Paradise & More (Torres Family Saga) (38 page)

      
“You know this fellow?” Bartolome asked skeptically.

      
Aaron smiled. “Quite well. Roldan can be treated with, perhaps even bribed into submitting to royal authority if left alone.” He sat down at the big table across from the governor, as did the now intrigued Bartolome. “It is Caonabo allying with other
cacique
s of the interior that we must fear—the provinces of Ciguayo, Magua, and Maguana are far closer to Ysabel than Xaragua. If Hojeda continues what Margarite began, then all of those
cacique
s will follow Caonabo. Even without modern weapons they can exact a fearful toll by surprise attack and the use of fire. Worse yet, they will turn first on our one loyal friend.”

      
“Guacanagari,” Cristobal said quietly. “Yes, he has been true to the Majesties. Without his aid we would likely all have perished at the shipwreck of
Santa Maria
.”

      
Bartolome asked Aaron, “Do you have a plan to deal with Caonabo before he can unite the other
cacique
s of the interior?”

      
“Yes, and it begins with stopping Hojeda and others like him from roaming at will, raping and pillaging from the Tainos. Once we make the interior peaceful and secure, we can ally with Guacanagari and face Caonabo. He will have far less backing if every gold-mad Castilian nobleman on Española is not riding about hill and valley with sword and arbalest ready to kill Indians.” Aaron paused and smiled grimly, recalling Magdalena's lesson in the hard, dirty work of agriculture. “We will start by putting every able-bodied man in Ysabel to work.”

      
“So many are sick,” Cristobal said unhappily.

      
Aaron scoffed. “I will speak with Dr. Chanca about why they suffer. They must learn to eat cassava, fresh fish, and yams, and drink clean water. Enough of swilling wine and eating rancid pork. This is a new land. We must adapt to it or we perish. If you allow me the power to act, I will give you more healthy men fit to work than are willing to do so.”

      
Bartolome raised his eyebrows sardonically. “The will to do manual labor is scarce secondary to the health to do it.”

      
“Will you lend me your official power as agents of the crown?” Aaron asked both brothers.

      
Bartolome nodded, his hand on his sword hilt, but Cristobal seemed troubled. Always calm and decisive in the worst crises at sea, he looked tired and frail to Aaron.
He wants to chart new lands, to be aboard ship, not fighting political battles on land,
Aaron realized sadly.

      
Sighing, Cristobal stood up. The pain in his joints, a constant misery since his return to Palos in 1493, now constantly racked his body. The tall, thin man stood straight and walked across to the window by sheer dint of will. Turning, he said, “We must do what we must do, Diego. You are commandant under Bartolome here. What is your plan?”

      
“Hojeda is still in Ysabel, gathering a coterie of worthless noblemen to journey to the interior and find gold. Let me deal with him first.”

      
“He has influence at court. His patron is the Duke of Medina-Celi. Tread lightly, Diego.” Cristobal cautioned, as fearful for his young
converso
friend as for himself.

      
While the men planned and argued, Magdalena accomplished what she had so long intended, a visit to Dr. Chanca's hospital. The wizened old doctor was delighted with her medical skills and strong stomach, once he overcame his male prejudice about females—especially noblewomen—treating illness. She spent the day brewing bark infusions to spoon between fevered lips and making poultices to draw poison from injuries.

      
“You have the touch, my lady,” the doctor said. “I myself have observed the Taino's use of certain plants and other natural herbs that seem to cure their ailments, but alas, the language barrier prevents me from learning much yet.”

      
Magdalena smiled as she sponged a feverish man who had cut his foot on sharp rocks while fishing. “I lived among Guacanagari's people with my husband for nearly a month. Although my skills in the language are poor, his are great. He was able to show me much, and many of the village healers taught me more. They learn our language with far more skill than we theirs, I fear.”

      
“To our loss,” Chanca muttered, moving to the next pallet to check the man doubled over with cramps from the flux. “I would be willing to try some of that bark infusion you have aboil outside,” he said, looking up at Magdalena, who nodded and hurried out to get the bitter liquid.

      
By evening's end, when she walked through the open doorway of the big cane building, Magdalena was every bit as tired as she had been after her day of planting maize with Tanei. But unlike that disastrous misadventure, this work had purpose. She could scarcely wait to return home and dig out the Latin medical treatises Benjamin had given her—and some Arabic ones she knew Aaron possessed. He could translate for her. That was, she amended unhappily, if he did not again forbid her going to the hospital.

      
Now that he had hired a Taino girl to wash their laundry and prepare meals, Magdalena had nothing to do. Even with all the frivolous distractions for idle noblewomen at court, she had always detested what she considered boredom. “He must let me continue my work here. Blessed Virgin, he wants me gone from his presence enough,” she muttered bitterly to herself as she threw her cloak about her shoulders and headed down the street. Her guard, one of Luis Torres' friends named Analu, followed closely as she wended her way through the noisome streets of Ysabel.

      
As she neared the
bohio
, Magdalena was suddenly accosted by the nattily dressed Alonso Hojeda. His velvet doublet with scarlet slashing on the sleeves and his heavy sword seemed too big for his thin, wiry frame. His eyes gleamed with keen feral intelligence as he placed his surprisingly strong hand on her arm.

      
“Good evening, Doña Magdalena,” he said with a courtly bow at variance with his rude seizure of her arm.

      
“Good evening, Don Alonso,” she replied frostily, trying to pull away. Analu stepped up to him, menacing the intruder, but she waved him back. In spite of the Taino's muscular strength, the smaller nobleman's weapons were far superior to Analu's simple spear.

      
Don Alonso eyed her with malevolent assessment. “Why by all that is holy would a lady from court wed Aaron Torres?”

      
“Do you know my husband?” she asked calmly, trying to decide what to do. Surely Hojeda did not consider himself a scorned suitor after but one dinner table encounter!

      
His face hardened. “The new commandant,” he stressed Aaron's title contemptuously, “and I are well acquainted, yes. He would take a gentleman from Andalusia and have him muck about with common masons and farmers, digging irrigation ditches and planting wheat!”

      
A smile curved her lips as she recalled how Aaron had sent her to Tanei. “I, too, have served as a field worker. Ysabel has an excess of nobility and far too few hands to till the soil, I fear.”

      
“Pah! We are here to get rich—gold, pearls, spices, the riches of the Indies—that is what brought us here, not to become colonizers of this hell. God deliver me back to Castile!”

      
“I prefer to live and work here, even though there be no gold. If you do not, only take ship,” she gestured to the cove where several caravels bobbed with sails furled, “and return to Castile now.” She tried to walk past him but his hand again held her arm.

      
“Not until I have my gold,” he snarled.

      
“What have I to do with that?” she asked, not liking the turn of this entire conversation. She slid her free arm inside her cloak for her dagger, but before either of them could act, another voice interrupted.

      
“Hojeda, you little maggot crawled from the ass of a rotted pig, release my wife and draw your sword.” Aaron strode from the shadows between two houses.

      
With a muttered oath, the Castilian flung Magdalena away and faced his much taller opponent, drawing his sword. If Magdalena had ever thought him small or weak, she soon found appearances deceptive, for Alonso Hojeda was lightning quick, crafty, and a highly skilled swordsman. The two men clashed furiously and the ringing of steel echoed across the evening air.

      
Soon a crowd gathered, many partisans of Hojeda, a few loyal to the governor and his commandant. Magdalena stood with Analu and a small group of frightened Taino men and women, her dagger clenched in her fist, ready to do battle with anyone who menaced Aaron.

      
“You are too good with the sword to waste your skills maiming defenseless Tainos for gold they do not possess,” Aaron said as he parried a thrust and returned the attack to Hojeda, nicking his expensive doublet sleeve.

      
“You are too busy consorting with those savages to know about the gold,” Hojeda replied, renewing the attack in spite of several freely bleeding cuts on his arm and chest.

      
“There is no golden treasure in the interior—only death,” Aaron said as he thrust wickedly, nearly removing one heavy sleeve and badly slashing Hojeda's left arm. “The same death I should give you for touching my wife.”

      
“You were going to force me to dig like a peasant! I was but attempting to plead with the noble lady of the court to stop your madness,” the little Castilian said, now badly winded and knowing he was going to lose the match. Damn the accursed
marrano's
longer arms!

      
Aaron administered a series of painful strokes, cutting, slashing, almost disarming Hojeda, who was forced to realize how badly he had been bested and that the victor did but toy with him before the kill. The little cockscomb did have courage, Aaron admitted grudgingly, even though he was furious because Hojeda had accosted Magdalena.

      
Just then the crowd, cheering and betting on the contest, parted, and the imposing presence of the governor filled the small circle where the men fought.

      
“You appear to be losing, Alonso. I would recommend you cry off. And you, Diego, are to do likewise.” The old steel was returned to Cristobal's voice. Bartolome and several guards from the governor's palace stood behind their leader.

      
Both men slowly lowered their swords. Aaron was soaked with sweat, Alonso with blood, but fierce pride still glowed in his eyes. He turned to the governor. “I will not be a peasant and dig ditches!”

      
“Then mayhap I can offer you a task more to your liking,” Bartolome said. “Disband your private force of gold hunters and follow us. There is to be a real battle between our army and the forces of Caonabo on the Vega. Guacanagari and his warriors join us. Will you?”

      
Aaron's hand rested lightly on his sword hilt as he absorbed this bit of news. “Has it come to that?” he asked quietly.

      
“Yes. Guacanagari's runner just reached us this afternoon. What you prophesied has come true,” Cristobal replied.

      
“And we need all the able-bodied men we can get,” Bartolome said, eyeing Hojeda sternly.

      
The shrewd gleam in Hojeda's eyes betrayed his delight at the prospect of a fight in which he might fare better. “I will join you to fight Tainos,” he said, looking from the Colons to Torres to gauge his reaction.

      
“You will fight
with
Guacanagari's Tainos.
Against
Caonabo's army. Keep that fixed in your arrogant little head,” Aaron said in cold menace.

      
After Hojeda bowed to the governor and then to Magdalena, he walked off, head high and stride firm, even though his once grand clothes were in shreds and his body covered with superficial wounds.

      
“I mislike having my back to him in the thick of a melee,” Aaron muttered to Bartolome.

      
“I agree. He will be assigned a place of honor near me, away from all his fellows from Seville,” Bartolome replied with a grim smile.

      
With the fight ended, the crowd broke apart and dispersed. The Colons and the guards departed after a few brief courtesies to Magdalena and promises to meet with Aaron at dawn.

      
Aaron's eyes were icy as he glared at his wife. “Were you going to skewer Don Alonsò as you did those two ruffians in the plaza?” he asked, looking at the dagger she still clutched unconsciously in her hand.

      
Red-faced, she replaced it in its sheath, hidden beneath her cloak. “Only if Hojeda endangered you,” she replied as she walked toward their house.

      
“Best beware endangering yourself, you little fool! I have told you not to be about in this city without me. You were at that hospital again without my permission, were you not?”

      
“If Dr. Chanca can use my skills, why would you refuse to let me help?” she argued, hating the pleading sound that had crept into her voice.

      
You might be injured or take a fever!
He refused to let her see his fear for her, his weakness, so he answered harshly, “You will remain in our home where you cannot incite more mayhem. Bartolome and I must both leave Ysabel. There will be no rescuers to save that beautiful skin while we journey to the interior.”

      
“What am I to do? Sit and wither? There is no useful task for me in Ysabel but plying my healing skills. Benjamin gave me instruction—even books. You have seen me read them. He thought me a good pupil.”