by Shirl Henke
“Tainos are no more than beasts of burden,” Hojeda replied with contempt. “I say the penalty is just. Cut off the hand that steals, for they did run with two baskets filled with fine linen tunics.”
“Two basketsful of underwear scarce seem worth a maiming,” the governor said with distaste. “Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding. These people have had the opportunity to steal things of far greater value and have not done so.” He turned to Aaron. “Question them and see what story they tell.”
Aaron moved past Alonso with arrogant dismissal of the little man. He knelt in the mud and requested one of the women in the gathering crowd to bring a flagon of water. Once he had offered a cooling drink to the elder Taino, he questioned him, then the younger, briefly. When he rose, his face was dark with fury. “These men, along with a dozen other Tainos and their women, were forced to journey with Hojeda's gold seekers. When one tried to escape the drudgery of working the streams for bits of gold, his nose was slit. Another had an ear slashed. All the soldiers drew lots and took the Taino women—against their will. These young men were carrying light loads of clothing. When separated downriver from the others, they dumped the worthless cargo in the jungle and tried to escape to their home village to warn the cacique of the arrival of these fine representatives of the crown.”
“That is a lie,” Hojeda said baldly. “In Seville I have killed men for such an insult!”
“This is not Seville. I am governor here and I say clemency is only just. We must have the Taino people help us to survive and our colony to flourish. We will not achieve those ends by making them beasts of burden—nor by raping their women. I put you on notice, Don Alonso, as I did Commander Margarite before he returned to Cadiz, that I will tolerate no further abuse of these people. They make willing servants if paid honestly and treated with Christian kindness, but they are not ours to enslave.” The governor motioned to Aaron. “Free them, if you please, Commander Torres.”
“Jew and Genoese, how well you deal together,” Hojeda said, spitting in the mud at “Aaron's feet. He turned and stalked away, parting the crowd as if swinging a scythe.
“You have made a vicious enemy, my friend,” Aaron said to Cristobal.
Colon smiled wearily. ” Twill not be my first—or my last, I fear. See to our fellows here, then come to my office. We must discuss the news from your Taino spies in Caonabo's camp.”
My Dearest Father,
Since our return to Ysabel many things grow increasingly difficult to bear. My son Navaro's dark blue eyes mark him as a Torres, yet I cannot claim him. I ache for the loss of my son whom I had to leave behind. How hard it must have been for you to send Mateo all the way to Barcelona. Uncle Isaac's last letter just reached me. I pray that soon Mateo's son Alejandro will be reunited with his family in France. Then, if only Navaro could be here with me, at least the children of our House would be safe.
God, using your brother as His instrument, has wrought justice on Bernardo Valdés. I do not think you exalt in the vengeance as I do. Please forgive me that I am glad of his burning. Strangely, Magdalena seems to share my sense of justice in the death of her father. She truly did hate him, but did she tell me the truth about her friendship with you? It would seem she loved you and mother well. But I fear to read too much into the situation, for I still do not trust her. She weaves a spell of witchery that frightens me. If only I had some way of knowing, some sign from you that you truly wished me to wed her.
Aaron put down the quill and ran his fingers through his hair. Over the past year he had faithfully continued making his journal entries to Benjamin. He seemed compelled to do so, as if there were some mysterious reason for committing the unfolding tale of his life to paper. “Perhaps someday I shall know the reason for it.” he murmured sleepily. The hour was late and he wrote by a flickering tallow candle, sitting in one corner of their bohio on a carved chair while Magdalena slept on the high bed across the room.
Magdalena. His wife. He could not even look at her as she slept without wanting to awaken her with fierce, passionate kisses. All too often he did just that, making love to her like a man possessed. He wondered if his parents had ever shared such an overpowering physical bond. Certainly he and Magdalena had little else to cement their relationship. Even if Benjamin forgave her her hated Valdés blood and amoral past, Aaron could not.
How many lovers, Magdalena? How many men were there at court? In Seville? The thought tormented him increasingly, even when he was forced to dismiss any idea of her possible complicity in the deaths of his family. But unlike Aliyah, whose blandishments he was able to resist, he could never leave his wife. “Is it only because she is my wife?” he whispered on the heavy night air. Outside a steady rain fell, beating a soft tattoo on the roof. The night held no answers for him. He carefully closed his diary and replaced it in his saddle bag, then snuffed out the candle and walked toward the bed in darkness.
* * * *
Bartolome Colon paced nervously in his brother's private library, a small room filled with Latin and Castilian books as well as rolls upon rolls of charts and sundry navigational instruments. Cristobal sat, calmly testing the thread and weight on a marine quadrant while he let Bartolome vent his nervous energy.
“I am much concerned with Torres' news from Guacanagari. If Caonabo can convince other caciques to join him, it augers ill for our colony, but if he can ally himself with the likes of unscrupulous liars such as Hojeda or Roldan, then our position is even less tenable. They have the same weapons and skills we do!” Bartolome looked at Cristobal.
Already intent on his quest for the mainland and heartily sick of bickering Castilian noblemen, the governor, who far preferred to be the admiral, sighed and laid down his instruments. “Alonso Hojeda is too vicious for any Taino chieftain to ally with him. All he can do is incite them to rebellion against all white men.”
“Then he must be stopped! Hojeda is openly insubordinate to you as governor of Española and the representative of the Majesties in the Indies. He speaks treason, Cristobal!”
The elder Colon's eyes were sad as he replied, “Yes, against Jews and Genoese. For how many years have I lived in Seville and Cordoba? Followed the royal court? I am as loyal to the sovereigns who supported my enterprise as was Diego Torres, who fought their ancient enemies at Granada.”
“Yes, and look at his reward! His whole family killed or exiled by those same sovereigns. New Christians, Jews, and Genoese, we are all outsiders to men like these Castilian peacocks—to all the people of the Spains. Never the less, the king and queen gave you charge of these colonial possessions, Genoese or no. If you would keep the Colon family as the governors of the Indies, you must put down rebellion. Begin with Hojeda—and what of that rogue Roldan?”
Overhearing Bartolome's impassioned speech from the doorway, Aaron stepped inside and said, “Let Behechio, the cacique of Xaragua, beware of Francisco, who will one day rule that distant peninsula. We would be unwise to venture so far to the south and west as to beard the lion Roldan in his lair. There is too much sickness here. We cannot spread ourselves so thin.”
“You know this fellow?” Bartolome asked skeptically.
Aaron smiled. “Quite well. Roldan can be treated with, perhaps even bribed into submitting to royal authority if left alone.” He sat down at the big table across from the governor, as did the now intrigued Bartolome. “It is Caonabo allying with other caciques of the interior that we must fear—the provinces of Ciguayo, Magua, and Maguana are far closer to Ysabel than Xaragua. If Hojeda continues what Margarite began, then all of those caciques will follow Caonabo. Even without modern weapons they can exact a fearful toll by surprise attack and the use of fire. Worse yet, they will turn first on our one loyal friend.”
“Guacanagari,” Cristobal said quietly. “Yes, he has been true to the Majesties. Without his aid we would likely all have perished at the shipwreck of Santa Maria.”
Bartolome asked Aaron, “Do you have a plan to deal with Caonabo before he
can unite the other caciques of the interior?”
“Yes, and it begins with stopping Hojeda and others like him from roaming at will, raping and pillaging from the Tainos. Once we make the interior peaceful and secure, we can ally with Guacanagari and face Caonabo. He will have far less backing if every gold-mad Castilian nobleman on Española is not riding about hill and valley with sword and arbalest ready to kill Indians.” Aaron paused and smiled grimly, recalling Magdalena's lesson in the hard, dirty work of agriculture. “We will start by putting every able-bodied man in Ysabel to work.”
“So many are sick,” Cristobal said unhappily.
Aaron scoffed. “I will speak with Dr. Chanca about why they suffer. They must learn to eat cassava, fresh fish, and yams, and drink clean water. Enough of swilling wine and eating rancid pork. This is a new land. We must adapt to it or we perish. If you allow me the power to act, I will give you more healthy men fit to work than are willing to do so.”
Bartolome raised his eyebrows sardonically. “The will to do manual labor is scarce secondary to the health to do it.”
“Will you lend me your official power as agents of the crown?” Aaron asked both brothers.
Bartolome nodded, his hand on his sword hilt, but Cristobal seemed troubled. Always calm and decisive in the worst crises at sea, he looked tired and frail to Aaron. He wants to chart new lands, to be aboard ship, not fighting political battles on land, Aaron realized sadly.
Sighing, Cristobal stood up. The pain in his joints, a constant misery since his return to Palos in 1493, now constantly racked his body. The tall, thin man stood straight and walked across to the window by sheer dint of will. Turning, he said, “We must do what we must do, Diego. You are commandant under Bartolome here. What is your plan?”
“Hojeda is still in Ysabel, gathering a coterie of worthless noblemen to journey to the interior and find gold. Let me deal with him first.”
“He has influence at court. His patron is the Duke of Medina-Celi. Tread lightly, Diego.” Cristobal cautioned, as fearful for his young converso friend as for himself.
While the men planned and argued, Magdalena accomplished what she had so long intended, a visit to Dr. Chanca's hospital. The wizened old doctor was delighted with her medical skills and strong stomach, once he overcame his male prejudice about females—especially noblewomen—treating illness. She spent the day brewing bark infusions to spoon between fevered lips and making poultices to draw poison from injuries.
“You have the touch, my lady,” the doctor said. “I myself have observed the Taino's use of certain plants and other natural herbs that seem to cure their ailments, but alas, the language barrier prevents me from learning much yet.”
Magdalena smiled as she sponged a feverish man who had cut his foot on sharp rocks while fishing. “I lived among Guacanagari's people with my husband for nearly a month. Although my skills in the language are poor, his are great. He was able to show me much, and many of the village healers taught me more. They learn our language with far more skill than we theirs, I fear.”
“To our loss,” Chanca muttered, moving to the next pallet to check the man doubled over with cramps from the flux. “I would be willing to try some of that bark infusion you have aboil outside,” he said, looking up at Magdalena, who nodded and hurried out to get the bitter liquid.
By evening's end, when she walked through the open doorway of the big cane building, Magdalena was every bit as tired as she had been after her day of planting maize with Tanei. But unlike that disastrous misadventure, this work had purpose. She could scarcely wait to return home and dig out the Latin medical treatises Benjamin had given her—and some Arabic ones she knew Aaron possessed. He could translate for her. That was, she amended unhappily, if he did not again forbid her going to the hospital.
Now that he had hired a Taino girl to wash their laundry and prepare meals, Magdalena had nothing to do. Even with all the frivolous distractions for idle noblewomen at court, she had always detested what she considered boredom. “He must let me continue my work here. Blessed Virgin, he wants me gone from his presence enough,” she muttered bitterly to herself as she threw her cloak about her shoulders and headed down the street. Her guard, one of Luis Torres' friends named Analu, followed closely as she wended her way through the noisome streets of Ysabel.
As she neared the bohio, Magdalena was suddenly accosted by the nattily dressed Alonso Hojeda. His velvet doublet with scarlet slashing on the sleeves and his heavy sword seemed too big for his thin, wiry frame. His eyes gleamed with keen feral intelligence as he placed his surprisingly strong hand on her arm.
“Good evening, Doña Magdalena,” he said with a courtly bow at variance with his rude seizure of her arm.
“Good evening, Don Alonso,” she replied frostily, trying to pull away. Analu stepped up to him, menacing the intruder, but she waved him back. In spite of the Taino's muscular strength, the smaller nobleman's weapons were far superior to Analu's simple spear.
Don Alonso eyed her with malevolent assessment. “Why by all that is holy would a lady from court wed Aaron Torres?”
“Do you know my husband?” she asked calmly, trying to decide what to do. Surely Hojeda did not consider himself a scorned suitor after but one dinner table encounter!
His face hardened. “The new commandant,” he stressed Aaron's title contemptuously, “and I are well acquainted, yes. He would take a gentleman from Andalusia and have him muck about with common masons and farmers, digging irrigation ditches and planting wheat!”
A smile curved her lips as she recalled how Aaron had sent her to Tanei. “I, too, have served as a field worker. Ysabel has an excess of nobility and far too few hands to till the soil, I fear.”
“Pah! We are here to get rich—gold, pearls, spices, the riches of the Indies—that is what brought us here, not to become colonizers of this hell. God deliver me back to Castile!”
“I prefer to live and work here, even though there be no gold. If you do not, only take ship,” she gestured to the cove where several caravels bobbed with sails furled, “and return to Castile now.” She tried to walk past him but his hand again held her arm.
“Not until I have my gold,” he snarled.
“What have I to do with that?” she asked, not liking the turn of this entire conversation. She slid her free arm inside her cloak for her dagger, but before either of them could act, another voice interrupted.
“Hojeda, you little maggot crawled from the ass of a rotted pig, release my wife and draw your sword.” Aaron strode from the shadows between two houses.
With a muttered oath, the Castilian flung Magdalena away and faced his much taller opponent, drawing his sword. If Magdalena had ever thought him small or weak, she soon found appearances deceptive, for Alonso Hojeda was lightning quick, crafty, and a highly skilled swordsman. The two men clashed furiously and the ringing of steel echoed across the evening air.
Soon a crowd gathered, many partisans of Hojeda, a few loyal to the governor and his commandant. Magdalena stood with Analu and a small group of frightened Taino men and women, her dagger clenched in her fist, ready to do battle with anyone who menaced Aaron.
“You are too good with the sword to waste your skills maiming defenseless Tainos for gold they do not possess,” Aaron said as he parried a thrust and returned the attack to Hojeda, nicking his expensive doublet sleeve.
“You are too busy consorting with those savages to know about the gold,” Hojeda replied, renewing the attack in spite of several freely bleeding cuts on his arm and chest.
“There is no golden treasure in the interior—only death,” Aaron said as he thrust wickedly, nearly removing one heavy sleeve and badly slashing Hojeda's left arm. “The same death I should give you for touching my wife.”
“You were going to force me to dig like a peasant! I was but attempting to plead with the noble lady of the court to stop your madness,” the little Castilian said, now badly winded and knowing he was going to lose the match. Damn the
accursed marrano's longer arms!
Aaron administered a series of painful strokes, cutting, slashing, almost disarming Hojeda, who was forced to realize how badly he had been bested and that the victor did but toy with him before the kill. The little cockscomb did have courage, Aaron admitted grudgingly, even though he was furious because Hojeda had accosted Magdalena.
Just then the crowd, cheering and betting on the contest, parted, and the imposing presence of the governor filled the small circle where the men fought.
“You appear to be losing, Alonso. I would recommend you cry off. And you, Diego, are to do likewise.” The old steel was returned to Cristobal's voice. Bartolome and several guards from the governor's palace stood behind their leader.
Both men slowly lowered their swords. Aaron was soaked with sweat, Alonso with blood, but fierce pride still glowed in his eyes. He turned to the governor. “I will not be a peasant and dig ditches!”
“Then mayhap I can offer you a task more to your liking,” Bartolome said. “Disband your private force of gold hunters and follow us. There is to be a real battle between our army and the forces of Caonabo on the Vega. Guacanagari and his warriors join us. Will you?”
Aaron's hand rested lightly on his sword hilt as he absorbed this bit of news. “Has it come to that?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. Guacanagari's runner just reached us this afternoon. What you prophesied has come true,” Cristobal replied.
“And we need all the able-bodied men we can get,” Bartolome said, eyeing Hojeda sternly.
The shrewd gleam in Hojeda's eyes betrayed his delight at the prospect of a fight in which he might fare better. “I will join you to fight Tainos,” he said, looking from the Colons to Torres to gauge his reaction.
“You will fight with Guacanagari's Tainos. Against Caonabo's army. Keep that fixed in your arrogant little head,” Aaron said in cold menace.