by Shirl Henke
Colon's fingers tapped on the rough wooden table. “A most dangerous foe to antagonize,” he murmured with a meaningful look at Bartolome, who had the good grace to redden.
“There is a simple remedy for all our problems,” Bartolome began very carefully.
“Yes, there is,” Magdalena interjected. “I will cause no trouble. I grew up on my parents' country estates outside Seville. I am used to hard work. I can tend sick people, sick animals. I will be a good colonist for Ysabel, Admiral.” Her eyes were huge and entreating.
“You are a beautiful young woman of the nobility—your very presence in a place such as this is trouble, Doña Magdalena,” Colon rebuked gently. “You had a bitter taste of the problem already this morning, and you have been in Ysabel only three days. I am given to understand from my youngest brother that every gentleman at table last even was exceedingly smitten— including Diego himself. There will be fighting among my men. I cannot allow this. You must choose to wed one of them, or I will be forced to send you back to Seville, no matter how painful the decision is for me,” the admiral said quietly.
Magdalena looked at his careworn but stern face and knew he meant his words. “But I do not love...that is none...oh, forgive me, for I am most flattered by all the gentlemen who have shown me such kindness, but I do not wish to wed any of them, not even your brother Diego.”
“Perhaps you should follow your heart, Magdalena,” Bartolome prompted. “In spite of his mule-headed stubbornness, you love him still, do you not?”
Magdalena's eyes darkened with pain. She shook her head as a lump tightened in her throat so that she could not speak.
Cristobal looked from the distressed young woman seated before him to Bartolome. “Who is this man whom the lady would wed?” he asked his brother in a tone of voice that demanded an end to the earlier evasion.
“Magdalena was betrothed to your marshal, Diego Torres. She carries the crest ring of his father's house. I brought her here to wed Torres, but when we summoned the young fool, he refused.” Bartolome paused for a moment, hating to hurt Magdalena further, but knowing he must speak. “Torres lives among the Taino.”
“I know. I sent him with them when first we made landfall on San Salvador nearly two years ago.” Then understanding struck the admiral. He looked to Bartolome for confirmation. “Surely he cannot hold to a Taino female and deny his obligation to a Castilian noblewoman after all she has risked—”
“After all she has risked, he denies even the betrothal!” Bartolome interrupted angrily. “Did those Indians of his work some necromancy on him to cause him to behave so?”
Cristobal rubbed his temple with his palm, then said, “This is not what I would expect of Diego Torres.” He looked down at Magdalena uncertainly. “In all the time I spent with him aboard ship, never did he mention this betrothal.”
Magdalena's shoulders slumped as she admitted in a quiet voice. “The pledge was made by his father Benjamin on Diego's behalf, just before he sailed with you on your first voyage here.” She blushed in complete humiliation, recalling the painful scene with Benjamin and the even more hateful way his son had repudiated her in front of Bartolome and Diego Colon.
“The young whelp seduced her in his father's home. When Benjamin Torres found out the truth, he would have ridden with Magdalena to Palos and had them wed before the voyage, but the lady refused to force him. The elder Torres made the pledge. Show the Admiral the ring, Magdalena,” Bartolome commanded softly.
Magdalena stood up and looked from Bartolome to Cristobal, then said calmly, “I cannot do so. Last even when I returned to my room, he lay waiting for me and took it from me.”
Bartolome's hand clenched on his sword hilt and he swore.
“Twas his ring. He has refused to believe that Benjamin pledged him. I would not force him to wed me,” she said, turning to stare out the window, her back rigidly straight.
“And I would not have him dishonor you. How dare he invade the governor's residence and your room!” Bartolome said in outrage.
“You have verified that this ring belonged to the House of Torres?” Cristobal asked Bartolome.
“Yes. I examined it well enough. Why else would he come to reclaim it at such risk? He would have taken it when first the lady showed it to him, but I made him return it at sword's point,” Bartolome added grimly.
A hint of a smile tugged at Cristobal's lips as he considered his arrogant young marshal being forced to return the ring. Diego Torres would mislike being forced to do anything. Then his expression became grave. “You say your father is a Crossbearer in Seville?”
She turned and the absolute coldness of her eyes stunned both men. “Yes, Bernardo Valdés betrayed Benjamin Torres to the Inquisition. He has sold his soul for wealth and power. I would that he were dead.”
“And Diego blames you for the sins of your father. I begin to understand,” the Admiral said, nodding slowly as he decided on a course of action.
* * * *
Three days later Aaron paced across the floor, uncomfortable in the hot, tight clothing he had donned to meet with the admiral. Resting his hand lightly on the hilt of his sword, he looked down at the sapphire ring on his finger, then his eyes met Colon's, blue on blue, both gazes intense. “I will not wed her,” he stated flatly.
“Nor I him!” Magdalena said, standing up with a furious swish of her skirts.
Colon looked from Aaron to Magdalena. “Then, Dona Magdalena, choose another. Any man of gentle birth and good breeding among the residents of Ysabel. I know many would be honored to wed you. You have but to select one and I will see to the rest.” He waited, feeling the tension crackling between the two young people before him. Whatever his feelings for Magdalena Valdés, Diego Torres did desire her and she him. By the Blessed Virgin, the fire fair leaped between them, like the sparks that swept a ship's rigging before the lightning came!
Magdalena felt the admiral's eyes on her. The man was compassionate but convinced of his course. Aaron's hard, dark gaze scorched her with his fury. What was she to do? Wed poor, weak Diego Colon? Or Mosen Margarite? Or Alonzo Hojeda? Better to return and accept the cold cell of the convent! She walked a few steps and then stopped short. Her fists clenched, hidden in the folds of her skirts. She whirled and faced the admiral and his arrogant marshal.
“I have chosen. I will have Diego...Torres! I will swear any oath you care to devise that Benjamin gave that ring to me in pledge of betrothal to his son,” she said, pointing to the sapphire crest on Aaron's finger. She faced his steely glare levelly and did not flinch beneath his withering contempt.
“You may have bewitched my father, but I warn you, Magdalena, I am not so gentle a man as he was,” Aaron said, biting off each word.
Aaron paced like a caged lion before Cristobal and Bartolome after Magdalena had been asked to leave the room. “What you ask, in addition to what you have already ordered, is too much,” he said tightly.
“Such onerous duty—to be wed to a beautiful and wealthy noblewoman who adores you. You are much put upon, Torres,” Bartolome said angrily.
Cristobal waved his brother aside, motioning him to take a seat and cool his ire. “I understand your concern for the cacique's sister and her child, but you yourself have said there is no dishonor among these people if a woman bears a child without a husband. Guacanagari will not blame you for wedding one of your own kind. If you are concerned for the Taino, then you can best serve them by taking the post just vacated by Margarite.”
“Margarite has set sail to Castile with Fray Buil and a host of other troublemakers. They will report ill to the Majesties about how the Colon family misgoverns Española,'' Bartolome interjected.
“Mosen Margarite has the king's ear, and Fray Buil will doubtless report to the queen that the Taino refuse conversion and are warlike,” Cristobal said wearily.
“That is absurd. We are better off without Margarite and Buil. Fray Pane is truly interested in learning Taino ways and will do more good without that pi
ous ass Buil,” Aaron replied.
“Yet that pious ass, as you so aptly describe him, has powerful friends at court. Both he and Margarite are my bitter enemies. I have received some troubling dispatches from the Majesties already, questioning how I keep order on Española. The king asks why we have sent so little gold back.” The Admiral looked at Aaron with earnest entreaty. “I always favored you to be my commandant.”
Bartolome stood up and leveled his most intimidating glare on Aaron. “We fully expect a royal investigator to set sail from Cadiz any time.”
“I would have us at peace, prosperously trading with the Taino, when the next caravels arrive. Those caciques who will not accept the governance of the king and queen must be vanquished and Guacanagari's people must be protected. You are the man both Taino and colonists most respect, Aaron. I ask you to become commandant and to marry the Lady Magdalena.” The admiral waited, piercing Aaron with his pale blue eyes.
Aaron scowled as he turned and met the stare. “As in all matters, you leave me little choice. I assume my bride and I are to reside here in Ysabel. When is the marriage to take place?”
“You will take my quarters,” Bartolome said. “It is a small building with a stout mahogany frame and cane walls which will afford comfort through the warmer season. By the time the rains come, if we have the colonists in hand doing their tasks, a stone house should be completed for each of us,” Bartolome said with a challenge in his voice. “In the meantime, I can reside here with my brothers.
“As to the marriage,” Cristobal added, more delicately, “I think it best to summon Fray Pane and have him perform it quickly, to ally possible conflicts with other of the lady's suitors.”
A chilly smile slashed Aaron's mouth. “You have considered all options. We will wed and bed ere this night is done. Then I am bound to Magdalena for life, but still I must see Guacanagari and Aliyah, Cristobal. You needs must trust me outside Ysabel if I am to be your commandant.”
“I trust your word, Aaron. But you must realize the very reasons necessitating the marriage also call for your appearance with your wife here in the settlement before you make a return visit to your old home among the Taino,” Cristobal said gravely.
Aaron's smile broadened but still did not reach his eyes. “So, in but a week, Magdalena has managed to wreak as much havoc among the men of Ysabel as she did the men of Seville.”
“She is headstrong, beautiful and, yes,” Cristobal agreed, grudgingly, “prone to accidents.”
“Such as?” Aaron prompted.
“She wished to help Dr. Chanca at the hospital and while crossing the plaza was set upon by two drunken soldiers,” Bartolome interposed. “It was no fault of the lady's.”
Aaron threw back his head and laughed mirthlessly. “When first I met her, two worthless pups from the marshlands of the Guadalquiver were attacking her. I was forced to kill them,” he added grimly. “Mayhap I should have let them have her!”
“I understand she gave good account of herself with her dagger before Bartolome, here, came charging to her rescue,” Cristobal said, recalling the bedraggled but fiery girl and the two cowering, blood-spattered men still languishing in the settlement's jail. A faint smile crossed his face in spite of himself. His intuition, always strong when he was sailing, now seemed especially positive here on land. The match between these two was right.
* * * *
Fray Ramon Pane, of the Jeronymite Order, was a simple, scholarly man, fascinated by Indian culture and, perhaps because of his empathy with them, a failure at the task of converting the Tainos from their zemis to the Christian God. He was conveniently at hand to perform the marriage between Aaron and Magdalena, which the nervous little priest immediately sensed was in accord with the admiral's wishes, not the participants'. Only Cristobal and Bartolome Colon were present for the brief ceremony. The ink was scarce dry on the contracts when he was dismissed. Puzzled, he departed the governor's residence to resume his studies of primitive religious and social customs among Ysabel's Taino residents.
The admiral gave the pale-faced bride a fatherly salute on the forehead and then bade her return to her room while he spoke for a moment with her grim-faced new husband.
Magdalena looked at Aaron, so forbidding and formal, as if a stranger had taken his place inside the much beloved, laughing golden man she had so long loved. He hates me and yet I love him. She forced a tremulous smile for the Admiral and Bartolome, then quit the hall to await her new husband's pleasure in her lonely room.
Once inside the door, she crumpled against its massive wooden surface for support, willing herself not to cry. “You have made your bargain,” she whispered to herself, “now you must live with it.” But would Aaron Torres live with her? Or would he turn his back on her and flee to the interior as others, such as Francisco Roldan, had done? As she dwelled on the dismal choices, Magdalena was torn, not wanting to live out a travesty of a marriage with a man who held her in contempt, yet desperate to hold on to him. “I must be his wife in deed or my father can yet wall me up in a convent,” she rationalized. Her heart cried out, You would have him truly love you. Naught else matters.
She walked over to the much-battered leather trunk that had crossed the wide Atlantic with her. Kneeling on the rough stone floor, heedless of her lovely pale-gold gown, she opened it and dug among the meager treasures she had been able to smuggle from Castile. Her hands lingered on a volume of Latin poetry, a beloved gift from Benjamin, then ran quickly through a pile of silk and brocade cloaks and gowns, linen under-tunics and lace hair coverings. She dug deeply to the bottom of the chest and extracted a carefully rolled and sealed document. Written in Benjamin's own hand, it attested to her innocence, innocence she had given so foolishly and wantonly to his son. This could prove to Aaron that she was not like her mother. He had believed from the first that she was cheap and tainted. Here lay proof of his misjudgment.
Turning it over in her hands, Magdalena pondered what to do. He had refused to believe how she had come by the signet ring. He had even accused her of witchery in deceiving his father. Well might a man as proud and stubborn as Aaron Torres throw this back at her and accuse her again of deceiving Benjamin into writing it. Yet longing so desperately as she did to win his love and trust, Magdalena knew she had to try to convince him that she belonged to him and no other. Nor in truth could she ever consider letting another man touch her as he had.
Shuddering, she remembered King Fernando’s loathsome hands, roughly pawing her, his voice chuckling and coaxing when she pleaded with him to dismiss her. Even earnest suitors such as Diego Colon, men who offered marriage, had been unthinkable alternatives to her. “I will have Aaron or I will have none, damn him!” She stood up and carried the document to the small table near the window to await her husband.
Magdalena heard the door latch lift with a slight creak in the damp evening air. Aaron stepped inside the room without the courtesy of a knock or a word of greeting. He inspected his new bride of scarce an hour, noting the lovely gown of gold tissue and her hair, that curling red-black mass, the color of sweet dark cherries in the Andalusian spring. That world was lost forever to him, yet here stood its embodiment, all the witching soft allure, the corruption of it. He tried to fix on his hatred of her father, her family name, everything he had vowed to destroy. Still he desired her. And damned her for it.
“Gather what you would have the servants take to our new home. The admiral's adelantado, Bartolome, has graciously given us his house—and a private feast to celebrate the consummation of our marriage. It would seem appearances are all. We are to make peace among your squabbling suitors by acting the loving bridal couple on the morrow. Do you think we can manage, lady?” He stood by the door, across the room from her.
“Twill serve naught if you are afraid to come near me, Aaron,” she whispered, trying to break through the invisible barriers separating them. Her words were spoken lightly, yet she quailed inside.
“You are single-minded, Magdalena. I will
give you my admiration for that. You have pursued me since that encounter on the marshes—nay, even before that, at the royal court when we were both but children. Why? Why me?” he asked as he strode across the room and stood facing her, smelling her sweet orange-blossom perfume. “Once my family was wealthy and powerful, but now...” His voice trailed off in perplexity.
“Perhaps it is quite simple, Aaron,” Magdalena said, her voice ragged and breathy. She raised one small hand and placed it on his doublet, working up her courage to speak.
The words died in her throat when he said, “Your pursuit of me is as bold and unnatural as Aliyah's. At least she had the customs of her people as an excuse.”
“Your mistress, so beloved that you became a naked savage for her?” Magdalena asked, stung bitterly. Every sailor had women in primitive lands far from home. There was no reason to expect Aaron to be different from other men, yet some self-punishing instinct forced her to continue her questioning. “You say I am an unnatural woman like her. What virtue does she possess that I do not, since you seem to prefer her? Is she beautiful?”
He could sense her jealousy, and his own anger at her scheming and manipulation of his life led him to smile coldly and say, “In her way, Aliyah is as beautiful as you, although at present she is not so lithesome, being great with child.”
Magdalena felt her blood freeze. “She carries your child?”
He shrugged in feigned indifference. “I will not know for certain until it is born. She took two Taino lovers while I was away.”
Rage began to thaw her frozen blood, now pounding hotly through her veins. “You still live with a woman who betrayed you while you were away—who carries a child and you know not if it is even yours?” she cried furiously.
“You, Magdalena, are a poor one to disparage Aliyah. Her people do not value chastity in women as do ours.” He saw her hands curl into claws and imprisoned both slim wrists just as she would have raised them to his face. “You do not like reminders of whom you were spawned by, do you?”