No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
By Peter Merz
Iago Uziel rubbed his hands together briskly in the cool Iberian night air, as he walked softly through the town square of Baza. The faint thunder of horses' hooves echoed in the distance and Iago doubled, nay, tripled his pace seemingly in response. He happened upon a secluded alleyway and hurriedly darted down the alleyway – befriending the shadows as the clock-tower rang eleven times. Just as he had become almost completely absorbed by the alleyway's night-shadows, twenty or so horses galloped by.
Suddenly Iago felt a hand grip his right arm, "El Diablo take you!" Iago immediately unsheathed an espada ropera[1] from beneath his cloak. "I am not undisciplined in the art of sword-wielding, bellaco![2]"
"Peace, Iago," cried the shadowy stranger in a harsh whisper. "You would do well to keep your voice at an even keel."
"You ass, Alonso," Iago replied in a half-annoyed whisper. "Don't be sneaking up on a fellow like that." He returned his blade back to its sheath.
Alonso let out a muffled chortle. "Isabella's curs are long past, I believe. Albeit, in times like these caution can be an earnest ally and its overuse may well save one from facing inquisition," said Alonso soberly.
"I hate it when you make a sensible point, Alonso," said Iago reluctantly. "I can't believe that I'm in fear of being hunted down like some sort of common criminal. These are distressing times that we live in, Alonso." Iago heaved a heavy sigh.
"These are trying times that make for unusual allies. Never on my life did I think I would fall in with a Jew," Alonso said wistfully.
"You know, there was a time when I would take great offense at that kind of remark, my friend," replied Iago. "But then I could say the same about me falling in with a Christian like you, Alonso."
"It's well past getting late, Iago," said Alonso, changing the subject. "Why don't you come with me? I know a place where we can wait out the night until the sun graces us again."
Iago Uziel was in his late thirties, a man of proud Jewish descent, he had black hair and a well-trimmed mustache and beard – and piercing blue eyes. Iago had a fairly muscular build about him and was known to be hot-tempered at times. He wore a gray travelers cloak, white linen sleeves peeked out from his dark-gray tunic, and he sported a pair of beige breeches complimented by a pair of black leather boots. All in all he had found that he could move in and out of crowds quite easily without worry of being singled out as a Jew. But even that was not a guarantee that Queen Isabella's troops would not take notice of him.
Alonso Garcia was a fairly new convert to the Protestant wing of Christianity, who had already felt the reprisals from kith and kin for turning his back on the faith of his family. Be that as it may, he had learned to forge new alliances and had eked out an existence that had turned out to be more than just a little profitable. Now a man in his late twenties, he had amassed a small fortune (a fortune that was dwindling of late due to this damnable Inquisition business of the Queen). He was tall and regally slim, standing at just an inch or two over six feet; he had brooding brown eyes and had shoulder length jet-black hair with a thin mustache and goatee. He shunned the use of cloaks as he found them to be quite restrictive and as such wore a simple teal tunic over a white shirt, an almost off-white pair of breeches and black leather boots.
The Spanish Inquisition that had singled out non-Catholics for imprisonment, exile, or worse had caused quite a stir in all of Granada and not just the village of Baza – in truth the Inquisition had had an extraordinary affect on the whole Iberian Peninsula. Protestant Christians, Jews, and whatever remnant of Muslims still remained on the peninsula had nearly overnight become marked men, women, and children. It was not enough for Queen Isabella to have finally crushed and rooted out the Moors but she had to take things even further now with hunting down anyone who did not swear allegiance to the Pope and Rome.
Iago awoke with a start. There was a loud commotion outside, what in God's good heaven is going on, he asked himself inwardly. Iago quickly dressed himself and then started to look for his host. Where has Alonso run off too, he wondered. He searched the whole of the house, but there was no sign or trace of Alonso. Not liking the prospects of this situation, Iago made for one of the backdoor's, but just as he reached to turn the handle on the door – he saw the door handle turn and the door creaked open.
"Alonso, I've been searching high and low for you. Where have you been," asked a perturbed Iago.
"I am sorry, amigo[3]," said Alonso as he walked in the door followed by nine men all donning black hoods and cloaks.
"Who are these men," asked Iago growing quite worried.
"I am sorry amigo. This is nothing personal. It's just business. "
"Wh-what? What are you talking about, Alonso," asked an alarmed Iago.
The hooded men moved in on Iago and bound him with ropes. "Again my amigo, it's nothing personal. This is just a matter of business. I was made an offer I couldn't refuse," Alonso said matter-of-factly.
Iago struggled and the hooded strangers began to lead him away. "Wait? You betrayed me? But why, Alonso? Why? And don't you dare say it's just business or so help me—"
"You are in no position to do anything, amigo. But I'm not totally heartless. Exile isn't such a bad idea, yes?"
"But you're a Protestant bastard! They should be taking you, too," exclaimed an enraged Iago.
"Indeed. They would be doing that for sure. But these are not the queen's men. They are Mohammed's men," Alonso said smugly with a wink.
"This isn't over, Alonso! You hear me? I don't know how but I will repay you for this," shouted Iago as the hooded men forced him out the backdoor.
"Perhaps, Iago, perhaps. But if you think about it I'm really doing you a favor. Exile from Spain really is in your best interest. Jews have no place here anymore. My time is fading, too, no doubt. But at least if I can increase my worth in what little time I have left on this peninsula, I will have an easier go at starting over somewhere else," said Alonso justifying his underhanded tactics. He then added, "And in the end is slavery to the Mohammedeans such a bad lot?"
"Slavery? What have you done? What have you done?!!"
"Saved you and made me a profit at the same time, nothing more and nothing less."
Alonso sat in an ottoman with his feet up. He was counting out the silver that the Mohammedeans had paid him for Iago. "It really was a shame about poor, Iago," he muttered, "I was growing rather fond of him. But business is business."
Suddenly there was a loud knock at the front door. Alonso jumped up, a little wary, but he went to answer the door nonetheless. As the door opened he saw a dozen of the queen's troops outside his door.
"Alonso Garcia. I have orders from Queen Isabella to bring you in for inquisition," said the official in the lead.
"For 'tis sport to have the engineer hoist by his own petard; and it shall go hard," Alonso said in a taut whisper, sad with irony.
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