Paradise & More (Torres Family Saga) (40 page)

      
“I cannot believe such beauty was present in Vallado-lid when last I was at court with Lorenzo here. Why did I not see you?” Peralonso asked with oily charm.

      
“The court was crowded. I seldom attended the royal functions. Such frivolities interest me little,” Magdalena replied.

      
Diego chuckled disparagingly. “I fear the lovely lady is more interested in tending sick colonists, even Indians, than in dancing at balls.”

      
“Yes, well since your husband has lived among the savages for so long, I suppose he wants you to aid them with the medical skills for which his family was famous,” Lorenzo said.

      
“I studied briefly with Benjamin Torres before his death and it is my wish to use what small skill I possess to help Guacanagari's people, who are our allies against those in the interior,” Magdalena retorted as smoothly as she could.

      
“I assume Don Diego Torres has not yet placed his approval on your activities?” Diego asked, knowing full well the whole story of her fight with Aaron about her hospital work.

      
She smiled serenely at him. “When a husband is away, he often finds his wife will do as she pleases.”
Let this shallow boy try to stop me!

      
By this time the other council members had clustered about them, and Magdalena was plied with wine and compliments on her gown, hair, even the color of her eyes. Somehow, when the seating was arranged for the meal, she found herself beside Lorenzo Guzman, much to her dismay. Of all the men present, old Gasparo Morales and the fat, jolly Nicolas de Palmas were the only two she could abide and they were at the far end of the table.

      
Everyone discussed the upcoming campaign against Caonabo and his allies. To Magdalena it seemed as if the men felt the Indians less than human, fit only to be butchered or enslaved. Recalling her own harsh condemnation of Guacanagari's people as savage, her cheeks burned with shame. “We are supposedly people of the Christian faith, sent by the crown not only to claim lands, but to save souls. Yet it seems that you,” she directed her eyes for a telling moment to Lorenzo and the pompous Bernal, “see Tainos as beings without souls, whom we may exploit as if they were cattle. Is this not in conflict with what our Church teaches?”

      
Several councilmen squirmed uncomfortably, but Diego Colon, smiling indulgently as if treating with a dim-witted child, replied, “The Church wants us to baptize them, yes, but only if they will accept peaceful ways. Most of those in the interior are cannibals and as such, may be enslaved with the full sanction of the Holy See. But this is a bloody subject, unfit for the tender sensibilities of a lady,” he added, patting her hand.

      
“Yes, let us do discuss something less unsettling,” Lorenzo chimed in with a feral smile that did not touch his icy gray eyes.

      
For the duration of the meal they discussed the news from the royal court—dynastic marriage plans for Fernando and Ysabel's children, the ongoing maneuvering between Charles VIII of France and their clever Argonese king, even the settlement of the boundary dispute between the Majesties and João II of Portugal. By the terms of a treaty negotiated by the Pope, the Atlantic was cut in twain, north to south, and all lands of the Indies were divided between the two kingdoms.

      
“Twould seem the Portuguese are doomed to failure. Our sovereigns' admiral has claimed all the islands of the Indies for them. What can lie in the middle of the south Atlantic but empty water?” Don Gasparo said with a chuckle.

      
“King João was given his chance to fund the enterprise by Admiral Colon. He foolishly missed his opportunity by declining. Perhaps the Lord works in ways none of us yet understands,” Magdalena said with a smile. “Even the Genoese are favored by Him.” She loved baiting the haughty Castilians such as Don Gonzolo and Don Bernal, both of whom detested the Colons. She strongly suspected Lorenzo shared their feelings. One look at the way he was glaring at the oblivious, beaming Diego Colon assured Magdalena that her judgment was correct. Again a prickle of apprehension made her shiver in spite of the humid night air.

      
Pleading a headache, which was not far from the truth, Magdalena decided to take a turn outside in the fresh air. Nicolas de Palmas strolled across the stone patio behind the palace with her for a few moments. Once they were outdoors, her mood lifted, as if escaping the cold eyes of Lorenzo Guzman made it easier to breathe. However, the very corpulent older man huffed and puffed as he kept pace with her in the sticky humidity. Like most Castilians, he insisted on wearing heavy clothing in the heat. As he tugged at the high gathered collar of the satin tunic beneath his velvet doublet, Magdalena took pity on him.

      
“Please, you are eager to rejoin the political discussion inside. I will retire upstairs and attend to my hair, which is quite wilted, then rejoin you and the other gentlemen in the audience chamber.”

      
Gratefully, de Palmas waddled off, after being assured her headache was all but gone. Magdalena found a young servant girl who showed her to the room she had occupied when first she came to Ysabel. As she used the chamber pot and fussed with her hair, then bathed her hands and face with a cool cloth, she considered all that had happened to her in the past few months. Never would she return to Seville, but that no longer concerned her.

      
“I would live in a Taino
bohio
for the rest of my life if only Aaron loved me,” she whispered sadly. If only she could give him a son in place of the one he lost to Aliyah's spite.

      
Deep in thought, Magdalena did not rush back to the audience hall, but wandered through the shrubbery at the edge of the patio, delaying her return to the odious and boring party. She paused behind a clump of pink
poui
trees, deep in the shadows. Soft male voices murmured, the sound carrying across the courtyard with startling clarity. A sudden chill of premonition seized her as she strained to see who the two men were.

      
“You are right about the Torres woman. She is beautiful, but so razor-tongued that I would not want her in my bed. I can buy all the willing female flesh I desire back in Seville. When will your uncle send you the funds he has promised? God's balls, I am stranded here for no crime of my own! 'Tis you who was banished and must win your fortune here. I am for home—if you will give me what you owe.”

      
“You will receive your payment. Only be patient. The duke's anger has cooled and he will soon send me funds.”

      
Magdalena felt as if the breath had been squeezed from her. She struggled to overcome the same dizziness she had experienced outside Bernardo Valdés' study that day in Seville when the same man had spoken the same words in the same harsh Castilian lisp: Y
ou will receive your payment. Only be patient.
Lorenzo Guzman was her father's co-conspirator!

      
Slowly, not daring to breathe, she moved farther into the darkness, watching each step lest she make a sound that might echo across the courtyard.

      
Diego Colon's face blanched with shock; then the patronizing courtliness she had always found so annoying asserted itself. He faced her across the round table where he broke his fast upon rising. The room was small and rather dark, well suited to the occasion, for no one could overhear their conversation although many might speculate about what had brought Dona Magdalena Valdés de Torres to visit the acting governor at such a scandalous hour.

      
“Surely you cannot expect me to give credence to such a wild accusation, my lady. You speak of treason here—the very crimes for which your poor father, may God forgive him, was executed.”

      
Magdalena looked at the weak, vacillating young man across from her. He had none of Cristobal's visionary drive, nor Bartolome's blunt decisiveness. Neither did he possess their gentle sense of humor or their tolerance. To Diego she was but a hysterical female, overwrought and frightened in the wilderness because her husband was away. She had rehearsed her speech to Diego carefully, knowing how difficult it would be to have him believe her, much less act on her charges.

      
“Don Diego, my father stole from the crown and the Holy Office. He took much more than his Crossbearer's share from the wealth of my husband's house. He deserved to die. But he was only one man working in Seville to entrap Benjamin Torres. Being Benjamin's son-in-law, Lorenzo was the one with every opportunity to set servants spying on Ana—and only he had connections in Barcelona who could spy upon and betray Mateo and Rafaela. All the wealth of Rafaela Torres' family—a vast merchant fleet—was also confiscated when the family was taken. I overheard Lorenzo Guzman plot this with my father. If my father was guilty of treason, then so is Don Lorenzo! He must be held for royal justice.”

      
Diego was torn between wanting to console the white-faced, desperate woman and wanting to shake her until her pretty white teeth loosened. By the staff of St. Peter, how could he silence her hysterical accusations?

      
“My dear, you say you overheard the conversation back in Seville—over two years ago. You never saw Don Lorenzo with your father. You met him at the court and here in Ysabel and did not recognize him. Now, after overhearing a conversation in the garden, you come to me and ask that I imprison the nephew of the Duke of Medina-Sidonia.” He shrugged helplessly, then extended his hand across the table and took her white clenched fists and patted them. “You must miss your husband. Er...” His face reddened and he hesitated, then worked up his courage and asked, “Might you be with child? Often in women this causes them to imagine all sorts of—”

      
“I am neither with child nor imagining anything!” Magdalena stood up, fury boiling through her veins. “I realize to whom the exalted Don Lorenzo is related and the power of that ducal house. Doubtless 'twas the reason he was exiled here rather than sent to the dungeons beneath St. Paul's Convent as Benjamin Torres and his family—and Bernardo Valdés—were. But he is guilty and I will see justice done.”

      
With that she turned to leave. Diego Colon's face mottled even ruddier than his fair complexion usually allowed. He stood up, both fright and anger evident in his voice as he called after her, “So, you think to wait until my high and mighty brothers return, conquering heroes who will believe your absurd tales! I rather think, having spent years about royal courts across Europe, they will be a bit more cautious than to imprison a duke's nephew on the word of the woman whose own father and husband's family have been burned for crimes against Church and Crown.”

      
Magdalena did not even pause to bid the jealous idiot good-day. What a fool she had been to come to him with the tale. He was so impressed with nobility that he was blind to all else—and he was bitterly envious of his elder brothers. “I will have to wait until Aaron and the Colons return,” she whispered to herself with a shudder, wondering how she could avoid any accidental meetings with Lorenzo Guzman in the following days. Magdalena knew that if she looked into that cruel, haughty face with its cold gray eyes, she would surely give away her loathing and terror.
Small wonder I was so apprehensive when first we met!

      
Don Lorenzo nodded at the guard leaning in a slouched position in front of the governor's palace. The Castilian straightened a bit in deference to his rank. Crude colonial rabble. How he hated being consigned to abide among such! A caravel had arrived that morning. Perhaps there was word from his uncle that he could return to Castile, or at least some funds to pacify Peralonso. He walked down the long, cool hallway of the palace as if it were his own residence, then turned into the audience chamber. Diego Colon was hearing several complaints from local farmers and tradespeople, even a handful of Indians. Upon seeing the nobleman, the acting governor at once stood up and motioned for all those waiting on his judgment to take seats. He strode across the hall to the duke's nephew, a nervous smile in place.

      
“Good day, Don Lorenzo. Please, this is no place for a gentleman. These poor folk can wait while we have a draught of wine. I have just received the mail from home and your uncle sends a letter to you.”

      
“I had hoped he would do so,” Guzman said in delight as they strolled across the hall into the Colons' private quarters. Diego summoned a Taino servant and instructed him to bring fruit and wine to the library.

      
“Please forgive the clutter. My eldest brother's charts and navigational instruments are his life's work. No one is to disturb them. The servants regard him as if he were a god.” Diego motioned for Lorenzo to take a seat on a high-backed mahogany chair of crude but sturdy workmanship.

      
Lorenzo smiled thinly. “Ah, yes, they call him the man from heaven, do they not?”

      
Diego flushed. “Precisely so.”

      
As the servant brought the food and wine and then departed, Lorenzo noted the apparent nervousness of Colon. Something was amiss, but what? He took a sip of the foul warm wine and eyed the oddly colored tropical fruit lying in neat slices on the plate. He did not even know what half the foods he consumed in Española were! “I believe you said my uncle posted me a message?” he prompted.

      
Colon began to dig through the large leather pouch in one corner of the room. After a moment's search, he extracted a rolled missive with the wax seal of the House of Medina-Sidonia on it. Handing it to Guzman, he cleared his throat and said, “There is a matter, Don Lorenzo, that I fear you should be apprised of...” He floundered to a halt.