The Legacy of Grazia dei Rossi (65 page)

“Because only Christians are permitted to practice banking in the Holy Roman Empire. And our control of the Mendes bank is what enables us to finance our war to rescue Jews. Saving lives is not a rhetorical exercise, my friend. It costs money. The escape hatch from a dungeon is greased with gold. Safe houses have to be bought. Spaces have to be booked and paid for in the holds of ships where refugees can be stowed and transported in place of cargo. It takes bribes — large sums — to persuade sea captains to make unscheduled stops at ports that offer refuge. Then we come to the matter of settling these poor, hounded, homeless Jews in places where they can bring up their children in the faith of their fathers.”

This time, it was Danilo’s turn to rub his chin thoughtfully and reflect.

“What about the Jewish God, the one whose first commandment was that we must have no other gods before Him?” he asked.

To his surprise, his question was answered with a sweet smile.“If you’re concerned for my immortal soul, have no fears. Let me remind you that, with us Jews, survival trumps apostasy every time. Anything is forgiven in the struggle to survive.”

This was not a precept of Judaism with which Danilo was familiar. “Anything?” he asked. “Even breaking the first commandment?”

“We have a biblical record of what the Lord is willing to put up with when the survival of the race is at stake,” was the answer. “Take a look at Genesis 19:33, where Lot’s daughters gets him drunk and seduces him — apparently with God’s approval. They are hiding out with their father in a remote cave after the destruction of Sodom and one of the girls tells her sister, ‘Our father is old and there is not a man on the earth to come unto us. Let us lie with him so we may preserve the seed of our fathers.’”

“I never heard this story from the rabbis,” Danilo admitted.

Mendes smiled. “It is not thought to be suitable for children. But you can look it up. Sadly, I dare not carry around a copy of the Pentateuch in my carpet bag, but you’ll surely find one in the ghetto.”

Now thoroughly ashamed of both his doubts and his ignorance, Danilo held out his hand.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.

“No need to apologize. You’ve been away in the east for a long time.” A strong arm reached out to guide Danilo gently but firmly to a nearby bench. “Let us sit for a few moments.” Not until they were comfortably settled did he speak again.

“From the beginning of the forced baptisms in Portugal,” he began, “and the removal of Jews from high places, the Mendes family, being New Christians, have been able to continue as bankers to all manner of Christians, including kings. Kings are always hungry for gold, and they still needed to borrow money from us at interest after the Expulsion. But four years ago, without notice, my uncle Diego was dragged from his house in Lisbon, arrested on trumped-up charges of
lese-majeste
against God and the Emperor, and imprisoned in a Portuguese dungeon. It seemed as if our efforts to convince the Church of our Catholic piety had failed. But as soon as the lending stream began to dry up, all the Christian nations — Spain, Genoa, France, even Portugal — came together to issue a joint warning of the chaos that would overwhelm the Christian world if the Mendes bank went down. Even King Henry of England joined in. And after two months in prison, my uncle Diego was released under a caution payment of five thousand ducats.” He paused and sighed. “Sadly, most Jews do not have King Henry to speak for them or enough ducats to ransom themselves. That is our task.”

“I didn’t know . . .” Danilo stammered.

“Of course you didn’t. It is in the interest of the Holy Roman church to keep these dealings quiet. When I first heard of the plan for our family to be baptized, I asked the same questions of my rabbi as you did of me. How can we profess a belief in the divinity of Christ when it goes against the first commandment? My family consulted two rabbis before we agreed to be baptized, and both have given us absolution from the sin of apostasy. Believe me, I am not pleased with myself when I mumble the prayers at mass and bite into the biscuit. But, as you say, war is a dirty business. So let us walk on and speak no more of it.”

And on they walked in companionable silence until they turned a corner and came upon an ancient figure carved into a niche, a battered stone relief featuring a camel and a heavily burdened porter with a broken nose, topped with a much less weathered turban that must have been added at a later time.

“This frieze marks the address of the Moselli family,” Mendes explained. “The figure of their porter is very popular in Venice. They call him Sior Antonio Rioba, and they come here to rub his broken nose for luck.” Whereupon Mendes stepped forward, spat on his fingers, and rubbed them over the rough stone. He then stepped back and motioned for Danilo to follow as he turned into the street.

“See the little bridge down the block? That is the bridge leading to the portal of the ghetto. And that is where we part company.”

“You are not coming in with me?” There was no mistaking the forlorn look that accompanied Danilo’s question.

“Can’t risk it.” Samuel shrugged. “Not that I wouldn’t prefer to. My family is far from Orthodox, but there are things about Jewish observances that I miss — especially the food. However, as a New Christian I must be seen to be celebrating Easter time with my fellow Christians. To be observed and reported anywhere near a Hebrew Seder would be taken as proof of backsliding, what they call Judaizing. And what they consider to be heresy, which could very well lead to a very hot seat in a very hot fire.”

“But surely you run no risk of being reported by people in the
ghetto.
They are fellow Jews.”

“A poor Jew can get more money for slipping a note in the
Bocca di Leone
and exposing a Judaizer than he can earn in a year of hard work.”

More striking to Danilo than the statement was that it was spoken without rancor.

“Not all Jews are heroes, and the rewards are very tempting,” Mendes added sadly.

“Yet you have given me information that I could use against you in just that way. Why?”

“Simple. I knew I could trust you. You forget that I am a banker and it is a part of my job to know men. That is a skill a banker must learn just as he must master the abacus. Besides, you told me I could trust you.”

“I did?”

“When I asked about your caftan I learned from you that the garment had been a gift from the Sultan for winning a
gerit
match in the hippodrome. The
gerit
is a very special weapon. Success with it marks a man as a member of the confraternity of
bravi
,
of which I, too, am a member. I used to joust with the Habsburg prince in Antwerp. He is good. But not as good as me. And if you jousted with a
gerit
in the Istanbul hippodrome, I would wager that you could score points off both of us.” Danilo blushed and shrugged. “But, while we’re on the subject of horsemanship, a question.”

“Ask away!”

“Is it true that the Sultan’s horsemen are trained to fire twenty arrows backward from the saddle at the rate of three a second?”

Danilo was too proud of that hard-won accomplishment not to claim it.

“We were,” he answered with some pride.

“Then someday soon, when time permits, may I ask you to teach me the trick of it?”

Delighted at the prospect, Danilo replied, “Anytime you say. But meanwhile here’s a tip. Strong thighs. That’s what keeps your body attached to the horse when he is galloping one way and your head is facing the other. But be warned, it takes practice.”

“Strong thighs. Practice. Sounds like a way to use my spare time until we meet again. But for now, we must part.”

It was a moment too painful to prolong. By unspoken agreement the young
bravi
embraced, turned their backs on each other, and sped off, Samuel to his pressing New Christian duties, Danilo to pursue whatever awaited him behind the walls of the ghetto. But suddenly, as if in response to some inaudible order from above, the fading click of their two pairs of heels paused, then resumed, and once again they found themselves face to face at the crest of the bridge.

Mendes was the first to speak. “Let me leave you with this offer. If you decide not to settle with our people in the ghetto — and they are your people since being the son of a Jewish mother makes you Jewish whether you like it or not — there will always be a place for you by my side. You might have a bright future with the Mendes family.”

“As a banker?”

“Hardly. Our family provides all of those we need, but we can always use a young
bravo
with a good heart and a talent for the
gerit
.”

“I am flattered by the offer,” Danilo replied, “even tempted. But, believe me, I’ve had as much as I can take of noble causes. I thought I had explained that.”

“And so you did. But I wonder if you are not too close to the Baghdad campaign to see it clearly. Why not take a rest in Italy to think about my offer? You have a lively mind. Perhaps time will show you a solution you haven’t considered.”

“Such as?”

“You seem to believe that you must choose between two paths — the path of your blood father, the man of war, or the path of your stepfather, the man of peace. It is possible that there may be a place between them where you can claim your full birthright from both your fathers.”

Danilo found himself beginning to lose patience. “But I have already told you —”

Mendes grasped his arm with some urgency. “Don’t say no! Give yourself a chance to consider. I can be reached at any Mendes bank or through our partners, the Fuggers.”

It was a name Danilo recognized at once. “But they are a Christian bank.”

“The biggest in Europe.”

“Bigger than the Medici? Bigger than the Genovese?”

“The biggest.”

“But they are Christians.”

“They are also German bankers, and we are Christian bankers, so we know where we stand with them,” came the reply. “What bankers care about is money. That is our bond. As long as the partnership remains profitable we can trust each other. It is a very different kind of trust than the trust between
bravi
,
but bankers do trust each other with their money. Whereas friends trust each other with their wives. And we
bravi
trust each other with our lives. So remember that if you need me or if you change your mind . . .”

This time his footsteps did not hesitate but thudded along against the descending wooden planks of the bridge until they were all but drowned out by the sound of the water below, lapping at the shores of the canal. Then, just before the click of the heel taps disappeared completely, a distant voice cut through the fog, echoing in the void like the voice of the oracle calling out a prophesy from her cave at Delphi: “Consider this, my friend. Perhaps you went to the wrong war.”

On his side of the bridge, Danilo listened with his eyes closed, willing the voice to speak again, trying to fix the image of his new friend in his mind. But the voice was not heard again, and with the passing of minutes the image of Samuel Mendes became less and less defined and the whole encounter more and more remote.

Had their meeting really happened? Was it all a dream? The trunk-hose that hugged his calves and thighs were real enough, as was the miniver ruffle that caressed his chin; both as real as the sternly printed sign hanging from the arch above the portal:
JEWISH GHETTO ADMITTANCE FROM SUNDOWN TO SUN-UP FORBIDDEN ON PAIN OF DEATH
.

Shivering with cold and apprehension, Danilo stood on his toes to reach up for the bell pull, then stopped, his hand in mid-air. One tug and there would be no turning back.

In his mind’s ear he heard the Venetian rasp of Captain Loredano’s voice: “The ghetto
will be a closing of the circle for you. A homecoming.”

Using the full force of his strong thighs, he launched himself into the air, grasped the bronze ball that tolled the bell, and tugged it hard twice.

On the other side of the door an unseen hand released a bolt to reveal a narrow, metal-edged slit in the door.

“Who goes there?” came the challenge.

“A Jewish merchant stranded far from home on Passover Eve seeking a place at the Seder table,” Danilo replied.

“
Shalom, haver.”
The accent was strange, but hearing the word “friend” spoken in Hebrew was heartening.

As the heavy door swung open, the weary traveler hoisted his carpet bag over his shoulder and crossed the threshold into the next chapter of his life.

GLOSSARY