Paradise & More (Torres Family Saga) (13 page)

      
“I say, let us stand with the admiral!” one seaman from Huelva cried.

      
Another two from Cadiz joined in, “Yes, yes, onward for gold and the Indies!” Soon others scattered about the deck took up the chorus, drowning out the dissenters. All of them began to disperse, each seaman going off to begin his duties or take his rest.

      
Aaron waited until everything was quiet, then swi-veled the gun to face the open sea and locked it in place, pocketing the key. He walked over to the admiral and smiled grimly. “For now at least, we have weathered the storm.”

      
“I know you will be doubly wary in the future, lest you indeed be swept overboard,” Cristobal said with a worried smile. “I shall pray fervently that we sight land soon.”

      
The admiral's prayers were answered. Just after ten in the dark of night on the eleventh day of October, Cristobal himself, looking from the small window of his cabin, saw a light flickering on the horizon. The king's butler, who had been sitting discussing how they might greet and convey messages and gifts to the Eastern rulers, agreed it might be land.

      
“It looks to be a candle or a torch, perhaps, being passed from one house to another. Summon the watch and have them signal the
Nina
and
Pinta
. Let us see if they can sight it as well,” Colon commanded.

      
A sailor from the
Pinta
called out even before being signaled that they, too, had noted the light, but no further sign was seen through the midnight hour. The deck of the
Santa Maria
crackled with tension as every sailor, on watch or not, sat up with straining eyes on the western horizon. Then at two in the morning, a cry went up as land truly reappeared, far more clearly this time. The prearranged signal, a cannon shot, thundered from
Pinta
, once again far ahead of the other two ships. Martin Alonzo Pinzón, too, had sighted the dull white gleam of sand cliffs in the moonlight. Three small vessels saw both the end and the beginning of a dream.

      
Colon estimated the distance to be about six miles. As they neared the shore, the admiral ordered all ships to trim their sails and wait for daylight. The roar of breakers signaled shallows that might run the fleet aground. Best to hold off until they could see where they were. No one slept.

      
Aaron, on edge for days since the first whispers of mutiny, finally felt a respite. As the ships jogged south and west around the curve of the land mass, awaiting morning's light, he sat on his cramped berth beneath the quarterdeck writing in the diary he kept at his father's behest. Upon his return, it would be more treasured by Benjamin Torres than all the gold and pearls of the Indies. Aaron dated his entry October 12, 1492.

My Dearest Father,

Land has been sighted. All the admiral's doubters are now rejoicing in his genius. When we go home, all his detractors across the Spains will sing his praises. As for me, I care only to return to the arms of my family, having served you by serving our Sovereigns. Surely this Enterprise will assure a place for the House of Torres alongside the most revered in the royal court. We land at dawn. Although we come in peace, I have armaments to prepare as a precaution. I will write more of the landing as time allows me. Give my love to Mother, Ana, Mateo, Rafaela, and the children.

      
As he signed his name with love, Aaron suddenly found the vision of teary, luminous green eyes in a small, heart-shaped face dancing in his mind. Preoccupied in recent weeks as the tensions of the voyage mounted, Aaron had not had time to dwell on Magdalena Valdés or her motives for ingratiating herself with his family. Still, often in the depths of troubled sleep, over the long celibate months, she had come to him with the siren's song of her sleek little body. Memories of the sweet surcease he had found there haunted his dreams. Shoving such thoughts aside, he closed the diary and placed it beneath his bed with his writing instruments. He would watch the sun rise on the Indies with the rest of the fleet.

      
The admiral ordered the ship's boat hoisted over the side and the royal standards to be brought forth. He was dressed splendidly in a scarlet cloak and a deep green brocade doublet, with dark woolen hose and fine black kidskin boots. The large black velvet turbaned hat increased his already imposing height. This morning Cristobal Colon, son of a Genoese wool trader, looked every inch the Admiral of the Ocean Sea.

      
Following him toward the ship's boat, Aaron smiled as he recalled the shoddy, much-mended clothing his friend had worn in years past as he went from court to court as a supplicant.

      
The young marshal took his place in the boat behind the admiral, having instructed two trustworthy men to man the ship's lombard and falconet in the unlikely event that the local populace proved hostile. The translator, royal inspector, and other functionaries took their seats, and two sailors began rowing. From
Nina
and
Pinta
the Pinzóns did likewise with smaller complements of men.

      
“I shall be amazed if Martin Alonzo does not try to make this a race to see who lands first,” Aaron murmured low for Cristobal's ears alone. He was rewarded with a smile.

      
“The royal secretary to record the landing rides in this boat,” was all Colon said.

      
Aaron scanned the low, flat land mass which, after the night of circling off shore, they had ascertained to be a small island. The beaches were snow white and the vegetation wondrous. Palms swayed high against the azure dome of sky and lush flowers in brilliant fuchsias, golds, and lavenders dotted the dark primal greens of the forest. The waters of the shallow cove the ships had entered at daybreak were a luminous bluegreen color unlike any Aaron had ever seen off the coast of Castile or Catalonia.

      
“This is truly a whole new world,” he murmured in awe as he watched the dense vegetation for signs of men or animals. Nothing stirred.

      
“When they beached the boats, the Pinzóns showed remarkable restraint, following protocol as they waited for the admiral to step ashore first. Striding boldly through the shallow water, the Genoese traversed the firm, white sand twenty feet or so and then knelt with all reverence and touched the ground, making the sign of the cross and praying fervently and silently for a moment. Then his words rang out clearly. “I name this island San Salvador, after our Holy Redeemer without whose guidance we would never have found our way. I claim it under the temporal banner of my Sovereigns Fernando of Aragon and Ysabel of Castile.”

      
He motioned then for all those poised in the boats to come ashore with banners unfurled. The huge flags of Aragon and Castile carried the initials F and Y emblazoned in green and gold. The royal officials, the ships' officers, and the seamen, as many as could fit in the boats, all knelt and touched the ground with great cries of joy and thanksgiving.

      
Aaron held back from joining the joyous melee, seeing a series of movements in the underbrush at the edge of the beach. He walked swiftly to Colon's side as the admiral supervised the erection of the large wooden cross he had brought for the first landing. Placing a hand on his commander's shoulder, he nodded to the brown-skinned men with round dark eyes and straight shaggy hair. Three of them stood partially visible in the bushes, watching the celebration on shore. Although adorned with feathers, shells, and gold and copper jewelry, they were completely naked. One carried a crude wooden spear, but none seemed hostile.

      
Colon opened his arms, sweeping back his blazing crimson cape as he signaled for them to approach. Luis Torres, the interpreter, stood on the admiral's left side, observing the natives, who seemed timid but curious as they approached the men on the beach.

      
After a few moments of sign language, an exchange of simple trinkets was made for cotton skeins worked in elaborate patterns, darts, and other implements, as well as small pieces of gold jewelry.

      
Standing on the admiral's right, Aaron observed Luis attempt to communicate by means of gestures and pointing, laughing silently at the waste of the
converso's
finely honed skills in Arabic, the international language of trade. Aaron said, “You do well enough with these simple people. Think you the Khan will speak Arabic?”

      
Luis shrugged philosophically. “I only hope I can learn this language and teach them Castilian before I must venture further.”

      
Watching the people, mostly young men, who slowly emerged from the jungle, Aaron began to relax. They were not hostile. He had developed a sixth sense about such things through years of war. Suddenly he felt someone staring at him and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He turned to find a strikingly handsome young woman standing on an open stretch of beach, watching his every move with huge, almond-shaped eyes of dark liquid brown. Her hair was long, straight, and lustrously black, her breasts high and pointed, with dark nipples. She had golden skin, long legs, and a slender build. Her face, although delicate, was strong and attractive. She wore a large gold nose ring and nothing else.

Chapter Seven

      
Pointing to her breast with one gracefully expressive hand, she said simply, “Aliyah.”

      
He smiled and touched his palm to his chest. “Aaron.”

      
Her eyes were alight with curiosity and open attraction as she gazed worshipfully at his tall, slim body clad in the formal clothing the admiral's orders had demanded. For an instant he recalled the marshes of the Guadalquiver and another young woman's adoring gaze. Then the cat-green eyes vanished, replaced by liquid brown ones.

      
While the native men examined the swords, armor, and the full cloth capes of the officers and gentlemen, Aliyah was fascinated by the marshal's blond beard and long golden hair. Reaching up, she ran her fingertips delicately through the curly locks that fell to his shoulders, then touched the much coarser bristling beard that had grown unattended on his jaw for weeks past.

      
Aaron had read that the black men of Africa had little body hair and those light-skinned men far to the East had even less. Looking about and gauging the age of the males with Aliyah, he surmised that these people had never seen bearded men, nor anyone with fair hair. Smiling, he reached out tentatively and touched her heavy tresses, which hung well below her slim waist. The raven hair was coarser than his beard and completely without curl or wave.

      
She seemed pleased by his examination and stepped closer, running her palm down his arm, then taking his hand in hers and placing it on her left breast. Juan de la Cosa, seeing the exchange, abandoned another, less comely wench and swaggered toward Aaron and Aliyah. “Look what our pretty marshal has discovered,” he said leeringly. “She likes not men dark as her own kind, but favors your yellow hair. Still, I wonder how she will like your mutilated manhood once she sees it. It is obvious that these natives have yet all their natural equipment uncut.” He put his hand on her right breast as he spoke and she slapped it away with haughty disdain. A swift torrent of words in her own language followed, obviously hostile.

      
Aaron bristled at the insult he had heard ever since childhood. In the close quarters on shipboard, those of Jewish ancestry were quickly marked as different, and much sly innuendo was bandied about concerning their circumcisions. Up until now, none of the seamen had dared such an impudent slur in the presence of the fleet's marshal, nearly a head taller than any man in the fleet except the admiral.

      
“These are the first women we all have seen in many weeks, Juan. Because this has caused your brains to drop between your thighs, I will allow you to escape with your life, but only if you keep the admiral's peace among these friendly people.” He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and allowed a mocking smile to spread slowly across his face. “Some men are forever jealous of those possessed of more imposing stature. Do not touch Ailyah.”

      
Cosa flushed but backed off.

      
The admiral, seeing the confrontation over the most attractive of the four women with the natives, strode over to quash a possible outbreak of violence. “Luis has understood that this female is of some importance to their leader. I will have no quarrels over her nor win the enmity of these people.”

      
“I will not entice her, Admiral,” Aaron said as she continued to stand close to him, glaring at Cosa. “It was Juan's actions that sparked her anger.”

      
Cosa glared at Torres but said nothing, knowing the look on Colon's face well by this time. It would serve him ill to protest.

      
“You will return to the ship for the night. I shall decide what to do and how best to communicate our wishes to their leader.” Cristobal dismissed Cosa, who turned and stomped toward the boats. Then the admiral fixed Aaron with an amused look. “She seems much taken with you, my young friend. Think you that you could teach her Castilian?” He paused and considered for a second. “From your learned father, you know languages as well as Luis does.”

      
Aaron shrugged. “He has already tried Arabic, Hebrew, and Latin with no results. You yourself speak Castilian, Portuguese, and Genoese, the last of which I do not. These simple people comprehend no language common to any of us, I am certain. But they seem intelligent and swift to understand signs.”