A Ceiling Made of Eggshells

by Gail Carson Levine

  On March 26, a royal messenger knocked on our door and presented Fatima with a scroll tied with a red ribbon.

  The scroll was a summons to Belo to attend the king and queen at their camp outside the new city of Santa Fe, near Granada. I was to come, too. “‘Your presence, kind friend, is required, and the attendance of your granddaughter Paloma Cantala is needed as well. Do not tarry.’”

  There was my name, with King Ferdinand’s signature below. I touched the signature. Belo would keep the scroll, and my name would live there forever. I’d joined the annals of the Jews of Spain.

  A flurry of packing followed. Granada was far to the south. We’d be traveling for more than a week, and who knew how long we’d have to stay.

  As we set out, Belo wondered if the monarchs had decided to levy a new tax on the Jews. “For a cathedral or some such. No doubt they’ll try again to convert you. Don’t frighten me the way you did in Málaga, Loma.”

  “I was a child!”

  We reached the monarchs’ camp in the evening of Wednesday, April 4. The Spanish court was arrayed in tents on a hill north of Santa Fe. While Hamdun pitched our tent on the outskirts, Belo sent a messenger to let a secretary know that we had arrived. The messenger returned in an hour with tidings that Don Solomon was expected, too, and our audience would await his coming.

  In the morning, since Don Solomon still hadn’t arrived, Belo and I strolled through the camp, which bustled with servants, slaves, courtiers, priests, and monks. Belo greeted the courtiers and clerics he knew and invited them to our tent. In the afternoon, he entertained fifteen guests. I sat on a cushion and embroidered a tablecloth I’d brought with me to work on.

  No one paid attention to me until the Duke of Medinaceli came. He lowered himself creakily onto the cushion next to me. “Lately, my knees hate me.”

  I smiled. In this crowd of strangers, he seemed, slight acquaintance though he was, like an old friend. “Belo’s feet have hated him for years.”

  He smiled back and then sobered. “More and more, the queen wraps herself in a cloak of Christ. When she was young, she danced. You should have seen her lift her skirts above her ankles and throw back her head. She had a beautiful neck!”

  I hadn’t noticed her neck. Feeling I had to say something, I told him that I liked to dance.

  He went on. “Everyone eavesdrops on anything I say to Don Joseph, but no one pays attention when I speak to you.” He raised his hands in mock protest. “I would speak with you anyway! Between us, you are my favorite Cantala!”

  Belo was his favorite, but I didn’t contradict him. “What would you tell my abuelo?”

  “The grand inquisitor is here. Tell Don Joseph to prepare himself.”

  “For what?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Something is coming, but people are aware I’m a friend of the Jews. They don’t confide in me.”

  Don Solomon arrived in the evening. When he’d settled on a cushion next to Belo, and sugar candies were brought and prayers said, I told him and Belo about the duke’s warning.

  Both thought it rumor of a fresh levy.

  Don Solomon smoothed out his silk overgown. “They think they can tax us into the arms of the church.”

  In the morning, a secretary appeared at our tent flap with Don Solomon already in tow to escort us to the monarchs, and, for once, we were taken directly to them, which made me uneasy.

  Their tent was as richly furnished as a room in a castle, with overlapping carpets, four tables, three benches, ten folding leather armchairs, seven cushions, and three pole lamps threatening to set everything ablaze. The secretary who brought us remained, and two slaves stood at the tent flaps. The monarchs sat on their canopied thrones, and the infanta perched on a high-backed chair at her father’s side. She wore a white surcoat over a white gown, white for mourning. Her husband had died over the summer.

  Next to Queen Isabella stood the grand inquisitor, Fra Torquemada.

  Don Solomon and Belo bowed, and I curtsied. King Ferdinand’s eyes were on Don Solomon and Belo, but the other three blared smiles at me. Princess Isabella, who began to rise, sank back when the grand inquisitor rushed to me.

  He took my hands. His were hot. “Your devotion to your grandfather continues.” He turned to the queen. “She is an excellent young woman.” He returned to her.

  “We are met again!” Princess Isabella glided to me so smoothly she seemed not to have feet. She kissed both my cheeks. “Mamá, she’s as plump and pretty as ever.” Continuing to smile warmly at me, she backed away to her father.

  She was thinner. I had heard her grief was endless, but she seemed happy now.

  Queen Isabella herself left her throne to embrace first Don Solomon, then Belo, and then me. My unease grew. King Ferdinand nodded affably at the three of us.

  When the queen had returned to her throne, Belo took my hand and gripped it tight. He didn’t think this was going to be good, either.

  Queen Isabella nodded at the slaves. One brought chairs for each of us. Belo let my hand go.

  King Ferdinand said, “We will always be grateful to you, Don Solomon and Don Joseph. You helped Christ give us victory here in Granada.”

  Don Solomon said that it was his joy to serve them. “We hope to continue as long as we have breath.”

  Belo nodded. I nodded, too, not that it mattered.

  “That is our hope, too,” the queen said in her breathy voice.

  Why did she have to hope? They could make it so.

  King Ferdinand leaned back in his throne. “We have long thought on this—”

  “Wait!” Queen Isabella held up her hand. “I can hardly say how much I long for closeness with you three and all your families.” She touched the gold cross on her chest. “You are in our hearts, but there is a divide that cuts off embrace.”

  Conversion again.

  She went on. “The Jews of Spain will have to choose, and we—”

  Her husband began his set speech. “Our New Christians—”

  But the queen broke in again. “We believed separating the Jews in their juderías would be enough to end the Judaizing among converts, but—”

  “The Judaizing continues.” King Ferdinand’s voice was a little louder. “We have concluded there is one remedy—”

  “And one inducement,” the queen put in.

  “Would you like to tell them?” the king asked.

  “I defer to you, my lord, as we arranged.” The queen folded her hands.

  “We signed a decree. The Jews of Spain must choose: they may remain Jews—”

  Ah. We could choose. They weren’t going to force us.

  “—or they may remain in Spain—”

  “—which is the wish of our hearts,” the queen said.

  For a moment, I was bewildered.

  But King Ferdinand made all clear. “Those who become Christians may stay and keep their possessions. The decree expels all Jews from Spain.”

  29

  I looked at Belo to see if a spell was starting. His face reddened, and he gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles white. No spell. Fury.

  What would happen to our littles and all the Jewish children of Spain?

  Fra Torquemada was smiling gently, like a snake with its eyes on a frog.

  Belo began, “How long—”

  Don Solomon raised a hand to stop Belo, who, undoubtedly, was beginning an angry speech. Sounding hoarse, he said, “I’m astonished. Who will do what I do for Your Majesties? I would hate for you to be ill served.”

  I wanted them to be dreadfully served.

  Queen Isabella rushed to Don Solomon, crouched, and embraced him in his chair. With her face inches from his, she said, “Dear friend, we don’t want to lose you! We want you closer than ever.” She held out an arm toward Belo. “And you!”

  Princess Isabella flowed to the back of my chair, where she hugged my shoulders and held me. She brushed my hair aside and kissed my cheek near my ear. “And you!”

  I sat sti
ffly and endured her.

  Belo cleared his throat. “When will the decree be announced?”

  Queen Isabella said, “Soon.”

  “Before it is, may Don Solomon and I return to share our thoughts with you?”

  “You may,” King Ferdinand said.

  “We know you’re surprised.” Queen Isabella rose from her crouch.

  Fra Torquemada folded his hands across his belly. “If wolves were harrying the flocks of the Jews, they wouldn’t suffer the wolves to stay.” He gestured at the king and queen. “We three are the shepherds of Spain.”

  Queen Isabella opened her arms wide. “Think of the joy of Spain when you convert. Think of our love and our gratitude. But you may argue with us if you must.”

  We walked in silence to Don Solomon’s tent. I kept thinking of Queen Esther in the Bible. If I were like her, I could use my wiles to win over the king. He’d love me and would save the Jews just so I wouldn’t cry.

  I had no wiles! And King Ferdinand never looked my way.

  As soon as we entered Don Solomon’s tent, Belo burst out, “Why? How did we offend the Almighty?”

  Don Solomon went to a table and poured wine for himself. “I’d like to know how long they’ve been planning this.” He turned to me, standing just inside the tent flaps. “I feel my age today, Loma.”

  As soon as we were all seated on cushions, he and Belo began convincing each other that the monarchs’ decision wasn’t settled and they could be persuaded out of it.

  While they marshaled their arguments, I thought of my family—especially the littles—if they failed. Where would we go? What kingdom would take us?

  My hands were freezing. I was Belo’s helper, nothing besides that, but I was essential to him, and since he protected the family, I was the protector of us all. I was terrified.

  I didn’t want to be baptized! The queen and the princess might go around Belo to force me, and I didn’t think he’d abandon me to be a Christian alone.

  I rubbed my hands together, but they wouldn’t warm.

  Later in our tent, each of us lay on our pallets with the tent flap open to let in the light of the torch stuck in the ground outside.

  “Can you smell the sea, Loma?”

  The salt tickled my nose. “Yes. I like it.”

  “I relish it.” He raised himself on one elbow. “You may wonder why Solomon and I are confident.”

  I did. I rolled onto my side to see him better.

  “The monarchs spend and spend and always need money. They think they’re poor. Ordinary Jews and Christians are poor.”

  We were wealthy.

  Sometimes Belo could read my mind, or so it seemed. “We may be poor eventually. It’s worse every year. But for now, we’ll find money from somewhere so they can erect another cathedral or conquer the infidel in Africa. When we can, we’ll rebuild. We’ve done it before.”

  I wouldn’t bring discord into the tent by arguing, but I didn’t think money would persuade Fra Torquemada.

  Belo added, “The Almighty has given us this king and this queen, who could be worse. Their hearts are tender toward me and you and Solomon. My own heart is filled with gratitude.”

  Their tenderness was all for Belo. I was just a conduit to him.

  He began to rehearse his words to the king and queen. I lay back and concentrated on the rumble of his voice, not the words. I let my many worries go and fell asleep.

  The next afternoon, we returned to the monarchs at our allotted time but had to wait for an hour in a small tent.

  When we finally were called, we were alone with the king and queen, aside from servants and slaves. No chairs were brought for us.

  Don Solomon and Belo took turns speaking, as they had decided. They had prepared three arguments. I gripped Bela’s pendant so tightly that there was an imprint on my palm afterward.

  Don Solomon began inauspiciously by coughing. Then he said, “We Jews contributed to the war against the Moors. The aljamas are poor now because the war took its toll, but with peace we’ll replenish and be ready to contribute to the next endeavor that’s close to your great hearts. Spain is richer with us than without us.”

  While he spoke, Queen Isabella shook her head, but King Ferdinand looked thoughtful. He was believed to always think first of his purse.

  The queen leaned forward. “This isn’t a matter of money. Those who leave will pay future taxes before they go.”

  Really?

  Ah. Another inducement for people to convert and stay.

  “We hope that so many will flock to the font that we won’t collect much. We’re sure the conversion of you three”—she nodded at me—“will convince almost all.”

  Don Solomon began the second argument. “This expulsion comes because some conversos Judaize, and some Jews are thought to help them. If this is true, as it may be—”

  We all knew it was.

  “—we’ll reform ourselves. If our converso cousins come to us, wanting to follow our law, we’ll send them back to the Church, which they chose.”

  Or didn’t choose, since many had been forced.

  He finished: “This will be the practice in every aljama, because the punishment for defiance will be excommunication forever.”

  That was what the monarchs said they wanted. I held my breath.

  King Ferdinand frowned. Queen Isabella tightened her mouth.

  The king said, “Why hasn’t this already been done? It—”

  The queen broke in. “You knew this was dear to our hearts.”

  Don Solomon nodded. “We’ll allow no slips—none—ever again.”

  There would be slips. I knew that—and so did Queen Isabella.

  “If we could be sure . . . ,” she said. “But we can’t. A year will pass, a decade will go by, and the instruction will resume. We must have a permanent solution.”

  “I assure you, it won’t resume,” Don Solomon said.

  The king said flatly, “I don’t believe you.”

  Softening his words, his wife said, “We know you intend it to be true.”

  It was Belo’s turn. In Don Solomon’s tent, I’d been sure the queen at least wouldn’t be able to resist his words.

  He cleared his throat. “Yesterday, you called Don Solomon friend. I hope Your Highnesses consider me a friend, too.”

  “We do!” Queen Isabella cried.

  “How glad I am for that. Your Majesties, we’ve seen the nobles, the towns—even the priests—be thorns in your sides with their conflicting demands on your goodness. Your Jews, who have always been yours, have wanted only what you want.”

  Queen Isabella nodded along with Belo’s words.

  He went on. “We don’t argue against your decrees. We haven’t rebelled or caused civil war. Never. When you suffer, we suffer with you. Always. When you rejoice, we rejoice. Always.”

  The queen’s eyes were wet. The king’s were dry. His face was expressionless. I thought he might yawn.

  Queen Isabella wept openly. “If you don’t accept baptism, how I will miss you.”

  30

  Back in Don Solomon’s tent, where servants had laid out supper, Belo said, “God hardened the hearts of the king and queen.”

  Don Solomon sat at the table. “Sit.” He helped himself to just a chunk of bread. “I’m not hungry.”

  We sat. Belo said the prayers, and we ate. I could always eat, but I swallowed each bite over a lump in my throat.

  “Loma,” Belo said, “what do you think?”

  I wiped my mouth on my napkin. “Where are we supposed to go? Have they decided for us? When? What will happen if we won’t go and won’t be baptized, either?”

  Don Solomon frowned. “I hope we can keep it from coming to that, but if it does, the vultures will make sure the Jews leave with little.”

  He said the Jews, not we Jews, but I didn’t think he meant anything by it.

  Belo seemed not to notice. “I wonder if the king and queen both want us expelled, or really just one of them.”


  Don Solomon said, “The king looked interested when I talked about riches.”

  “How much can we offer?” Belo asked.

  They began to name wealthy families and rich aljamas and how much could be expected from each, and both agreed to contribute most of their own fortunes. I volunteered my dowry.

  They finally arrived at 300,000 gold ducats.

  “I’ll tell them,” Don Solomon said. “They can’t ask for more.”

  But how much would they want next year and the year after?

  Don Solomon and Belo also agreed to enlist Old Christian friends, like the Duke of Medinaceli and Cardinal de Mendoza, to plead for us. Many were here at the camp, in attendance on the monarchs. Our kind friends, almost as dismayed as we were by the decree, spent what was left of the afternoon and into the evening filing in and out of the royal tent.

  But their efforts failed. Our offer of money, made the next day, came closer to success. King Ferdinand looked meaningfully at his wife, but she frowned. He shrugged, and that was the end of it.

  Don Solomon and Belo decided to try one more time. Belo would speak to the queen and Don Solomon to the king, who seemed more interested in money; his wife was most moved by emotion and philosophy.

  I wondered if I could appeal to the princess. Would Belo mind if I did?

  Better not ask.

  On Monday, because the monarchs took no appeals on their Sabbath, we waited to learn if an audience would be allowed. In the morning, Belo and Don Solomon talked about how all the Jews might leave the kingdom and where they might go, but they frequently interrupted themselves to say, if it comes to that.

  After the big meal of the day at noon, Belo and I went to our tent, for him to nap and for me, presumably, to embroider and wait for him to wake up. But as soon as he was solidly asleep on his pallet, I took one of his velvet purses, which he kept in a saddlebag in the middle of the carpet, and left the tent.

  Outside, I told Hamdun to come with me, because I couldn’t walk through the camp alone. I wondered if he had heard about the decree. He was so kind he would surely pity us. Would he continue to work for us and go wherever we went—if it came to that?