Paradise & More (Torres Family Saga) (3 page)

      
Aaron swore beneath his breath as he took his mother in his arms. “Forgive me. I know you did not, nor Father.”

      
“Ana is beyond his cruelty now,” Serafina said softly. “She is retired to his estates outside Seville to await the birth of the child. Let him cavort with his whores at court. She no longer cares.”

      
“But I do. His blatant infidelity crushed her. He will pay for her pain.” Aaron's voice was brittle.

      
“Never speak of it! You yourself have just said how precarious the position of New Christians is in Castile. We can ill afford to have a member of our family confront a nephew of the Duke of Medina-Sedonia.” Her small hands were surprisingly strong as she clasped his shoulders and met his fierce blue eyes, so like his father's.

      
“I will not challenge him now. I, too, have learned the value of patience. And more than a little cunning from my king. In time, when matters are settled for our family...” He let the half formed plan to deal with Lorenzo fade and asked instead, “Do you receive-regular correspondence from Ana?”

      
“Yes. She is glad of the child and eagerly awaits its birth.” Serafina paused and looked up at her young son, only twenty, yet more hardened by life than many a gray-haired man. “Rafaela is also with child.”

      
He smiled. “So, Mateo will provide an heir for the family name.”

      
“That only leaves the disposition of my younger son, ever the restless malcontent,” Benjamin Torres said, standing in the doorway from the sala.

      
“Benjamin! You are home. Have you ridden all night? You must be weary,” Serafina said, giving her husband a warm hug, which he returned lovingly.

      
“Yes. While in Malaga I received word that this young rascal's commander released all his men after the victory procession into Granada. Did you see your friend Colon before you rode for home?” Benjamin asked as he embraced Aaron.

      
“We rode together into Granada. He saw the Moor's fall as an auspicious omen for his mission.”

      
Benjamin turned to Serafina. “Please my dear, I have some matters to discuss with Aaron.”

      
“Go inside and sit down, both of you. I shall have the cook prepare a feast for starving men,” Serafina said, watching the silent interchange between father and son. They had quarreled much over the years. Aaron resembled his father physically, yet in other ways he was the exact opposite. Her gentle Benjamin was a skilled physician, quiet and bookish. Aaron was a soldier, impetuous and daring, a man of action, not introspection. Thank God Benjamin's patience was great. She walked along the gallery that encircled the interior of the house, then descended the stairs and crossed the courtyard toward the kitchens.

      
Father and son settled wearily on piles of brocade cushions that covered a pair of long, low couches. Aaron knew the old man had not ridden all night only to see his wife and son a day sooner. “What is brewing that brings you from your patient at Malaga?”

      
Benjamin chuckled grimly, “I never could dissemble with you. Isaac is in the city and would speak with us.”

      
“Are you certain we dare risk being seen with your Jewish brother?” The moment he had asked the harsh question, Aaron cursed his own impetuosity. “I am sorry, Father.”

      
“Isaac forgives me. The question is, my son, do you?” Benjamin asked with profound sorrow.

      
“You know I have. I often speak before I think, then regret my words.” Aaron stood up and began to pace restlessly. “Where can we meet Uncle Isaac? We dare not go openly to his house.”

      
“Under cover of darkness it can be done. Since today is neither Friday nor a Jewish feast day, the familiars of the Holy Office will be lax,” Benjamin said in a measured voice.

      
“The eyes of the Inquisition are everywhere. You should have been in Granada after the triumphal procession into the city, Father. That fat old madman Torquemada, who is so in love with fire, set a great one, this time not for people, but for books—all the treasures of the Muslim libraries, thousands of volumes in Arabic and Hebrew, all destroyed! And worse, his power over the queen grows daily.”

      
“Torquemada is only one madman,” Benjamin said quietly. “The monarchs need money and we, not he, can raise it for them. King Fernando still relies on many Jewish advisors such as your Uncle Isaac. Even the treasurer of the Civil Militia is Abraham Seneor—a Jew—in charge of the most powerful law enforcement body in all of Castile.”

      
“If it is so secure to be a Jew, then why did we subject ourselves to conversion? Better to have stood with Uncle Isaac and refused.”

      
“You know our agreement,” Benjamin said wearily. “One branch of the House of Torres had to convert in order to guarantee our survival if the worst befalls. Isaac agreed to the pact. So did Serafina and Ruth. You were too young…”

      
“I was fourteen and Ana fifteen. Mateo was seventeen. We remember the old ways. We are neither Christian nor Jew now. Nor will we ever be accepted by the Old Christians. It does not work, this conversion at dagger's point. Families do it to save their lives and property, to keep from being dispossessed and sold into slavery in North Africa. But by becoming New Christians we are all under the Inquisitor General's power more surely than ever we were as Jews.”

      
“We have often before had this argument, Aaron. That is why I want you to speak with Isaac. He brings news from court. He sent word to me in Malaga. Something of great import is afoot, and it concerns you.”

      
“Colon must have his commission for the enterprise!” Aaron said excitedly.

      
“Perhaps,” Benjamin replied with caution, then looked at his son with a shrewd, measuring eye. “You trust this Genoese sailor?”

      
“Yes,” Aaron answered earnestly. “He is much as we are, a foreigner in every land where he has ventured. I fought by his side in the war. He is brave and steady but of a single-minded resolve.”

      
“He is obsessed!” Benjamin interrupted, scowling.

      
“I am neither a geographer nor a sailor, but I believe in Cristobal. If he brings back riches from Cathay and Cipangu, he will receive great royal favor.”

      
Benjamin smiled gently. “And you would share in that favor?”

      
“I would never trust the patronage of that Trastamara bastard, Fernando, or his zealot of a wife, but the knowledge of lands beyond the sea might bring us refuge in an uncertain future,” Aaron replied, still pacing across the thick Moorish carpet in front of his father.

      
Benjamin stiffened. “Do not call our king a bastard!”

      
“My pardon,” Aaron replied cynically. “You have spent years serving the House of Trastamara. You know what they are. They succeeded to the thrones of Aragon and Castile by murder—Fernando's mother had his elder half-brother Carlos poisoned and Ysabel arranged for her brother Alonzo to have a riding accident.”

      
“Neither tale has ever been proven. But Fernando and Ysabel rule the Spains now and that is a fact,” Benjamin said with finality. “Let us put aside your spleen for the monarchs. I wish to know your feelings about supporting the Genoese.”

      
“I would join him on his voyage. Has he other supporters among your Jewish friends at court?” Aaron asked, his eyes locked on his father's weathered face.

      
Benjamin stroked his blond beard thoughtfully. “Several.”

      
“What of Ysabel?” Aaron asked. “Cristobal has often said he felt she favored his cause more than her consort.” He smiled cynically. “Of course, Colon's own religious zeal is convincing. He has often said how the riches of the Indies could finance the reconquest of Jerusalem. I know not whether he really believes that possible, but he is a devout son of Rome.”

      
“In spite of her childhood confessor Torquemada's opposition, Queen Ysabel agrees with those who would sponsor Colon,” Benjamin replied. “Perhaps she has spoken to him of this taking of Jerusalem. Think of how many Muslims and Jews could be converted en route and then be subjected to the Inquisition.”

      
A soft knock sounded and then Serafina entered with a serving girl who placed a tray laden with food on the low brass table between them. Dismissing the servant, she sat beside her husband and reached for a cluster of grapes. “You are tired, Benjamin. Eat now, then rest,” she commanded. Smiling, he complied.

      
“Father,” Aaron said hesitantly, “I...I do not wish for us to quarrel.”

      
Benjamin looked at his younger son, the mirror image of himself nearly forty years ago. “Yet we always seem to do so,” he replied gently. “These are evil times we live in, Aaron. The strain of surviving them wears on us all. Only remember that we, all of us—my brother Isaac and sister-in-law Ruth, their children—all of us are one family. The House of Torres will live on in the Spains and our children's children will honor us.”

      
His father's impassioned words echoed in Aaron's mind during the rest of that day as he waited for darkness. He was eager to see his uncle once more. He remembered the old man as gruff and outspoken, proud of his heritage.
How can he stomach serving the Trastamaras?

      
Darkness fell. Horses' hooves sounded on cobblestone. The call of the watch echoed through twisting streets as the night passed without incident, chill and foggy—a good night for an assignation.

      
“I remember Seders at this house during my childhood,” Aaron whispered to Benjamin as they tied their horses in the stables and walked quietly toward the rear entrance.

      
“You remember so much then,” Benjamin said sadly. He knocked once, a sharp low tap. Immediately the door swung wide. A hooded servant gestured silently and they followed him up a dark, twisting set of stone steps.

      
Isaac Torres was as unlike his brother as could be imagined—short and thickset with coarse dark brown hair. Only the eyes, that same keen measuring blue as Benjamin's, betrayed their common ancestry. His homely face split in a wide smile of welcome for his tall, elegant brother and the nephew now transformed into a soldier. After they embraced and took care to blink back any evidence of emotion their eyes might betray, Isaac gestured to the round oak table. “Come, sit. I have had Ruth prepare refreshment. A cool draught of wine, some fresh fruit and bread.”

      
They sat in the richly carved high-backed chairs around the table. Isaac fixed his guests with a firm stare and said, “This time is precious and we must not waste it. I bring news from court—some good, some ill.”

      
“Has Colon the approval he sought?” Aaron asked.

      
“Yes, and in that lies a tale. He was summoned before the Majesties in Santa Fe only three days ago to have his petition again denied.” At Aaron's angry outburst, Isaac put up his hand for silence. “But no more did he depart than the Keeper of the Privy Purse, Luis Santangel, and I importuned the queen. We have been in contact with a merchant of Palos, one Martin Alonzo Pinzón, who also wishes to back the enterprise. He owns two ships and happens to owe money to the crown. We struck a bargain with Ysabel, shrewd woman that she is. In time she and Luis convinced Fernando that the venture would cost little and gain much. Within hours of the Genoese's departure, we had a royal messenger racing to recall him. He has received his commission to sail west for the Indies!”

      
Isaac watched Aaron's eyes light at the news. “You will join him?” He knew the answer even before he asked.

      
“Yes, I will join him. If he pleases the Trastamaras, our family fortunes cannot help but fare better.” Aaron's expression became guarded then as he studied both older men. “There is more?” He looked from Isaac to Benjamin.

      
“We have all been hearing rumors,” Isaac began carefully.

      
“You spoke of tidings good and ill, brother. Let us now hear the ill. Since I worked with you to get Colon his hearing last summer, I have been away from court.”

      
Aaron's eyes widened. So, his father had been in continuous touch with his uncle. He bitterly regretted his words earlier in the day.

      
“The ill is the worst we feared.”

      
“It is to be expulsion, then?” Benjamin said hopelessly.

      
“I fear so, although I shall do everything within my power to stop it. We were wise to plant a foot in each camp. If I fail, you must succeed. Torquemada's power over the queen has grown alarmingly since the fall of the Moors. He rails at her night and day. Only Fernando's avarice keeps him in check. The Jews can always be counted upon to bleed ducats into the treasury.”

      
“More might be gained in the short run if he simply expelled all Jews and confiscated their property,” Benjamin said thoughtfully. “Remember the laws of Castile prohibit anyone from taking gold or silver from the country.”

      
“Just so. Of course, after a few years without his most vital civil servants to collect taxes, conduct trade and keep his accounts—not to mention treat his ailments—he will come to a sorry pass, but only time will prove that out,” Isaac replied with disgust.

      
“Can you smuggle money from Castile across the Pyrenees into France?” Aaron asked.

      
His uncle's smile was guileless. “A plan long afoot. We did not wait like sheep to be sheared.”