Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) Read Free Page A

you lived among them. Does my mother yet live?”
           The physician's bright blue eyes locked on his face for a moment. “I am sorry. She died when you were but a few months old, in an uprising in Xaragua. That is a southwestern province of Española. Aliyah was wedded to a famous warchief and herself the sister of Guacanagari, the most honored of all caciques . You are descended from royalty,” Benjamin said, measuring Navaro's reaction.
           That same cynically harsh smile slashed across his face once more, then changed to a grimace of pain. His vision grew fuzzy and he fought the loss of consciousness. “Taino,” he murmured, as if trying out the word on his tongue and finding it bitter.
           “Your accent is Sevilliard. How came you to live there?” Benjamin asked, wanting to avoid further questions that would upset his brother. Obviously he had suffered much for his Indian blood.
           “I was raised in Seville from my earliest memory, by a good family. Ysabel and Pedro de Las Casas had little in material goods, but they were kind to me, as was my foster brother, Bartolome. Twas not until I was older, a child playing in the streets, that I learned what my heathen blood meant. Only our unknown sire's blue eyes kept me from being sold into slavery, as were all the other primitives from the Indies.”
           Benjamin wanted to laugh at the bitter quirk of fate that had returned his brother to the place from which their father had been banished. “Our father is from Seville.”
           “Tis a large city. Little surprise that I never encountered any of your house. I resided in a poor neighborhood. You, Physician, look to be from more prosperous quarters.”
           “We have no family left in Seville. My parents came to the Indies with the Colons. I was sent to Padua in the State of Venice to study medicine. Soon we will return home. Españöla is truly paradise, Navaro. Wait until you see it,” Benjamin said, recalling the lush Caribbean of his childhood.
           “Do not be so certain I will choose to go with you. And my name is Rigo. Rodrigo de Las Casas, a captain in General Pescara's Imperial Army.”
           As Benjamin pressed linens to the cleansed wound to staunch the bleeding, his patient finally lost consciousness. The physician swore as he saw red seeping through the compresses. He applied more pressure and briskly instructed the Argonese soldier to tear some of the excess linens in his satchel for bindings. When his helper proved slow and clumsy, Benjamin impatiently took over and quickly tore off several lengths with which to tightly bind the compress to the injury by wrapping it about Navaro's waist. Rigo, he corrected himself. Rigo de Las Casas, raised a Spanish Christian. What will be his reaction when he learns his grandparents were burned by the Inquisition as relapsed Judaizers? Benjamin thought grimly.
           “What kind of surgeon are you?” the Argonese asked querulously. “You have not poulticed the wound with cow dung or feathers. Will you not have my men bring boiling oil to cauterize it?”
           Benjamin sighed impatiently, “I have been trained by the finest physicians and surgeons anywhere—at the University of Padua. Placing filthy poultices on open wounds only causes putrefaction, which does not promote healing. As to cauterizing by using boiling oil, it kills more men than it saves. He is my brother; I will not let him die.”
           “I am most relieved to hear that, as I prize my captain highly,” a cultured voice with a Neapolitan accent interrupted smoothly. “Fernando Francisco de Avalos, Marques de Pescara, at your service, Physician.”
           Benjamin turned to inspect a small, well-built man dressed in battle armor. Behind him an aide held his headpiece and gauntlets. Pescara's keen black eyes, set in a harsh, angular face, studied him intently, then moved to his