Out of Granada

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. All characters appearing in this work are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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© 2017 Ben Fine

Published in the United States by Zimbell House Publishing

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Print ISBN: 978-1-945967-74-0

Digital ISBN:  978-1-945967-76-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017908613

First Edition: July/2017

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Zimbell House Publishing

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Dedication

I WOULD LIKE TO DEDICATE this book to all my partners in piracy; my wife Linda and all my grandchildren who sat and listened to my stories.

I would also like to thank the editors at Zimbell House especially Maggie Campbell for all the help they give in preparing the final version.

Granada

al-Ándalus

1560

One

The magnificent Alhambra , the pearl set in emeralds, with its soft red brick walls and adjacent gardens, towered over the city. The hot August sun and the vast cloudless sky made the stucco homes, sitting on the hills of the upper town, gleam bright white as the sunshine bounced off their walls. The orange-tiled roofs of the buildings were burnished a golden hue that framed the whole city against the green of the mountains beyond.

Below the hills of the upper town, the four rivers; the Beiro, the Darro, the Gentil and the Monachil came together at the foothills of the Sierra Nevada’s. They were calm and idle on this windless summer day. The heat, oppressive even in the morning, made the sometimes-bustling city, have a slow, sleepy feel.

It had been sixty years since the Spanish conquered—or reconquered depending on one’s point of view—Granada. In 1492, the Reconquista was completed, the Granada War was over, and Granada, with all of al-Ándalus, became part of the great new Spanish kingdom. The mosques and synagogues were now churches, the grand mosque that had been the heart of the city in the central square, or Zócalo, was now the main cathedral. The Alhambra was the office of both the Spanish Governor and the city Alcalde, and no longer the palace of the Almohad King. However, the look of the town had not changed; it remained the same as the Moorish city—constructed by the Muslim rulers for beauty—that it had been for centuries; the capital of the last Moorish Taifa in Iberia and the home of the last Emir. The conquering Spanish were awed by the magnificence of Granada and physically left the town much as it was.

Even the spirit of Granada as a Moorish city partly remained. For two hundred years the Muslim rulers practiced a type of tolerance, called convivència or ‘live and let live,' that allowed Muslims, Catholics, and Jews to live together in relative harmony. The Jews of Granada especially flourished and were among the leaders of the Moorish city, both politically and in business. The Jewish quarter was set above the Zócalo, on what was called the Hill Judaica, and abutted the Albaicin, the district where the wealthier Moors lived. The last Emir had made a deal with the conquering Castilians as part of his surrender, to preserve the convivència.

Within ten years, the Spanish, goaded by the strength of the Inquisition, turned their back on their agreement. The Jews and Moors were either killed, expelled, or forced to convert. Catholics poured into Granada from the rest of Spain, and rioters partially destroyed the Jewish quarter and took over the Albaicin, forcing the Moriscos or converted Muslims to the lower town. Many Jews did remain though and formed the conversos, or ‘converted ones,’ who reclaimed the Hill Judaica. Six decades after the onset of the Inquisition, the conversos, and the Moriscos still played a significant role in Granada, despite the push of the Grand Inquisitor in Madrid.

MICAL JOSHUA BIN MORDECAI Benzion, known to all as Don Miguel, walked slowly from his home in the converso district on the old Judaic Hill and down the narrow streets toward the Zócalo, the main square of the city. It was already past ten in the morning, and although his father Don Mordecai, and his older brother Abram, had been in their business office for at least two hours, Don Miguel walked leisurely. The heat had made the day slow and languid, and he felt no need to rush.

Tall, strong, and handsome with broad shoulders, dark skin, and a hawk nose, Don Miguel was an imposing figure. He was dressed in finery and a floppy hat that only the wealthy and powerful could afford. The people he passed along the way nodded in deference. Miguel was a man of wealth and privilege, a man of respect; un hombre de respeto.

Don Miguel lived a life of luxury. His father was Mordecai bin Moshe Benzion, the banker to the Spanish Governor and to the Alcalde. Don Mordecai was the leader of the converso community in Granada and was also a trader, importing and exporting fruits and wines from throughout Spain, as well as silks and fine cloth from Italy and Morocco. The Benzion family, Don Mordecai, his brothers and cousins, had vast holdings throughout the Sephardic world. Mordecai’s branch of the family had been in Granada for two hundred years and now lived in a large stucco home in the Distrito Judaica on the old Hill Judaica where the conversos have been forced to reside. Don Miguel, as the son of this important clan, lived and ate well. He also felt that he had the pick of the finest women in Granada; Spanish, Morisco, and converso.

Many of the conversos trod lightly when they walked, knowing that their lives and livelihoods hung by a flimsy thread on the whim of the Spanish and the Inquisition. Although Granada, six decades after the end of the Reconquista, had settled into an uneasy version of convivència where Catholic, Morisco, and converso lived in an uneasy but cordial peace, it could change at the drop of a pin.

Throughout most of the new Spanish kingdom, the conversos, those Jews who stayed and converted, were reviled and called Marranos, which signified filth or swine. In Granada, however, some of the spirit of the tolerant Moorish past remained, and the word Marrano was rarely heard. Still, many conversos were timid in walking and talking lest they incur the wrath of the Inquisition.

Not so for Don Miguel. He always walked with a swagger, as if to tell the world how important he was and that he feared nothing. He was a man of the world, having studied at the University of Padua in Italy, and then spending three years as a commander in the army of the Duke of Sienna. His exploits in the wars between Italian city-states had become legendary among the people of Granada. He was renowned as one of the finest swordsman in Granada, and when he returned from Italy, and his skill and ferocity as a soldier and swordsman became known, the Spanish governor offered him the command of the Spanish garrison. His appointment was only stopped by the Bishop Llorda, who was perhaps pushed by the local inquisitor.

It is not right to have a converso commander. We cannot have it, they cannot be trusted, the Bishop told the Governor. They are still Jews at heart and remember how the Jews opened the City of Toledo and let the infidels conquer our land, he continued, repeating a myth that was accepted as truth throughout Catholic Spain.

Don Miguel, though not the garrison commander, and a known converso, was still respected by all. Despite his reputation as a fierce military captain, the people of Granada knew him as a man of even temperament, who treated everyone with dignity, and was quick to laugh and to joke. He spoke Spanish, Arabic, Ladino, Italian, and the Sicilian dialect of Palermo, where a branch of the Benzions were bankers, and while he walked to the Zócalo, he greeted many along the way.

Good morning Señora Dominguez, try to stay cool today, he said to a woman hanging clothing from her building on the Calle Collina.

Hola, Vincente. It is too hot to work, he joked with the cobbler whose shop was right before the entrance to the Zócalo.

Each person smiled back at Don Miguel and answered politely as if he were their friend.

He entered the Zócalo at the end of the Calle Collina and surveyed the large square. The stalls of the market had already been set up, and Don Miguel walked directly to one packed with oranges. This was his daily ritual. Are these fresh Señora? he asked, as he did each morning on his walk from the converso district to the Benzion business office.

Right off the trees from the countryside, she answered. She then handed him several large oranges which Miguel put in a small satchel giving her several coins. Miguel then returned to gaze at the square. Beyond the stalls and market was the Cathedral. It was the center of life for much of the city’s people. During Moorish times it had been a grand mosque, but when the Castilians took control of Granada, it had been refashioned as the Great Cathedral. It was in Moorish style with beautiful archways and mosaics, so it was quite unique as a church. Besides the Cathedral, the Zócalo was lined with cantinas and shops. Miguel appreciated the look of the square and the beauty of his city.

Don Miguel’s greatest pleasure though was women, and he admired them all; the converso women with their dark skin, curly hair and sharp wits, the Morisco women with their faces demurely covered and the Spanish women with their straight black hair and fiery eyes. To Miguel’s delight, the fashions in Granada showed off the lovely bodies of those he admired.

It was expected by Don Mordecai that his son marries a converso woman of high standing like his brother Don Abram had done. Abram had married Rebekka Bat Yehuda, the daughter of another converso trader, had two children and worked as his father’s chief assistant. Despite his father’s expectations, Don Miguel remained as free as a flying eagle and tried to flirt with almost every beautiful woman he saw.

With the women from good families—whatever their religious background—it was difficult since each was accompanied by a señora de compañía or chaperone; yet he still tried. In Italy, he learned the pleasures of lusty Italian women, and as a soldier, he learned that even married women were not immune to the charms of a handsome swordsman. In Granada, he often went to the taverns and gypsy camps beside the rivers in the lower town, where he enjoyed the company of beautiful dark women from Romany; gypsy women or gitanas.

Often the taverns by the rivers and the gypsy camps were dangerous. Bandits and thieves preyed on the other customers, many from the upper city. Don Miguel though had nothing to fear. Once, set upon by two would-be thieves, he dispatched and killed one of them quickly with his sword and chased the other off. His reputation as a swordsman spread quickly among the people of the lower city, and Don Miguel was free to enjoy the entertainment of the river.

As Don Miguel surveyed the Zócalo, he spied Señorita Imelda Navarado y Ortega accompanied by her dueña, Doña Rosa. Imelda was the daughter of Don Luis Navarado, an influential merchant who had moved to Granada from Navarre. Don Luis was a business rival of his father, but Don Luis and Don Mordecai, while not friends—it was outside of the norm for a friendship between a converso and a Catholic—were cordial to each other. The families often attended the same important fiestas and galas thrown by the Governor, and Don Miguel had often tried—sometimes successfully—to flirt with the lovely Imelda who had coal black hair and fair skin. She wore a dark blue dress of the finest style, with a wide skirt and a bodice that showed off her beautiful young body. She wore a black comb in her lovely hair. Miguel had often felt that she was the most beautiful of all the eligible women of Granada, and he would court her if it were only possible.

Don Miguel walked over to Imelda and doffed his hat to her. A beautiful day to see a beautiful lady walking across the Zócalo, he said to her and smiled.

Her dueña, Doña Rosa, dressed in black, older and fat with a double chin, tried to step between them, but Imelda ignored her and smiled back at Don Miguel.

A wonderful day to be complimented by a handsome gentleman, she answered smiling.

Doña Rosa spat on the ground. Don’t speak to him. He’s a converso, she told the Señorita, but again Imelda ignored her.

The young Señorita often thought about the handsome Don Miguel, but his being a converso never entered her mind. Will you be at the Governor’s fiesta this evening? She asked.

I will. Don Miguel answered. Perhaps we can share a dance.

Don’t answer Señorita, ordered Doña Rosa and she tried to push Imelda along.

The young woman stood her ground and again replied with a coy smile. Perhaps.

Don Miguel began to say more but stopped when he saw his Uncle Arnoldo hurrying towards him. Arnoldo seemed upset and was perspiring heavily in the hot weather.

Arnoldo ignored Imelda and her dueña, and spoke rapidly to Miguel, catching his breath as he spoke. You have to come quickly. Your father needs us. Don Mordecai sent a messenger to my apartment, and now we must hurry.

Despite the agitated state of his uncle, Don Miguel remained calm. We will get there in due time my Uncle, he said and then turned back to Imelda, who Doña Rosa was trying to push along and away from Don