VOYAGE OF STRANGERS Read Online Free Page A

stomach turned a somersault, and my pulse pounded in my ears. “He remains in the Indies with the garrison of our fort, La Navidad.”
    “Don Rodrigo will be most interested to talk with you,” the captain said. “His brother, too. The elder Maldonado, Don Melchior, plans to join the new expedition as a gentleman volunteer. Will you sail with the Admiral again, sir?”
    I could not help smiling back at him.
    “I would not miss it for a fortune.”
    “They say all who go will make their fortune in the Indies, sir,” another soldier said. “Have you seen the savages’ store of gold?”
    “I have, though less than Barcelona rumor would have it. I am not acquainted with the Maldonados.”
    Although Cabrera was merely a coarse sailor given a little power and quick to abuse it, these Maldonados were evidently gentlemen.
    “Oh, Don Melchior is a great man, a royal envoy to the Pope. But our master, Don Rodrigo, is an up and coming man.” He leaned close enough that I could smell the garlic on his breath and spoke in an undervoice. “He’s got friends in the Inquisition, see. He’s met that Torquemada, that they say could beat the Pope at chess.”
    At this point, the door creaked open, and an elderly major domo appeared to bow me in and escort me into the presence of Doña Marina and her suitor. I had learned much. As one of the Admiral’s followers, I appeared to be safe in any company, at least for now, from suspicion regarding my secret faith. But no matter how inclined to help my aunt might prove to be, I could not leave Rachel with her for long.

    Chapter Two
     
    Barcelona, April 18, 1493
    How hard could it be to be a boy? Rachel shook out the wrinkled shirt and tunic, fraying pair of hose, and oversized woolen cap that her friend Constanza had stuffed in among her petticoats in the flurry of packing. They belonged to Constanza’s brother. With her curly brown hair stuffed into the cap and her drab cloak flung over the whole, she would have but to put a swagger in her walk and smear some grime across her face; no one would guess her true identity.
    She had been so excited when Diego arrived at the convent where her aunt had placed her. She had not been unhappy there, though she had had to remember every second that she was Raquel Mendes, not Rachel Mendoza, and pretend to Christian piety. But to see her brother returned from the dead! Everyone in Barcelona had believed Columbus and his crew were doomed. But Diego had come back a hero. Both of them had cried as they embraced. She had not realized he would make her stay with stuffy old Aunt Marina and plan to send her off to Italy as soon as he could find suitable passage. Surely, if she could pass for one of the ship’s boys when the Admiral assembled his new fleet, Diego would have to take her with him.
    Her window gave onto the rear of the house, above the kitchen garden. Rachel could see the wooden door, so low that a grown person would have to stoop to pass, in the stone wall at the far end of the garden. That door was her gate to freedom.
    The inviting branches of an apple tree, just coming into bloom, stretched toward the window. Once dressed, she found that she could squeeze through the narrow opening. She had to stretch to reach a branch sturdy enough to bear her weight. But that was child’s play in boy’s garb. 
    Rachel swung and scrambled from branch to crotch to trunk and dropped lightly to the ground. She inched around the gnarled tree trunk to stand with her back pressed up against it on the side away from the house. She peered around it. She must make sure no one observed her. Her heart thumped as she spied a face at the window. It was Pepe, the younger footman. Had he seen her? To her relief, he turned away. She could not be sure if she had seen him wink.
    The Alcazar was not too far to walk. She had made Diego describe the route the procession would take. Then she had only to gain entrance to the palace. She would pretend she was one of the