The Last Song (19 page)

“Repent! Repent! Give yourself up to Christ!” they exhorted the marchers.

Most of the exiles ignored them, but there were those who bent their knees to the cross to be baptized.

We walked around a group of flagellants.

“Repent! Repent!” they chanted.

I was careful not to look at their bloodied bodies, but I could not shut out the sound of whips meeting flesh.

“Where could my father be?” Yonah asked, scanning the faces of the people who walked by. “Ah! There he is.” Yonah pointed to our left.

“I was getting worried,” Master Abenatar said when we approached.

“Everything is fine. No one saw us leave,” Yonah said.

“We are grateful to you,” Papa said.

Yonah’s father inclined his head. “You and your family are a part of us now, Don Enrique.”

“We most certainly are,” Papa said.

“Is that you, Isabel?” a voice called out.

Rabbi Abenbilla and Yehudit came up to us. I introduced them to my parents.

“I am so happy that you are here!” Yehudit cried as we embraced each other.

“We are honored that you are coming with us,” the rabbi said.

Yehudit led me over to a group of girls dancing close to us. They were holding hands while they bowed and dipped and kicked, all the while moving at the same pace as the line of people surrounding them.

Before I knew it, the world became a kaleidoscope of color and laughter.

The line of people came to a sudden stop. I stumbled, lost my balance, and fell on the uneven ground, scraping my knee. As I struggled to get up, I lifted my head and locked eyes with Brianda’s father, my Tio Diego. He was mounted on a black stallion. Beside him was Santos on a white mare. They were surrounded by a dozen familiars on horseback. Daggers hung from their waists.

“What are you doing?” Santos shouted at me. “Why are you on the ground?”

Tio Diego’s eyes flickered in recognition as he met my gaze. He did not say a single word.

“I tripped, my lord,” I muttered, “the ground is uneven.”

I saw Papa take a step toward me, but Natan Abenatar pulled him back. Papa bent his head as if to examine the bundle at his feet. My mother turned her head away, pretending to speak to a neighbor. Sofia and Yussuf leaned toward each other, whispering.

Santos’s eyes traveled through the crowd. “Those wretched Marranos might be hiding anywhere,” he yelled, jumping off his horse. “We must look closer.”

“Don’t waste your time, Santos. It’s obvious that they aren’t here,” Tio Diego said. “Let us return to the alcazar and tell his grace that we didn’t find Don Enrique and his family with the Jews. They must have made their way to a port and are hiding on one of the galleons.”

“You are right, Don Diego,” Santos said, mounting his horse. “Let’s go!”

He whipped his horse and galloped off. Tio Diego did not look back. I began to breathe again.

C
HAPTER 19
 

T
he dancing and music stopped as the day turned into night and night turned to day again. We walked with our belongings heavy on our backs. Our numbers became fewer as we split into groups. Most of the Jews of Sefarad headed toward the Extremadura Mountains. They had to cross the tall peaks to reach Portugal. Other refugees headed to the seaports of Tortosa, Tarragona, Barcelona, and Valencia. Groups sailed from Cadiz and Malaga. Some turned north to Navarre or sailed far away from Laredo on the Cantabrian coast. We were on our way to the seaport of Cartagena, where ships were waiting to transport the Jews of Spain to their new homes. We wanted to try our fortunes in Morocco.

The heat was relentless. We rose early to begin our
journey, rested in the middle of the day when the sun was overhead, and began to walk again after the sun started its descent in the sky. For the last two days, we hadn’t been able to find water. There was no brook or lake where we could fill our jugs. My mouth was constantly dry and full of dirt from the dust the hot winds blew about on the arid plain. I tried to keep my mind blank. I did not want to remember the soft bed I used to sleep in, the savory tidbits of food our cook prepared for me, the cool ale we drank at the dinner table, or the scented baths Sofia prepared in the old metal tub in my chamber.

We had walked for three days when I began to feel that I could not take another step. I just wanted to lie down on the scrubby path – but I dared not. There were vultures circling above us, and I knew that they would swoop down on a prone body. Yesterday, when a woman fainted, they swarmed her immediately. Her son had to beat them off with a stick to save her from an unspeakable death. I knew that I had to go on and, with all the will I had, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other.

Master Abenatar and Yonah were walking in front of me. They led three mules packed high. Two were the animals Papa had given them as payment for their house. My parents, their faces covered in grime, looked
like strangers. My talkative mother did not utter a word of complaint. Whenever Sofia and Yussuf offered to carry the bundle she had slung over her shoulder, she refused.

“Carry your own burden. It’s heavy enough,” she said.

Papa offered her his arm, but she was determined to walk on her own.

I tapped Yonah on the shoulder. “I have to rest. I am tired and thirsty and all I want to do is sleep.”

He looked into the sky at the vultures. “I wouldn’t advise it. Stay strong. We must be more than halfway to Cartagena.”

As we approached the top of the hill, I heard the sound of gurgling water. I hastened my steps and there it was! Below us lay an oasis of green – a bubbling brook shaded by olive trees. “I must pinch myself. Am I dreaming?”

“If you are, we are dreaming together,” Yonah said excitedly.

“Thank you, Lord of the universe, for your mercy!” cried Master Abenatar.

Papa led the way. He grabbed my hand, I took Mama’s, and we rushed down the hill. The others followed our lead. We were tired, dirty, and joyous. I bent my head to the babbling stream and drank deeply. I
rinsed away the dirt from my face, my hands, and even my hair.

The men broke branches off an olive tree and sharpened the tips of the branches with their knives. The stream was teeming with fish. The men had no problem spearing the fish with their sharp sticks. We gathered a mountain of twigs, lit them, and roasted the fish over the open fire. We finished the delicious meal with wild pears plucked off the trees and figs we had brought with us from home.

“We’ll rest under the trees until the sun sets,” Papa said. He turned to me. “Isabel, I need a piece of white cloth. Did you bring anything like that with you?

“I have handkerchiefs. What do you want to do with them?”

He laughed. “You ask too many questions. Can you spare two of your handkerchiefs?”

I opened my bundle and found them for him.

“Just what I needed.” He broke a small twig off an olive tree and whittled it down until its tip was very fine. Next, he held the tip of the stick over the fire until it glowed bright. When it had cooled to form charcoal, he sat down under one of the trees and used the twig to write on each of the handkerchiefs.

The sunshine and my full stomach made my eyes heavy. I used the bundle I was carrying as a pillow and
lay down on the grass. I wondered what Papa was writing, but I was too tired to ask. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep, restless sleep. I dreamed of Anusim, singing his song of freedom, of Brianda, so brave and loyal, and of the Grand Inquisitor, his face contorted with anger when he realized that we had escaped his clutches.

I awoke suddenly to someone pulling my arm. The sun was beginning to set, and Yonah was bent over me.

“Leave me alone! Let me sleep.”

“Quiet!” He pressed his hand to my mouth.

I saw two horsemen at the edge of our little camp. They were hard-faced brigands in grimy clothes and even grimier faces. Curved swords hung at their waists and they held daggers in their hands.

“Oh, dear God! Bandits!” Yehudit cried.

“Give us your gold!” thundered one of the thieves.

We remained silent.

“Are you all deaf?”

“We don’t have gold,” my father said in an even voice. “We have nothing to give you. We are Jews who were forced to leave our homes in Toledo in the Kingdom of Castile. We were not allowed to take anything of value with us.”

“Jews always have gold!” snarled the bandit. He climbed down from his horse and grabbed Yehudit’
neck, pulling her close and holding his dagger against her throat. Yehudit’s mother cried out. Yehudit’s face became wet with tears and sweat.

“Hand over your gold, Jew, or the wench is dead!” the brigand yelled.

“I told you. We have nothing of value,” Papa said. He threw his bundle at the brigand’s feet. “Here, take what little food we have left.”

“Please, sir – let my daughter go!” Yehudit’s father begged.

The brigand opened my father’s bundle and kicked it away. Dry meat and figs rolled in all directions. Two vultures descended and began to peck at it.

“Give me your gold!” the bandit yelled again.

I remembered the kiddush cup tied to my waist. I turned away, reached under my clothes, and tore the cup off the strip of lace that held it in place.

“You there!” the bandit shouted. “What are you doing?”

I held the cup out toward him. It shone in the sun’s fading rays. “Here, sir,” I said. “The cup is for you. It’s made of silver. It’s worth a lot of money.”

He grabbed it out of my hand and turned it over. He spat on it. “It’s got Jew writing on it. I don’t want it.”

“We have nothing else to give you. The cup is made of silver. It’s valuable.”

“Why do you care if it’s Jew stuff?” the second brigand asked. “We can trade it for something else.”

The bandit pushed Yehudit away so roughly that she fell to the ground. He wiped the cup clean with his sleeve and shoved it under his clothing. Then he climbed back on his horse and without another word the pair galloped off.

Yonah picked up a stick and chased away the feasting birds. He carefully gathered up what was left of the food and packed it back into Papa’s bundle. “We’ll need every bit,” he said.

“You are a brave girl, Isabel!” Yehudit’s mother cried.

Yehudit embraced me, but Papa was angry.

“You silly girl,” he shouted. “You took a big chance bringing a silver cup with you. Do you realize what would have happened to you if the Inquisition’s men found it on you?”

“But they didn’t, Enrique,” Mama said. “Isabel saved Yehudit’s life. They might have killed that child – or worse!” She shuddered.

“She
did
save her life,” Papa said grudgingly. He picked up his load. “We must start walking again.”

“I am so frightened,” Yehudit complained. “I can’t go on.”

“The brigands might return. Do you want to
chance it?” I held out my arm.

Yehudit took it. Her weight was heavy against my shoulder.

“Don’t despair, my children,” said Rabbi Abenbilla. “The Lord led us out of Egypt. He parted the Red Sea for our people’s safe passage. He will do the same for us in Cartagena.”

“I hope that you are right, Rabbi,” I said. “We can’t go on like this much longer.”

C
HAPTER 20
 

O
n the morning of the third day after the robbery, we joined hundreds of people streaming from all directions toward the sea. I saw a man carrying his little son on his shoulders while his wife supported her aged mother. Ten children followed their father and pregnant mother, the older ones carrying the young ones in their arms. Everybody was excited, even the sick and the infirm. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I heard laughter.

A man called out, “The almighty will save us!”

Someone else shouted, “He will part the sea and lead us to freedom just as he led our ancestors out of Egypt!”

“He will lead us to freedom! He will lead us to freedom!” the crowd began to chant.