by Shirl Henke
“I am Don Bartolome Colon, the governor's brother. Where is Don Cristobal?” he asked of the most civilized looking man to venture through the press.
“I have heard much of you from your brother, Don Bartolome. My name is Luis Torres. I am a scholar and was the fleet interpreter. Welcome to Ysabel, such as it is. I fear Don Cristobal is off in search of more lands to claim for the Majesties. Your younger brother, Diego, is left in charge. I am certain he will be along anon.” Luis noted the way the beautiful lady studied him covertly as the other passengers disembarked amid loud shouts, shrieks of welcome and general chaos.
“Forgive my manners, Don Luis. This is Doña Magda-lena Valdés, the betrothed of Diego Torres, my brother's fleet marshal. I do hope he is here to greet her.”
Luis bowed gallantly over Magdalena's hand, an incongruous gesture for a man clad in a soiled white linen tunic that fell ungirdled to his knees. He wore much-mended hose and mud-covered boots, and his black curly hair was in sorry want of barbering. “Diego Torres' betrothed.” he said in a strange voice.
“Are you related to him, sir? I know of no one in his family named Luis,” Magdalena said in puzzlement.
Luis shrugged, glad of a momentary reprieve. Let that stripling Colon handle this dilemma for his brothers! “No, my lady. I have sailed with Diego, but we are not of the same family, although we do share a certain kinship, both being New Christians. I hail from Cordoba. Ah, here comes the acting governor now.”
Diego Colon, dressed grandly in a flowing deep blue cloak, had come to greet the supply ships. The last person on earth he wished to see was his elder brother, whom Cristobal would doubtless place in charge during all future absences. He forced a smile on his sallow face and heartily embraced Bartolome. “How come you from the royal court so soon? Were you not to see to our brother's children?”
“They are safely tucked away in Prince Juan's entourage as pages. I was dispatched by King Fernando with these supply ships our brother requested.” He drew Magdalena nearer and introduced her to his brother.
She nodded politely as she sensed the tension exuding from Diego Colon. Something was amiss between the brothers.
Bartolome looked about the rude shacks and half-constructed stone buildings on the plaza. “It would seem the food and medicine are badly needed.”
“Yes, there has been much sickness in this pestilent climate,” Diego quickly explained, ushering them away from the crowded beach toward a stark stone building on the square.
“There appears to be a marked lack of industry. So many men sit idly and I saw open fields bare of crops around the whole of the bay as we sailed in,” Bartolome countered.
Diego drew his thin body up so he stood a full two inches above his elder brother. “The men are an unskilled lot. Most who are not ill are either with our military commander setting up forts in the interior or off exploring with Cristobal.” Wanting to change the subject from his possible malfeasance, Diego returned his attention to Magdalena, who was escorted by Luis Torres. “Why have you favored Ysabel with your presence, my lady?”
Bartolome explained Magdalena's mission, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Diego Torres' betrothed?” his younger brother practically squeaked.
Magdalena turned to Luis and asked flatly, “Where is Diego? He is well, is he not?” Her heart constricted. So many had fallen ill.
Diego interrupted any possible reply from the scholar. “No, no, my brother's marshal flourishes, although he has quit his post since last we landed. He lives in a village of primitives—Indians, the colonists have taken to calling them.”
“He lives among the savage people, like those Don Cristobal presented at court?” Magdalena asked incredulously.
“Well, yes. I will send a runner to summon him,” Diego Colon said distractedly. “But first, let me offer you hospitality.” They had reached the big stone governor's residence, where an Indian waited patiently, holding open the door for the acting governor and his guests.
Magdalena felt a premonition of disaster as Bartolome took her arm and escorted her into the cool, dark interior.
Chapter Twelve
Aaron was hot, exhausted, and extremely irritated at the peremptory summons from Diego Colon. He wondered what new ill tidings there might be for the Taino. Since it was a hard day's journey for men afoot, he chanced riding one of the horses he had brought with him from Cadiz. Although of inferior bloodlines to his beloved Andaluz, the big bay was sturdy and sure-footed on the rough terrain of the twisting jungle paths and slippery mud.
He reined to a halt in front of the great hulking monstrosity of stone that was the governor's palace and slid from the bay. “God spare us an architect for this city named for a queen,” he muttered wryly, wiping the sweat from his brow as he gazed toward the harbor. Several new caravels bobbed easily near the shoreline. Perhaps Colon wished him to mediate some altercation between these new arrivals and the Indians.
Swearing beneath his breath, he strode toward the front entry and knocked. One of Diego Colon's Taino servants answered the door, clad in the loose cotton tunic the new government insisted all Indian women must wear while living in town. She ushered him toward the large audience room that took up the right side of the building, serving as a court of justice, public meeting place, and social hall.
“Diego, your summons said a matter of great urgency. What—” Aaron stood frozen in the doorway, ignoring the smug look on the acting governor's face. His eyes riveted on Magdalena Valdés. Dressed in a fine silk gown and gauze surcoat, she looked small and fragile, utterly out of place in this cold, masculine room. Her green eyes shone dark in her pale face. Did she tremble as she clutched the locket at her bosom?
“You! Why in the name of all the angels of heaven are you here, lady?”
Magdalena stared at the savage standing before her. Sweet Mother of God, what had she done! This stranger was practically naked, wearing only a small cloth about his hips, with a wicked looking knife strapped to his side. His skin was bronzed as darkly as any of the Tainos she had seen in town, and his hair was long and shaggy. The shadow of a beard glistened on his jaw, which was clenched in amazement and fury. Cold blue eyes pierced her as he awaited a reply to his question.
Her throat constricted. She took a deep breath and said, “Hello, Diego.” Before she could beg leave of the Colon brothers to talk in private with her “betrothed,” Bartolome interrupted.
“A passing strange way for a man to greet the lady he is to wed after she has crossed an ocean for him.” The heavyset, red-haired man stood protectively next to Magdalena, dwarfing her.
“The lady I am to wed?” Aaron echoed in astonishment.
“We were given to understand that your father arranged the match,” Diego Colon said, looking at Aaron's Taino clothing and sun-darkened body with disdain. He could scarce credit the sanity of such a beautiful woman as the Lady Magdalena, come to wed with this half-savage.
“My father was mayhap beguiled into friendship with this wench, but he arranged no betrothal between us, I assure you,” Aaron gritted out, turning furiously to glare at Magdalena.
Bartolome interposed himself between them. “I was told that you, like many other men here, kept a primitive female, but that is of no account now. You will honor your bond to this noble lady.”
“There is no bond,” Aaron almost shouted, eyeing the stranger who looked oddly familiar. “Who are you, her brother?”
“No, I am the admiral's brother, Bartolome Colon, at your service. Sir Marshal,” he answered with sarcasm. “Will you act the part of a gentleman or have you resided among the savages too long?”
Now it was Magdalena's turn to step between the two men, bristling at each other like two mastiffs. “Please, if I may speak with Diego alone for a moment,” she said, placing her hand on Bartolome's arm.
“I have nothing to say to you, Magdalena. What was between us in Seville is finished now. You, of all people, should understand why,” he said with
cold finality.
Her shock at his appearance and her fear about confronting him with his father's wishes dimmed as she stared into his icy eyes. He had used her and deserted her as if she were some Taino serving wench! “I understand that you took my honor in Seville and then left me.”
“My lady, you gave freely what I took,” he replied contemptuously.
She fought the urge to fly at him with her nails and instead said quietly, “Benjamin pledged you, Aaron.”
The use of his given name caused his eyes to narrow. “My father was deceived by you, but not so far as to betroth us.”
“He gave me this as a sign for you,” Magdalena said, her anger evaporating into bitter hurt at his heartless rejection. She pulled the locket from her neck and opened it, then extracted the pomander and revealed its precious contents.
“How did you acquire that?” he asked with a strangled gasp, grabbing the ring from her hand.
“Then you do not deny it is your father's signature ring?” Bartolome said gravely.
Aaron looked at the ring in his palm. Its brilliant sapphire glowed like blue fire, the color of Torres eyes. “This is my father's ring,” he said quietly, “but there are many ways she could have come to possess it.” He slid it on his finger, then looked thoughtfully at the small pale woman before him. “Her father, Bernardo Valdés, was responsible for murdering my family. He turned them over to the Inquisition—for his share of Torres wealth. When I went home last year everyone was dead and all our property confiscated. She most like pilfered the ring from her father!”
Magdalena could hold back no longer. She slapped him as tears suddenly overflowed her eyes. “That is a monstrous lie! Benjamin gave me this ring the day after I met you at your home.” She hesitated as he stood stone still, his hands clenched menacingly at his sides. Her cheeks flamed as she whispered, “He found my combs by your bed after you departed for Palos. He was going to force you to wed me before you sailed, but I begged him not to.”
One golden eyebrow raised cynically. “And what prompted your change of heart after all this time has passed? Why is it you now cross the very ocean to wed me? Do you carry a Trastamara bastard in your belly and need a gullible father for it? I warrant King Fernando is fair out of archbishoprics with which to vest his bastards.”
“You insult not only this lady but his majesty as well. You have lived too long with those savages and grow as primitive as they,” Diego Colon said indignantly, but it was his elder brother who menaced Aaron by approaching him with hand on sword hilt.
“You will apologize to the Lady Magdalena, Don Diego, or I will slit your gullet, no matter if you did save Cristobal's life,” Bartolome said in a low deadly voice.
Looking at Bartolome's hard face, he realized the man was as taken in by Magdalena as his father had been. What is it about the wench? He turned to her with a mock gallant gesture, bowing as he said, “My apologies, Dona Magdalena, I will not again insult you, but neither will I wed you…ever.” He turned to Bartolome and said, “Do your worst. I am not pledged to the woman and I will not be coerced into a marriage.”
“And I will not force you,” Magdalena said furiously, having regained her composure. The blatant cruelty of his words had left her numb for a moment. “Farewell, Diego Torres. I wish you well with your Indian woman.”
With the blood pounding in his ears, Aaron walked stiffly and silently toward the door.
“One moment,” Bartolome said. “The ring is the lady's betrothal pledge. If you will not honor the pledge, you will not keep the ring.” When Aaron turned, Bartolome's drawn sword was at his throat. “Give the lady her ring or by the Blessed Mother, you will not depart Ysabel alive.”
Muttering an oath, Aaron removed the ring and handed it to Bartolome, for Magdalena would not approach him. “Keep it...for now,” he said, again walking toward the door.
“You shall hear more of this matter when the admiral returns,” Bartolome called out at his retreating back.
Aaron did not break stride.
Magdalena accepted the ring from her champion with her head held high. “Please, do not press him. I will have none of him now.” She turned to Diego Colon and said, “Only let me live here in Ysabel. You have many sick people and I am accounted a good nurse.”
“This is a rough city, filled with unprincipled rogues and adventurers. Although there are some Indian women and a few white women from Castile...well,” Diego Colon's face reddened. “You are the only lady in Ysabel. It is not safe for you to remain here without the protection of a husband.”
Her grip on Bartolome's arm tightened and she implored, “Please, you know what awaits me at court. Let me stay. I will be no trouble.”
Bartolome sighed, looking at her pale, proud face, silently cursing Diego Torres as seven kinds of a fool. “We will await Cristobal's return. Let him decide the right of it. He knows Torres well. In the meanwhile,” he looked at his brother Diego's vacillating expression and said firmly, “the lady remains. There is no ship outfitted to make the return voyage anyway. We can do no less than offer Colon hospitality to her.”
* * * *
Magdalena went to her quarters, a simple but spacious room in the stone building, rudely furnished with a lumpy mattress of palm fibers, a small table, and a stool of rough dark wood. Throwing herself down across the bed, she let go of all the misery she had held back during the confrontation with Aaron. Shame and humiliation rushed over her in waves as fierce as any she had encountered in the ocean crossing. That he would mistrust her motives and be angry with her for coming in pursuit of him she had expected. He was proud and stubborn and such a man did not like to be forced into anything, much less marriage, at sword point.
Even his accusation that she came by Benjamin's ring through her father was forgivable. But to say she had come to him from Fernando Trastamara's bed! She shuddered and let out a fierce sob. That was beyond bearing. And worst of all, he preferred a Taino woman, one of those savages, to her. She could still feel his cold blue eyes mocking her, feel his surging fury and burning contempt. “Let him rot! A convent would be preferable to being wed to such a monster!” she spat out between clenched teeth, then gave way to another fit of weeping.
By evening, Magdalena had done with her storm of tears. She soaked her ravaged face and performed an elaborate toilette to restore her spirits. If she was indeed the only lady on Española, she would look the part! When she entered the dining hall for the evening meal, Bartolome and Diego Colon and six other gentlemen all rose to greet her effusively.
At court she had not enjoyed coquetry and was always nervous with the attention of devious and lecherous noblemen, but here the gallantry of the soldiers and adventurers was balm to her wounded spirit. That Diego Colon and the others wanted to court her was at first flattering. Then, as the simple meal wore on, she began to realize the problems such a contest might present. The rivals would soon be at one another with swords drawn. She could be forced to choose one of them to wed, and in truth, she wanted none of them.
The dark Argonese, Mosen Margarite, reminded her of the king with his cruel black eyes. But unlike Fernando Trastamara, Margarite had a face that was harsh and craggy like the hardened mercenary he was. No soft courtier, he wore his scars like badges of honor. His rapacity in dealing with Taino rebels in the interior already made people in Ysabel whisper his name and give him wide berth.
Alonso Hojeda was a cocky little Sevilliard who acted the part of a fop and a braggart, but beneath his lacy doublet sleeves and elegantly trimmed beard, he was crafty and fiercely ambitious as only an impoverished hidalgo could be.
As for Diego Colon, Magdalena had taken an almost instant dislike to his opinionated arrogance. She fervently hoped the admiral possessed Bartolome's temperament, not that of the youngest brother.
“Please, Doña Magdalena, more wine?” Diego asked, motioning a Taino servant to pour before she could refuse. Already the room grew uncomfortably warm and her hair, bound by a lacy snood, felt like
a great wool cloak clinging to her sticky back.
Taking a tiny sip of the bitter red liquid, she nodded her thanks to her petulant host. Diego was obviously put out with the untimely arrival of his elder brother, who had already taken over the duty of adelantado, issuing orders and making decisions in Cristobal's absence.
Alonso Hojeda eyed her as if she were a succulent partridge. His black button eyes danced as he said, “Your father is in high favor at court, I understand.”
“Don Bernardo spends more time in Seville now than at court, sir,” she replied noncommittally, loathing the very mention of Bernardo Valdés's name.
“Ah, yes, he is Crossbearer for Fray Tomás de Torquemada, is he not?” Mosen Margarite asked bluntly, full well knowing the answer.
At the mention of the Grand Inquisitor's name, several of the men grew very quiet, eyeing her warily, but Bartolome came to her rescue, as always. “Dona Magdalena has been at court, high in the Majesties' favor herself before coming to Ysabel. She has no knowledge of her father's activities.”
“Still, the House of Valdés is on the ascendency,” Don Alonso said, further testing the water to frighten off Magdalena's more timid suitors.
Wanting to leave the unpleasant subject of Bernardo Valdés, Bartolome turned to Diego and asked, “How goes the construction of the arsenal and the irrigation canal?”
Diego scowled for an instant, then quickly covered his face with a smile. “Well enough. Some of the common men assigned to dig the canal from the river fell ill, and we have been forced to call on those of higher rank to work at the task, but we progress.”
“You have many shirkers in this settlement, fine gentlemen who will do no work they cannot accomplish on horseback,” Bartolome said in disgust, pointedly eyeing Hojeda and Margarite.
“We need more Tainos to do menial tasks. White men forced to dig and chop sicken and die in this climate,” Don Mosen replied coldly. As commander of the interior forts he was a man of some power. The Argonese had easily manipulated Diego Colon but already could foresee trouble in dealing with Bartolome. “I would take a force into the interior once more and finish with those rebel leaders, thus providing us with suitable labor to complete the construction of the city—Indian slaves.”