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Authors: Shirl Henke
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less,” Isaac replied as he walked across the thick carpet and stood beside the bed.
“I may by accident of birth be of your blood, but I arrived with a foreign army to lay siege to your newfound home. You have little reason to welcome me,” Rigo said baldly. He was surprised when Isaac raised his chin and gave a harsh, mirthless laugh.
“Little reason, indeed! I warned your idealistic younger brother that you were raised to be a loyal son of the Church and subject of the Spanish monarchy.” He paused and his expression shifted quickly to graveness. “I care not who is king—in Spain or France. Francois hates Jews as much as Charles, but in this place my family has been secure. I would keep them so.”
“And you think I mean harm to Benjamin? To your whole family?”
“You speak Provencal without an accent, far more fluently than I, who have lived here for thirty years. I did not survive at the court of Fernando Trastámara by being unwary.” Isaac waited as Rigo met his eyes steadily.
Then a slow, cynical smile slashed his mouth as he said, “I admire your candor—and your shrewdness. You are bound by your law to take me in, but you will not trust me. We are well met, Don Isaac,” Rigo said with a mock salute. “As to my Provencal, twas an accidental skill, put to use by Pescara when he found I could gather information. I have been a spy.” He shrugged unrepentantly. “Twould seem my whole life has been naught but a chain of accidents from the moment of my conception. You do not trust me. I am uncertain if I should trust my brother's claims about our father, but that has not brought you to interrogate me.” Rigo waited, knowing the wily old man would reveal his reasons for the visit in his own good time.
“I think we have some common ground, even if we do not like each other,” Isaac said sourly. “We have both been forced to survive by our wits. I have you now in my power. Before I release you to return with Benjamin to the Spanish colonies, I would know more about your Dominican foster brother.” He handed the letter to Rigo. Quickly scanning the seal and noting the imprint from the Dominican monastery in Santo Domingo, Rigo burst out laughing.
“God's bones, what a route this message must have taken to reach me—and you think Bartolome a jackal of the Holy Office!” He held his aching side as he laughed at the very idea of the gentle Bartolome as Inquisitor. “My foster brother is the last man who would ever trade in human misery. He has spent his life defending those pathetic primitives in the Indies. Bartolome de Las Casas no more approves of my being a soldier than do you.” Then a new thought occurred to Rigo and he fought the urge to laugh again. What would the devout priest think when he learned of Rigo's Jewish family? Sighing at the image of Bartolome on his knees in earnest prayer, Rigo broke the seal and began to read.
2 July, 1523
My Dearest Rodrigo,
When last I wrote to you I had just embarked upon a course to set the turmoil in my soul to rest by joining the Order of Saint Dominic. After witnessing the bloody cruelty inflicted on the native inhabitants of these islands by our countrymen, I spent a decade decrying the monstrous injustice, petitioning the colonial authorities and journeying to Spain to lay my cause before the royal court. I have found a small measure of peace with the good brothers here in Santo Domingo, but my heart is still troubled.
I hear the cries of those poor dying people even from beyond the stone walls of our garden, even in the stillness of the chapel. It would seem the Lord has more work for me even though I have failed him and his children so often in the past. The governor, my old friend Cristobal's son, is beleaguered on all sides by enemies, not the least of which reside at King Carlos' court. Tis rumored Diego Colon will be
“I may by accident of birth be of your blood, but I arrived with a foreign army to lay siege to your newfound home. You have little reason to welcome me,” Rigo said baldly. He was surprised when Isaac raised his chin and gave a harsh, mirthless laugh.
“Little reason, indeed! I warned your idealistic younger brother that you were raised to be a loyal son of the Church and subject of the Spanish monarchy.” He paused and his expression shifted quickly to graveness. “I care not who is king—in Spain or France. Francois hates Jews as much as Charles, but in this place my family has been secure. I would keep them so.”
“And you think I mean harm to Benjamin? To your whole family?”
“You speak Provencal without an accent, far more fluently than I, who have lived here for thirty years. I did not survive at the court of Fernando Trastámara by being unwary.” Isaac waited as Rigo met his eyes steadily.
Then a slow, cynical smile slashed his mouth as he said, “I admire your candor—and your shrewdness. You are bound by your law to take me in, but you will not trust me. We are well met, Don Isaac,” Rigo said with a mock salute. “As to my Provencal, twas an accidental skill, put to use by Pescara when he found I could gather information. I have been a spy.” He shrugged unrepentantly. “Twould seem my whole life has been naught but a chain of accidents from the moment of my conception. You do not trust me. I am uncertain if I should trust my brother's claims about our father, but that has not brought you to interrogate me.” Rigo waited, knowing the wily old man would reveal his reasons for the visit in his own good time.
“I think we have some common ground, even if we do not like each other,” Isaac said sourly. “We have both been forced to survive by our wits. I have you now in my power. Before I release you to return with Benjamin to the Spanish colonies, I would know more about your Dominican foster brother.” He handed the letter to Rigo. Quickly scanning the seal and noting the imprint from the Dominican monastery in Santo Domingo, Rigo burst out laughing.
“God's bones, what a route this message must have taken to reach me—and you think Bartolome a jackal of the Holy Office!” He held his aching side as he laughed at the very idea of the gentle Bartolome as Inquisitor. “My foster brother is the last man who would ever trade in human misery. He has spent his life defending those pathetic primitives in the Indies. Bartolome de Las Casas no more approves of my being a soldier than do you.” Then a new thought occurred to Rigo and he fought the urge to laugh again. What would the devout priest think when he learned of Rigo's Jewish family? Sighing at the image of Bartolome on his knees in earnest prayer, Rigo broke the seal and began to read.
2 July, 1523
My Dearest Rodrigo,
When last I wrote to you I had just embarked upon a course to set the turmoil in my soul to rest by joining the Order of Saint Dominic. After witnessing the bloody cruelty inflicted on the native inhabitants of these islands by our countrymen, I spent a decade decrying the monstrous injustice, petitioning the colonial authorities and journeying to Spain to lay my cause before the royal court. I have found a small measure of peace with the good brothers here in Santo Domingo, but my heart is still troubled.
I hear the cries of those poor dying people even from beyond the stone walls of our garden, even in the stillness of the chapel. It would seem the Lord has more work for me even though I have failed him and his children so often in the past. The governor, my old friend Cristobal's son, is beleaguered on all sides by enemies, not the least of which reside at King Carlos' court. Tis rumored Diego Colon will be
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