be trusted to keep his word to David.”
“I pray I’d been killed instead of Juanjo,” David said truthfully. “Had I died, Peráto wouldn’t have a reason to threaten your lives.”
Isa rose to her feet and stood over David, hands on hips and with an angry scowl on her face. “You will stay alive, son, if only to repent and make good of your life!” she commanded.
Juan gazed at Isa with pride and love. He’d adored her since she was a girl, and at thirty-nine years old, she was still as beautiful to him as she had been on the day he married her. Her dark flowing hair blew around her head, having come loose from its long plait. Her ash-smeared face didn’t completely hide her olive skin or dark blue eyes, almost the same colour as a Spanish summer sky. Her strong cheekbones and defiant pointed chin further enhanced the straight upturned nose and thick lips on a mouth that smiled often. That was a perfect face, he’d always thought.
He knew she was a strong, determined woman. His children had rarely seen this side of her, but he had, many times. They would leave this place now and never return. He would seek work in Sagrat and protect his family until his last breath. God help them all, he thought. A powerful enemy had pulled them into a web of deceit, and he prayed that at least some of them would survive what lay ahead of them.
Chapter Thirteen
Sinfa, Saul Cabrera’s granddaughter, lived in one of the only detached houses in Sagrat’s Jewish quarter. It sat at the end of the street furthest away from the Jewry’s wall and looked onto an open patch of ground filled with shrubs and cacti.
After being retrieved from the rocks beneath the wall, Saul Cabrera’s body was taken to his home covered in bloodied hemp sheeting. He had lain in the back of a cart driven by two soldiers and pulled by a mule, and his body had travelled through the streets, unnoticed by its neighbours.
Upon seeing his broken body, Sinfa’s screams had filled the damp air, and her cries for help brought families in night attire running to her aid. Panic spread quickly. The physician was the Jewry’s patriarch, and only Rabbi Rabinovitch held equal power and sway amongst Sagrat’s dwindling Jewish population. His death would be a devastating blow to the already beleaguered community.
At first, neighbours cried with grief, but when the reality of Cabrera’s suicide had sunk in, many discarded their weeping for harsh, unforgiving words. The mystery surrounding the physician’s fatal fall at a time when he was badly needed by the community was bewildering to some, but it also drew stark disapproval from others. He was a man who had everything in abundance, and his suicide had been a most selfish act, some of the neighbours agreed in angry whispers.
Rabbi Rabinovitch assembled a small crowd of mourners in the Cabrera house’s spacious hallway. Amongst them were members of the Jewish council, disbanded by order of the duke but still actively meeting in secret on a weekly basis. The council members were worried. Cabrera’s power over the Peráto family had managed to hold a couple of unjust laws against the Jews at bay, but most of the town’s new legislation had seen the demise of Jewish privileges and station in just about every occupation. Now, with Cabrera gone, they would have no voice and no support within the castle walls. The new duke, they all agreed, would shut his ears to their pleas for equality.
Rabinovitch called for Guillermo, his son. Guillermo held great promise as a future rabbi. He was going to become a very effective spiritual leader one day; he’d been bred for that role. Though gangly with an uncomfortable looking gait, which gave him the appearance of being timid and a bit of a simpleton, he was not shy with his opinions, nor was he simpleminded. He was cunning, with a brilliant head for economics. The old duke had seen great promise in Guillermo’s talented mind, for figures and economic management.
“I pray I’d been killed instead of Juanjo,” David said truthfully. “Had I died, Peráto wouldn’t have a reason to threaten your lives.”
Isa rose to her feet and stood over David, hands on hips and with an angry scowl on her face. “You will stay alive, son, if only to repent and make good of your life!” she commanded.
Juan gazed at Isa with pride and love. He’d adored her since she was a girl, and at thirty-nine years old, she was still as beautiful to him as she had been on the day he married her. Her dark flowing hair blew around her head, having come loose from its long plait. Her ash-smeared face didn’t completely hide her olive skin or dark blue eyes, almost the same colour as a Spanish summer sky. Her strong cheekbones and defiant pointed chin further enhanced the straight upturned nose and thick lips on a mouth that smiled often. That was a perfect face, he’d always thought.
He knew she was a strong, determined woman. His children had rarely seen this side of her, but he had, many times. They would leave this place now and never return. He would seek work in Sagrat and protect his family until his last breath. God help them all, he thought. A powerful enemy had pulled them into a web of deceit, and he prayed that at least some of them would survive what lay ahead of them.
Chapter Thirteen
Sinfa, Saul Cabrera’s granddaughter, lived in one of the only detached houses in Sagrat’s Jewish quarter. It sat at the end of the street furthest away from the Jewry’s wall and looked onto an open patch of ground filled with shrubs and cacti.
After being retrieved from the rocks beneath the wall, Saul Cabrera’s body was taken to his home covered in bloodied hemp sheeting. He had lain in the back of a cart driven by two soldiers and pulled by a mule, and his body had travelled through the streets, unnoticed by its neighbours.
Upon seeing his broken body, Sinfa’s screams had filled the damp air, and her cries for help brought families in night attire running to her aid. Panic spread quickly. The physician was the Jewry’s patriarch, and only Rabbi Rabinovitch held equal power and sway amongst Sagrat’s dwindling Jewish population. His death would be a devastating blow to the already beleaguered community.
At first, neighbours cried with grief, but when the reality of Cabrera’s suicide had sunk in, many discarded their weeping for harsh, unforgiving words. The mystery surrounding the physician’s fatal fall at a time when he was badly needed by the community was bewildering to some, but it also drew stark disapproval from others. He was a man who had everything in abundance, and his suicide had been a most selfish act, some of the neighbours agreed in angry whispers.
Rabbi Rabinovitch assembled a small crowd of mourners in the Cabrera house’s spacious hallway. Amongst them were members of the Jewish council, disbanded by order of the duke but still actively meeting in secret on a weekly basis. The council members were worried. Cabrera’s power over the Peráto family had managed to hold a couple of unjust laws against the Jews at bay, but most of the town’s new legislation had seen the demise of Jewish privileges and station in just about every occupation. Now, with Cabrera gone, they would have no voice and no support within the castle walls. The new duke, they all agreed, would shut his ears to their pleas for equality.
Rabinovitch called for Guillermo, his son. Guillermo held great promise as a future rabbi. He was going to become a very effective spiritual leader one day; he’d been bred for that role. Though gangly with an uncomfortable looking gait, which gave him the appearance of being timid and a bit of a simpleton, he was not shy with his opinions, nor was he simpleminded. He was cunning, with a brilliant head for economics. The old duke had seen great promise in Guillermo’s talented mind, for figures and economic management.
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