The Last Song

Musicians in colorful garb plucked lutes and shook jingling tambourines as we walked. The high-pitched sound of a lonely flute pierced the clear sky. A young woman sang sweetly.
    In love, my mother,
In love I fell asleep.
Thus asleep I dreamt
Of what keeps my heart awake.
That love comforts me
With a goodness I do not deserve.
    Gradually, the other revelers joined in the song. As I led this happy procession, I felt numb, as if I was looking at the events around me from a place far, far away.
    Mama hugged me. “We’re doing this for your own good, for your safety,” she said quietly. “You will thank us.”
    I did not answer her.
    At the house, the boisterous guests claimed their seats at the banquet table laden with all kinds of delicacies. They ate quail, goose, and oysters steamed in almond sauce. They tore at roasted peacock, mutton, and boar. They clinked their cups filled with ale or spicy mulled wine and washed away its taste with the sweetness of wild pears. I forced myself to take a little fruit. Each mouthful choked me.
    The musicians played their songs, but the guests didn’t pay them much attention while they ate. By the end of the meal, though, the young men and women formed a circle and began to turn and dip to the musicians’ plaintive tune.
    Let us eat and drink today,
And sing and rejoice.
Since tomorrow we will have to fast,
Let’s please ourselves today.
    Suddenly, I couldn’t bear the gaiety any longer. I whispered to Mama that I had to use my chamber pot and rushed out of the hall. I made my way toward the staircase, quiet as a ghost, my silk slippers whispering against the tiled floor. I had to pass a room the servants usually used. Its door was open a crack and I heard two people talking. I recognized Sofia’s voice. I heard my name spoken, and I stopped.
    “Isabel is far too gentle and kind for your young master,” Sofia said. “Luis is cruel and has roving hands.”
    “At least he is of pure blood, unlike the Converso mongrel you serve every day,” replied a gruff male voice I did not know.
    “How dare you speak with such a lack of respect for my young mistress!” Sofia spat back. “Isabel is a fine lady, as is her mother, Doña Catarina. That’s more than I can say of your master with his crude ways.”
    The man laughed. “At least Luis is an Old Christian and not the whelp of cursed Marranos. Doña Catarina and Don Enrique, they probably still worship in their Jew religion secretly.”
    “You lie!” Sofia shrieked.
    “Mark my words,” the man said, “the Inquisition will come for your fine mistress one day. She is lucky that Luis is willing to marry her – he was lured in by her large dowry.”
    “That’s not true! My lady goes to church –”
    I heard footsteps approaching the door, so I picked up my skirts and ran up the stairs as fast as I could.
    I sat down on the edge of my bed, repeating to myself what I had just learned. Why did the man call us Marranos? A marrano was a pig. Why did he say that we were Conversos, New Christians? Our family has served the mother church forever. He accused us of practicing Jewish customs. I didn’t even know any Jews – except Yonah. And I had just met him.
    Mama knocked softly and came into my chamber.
    “Come down to the banquet immediately. It is a great insult to Luis and his father if their future wife and new daughter disappears.”
    “I have to ask you a question first.”
    “Later! Everybody awaits you downstairs.”
    One look at her determined face convinced me to wait.

C HAPTER 3
 
S UNDAY , N OVEMBER 20, 1491
    T he betrothal feast was finally over.
    “I have to talk to you. And to Papa, too,” I whispered in Mama’s ear.
    She glanced at me before turning back to the guests bidding her good-bye. After a few minutes, only Luis and his father were left behind. Alfonso de Carrera was in conversation with my father at the table again, and Luis was slumped over the table, deep in his cups.
    “It’s time for us to return to our chambers,” Don Alfonso finally said, pushing himself up from the table. “Come, son. We have to go to bed.”
    He slapped Luis on the back. Luis groaned but didn’t stir. Don Alfonso grabbed a fistful of Luis’s hair and lifted his head off the table. “We have to go!” he yelled into Luis’s face.
    Luis’s head dropped back to the table with a bang when his father let go.
    “The boy celebrated his betrothal too vigorously,” Don Alfonso said with a lascivious smile. He