there must be lots of village squares with similar looking churches in them!” I protested.
Pamela was watching me, her eyebrows raised in question. Nicola continued almost as if I’d not spoken;
“Everything looks the same, just as it did then. The place is called Cadiz, it’s not a village, but a city. Cadiz is one of the oldest cities in the Western world and has a port that goes back to the time of Phoenician merchants. The ‘church’ on the engraving is actually a Cathedral. You cannot mistake its shape, although it has been subject to many restorations since the time of the engraving, but the unusual domed roof, not as we would imagine a church in England still exists.”
Nicola referred to her notebook as she spoke, I could hear the rustle of paper as she leafed through the pages.
“I introduced myself as a journalist and managed to talk to the Cardinal. He was very accommodating and introduced me to the local Bishop who allowed me access to the Cathedral library. More importantly, I was given access to some of the officials who look after the religious manuscripts and old texts relating to the Cathedral and the city. I was there for about 3 hours and spoke with some of the local amateur historians there. One in particular was nearly 80 years old but he has a remarkable memory for detail!” Pam was hovering anxiously nearby, concerned that the call may be about Julian. I mouthed “It’s OK” as Nicola’s voice continued in my ear;
“He knew the history of Cadiz very well. I asked him specifically about the engraving and he estimated it had to be in the latter part of the 16th century. Now get this…” Nicola added, “There are many documented accounts of burnings within the Church records which he translated for me. Many of them concerned Jews who were persecuted at this time, but we found one, which was unique, as it told of a foreign seafarer’s family. He was burned as a heretic and his wife was also killed by the crowd attending the execution, on suspicion of being a witch.” Nicola paused, and I could almost hear her excitement; “Wait for it Michael; their young son is also mentioned – he was mutilated with a burning log!”
I could sense the excitement in Nicola.
“The records were unusually detailed, as they were not part of the Jewish persecutions but of local people. Oh, and Michael, I even found out the boy’s name. I thought it sounded so nice: ‘Alessandro’…”
“It sounds so adventurous, to be a seafarer…”
CHAPTER FIVE
Alessandro: Cadiz, Spain
3rd July 1587
The smooth sea’s surface reflected a calm glaze as the boy poked at a crab with a broken twig, squinting with concentration into the harsh sun.
The cool breeze off the sea ruffled his hair gently as he flipped the crab onto its back in the soft warm sand and he giggled as it struggled to right itself. A serious look came over his handsome face as he observed the determination with which the unfortunate creature attempted to rectify himself. No matter how many times the boy flipped him over; he saw that the crab would just keep trying until he succeeded in getting back on its legs, only to be cruelly flipped over by yet another poke of his stick.
Tiring of this game, he glanced back towards the sounds of preparation as men loaded the tall sailing ship. On this ship, the boy’s father would soon be departing on a long ocean adventure to distant waters. It was the boy’s dream to accompany his father on such a trip and he longed to be old enough to do so.
“It sounds so adventurous, to be a seafarer,” he said aloud to himself. In his imagination he was already the Captain of his own ship. It was large and beautiful as this one. A whistle from one of the men on the rigging brought him out of the deepest oceans and back to the beach.
“When I grow up I will definitely be a seaman!” he thought. “Like father, I will travel over the seas, discover new lands and visit far off countries and places.” The boy rolled over onto his back so that he was blinded by the sun overhead. Closing his eyes tightly he could hear the distant voices of the crew as they clambered about the rigging adjusting the sails, the gulls swooped overhead, their cries ringing in his ears. He drifted off into another daydream.
“I will come back home with a lot of wonderful things like pearl shells, large sea stars and beautiful woven shawls for Mother.” he dreamed.
His father was always bringing wonderfully designed veils from the East, which were made in an almost transparent magical cloth that nobody here knew how to make. Mother’s friend Maria sold them at the market for them and how people marvelled at how fine the cloth was. Maria’s husband Philip was a seafarer too and was on the same ship as Father. Philip had told him that he had seen creatures bigger than lions that had orange and black stripes on their fur, but he did not believe him!
Through his thoughts, he heard a familiar voice. He sat up and shook the sand from his hair. The crab had gone, taking advantage of the distracted boy to make good its escape.
The voice called again; “Alessandro, come here, my darling”. It was Mother. Alessandro turned towards the sound and saw his mother standing on top of the sand embankment, her hands on her hips in mock annoyance. Mother never lost her temper with him. She waved, making sure he had seen her.
Alessandro jumped to his feet and raced towards his mother; weaving his way in the manner of a young boy of ten years, making sure he stepped on all the white shells which littered the beach after the gulls had smashed them open on the rocks above. The rules of the game were simple: step only on the white shells. Any other would be unlucky but his skill ensured that he stepped on them all. Bounding over them at such a speed, he had difficulty in stopping in time and his mother caught him laughingly. He sank to his knees in a heap at her feet.
Mother bent to straighten his shiny black hair and flicked the grains of sand encrusted on his cheek. Still laughing, she asked him,
“How are you, my son? Where did you adventure today? Was it on a big ship like Father’s?”
Before Alessandro could get his breath back to answer, she continued, “Come, let’s go home. You need to change your clothes because we are going to church soon. Your Father is leaving today, and we must spend time in prayer for his safekeeping.”
“I want to be a seafarer, Mother. Am I allowed to be a seafarer like father when I grow up?” Alessandro asked with hope in his voice.
“My dear Alessandro! When you are a man, you will have no need for my permission then, only my blessing. But to be honest with you, I would much prefer to see you as an artist!”
She smiled at his exaggerated grimace. “How are your drawing lessons with Don Pedro coming on?” she asked.
“It’s alright…” Alessandro tried not to sound too interested. Although in truth he enjoyed painting, it was not as much fun as going on the ships. However, his interest betrayed him as he added a little too breathlessly,
“Don Pedro promised to show me how to make my own paints next week. Already I can change the colours by mixing them!”
To Alessandro, theirs was a happy existence. But it had not always been so. Before he had been born, his mother and father, Loura and Mauro Corrado had lived in Venice on the Adriatic Sea. Unfortunately, the civil war which had ravaged their country had come upon them, leaving them no option but to flee after their house was set alight by the militia. Mauro convinced Loura that they should join the ships leaving for Spain to seek a better life where it would be safe to raise a family. They sold their meagre possessions and had landed in Cadiz some 12 years ago with not much more than they could carry.
Loura had found work doing menial jobs at a local tavern where she cleaned, did the laundry and sewing. The tavern was owned by a surly couple called Francisco and Ana Botella. Ana was lazy and took pleasure