Paradise & More (Torres Family Saga) Read online

  Aaron had seen Diego seldom in the past five years, not at all in the past two since he had joined King Fernando's army in the Moorish wars. He patted the letter he carried as he hailed the tonsured youth at the gate and arrogantly gave him the care of his horse. “I seek Cristobal Colon, the Genoese. Are he and his son Diego yet here?”

  “They are to depart on the morrow. Tonight they sup with Fray Juan,” the young friar replied, noting the air of authority in the soldier's carriage. Surely the tall blond hidalgo was a man of some import. He carried himself with an assurance that commanded deference. “See the light that burns—”

  “Yes, I well know the location of Fray Juan's quarters, Benito,” he interrupted with impatience. He paused for a moment, inspecting the gangly young man. “It is Benito de Luna, is it not?”

  The round face crinkled in nervous puzzlement for a moment as Benito searched his memory. “Diego Torres?” he croaked, now genuinely afraid of the hard-looking soldier.

  “Yes, the marrano you and your friend Vargas used to spit upon,” Aaron said almost genially, one hand resting lightly on his sword hilt. He watched the young friar back away in mortal terror. With grim satisfaction he turned and strode across the courtyard toward the guardian of La Rabida's quarters.

  “The river air was ever oppressive,” he murmured as he inhaled the humid decay. Just as he passed a cluster of oleander bushes, he heard voices and footsteps crunched on the gravel. A tall man with faded red hair, shabbily dressed in a blue doublet and much-mended black wool cape, stood talking with a rotund little man in the brown robes of his office. The eleven-year-old boy standing beside his father saw Aaron first and raced across the space separating them, yelling a joyous welcome.

  “Diego Torres! Is it truly you? I hoped we would meet again ere my father and I journeyed to France.” Round brown eyes were the heritage of his Portuguese mother and now they sparkled in pure delight as the boy embraced Aaron.

  “Yes, Diego, it is truly I. You did not think to lose me so easily, did you?” Ruffling the boy's curly black hair, Aaron said affectionately, “I bring good news. You need not fear having to master yet another strange tongue. The Court of Charles VIII is cheated of your father's dream.”

  “Torres! It is good to see you, my young friend,” Colon said as his long strides brought him quickly across the courtyard. “Once already you saved my life at the siege of Baza. Now do my ears deceive me, or do I owe you yet another debt?”

  The two tall, slim men clasped each other in a firm embrace as the short, plump figure of Fray Juan came trundling up to them. The Franciscan watched as Torres handed a paper set with an official seal to Colon. “Word from their Majesties? Is the Enterprise of the Indies to be pursued then?” he asked excitedly.

  Cristobal's keen blue eyes crinkled shrewdly as he broke the royal seal. “I do not think that King Fernando would have sent the son of his most trusted physician all the way from the encampment of Santa Fe unless he bore news of some import.” He quickly scanned the contents of the missive. “After languishing for six years, I will at last be vindicated!”

  Aaron put a restraining hand on Cristobal's arm. “Do not let your hopes swell too soon, my comrade. Until Granada falls, the king and queen will only study the matter. Their sole concentration is on driving the Moors from their last stronghold.”

  “But that surely cannot be long in coming! You fight with their armies,” young Diego said with assurance.

  The three men laughed at the boy's exuberance. Then Aaron replied drily, “Even so formidable a soldier as I cannot banish Boabdil·s army quickly. Perhaps by year's end.”

  “But I am saved from leaving Castile to plead my case in France,” Cristobal said gratefully.

  “I do not think King Charles would be inclined to listen,” Fray Juan interjected.

  “I agree. The French are everlastingly embroiled in Italian politics, but with the coming of peace in Castile, the monarchs will need the wealth that a trade route to the Indies promises,” Aaron said, brushing off his dusty clothing.

  “You have journeyed far on royal business and must be weary,” the friar said. “I will have a meal and a bed prepared. For now, rest in my library with Cristobal and Diego.” With that, the friar scurried across the courtyard, summoning workers to do his bidding.

  Once comfortably ensconced in the heavy leather chairs of the library, Aaron and Cristobal sipped wine and discussed their plans as the boy sat between them on a stool, listening with rapt attention.

  “It is most fortunate that you arrived now. At first light we would have been gone,” Colon said.

  Aaron's lips twisted wryly. “Some might even say it was God's will.”

  “I am one such.” Cristobal's voice was quiet, but his eyes glowed with fervent fire. “My enterprise will not fail.”

  * * * *

  Seville, January 1492

  Aaron surveyed his family home fondly, looking down on the courtyard from the second-story height of the open gallery. The orange and lemon trees waved softly in the morning breeze and the babbling fountain seemed almost to be singing to him. Yet Aaron Torres was not soothed.

  . “So grim, my son. The war is over and you are returned, God be praised, safe with your family.” Serafina Torres' strong face was smooth and serene, belying her fifty years, even though her dark brown hair was threaded with silver.

  “How long will any of us be safe? That is the question,” he replied softly. “Now that Granada has fallen, those Trastamaras will turn their attention to us—Fernando to bleed us for money, Ysabel to bleed us literally in her religious zeal.”

  Serafina's brow creased. “But surely not, for we have suffered the loss of so much to secure our safety. We converted and accepted Christian baptism—thousands did. Your father has long and faithfully served the royal household as physician.”

  “And intermarried his children with the most powerful Old Christian nobles in Castile and Aragon, yes, I know,” Aaron said curtly.

  “Your bitterness is understandable, but misdirected, my son. Benjamin only acted to save us.”

  “You are a good and loyal wife, Mother. And,” he sighed heavily, “my father has taken what he sees as the only course. But my brother Mateo has become a stranger, concerned only with the interests of his Catalan wife's merchant fleet. And Ana...I cannot forgive what has happened to Ana.”

  “Nor I. But when we betrothed her to Lorenzo, we had no idea how unhappy she would be as his wife.” Her voice broke.

  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 d
ark 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.”