CHAPTER SIX
CHANGES
Abraham Seneor had lived for eighty years, and though his mind was fresh and sharp, his body was very tired. His history of hard and dangerous service to the monarchs had begun when he had arranged secret nuptials that on October 19, 1469, had joined in marriage two cousins, Isabella of Castille, eighteen years old, and Ferdinand of Aragon, seventeen.
That ceremony had been clandestine because it had defied King Henry IV of Castille. Henry had wanted his half-sister Isabella to become the wife of King Alfonso of Portugal. The Infanta had refused, asking Henry to name her as heir to the thrones of Castille and León, and promising him she would marry only with his approval.
Henry IV of Castille had no sons (he was mocked by subjects who called him Henry the Impotent) but he had a daughter, Juana, believed to have been the illegitimate child of Henry’s mistress, Beltrán de la Cueva. When he tried to name Juana his heir, a civil war erupted. The nobles withdrew their support of Henry as their king and recognized as their sovereign Isabella’s twelve-year-old brother, also named Alfonso. Within two years the young Alfonso was found dead in his bed, reputedly poisoned.
Isabella had not been raised or educated as a future monarch, but soon after her brother’s death she had asked Abraham Seneor to set into motion the secret negotiations with influential Aragonese courtiers that led to her marriage to Ferdinand, Prince of Aragon. On December 11, 1474, when Henry IV died suddenly in Madrid, Isabella was in Segovia. Upon hearing the news she declared herself queen of Castille. Two days later, surrounded by a cheering throng, she drew her sword, held it above her with the hilt upward, and led a procession to the Segovia Cathedral. The parliamentary Cortes immediately swore its allegiance to her.
In 1479 King John II of Aragon died and Ferdinand succeeded his father. In the ten years that had followed their secret wedding the royal couple had waged continual war, fighting back invasions from Portugal and France and dealing with insurgents. When those military campaigns had been won, they concentrated on war against the Moors.
Through all the years of combat Abraham Seneor had labored for them faithfully, raising money for the expensive business of war, developing a system of taxation, and guiding them through the political and financial pitfalls of uniting Castille and Aragon.
The monarchs had rewarded him well, declaring him rabbi and supreme judge of the Jews of Castille and assessor of Jewish taxes throughout the kingdom. Since 1488 he had been treasurer of the Hermandad, a militia that Ferdinand had established to maintain order and security in Spain. His fellow Jews didn’t love Seneor—he had been the king’s choice to be their rabbi, not their own. But Seneor was loyal to them. Even before Jews from many parts of the kingdom could beg Seneor to plead with Ferdinand, he had acted. His first meeting with the monarchs was based upon their mutual affection and friendship, but his pleas for a reversal of the expulsion edict met with a cool rejection that dismayed him.
Several weeks later he requested another meeting, this time bringing with him his son-in-law, Rabbi Meir Melamed, who had served as Ferdinand’s secretary and was the kingdom’s chief administrator of tax collections. Both men had been declared rabbis by the king and not by their fellow religionists, but they had served effectively as advocates for the Jews at court. With them was Isaac ben Judah Abravanel, who was in charge of tax collections in the central and southern parts of the country and who had loaned enormous sums of money to the royal treasury, including 1.5 million gold ducats to achieve victory in the war against Granada.
The three Jews again pressed their plea, this time offering to raise fresh funds for the treasury, with Abravanel making it clear that he and his brothers would relinquish certain heavy debts owed them by the Crown if the expulsion edict were revoked.
Ferdinand showed undisguised interest when discussing the sums offered. The three petitioners hoped for an immediate ruling, so Torquemada and other religionists who had worked for years to have the Jews expelled would have no opportunity to influence the decision. However, Ferdinand took their request under advisement, and a week later, when the three appeared before the monarchs again, the king told them their request was denied. He had decided that the expulsion edict would be carried out.
Isabella stood beside her husband, a stern, pudgy woman of average height, but very regal in her bearing. She had large, imperious blue-green eyes and a tiny pursed mouth. Her reddish blond hair, her best feature, was beginning to be flecked with gray. She made the moment even more bitter for them by quoting King Solomon, Proverbs 21:1.
“‘The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord as the water courses. He turneth it withersoever he will.’
“Do you believe this thing is come upon you from us? The Lord has put this thing into the heart of the king,” she told the three Jews disdainfully, and the audience was over.
* * *
Throughout the kingdom, Jewish councils met in new desperation.
In Toledo, the Council of Thirty struggled to achieve some sort of plan.
“I cherish this land. If I must leave this beloved place where my ancestors rest,” David Mendoza said finally, “I wish to go where I will never be accused of murdering an infant in order to make matzos from his tender body, or stabbing the Eucharist, or insulting the Virgin, or mocking the Mass!”
“We must go where innocent folk are not ignited like tinder,” Rabbi Ortega said, and there was a murmur of agreement.
“Where might such a place be?” Yonah’s father asked.
There was a long silence. They stared at one another.
* * *
Yet all had to go somewhere, and people began trying to make plans.
Aron Toledano, a stocky, slow-speaking man, came to his brother’s house and he and Helkias talked for hours, proposing destinations and rejecting them while Yonah listened, trying to understand.
There were really only three possible destinations, when all was said. To the north, the kingdom of Navarre. To the west, Portugal. To he east, the seacoast, offering ships to transport them to more distant lands.
But within days they learned new facts that helped narrow the choices.
Aron came again, his farmer’s face dark with worry. “Navarre cannot be considered. Navarre will accept only former Jews who have converted to the worship of Jesus.”
Less than a week later they learned that Don Vidal ben Benveniste de la Cavalleria, who had minted Aragon’s gold coins and Castille’s currency, had ridden to Portugal and received permission for Spanish Jews to go there. King John II of Portugal saw an opportunity and decreed that his treasury would tax one ducat from every immigrating Jew, plus one-fourth of any merchandise carried into his kingdom. In return, the Jews would be allowed to stay six months.
Aron shook his head in disgust. “I hold no trust in that one. In the end, I think we would receive less justice from him than we have received from the Spanish throne.”
Helkias agreed. And that left only the seacoast, whence they would take ship.
* * *
Helkias was deliberate and gentle, a tall man. Meir had been shorter and blockier, like Aron, and Eleazar already showed the signs of a similar build. Yonah was built larger, like his father, whom he regarded with awe as well as love.
“To where shall we sail then, Abba?”
“I don’t know. We will go where there are many ships, probably to the port of Valencia. Then we will see what shipping is available, and where the vessels are bound. We must trust that the Almighty will guide our path and help us make a wise decision.”
He looked at Yonah. “Are you fearful, my son?”
Yonah struggled to form a reply but was slow to answer.
“It is not a shame to be afraid. It is wise to recognize that travel is rife with danger. But we will be three large and strong men—Aron, and you, and I. The three of us will be able to see to the safety of Eleazar and your aunt, Juana.”
Yonah was gratified to be counted as a man by his father.
It was as if Helkias read his mind. “I am aware you have taken a man’s responsibility, these last years,” he said quietly. “I want you to know others have observed your character, also. There have been several overtures made to me by fathers of daughters who are ready to stand under the bridal canopy.”
“Have you spoken of a marriage?” Yonah said.
“Not yet. Not now. But once we arrive at our new home there will be time to meet the Jews who are there and arrange a fine match. Which I suspect you will welcome.”
“I shall,” Yonah admitted, and his father laughed.
“Do you not think I was once young? I remember how it is.”
“Eleazar will be very jealous. He will want a wife also,” Yonah said, and now they both laughed together.
“Abba, I am not fearful to go anywhere, so long as you are with me.”
“Nor am I afraid with you, Yonah. For the Lord will be with us.”
* * *
The thought of marriage was a new element in Yonah’s life. Amidst all the tumult, his mind was confused and his body had changed. At night he dreamed of females, and even in the midst of crisis he daydreamed of his longtime friend Lucía Martín. When they were curious children, on several occasions they had explored each other’s nudity at length. Now it was possible to see that beneath her clothing she had taken on the first ripeness of womanhood, and there was a new awkwardness between them.
Everything was changing, and despite his fears and misgivings, Yonah felt a thrill at the prospect of traveling to distant places at last. He imagined life in a new place, the kind of life Jews hadn’t experienced in Spain for the past hundred years.
In a book he had found mixed among the religious tracts in the study house, by an Arab author named Khordabbek, he had read about Jewish merchant-traders:
“They take ship in the land of the Franks, on the Western Sea, and steer for Farama. There they load their goods on the backs of camels and go by land to Kolzum, which is five days journey over a distance of twenty-five farsakhs. They embark in the Red Sea and sail from Kolzum to Eltar and Jeddah. Then they go to Sind, India, and China.”
He would like to be a merchant-trader. If he were a Christian he would prefer to be a knight—of course, of the sort that did not kill Jews. Such lives would be full of wonder.
But in more realistic moments Yonah knew his father was right. It made no sense to sit and indulge in dreams. There was work to be done, because the very foundations of their world were giving way.