None of this news had reached Hispaniola, the few ships that had arrived being more interested in the Spaniards’ future in the new world than the politics and conflicts of the old. Spain itself was currently at peace. But such was the tangle of alliances among Europe’s princes that war could strike anywhere at any time. Italy was in turmoil, and Papa, Mama, and the girls, whom we had imagined safe and happy in Firenze, might be anywhere. All of Jewish history taught that no matter where or when trouble struck, Christian folk found comfort in blaming the Jews. Our adventure in the Indies was over, but new dangers lay before us.
The First Letter
Firenze, December 1492
Dearest Rachel,
We have finally reached Firenze, after a journey made longer by the difficulties of finding fodder for the beasts of so large a caravan and of crossing the mountains at the onset of winter. However, we considered ourselves lucky to be part of such a large and well-guarded company. You may have heard that Lorenzo de Medici, whom they called the Magnificent and who had long made Firenze safe for the Jews, died earlier this year. But the Jewish families in the city have made us welcome, and we must hope that Lorenzo’s son Piero will prove as able a protector of our people. We are comfortably installed in a pleasant little house. The city is peaceful for the moment, although a self-styled prophet named Savonarola, whose followers are called the Wailers, causes much excitement by preaching that trouble is coming from the north. So far, he directs his zeal toward reforming the Church rather than persecuting the Jews. It is a great relief to be able to go to synagogue and observe Shabbat openly. We all shed tears of joy when we fastened our mezuzah to the door. Papa, Elvira, and Susanna are well. We pray constantly for your happiness and safety and for our dear Diego’s as well. May Adonai watch over you! Remember the words of King David: “He that keepeth Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.” It is too soon to hope for word of Admiral Columbus’s great venture. But we must never doubt that Diego will return. When he does, he will contrive a way to restore you to us. We miss you so much, darling Rachel!
All my love, Mama
Chapter 3: Joanna
The soldiers chivvied a sea of weeping children, too many for Joanna to count, toward the farthest dock. They seemed barely human in half armor that clanked and glinted, their faces grim under their helms. Their long pikes formed a cage, constantly pressing against the children at the edges of the crowd into a space so cramped that Joanna lost sight of Shmuel and Benji, although she still held Simon tightly by the hand. The lamentations of the bereft parents faded in the distance until Joanna could hear only the children’s sobbing, the slap of ropes against masts, and water lapping against the wooden dock. Some of the older children clutched the smaller ones in their arms.
“Joanna.” Simon tugged at her hand. “I can’t breathe.”
Joanna crouched and hugged him fiercely. Simon never whined. He was such a gentle and obedient little boy. How would she manage to keep him safe? At least she and Simon, unlike most of the children, were not crying out for their mother. Since Mother died, Joanna had been Simon’s comfort and protection. If only they could stay together, they would be all right. Where would they be taken? How would they live? Surely some grownups must be charged with looking after them. Some of the two-year-olds were still in diapers, and many had soiled themselves. The close air stank of excrement.
“Hush, sweetheart,” she said.
“I’m scared.”
“I know, my darling. It will be all right.” Her voice trembled.
“Where are they taking us? Will we ever see Father and Riva again?”
“I don’t know, my love.” She drew back, still clutching his hands, so she could look into his eyes. “Simon, we must not let them part us. You must hold on tight to me, no matter what. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Joanna. I’m not so very scared when you hold my hand.”
A shot rang out close by. Joanna jumped. Some of the children screamed. A gentleman in a brocaded cloak, the bejeweled hilt of the sword at his side glinting, stood on a crate that elevated him above the crowd of frightened children and their guards. Ranks of soldiers were arrayed to either side of him. Their captain held a smoking arquebus pointed at the sky.
“Quiet, all of you!” the captain barked.
Soldiers all around the perimeter of the crowd repeated his words, banging their pikes on the dock for emphasis or cuffing those nearest to them about the head.
“Hear me well!” the finely dressed gentleman cried. “I’ll say this only once. I am Captain Alvaro de Caminha, by the grace of God and King João your newly appointed governor and master. You will be quiet and obey orders, whether given by me or any of my soldiers or the seamen on these ships. If you do not, you will be flogged, hanged, or shot without hesitation.”
A shocked gasp rose from Joanna’s throat in unison with those all about her. They would flog and hang children?
Simon tugged at her hand, pulling her down so he could whisper in her ear.
“Are we going on the ships? Who are those people at the far end of the dock? Will they come with us?”
“Shh, you must not speak,” she said.
Looking over a mass of children’s heads, she noticed for the first time a new group of men and women, meanly dressed and surrounded by soldiers armed with pikes and swords.
“Strike their chains,” Captain de Caminha commanded.
The newcomers had indeed been chained. They stamped their feet and rubbed at their wrists and necks as the soldiers went among them. The chains clanked as the soldiers kicked them into piles at the side of the dock.
“Silence!” Caminha roared. “You will not be bound during the voyage, but you will work—and work hard, not like the dishonest, lazy scum you have been until now. Never forget, for I will not, that you are degradados. You can remain degraded and despised for the rest of your lives, or you can leave your shameful past as criminals behind. The choice is yours. This is your chance for a fresh start, and I strongly advise you to take it. The most industrious among you will prosper. The lazy and rebellious will die. Mark this well. You will be settlers of a wild land, but one that can be tamed. Riches—in sugar and slaves—are to be had, if you but labor and conform to my laws, for I have the king’s authority to rule absolutely the land to which we sail.”
Degradados! They would be thrown together with murderers and thieves! So much contempt did the King of Portugal have for the Jews. And the women must be prostitutes. Joanna had only a vague idea what prostitutes did, but she believed it had something to do with nightly thumpings of the bed and laughter—the only occasions on which she ever heard her father laugh—from their chamber, from which Riva would emerge the next morning, preening like a pigeon.
Caminha was still speaking.
“The king wishes to populate this new land with families. Men and women who are already coupled, whether in wedlock or not, tell the soldiers or the priests who will pass among you. Those who are sinners will confess and be joined in marriage. The king desires Christian families, and I will see to it that all do his will. If you do not choose a mate, one will be chosen for you. We will have no men burning or women idle on my ships. Nor need you wait to start those families until we reach our destination.”
At this, some of the adults sniggered. With growls and menacing looks, the soldiers quieted them.
“Yes, you will breed,” Caminha said, “and populate His Majesty’s colony with stout workers. You will also be given these children to keep as your own. They are Christians, newly baptized and ready to serve Our Savior, the king, and me. Our priests will instruct them. You will feed and house them and teach them industry and obedience. Their duty is to you, and in return, I hold each couple responsible for one or more of them. Once your marriage is confirmed and children assigned to you, I advise you to get what rest you can, for we board the ships at dawn. Any who attempt to escape—man, woman, or child—will be made an example. On pain of death, you sail for your new home on to
morrow morning’s tide.”
Chapter 4: Diego
The journey to Barcelona was tedious rather than perilous. Doña Marina welcomed us. We did not tax her tolerance by presenting Rachel in breeches or Hutia as her suitor. He had grown adept at looking humble while not permitting anyone to remove him from Rachel’s side.
As we had hoped, our aunt had finally received letters from our parents, though the news they contained was stale.
“It is only to be expected,” Doña Marina said. “Even the most competent courier may be delayed by mishap, foul weather, or the misfortune of meeting bandits or roving soldiers.”
“Soldiers?” Rachel’s tone was apprehensive.
I saw Hutia’s lips tighten.
“We saw soldiers behaving very badly in Hispaniola,” I said, “despoiling native villages and killing even women and children.”
“I am not speaking of a few ill-disciplined men attacking savages,” Aunt Marina said.
On the pretext of putting my arm around Rachel, I pinched her arm to warn her against voicing her indignation at this description of the Taino. Beneath her skirts, she kicked my ankle hard.
“War spreads through Europe,” Aunt Marina said, “as none know better than my Italian bankers. Their news is more reliable than most.”
“We heard that King Charles of France invaded Italy last year,” I said.
“He marched into Firenze with ten thousand men,” Doña Marina said. “Piero de Medici welcomed him for fear that the city would be sacked if he did not.”
“It was Lorenzo de Medici whose protection Papa counted on. But he is dead.”
“His son is a weakling,” Doña Marina said. “They call him Piero the Unfortunate. Once the French had entered the city, he fled. The people declared Firenze a republic. Ridiculous!”
“Then what has become of Papa and Mama?” Rachel’s lip trembled, though as a rule she was as brave as a lion. Having had the adventure she craved, she longed for home more deeply than she admitted.
“If they had stayed in Firenze”, Doña Marina said, “I believe I would have heard by now. “They could be anywhere. Wars cost more than monarchs are willing to pay, and it is said that companies of soldiers roam the countryside, hungry and unpaid except for what they can wrest from the peasants and townsmen in their path.”
“Wherever they are,” I said, “we must find them, no matter how dangerous the road.”
“You must not go alone,” she said. “You must seek a well-guarded merchant caravan or a reliable vessel bound for Genoa.”
Rachel emitted an unladylike snort. She had accompanied the fleet to the Indies in 1493 only because the captain of the last “reliable vessel” I had found for her had been a villain who intended to rob, assault, and sell her into slavery.
“Are there not pirates on the Middle Sea?” I asked. As a sailor who had traversed the Ocean Sea with the Admiral, I had as much courage as any. But that great unknown expanse was empty, while we might encounter a host of enemies on the Mediterranean.
“Turkish corsairs and pirates from the Maghreb seek Christian slaves for the sultan’s harem and his navy’s galleys.”
I could read the sparkle in Rachel’s eye. I pinched her arm again to prevent her from reminding our aunt, sincere converso that she was, that we were not Christians.
“If your ship travels in convoy and stays close to the coast,” Doña Marina said, “you may travel safely enough to Marseille and thence to Genoa. I will give you letters to my bankers there. Or you may take the land route, although it is said that desperate soldiers swarm over the land like locusts.”
Bidding my aunt good night, we retired to our chambers, where we could talk freely.
“Let us go by sea!” Rachel burst out the moment the door closed behind the servant who had shown us in. “We need not waste our gold on passage. We can sign on as hands. Rafael longs to be under sail again.”
“Don’t be absurd, Rachel. If we sign on, we will have no freedom of movement. And what of Hutia? An able seaman does not need a servant.”
“I can learn to be a sailor if I must,” Hutia said. “Rachel, listen to Diego for a moment. Let us think calmly about what is best to do.”
“How can you be so bent on adventure, Rachel?” I snapped. “I am worried sick about Papa and Mama and the girls.”
“So am I!” Rachel retorted, her cheeks flushed pink with indignation. “That is why I would prefer occupation. You are not a girl. You don’t understand what torture it is to do nothing but sit and wait!”
At that moment, a commotion arose at Aunt Marina’s gate. We had been lolling on the great tented bed in Rachel’s chamber, which faced the street, although well protected by a veritable thicket of wrought-iron grillwork, as was the fashion. Evidently, in spite of the vaunted modesty of Spanish ladies, their guardians expected them to seek adventure, if not physically prevented, by clambering out the window and down the nearest tree, or worse, letting a suitor in. Of one accord, we rose and rushed to the window. Peering out, we saw the men at arms on guard arguing with a ragged beggar who, unlike most, did not cringe and slink away but waved his arms as he expostulated with them. To our amazement, one of the men at arms suddenly embraced the beggar, lifting him off his feet, while the other guard wheeled and ran into the house, shouting for Ernesto, Doña Marina’s elderly major domo.
“Diego, I believe those are our men at arms!” Rachel cried. “Hernan! Esteban! They crossed Spain with us, Hutia, and took very good care of us. Indeed, it was not their fault when I ran away in Cordoba and the gypsies had to rescue me. As for the ragged boy, he looks familiar too. If I could but see his face—”
“I’ll go and see,” I said. “Hutia, you had better return to my chamber, lest the servants find you here alone with Rachel. We do not wish Aunt Marina to demand that I dismiss you from our service.”
Hutia stepped back to a correct three feet from Rachel, who still pressed her body against the window as if she would squeeze through the grillwork if she could. He bowed stiffly. It was astonishing how in a few short hours in the house he had learned to imitate Ernesto’s dignified manner.
“I am merely responding to my lady’s summons,” he said. “She wishes to know what transpires below.”
I could not help chuckling.
“You are getting as bad as Rachel! I will go and find out what’s afoot.”
To my surprise, Doña Marina herself stood in the tiled front hall, regarding the shabby newcomer with a remarkably benign expression. All eyes turned toward me as I entered the hall.
“Sir!” The men at arms, who were indeed our old companions, sprang to attention.
“Sir!” To my surprise, the newcomer straightened up and offered me a soldierly salute. His grimy face, youthful under a tangled scruff of beard, was alight with pleasure.
“Do you not remember my former footman, Javier?” Doña Marina said. “He is home from the wars and will have news that we must hear. But first, he must be bathed and fed. See to it, Esteban, and find him clothing fit for a member of a civilized household. Hernan, you may return to duty. And Javier, if you wish to reenter my service, you had better shave that beard before I lay eyes on you again. It is riddled with lice!”
Javier fell to his knees.
“My lady! I thank you! I wish for nothing better, and may the Blessed Virgin reward your graciousness.”
“Never mind that, boy,” Doña Marina said. “Your duty is to get well and strong.”
Her sharp eyes had discerned his bone-deep exhaustion and the welts and scars on his body that might be wounds or rat bites.
“Aunt, may I ask my sister to join us? She will wish to hear Javier’s news as well.”
Two years before, Rachel had wound this particular footman around her little finger, persuading him to help her run away from this house when I had refused to take her with me to the Indies. He would be cock-a-hoop to hear she had actually succeeded in making the voyage. I had no hope whatever that she would refrain from
pouring out the story.
“Do as you wish,” my aunt said, her tone tart but a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I am no longer mistress of my own home when you children come to stay.”
As she swept out of the room, Javier scrambled to his feet.
“Sir! I am glad to see you safely home. Did you make your fortune in the Indies? Is my lady Raquel with you?”
I had better remind Rachel that even among these trusted servants, she must remain Raquel, as she had been before, first in Barcelona, then among Doña Marina’s Christian friends in Seville, and also during our last months in Hispaniola, when she could no longer pass for a boy.
The Second Letter
Firenze, April 1493
Dearest Rachel,
Our first Passover in Firenze! Thanks to Ha’shem, we are all in good health and had kin at our Seder table. Our cousins, the Davilas, arrived here a month before us and have been very kind in helping us get settled. Papa, my cousin Chaim, and his eldest, young Akiva, who is studying to be a rabbi, shared the reading of the Haggadah. Papa insisted on telling the story of our liberation from slavery in Egypt in Castilian as well as Hebrew, to the delight of the little Davilas. Chaim and his wife Miriam have three children who would otherwise have been whining and complaining they were bored and hungry, as you and Diego used to do and Elvira and Susanna before you. Miriam is expecting another in the summer. She never tires of saying how this baby brings good fortune, since it will be her first not born in the shadow of the Inquisition.
In your convent in Barcelona, you could not keep Pesach. I hope you remembered the story of how God spared us and Moses led us safely out of Egypt. Know that you and Diego were in our hearts as we sat around the Seder table and will be so until we hold you in our arms again, im yirtzeh Ha’shem. Do the nuns allow you to see the night sky? There was a blood moon on the night of the first Seder. Papa’s friends among the Moorish scholars of Granada claimed that such upheavals in the heavens are natural phenomena that can be studied and even predicted. When we opened the door for Elijah, we all went out to watch the red shadow gradually steal over the familiar moon until the night was suffused with a baleful darkness. Many others on our street had come out to see, both Jews and Christians.
Journey of Strangers Page 2
