and strong. He excels at hawking. He relishes the thrill of the hunt!”
“Aye,” Dunstan laughed. “As long as the hunt is for boys.”
“Men,” Thomas corrected.
“There’s a difference?” Dunstan said.
“A boy is your five-year-old son, brother,” Thomas said. “Miguel fancies men. Always has. Tis hard to fathom why God fashioned him as such. One would think him weak and timid. Yet Miguel’s grip is as strong as the peregrine’s.”
“Miguel is weak in the art of swordplay,” Dunstan said.
“So are you,” Thomas stated.
“Quiet,” Jorge said to his sons. “Both of you are like jackals at each other’s throats.”
Roderigo said, “Dunstan raised a good point. Miguel is weak in his swordsmanship. Considerably weaker than had been Raphael, God rest his soul. And many were better than he had been.”
Jorge agreed. He said, “Thomas, it’s up to you to teach him your expertise.”
“I’ll set up regular times to spar with him,” Thomas said.
“Instruct the woman to act the man,” Dunstan said with a smile.
“Does jealousy talk?” Thomas asked his brother.
“I? Jealous of Miguel? Absurd!”
“You have yet to forgive him for the pouncing he bestowed upon you at our last wrestling bout.”
“Wrestling for sport is one thing, Thomas,” Dunstan retorted hotly. “Braving peril is quite another and is reserved for only true men.”
Jorge wagged an angry finger at Dunstan. “Keep your thoughts to yourself, my elder son. Sport with Miguel as well. He needs much practice if he is to be prepared for the ordeals that await him.”
“As you wish, Father.”
Jorge faced Aben Ayesh. “How much time do we have to teach Miguel?”
“Never enough,” Aben Ayesh said. “A merchant galleon is due here in twenty days, docked at Portsmouth for only a week.”
Not much time at all, Roderigo thought. So much to be done. Twenty days to teach Miguel to ride the treacherous road to the port, how to defend himself against the ruthless highwaymen, how to sneak aboard the ship, find the stowaways, and present them with the forged papers that would give them freedom at last.
“How many conversos are we to provide papers for?” Roderigo asked.
“De Gama wrote at least a dozen,” Aben Ayesh answered.
Esteban Ferreira de Gama was their Iberian contact, the man responsible for concealing the Spanish conversos on the galleons. King Philip knew about him. As long as the English conversos continued to pay His Majesty, Ferreira de Gama was safe from harassment by the Spanish sentries guarding the docks. But once on board, the stowaways were on their own.
“How many men, women, and children?” Roderigo asked. “I have to tell the women what kind of papers to prepare.”
“I know not,” Aben Ayesh answered. “De Gama has promised another note letting me know the details of the cargo.”
Unusual cargo. But when writing to Philip, the Ames Levantine Trade Company had to refer to the stowaways as something. Roderigo was the intermediary representative acting for the company, requesting in writing the purchase of “cargo” from His Majesty. Sometimes the company acquired “pepper.” Other correspondences spoke of the company’s desire to buy cargo of musk, amber, pearls, rubies, diamonds. Much “trade” he had with the Spanish king. Perhaps too much trade for the Queen’s tolerance. Unofficially, England and Spain were still at war. They had to act as fast as possible.
Aben Ayesh continued, “The stowaways should be docked in Spanish Brussels by the end of June. Our agent there is still David. He will bring them to Amsterdam and integrate them.”
Jorge said, “The whole mission will be harder than ever. The galleon ship flies the flag of Sicily—Philip’s dominion. There are bound to be Spaniards aboard, and since Raphael was caught, they’ll be looking out for more stowaways—as well as Miguel.”
“Ferreira de Gama wrote of another possibility,” Aben Ayesh said. “It may be possible to transfer the conversos to an inbound vessel—a ship headed for the Thames. If this is the situation, Miguel has only to sneak aboard a local ship—a much simpler task. The English will not be as suspicious or as vicious as the Spanish. And, God forbid, if Miguel is captured, at least he’ll be under the arm of Her Majesty instead of His Majesty and the Inquisition—as was Raphael.” He sighed. “Dearest, poor Raphael …”
Aben Ayesh lowered his head for a moment. Then it was back to business. He said, “If Ferreira de Gama can arrange such a task, so be it.”
“How inconspicuously does Esteban Ferreira de Gama move under the watchful eye of the Inquisition?” Dunstan asked.
“He grows increasingly concerned for his safety,” Aben Ayesh said. “But, praise be to God, so far the Holy See has no suspicions that he is one of us.”
“What’s the name of the galleon that holds the conversos?” Benjamin asked.
“El Don Carlos,” said Aben Ayesh. “Would that Philip’s son were as mighty as his namesake of a ship.”
“We must begin Miguel’s training at once. He must be skilled enough to fight off anyone who challenges him on the road to Portsmouth.”
All eyes went to Thomas.
“I’ll teach him what I’m able.” Thomas patted the hilt of his sword. “But only Miguel can execute the moves.” He paused, then blurted out, “Of course, I’d be happy to accompany him—”
“You’re needed in the business,” Jorge said firmly. “I need someone trustworthy with the money and inventory at home.”
“What about Dunstan?” Thomas retorted.
“Dunstan travels much,” Jorge said.
Benjamin said, “Uncle, I could cancel my overseas travel if I am needed.”
“Nonsense,” Jorge said. “Go to Venice.”
Thomas said, “But—”
“Enough,” answered Jorge.
“Father, there is not a man alive who has my skill in swordplay, my swiftness, my strength—”
“Quiet,” Jorge yelled. “I’ve heard your pleas before and again I reject them. Thomas, my son, if we have not the funds with which to bribe, all our efforts are for naught. Besides, Tommy, I want you whole until Leah is healthy enough to deliver to you a fine son.”
Biting his lip, Thomas sank back in his chair. Dunstan grinned.
“By the way, Tommy,”
