I looked back at the house. How long did my father expect me to entertain this man? We sat down on a bench in the shade of an overhanging bush.
‘Tell me more of your mama,’ Don Piero urged me. He laid his hand over mine. ‘I can sense a great loss in your life.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. Tears gathered behind my eyes. At home I didn’t have many opportunities to talk about my feelings for Mama. Papa had closed himself off from me and Ramón too was distant when I broached the subject. It was a relief to find someone who seemed to understand that need within me.
‘You are lonely.’ He nodded and took my hand in his. ‘I understand that, for I too am lonely.’
‘Your wife, she passed away,’ I murmured in reply. I recalled Papa saying as he’d introduced us that Don Piero’s wife had died around the same time as Mama.
‘We were very happy together,’ he said. ‘We enjoyed great companionship, and she gave me four good sons.’
‘Ah, yes,’ I said, my voice tinged with resentment. ‘The sons a woman is obliged to bear.’
‘Is it a thing you fear, Zarita?’
‘What?’ I asked him, startled.
‘Childbirth.’
‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ I said. What a peculiar turn the conversation had taken! I was unsure whether this topic was quite seemly for us to be discussing.
‘It was just that I wondered why you do not look to marry.’ Don Piero hesitated. ‘Most young girls of your age would be at least formally engaged. You are a great beauty and I am sure you are a good girl.’ He said these last words very earnestly. ‘I truly do. I’m not saying this to flatter you.’
‘I believe you.’ I laughed uncomfortably.
‘And if it is the other matter that gives you anxiety, then, be assured, I would not trouble you like that.’
I had no idea what Don Piero was taking about, but as I’d found him very sympathetic I didn’t want to be rude. I gave him a quick smile and tried to see if Papa was beckoning from the window. Surely by now he would have concluded his business and we could return to the house?
I disengaged myself from Don Piero’s grasp and began to get up from the garden bench.
‘No, stay,’ he begged. ‘There’s something more I want to say to you.’
I sat back down, and Don Piero went on quickly, stammering as he spoke, ‘Your father and I have discussed this. We came to an understanding. I would be very kind. I imagine us sitting together in the quiet of the evening, chatting. I could tell you stories of my life, and you would speak of household matters. We might travel. I have a yearning to see other lands before I die. They say that the islands of Greece are marvellous, with many ancient ruins. I’m sure you would be pleased to see these things and together we—’
I turned to face him. Had he taken leave of his senses as old people do, and begun to ramble, voicing thoughts only loosely connected with the realities of the world?
‘Sir,’ I began, ‘I’ve no idea of what you are speaking. How could I possibly travel with you? It would not be proper for a man of your years and a young girl.’
‘But I promise you’ – there was a pleading note in Don Piero’s voice – ‘it is companionship I seek. I would not bother you in any intimate way.’
Realization came crashing into my mind, and with it the full import of Lorena’s smirks. She meant to be rid of me by marrying me off to this old man!
I gasped in outrage. ‘Sir!’ I leaped up, forgetting my decorum and manners. ‘I must, I must—’ I set off towards the house and ran indoors.
My father was seated at his desk. He held a pen in his hand. Was he about to sign my life away? It must have been that schemer, Lorena, who had worked this persuasion on him. She was standing just behind him, her hands at the top of his back, massaging the muscles of his shoulders and neck.
It was something I had done when Papa suffered a tension headache. The sight of this served to inflame me further.
‘How dare you!’ I stalked across the room.
‘Why, Zarita,’ Lorena asked, looking up at me and opening her eyes very wide, ‘whatever is the matter?’
And at the sight of her upturned face with its look of pretend innocence, I drew back my hand and slapped her hard across her cheek.
Lorena squealed in real pain and fright.
And I had my own gratifying moment of triumph and surge of elation.
Confused and bewildered, Don Piero was looking on in dismay from the open garden doors. He glanced at my father. ‘You assured me that she was not so unruly . . .’ His voice tailed off. His look of disgust did more to bring me to my senses than either my father’s anger or Lorena’s sobbing.
I knew that I had lost something – my dignity, my pride – I didn’t know exactly what name to call it. By allowing Lorena to drive me to the point where I was no longer in control of my actions, I’d diminished myself. Yes, she’d provoked me to this scene, but I had allowed her to do it.
Don Piero left, and Papa called me for a chilly interview in his study.
‘Zarita, when you were alone with Don Piero, did he do you any harm?’
‘No, Papa.’
‘Did he make an improper suggestion to you?’
‘He did not.’
‘Did he in any way behave incorrectly?’
I shook my head.
‘What did he say that upset you so much?’ When I didn’t reply, Papa raised his voice to me. ‘Zarita, how did Don Piero conduct himself in your presence?’
‘He was very kind and decent,’ I admitted.
‘Did you like him?’
‘I did like him, but—’
‘There is no “but”. You have been afforded more than many other girls of families in similar circumstances, Zarita. You have been allowed time to meet and talk with a man I consider suitable as a husband for you. You say yourself that he made a favourable impression you. Very many women do not even see the intended groom before their wedding.’
‘Papa, you cannot mean this. Ramón Salazar and I—’
‘It might be best to forget Ramón Salazar.’
‘No!’
‘Listen to me, Zarita!’ Papa almost shouted at me. ‘I am trying to be considerate of your feelings.’ He took me by the shoulders. ‘Can I not impart a speck of wisdom into your head? I will not live for ever. What do you think will happen to you when I die?’
I was bewildered by his question. ‘I will remain here,’ I replied. ‘What else would I do?’
‘This is not your house. It will not be your house when I die. It will belong to Lorena.’
Lorena!
‘What!’ I saw the truth in his eyes. Lorena would own the house and the land. If I had to rely on her good graces, she would have me out on the street in only my shift. I would be cleaning the stables, downtrodden and humiliated.
‘I will not marry that old man,’ I said stubbornly. ‘You cannot make me.’
My father sighed. ‘It isn’t for you to decide what you may or may not do, but in any case I described you to Don Piero as kind and gentle. I doubt if he’ll be willing to contract a marriage to such a wild-tempered girl.’ He looked at me as if he’d never known me. ‘I told him that you were an obedient daughter who would do anything to please her papa and obey his wishes.’
I held my head up high and faced my father. ‘Not any more, Papa,’ I replied. ‘Not any more.’
Now Lorena ruled over me.
Her position was secured. She’d learned that she would be in complete command of the house when Papa was gone, so she began to take control now. With the imminent threat of the Inquisition removed – it was on record that our town had been inspected – there was less likelihood of them returning. Lorena’s behaviour became worse. When Papa was not at home she was less modest and more flagrant in her entertainments.
She brought friends of her own age into the house, men and women, and gossiped with them for hours on end. On occasion I was forced to sit in their company and listen to their id
le speculations. Some of them professed a wide knowledge of worldly affairs. I smiled to myself when they talked like this and said nothing. There was more wisdom spoken in the enclosed community of my aunt’s nuns than by these self-regarding sophisticates.
One day their conversation turned to the topic of exploration, and the news that the queen and king were considering financing an expedition by an unknown mariner to see if there were lands to the west across the Ocean Sea.
‘They say that people live on islands out there who are not true human beings – men who are only half human,’ one woman commented.
‘Then why should our taxes go to pay for such an expedition?’ another asked. ‘We won’t be able to take these people as slaves. The men will be no use for anything if they are only half human.’
‘That depends on which half,’ Lorena said with a bawdy chuckle. Her companions joined in, laughing uproariously.
At first I was silent as I didn’t understand the joke. But as comprehension dawned, my face blushed and that sent them into another round of laughter at my expense.
‘Zarita needs to be married.’ Lorena made a gesture in my direction. ‘She is over sixteen years old and still doesn’t know which end of a flute plays the best tune.’
‘Hush,’ said one of her friends. ‘She lost the mama who would have told her what she needed to know. And anyway’ – she lowered her voice – ‘one can see that she is only a simple village girl without any skills.’
My face burned even redder, but now it was with anger.
I snapped my fan closed and got up and left the room. How Lorena despised me! But then she had a right to, for I was a person to be looked down upon. I had blundered in trying to help Bartolomé and only succeeded in antagonizing Father Besian. I had insulted Don Piero, offending an honourable and kindly man by being unable to turn down an offer of marriage in a graceful manner. And worst of all, my cries, the stupid selfish screaming of a petulant child, had caused a man to hang.
I went up to my bedroom, pulled off my dress and bodice, untied my hair and lay down on the bed in my petticoats. Tomorrow was the anniversary of my mother’s death. Yet another occasion when I’d behaved badly: rather than considering her needs, I had thought only of my own. I should have sat down beside her and held her hand. Instead I’d flung myself upon her bed, crying out for her not to leave me. Throbbing, blinding pain bound my temples in an iron grip; a migraine of such intensity that I could not raise my head. Ardelia came and stroked my brow. She wrung out a cotton cloth in cold water and laid it across my temples.
I felt tears oozing from under my eyelids.
‘Ah, cry, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Cry, my darling. Cry for your mama and lost baby brother who would have prevented this had either or both of them lived. Cry for your childhood, now gone for ever. And cry for your papa, for I fear he is lost too.’
Ardelia sang me old nursery rhymes and songs and tried to soothe me. But I cried and cried for hours; through that night and the following night, and the one after that, and on and on, until I was weak and then feverish, and didn’t know what day or hour it was.
The doctor was summoned, a fat useless man who knew nothing of illnesses of the body or of the mind.
‘She is malingering.’ A waspish voice hovered above my head.
Lorena.
‘Perhaps . . .’ The doctor sounded unsure. ‘One never knows. She is hot and flushed and there was a case of Plague on one of the offshore islands not fifty miles away. Remember we are a port. Disease can come here, brought by the ships.’
‘She must be quarantined then.’ Lorena’s voice was much firmer now. ‘I will make arrangements for her to be sent away.’
The words echoed in my head.
‘Sent away.’
Away, away, away . . .
Chapter Twenty-four
Saulo
ONLY SEVEN OF our freemen rowers and one of the crew made it to safety. Of the oarsmen, two succumbed to their wounds the next day. One of those who died was Lomas.
I went to see him. The Spanish doctor on board the ship had administered an opiate to dull his pain but there was nothing else that could be done for him. He was lucid as he spoke his last words to me.
‘Take my goods.’ He indicated the bag of possessions that he’d gathered up when scrambling clear of our sinking galley. ‘The money I have is for my wife and my son. Will you go and give it to them?’
When I promised that I would do this, Lomas told me his family name and the location of the town where they lived. ‘Tell them’ – his voice wavered, whether from his condition or emotion I couldn’t say – ‘tell them, all I did, I did for them.’
I sat by him for an hour after he’d expired, feeling a deep loss resonating in me. Lomas had treated me as a father might a son, and his passing brought back memories of my parents. I rubbed my throat to ease the choking sensation I always felt when I thought of my father. I recalled the events in the magistrate’s compound and how Don Vicente Alonso had hit my father in the mouth. And I thought of my reaction when Panipat had done this to me – my knife was in my fist in an instant and I’d plunged it into his eye. How much worse was the fate I planned for the magistrate and his family! I intended to keep the promise I’d made to Lomas to seek out his wife and son, for I knew that I would return to Spain to deal with my own personal business of revenge.
When the cannon of the two Spanish ships had pounded the Turks into submission, they boarded the privateer to capture the men and raid their valuables and cargo before turning her adrift. Our galley was lying partially submerged, still caught up under the prow of the Turkish vessel. I went with the last man of our crew, the carpenter-cook, to collect anything of worth.
The body of Panipat lay where he’d fallen, half sitting with the shaft of his own knife protruding from his chest. I pulled it out and quickly stuck it in my own belt lest the carpenter-cook should see and comment on how the oars-master had died. We tied weights to the dead bodies before pushing them over the side to their graves in the sea. I had to prise Captain Cosimo’s stiff fingers from his jacket. I thought perhaps I should wrap him in it, for it was almost heavy enough to pull him under, but the carpenter-cook said quickly, ‘You take the jacket, boy. That’s legitimate spoils of war. I’ll have the rest of the captain’s stuff.’
I saw him go into the captain’s cubicle, break open the money box and help himself to the few coins inside.
He winked at me and laid his finger along the side of his nose. ‘We’ll both keep quiet as to what we’re about.’
I took this to mean that if I said nothing about him taking the money then he’d tell no one that I had originally been bought as a slave for a barrel of cheap wine. He collected his tools and cooking utensils and left. I lifted the map case and navigational aids. Burdened with these and the peacock jacket, I struggled back up the netting.
A tall man with blond hair stood at the ship’s rail. He leaned over the side to help me and eyed the navigational aids and the map case with interest. ‘I’m a mariner and explorer,’ he said. ‘I’d be interested in assessing your salvage. If they’re of any use to me I might be able to offer you a good price for them.’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘Our captain was training me to be a navigator and . . . and—’ To my embarrassment my voice cracked with emotion as I thought of Captain Cosimo, now lying dead at the bottom of the sea.
‘Ah.’ The tall man gave me an intelligent look. ‘You have a connection to these things that is worth more than their market value?’
I nodded.
‘What is your name?’ he enquired gently.
‘Saulo,’ I mumbled.
‘And your captain perished defending his men and his boat?’
Again I nodded, not sure that my voice was capable of an answer.
In a gesture of sympathy he placed his hand on my arm. ‘Saulo, I tell you, the bonds of loyalty that are forged between men of the sea are very intense.’
He waited until
I composed myself and then said, ‘Let me at least look at your maps. When you’ve had that wound on your cheek attended to and rested after your ordeal, come and find me. My name is Christopher Columbus.’
The Spanish ships were on route to Gran Canaria in the Canary Islands, territories situated outside the Mediterranean in the Ocean Sea, and recently brought under the rule of Castile. It was the intention of the conquering nation to plant sugarcane as the land there was deemed suitable for this crop. These ships carried plants and all manner of other things – furniture, foodstuffs, arms, garrison supplies, soldiers and colonists – for Spain wanted a land base off the coast of Africa to equal that set up by the Portuguese elsewhere.
Having thoroughly looted the Turkish vessel, the Spanish were now continuing on their journey. Christopher Columbus was standing on deck talking with the commander of the soldiers when I went to speak with him the next day. This was the man that Captain Cosimo had mentioned – the mariner and explorer who believed that there was a way around the back of maps.
‘My galley captain was from Genoa,’ I told Columbus. ‘He mentioned your name, saying you were an explorer and a skilful mariner. But then, he said the Genoese were the best sailors.’
Columbus nodded. ‘Genoa is a tiny state with no room for expansion. We have always looked to the sea for our livelihood, for trade and to travel and colonize. We are expert merchants and navigators.’ He said this last sentence with no trace of arrogance in his voice. It was as if he were stating a fact with which no honest person would disagree. ‘Your captain was unlucky to get caught by the Turkish ship.’
‘Not so much bad luck,’ I replied. And I told him of the captain’s afflicted sight and how it had cost him his life.
‘A captain has hard decisions to make but he shouldn’t risk the lives of his crew unnecessarily.’
‘Isn’t that what you will do if you try to sail to the other side of the Ocean Sea?’
Prisoner of the Inquisition Page 11