diabolical blood in her veins. “Governor, I know the wife has a sharp tongue, if she is provoked. But if that is a mark of the devil, then fully half of us may be so branded. Besides, she is well into her second trimester and knows she will give birth to her first child in a prison. Taken together, I think these explain her testiness.”
“Perhaps. And while we are on the topic of when and how this bulging she-goat will whelp her offspring, the husband has been insisting that our local midwives are insufficient for assisting with the birth. He claims that the American ambassadora in Rome, this Nichols creature, is a physician, and that she warned them that, when the wife’s time came, she should have a doctor.”
Don Vincente wondered if he’d ever be able to display a genuine facial expression again; now he suppressed a frown. Odd. Frank had never mentioned this before. But perhaps this was because “I responded that they would have to make do with our midwives,” the governor nattered on, “that our doctors do not address the delicate conditions of women. They are not perverts, after all.”
Don Vincente nodded, wondering if the next thing the governor would reveal was that Frank had made a request for “So today Stone proposed that xueta physicians are the answer to this dilemma. Which I find surprising; to my knowledge, most of them have the same scruples and decency as true Christian physicians in this regard. Only a few of them will become involved with pregnancies, and then, only when there is an emergency.”
Now Don Vincente was able to indulge in a genuine physical reaction: an affirming nod. But the affirmation it signified was not in relation to the governor’s streaming complaints, only his own suspicions. On the one hand, if Giovanna did have any irregularities during her later pregnancy or delivery, a crypto-Jewish converso physician-one of the few willing to cross the implicit gender boundaries and treat a woman in dire need-was by far the best one to have. It was another dirty secret of Spain’s nobility; they employed the services of conversos — who, it was uniformly known, persisted in the covert practice of Judaism-when their wives’ pregnancies became too problematic for midwives to handle, just as they went to the marrano community to seek secret loans that were prohibited by Church’s stern rules against usury.
But Don Vincente realized that the request for a true physician could also be a shrewd tactic for establishing a connection with the xuetas, Mallorca’s own crypto-Jewish community. Beneath Frank’s good-natured and idealistic exterior, there lurked a surprisingly canny and untimid mind that was quite capable of plotting deceptions and tricks. And in this case, it was very capable of considering the current situation and realizing that, if there was any way to send communications to, or receive them from, the outside world, it would be through Palma’s “converted” Jewish community.
Grantville had become a haven for Jews throughout Europe, and had also evolved into the epicenter of their commercial interests, insofar as their far-flung involvements had anything vaguely resembling a center. Francisco Nasi, outgoing chief of Mike Stearns’ intelligence network, was a leading member of that community. Stearns’ wife, Rebecca Abrabanel was the daughter of another. And in many of the places where the Wrecking Crew had plied their dubious trade, they had frequently relied upon the surreptitious support of Jewish communities. Don Vincente wondered if the up-timers would still receive such ready assistance after the debacle in Rome, which had led directly to the bloody reprisals against the Ghetto. On the other hand, Frank would be too smart-and too considerate-to request overt help from the xuetas of Palma; he would simply begin a relationship that he could groom into a conduit for news, and eventually, message sending.
Or, Don Vincente admitted, he might be just trying to secure the best possible care for a small wife who showed signs of carrying large. So he said, “Governor, in Stone’s up-time world, most physicians, even those attending to female needs, were men.”
“Perverts, just as I suspected,” Don Sancho sniffed primly.
“From what little I have been able to glean, unholy lusts had nothing to do with it, Don Sancho. Up until the decades before the up-timers were taken from their world, most opportunities to study at universities and become doctors remained the province of men. The skills and sciences of saving lives-of mothers and infants, too-were thus entrusted to their hands.”
“It is still a corruption of God’s will, Captain. If our Savior wills that a mother and her infant be called to His Bosom in their holy innocence, then so be it. Our desire to save those lives is not merely an insufficient excuse for perversion, but heretical; if God wishes the company of these mothers and infants in His Heavenly Kingdom, who are we to challenge His Will?”
“I am no theologian,” admitted Vincente in an attempt to placate Don Sancho. “But let us be practical: if Senora Stone’s pregnancy is difficult, and either she or the child should be lost, what do you think Cardinal Borja’s reaction would be? Or Philip’s?
Don Sancho blanched. “So you support the prisoner’s request for a Jewish physician?”
Not wanting to look overly concerned with the decision, Don Vincente shrugged. “I cannot see how it would harm anyone to make the necessary inquiries in the xueta quarter. And let us not forget that the xuetas are, in fact, Christians, now.”
The governor sneered. “In name only. As you well know.” He seemed to frown down at the tabletop. “I suppose it is politically prudent to grant Stone’s request. Although I must say I had expected a more manly resolve from you, Captain.”
Castro y Papas stilled an impulse to grab the pasty-fleshed recipient of provincial sinecure by the neck and calmly ask him just what he meant by “more manly resolve.” “I am uncertain what you are referring to,” was what he said.
“I refer to your reputation among my men: that you are a relentless taskmaster. However, in the matter of the prisoners, you urge that we grant their request for Jewish doctors-yes, they are still Jewish-and that they be handled gently. Meanwhile, these soldiers you’ve brought from Fort San Carlos tell my men that the new rigid discipline, as well as the rigorous training, is all at your behest. And regarding your decision to reduce a man’s rations when he fails to meet your standards: are you sure this will really promote superior morale and professionalism?”
“Actually, yes,” was what Vincente wanted to say, but didn’t. “These are effective training methods for the tercios, Governor Morales y Llaguno. I presume they will work here as well.”
“Well, I am nowhere near so sure as you. In fact, I have a mind to-”
“To what?” inquired a voice from the doorway. Pedro Dolor’s silhouette stood framed against the backdrop of white-pink groined vaults and delicate arches of the second interior story of Castell de Bellver.
The governor swallowed. “I–I was just saying. That…that we are unaccustomed to the style of training that Captain Vincente has instituted here. My men find it-”
“-what? Too strenuous? Then perhaps they should not be members of this garrison. Captain Castro y Papas is carrying out my directives, Governor, for we are all answerable to Madrid for the continued security of these prisoners. That requires constant vigilance and full readiness. Your garrison was deficient in both regards. I see improvement, thanks to the captain. And if I were to learn that he was encountering resistance in his attempt to meet those objectives-”
“There shall be no resistance,” the governor said through a loud swallow. “I was simply explaining why my men might not be improving as swiftly as desired.”
“Yes,” said Dolor after a moment, “of course you were.” He turned to Castro y Papas. “Are you done here?”
The captain sent a polite glance at the governor, who nodded vigorously. Vincente made a short bow and followed Dolor out into the pleasant airs of the second story arcade. They walked slowly toward the stairs leading down to the ground level.
“I am returning to Palma this afternoon,” Dolor commented.
Thank God! “So soon, Senor Dolor?”
“Yes. I have business there. Captain, you are not to allow the governor to obstruct you in the attainment of your objectives. The safety of the prisoners is ultimately in your hands.”
Don Vincente raised an eyebrow. “After your own, of course.”
“Only for now. Within the next two weeks, maybe three, I will return to Rome. Pope Urban has not yet been located. Until that task is completed, the Church cannot move beyond its current stalemate, which is in danger of becoming a true interregnum.”
What a nice term for that period of time after which an anti-pope will longer benefit from hunting down and killing the legitimate pontiff like a rabbit in a garden maze. “I realize the urgency of that situation, Senor Dolor, but if left on my own here, I do not have enough legal authority to prevent the governor from-”
