Free The Last Song by Eva Wiseman Page B

you can lose yourself in them. There are roses, oranges, myrtles, and reflecting pools of utter stillness. My soul felt at peace whenever I rested beside one of them.”
    He described how Boabdil, caliph of the Moors, had handed the keys to the palace to their Catholic majesties on a bent knee. The winter sun gleamed on Queen Isabel’s crown of eagles. Tears were running down Boabdil’s face as he rode away with his defeated army.
    Papa stayed in bed most of the day. We hushed the servants and spoke as quietly as we could until he woke refreshed and energetic and calling to his Moor to bring him warm ale.
    There was to be a feast to celebrate both Papa’s return and my birthday. Brianda and her family were invited. They would be spending the night with us because the gates to Toledo would be locked by the time the celebration ended. Unfortunately, Luis would be there, too. It couldn’t be helped.
    I had arranged to meet Yonah under our orange tree after my birthday celebration. How I wished that he could be with my family! However, I knew that Mama and Papa would never allow our friendship. All I could do was hug my secret to my heart and count the minutes until I saw him again.
    Mama was in the kitchen giving instructions to Sofia and to the other servants. She had asked the cook tobake almond tarts, like the ones we had eaten at Tia Juana’s house.
    “I am certain that you can bake cakes that are more delicious than those from Doña Juana’s kitchen,” she wheedled. “Doña Juana always claims that her household is better run than mine, that her cook is more skilled than you. We’ll show her how wrong she is!”
    The cook bobbed a curtsy. “My lady, if I bake the almond tarts, I won’t have time to go to Farmers’ Alley. We need dates and pistachios and apples from the farmers’ orchards.”
    “Send one of the scullery maids,” Mama said.
    “Sofia and the other girls are preparing the chambers upstairs for our guests. There is nobody to send except Yussuf. He has never gone to the market by himself. He won’t know what to buy.”
    “I’ll go with Yussuf, Mama. I’ll help him pick good fruit.”
    She shook her head. “I don’t like the idea of you on the street with only the Moor for protection. I’ll go, although I have so much to do.”
    “I can go, Mama. I’ll be safe with Yussuf.”
    Sofia appeared in the doorway. “Doña Catarina, could you please come upstairs? Those stupid girls won’t listen to me!”
    Mama looked at me and then at Sofia.
    “It won’t take me long to buy what we need,” I promised in my most reassuring tone.
    There was a loud bang over our heads.
    Mama threw her hands up. “All right, but you must be back in an hour or I’ll come looking for you.”
    She hurried out of the kitchen, followed by Sofia.
    “We’ll save time if we cross the Plaza de Zocodover,” Yussuf said.
    I followed him to the square. When we turned the corner, we came to a sudden stop. The plaza was filled with people. Two stands had been built at the back of the square. One was occupied by clergy and nobility in rich garments, the other by dirty wretches in sambenitos. Linking the two stands was an altar draped in black, with a cross attached to it. I barely noticed the stands. My eyes were riveted on a pyre in the middle of the square. Men and women were tied to stakes and being burned alive. It was an auto-de-fé, an act of faith, the public burning of heretics convicted by the Inquisition. I had never seen one before. I closed my eyes, but when I opened them again, I saw the same dreadful sight. Screams of agony filled the air. A lout, carrying a burning staff, ran up to one of the victims and lit the wretched man’s beard on fire. The crowd roared.
How
can they be so cruel?
I wondered. I hugged myself tightly.
    Yussuf pulled on my sleeve. “Mistress, we must go!”
    I barely heard him. “People are being burned alive!”
    The stench of roasting flesh made me gag and I vomited. The Moor put