The year is 1553. At the behest of Doña Gracia, Josef Nasi has reluctantly agreed to become engaged to Gracia's young daughter, his cousin Reyna, in order to safeguard the family fortune. The Nasis have settled in Ferrara, where the Jewish community flourishes under the tolerant rule of Duke Ercole d'Este and Duchess Renata. With an apparent outbreak of plague, however, and the growing unrest of his subjects, who accuse the Jews of having spread the contagion, Duke Ercole temporarily expels the Jews. Josef, Doña Gracia (whom he calls by her converso name, Beatriz), and their household take refuge in the surrounding countryside.

~*~

The next day we found ourselves on a riverbank. Men and women were lounging under makeshift tents made from sheets and cloaks. Rows of enormous poplar trees formed a kind of glade, and close by there was a small forest where we could seek refuge from sudden attacks. The people called out to us in a friendly manner. I took hold of my pistols, but Beatriz emerged from her carriage and decided for the rest of us. There we stopped: a place that had no name.

We started building an encampment of our own, draping sheets between the wagons. The people who were already settled in welcomed us warmly: the men quickly made themselves busy and lent a hand to our servants. By nightfall, for better or worse, we had our quarters.

That evening, huddled around campfires, we got to know our new neighbors—fugitives like ourselves, several of our brethren among them. Some hadn't even waited for the accusations to start before they packed up and left: they knew from experience the routine by which Jews were expelled whenever the plague broke out. Among them was an older man, still hale but distant, unapproachable. It took some time for us to find out that he was a solitary scholar by the name of Marsilio. He was an astrologer and, like Doña Benvenida, in search of the Magna Scientia.

He had left Ferrara as a precautionary measure and concurred with Lusitano's appraisals. He readily agreed that the best remedy for the plague, whether real or imaginary, was flight. "My illustrious namesake, the great philosopher Marsilio Ficino, maintained that in times of plague one should visit beautiful gardens, especially when plants are at their most fragrant. Let us avoid thoughts of death—it is far better to foster more pleasant ideas. And it is imperative to keep up one's spirits by meditating on precious stones."

With those words, he took several glistening gems out of a small leather pouch and held them up in the moonlight: sapphires, emeralds, amethysts, and a ruby, which sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow from the palm of his hand. "Oh, I nearly forgot," he said suddenly, stirred from his reveries. "It is essential to surround oneself with melodious song. In truth, that's all we lack for our well-being."

I turned to my little Reyna. "Won't you sing for us, dear? For me, your cousin?"

Reyna hesitated, then ran to retrieve her guitar from one of the carriages. Her exquisite voice soon silenced the chatter around the campfire. The glimmering flames gave her the appearance of a pagan goddess, her hands and face alone emerging from the crimson glow. I was staring at her with such intensity that I scarcely sensed the presence of Beatriz, who had settled down next to me on the grass.

"She's lovely, isn't she, our Reyna?" she said softly. I flinched. Beatriz was right. For the very first time, I had seen in Reyna my future wife.

So sweet was the night that sleep simply would not come. The sky, heavy with stars, seemed to glow with an almost maternal affection. Our astrologer pointed out the constellations and from time to time jotted notes in a little book. Beatriz had taken out her own notebook, as well. I tried reading over her shoulder but it was too dark, and all I could make out was that she was drawing lines and geometric symbols that looked like gibberish, and that she always refused to explain to me. But I didn't care. Ferrara and its atmosphere of sickness had vanished, the scents of summer surrounded us, and we had never known such freedom. It was a moment of grace.

Our arrival was a godsend for our new friends. We had ample provisions, arms and money, and they offered in exchange the most precious of goods: hospitality.

We settled into a strange, peaceful way of life. We no longer had to manage the Mendes bank or our safe houses; our agents would undoubtedly see to it all, and the Lord would provide for us. In any event, there was nothing we could do. We spent our time tending to daily life in the camp. I went hunting for game with a few of our servants, while the other men fished along the river. The maids washed our linens, which hung to dry between the poplars. Reyna saw to it that everything ran smoothly, while Beatriz conferred incessantly with Marsilio the astrologer.

Marsilio kept up his quiet ways with the rest of us, speaking no more words than necessary to stay fed, sheltered and protected from the evening chill. But with Beatriz! He took her by the arm first thing every morning, and the two of them wandered off together. Soon they had established their own private study, at the foot of an elm tree with gnarled roots. Marsilio held forth, and Beatriz scribbled to no end, hunched over her little notebook.

"You couldn't go far without running into another of your so-called mystics!" I said with exasperation several days later. She gave me a solemn look, then turned her back and walked away.

Nature had rejuvenated her. Her skin glowed, and her eyes sparkled as they had when she was a little girl. I never understood how she could take such a fancy to studies. And what was supposed to keep me busy while she and her astrologer were off whispering sweet nothings to each other? Reyna and her songs"

I kept busy with wine, Caraffa! I had devised my own remedy against the plague. When I traveled from Antwerp to Regensburg with my friend Maximilian, I picked up in one of the inns along the way a song by Hans Folz, a Meistersinger from centuries ago. Bottle in hand, I sang it at the top of my lungs every evening, to spite Beatriz and Marsilio.

Find yourself strong, clear, well-aged wine…

And every morning, without fail,

wash your hands, mouth, face, nose and ears with it!

Take a drop with your morning meal

to keep your heart strong and your blood pure.

That's how many a man survived the plague…

In any event, la Señora never deigned to drink a single drop of my wine. And when I taunted her, pretending to be drunk, she came running up to me at full tilt (no mean feat for a 40 year-old woman) and smacked me as if I were a little boy. Oh, the good times we shared during the plague of 1553…

Unfortunately, one day Beatriz took me aside and confided her grand scheme. "Josef, I'm told there is a stone with such powers that it allows one to create gold, and I know where to find that precious, blessed stone, green like the waters on which we sailed…"

What had brought about this new madness? It was Marsilio—Marsilio, without a doubt. I had heard of that stone, sought after by alchemists for their "Great Work." And just where was our astrologer? He had vanished without a trace.

"Don't go looking for our friend," she said. "He's gone to answer the call of his destiny. Before he left, though, he told me a secret: the Vizier of India is in Venice at this very moment, and he wants to sell the emerald, but no one has enough money to buy it. I want it. Go to Venice and find me that stone, Josef!"

There was a price on my head, and she wanted to send me off to Venice. I shrugged without even bothering to answer. "Fine. I'll go myself," she replied, in that determined tone that should have been a warning to me. I didn't think she was crazy enough to go rushing off into the lion's den… for a caprice, astrological nonsense!

The following morning, though, Beatriz had vanished, along with one of our horses.

Swearing every oath I had ever learned in my travels, I saddled another horse and went looking for her. It was useless: at the border of the Venetian Republic I had to stop and turn back. In Venice, Beatriz was good as lost; and if I went any further, I was a dead man. When I returned to the camp I discovered that some of my clothes were missing, too. She had disguised herself as a cavaliere. Distraught, Lusitano and I tried to figure out what to do. The inescapable conclusion soon became apparent. I couldn't go looking for her in Venice without running the risk of being captured. Lusitano, though, was in far less danger than I. The good man took his courage in both hands and went off in search of the runaway Señora.

Reyna and I could do nothing but wait. My cousin saw to it that that we lacked neither food nor covers, because the nights were already starting to grow cold. She gave instructions to the servants with quiet authority, never even raising her voice. She no longer wanted to sing her songs.
Though I kept up my hunting as if nothing had changed, my heart was no longer in it. I wasn't really apprehensive: Beatriz would emerge unscathed from whatever trap she had rushed into, that much was sure. A certain amount of bitterness, though, continued to eat away at me. We had been granted a moment of miraculous serenity, and she had to shatter it. For a jewel. For nothing. For a superstition. How could such a formidable woman be overcome by such a lapse in judgment… and how could I have let her get away! La Señora, renowned for her foresight and wisdom…

It's true: there were times when Beatriz seemed to have within her an overwhelming power, beyond my comprehension, and for that I revered her no less than our people do today. But I knew her weaknesses only too well, and even now they can take my breath away. Was she la Señora, transfigured by the Consolations for the Tribulations of Israel… or just Beatriz, run off in search of a jewel like a flighty little fool?

Translation © 2004 Marion Lignana Rosenberg.