Children of the Covenant: A Novel About the Colonial American Jews

By Jane Frances Amler

As a young boy in seventeenth-century Portugal, Juan Pereira lived a Christian life with his mother and father, but he often wondered why he was not a choir boy like most of his friends. One fateful night, he discovers the truth: he is of Jewish descent, and his real name is not Juan but Benjamin. That same night, the secret hiding place of the Jews is discovered by the Inquisition, and Benjamin loses his mother and father to martyrdom.

Forced to flee Portugal, Benjamin finds solace in the guidance of Senor Rodriguez, his parents trusted friend. They search for a safe place for Jews to live, far from the raging fires of persecution. It is in the midst of this search that Benjamin encounters Rachel da Sousa, and they fall in love. Forced to leave Europe to freely live as Jews, the couple takes to the high seas and heads for the New World.

The high seas are dangerous, and the new world isnt much safer. With the help of Samuel, an African slave in search of his lost brother, and Adario, a Huron Native American, Benjamin and Rachel find hope in a free future, but nothing goes as planned. Soon separated, the lovers must find a way to reunite and finally discover a place to call home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475932423

Jane Frances Amler

Jane Frances Amler aka J. F. Lewis, is the author of Christopher Columbus’s Jewish Roots, Haym Salomon: Patriot Banker of the American Revolution, The Color of His Blood, and The Fifth Kingdom. She also writes for the Scribner Encyclopedia of American Lives. Amler holds a PhD in English literature and creative writing; she is an English professor and lives in New York with her family.

Book preview

CHAPTER I

The heavy door slammed shut, leaving Juan Pereira, his mother, and his father at the top of a stairway leading down into blackness. Juan’s mother lit a torch and then handed it to his father who began the descent. Juan followed them down a long, dark staircase, his hands slipping along the rock outcroppings and damp earthen walls, his feet slipping on the moldy, wet stone steps, so that he had to take one careful step at a time. Ants, centipedes, and worms wove in and out of the dirt; spiders scurried up his legs, so that he stifled a cry. He didn’t want to follow his parents. Darkness surrounded him, and the damp air was thick and hard to breathe. He thought of the sunlight piercing the red and violet stained-glass windows in church that morning. He began to hum the music he had heard the choir boys sing, their voices echoing against the walls of agate, lapis lazuli, and alabaster, then soaring to the heights of the vaulted ceiling. It seemed to him now, as he descended into the earth, that as they sang they could have ascended past the priest, whose arms had been raised as he talked of heretics, past the gilded high altar, past the stained-glass windows to God.

Stop that! his father said.

Juan stopped humming and wondered why he was not a choir boy. His family was as fine a Christian family as any of the others, yet he felt different, isolated from the other boys. Falling behind, the lighted torch too far ahead, he stumbled across a root and fell, cutting his knee. His mother turned back and gently picked him up. He closed his eyes as he felt her warm arms and smelled the leafy scent of her skin. This was the way she had held him when he was young, but now he was too old for this embrace; he pulled away and brushed off the dirt. He looked up at his father and held his breath. The torch light flickered across his father’s dark eyes, his brown velvet doublet, his finely combed goatee, and thin pressed lips. Juan wanted to reach out, touch his face, and wipe away the angry expression.

Papa, I . . .

His father brought his finger to his lips to silence him, and without a word, turned, continued down the stairs. Juan had no choice but to follow.

Where are we going? I don’t want to know their secret. Why must we hide under the earth like this? he thought, carefully picking his way around roots and stones.

They had reached the bottom of the stairs, and now a corridor stretched into complete darkness. The ceiling hung just above his father’s head, and the corridor was so narrow that Juan could slide his fingers along both sides of the walls. He put his hands out in front of him to ward off spirits or skeletons, which he was sure, would appear at any moment. They walked through the darkness for a long time. Juan tried to figure out what direction they were going but couldn’t. Finally, they came to a door, and his father knocked five times, waited a moment, and then knocked twice. As the door opened and light began to pour out of the room, Juan closed his eyes, afraid of what he might see.

Juan, open your eyes, his mother said softly, and greet our friends.

Instead of bones and coffins, Juan saw his friends, Carlos and Beltran Saragossa, and behind them, their parents. He recognized the Vergaras, the Cazallas, the Pintos, and other friends of his parents, crowded in a small room carved from the earth. Men were standing next to benches which lined the four walls. Torches burned in each corner, and a wooden structure, with a six-pointed star on each of two doors and two intricately carved wooden angles crowning the top, stood in the center of the room. Juan watched his mother join the cluster of women in the far corner. She smiled at him as his father said, Come, and led Juan to the center of the room, to the wooden structure, to the other boys, to Senor Rodriguez.

Senor Rodriguez was slightly older than Juan’s father, but a shock of white hair and the bushy white eyebrows above his blue eyes made him unique from the other, darker men in the room. Whenever Juan met him in the shops, in church, in his father’s home, he noticed that the man never smiled. Since Senor Rodriguez had no children, no wife, he lived alone. He stood before the three boys and said,

Please be seated.

The men and boys sat on the smooth worn wooden benches, and Senor Rodriguez continued.

It must seem strange to you that your mothers and fathers have brought you to this room. What you see here is not frightening or evil—it is just the opposite—it is holy. There was a time when this structure, the Ark, stood in the light of day. He opened its doors, behind which Juan saw a scroll wrapped in velvet, adorned with silver crowns and a breastplate, which reflecting the torch light, seemed to glow. Very carefully, Senor Rodriguez took it out. His father stood and helped him lay it on a wooden podium. As they took off its crowns, tiny silver bells softly jingled, causing Juan to shiver. They carried the scroll over to the boys, and Juan recoiled when he saw strange symbols written it.

You need not be afraid of it, Juan, his father said. Senor Rodriguez added, These writings tell the stories from the Old Testament. It is the story of Adam and Eve, of Noah and the Ark.

As Juan stared at the scroll, it seemed as if the serpentine symbols would strike him. He pulled his legs up onto the bench, hugging his knees, his feet not touching the floor, and looked down at the ground where he expected snakes to slither by. Carlos and Beltran bent over the scroll and gently touched it, but Juan turned his face away. He and his friends did not belong down here; he would have no part in it. He looked up to see his father glaring at him. His face hot, he stared back at the earth—he had angered his father again. He noticed that when he crossed himself, his father would turn away, and now he understood why. He turned to his mother who was watching him. He adored her, her face, her thin dark rose-colored lips, her delicate nose and chin. Her wide brown eyes silently pleaded with him to do what his father asked, but he could not. Never having seen these symbols before, he wondered if they were evil incantations or black magic that could call up the dead!

Senor Rodriguez did not press him, but instead carried the scroll back to the podium and laid it down. Turning to the boys, he said, Juan, Carlos, Beltran, you must understand, these stories are not evil, not sinful, but are taught within the Church. They speak of righteous men, of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, of Moses delivering the Jews out of Egypt.

Juan sat up straight when he heard the word Jews. Suddenly the room seemed too small, the ceiling hung too low, the air was cold and damp. He wanted to get up and run away, to turn again to his mother, but he dared not. He could not bear to know that she was a part of this, that this was something she wanted for him. His father, yes, he was the one who had brought him here, but not his mother! He closed his eyes and thought of the week before when he had been sick with fever. His mother had hovered over him, wiping his brow, lifting him so that he could sip on a clear broth. His father had stood in the doorway, not entering, not speaking. He had fallen asleep for what seemed like a moment, but when he woke, she was gone as if she had vanished.

Senor Rodriguez was saying, Now, in 1642, we meet underground here in Lisbon to study and pray as our ancestors did for centuries throughout Portugal and Spain.

Juan’s hands were shaking. He turned to his mother who was smiling! Senior Rodriguez was asking him his age.

Ten, sir, he responded, though he barely recognized his voice.

You are young, very young. However, we have decided to show you this room tonight for it may be the last time we will be able to meet for a while. We fear the Inquisition. Servants notice the clothes we wear, the fires we build on our hearths, what we eat. We are constantly under close watch. He sighed. The Inquisitors want to know what is in our hearts, if we are heretics. And, indeed, we are heretics, secret Jews.

The word Jews seemed to reverberate around Juan. How can this be? he thought. It’s not true, not me, not mother, father!

But the silence engulfed him, making him feel trapped like an animal in this cave-like room.

What do the Jews have to do with me? What do these people want from me, from Papa, from Mama? he thought. He turned again to his mother, and when she blew him a kiss, he felt as if it had actually touched his cheek. He realized that she was trying to reassure him. This is something she wants? Why?

Suddenly, Senor Rodriguez was speaking to him.

Juan, your name is one that belonged to your father’s father, and you must never forget it. You are to be named Benjamin.

Benjamin! My name is Juan, he thought but said nothing.

We will kneel and say a prayer that our forefathers have said for hundreds of years. We say this prayer before we read the Torah, this scroll of the Old Testament. You need not be afraid, but must learn to read it, to love its words, its messages, and always carry the hope in your hearts that someday, maybe even in your lifetime; you will be able to bring the Torah back into the light of day.

Though his legs wobbled, Juan knelt. Staring at his father, he was surprised to see his expression soften and was even more surprised when his father walked over and knelt by his side.

Staring straight ahead, his father held his hand and whispered, They tried to take this from us, Juan, but they did not succeed. They will not succeed as long as I have a breath in my body. We are Jews. You will come to see that it is a beautiful religion, a beautiful heritage.

No, Papa, no! he wanted to cry out.

Senor Rodriguez lifted his arms before the Ark and said, Shema Yisraeil Adonai elo hei nu Adonai echad! Then he repeated the words in Portuguese, Here, oh Israel, the Lord our God the Lord is one.

In their own improvised ritual each man stood, kissed the Torah then was seated. Juan, too, stood and bent over the old, frayed scroll. It smelled musty, but he brushed his lips against it. Turning his head so that no one could see him, he wiped his lips, and then sat down next to Carlos and Beltran who were sitting on the edge of the bench.

His father was speaking to them. In 1492, the very year Cristobal Colon discovered the New World, our people were expelled from Spain, where they had lived peacefully with Christians and Moslems for centuries. One hundred and fifty thousand Jews came to Portugal, but shortly after they arrived, King Manuel asked for Princess Isabella’s hand in marriage. The Princess said she would consent only if the Jews of Portugal were expelled or baptized. Hundreds of Jews sailed off on ships, hundreds were burned at the stake, and thousands were forced into baptism. Though one hundred and fifty years have passed, we are still faithful to the religion of our forefathers. We meet here at risk to our lives, to your lives, so that Judaism may survive until it may again be taught and honored and loved as our ancestors have done for centuries.

The men joined him when he said, Amen.

Senor Rodriguez, his white head turning to the men on the benches, the women in the corner, then back to them, added, Chaim, Aaron and Benjamin, when you leave this room you will seal all its beauty and its secrets in your hearts. You will never speak of it, even among yourselves for fear that a servant will . . .

There came six sharp taps on the door, and Senor Rodriguez stopped short, exchanging a glance with Juan’s father.

The door suddenly was opened. A man ran in and, staring at the dark corridor behind him, hoarsely whispered, They’ve found us. They are at the entrance now!

Quickly, everyone, Senor Rodriguez said as he pushed back a curtain which hid another door. Juan’s father grabbed one of the torches and led the group into this corridor. The men grabbed their wives and children, and tripping over each other, they fled from the room. Searching for his mother, Juan found her at the end of the line, and as they were the last to flee, he glanced back at the opened door, expecting to see their pursuers. He had once witnessed an auto-de-fé. He had seen Jews burn at the stake and had smelled the foul black smoke.

Mama! Juan cried.

This exit takes us a mile away from where we entered, his mother whispered as they ran behind the others. We should be safe once we are outside.

Running for their lives, they finally reached the huddled group waiting silently to ascend a new set of stairs. When it was his turn, Juan began to climb, but the stairway had been carved near an underground stream, and its steps were slimy. Juan slipped and his mother pulled him up, almost dragging him as he tried to get his footing. As they ascended the air grew fresher, easier to breathe. Through the opened door above them, Juan could see the stars shining brightly, pointing the way to heaven, a feeling of relief washing over him. Suddenly, his mother pushed him back. The door slammed shut. Juan slipped down three steps and sat alone in the dark. Shaking, he climbed back up and tentatively pushed on the door.

He was about to shout, Mama! when he heard a scream, a muffled cry, a sharp crack cutting down to bone, a thud. Behind him he heard voices, the slapping of boots hitting the earth, the clinking of metal swords coming from the gaping black corridor. Running, slipping, sliding down the stairs, he reached the bottom, then digging his fingers into the wall, he searched until he found a small hole behind the stairs and crawled in. Seconds passed before he saw the flickering light of a torch and smelled the leather and oil of men as they approached. Juan held his breath as he waited for them to find him, but instead, they hurried up the stairs. Juan could hear the door open, felt the cool air on his brow, before the door slammed shut, leaving him once again in darkness.

After a long time, an hour, a day, he did not know; he crept out of his hiding place and on hands and knees climbed back up the stairs.

Mama, Mama, he whimpered as he made his way. She was gone, just as she had vanished when he had been with fever. Crouched on the last step, he hit the door with his fists, shoved with the palms of his hands, banged his head on the door above, but it would not budge.

Keep calm—just find the latch—then I’ll be free, he thought. But his fingers kept going over and over the wooden door, feeling the rough wood, the cracks where the planks had been joined, the crevices between the wood and earth—there was no latch.

Mama, he cried again. I’m going to get out of here! I’ll find you, Mama. He pressed both hands, holding his breath, using all his strength. He pressed his head against it, his back, and his shoulders. He began to kick it with his feet, throwing his weight against it, kicking harder and harder until he began to kick and scream, Mama, Mama, Mama! The door would not budge. His screams echoed, taunting him.

He sat huddled on the top step and cried. He hated his father for bringing them down here. He wanted his mother. Where was she? Why hadn’t she come back for him? Didn’t she realize he couldn’t open the door, that he was trapped? He realized he might not ever get out. As the thought occurred, he grew quiet. He sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath, and then for the first time, he thought of the room they had fled. Perhaps the other door was still opened. Juan made his way back down the stairs. When he got to the bottom, he ran his hands along the living, crawling walls until he saw the soft glow from the torches which were still burning in the room. He carefully peered in to see if any of the guards were there, but it was empty. He ran to the other stairway, climbed back up, but it was similar to the other one. He knew he would not be able to push open the massive bulky wood. He hit the latch, but it would not move. He pushed against the door, feeling the hard rough wood, unyielding to his hands, his arms, his back. The guards had locked it, and he slid exhausted to the ground.

When he returned to the underground room, he saw that it had been sacked. Benches were overturned, and the Ark, still standing, had been smashed. The Torah had been stripped of its velvet cover, the scroll shredded, the silver gone. Juan stood up and walked to the velvet cover, which lay in the dirt. He stared at it for a moment, afraid to touch it, then picked it up, and brushed it off. He brought the forbidden relic to his cheek, thinking about his parents, the ceremony. They were Jews. He was a Jew, and now he understood why his father had not allowed him to be a choir boy. This religion, this Judaism, had separated him from the others. He walked over to the Ark and tried to pray as he had prayed to the cross. He closed his eyes, but all he could picture was the church with its stained-glass windows, sunlight filtering in, Christ on the cross, the choir boys singing. He opened his eyes and stared at the Ark.

Where are you, Mama? he whispered. I’m trapped down here. Please come back for me. Please! Where was she? Where was his father? Why hadn’t they come for him? Were they hurt? Papa, he whispered. A tear slid down his cheek. I want to please you. I want you to be proud of me, but I don’t know how. Please, Papa, please don’t leave me down here. I’m all alone.

Silence surrounded him as he stared at the empty Ark, one of its doors hanging like a broken bone. He turned over a bench, and as he slumped down onto it, he brought the velvet cover to his face once again. He stroked it against his cheek, buried his eyes in it, and cried.

Juan had fallen asleep. When waking, he thought at first that the noise he heard was part of his nightmare and though the room was now completely black, for the torches had gone out, he realized the footsteps were real, and they were growing louder. Still holding the velvet, he stumbled in to the other corridor. He heard the latch click open.

Someone carrying a fresh torch entered, walked over to the Ark, and began to weep. The sound of weeping reassured him. He slowly edged back to the room, peered in, and saw Senor Rodriguez. The Senor’s eyes widened when he saw him. He stretched out his arms, and Juan ran to him. Senor Rodriguez held him.

Juan, Benjamin, have you been down here for twenty-four hours?

Juan couldn’t speak. He could only nod yes.

It… it was horrible. When we reached the top of the stairs, they were waiting for us, gagging each one of us as we emerged. Somehow they knew! We thought we were safe, that we could meet just once more, just one more time!

My mother? Juan asked.

They have her, the Inquisitors.

My father?

Juan felt Senor Rodriguez’s arms tighten around him. He fought with them when they tried to put him in the cart.

Is he all right?

No, son, he’s dead.

Juan suddenly started to shake. He held back a cry rising from deep inside. Senor Rodriguez rocked him in his arms, but the warmth from the old man’s body did not stop the shaking. Juan felt nauseated and pulled away. He desperately wanted to be alone, to breathe fresh air.

Senor Rodriguez took hold of Juan’s hand and said, We must leave here, quickly now. You must trust me.

Juan nodded yes.

I will lead you out. We dare not stay any longer. The Inquisitors may be watching the exits now that they know where they are.

He led Juan out of the room, and they made their way back through the second long, dark corridor and up the stairs. Senor Rodriguez doused the flame, after which with great effort, he and Juan pushed open the door. At last, Juan was above ground, but he was disoriented and didn’t recognize where they were. It certainly was not near to where he and his parents had entered.

A thick fog hid the moon and the stars, but after hours underground, it seemed clear and light to the boy.

Feeling dizzy, he took several deep breaths as he stared at the buildings and trees hovering around him. A slight moan escaped his lips. Senor Rodriguez threw his cape over him, and still holding his hand, led him off into the mist.

CHAPTER II

The thick stone and tile walls of the monastery loomed out of the plaza mayor, causing Juan to shrink from Senor Rodriguez who opened a door in the wall and ordered, Come! Quickly now!

Juan hesitated, but then against his will, was pulled forward. As they crossed a courtyard, gothic arches stretch up like arms. Juan could hear the chanting of Compline, and smell the scent of candle wax. They twisted and turned corner after corner until at last Senor Rodriguez pulled a key from his pocket to let Juan into a small room. It contained a single bed jutting out from a white wall, a crucifix hanging above, and opposite a large armoire. Senor Rodriguez held his arms out to Juan, who edged over to the wall and asked, Why have you brought me here, and how is it that you alone have escaped?

My brother is Fray Gaspar. Though he knows of my Judaizing, he has never denounced me before the Inquisition. He pulled me from the group as they were marched to the dungeons and has hidden me here in his room. I had to return to the underground synagogue because I was worried about the torches, the unprotected Torah. I never guessed that the room had been sacked, or that you were down there. I don’t think they will look for us under their own roof, and that’s why I’ve brought you here. He sat the boy down. You haven’t had anything to eat in a long while. You must be hungry.

Still gripping the wall, Juan shook his head no.

Well, perhaps just a little bread and cheese. You should eat something. From the armoire, Senor Rodriguez pulled a small basket filled with half a loaf of bread, a small goat cheese, and a quarter of a bottle of red wine. My dinner, he explained, cutting a piece of bread for himself and handing Juan the rest. Juan took a small nip of bread, but picturing his mother in a cell, he choked as he tried to swallow it. Senor Rodriguez clapped him on the back, and Juan felt better after he sipped the wine.

You need some rest. I’ll fix a place for you here next to me in this armoire. He laid down his cloak.

Juan was so exhausted that the little cleared spot looked inviting. He curled up, while Senor Rodriguez climbed in next to him, closing the door.

Try to sleep now, he said as he gently stroked Juan’s forehead. We will decide what to do with you in the morning. If you are very quiet, you will be safe. If anyone comes into the room, don’t move. He rearranged himself so that they both could sleep in the cramped quarters, and then closed his eyes.

Juan could see that he was trying not to cry. He asked, Why did you hold the meeting in that room?

Because I wanted you and your friends to know who you are, that your parents are Jews, that you are Jews, before it was taken away from you forever.

I know who I am. I’m Juan Pereira.

"No child, you are Benjamin Pereira.

Juan turned his face from Senor Rodriguez and closed his eyes. He rolled as far away from him as possible within the confines of the armoire. He wanted his mother. He wanted to escape from here and pictured himself running to the other end of the plaza, to the tribunal where she was held. He would walk down the steps to the Inquisitional dungeon and carefully draw the keys from the sleeping guard. He’d quietly fit the key into the cell door and unlock it. His mother would hug and kiss him, and then he would put his finger to his lips to silence her as his father had done so many times. Grabbing her hand, he’d lead her back up the steps. Up, up they would climb until they reached the top. This time he’d lift open the door with ease, and they’d walk out into the starry night.

It seemed to Juan that he had slept for only a moment, but sunlight was already creeping through the cracks in the closet, casting shadows against the sleeping Senor Rodriguez.

Luis, he heard a man whisper. There was a soft knock on the door and a softly repeated, Luis.

Juan’s heart pounded as the door slowly opened. He saw a tall, thin monk peering into the armoire.

Well! the monk exclaimed under his breath. Now, who do we have here? Let me guess. Juan Pereira, the missing child, are you not?

Juan nodded yes, and the monk leaned back against the wall and crossed himself.

Come. He helped him out of the armoire without disturbing Senor Rodriguez. The monk brushed him off and tried to straighten his hair. Well, well, well. You’re a fine lad. Where have you been all this time?

I . . .

Shhh… please, in a whisper.

Juan continued softly, I was trapped, in the earth… He didn’t want to reveal any more than he had to. Do you know where my mother is?

Fray Gaspar turned away from him. I won’t lie to you, my child. Your mother has been arrested by the Inquisition. There is very little I can do for her. Perhaps she will cooperate, repent, and find salvation.

Juan ran to him and pulled on his robes. You must help her, please, you must save her.

Fray Gaspar brushed him back. You think it is something I can control? I’ve done all I can to save my brother; now I have you to hide as well! Be still! Pray for your mother, for her fate is in His hands! Without another word, he turned and left the room.

Juan climbed back into the armoire and huddled beside Senor Rodriguez who was in such a deep sleep Juan had to watch the rise and fall of his chest to be reassured that he was alive. He listened to the monks chanting Terce and was reminded of the choir boys. He didn’t like Fray Gaspar, or Senor Rodriguez. It was he, after all, who his father had followed. It was he who had held the meeting in that room beneath the earth. He was the one to blame for his father’s death, his mother’s imprisonment. Hugging his knees, Juan tucked his head, his tears slipped down his leg.

Senor Rodriguez woke and scratching his face he said, When my brother returns, we will decide what to do,

Juan wiped his eyes and said, I spoke to your brother.

Senor Rodriguez shook him. I told you not to move, not to speak to anyone!

He called you Luis and opened the door.

Senor Rodriguez sighed and sat back. He looked at him apologetically. I’m sorry; then it was all right. But from now on you speak to no one! You must pretend that you are deaf and dumb! You speak to no one else!

Juan nodded his head and thought, I will speak to no one, Senor Rodriguez, no one, not ever again!

A few minutes later, Fray Gaspar returned to the room, locked the door, and called to them. They emerged from the armoire. He pulled Luis away from the boy, and hoping Juan would not hear, he whispered, What shall I do with the boy?

You tell me? Luis answered. What would you have had me do, leave him there?

Fray Gaspar crossed himself and said, It might have been better.

Are you mad?

Better than to see his mother die!

An auto-de-fé! Luis cried as the friar turned away. He grabbed him, saying, You mean they will hold an auto-de-fé? His voice had climbed to a high pitch.

They must confess and repent! Then at least they will be garroted and spared death by fire, Fray Gaspar answered without looking at them.

Juan froze as Senor Rodriguez grabbed him and held him close. You must save the boy. I will give myself up, but if you can save only one of us, save him. I can’t live through this again.

Fray Gaspar put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Luis, we have traveled our separate paths for many years, and though I pray for your sins, though I pray that someday you will see the light, I could never live with my order, with myself, if it led to your death. The good Lord knows you have suffered. He clasped his hands over his eyes while Senor Rodriguez, still holding him tightly, had closed his eyes, too. The strained silence lasted as each man seemed to struggle for control. Juan wondered what could be causing such distress in the two men, and he noticed beads of sweat on Senor Rodriguez’s forehead. Senor Rodriguez unfolded a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead.

Fray Gaspar spoke again, We will smuggle you and the boy out as soon as possible. Go to Amsterdam and live in peace as you have desired for so long.

Senor Rodriguez bent down to Juan and holding his shoulders firmly, squeezing him, he said, You and I will have to leave Portugal, my little friend. We are, both of us, wanted men.

Juan broke away from his grasp and said, I will never leave here. I will never leave without my mother!

With clenched fists, he thought of what he must do. He would escape from these men. He would find her down in that dark dungeon, and together they would flee. However, until the time was right, he would pretend to go along with them.

Fray Gaspar introduced Juan to the cook as a deaf mute, and he was quickly set to scrubbing the floor. On the kitchen’s central white marble table lay three butchered pigs waiting to be dressed. Juan found himself on his knees, with a bucket and rags, trying to wash the blood, bone, skin, and hair from the cool stone floor. The pigs’ blood was collected in huge barrels which stood on the side wall, and the ovens roared like hungry mouths, waiting for their meat. Juan kept his head down as the cook argued with the butcher. He longed to escape, to find his mother. He pictured her in chains, without food or water.

Oh Mama, he cried though not a sound escaped his lips. When a monk walked by, Juan was tempted to snatch the keys dangling from his waist, but he continued to wash the floor.

The cook took pity on Juan and after the noon meal had been served, gave him a ham bone, a bit of cheese, and a piece of bread. Juan crossed himself and nodded his thanks.

Fray Gaspar looked in on him after Vespers and found him sitting in the corner, peeling potatoes.

You’ve had a good day, I see, he spoke loudly as if he were talking to a deaf boy.

Juan looked up at him silently, playing the part, pretending he could neither hear nor speak.

Fray Gaspar patted him on his head.

He’s a good boy, the cook said. Where did you find him?

Beggar boy in the plaza, Fray Gaspar answered. If he’s any trouble, let me know.

As long as he’s useful, The cook shrugged.

Then he’ll stay with you until I find a home for him?

Of course.

Fray Gaspar bent over Juan and in a loud voice said, If you need me, you know where to find me? Juan looked at him without responding. Fray Gaspar repeated, I say, you know how to find me, if you need me?

Juan looked at the cook, then back at Fray Gaspar, and nodded yes.

That’s a good boy, the friar said then left the kitchen.

The cook waddled over to Juan and peered down at him. Only the good Lord knows why the friar has taken pity on you, boy. There are plenty of beggars that pray for such mercy! He pointed his butcher’s knife at him. So you mind me, and mind me well. I want no trouble. The knife was inches from his throat. No trouble at all! Juan slid back to the wall as the cook turned around, waving his knife in the air, sending three other helpers by the oven fluttering like birds shaken from a tree.

Juan clenched his fists, closed his eyes and rocked back and forth, thinking, I’ve got to free her. I’ve got to get her out. Then we can go home, but no, they will find us there. We will flee to Amsterdam, and then we will be safe.

Juan worked in the kitchen for a month. He had seen Fray Gaspar only once and then couldn’t speak to him, for they were not alone. The place by the hearth had become his home, and he never ventured outside. He listened each day for talk of the trial against his mother and friends. He could only glean the smallest bits of information, but he knew that even though some of them had been tortured, they had implicated no one beyond themselves. This meant that Senor Rodriguez and Fray Gaspar were still safe. Juan knew also that a great auto-de-fé was planned, and that the heretics were to be burned just outside the city gates.

A platter clattered on the floor, causing Juan to jump. The cook eyed him and with a knife pointed at him, slowly walked over. Juan edged back to the great hearth when suddenly a log crumbled, spitting out sparks, one of which landed on him. The back of his shirt sizzled and smoked, and as he rolled over to put the flame out, the cook and other kitchen help began to laugh. The cook turned back to what he had been doing, and grateful that the incident was forgotten, Juan realized he’d have to be more controlled.

On the great day, the kitchen had been extremely busy preparing food for the dignitaries who would be arriving in town to witness the event. Juan carried in from waiting wagons: pigeons, pheasant, chickens, pigs, fish, flour, eggs, milk, salt, pepper, and cinnamon all to be butchered, plucked, sifted, roasted and baked for the feast. As Juan sat on a bench and plucked the feathers of the small birds, he watched the butchers’ knives flying. He wanted to steal one moment, brave one moment, growing faint with fear the next. Breads were baking in the ovens, wines were being set upon the tables, and he still couldn’t decide what to do, or how he could escape. The kitchen door swung open for the hundredth time, and he braced himself to run, but before he could even stand, the door swung shut leaving him sweating, his heart, racing. With all the activity, the cook didn’t notice Fray Gaspar when he came for Juan. Hidden under his cloak, Fray Gaspar led Juan out of the monastery.

They met Senor Rodriguez, who was dressed as a monk, saddled and waiting to ride beside the monastery’s thick stone walls. Fray Gaspar was about to lift Juan onto the horse when Juan turned and screamed, I will not leave her. I’ll not go with you! Knowing where the monastery stood in relation to the plaza where the Inquisitional trials were being held, he began to run toward that central city plaza. Senor Rodriguez kicked his horse and quickly caught up with him. He jumped, tackled him, and pinning his arms behind his back, he cried, There is nothing, nothing you can do for her, son! She is to die with the others. You can’t go down there! They are looking for you!

You mean they are looking for you, Senor Rodriguez! I will go to my mother, and I will free her!

Fray Gaspar had caught up with them as they struggled in the grass. He pulled them apart and held Juan firmly by both arms. Listen to me, son. If you go down there, you will see her die. Nothing can be done, for she is chained. She has reconciled herself with the church. She has confessed her sins and repented, so that she will be garroted before she dies. This was the best we could hope for. At least she will know peace in the next world.

I will go to her! Juan screamed, his head bent down, his feet kicking as the Friar held him.

And to your own death! Senor Rodriguez cried. Do you think this is what your parents would want? What she would want?

Juan fell to the grass crying.

Senor Rodriguez bent over him and held him as he cried. Come with me, Juan, he said gently. Come with me to a new land where we can fulfill your parents’ dream. In Amsterdam, we will be free to worship as we choose.

I will not leave Portugal without her!

The two men somberly looked at each other. Very well then, Juan, we will take you to the plaza, Fray Gaspar said. His brother nodded. But then you must promise to leave quickly and quietly with Senor Rodriguez.

Not answering, Juan climbed back up on the horse, and they turned toward the auto de fe.

Juan sat on the horse in front of Senor Rodriguez while Fray Gaspar held the reins. The heretics were dressed in yellow sanbenitos, sackcloth, decorated with laughing devils and flames. The trial was over by the time they arrived to where the heretics were being led out of the city to the stakes on the other side of the wall. Each stake had been built with arm and neck cuffs to hold the bodies in place, but repentant heretics were garroted, strangled, before their bodies were consigned to the flames.

Hundreds of people had come to the spectacle and were shouting and milling around, throwing rotten eggs and foul refuse at the heretics. Others, relatives, were weeping, reaching out to touch a loved one, one last time. Juan recognized one of his mother’s friends as she walked along, between two rows of onlookers, crying and gently rubbing a