by Shirl Henke
His hand pressed against the heavy latch, holding it closed when she tugged at it. “I did wed you because of duty and I brought you to the Indies to offer you a home in exchange for all you lost because of me. Do not ask me to explain it further for I cannot. I have been nothing but confused since I met you. I desire you and I want my child. I could never allow it to grow up as I did—not while there is breath in me.” The words came tumbling out rapidly. As soon as he finished he felt raw and vulnerable, utterly miserable and hopelessly confused. “I have not meant to cause you pain, Miriam.”
But do you love me, Rigo? Of course he would not answer any more than she would ask. He desired her and he felt responsibility for his child. Perhaps in time that might grow into love. “Thank you for the necklace, Rigo. Tis lovely. Now, let us go greet our hostess. We are poor guests to keep her waiting.”
When they reached the entry hall a veritable din of children's voices issued from an open door. Miriam peeked into a small, comfortable area with a thick woolen carpet over the beautifully tiled floor. Several large chests were flung open. A mound of toys that littered the rug were being chaotically sorted out and placed in them. Maria stood in the center of the pandemonium and smiled at her guests.
“You see what you soon will have to contend with. It grows worse with each addition,” she said with a chuckle as two girls tugged over a carved wooden doll until the elder one wrested the treasure from her sibling. “Juana, let your sister have the doll. Ysabel, go with Juana and see she does not slip from bed again tonight.” She turned to the nurse who was in charge of the brood and issued several more crisp instructions, then stooped to kiss each child before ushering them all off to bed.
Miriam felt a tightening in her throat at the obvious maternal pride of the virreina. Would she ever have a home filled with children's laughter? “They are wonderful, Dona Maria.”
“La, they are work, but I do find them such comfort while Diego is gone. Come, let us dine. I have taken the liberty of inviting an old friend, Rodrigo,” she said, linking her arm with both Rigo and Miriam.
When they entered the dining hall, Bartolome de Las Casas stood by the long, polished walnut table, looking as at ease as if he were in his austere monk's cell. “I seldom have the pleasure of such illustrious company, but when my virreina commands, a simple cleric must obey,” he said with a bow to her.
Maria's warm chuckle once more filled the air as she indicated places at the elegantly appointed dining table and all took their seats. As African slaves began to serve the feast, the conversation between Bartolome and Maria hinted at a long, if adversarial, friendship between the Colon family and the Dominican, who had been a priest in Santo Domingo prior to his entering the cloister.
“You felt free to ignore Diego's commands when they did not benefit your cause, Bartolome, so do not act the obedient courtier now. I know you have charmed Carlos and even his Flemings at the Spanish Court,” Maria said as she accepted a serving of the pork roasted with sweet potatoes.
“Because I speak for the Tainos and have attempted to gain royal backing against the planters of the Indies does not mean I have chosen to ignore the viceroy's requests. I have always supported Don Diego and his father against their enemies.”
“Mostly we have been in accord, that is true, and my lord and I do appreciate your friendship for the House of Colon, Fray Bartolome,” Maria said soberly. “I know your letters in his behalf will carry weight at the royal court.”
Bartolome scowled. “If that viper—may God forgive me for speaking the truth—Bishop Fonseca does not undermine us all! When I spoke before him while the old king was dying, pleading for the Tainos, he threw up his great fat hands and said scornfully, ‘What is this to me?’ Oh Great and Eternal God! Who is there to whom that is something? Tens of thousands of men, women and children butchered and he refused to consider any action whatsoever.”
“As long as the royal fifth flows into Fonseca's coffer, he cares for naught else,” Maria said bitterly. “We all have made enemies both here and at court, Bartolome.”
“Perhaps we shall find our reward on the Day of Judgment...but I am not so patient a man as to wait,” the cleric said sourly as he cut into a golden sweet potato.
Maria smiled and took a sip of her wine. “I have, over the years, been aware of your notable lack of priestly patience.” She saluted him with her goblet.
Miriam was almost oblivious of their exchange, for her whole attention was centered on the large, juicy slab of roast pork sitting before her. During their voyage she had existed on biscuit and dried fruit—the few weeks she had been able to eat at all. But now, pork! She cast a nervous glance at Rigo, who had just responded to Bartolome's question about how he found the island and its people. She took a bit of the melon and debated if the strange orangish vegetable cooked with the pork would harm her. Suppressing a shudder, she bit into the sweet potato and found it quite delicious.
Bartolome noted her dilemma as Rigo and Maria exchanged pleasantries about the crops and climate on Española. “Are you feeling a bit of discomfort, child? Perhaps the meat is too rich for you in your delicate condition?”
Thank you, Bartolome. “Yes, I was quite wretchedly ill on shipboard and have yet to regain my full appetite. Fruits and cheeses seem the most agreeable to me.” She looked up at her hostess with a contrite expression on her face and said, “Please pardon my lack of appetite. Tis not that your feast is in any way wanting.”
Maria waved her hand in dismissal. “You speak to a veteran of seven pregnancies. With Luis, my first, I ate only figs and boiled milk! Whatever suits, eat, what does not, ignore.”
Rigo had scant knowledge of Jewish dietary laws but did recall their aversion to pork and shellfish. He made a mental note to see that there was plenty of lamb, beef and fresh river fish in their larder as they journeyed to the interior. “How great a journey is it to my father's hato?”
“My Taino friends tell me tis four or five days, but they are young, swift runners,” Bartolome replied.
“You must wait until Aaron arrives to escort you back,” Maria added. “The trails are rough and twould be easy to get lost in the interior if one is not familiar with the jungle.” A look of puzzlement crossed the virreina's face. “Why did your brother not escort you back? According to Diego, your father was most eagerly expecting him to return and use his medical skills on the hato”
Miriam held her wine goblet steady by sheer force of will. Pray God Aaron did not also confide to the viceroy that Benjamin was bringing home a bride! She looked over to Rigo, who picked up the question with a superficial aplomb that she knew he did not feel.
“Benjamin decided he could learn much from the physicians in Italy, working beside them on the battlefields while Imperial and French forces continue to war. We hope he will return to us soon. As to this journey inland, you indicated there are no clear trails. Surely horses can pass?”
“Yes, of course. A man on a splendid beast such as yours can ride it in but two days. I am sure Aaron will arrive shortly to show you the way.” Maria looked from Rigo to Miriam but said nothing more.
“Of course Miriam cannot ride horseback in her condition. While we wait I should like to arrange for a litter for her,” Rigo replied.
“My condition is quite normal and there is no earthly reason why I cannot ride at a slow pace. I doubt we shall be madly galloping along twisting jungle trails, but a litter would slow the journey to weeks.” She looked at Rigo's set features and knew she had angered him.
“You will not endanger yourself or my babe by riding horseback.” His voice was flat with finality.
Bartolome placed his gnarled hand over Miriam's and patted it. “Why not wait and let Aaron decide. He, after all, knows the danger of the journey far better than any of us.” He then cast a quelling look in Rigo's direction.
Maria wondered at the shuttered look that always passed across Rigo Torres' face whenever the name of his sire was mentioned, but she forbore questioning i
t. Soon Aaron would arrive and she could see this remarkable reunion for herself.
Chapter Fifteen
The Torres Hato
Aaron placed his hands on Magdalena's shoulders and pulled her into his arms, but she remained unyielding, her cool cheek, wet with tears, pressed stiffly against his chest. “There must be some explanation, some reason for this,” he said.
“What is to explain, Aaron? Benjamin remains behind, gone to Italy where he may well be killed in those barbarous wars—that is the life suited to a soldier, not a physician. And the mercenary comes here, wed to Benjamin's betrothed.”
He pulled away from her and looked searchingly into her face. “I, too, was a soldier, Magdalena, but one who had all the benefits of a loving family, just as Benjamin has had. Navaro had nothing. Tis a wonder he survived at all.”
“And his brother Benjamin saved his life and showered him with all the devotion and love he had never before known. In return this Rigo seduced Miriam and got her with child!” She stepped from his arms and turned to look again at the letter laying on the desk.
“We know none of the particulars of how Miriam Toulon came to choose Navaro over Benjamin. I once told Aliyah we chose not where we love, Magdalena. I loved you, not her. If this has happened to Benjamin, I am bitterly sorry for it, but it does not make his brother guilty. We must give him a chance.”
“Benjamin gave him a chance. He and Miriam planned to wed for years. He's written of her, singing her praises ever since he first met her. Now this...this terse letter saying he is off to the wars. I can read pain in every line, Aaron. Benjamin and Miriam knew each other so long—”
“Perhaps that was the problem.” He shrugged helplessly. “I do not know how to explain this feeling I had, but always it seemed to me that if they had truly been in love...” He floundered for words. “Well, something would have happened years ago—it would be Benjamin's child, not Navaro's in her belly!” Then a slow, devilish grin split his face. “Recall how determined you were to seduce me? When something is meant to be, it will happen, Magdalena.”
Her face softened for a moment as memories of an impetuous girl pursuing a reluctant soldier returned. Then thoughts of her son intruded once more, breaking the mood. “But Benjamin is alone in Italy and—”
“Benjamin is a man grown, and he must learn to rebuild his life. I know he is your firstborn and you are bitterly disappointed and frightened because he has chosen to go to war and not to return home. I am not pleased either, but we can do naught about it. Blaming Navaro and Miriam will serve no purpose. Please, let us welcome them and then judge. In time Benjamin, too, will come home. I wrote Isaac the moment this letter arrived and I am certain he will be able to have his men locate our son and see that he is well.”
Magdalena sighed and sank onto a walnut chair beside the table. A tremulous smile wobbled on her lips. “I suppose I am just frightened because the note from the virreina arrived and they are actually here. For weeks I stewed like a pepper pot and imagined the worst. Now I must see if my fears are real.”
He touched her cheek gently. “Benjamin's letters explained Navaro's bitterness and spoke of the hardships he endured because of his bastardry, poverty and Indian blood. Yet in spite of all he became successful in a harsh profession. He will doubtless not be an easy man, but if his brother loved him—and in spite of Miriam, Benjamin does love him still—then there must be some good.”
She took his palm and pressed it to her lips. “He is your son. How could it be otherwise? Bring him and his bride safely home. Guacanagari and I shall prepare a splendid welcome for them.”
* * * *
On the ride to Santo Domingo, Aaron spoke little to his retinue of armed guards. He spent most of the time mulling over the perplexing situation, rehearsing in his mind how he would greet his lost son. Magdalena had reason to worry about Benjamin. He cursed the tangle that had set brother against brother and sent the younger one off to Italy. “If Isaac's agents locate the young fool, I'll have him trussed hand and foot and shipped home in a wine cask!”
When he arrived in the city, Aaron went straight to Maria Colon's palace. He had never been a believer in delaying what must be faced, although he had to admit in his heart of hearts that he was afraid his son's harsh life had made him a far different man than he would wish. How can we make up for thirty years lost?
As he dismounted, Aliyah's spiteful face, twisted with hate as she breathed her last lie, once more flashed before his eyes. He had been having troubling dreams about her ever since Benjamin's first letter arrived months ago. He handed the reins of his magnificent chestnut to the stableman and approached the front door.
Suddenly he felt afraid to confront Navaro alone and wished he had relented to Bartolome and Cristobal's pleas to come along—even to bring their hellion baby sister Violante. Navaro's brothers and sister might have created a diversion and avoided a painful confrontation. That is the coward's way out and solves nothing. You must face him and admit your own sins.
“Aaron, it has been far too long since last I saw you,” Maria said as she came gliding gracefully across the tiled floor to greet him.
He kissed her hand with a courtly flourish and then said with a smile, “And when last Magdalena and I were here to bid Diego farewell, you were a good bit wider in girth. You look splendid. How is my friend's namesake?”
“Bold rascal! I grow gray and little Diego is simply beautiful. It is not my son you wish to see but your own. Rigo was no older than Diego when you lost him, was he?”
“No. He was even younger. How does he, Maria? Is he in good health? Is he—”
“Tush, you shall see very shortly. He and Miriam are in the courtyard, playing with the children.” She paused and searched his tense, dusty face. “You would prefer, I assume, to speak with him alone first?”
“You are a most perceptive as well as gracious lady. Yes, it might be easier...if any of this can be easy. Is he as bitter as Benjamin's letters indicated?”
“I will not sweeten the medicine with a lie, Aaron. I do not believe he would have come to Española at all if not for his need to provide for Miriam.”
“Then I owe her thanks.” His face was somber.
“Go to my lord's chamber across the hall. I will send your son to you at once. I have already had a servant set out wine to refresh you.”
“I fear I shall need it,” Aaron said grimly as he bowed to Maria and then walked into the big audience room. An ewer of wine sat on the marble tabletop near a big open window. He quickly poured a generous serving of the ruby libation into one of the delicate silver goblets and took a drink.
Rigo stood in the doorway watching silently as the tall older man paced toward the window, all the while clutching the wine cup in calloused fingers. He was Benjamin's very image—or Benjamin as he would look in twenty-five years. There was a bit of gray at his temples, his sun-bronzed skin was weathered and lined, yet he remained slim and handsome, a Castilian aristocrat. “No wonder my mother found you so irresistible. You must have looked like the Golden Man of their myths.”
At the sound of Rigo's voice, Aaron pivoted, splashing droplets of wine on the window sill and the tiled floor. Benjamin had said he recognized Navaro instantly. Now Aaron understood why. The harsh, cynical face framed by Aliyah's straight ebony hair was his own—his, his father's and his younger son's. Suddenly, Aaron felt his throat close up, choked with emotion. He longed to rush forward and embrace his son, yet instinctively knew it would be a tactical error. He could feel the hostility that cloaked Rodrigo de Las Casas like full battle armor.
“I have waited thirty years for this day. I would trade my life to have had yours easier than it has been. But you are home now. Can we begin in good faith, Navaro?”
Rigo walked to the table, studying the soft leather boots, light hose and sheer cotton shirt his father wore. His eyes halted appreciatively on the sword and dagger of excellent Toledo steel. Aaron Torres, too, had been a soldier. He was dusty and sweat-sta
ined from a long, hard ride. So eager to greet me? Or to see if I was yet alive? Rigo poured a draught of wine and sipped it, then said, “My name at baptism was Rodrigo Angel de Las Casas. I do not wish to use the Taino name. My heathen blood has cost me dearly over the years in Spain.”
“You are no longer in Spain,” Aaron replied quietly, “nor are the Tainos heathens.”
“Can you say they are treated fairer here than there?” Rigo asked with a scornful lift of one arched black eyebrow.
“No. Since I came here with the First Admiral in 1492, the Spanish have decimated the Taino race. Your uncle Guacanagari and his family are one of only a few small groups left alive in all the islands. What Spanish steel does not slay, Spanish diseases waste away—except in the interior where we live. The Tainos there are safe and healthy. I would have you meet Guacanagari and his people. You will change your mind about them being savages.”
Rigo's expression was guarded. “I shall judge for myself, but I have a lifetime of Spanish contempt for Indians to live down. My foster brother speaks well of you and says you are their champion.”
“Bartolome de Las Casas is their true champion. He has faced down kings on their behalf.”
“When I read his letters I felt the Indians were cowards, unworthy to live if they would not fight to survive.”
“As you had to fight to survive,” Aaron said gently, walking closer to stand face to face with this hard, hostile stranger who was his firstborn son. “I did not desert you, Rigo. I searched everywhere for you.”
Rigo stared into the piercing blue eyes, so eerily identical to his own. “Benjamin told me that. What of my mother? If you admire the Tainos so much, why did you not wed her?”