Outside, a young soldier was holding a glowing torch when he heard his heel click against some type of unnatural element. He crouched low to the ground and swept away some loose strands of grass and dirt with his free hand. Beneath that small mound of fresh, cool earth, he discovered a hidden door manned with an iron lock from a jailer’s dungeon. He shouted out to his superiors, “Over this way!”
They smashed the lock and descended the stone stairs to the damp, subterranean lair. Amidst sprouting mushrooms and festering mold, beneath the flickering glow of their outstretched torches, they discovered scores of Hebrew scrolls. High-piled heaps of prayer books, a spectacular menorah of solid gold, prayer shawls, countless Torah’s scrolls, and within an innocuous wooden crate, a broken mirror encrusted with rubies, diamonds, and pearls.
3
With the help of the Jewish Underground, Doña Antonia managed to arrange the escape of her family. They were smuggled out of Portugal en route to Spain. From there, they met with a band of persecuted Gypsies. The leader was happy to take them into his flock for a few ducats as the caravan fled east towards Italy to escape Spanish persecution.
Doña Antonia looked about the filthy tent they shared with a young couple and their baby. Soiled diapers were piled high in a corner and the room smelled putrid. This was the only space available in the crowded caravan. “In spite of our surroundings, we will keep our self-respect.” She picked up a small heap of clothing. “I’m going out to wash our linens.”
“Tia, no.” José held out his arm to block her. “We’ve been warned that the Papal authority has gotten wind of our arrival. Best to stay indoors until we move on from Ancona.”
“I won’t live like this.” She pushed his arm aside. “Reyna, have this place tidy when I get back.”
Several minutes had passed when Reyna stopped sweeping and looked up at José. “Do you hear that?”
José froze for a moment then made his way towards the tent’s entrance. He stood with his ear pressed to the outside world. Suddenly, he could hear the screams of women and the shouting of what he could only imagine to be soldiers.
“Quickly, give me your finger.” José turned to Reyna.
“What’s happening?”
“The authorities! They must know we’re here. They’re raiding the camp.” He took hold of her hand and withdrew his dagger.
“What are you doing?”
He said nothing, but made a small slit along her fingertip with the tip of the blade as she winced in pain. José then did the same to his own finger. “Look up,” he instructed a bewildered Reyna. Her eyes were glazed over. She was filthy and exhausted. He spread the blood from his fingertips across her cheeks, nose and forehead.
“José?” Her voice was raspy as she spoke.
“I’m darkening your skin. You should appear to be Roma when they find you.” He continued to blot the blood across her face until she appeared noticeably darker.
He quickly did the same to his own face while the commotion outside their tent grew louder. Mothers and babies were crying as the authorities stormed the tents, one at a time.
Suddenly, a hulk of a man burst into their tent wielding an enormous bludgeon in one hand and a sword in the other. The red-haired man grimaced at Reyna and José, took one look at their Roma complexion and stormed out as violently and suddenly as he had burst in.
Reyna let out a deep gasp and could not catch her breath. José tried to calm her. “You’re all right.” He tried to sound convincing.
When the raid had ended, José and Reyna emerged from their tent to discover a cloudless blue sky overhead. There was absolute stillness throughout the tent village. They made their way to a deserted washboard. Doña Antonia’s lace collar was on the ground muddied with large boot prints. She’d been out for no more than five minutes when the soldiers spotted and arrested her.
José and Reyna were silent for some time. They reached out, wrapping themselves around each other, separated only by silence, bonded by wordlessness. He took her by the hand and led her through the makeshift corridors of the camp.
Taking shelter in dodgy inns of forgotten city quarters, they changed their hideouts frequently, moving from one rat-infested lodging to another. The inns they patronized housed the city’s cripples and drunks, but they would not take any chances in more upscale lodging. Ancona was on alert for two runaway Jews.
José met with one of the resistance fighters in the tavern of a whorehouse where no Inquisition clergy would dare risk being spotted.
The Spaniard arrived, his face sunken back beneath the shadows of his hooded cape. He looked over his shoulder before pulling the hood back with his long, pale fingers. He had chiseled features and a sharp, pointed chin. His long, ebony hair fell forward masking much of his face from view. He was one of hundreds of crypto Jews in the resistance network.
“We’ve been tracking your escape,” the man said as he pulled up a bar stool.
José looked up incredulously.
“You seem surprised.”
“I don’t understand. How did you even…”
“Your aunt has been funding the underground movement for some time.”
“My aunt? But—”
“Her continued involvement has been a key component to our operations. Naturally, we’ve kept an eye on her.”
“I never suspected…” his voice trailed off.
“She hid it well from both you and Reyna.”
José’ furrowed his brow but said nothing.
“You mustn’t be upset. The less you knew, the safer you were. The safer we all were.”
“What happens now?”
“Her cover’s been blown. They’re most likely interrogating her at this very moment.”
“What sort of interrogation?”
“We believe she can withstand the pressure.”
“Pressure?”
“José, our people are loyal. The last time one of our men was caught, he chewed off his own tongue, so afraid he was he might name names…”
“My G-d,” José gasped.
“You have to understand, your aunt’s whole life has been dedicated to the cause.”
José blinked back tears. “Why did she stay? Why not carry on with the mission from a distance, somewhere safe! Somewhere where they couldn’t reach her?”
“She stayed for them.”
“Them?”
“The others. The ones without means. She used her money to fund the movement, to bribe officials and district authorities to release prisoners and turn a blind eye at the border. We tried often to get her to leave but she was so stubborn. She was convinced her efforts wouldn’t be as effective if she wasn’t on the ground overseeing things.”
“Were there many?”
“Many?”
“Victims. Escapees. Whatever you call them.”
“I stopped counting long ago.”
“All this time…” José’s voice trailed off.
“I believe she would have stayed in Portugal if she could, but she was forced out. A marriage between the prince and Reyna would have allotted the royal family control over your family’s wealth. It would have been impossible for the mission to continue.”
“What do we do now?” José asked. Life as a fugitive was taking its toll. He hadn’t slept in days. Tormented by visions of his aunt being tortured in ways he could not imagine, in the dungeons of a prison he did not know, for the first time in his life he felt completely helpless.
The Spaniard withdrew a weathered map from his satchel, unfolded it and placed it before José. He tapped his finger on a narrow strip of land nestled between the Black sea and the Aegean.
“That’s where you’re to go, Istanbul. The capital city of the Ottoman Empire.”
“Istanbul? But why?”
“Because there you will be free. Free to practice your religion and free to plan your aunt’s rescue. We have an agent there waiting. He and your aunt had been working together to bring the refugees out of Iberia. I’m to
ld he has strong ties to the Sultan.”
“You’re told? Do you mean to say you’ve never met this man? What if it’s a trap?”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
José scoffed. “I haven’t much of a choice, do I?”
“You have no choice.”
“My aunt is imprisoned here. I can’t just leave.” He shook his head in disbelief. “No, I won’t. We won’t….not until we’re all together again.”
“You’re not safe here.” He lowered his raspy voice to a whisper. “Get out now.”
“But my aunt—”
“The Sultan is your only hope.” The Spaniard’s eyes darted around the room.
“We can’t just leave her—”
“Think of the girl. You are her guardian now. They’ll have the two of you strung up in quarters if you’re caught. Listen carefully. Disguise yourselves. Board the ferry at sunrise. You’ll keep your mouth shut and your ears open if you know what’s good for you.”
“Now wait just a minute—”
“Our agent will come to collect you in Istanbul once you arrive.”
“I need some time.”
“Every uniformed man for miles is out right now looking to hunt you down for a fat bounty. They’ll be here in the morning asking after a young Portuguese traveler. With your smooth skin and foreign tongue, how long do you think it will take them to track you down?”
José swallowed hard.
“Do as I say.” The Spaniard tapped Istanbul on the map then folded it back into a neat square and returned it to his sack. “Leave.” He pulled the dark hood back over his head and gathered his belongings. “You’re out of time.”
Guards on alert for Reyna and José were stationed all along the periphery of the city. At the harbor, they were approached by district authorities demanding to know what their travel purposes were.
“My wife and I are missionaries,” José explained to a rotund young man with dopey eyes and thick brows. He handed the officer the forged identity papers.
“Have you heard of the Mendez children?”
“I have not.” José felt a knot form at the base of his throat.
“Jews. They’re on the run. You two fit the description quite nicely.”
“I assure you we are not Jews.” He laughed, worrying that perhaps he’d laughed a little too loud. José tried to steady his pounding heart as the officer looked over their forged documents. The man squinted as though something didn’t look right.
A shrill whistle sounded quite suddenly and José seized the opportunity.
“Officer, we really should make that ferry. I’m afraid it’s going to leave in just a few moments.”
The whistle sounded once more. The young guard twitched nervously then pulled the hood down from over Don José’s head. He frisked his fingers through José’s long dark curls. Assured that José did not possess horns or the stubs that indicated their removal, he ushered them onto the boat.
“Hurry you both!”
With that, Don José pulled the dark hood of his cloak back over his head and hurried up the wooden planks with Reyna by his side. They boarded Le Grand Marie, an enormous vessel much like the ones Ferdinand and Isabella sent to explore the new world. Thick ropes and netting soared overhead, along with the canopy of four enormous sails bloating out from tall masts rising from the deck like planted spears piercing the heavens. Boys as young as eight or nine hustled by with splashing buckets and tall mops. Muscular deckhands and bronzed sailors tugged and tied their ropes in accordance with the will of the winds. They cranked their wheels and hollered orders beneath the sweaty glow of their sun-kissed complexions.
They were ushered to their shared quarters, a musty cabin in the lower deck of the ship’s hull fashioned with endless rows of wooden barracks for the hundreds of passengers on board. Outfitted with stained and rancid mattresses, they slept with linen cloths over their mouths to avoid the fevers that at week’s end had spread to countless passengers. They could not risk staying in the upper deck cabins where they might be recognized by diplomats and noblemen lodging in luxurious quarters and socializing in first class dining quarters.
While the sweltering conditions in the lower cabin were nearly intolerable, Reyna and José spent most of the journey holed up there among the sick and elderly and sealed cargo boxes. With the fiery image of the public burning still vivid in her mind, Reyna thrashed in her sleep and cried out in terror as flames enveloped the dark corners of her mind. Her body was drenched in sweat and smoldered with the heat of her nightmares as José tried to shake her awake.
By the time the fevers had claimed two lives below deck, the threat of disease outweighed the threat of recognition. Reyna and José made their way up to the open air of the upper deck.
There, priests and diplomats relished the salty sprays brought aboard by easterly gusts. Reyna closed her eyes and let the hard winds assault her cheeks and ravage her hair. Eavesdropping upon the conversations of first class lodgers, they discovered that the family scandal served the gossip needs of nearly all the bored aristocrats and wealthy merchants on deck. The men smoked rolled bundles of dried tobacco, a trendy new pastime amongst Europe’s upper class that had been brought back from the New World by Portuguese sailors and explorers of the day.
“If it’s good enough for our dear lady Catherine de Medici, it’s good enough for me!” explained a portly young merchant as a cloud of smoke escaped his lips.
“Mind if I have a try?” José asked the big man with the cigars.
“Not at all!” He flashed a toothy grin then stretched out a wooden box full of cigars for José to choose one.
José brought a cigar to his lips and kissed it with gusto. “Bless you, Captain Chris.”
“Chris?” The man took José’s cigar and lit it from his own, transferring a soft orange glow to the tip of José’s cigar.
“Surely you’ve heard of the fellow?” José took a drag and enjoyed it from the very first puff. “An Italian sailor by the name of Columbus.”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”
José shrugged. “I suppose we can’t all make it into the history books.”
They leaned over the edge of the deck flicking ash into the sea below. “That your wife there?” The man gestured towards Reyna as he sucked in smoke to his cheeks.
José nodded. Then, he turned to Reyna and in the most honest moment of their three-week pretense as husband and wife, enveloped her in a kiss so passionate, violent and stubborn, she tore herself away and stumbled as she did.
“Newlyweds!” The man laughed wholeheartedly. “Good luck to you both!” He tossed his cigar overboard leaving Reyna and José alone on the south side of the deck.
That night, their minds raced with thoughts they’d never dared to entertain before. They lay in the barrack beside one another, bodies crushed by a gaping space between them. At some point during those long sleepless hours, she reached out and pulled his arm over her body so that they lay like spoons.
4
At the dock, a handsome old man with a trim grey beard approached José and Reyna. He smiled, exposing a row of perfectly aligned teeth as bright and spotless as the long white tunic and turban he wore. “You must be the Mendez children?” he asked in near perfect Spanish.
Having taken such pains to hide his identity for the past few weeks, José stood speechless.
“It’s all right, you are on Ottoman territory now,” the man said. “No one will harm you here.”
“We can’t thank you enough, Señor?”
“Hamon,” the man said. “Doctor Moses Hamon, personal physician to the Sultan. I am also Jewish.” The man explained. “Here you are free to follow whatever faith you choose. You’re a citizen of the Ottoman empire now.” He looked over Reyna.
Despite her matted hair and the drab frock she wore to conceal her identity, her brown eyes glistened against her flushed complexion.
“You are more beautiful than your mother promised.”
“I am also from Iberia,” he continued as he led them towards the carriage. “Granada to be exact. My family fled the year of the edict. We came to Istanbul. I’ve been working for the Sultan for many decades now.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but how did you manage to find us?” Reyna said.
“I’ve been exchanging letters with your mother for many years now. She’d been planning an escape for quite some time. Over the years, she’s funneled her assets here little by little. She’d always planned to come to Istanbul.”
“Doctor Hamon,” José cut in. “Have you had any word of our aunt? Of her condition?”
“I have good news,” the doctor said. “The Sultan is insisting she be released. Preparations are in motion as we speak. I expect the authorities in Ancona will give her up in the next day or so. The Pope won’t risk going up against the Sultan. My goodness, the girl looks as though she is going to faint…Come! You’ve had a long journey.” He took Reyna’s hand and helped her mount the step leading into a chariot manned by two muscular Africans. “You’ll be taken to your temporary quarters in Ortakoy,” he continued. “A full staff awaits you there and is prepared to attend to all your needs.”
“We cannot thank you enough,” said José.
“Just get some rest,” the doctor replied. “In the morning, you’ll be presented to the Sultan. Now, I’ll excuse myself. I have some business to attend to back at the palace.”
Reyna reached for the doctor’s hand and bowed to kiss the large emerald on his finger.
“Please don’t thank me.” He reached for her dirty cheek. “It’s only natural. Why shouldn’t I help if I can?”
“Not everyone would.”
The Debt of Tamar Page 3
