The Last Song

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
 
S ATURDAY , J ULY 14, 1492 –
M ONDAY , J ULY 16, 1492
    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 ourjourney, 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, lookedlike 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