I tugged on the fellow’s sleeve and he stepped away with me.
“Yes?”
I found his hand and folded my ring into it. “It has a ruby. Watch over my abuelo.”
“Pretty lady, you’re—”
“Don’t let anything bad come to him.”
I heard him breathe deeply. “I won’t. But I hoped to sail with the beautiful young lady.”
I ignored that. “Belo has relatives in Naples. The family’s name is Furillo.” I hoped the name didn’t tell him Belo was a Jew. “Please help Hamdun find them.”
“I will, lovely lady.”
“Massage his feet.” If you think I’m so pretty.
He looked startled. “That’s a lot to ask for a ruby.”
We went back to Belo and Hamdun. I tied Bela’s amulet around Belo’s neck. “Bela will protect you. I have to go home to the chil—”
Belo cried out. He grabbed my arm with his good hand.
I broke away. “The children need me. I need them.”
As I ran toward the warehouse, Belo shouted and wailed.
Merciful One, forgive me!
35
On the wharf outside the warehouse, I touched the hollow in my throat where the amulet had nestled. The ship’s sails were going up. The steward remained on the pier. I could change my mind, join him, and board when he did.
Alone, how would I get home?
The sails filled. I wondered why the steward remained. The ship glided away from the docks. My choice would last forever.
Bela, do you despise me for what I did?
Through tears I saw the steward—really a dark shape in the night—head toward me. Didn’t stewards go with their ships? Terror stopped my tears. I dashed into the warehouse and raced for the far door.
I crashed into a pile of sacks, caromed off it, and raced on.
“Loma! It’s only me.”
Hamdun! I stopped and called, “Why didn’t you go with Belo? He needed you!” He needed me.
“Where are you?” he said.
“Here I am.”
“Your abuelo told me to stay with you.” He held up his hand to stop my objection that Belo couldn’t speak. “He told me with his eyes and his hand that kept shooing me after you.”
My tears returned in a flood. I crouched on the stone floor and sobbed. Would he live? Would he find a haven in Naples? Would I ever see him again? Would he speak to me if I did?
Hamdun patted my shoulder.
I got out, “I’m not an angel.”
“I don’t know what an angel would do.”
When I finally stopped weeping, I sat on a sack, and Hamdun lowered himself next to me. Even through the door, I heard the rush of the wind.
“Thank you.” That was inadequate. Without him, we would be dead or baptized. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Your belo and especially your papá have always treated me kindly. I don’t have a family of my own.” He breathed in deeply. “This is my confession: I didn’t want anything bad to happen to either of you, but when misfortune came, I rejoiced to be able to make it less terrible.”
I wept again, more softly this time. Trouble still lay ahead, but Hamdun, as much as he could, would continue to make it less terrible. I thanked him again and thanked the Almighty for him, too.
After a few minutes, we became practical and decided that we should leave the wharf now, while it was still dark. On the avenue that led out of the city, we faced into the wind. When we reached the cathedral square, I stopped to look around, wishing that God would send a flash of light to reveal a scrap of food or a few overlooked ducats.
Neither was revealed.
We kept walking. The blocky shape of the fortress above the city interrupted the starry sky. If we were lucky, we’d overtake a caravan we could join. If we weren’t, our best strategy would be to hide during daylight and walk at night until we reached Señor Qays and Señora Yasmina, who would help us.
But just beyond the north gate to the city, a caravan slept. We picked our way along its edge, passing men on the ground wrapped in their cloaks, hugging their belongings and lying near their sleeping beasts.
A campfire flared somewhere in the middle of the caravan. I heard a drinking song and, when it ended, a burst of fury: “You dirty cheat!” Sounds of a scuffle followed.
Gambling. I thought of Pero.
Eventually, we sat on dry, spiky grass a few yards from a mule, lying on its side.
“Sleep,” Hamdun whispered. “I’ll watch.”
“Thank you.” I couldn’t wrap myself in my cloak, because our cloaks had been with our donkeys. I lay back.
But I couldn’t sleep, because my crime against Belo and my worries tormented me. Even counting brought no relief. Hoping to distract myself, I whispered, “Hamdun?”
His shape, indistinct in the dark, stirred. “Yes?”
“Why don’t you have a family?”
“I’m poor, and I wouldn’t want my children to starve as I did. When I can, I put a little aside from my wages.” He chuckled. “By the time I’m as old as Don Solomon, I’ll have enough, and I’ll find a widow with grandchildren.” He paused. “For now, I have you and your brother Jento. Sleep.”
I was comforted by an idea, which allowed me to drift off.
My nose woke me. Hamdun crouched, holding close to my face a thick slice of bread mounded with farmer cheese. I sat up and extended my hand. “How?”
He gave me the bread. “There are other servants and also slaves. They’re generous.”
“Thank you!”
Last night’s wind had diminished to a breeze. The caravan had awakened and become a twitchy mass of energy: beasts stamping; men feeding their animals or leading them to drink in the river that accompanied the road.
People passed by us, leaving or entering Málaga on foot, on beasts, driving carts, the stream of them squeezed to an urgent trickle by the caravan, which took up half the road and the field beyond it.
Hamdun said the caravan was waiting to be joined by more people and beasts. The leader was already here: Señor Gonzalo.
“They say he’s shrewd, greedy, pitiless—”
My hand went for Bela’s pendant, then dropped to my side.
“—and very brave. They say it could be worse.” Hamdun grinned. “They say he could be a coward.”
“Do you know where the caravan is going?”
“Toledo.”
Toledo was good.
“By way of Granada.”
Near where the monarchs were and where Don Miguel would return to.
I tugged off my rings, unclasped my bracelet, and buried them in my purse. If the purse had been big enough to accommodate it, I would have added my necklace. “Where is Señor Gonzalo?”
“I think he’s behind that horse.” Hamdun pointed.
We threaded our way through the throng, and I was terrifyingly noticed. Men made kissing noises and said things they should have said only to their wives. I blushed from my forehead all the way down my neck.
Finally, we reached the horse and went around it.
Señor Gonzalo, a stocky man who reeked of sweat, was tying a saddlebag. From his girth, he liked to eat, which I hoped meant the people in the caravan would eat, too.
I offered him my golden belt. In exchange, he agreed to let us travel with them, to feed us, and to protect us from bandits and from the men in the caravan.
When he agreed to all that, he said in a gravelly voice, “Give me the necklace, too, and your purse.”
My face reddened again, this time out of fury. “We had a bargain!”
“We do. Now give me the rest.”
Hamdun and I could leave, though I didn’t know what the other men would do. We needed this bully. My fingers trembled with rage as I unclasped my necklace. I filled his hand with my purse.
“And I’ll take your slave.”
I sensed Hamdun stiffen.
I managed to keep my voice level. “He’s a servant.”
>
“Not anymore. I’ll take him.”
36
God help me! My breath stuck in my throat. He could do it. If I found a constable to complain to, the constable would investigate me as well as Hamdun and Señor Gonzalo, and the villain had guessed that.
Still, he couldn’t take Hamdun. “No,” I got out, sounding hoarse. “I’m sorry, Señor Gonzalo, but you can’t have him.”
He glared at me and waited. What would Belo do if he were here?
The silence stretched. I thought my heart would explode. To calm myself, I began to count, and my heart slowed. My breaths deepened.
When I reached thirty, he said, “Leave. If you follow us to steal my protection, I’ll let these wolves loose on you.” He gestured broadly.
I began to turn.
“On second thought, I can just take him. Who would stop me?”
What would Belo do?
Even now, he’d bribe. I turned slowly. I had nothing.
I had a mind that Belo admired.
“Señor Gonzalo . . .” I faced him and raised my hands, palms up. “You may have noticed I’m wearing silk.” Of course he had. If I gave him Hamdun, he’d have my gown, too. “You frightened me, and my wits fled, but I’m not a peasant. My family has friends who are my friends.”
“Where is your family? Grand ladies don’t travel alone.”
I could tell him we’d been attacked, which was believable enough, but then I’d be explaining to a man I hoped to make my inferior.
I swallowed. “My affairs are none of your concern.” Truth strengthened my voice. “I’ve dined more than once with Cardinal de Mendoza and my grandfather. In Toledo, I can commend you to him. He needs courageous men. But you must return my necklace and my purse and stop threatening me.”
His expression turned calculating. Would a recommendation to the cardinal be worth more than my jewels and a slave, or—ai!—two slaves?
Finally, he said, “I keep the belt?”
“Yes. That was our bargain.”
“Tell the cardinal I go all over Spain. I’m true. I’d never betray him.”
“I’ll say those precise words.”
He returned my things.
I didn’t want to stay near him, so we started back across the caravan.
When the men started their calls again, Señor Gonzalo shouted, “Let her be!”
The men quieted, as if the Almighty had closed their throats.
Hamdun murmured, “Your abuelo would be proud of you.”
I thought so, too. Would I ever be able to tell him?
As we walked away, I thought of our other danger: Don Miguel, who would likely be among the travelers streaming past the caravan. We had to lose ourselves in the caravan, but the men! And Señor Gonzalo!
I told Hamdun the problem.
“We’ll stay with the servants and slaves. They won’t betray us.”
But Belo spoke in my mind: You mustn’t stay with them. That will look weak. Establish yourself near Señor Gonzalo—
Me: Oh, no.
Belo: —but not so close that you seem weak. Create a space around your person that no one will invade without your permission.
Me: How will I do that?
Belo: You’re my grandchild. Do it.
I told Hamdun what Belo had said and what I thought we might do.
He smiled. “That’s what he’d say.”
We made our way back toward Señor Gonzalo, who now reclined on the ground, leaning against a mound of satchels. About three yards from him, I stopped.
Hamdun approached the largest man nearby, with a chest as wide as a cupboard. The man lay on the ground, too, propped up on his elbow, watching us.
“My mistress, Paloma, requires a respectful distance. Please move back.”
The man’s eyes went to Señor Gonzalo. Mine did, too. Señor Gonzalo said nothing. Merciful One, help me! Belo, help me!
The idea that arrived was sent by neither. I dropped to my knees, put my palms together, and began the prayer I’d heard a hundred times from the priests who invaded our synagogue. “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .” At the end, I crossed myself.
The man had stood and backed away. The others nearby followed suit.
In my mind, Belo approved: You did what you had to, Loma.
But what did the Almighty think?
We left Málaga the next morning, on Saturday, April 21, the Sabbath, less than three and a half months before the Jews, most still unknowing, would have to begin their exile.
I didn’t have a view of the whole caravan to make an exact count, but we had well over a hundred mules, many donkeys, and a dozen or more horses. Señor Gonzalo rode a horse, and he found one for me, too.
Hamdun refused to share it with me. “It will make you less safe; I can walk. Caravans don’t travel fast.”
Ours traveled at the pace of a worm. When we finally neared Santa Fe, the caravan skirted the camp where Belo and I had stayed. Next, we proceeded to Granada, and I deduced from the galloping of secretaries up and down the avenue that the monarchs had relocated there, undoubtedly to the enormous palace, all sharp corners and staring windows, called the Alhambra. In my imagination, every window watched me.
Though I knew I was being silly, I dismounted to make myself less noticeable.
Granada’s market filled the square outside the enormous white-stone mosque—now a cathedral. Priests’ plainsong drifted from the four open doors. We stopped while Señor Gonzalo bargained for supplies to continue our journey.
When we were about to set off again, a party of a dozen priests hurried out of the cathedral and joined us. Fortunately, they weren’t traveling far and would be with us for just a day. I prayed to the Almighty that they would keep to themselves.
They didn’t. They found me, because God was punishing me for the many reasons I had given Him.
They were kind! I shouldn’t have been astonished—they thought me a Christian. Kind, yes, but worried for me.
Father Davalos, the talkative one, took the lead in asking how I came to be traveling alone. “Marina”—I had borrowed my sister-in-law’s name—“what befell you?”
Señor Gonzalo slowed his horse to eavesdrop.
I reached for Bela’s pendant. Was it strange that I didn’t wear a cross? Had I drawn attention to the fact?
Father Davalos touched my shoulder in a gesture that I knew he meant to be reassuring. He was a short, stooped man, hardly taller than I was. “You may tell me.”
My mind flew to all I couldn’t tell him.
Belo was a practiced liar and even Papá could lie convincingly if he had to. I swallowed. “My abuelo was struck with a paroxysm.” Belo and Papá always told as much of the truth as they could. “He had spells before, but in the past he recovered quickly. This time, he didn’t.” I swallowed again, grief catching up with my fear. “I was his constant companion after plague took my abuela.”
“The Lord took her.”
“Yes.” I didn’t say more, hoping he would respect my sadness.
But he pressed on. “Where was he struck?”
I misunderstood the question. “On the right side. He had no strength there. And in his tongue. He could speak only nonsense.”
“I meant, where were you when he fell ill? In Granada?”
“In Málaga.” The rest of my story took shape. “My abuelo and my papá and I, along with a servant and three slaves, traveled there from our home in Alcalá de Henares.” Where we lived didn’t seem dangerous to tell. “At night, when we traveled, I massaged his feet.” Tears threatened.
“He was lucky to have such a good grandchild.”
Until I left him. “The trip was to buy five large vases for a customer of my abuelo’s, but he was struck before we could do it.” I’d been along on such missions. “The physician in Málaga said there’s a doctor in Naples who can cure such attacks.”
Belo prodded me. Don’t forget you’re a Christian!
I added, “Papá swore to go to Rome with B
elo if he recovered.”
“To Pilate’s stairs?”
I nodded, hoping I wasn’t stepping into a trap.
“You didn’t go with them?”
“My mamá is all alone. One of us had to go home and one had to take Belo. Papá didn’t want me to be unprotected in a foreign city, and we had the servant and the slaves to accompany me, so I was to join a caravan, as I’ve done.” I shrugged. “The slaves slipped away in the night, leaving me with only the servant.” I gestured toward Hamdun, trudging several paces behind us. “The Lord watched over me.”
“He’s our shepherd.”
I was about to mount my horse and get away, but he spoke first.
“I suppose you aren’t married.”
I shook my head.
“Betrothed?”
“My grandfather kept me at his side.”
“You’re a good child. You’ll be rewarded.”
Probably not.
The cook rang her bell. The caravan came to a slow halt.
“Will you eat with us, Marina?”
For a moment, I didn’t realize he was speaking to me. “I’ll be honored.”
Señor Gonzalo had issued me a blanket along with the horse. Hamdun spread it for me to sit on.
“Hamdun brings me my meals.” God forgive me. “Hamdun, don’t forget the pork sausage. Sometimes he fetches only food for Muslims.”
Father Davalos sat with me. “They’ll bring me something.” He waved a hand at his fellow priests. “I don’t care what I eat.”
He’d care what I didn’t eat.
While we waited, he regaled me with a tale of a son who reminded me of Pero, who left home and wasted his inheritance. When the son came back, his father welcomed him. It was a sweet story, revealing again that Christians could be nice to each other.
I wondered what would happen if I couldn’t eat the sausage. Father Davalos would work out the reason. At best, Hamdun and I would be left on the side of the road.
The priests returned and gave Father Davalos his dinner in a tin bowl. When the priest prayed over his food, I pretended to pray, too.
Hamdun presented me with my bowl and a wooden spoon: lentils, cheese, cucumbers, bread, and a glistening sausage. “May it go down well, mistress.”
I took a spoonful of lentils and had trouble getting even them down.
A Ceiling Made of Eggshells Page 20
