I’d asked Hamdun to accompany us to Lisbon, because I didn’t think I could manage without him. “The aljama there will pay your passage back to Spain if you don’t want to stay.” I was confident that the Jews in Lisbon would trust that they’d be repaid.
He’d promised he would go with us.
Generous Señora Yasmina had sent us off with full flasks and food for a day and had insisted we keep the apparel, which would protect us more than our finery. She and her good husband had refused payment for any of it.
As we rode, I imagined the worst for the littles as they left Spain. Beatriz, starving; Todros, waylaid on the road; Clara, separated from the rest of the family; Jamila, sold into slavery.
While I, if all went well, was safe in Lisbon.
When we sailed out of Málaga, only a bit of my heart would be in the boat. The rest would fly home. How could I be kind to Belo with almost no heart? How could I live without my littles, if they didn’t survive to join us?
In Lisbon, I wouldn’t be helping Belo protect the Jews of Spain.
Almighty, this is unfair!
If not for Hamdun, I doubt we’d have reached our destination, because we never caught up with Señor Menahem and the others. I hoped they were safe.
After our supplies ran out, Hamdun found food and lodging for us with other Muslim families. He passed me off as his niece and Belo as his father, though he couldn’t resist turning away and grinning at me after he’d made us his family.
Three days before we reached Málaga, our view of the road ahead became hidden by a cloud of dust that drummed and chimed and jingled and finally resolved into a seemingly endless caravan—I lost count of donkeys and mules when I reached 137, and many more followed, carrying goods from Málaga’s port to the rest of Spain. The drums were hooves, and the music was harness bells.
At dawn on our last day of travel, to the astonishment of our hosts, I shed my Moorish garb and put on my jewelry and my silks, which Señora Yasmina had steamed dry at her fireplace. Between us, Hamdun and I dressed Belo and bejeweled him, too, while he helped as much as he could.
I reasoned that a shipmaster would be more likely to do business with a wealthy Spanish woman and a rich, though sick, man than with Muslim peasants. The day was warm, so our drab cloaks were draped in front of us on our donkeys, atop our Muslim apparel.
In late morning, we trotted downhill on a wide avenue, Calle Alcazabilla, between grand brown-and-pink stone buildings. An open-air market filled the cathedral square, where eleven donkeys waited while their owners bargained for victuals. One of them bellowed, “No! I have a hundred hungry men!”
Ahead, between a break in the buildings, the sea shimmered. We didn’t rush, though I wanted to. At last, we crossed the final avenue before the wharf, where inns and taverns stood shoulder to shoulder with warehouses. Goods would be brought to this side and carried out to the docks on the other side for loading on ships—and vice versa for cargo that had come from distant lands.
There was no bustle. The warehouse doors were shut tight. The street was as still as noon in July, when even the flies went to sleep.
But on the wharf, all was busyness. Five large ships and many small fishing boats were in the harbor, and one big ship was entering by oar. A line of men along a rope labored to tug a seventh ship to land. I looked for Pero among the men at the rope, but he wasn’t there.
If I’d known anything about sailing, I’d have noticed how still the day was, without even a light breeze.
A crowd of Muslim men and women, abducted in a raid or taken in a skirmish in North Africa, were roped together, waiting to be sold. Poor people! If you lived near the coast, either in Spain or North Africa, just enjoying your ordinary life, not fighting with anyone, you were at risk.
Here and there, collections of goods waited: sawed logs in a miraculously balanced mound; barrels; piles of sheets of leather. A mountain of wineskins rose higher and wider than we were, even on our donkeys, and blocked part of our view of the warehouses, but, happily, not of the ships.
We weren’t the only ones riding beasts. Some rode horses. Some galloped horses, and then people on foot or on donkeys had to scatter. A man hawking fish pies on a tray jumped out of the way and lost a pie. He cursed the brindle cat that pounced on the treat.
How would I find a trustworthy shipmaster?
Hands from the other side of the wineskins took several away.
No one seemed to notice us, but I felt conspicuous—Hamdun and I gawking, and Belo with his head sunk into his chest. We couldn’t stay here.
A secretary sort of gentleman rushed by. A man and a woman stood together, seemingly waiting. She had a kind face—but I wanted indifference. A kind person might question us in order to give us aid.
Idly, I noticed that more wineskins were taken away. A young man, eating an onion, wearing sailors’ blue, strolled not far from us, heading for the boats.
I touched Bela’s amulet. Bela, help us find a ship.
The young man looked straight ahead, apparently concentrating on chewing.
“Señor?”
He turned, blinked, and seemed to wake up. Not hurrying, he angled toward us. “Yes, pretty lady?” His voice was husky, and he spoke with an accent, an uh between yes and lady, the same accent I’d heard from Master Calvo. He smiled at me, our eyes almost level though I was on the donkey.
“If you please, do you know where the ships are heading when they sail?”
“Yes, lovely lady.” But he didn’t say.
Families had refused payment for their hospitality, but this fellow wanted money for a sentence or two. We could wait and ask someone else.
“Thank you.”
“Lo.” Belo’s mouth curled in a half smile.
The man decided to grant us his knowledge for free. “For such a beautiful lady as you—” He came close to me and pointed from ship to ship. I smelled his onion. “Genoa, Barcelona, Tangier, Bilbao, Naples. That’s my ship, the one to Naples. Palma, Tunis.”
“Not Lisbon?”
“Unfortunately, no, if that’s where you would like.”
Papá would take the family to Lisbon because of what Don Solomon thought. I would lose them all.
But we had to go somewhere. The ship to Naples was smaller than the one next to it. I wondered if it could really make the voyage.
“If you please, who is the master of the one to Naples?” This young man had called it his ship, but he seemed too young to be its master.
He just smiled. His teeth were white and straight, and his smile was gay.
Happy shouts broke out from the direction of the docks, over our fellow’s shoulder. The men who had been tugging their ship in had succeeded and were cheering. To my left, the wineskin pile continued to diminish. Yet another grandee galloped by.
I produced a silver reale from my purse and held it so he could see it.
“I sail under Master Ambrosio de Miedes.” He put out his hand.
I dropped the coin into it, and his fist closed.
“Thank you,” I said. Belo always thanked the people he’d bribed. “Where might we find him?”
The fist opened and received another reale, but the answer wasn’t worth the coin.
“Somewhere. Eating and mostly drinking. He’ll eat and drink and drink and drink until a wind blows.”
Oh. The ships were becalmed. That was why the warehouses had been so quiet.
“Then they’ll roll—”
“Lo!”
Was I doing something wrong? I shouldn’t have asked where the master was?
“Lo!!”
I turned to Belo and saw, no longer hidden by wineskins, a man in a pointed green hat, luckily facing away from us. Don Miguel, the physician!
We had to hide!
“. . . him to the ship in a wheelbarrow, and we’ll—What’s amiss, fair lady?”
“Can you distract the man in the tall green hat?” I reached into my saddlebag and produced a ducat.
He snatched t
he ducat and ran, the scoundrel. We were about to be caught.
But our fellow barreled into Don Miguel, knocking him down. I signaled to Hamdun, just by pointing my chin. We kicked our donkeys.
Behind us, Don Miguel cried out, and our fellow apologized. How long would he be able to hold off pursuit?
We walked the donkeys away, because trotting would draw eyes. Why hadn’t we kept on our Moorish clothes? He wouldn’t recognize us in them.
I headed back toward Calle Alcazabilla. With the ships becalmed, we could wait.
“Don Joseph!”
34
We galloped the donkeys to the street.
Where to go?
People stared as we pelted along. We reached the market in the cathedral plaza, where I slowed my donkey, then dismounted. Hamdun followed my lead and lifted Belo off, too. I reasoned we’d be less noticeable on the ground with everyone else.
A faint breeze tickled my cheek, but I didn’t think about it.
We stood by a Moorish fruit seller, whose table supported a pyramid of oranges and another of onions, and a basket of dried figs. I saw nothing big enough to hide behind, not even the butcher’s stall, with its sheep carcass hanging from a hook on a wooden frame and drawing flies.
I heard shouts. “Make way!”
An alley ran next to the cathedral, but we’d be seen entering it.
“King’s business!”
Could I bribe someone here?
Don Miguel shouted, “Don Joseph!”
Who? We had no time.
Could I bribe them all?
Not hurrying, I led my donkey toward the alley. Hamdun and Belo followed with their donkey.
The cries grew louder, close now. “Stand aside!”
Closer, but not yet at the alley, I reached into my saddlebag and filled my fist. “Ai!” I cried. “My ducats! Ai!” I scattered them.
God, let us have enough left for our passage.
Silence fell on the market—followed by an uproar. “Coins!” “Watch out!” “You oaf!”
Madness broke out, through which we surged steadily toward the alley, reached it—
—and discovered it was too narrow for the donkeys.
Hamdun and I exchanged glances. Before I could say anything, he whispered in the ear of one of the donkeys, then slapped both of their rumps. The donkeys cantered away—with our Muslim clothing and Belo’s ducats.
I touched Bela’s pendant. God, we are in Your hands. As we always were.
We entered the alley.
If we didn’t get the ducats back, maybe our jewelry would be enough to pay our way.
Behind us, the uproar grew louder. We progressed through the alley, passing, on the cathedral side, a niche with a statue of Mary holding Jesus as a baby on her lap.
At the end of the alley, I asked Belo, “Do you need to rest?”
He shook his head and half-smiled again.
We emerged into another avenue. I no longer heard our pursuers. Where to go? We had to hide, and we had to have water and food. Toward the docks or away?
Toward. We had to try to reach the ship to Naples.
We couldn’t wait on the quay again, because Don Miguel would return there. Belo, how I wish you could tell me what to do!
Two mules trotted past us, pulling a covered wagon. The driver rode the gray mule; the white was unencumbered.
Hamdun supported Belo’s right side, as if they shared three legs between them, and he held tight to Belo’s right arm around his shoulder.
A warehouse would be the perfect hiding place, but all of them would be locked.
We were in God’s hands, and it would be no trouble for Him to open a door.
The late-afternoon sun shone obliquely into the avenue of the warehouses, which was still deserted. The buildings seemed to continue forever. A white cat arched its back and hissed at us. Ai!
We started up the street. A drinking song drifted from a tavern, but no one emerged or went in. The scent of fried fish mingled with the salty air. Belo panted with the effort of walking so far. Hamdun picked him up and ignored his garbled protests.
The warehouse doors were wide and tall enough to allow in wagons and horses. The first four were locked, but God was with us, and the fifth hung ajar.
It might be unlocked because people were inside.
I heard nothing. We slipped in. Slowly, I drew the door shut and eased home the bolt, hoping the door hadn’t been cracked on purpose and someone was returning soon.
The only light came from narrow windows high above us. From where we stood, an aisle divided rows of canvas sacks on our right from rows of amphoras on our left that stood as high as my chest. Curious, I put my nose to a sack and smelled coriander, to the stopper of a jug and smelled olive oil. My stomach roared.
We glided down the aisle and continued to the door on the wharf side, which I tugged open a few inches. Harbor noise poured in. We could see only a stripe of the world: a small cloud motionless in a blue sky above the masts of a single ship: not our ship—this one had four masts, and ours had three. I couldn’t see the ship itself, because of a parade of people, beasts, and wagons. Our stripe was so narrow that a horse’s head and neck would fill it, followed, bit by bit, by the rest of the animal. I didn’t see Don Miguel, but he could be an inch to the left or right of our vision. Hamdun and I pulled three sacks to the door to serve us as cushions.
We sat. Belo leaned against me. Minutes ticked by.
I couldn’t bear our ignorance, and we had to eat.
Had Don Miguel noticed Hamdun enough to recognize him?
I waited, lost in indecision, until my stomach convinced me. “Hamdun,” I whispered, pulling a reale from my purse, “we need to know if Don Miguel is there—”
“Lo!” Belo shook his head energetically.
I understood. Belo thought Hamdun might betray us for a reward.
But I trusted him, and we needed a spy. “Make sure he doesn’t spot you. And buy us food. Don’t let anyone observe you coming back in here. Wait if you have to.” I gave him the coin.
He slipped out the door and was gone.
Softly, I recited the prayer asking God and His angels to protect us. Belo’s voice, though his words were garbled, rose and fell with mine.
When we finished, we waited. Nothing outside seemed to change.
At best, we’d sail to Naples, and I might never be reunited with my family. If Belo died, I would be entirely bereft. Did he think of this? He could think—that much was clear. But he couldn’t say what he thought.
He snored.
My thoughts rolled on. What would I be without the littles?
A sad and angry husk.
This was more sacrifice than a person should have to make.
If we could have a conversation . . . If I could share my agony—yes, agony!—what would he say?
That his feet needed to be massaged?
Was he thinking of me at all?
He reached over with his good hand and patted my knee. A minute later, he snored again. I called the littles’ faces to mind.
In the stripe beyond the warehouse, the colors took on the intensity of dusk.
Outside, people shouted. Figures ran by. A cloud flew across the stripe.
Wind!
The sails on the masts I could see were hoisted and billowed. Soon the ships would sail, and we’d be stranded.
Hamdun wormed inside, bearing something in a cloth.
I jumped up.
“Don Miguel was watching; I couldn’t come sooner. But now, he’s run to the ship that’s most ready to sail.” Hamdun opened the cloth to reveal three fish pies. “I’m sorry they aren’t hot anymore.”
“Thank you!”
We made short work of the pies. When I finished, I wished for three more.
Night fell. Torches lit the ships. Hamdun went out again and came back in a few minutes to say that Don Miguel was marching from ship to ship as they were loaded.
After an hour or two, the ships began
to sail, according to Hamdun, who kept slipping out and returning. Finally, all but ours were gone. Except for it, the sea was dark. What was it waiting for?
A shape filled our slice of the outdoors. Don Miguel? The breath rushed out of me. We had no time to get away.
The shape—a man—entered. Tall, but not tall enough to be Don Miguel.
“Beautiful lady, I’m back.”
Our fellow!
“I’ve known where you are ever since your man went out. The one you fear has given up for the night. I saw him depart.”
Hamdun slipped outside. Belo shifted away from me and slumped back. No one spoke.
In a few minutes, Hamdun returned. “I don’t see him.”
“Why is your ship still in the harbor?” I said.
“Master Ambrosio de Miedes hasn’t yet been found, but he will be soon. You want to sail on her?”
“Will Master Ambrosio de Miedes take our jewels for passage?”
“He would, but I’ve already paid the steward. You’d give away too much, and I’m feeling generous.”
I stared at him.
Belo gurgled, which frightened me until I realized he was laughing.
“I’ve become wealthy.”
The scoundrel! “The donkeys and the ducats belong to us, not you!”
“They’re mine now. We should go to the ship. The master will be along.”
We were in God’s hands. I let the donkeys and the ducats go.
But not the littles. I couldn’t let them go.
“Come!”
Though there was no moon, the stars were sharp, and the ship’s torches flared in a brisk wind. The wharf was deserted, except for a figure on the pier by the ship. We made our way to him.
In a few minutes, we’d leave Spain. Almighty, let me sprout wings to fly back!
There would be no such miracle.
The figure identified himself as the steward. A ramp ran from the dock to the ship.
I formed a desperate resolution that tore my heart in half. With trembling fingers, I untied Bela’s pendant, pulled off my ruby ring, and squeezed both in my fist.
A rumbling sound grew.
“That’s Master Ambrosio de Miedes,” our fellow said. “We’ll be away in a moment.”
A Ceiling Made of Eggshells Page 19
