Paradise & More (Torres Family Saga) (17 page)

      
Once aboard
Santa Maria
he rushed to the ladder and climbed to the badly listing quarterdeck. “How in all hell did this happen?” Immediately he suspected foul play and felt guilty for remaining in the village instead of returning to the ship.

      
Colon, barking orders to a gromet, turned to him and cried out over the din, “That dung heap Cosa fell asleep at his watch! The boy holding the tiller knew not we were aground until the bow was well sunk. Even so we could have saved her, but Cosa and his men disobeyed my direct orders to take the ship's boat out with anchor and cable and sink the anchor so we could then pull the
nao
off the reef. Instead, he and his Basques rowed straightway to
Nina
! Vicente refused to let them board. But by the time he ordered them back here and sent his own ship's boat to assist us, it was too late. The tides had done their work.”

      
“I should have been here,” Aaron said with an oath. “I would have threatened to blow Cosa and his Basques to hell if they disobeyed.”

      
Colon shrugged in resignation. “Cosa was so terrified it would have meant naught. We would only have lost the ship's boat to the scrap iron shot from the swivel gun! I will deal with him later.”

      
Adopting his commander's philosophical attitude, Aaron said with a grin, “You never liked this big
nao
anyway. We will do better without her. Let us get all stowed ashore and then treat with the mutinous cur.”

      
By that evening all was safely on the beach, thanks in large measure to the assistance of the Tainos. “A rotten way to spend the Feast of our Lord's birth, eh?” one gromet muttered to another as they hauled the last cask of wine ashore.

      
Aaron, overhearing, realized that he had forgotten it was indeed Christmas day. Bone-weary, he leaned against a stack of crates and let his thoughts travel across the ocean. What would his family be doing this day? No doubt attending mass at the cathedral with all other dutiful New Christians. Suddenly an image floated into his mind's eye, of Magdalena's deep russet hair veiled with white-lace, kneeling beside his father. He shook his head to dispel it.

      
“Are we to attend the admiral aboard
Nina
now that all is completed here?” Luis asked, interrupting Aaron's musings.

      
“Guacanagari has done us much honor and we must rely on him to safeguard men and stores until we return. We are to request that he accompany us to the caravel and sup with the admiral,” Aaron replied.

      
And so the young
cacique
sat at the head of a great
canoa
as it approached the
Nina
. Ever aware of the obligations of courtesy and of how much they owed Guacanagari, Colon had him brought aboard with full ceremonial honors befitting European royalty.

      
Night fell and the moon rose. After much feasting and reveling, rejoicing that all men and provisions had been saved, the Taino chief and his village elders made ready to leave the caravel. At a tacit signal, all withdrew from Guacanagari and Aaron, and the two tall men stood alone on the deck.

      
“You go far across the ocean now, to bring your great rulers word of us. I send many fine presents to show the friendship of the Taino. Also six of my men, to learn your ways and explain ours to your people. In return I ask only that you come back to me, my friend. You and your admiral.” Tears filled Guacanagari's eyes as he spoke, for the Taino were an emotional people and quite unashamed of displaying either affection or sorrow.

      
Aaron felt his own throat tighten. “We will return. Have we not left many of our sailors, even a man of the royal court with you as our pledge?”

      
“I will guard your people well and help them search for more gold. They may journey with my men in gathering it high in the mountains.”

      
Aaron's brow furrowed. “Better that they should do as your people do—first plant the seeds we have left with them, then once food is assured, let them search for gold.” He hesitated, not certain how to phrase his caution. He met the young
cacique's
gaze squarely and said, “I give you warning. Those of my race often want more than they possess.” He stumbled in his speech as there was no word in the Taino language for greed. “Do not let them take all the gold your people find. You need it to trade with other people to the west.”

      
“We have all we need for pleasant life. The yellow metal is pretty, but so is the singing charm.” He held up a small hawk's bell and let it tinkle, smiling. “We will watch over those who have been forced to stay behind because of the loss of your great ship. Have a swift journey across the great water. We will pray to the most powerful
zemis
in our temple and to the three gods your admiral has spoken of. You will return safely to us.”

      
“I leave my love with you and Aliyah, my friend,” Aaron said, embracing Guacanagari.

      
Colon stood on the quarterdeck above them, watching the
cacique
and his men depart in the
canoa.
A troubled expression crossed his face as Aaron climbed the ladder.

      
“You could remain on Española if you wish,” the admiral said softly.

      
“I thank you for the consideration, but Cosa and his pack of cowardly curs need a marshal to watch them.”

      
“Duty always, Diego?” Cristobal said with a sad smile. “I appreciate your loyalty. Truly this voyage home with no companion ships troubles me, even if Cosa and his Basques were not aboard. We have much coastline of this vast island yet to chart as we head eastward and out into the Atlantic. Mayhap the
Pinta
will yet reappear.”

      
“Then I know you will have need of a fleet's marshal,” Aaron said grimly. He looked to the east and added, “Also, I would tell my family of this wondrous place.”

      
The admiral nodded in understanding. “I have an old sailor's intuition, Diego. Both my sons—and yours as yet unborn—will one day call these islands home.”

Chapter Nine

Palos, March 15, 1493

      
The crowd at the waterfront was rowdy, curious, and jubilant that the two caravels of their city had returned safely from the Indies. Separated at sea in a fierce gale, a miracle had brought
Nina
with the Genoese admiral and
Pinta
with their own Martin Alonzo Pinzon up the Rio Tinto on the very same tide!
Nina
had been held some weeks by the Portuguese king and
Pinta
had first landed in Galicia, on the far north coast of Castile, but both ships were now in home port.

      
When three men wearing black robes and white capes, bearing aloft the large green cross of the Inquisition, walked toward the
Nina
, the crowd quickly dispersed. A heavily armed retinue of a dozen horsemen stood guard at the river's edge while the Dominicans walked the narrow planking to the ship.

      
“Look you, they go after the Genoese and his Jews. Martin Àlonzo Pinzón has already departed for his home in the country. They will not bother the crew of
Pinta
,” one old sailor said, spitting through rotted teeth.

      
“Hah,” scoffed a fat old washerwoman carrying a heavy basket of damp clothes, “What of his brother Vicente? He is aboard
Nina
with the foreigner.”

      
Murmurs from the remnants of the welcoming crowd were low and nervous. No one liked seeing Inquisitors in Palos. Only the most bold remained lounging about the riverfront.

      
Aboard the
Nina,
Cristobal Colon, Admiral of the Ocean Sea, sat at the small wooden table in the captain's quarters, his log book and other letters scattered about him. He was red-eyed with exhaustion and his bones ached from the bitter cold of the storm-tossed Atlantic crossing. He looked levelly at the fat Dominican, Gabriel Osario, and said, “I have much to prepare while I await a summons before the Majesties in Barcelona. What possible reason can you have for boarding a royally commissioned vessel?”

      
Unused to such arrogance and calm in the face of his office, the Inquisitor said, “We have just heard you shelter heretics, strange Moorsmen from the Indies, aboard your ship.”

      
Colon's eyes narrowed and he rubbed the quill he had been writing with against his cheek. “Who could possibly have told you this?”

      
Fray Jorge Gonzalo smiled serenely and crossed himself. “We had occasion to stop at a small country house just a short way from Palos. Your Captain Martin Alonzo Pinzon told us of these Indians, who are surely heretic. 'Twas his deathbed wish that we interrogate them.”

      
“Deathbed wish? Captain Pinzon was ill and weary as am I, but surely he did not die?” the admiral asked steadily.

      
Fray Gabriel intoned, “Within the hour of our visit. We gave him the Holy Unction.” When the admiral's face betrayed a hint of a smile, the Inquisitor sputtered, “Surely you do not rejoice in the death of a friend?”

      
“No, never would I rejoice in the death of a friend,” Colon repeated with gravity. So the crafty troublemaker was dead. “You may see the men of the Indies I brought back with me, but as they are now the property of the Majesties, they are exempt from your power.”

      
“Besides which, they speak no Castilian,” Aaron added as he stood in the doorway. Having overheard that hated agents of Torquemada were aboard the caravel, he had hastened to Colon's quarters.

      
Fray Gabriel turned to the tall blond gentleman. “Who might you be?”

      
“My marshal,” the admiral said, “Don Diego Torres.” He gave Aaron a quelling look, then suggested, “Perhaps you might like to bring me one of those small tokens from Guacanagari. I will present the Holy Office with a symbol of good will.”

      
The gold
. They had brought a large chest of gold objects, masks, tools, and girdles, as a special gift from the
cacique
to the king and queen. Smiling ironically, Aaron quit the cabin and went below decks to the locked bin in the hold where the gold had been stored, along with the marshal's armament. A bribe for the Holy Office was a small enough sacrifice to keep the Taino visitors safe.

      
“Torres, a common enough name. He is not a New Christian, any relation to Benjamin Torres of Seville, is he, perchance?” Fray Gabriel asked Colon.

      
The hair on the back of the Genoese's neck prickled in warning as he looked at the oily, fat friar whose eyes glowed feral cunniing. “No, Diego is from Cordoba, where my younger son and his mother reside. Why do you ask?”

      
Fray Jorge's yellow teeth were overlong and pointed when he smiled. “Our holy Inquisitor General, Fray Tomás, burned the whole family of Benjamin Torres last August. They were judaizers.”

* * * *

Quemadero, on the fields of Tablada, March 15, 1493

      
Aaron fell to his knees on the flat hard rock of the vast desolate platform known as the Quemadero, the Burning Place. The immense field's rich grasses had been covered over with stones, now charred and blackened by the blood and bones of thousands of men and women over the past decade. Shortly after it had been erected to better accommodate Seville's
autos de fe
, Benjamin Torres had reached the agonizing decision to take his family away from their ancient faith.
 

      
“All you accomplished was to place us in reach of the flames that leap on this hellish altar of hate,” Aaron choked, seeing visions of the cruel fire consuming his gentle father, his frail mother, his sweet little Ana. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears, unable to comprehend the enormity of the monstrous tragedy. Even his brother and Mateo's Christian wife, so far away in Barcelona, were dead by the hand of the Inquisition. There was nowhere in all the Spains the minions of Torquemada could not reach.

      
“But here in Seville, I know who stood to gain, who sent his spies, who was responsible for whatever lies sent my family to this place—Bernardo Valdés and his treacherous daughter!” The hate consumed him, but it also gave him the strength to stand and to face the visions from the depths of hell—visions of his family, walking with their upper bodies naked through the streets of the city, the green candles of the Inquisition tied in their bound hands, dragged through this loathsome travesty to suffer a hideous death.

      
“Uncle Isaac, you were right to leave. There is nothing for the House of Torres in Castile. Like you, I too will depart, but there will be retribution...this I swear on the memory of my father, my mother...” Even the air stank of charred flesh as he drew in a ragged breath.

      
The stones were smooth now, scrubbed clean since the last
auto de fe
, as if the shamed heavens had tried to erase the foulness of what men did in their name.

* * * *

      
“You can not lie abed this way forever, Magdalena. Faugh! You are pale and listless. Does nothing hold your interest? You do not even attempt to sneak out and ride any longer. Blossom grows fat from lack of exercise as you grow thin.” Miralda placed her hands on her ample hips and glared down at the quiet girl. “Perverse creature. If you sicken and die, think what will happen to your poor old maid? Don Bernardo will cast me out without a crumb,” she complained.