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not dismounted but sitting on his horse, and looking darkly at the man they had rescued; and Alvero saw that the priest was not a priest but a rabbi, grey-bearded, and as different from a priest as one man could be from another. How had he mistaken him, Alvero asked himself, and how had his mind leaped immediately to such a conclusion? Torquemada made no mistake. He and the rabbi faced each other. The rabbi, a man in his middle fifties, an impressive-looking man of medium height, had been hurt. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his head. His hat lay on the ground. Alvero dismounted and picked up the hat. He was highly conscious of Torquemada’s piercing gaze as he returned the hat to the rabbi and asked the man whether he was hurt.
    Dazed, the rabbi appeared to ponder the question and then he said, “I am a Jew.”
    Still breathing hard, still high and excited over the incident, Alvero said, “I didn’t ask you that, I asked you whether you were hurt.”
    â€œHurt?” The Jew appeared to ponder this before he replied that he was not hurt, just a single blow on the head. “No, I am all right.”
    Juan had returned now from his pursuit of the thieves and Julio had come up with the pack horse. Still mounted, Juan was watching Alvero curiously. Alvero told him to take the pack horse from Julio and instructed Julio to escort the Jew home. The rabbi shook his head.
    â€œI don’t need an escort, Don Alvero. The synagogue is only a stone’s throw away.”
    Speaking suddenly and flatly, Torquemada said, “Jew, do I know you? Lift your face, man. You are a rabbi, aren’t you, from the looks of you? Lift your face so I can see it.” Quite deliberately Mendoza took a few steps toward Torquemada and then looked up at him. “I think you know me, Prior Torquemada,” he said.
    â€œI see you, Rabbi Mendoza,” Torquemada replied harshly. “I would not say that I know you, but I see you.”
    â€œAs you will,” Mendoza agreed with great calm, and then he turned to Alvero and bowed slightly. “Thank you, Don Alvero de Rafel. I thank you and your man. I owe you my life.” With that, he turned and walked off into the gathering darkness. Looking after him, Alvero shuddered – whether with fear or the increasing cold of night, he did not know. Yet he felt moved to say to Torquemada, “He knew my name. How do you suppose he knew my name? I never saw him before, Thomas.” He was not being defensive, yet in spite of himself, he heard the note of fear and protest in his voice.
    Torquemada replied that the cursed Jews knew everything. Directing a long finger after the rabbi, Torquemada said, “His name is Benjamin Mendoza. He is rabbi at the synagogue, and the devil’s handyman. Better if you had let him die, Alvero.”
    Alvero glanced at Juan, who through all of this had said nothing, had only sat his horse and said nothing.
    Then they went on. They stopped at the priory and took their leave of Torquemada, and a little while later Alvero was home.
    All through dinner that evening Catherine de Rafel watched Juan. His silence puzzled and confused her and she wondered whether he had had some kind of falling out with her father, but when she put this to him after dinner, he assured her that it was not the case. He formally requested permission from Alvero to take Catherine into the garden and Alvero, assenting, was relieved to have them gone. He could think of nothing but the encounter with the rabbi, and he had also studiously refrained from any mention of it at dinner. Neither had Juan mentioned it. He caught Juan’s eye but whether or not the boy understood, he did not know. He considered taking him aside and asking him to say nothing to Catherine about what had happened, but the very thought of such an action struck him as being ridiculous.
    Meanwhile, Catherine and Juan went into the garden. It was a cool, lovely evening with the