by Shirl Henke
Aaron swore a remarkable Sevillian oath that Rigo was wont to use himself, bringing a small, unwilling smile to his son's lips. “When I met Aliyah I was one and twenty. She was very beautiful, the sister of a great cacique. Their culture was complex and their customs...different than those of Europe.”
“Not than those of victorious soldiers in Europe, I warrant,” Rigo said cynically, tossing off his wine and pouring more.
“She was not a camp follower but a royal princess! We were allowed to live openly together without her family expecting that I wed her unless we both agreed.”
“And you did not agree?”
Damn, the boy was not making this easier for him! “When she became pregnant, I was not certain the child was mine. While I returned to Castile she had a Taino lover. By the time you were born and I had returned to Española, Magdalena also arrived.”
“And of course, having a choice between a Taino princess and a Spanish noblewoman—”
“Magdalena had not a cent to dower her. She was fleeing the old queen's wrath. My father, your grandfather, had arranged our betrothal without my knowing of it.” Aaron's face grew warm as he confessed, “The First Admiral himself forced me to wed her.” He immediately put up his hands in a gesture of frustration and added, “I was never sorry once we worked out our misunderstandings. If I could choose again, I would choose her, not Aliyah.
“But mark this, Rigo. It is not because Magdalena is Castilian and Aliyah was Taino. In terms of worldly wealth and position, twould have been far more advantageous for me to have wed your mother. We do not choose where to love, my son. It just…happens.”
“How bitterly well I have learned that lesson,” Rigo muttered obliquely. “Why did Aliyah give me to Pedro de Las Casas?”
“Aliyah was a spoiled child, as unlike Guacanagari as Bishop Fonseca is unlike Fray Bartolome. She knew how desperately I wanted you, so she gave you to the Spaniard and then told me she had sent you to another village of Tainos. We searched for years in all the islands, never dreaming you had been taken to Seville.”
“What says your lady wife about claiming your half-caste by-blow?”
“Magdalena searched with me and grieved with me when years of searching proved futile. She waits at our hato, along with your uncle, eager to welcome you home..you and your bride. We received several letters from Benjamin, Rigo. I am not the only one who must offer explanations. You have brought your brother's betrothed, great with your child.” Aaron's face was grave, but not censuring, as he took another drink of wine.
“How neatly you turn the tables. God's bones, I think Pescara would like you well! You have an Italianate mind,” Rigo said grudgingly.
“I was a soldier and am now a stockman. Never have I been a politician, nor ever would be.” Aaron waited as Rigo gathered his thoughts.
Rigo shrugged. “Like you, I had little choice in my marriage—but unlike you, I wed the woman who carries my child.” Rigo could see the blow strike home, yet Aaron held his peace. Oddly, Rigo felt petty and cruel for having made the remark. As quickly and dispassionately as possible he outlined what had occurred since he was brought to Marseilles by Benjamin. “As you said, perhaps we cannot choose where to love. I had thought never to wed...and now I have betrayed my brother with his betrothed.” He turned and stared out the window, seeing nothing, feeling as drained as he knew Aaron Torres must feel.
“Do you love Miriam? Or, do you know yet? I did not know I loved Magdalena for several years.”
“Blessed Virgin, help me!”
At his son's look of woebegone misery Aaron dared for the first time to place one hand on his shoulder. “Miriam loves you and that is a good beginning. Women are far more sensible about such matters than are men.”
Rigo's eyes narrowed as he turned to Aaron. “I ask your leave to doubt the lady's love for me. Twould seem we share what you and my mother did—passion, nothing more.”
“Then why did she choose you when Benjamin offered her marriage?” Aaron countered.
“Come meet the lady and decide for yourself about her most mysterious motives.” He turned to leave the room.
Aaron almost called him back, thoroughly unsatisfied with their first encounter, then decided against it. Only time could heal the breech between them.
Miriam waited alone in the garden, her heart in her throat as she contemplated facing her father-in-law. Rigo and Aaron had been cloistered in the palace for what seemed an eternity. Maria had taken the children in for their afternoon siesta, leaving her to have a private interview with them. “How can I face him? He will think me the most vile harlot. Women, not men, are always blamed and I am guilty...” Her whispered voice faded as footfalls sounded across the courtyard.
Aaron Torres observed the tall, elegant woman who Benjamin had described so often in his letters. She was pale and frightened and most definitely with child. Miriam's very height and slenderness emphasized her condition. She nonetheless made a graceful curtsy and stretched out her hand when he extended his in greeting. Saluting it with a brief touch of his lips, he smiled warmly, hoping to place her at ease. “Welcome to Española and to our family, Miriam.”
Miriam felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. She could feel that Aaron's words were genuine. ”Tis amazing,” she faltered as she stared at her father-in-law, Benjamin's exact double but for the passage of years.
As if reading her thoughts, Aaron replied, “Yes, my elder sons do favor me. You will see when you meet Bartolome and Cristobal that they have more of their mother's features.”
“And your lady, will she welcome me?” Her glance swept Rigo's shuttered face before she returned her eyes to Aaron. “After what I have done to Benjamin, she would be justified in hating me.”
“No, she would not, neither will she judge you before meeting you. Give her—and yourself—a chance. I think you will become friends.”
“Will it not matter that I am a Jewess?”
Aaron chuckled. “Benjamin said you were outspoken and honest. He did not exaggerate. Your faith is not an impediment, Miriam. Magdalena has her own rather unique views on religion.”
“Then I look forward to meeting her and your other children,” Miriam said with a grave smile.
The argument about the litter resumed that night at dinner, but with Rigo's charming father to cajole her, Miriam relented, agreeing to the cumbersome mode of transportation. Aaron had smiled and explained that there were worse options: the Taino nobles had been carried on the shoulders of their slaves. She decided the litter was preferable to that! The journey would take a week.
The morning they departed the weather was cool, dry and sunny with a light breeze. By the end of the day they reached the foothills, where the trail narrowed and steepened. They made camp near a cultivated stretch of land and Miriam watched with trepidation as the hoard of servants Aaron had brought with him began preparing their evening meal, throwing all manner of strange, unidentifiable foods into a boiling kettle. She saw no meat enter the cookpot but some freshly caught fish from a nearby stream did. Her stomach growled, and she vowed to sample the spicy concoction and prayed it would stay down.
Rigo noted over twenty armed men, many of them half-castes like himself, who rode with his father. During the day they had split up with some scouting ahead while others walked point in the dense underbrush and the rest took positions behind their small caravan. Both footmen and those on horseback were heavily armed with swords, lances, arbalests and small arquebuses. Aaron, too, seemed watchful, although he rode beside Miriam's litter and charmed her with conversation during the day.
When he slipped off to issue orders for the posting of a night watch, Rigo followed him, observing the way the men obeyed him. Sometimes he spoke Castilian, other times the strange soft dialect of the Tainos. As Aaron strolled back to the central campfire, Rigo waylaid him where their horses were penned for the night.
“According to Bartolome and the virreina, there is no threat from Indian rebellion in the cen
tral provinces. All is peaceful but for Enriqullo's rebels on the southwestern peninsula. Why do we travel so heavily guarded?”
Aaron, who had begun to rub down his big chestnut, continued his work as he replied, “I knew you would ask, being a soldier all your life. The threat is not from any Taino band. For over a year our hato has suffered from a variety of depredations.” He shrugged. “Always, from the earliest days, we made enemies, siding with Tainos against Castilian gentlemen. Even our friendship with the Colons did us little good, for as Genoese they were hated as much as we.”
“Genoese and Jews,” Rigo said with heavy irony in his voice.
“And Indian lovers in the bargain. I have spoken to Miriam this afternoon and I will caution you again that she is to say naught about her religion. As far as the government—what little there is in the interior—is concerned, we are New Christians and converted Tainos. A suspicious lot, but our very isolation protects us.”
“As long as no one learns you have a Jewess in your midst who has not abandoned her beliefs,” Rigo said, patting Peligro. “If these attacks began only a year ago, your religious practices cannot be the reason for them. What exactly is happening?”
“Burned orchards, tillers in our fields murdered while at work in isolated areas, caravans laden with hides and other goods stolen by armed bandits.” Aaron's face became a stone mask when he said, “My youngest son Cristobal was almost kidnapped during one such raid. Since then we have armed all our own people and trained them. From Diego Colon I secured an additional group of trustworthy men to act as guards. Our worst losses to date have been in the area we cannot control—at sea.”
“You ship hides and tallow to Seville. Benjamin told me your trade prospers. I take this to mean you have not written him of these troubles?”
“No. He could do nothing while in Marseilles. I chose not to worry him. Our trade has suffered from the attacks of French corsairs, but they prey on all shipping between the Indies and Spain. The frustrating thing is that they seem to know when our most valuable cargos leave port—gold and amber. These ships are always attacked while the less valuable cargoes pass unmolested.”
Rigo's eyes narrowed as he considered this new development. “It would seem there is a spy either on your hato or in Santo Domingo.” Seeming to shift the subject he asked, “What do you know of a fellow planter named Esteban Elzoro?”
Aaron studied Rigo's expression before replying. “He is a neighbor on the Vega, which is a vast, high valley in the central eastern interior. On rare occasions when we hold celebrations and harvest parties he has been known to attend...on condition he leave his guards and their hounds behind.”
“He does not like Indians,” Rigo said flatly.
“You have met Esteban?”
Rigo smiled that chilly, harsh smile that Aaron remembered so well from his own youth. “Let us just say he has one less hound with which to trouble you.”
“Explain what happened,” Aaron demanded harshly.
Rigo responded with a terse version of his encounter, all the while studying his father, trying to read his reactions. When he finished, Aaron swore. “That dog could have killed you!”
“I am used to warhounds, although being caught afoot was a considerable disadvantage.”
“If Elzoro deliberately attacked you, he might also be behind the attacks on us.” Aaron rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
Rigo shrugged. “Mayhap he is the one...mayhap not.”
* * * *
Miriam was exhausted from the bouncing journey in the litter. She rubbed her aching back and walked briskly about the camp, observing the simple pallets Aaron's men had scattered about the area. Were she and Rigo to sleep out in the open thus? Or, worse yet, would he opt to leave her alone and sleep elsewhere?
She felt increasingly lonely and vulnerable with every mile they journeyed from Santo Domingo, the last vestige of civilization in this wilderness. Aaron had been warm and kind, delighted at the prospect of another grandchild. He accepted her and asked no embarrassing or accusing questions about her severed relationship with Benjamin. But what of Magdalena, his Christian wife? Benjamin was her firstborn and Miriam was responsible for his exile. If Magdalena chose to castigate her and Rigo chose to desert her, what would she do?
Rigo watched Miriam sit near the flickering fire, holding a crude gourd bowl filled with the spicy Taino concoction the men called pepper pot. She looked bereft and alone. A strange mixture of desire and tenderness welled up inside him as he made his way to her. “I am certain it does not meet your dietary laws, but you must eat, Miriam,” he said quietly. “This is a new world and you must abandon the past.”
“Abandon the past,” she echoed. “My heritage was left behind the day I first laid eyes on you. Fate, Rigo?” Her expression was as shuttered and guarded as his. Thick brown lashes lowered over her gray eyes as she dipped a crude spoon into the stew and began to eat methodically.
Rigo had two of the men unpack their blankets and spread a pallet on a mossy bed beyond the trunk of a huge mahogany tree, giving them a small bit of privacy.
Although they lay side by side that night, Rigo and Miriam did not touch. Both lay awake for many hours, listening to the screech of nocturnal birds and rustling of small animals. Each was lost in a painful coil of memory and fear.
* * * *
The valley was awe-inspiring, deep, wide and lushly fertile, stretching into the hazy distance from the mountain pass through which they had just traveled. Rushing streams irrigated lush black soil and fed towering stands of timber. Huge herds of wild cattle, called cimarrones, fattened on rich deep grasslands along with pigs and even a smattering of goats.
“Beside the wild livestock, we pen and fatten chickens for meat and eggs and most particularly, we breed and sell fine horses to gentlemen bound for Mexico,” Aaron said proudly, patting his chestnut's neck.
At the mention of Mexico, Miriam's heart constricted with dread, but Rigo seemed more interested in his father's horses than the distant goldfields.
“The chestnut is magnificent. Have you any mares by him?”
Aaron eyed Peligro and said, “To breed with this black devil? Aye. That would be a splendid mating indeed.”
As they rode down into the valley, Miriam and Rigo both observed the irrigated fields of maize, beans, sweet potatoes and the bitter manioc from which cassava cakes were made. Aaron identified the various crops and explained how they were cultivated and harvested in two growing seasons a year.
“Those are lemon and orange orchards,” Rigo said as they rounded a curve and rode past a stand of silk cotton trees. “Andalusia is filled with them.”
“They have transplanted well in the Indies. So have rice and sugar cane in the southwestern part of the island, but growing them and more particularly milling the cane requires brutal labor. The planters involved in it use black slaves. Tis an ugly business and I want none of it,” Aaron replied with obvious distaste. “We grow foods for local trade and our own uses and ship horses, hides and tallow, amber and even a bit of gold. A few good veins have been found, but we cannot long hope to survive on their returns. Luis and Rudolfo are in charge of the mining in the northern mountains.
“Luis and Rudolfo?” Rigo's head swam with all the names of people who were part of the vast Torres hato.
“Luis Torres was on the Admiral's first voyage with me. We are not kin in spite of our common surname and Jewish heritage. He married a Taino woman and their son Rudolfo is married to Serafìna, our eldest daughter. They have three children.” Aaron watched Rigo's expression of covert amazement and suppressed the urge to chuckle. I will win you over yet, Navaro.
Lovely citrus orchards surrounded the main compound of the hato, which was built of limestone, laboriously carried from mountain quarries. A thick wall approximately ten feet high surrounded the immense cluster of buildings, ornamental gardens and towering shade trees. As they approached the compound a pair of hard-looking half-caste guards saluted Aaron and opened two
wide wooden gates. Rigo estimated it would take several direct hits from Pescara's best siege cannon to take out the foot-thick oak.
Neat rows of small cottages, produce stalls, a forge, a dairy and sundry other shops lined the streets where children of every hue from fair Castilian to darkest Taino played together. Near the center of the miniature city stood the Torres palace, two stories of stone with graciously arched porticos and wide, low windows. The dense leafy branches of oak and mahogany trees shaded it like lovers' caresses.
As they rode down the streets Aaron greeted men and women busy at work and children squealing with delight at his return. Then one small girl, dressed in a loose cotton undertunic, came flying down the street with her fire-red hair streaming behind her like a banner. He scooped her up onto the big chestnut and then gave her a mighty squeeze. Large jade-green eyes in a small, pointy face gazed adoringly at him as she cried, “Oh, Papa, we missed you!” At once she looked past him and her eyes fixed in round wonder on the dark, elegantly clad stranger riding beside him. “Is this my brother Navaro?”
“Yes, dear heart, but you must call him Rigo, for that is the name he was raised with.” Aaron turned to Rigo and said, “This urchin is your youngest sister, Violante, or Lani as she has always been called.”
At Rigo's smiling nod, the elfin child gave him a broad smile, revealing several missing baby teeth. “Is the pretty lady Miriam?” she asked Rigo, peering into the litter. “Benjamin always wrote that she was very beautiful. Why did he not come back with you? Can I ride on your horse?”
Not certain of how or whether to answer the barrage of questions, Rigo looked to Aaron.
His father gave Lani an affectionate swat and said, “Do not ask so much and I will let you ride with your brother.” With that he passed the giggling child to a most startled Rigo.
Lani put her small, chubby arms about his neck and gave his face a thorough inspection. “You look just like Benjamin, but your hair is like the Tainos,” she said as she touched a lock of raven hair at his shoulder. “I think tis a very pretty combination.”