The Last Song

simple servant. I discovered that not only was he a skilled craftsman who learned how to transform gold and silver into beautiful objects at his father’s knee, but that he was also a scholar. Every evening, he and his father studied the Torah, the Five Books of Moses in the Hebrew Bible. He told me of our ancestors. He spoke of Abraham, who was ready to sacrifice his son for the glory of God;of Esther, who saved her people by marrying a king; and of Yonah, who was swallowed by a whale.
    I asked him about his family.
    “I have the best father in the world. He is patient and kind with never a harsh word for me. He is always ready to listen to my problems.”
    His face was full of sadness.
    “What’s the matter?”
    He sighed. “The Lord took away my mama in childbirth five years ago, when I was eleven years old. Nor was my baby brother long for this world. I miss them so much. It’s only my papa and me now.”
    My heart was so filled with pity that I did the unthinkable. I reached over and clasped his hands in mine.
    “Isabel!”
    He was as shocked as I was.
    My fingers tightened. As I felt the warmth of his hand, the coursing of his blood, I began to feel a kinship that I had never felt before. We sat silently listening to the sounds of the night. A toad croaked. The grass rustled as a mouse scurried among the blades.
    Sofia came for me while I was searching for the gold ribbon that Papa had given me. Mama had orderedme to wear it in my hair. Luis was coming for dinner.
    “I want him to see how pretty you are,” she said.
    I didn’t bother answering her.
    The ribbon wasn’t in the armoire or in the wooden chest at the foot of my bed.
    “Young mistress, Doña Catarina is getting impatient,” Sofia said. “She asked me to tell you to come downstairs immediately. She is waiting for you in the dining hall, as is Don Enrique. Don Luis will be arriving very soon.”
    “Tell my mother that I’ll be there in a minute.”
    My maid left. I looked in my workbox, but the ribbon wasn’t there either, so I gave up. My parents did not like to be kept waiting. Nor did I want to make them angry.
    I skipped down the staircase, two steps at a time, and ran straight into Luis.
    “Whoa, my lady!” he said, grabbing me by the waist. His fingers lingered too long. “What’s your hurry?”
    “My parents are waiting for me, my lord. And for you, too.”
    I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go.
    “Where have you been, my pretty? I haven’t seen you for days.”
    “I’ve been busy, my lord.”
    “Then make yourself less busy. You must learn how to treat your master.”
    He finally released me. How I wished that I could swipe the smirk off his lips. I curtsied and hurried away. I heard him chuckling as he followed me. I felt unclean.

C HAPTER 5
 
T HURSDAY , D ECEMBER 1, 1491
    T ia Juana’s house stood inside the stone walls of Toledo. Although she wasn’t my aunt by blood, I called Doña Juana
tia
because I had known and loved her all my life. She was my godmother and Mama’s oldest friend, just as her daughter Brianda was now my oldest friend.
    Mama and I sat in the litter, with Papa between us. Yussuf followed the litter, jostling his way through the crowded street.
    At Tia Juana’s house, the bearers lowered the litter to the ground. We got out just as a trumpet fanfare sounded sharp and clear. The crowd parted to make way for a horseman clad in the white vestments and black cloak of a Dominican monk. I recognizedhim immediately. It was Fray Torquemada, the Inquisitor General, surrounded by his familiars. The Inquisition’s men wore black with the white cross of Saint Dominic stitched on their cloaks, their swords dangling at the sides of their black horses. As the Grand Inquisitor passed through the crowd, onlookers doffed their caps. The men bowed and the women curtsied as if to a king. Several people even crossed themselves.
    As Torquemada approached our little party, an urchin darted out of the crowd and startled his horse. The Grand Inquisitor’s great steed reared and pawed the air, but Torquemada held on. I jumped backward. He calmed the horse easily, and one of the familiars grabbed the bridle. Another of Torquemada’s men picked up the unfortunate boy by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away kicking and screaming. The child could not have been more than eight years of age. Not a sound of protest came from the crowd.
    Torquemada noticed us. “Don Enrique, I didn’t know that you