The men of Isabela, who, for too long, have been drinking sour rationed wine, cannot believe their good fortune. Today, not only does wine flow freely, it is of the finest quality. And along with an abundance of wine comes an abundance of food. Mateo had my table brought outside and set up near the doorway. It is mounded with wheat bread, made from the fresh wheat Antonio also brought, and baked by Pasculina and Maria. And there are melons from my gardens and platters of other fresh fruit, as well as platters of grilled fish and roasted birds, which were purchased from the Tainos. And most surprising of all is the platter of candied citrons and confites of almonds and sugar, and alongside these, jarred peaches covered in honey—all brought by Antonio on the ship.
Men sing and dance in the streets, and shout blessings in slurred voices. Someone plays the fiddle. Someone else entertains with tales of Alexander the Great, David and Goliath, Julius Caesar. I have not seen such merriment in a very long time.
All afternoon we are besieged by well wishers, especially my husband, for all the highborn seek his company. Even Diego and Bartolome Columbus come with congratulations and gifts. Nobles and knights continue to crowd around him, Arias Diaz among them. I notice Arias wears Sebastian’s blue velvet jerkin, and it pleases me. After Sebastian’s burial I gave one of his three trunks to Arias to share with the rest of the platoon that served under Alonso de Hojeda. To please Sebastian, I think, and to honor his comrades and acknowledge their kindness to him.
Arias smiles and fawns, but I am not concerned. Court life has taught Antonio how to deal with people who seek only their own advantage. My husband is polite, but beyond politeness takes little notice of Arias.
As I watch Antonio woo his fellows with good humor and good conversation, my belly cramps. I have been ignoring these cramps all day but can no longer. I go inside and pull my sinar from the trunk, stuff it with folded rags, and lay it aside. From the doorway I signal Maria and Pasculina. When they join me I quickly explain what has happened. And discreetly we go to a darkened corner where they hold up a blanket while I slip on the sinar.
I am back outside with my guests when the church bell rings Vespers and Fray Buil arrives to bless our nuptial bed. He greets me with a smile.
“I see happiness in your eyes, Isabel.”
I nod.
“Was I not right in discouraging you from entering the cloistered life?”
“You were right.”
“Then remember it well. When next trouble comes, stand firm, and do not seek to run from it. Rather, keep in mind how God is able to bring good out of bad if only you love Him and commit your ways to Him.”
Without thinking I grab Fray Buil’s hand. “Whatever will I do without you?” Tomorrow Fray Buil and most of the clergy will sail back to Cadiz. With him will go many important men of Isabela as well as the deserter, Pedro Margarite, who has been caught and arrested. “What will I do?”
“You have God and a new husband to care for you. I am of no consequence.”
“But why must you go?”
Fray Buil chuckles. “It is no secret Admiral Columbus and I are at odds. Isabela will best be served by another cleric. But do not think on these things. Tonight you must think only of your husband. But I will miss you, my child. I will miss you.”
I bend and kiss his hand. “And I will miss you,” I say, meaning it, though I never thought I would say that to any man of the cloth.
The bell chimes Martins as Mateo and Gonzalo move the empty wooden table back into the hut. They and Maria are all that remain of our guests.
“I believe everyone had a merry time,” I say to Maria who is picking up the last of the oil lamps scattered around the grounds. “If only it would continue. Isabela is in great need of goodwill.”
“It is not difficult to create goodwill when bellies are full of food and wine,” Antonio says, thumping the wine barrels with his knuckles. “Only four barrels of the ten remain. Enough wine flowed today to make everyone happy.”
I laugh. “Perhaps my husband’s other generosities also helped create the congenial mood? For when has anyone seen a groom give such gifts? A gold piece each to the peasants. Two gold pieces and a fine platter to the tradesmen. Chain mail and shields for the knights. Swords and purple velvet cloaks for the nobles.”
“I am happy you are pleased,” Antonio says.
Mateo appears in the doorway carrying a platter mounded with food. “As you instructed, Señora, I sent everyone home with a share of the wedding food and distributed your pouch of gold florins among the peasants with your good wishes.”
Antonio looks at me and smiles. “Your generosity pleases me, too.”
“But I held back this little bit for your breakfast tomorrow.” Mateo holds up the platter. “I will leave it on the table.”
Antonio and I both laugh for there is enough food on the platter for ten breakfasts.
Gonzalo, Maria, Antonio and I, each carrying oil lamps, congregate by the door. And though there is a full moon, we find ourselves standing in shadows.
“I will finish my business inside before Gonzalo and I depart,” Maria says disappearing into the hut. Minutes later she appears, carrying a deep saucer-like plate full of food, the portion Mateo had set aside for her. “I will return your platter tomorrow. And . . . I have checked the bed.”
Her words prick my heart on two counts. It was a mother’s duty to check the nuptial bed for chickpeas or pebbles or any other hindrances to conjugal relations left by a prankster or ill-wisher. And my heart is pricked because I wear a sinar.
Tonight of all nights.
Maria shifts the platter to one hand then presses me tightly to her.
“Thank you for your kindness,” I say.
“If only I was able to give you grand gifts like those you gave my sons and their brides.”
For Juan’s and Luis’s wedding I gave each a suit of Sebastian’s best clothing, which Pasculina, by way of her gift, altered to fit them. For their brides, I hired Pasculina’s husband, who is also a silversmith, to melt down four of Sebastian’s silver buckles and make them into bracelets, one for each of the Taino women. But they were gifts that cost me little, for what was I going to do with Sebastian’s possessions except use them for barter?
“I know how hard you worked,” I say, kissing Maria’s cheek. “And the many hours you spent preparing the food for the banquet. And I am grateful.”
Maria waves my words aside. “It shames me that I gave you so little.”
“So little? You have given me that which is most precious. You have given me your friendship.”
Antonio and I stand in the doorway of our hut holding our lamps and waving goodnight to Maria, Gonzalo and Mateo, then watch their outlines blend into the shadows. Even so, we linger, I think because we are both a little afraid of going inside.
“Are you weary, Isabel?” Antonio finally says, stepping into the hut.
I follow, and slowly draw the beautiful brocade curtain Pasculina made, and her husband hung for us, as a wedding gift. “A little.” I walk to the wooden table where the glass lantern glows, and place my oil lamp beside it. Someone has put a lamp on the stool near the bed; Maria, most likely, when she pulled down the covers. Antonio adds his lamp, and my throat goes dry. Even in the dim light I see the tenderness on his face.
“I am . . . niddah—unclean,” I say, despising my body for betraying me; despising that I must tell him of my monthly blood flow, for I am telling him he cannot touch me throughout my flow or for a week after it ends. “But if it pleases you, we do not have to follow Jewish law.” I hold my breath, for doing the holy deed during a woman’s flow is shameful. I have said this because I have no way of knowing if he still honors this practice. After all, he was wed to an Old Christian. But I want him to know I am willing, for it is forbidden for a man to force his wife to lie with him. Everyone knows such a union could produce evil children. At least I will not have that on my conscience.
Without a word, Antonio goes to where Mateo left
his trunks, and pulls out a sleeping roll, then spreads it on the floor next to the bed.
“No, Isabel. I will not shame you.” His hand goes to remove his jerkin and stops. For a moment his eyes rest on me. Then he picks up the lamps and blows them out, but not before I see the disappointment in his eyes. And as I extinguish the lamps on the table, I wonder if he sees mine.
“Bartolome Columbus will ask you to sit on the Governing Council,” I say, eating cassava bread and watching my husband study the platter of food that sits on the table between us.
“Not without consulting the Admiral.” Antonio’s large knuckled hand plucks a slice of melon from the plate. “Especially since Diego heads the Council. Bartolome will not usurp Diego’s authority; or Christopher’s for that matter.”
“He will ask. Today he loses one of his regents with Fray Buil’s sailing. And with him go many leading men of Isabela.”
“Including the rogue, Pedro Margarite.” Antonio studies me closely.
“Yes, including Margarite.” Like everyone in Isabela, I have heard how Margarite deserted his post, leaving over three hundred and fifty soldiers, unrestrained. Every day, stories grow worse of how they brutalize the Indians, steal their food, possessions, and women. “With so many returning to Castile, Bartolome will look for someone of power and influence to help restore order.”
“Yes, with Fray Buil goes most of the clergy and many important men of the town, and their influence will be sorely missed. And yes, Bartolome Columbus is too severe with the men, flogging them for minor infractions. And this has caused much resentment toward him and his brother. But you must not worry, Isabel. There are still many nobles who remain loyal to the Columbus brothers.” His eyes, full of tenderness, rest on me.
“Perhaps. But there are other concerns, too. Bata tells me ever since Hojeda cut off that chief ’s ear there has been great anger among her people.”
“Isabel, the chief was caught stealing. There must be order, and if necessary, stern discipline, otherwise all will crumble.”
“So . . . only Tainos must follow the law while Pedro Margarite’s men run lawless with impunity?”
Antonio fingers his beard. We have discussed this before. “Hojeda is a good soldier, and good soldiers follow orders. Admiral Columbus has ordered that a nose or ear be cut off any thieving Taino.”
“You see no injustice in a penalty that takes the ear or nose from a Taino who steals three tunics, but takes nothing from a Spaniard who steals all of a Taino’s possessions, destroys his hut, rapes his wife and daughter, then disembowels him with a sword, as so many of our men have done?”
“It is rare to see such passion in a woman.”
“Do not be deceived, my husband, for more often than not my head rules these passions. And my head tells me the injustices done the Tainos are piling up like rotting sheaves, creating a stench that can no longer be ignored. There is great unrest among the Indians. Already, many have burned their fields and villages, and fled into the forest.”
“Yes . . . I have heard. But I have also heard that Caonabo travels the countryside provoking our men, even killing some.”
“Have you considered he is just applying his form of justice? And avenging our cruelty? Like he did at Navidad?”
Antonio reaches for the goblet in my hand. When I pull away, he smiles. “We will not lie together when you are unclean, but I will not observe it as our parents did. I see no sin in drinking from your cup or touching your hand.”
I hesitate, then give him the goblet. My breath catches when our fingers touch, but I feel no shame. To be sure, Mama would be scandalized, for such touching is unthinkable during a women’s time of impurity. But Antonio and I must navigate our own waters. And we must trust the Holy One to show us how.
I watch him sip water from my cup. His linen tunic is open at the neck, his hair, disarrayed. Sleep still softens his eyes, and a smile softens his face. He looks so beguiling it requires great control to keep from seeking his arms. I wonder if he feels as I do, for I too am improperly attired, wearing only an undergown with my hair falling loosely over my shoulders. Antonio insisted we not dress for breakfast, our first breakfast together as man and wife, and it pleases me for its simplicity and implied intimacy, though I see danger in it, too.
“So, you believe Bartolome will seek me out?” Antonio pulls another piece of fruit from the platter.
“I am sure of it. He needs to restore order, and he knows that because you are greatly respected at court, the nobles and knights here will also respect you. I think he views you as a means of controlling these men. And there are three sitting on the Council who will back him and approve your appointment: Pedro Coronel, Juan de Lujan, and Alfonso Sanchez de Carvajal. And all three understand that after years at court you know how to manage people, while Bartolome Columbus is a mapmaker who knows little of administering a colony. Perhaps with you at his elbow he will listen to reason. If order is not restored, how will we meet the challenge of a Taino uprising? Carvajal and the rest of the Council will want you. And when they ask, you must be ready with an answer.”
Antonio rests his elbows on the table. His tunic is short sleeved, revealing bare muscular arms. “And would that please you? If they did?”
I touch the two scars near the bend of his arm and wonder if the wounds were very painful. “No. God forgive me, but no.”
He covers my fingers with his hand. “What are you really afraid of, Isabel?”
“Francisco Roldan.”
Antonio nods. “Roldan is a dangerous man; ambitious and base, and one who despises class privilege. Yes . . . he is just the sort who might use our present weakness to advantage. Some say he has already begun to foment rebellion, but I see no proof of that.” One eyebrow arcs upward. “But I think you despise class privilege too, and have fought a rebellion of your own. Your friendship with Maria has shattered the time honored separation of the classes.”
“You disapprove?”
Antonio’s laughter makes my heart flutter. “No, Isabel, for I understand loneliness, and would not deprive you of Maria’s companionship. But the high-born in Isabela are displeased. Surely you know that? They tolerate it only because of their affection for you.”
“Affection for me?”
“You are an angel in their eyes. Feeding their sick, displaying courage and fortitude. Why, I believe half the men in Isabela are in love with you.”
I narrow my eyes as I take another bite of bread. “I am not as naive as you suppose, for I know you talk nonsense.”
“I do not talk nonsense when I say many peasants also disapprove of your friendship with Maria. They see it as condescension on your part. You must remember peasants traditionally hate the privileged class.”
“As much as they hate Jews?”
“Only if the privileged one is a Jew.”
I laugh, but inside I shudder, for I am remembering the expression on Enrique’s face the day he delivered my bed. “In a way you shattered class lines too. You are a titled nobleman who married a spice merchant’s daughter.”
“A very wealthy spice merchant’s daughter. One of the wealthiest merchants in Seville when you consider that a few peppercorns are worth as much as a cow. And since when is money not able to bridge differences?” He leans over the table. “At least that is what the world thinks. And let it. I have no need of your money. I only have need of you.”
His face is so earnest and tender I look away. But he pulls me back with his words. “Everyone knows that the Sovereigns’ motto, ‘Tonto Monta’, was sewn on their banners. And that it was this motto that unified Castile and Aragon by proclaiming both Queen Isabel and King Fernando equal in dignity and authority. Let that be our motto, too, Isabel, for we are equal in dignity, and we will run our estates and households in joint authority.”
Without thinking I brush his lips with my finger tips. How can I explain the love I have for this man who is my husband and not yet fully my husband? It cascades like a raging waterfall, wild a
nd powerful, and waters every part of me, even those parched desert places where I thought no water could ever reach. We lean together over the table, our heads close, our fingers entwined. I am completely undone, and am about to shamelessly tell him how much I love him when I hear Bata’s voice, “Isbell! Isbell!”
“Isbell!” she shouts again, pulling aside the curtain over our door. She is sweaty and out of breath. “You must help, Isbell. You must help,” she says, entering.
I fill a goblet with water, and bid Bata to sit, which she does. But she waves the water aside. “Help, Isbell. They hurt my . . . .”
Suddenly Juan bursts through the doorway, also panting and sweating. It is obvious they have both been running. “Pardon, Don Antonio.” He bows. “Excuse my wife’s interruption. I tried to stop her. I ran all the way to stop her, but she was too swift. I told her you were not to be disturbed. Pardon, please pardon us.” His face, and Bata’s, tells me something is wrong.
Antonio gestures for Juan to sit, then points to Bata’s water goblet. “Refresh yourself, then tell us what has happened.”
Juan guzzles the water, leaving it unchecked to dribble down his chin and onto his rough tunic. “They are dragging Bata’s uncle and five other men to the Plaza,” he finally says, without bothering to wipe his chin. “They are dragging Bata’s uncle by the hair, a cacique—a chief. They show no respect for his rank. They say they are going to kill him. They threaten to kill them all.”
“Who is going to kill them?” Antonio asks.
“The nobles. They say they are going to cut off their heads, or hang them, or maybe burn them at the stake.”
The Salt Covenants Page 21
