow up to be a knight in the King’s service. Domingo’s teeth were so beautiful. His laugh so deep and heavy.
    So what if he was half Indian? It was evil of her father to hate him for that. Padre Junipero as much as said so.
    And Domingo loved her. He always brought her sweetmeats when he went to the market on Wednesdays. And he saluted her when he saw her watching him from her window as he oversaw the work in the ingenio yard. The best proof came when her father dragged her to this place. Domingo had insisted on coming with them. She saw him blinking back tears as he looked up at the convent’s stout stone walls. That profound sadness in his eyes was what kept her resolve. Domingo loved her so much, he wept at the thought of her being swallowed up here. As long as Domingo loved her, she could hold out against her father.
    She went to her small, unglazed window and looked out at the belfry—as high again as the building itself. Her thoughts twisted like the carved stone columns running up its sides.
    Her sister novice Inez de la Morada claimed she really wanted to live in this prison. She said she intended to stay forever. Beatriz could not believe it. Live a life of prayer and repentance? Naughty Inez?
    Since they found themselves together in the convent, Inez had made surprising overtures of friendship, even told Beatriz secrets. In the past, they had quarreled