Tre leaned across and showed him the pages, but Béne had already caught the one line that carried significance.
To those who shall assume this great duty, you shall be the Levite.
“De Torres wrote this for those who came after him. Instructions on what to do and why. Columbus told him, now he’s telling his successor.”
The great Admiral of the Ocean, the man falsely called Cristóbal Colón but who was born Christoval Arnoldo de Ysassi, never forgot from where he came. He was a most wise man who accepted his duty. He led his men on a great voyage and with God’s help he succeeded where all believed he would fail. He told me before we sailed that we must accomplish our mission. I failed to realize then the importance of what he meant, but I do now. The whore Church and its Inquisition have decided to slaughter all who do not worship according to its dictates. They speak of God, but know nothing of His ways. They urge love and forgiveness, yet extend only pain and misery. Many have suffered much at their hands. Some were forced to renounce their faith, others fled. Still others were murdered on behalf of a false belief. May God forgive me, I was forced to convert, but I never succumbed in my heart. Now, here, in this new land, away from all that is evil about the ways of man I live in peace. The time for me is coming which will be neither day nor night. God will announce it for the day is His and also the night. He has appointed a watchman over his people all day and night. The Admiral has made me swear that a Levite who comes after our time shall one day enlighten us when the darkness turns to light. He chose me as the first and I shall select the next. Together we will accomplish our duty. God’s great treasure is hidden away, now safe from all those who do it harm. Blessed is He who keeps his promise to Israel. For the Holy One, Blessed be He, calculated the end to do as He had promised Abraham our forefather. As it is said, “And He said to Abram, ‘Know well that your offspring shall be strangers in a land not theirs, and they shall be enslaved and oppressed, but I will execute judgment on the nation they shall serve and in the end they shall go free with great wealth.’ ” It is this promise that will stand. It is this promise that we shall keep. For not just a single person has arisen to destroy us, but in every generation people will arise against us to destroy us. And the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from their hands.
Béne recalled what the Simon had told him about Columbus. That the Admiral converted to Christianity on threat of force, but remained a Jew at heart. He even knew his real name.
Christoval Arnoldo de Ysassi.
Of course he’d known that.
These documents were under his control.
“There’s a lot more here, Béne. I’ll need time to go through it.”
“Start reading,” he said. “I want to know every detail.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
TOM AND ALLE HUSTLED PAST THE GREAT ASTRONOMICAL CLOCK that adorned Prague’s old town hall. Its gilded hands and orbs displayed the time, date, zodiac, and positions of the sun, moon, and planets in a confusing array. Best he could tell it was around 4:00 A.M., Friday, March 8.
Another day had passed with him still alive.
The first half of the drive from Vienna north had been two-laned through dense Czech forest and a string of quiet villages, then autobahn the remainder, traffic light even for the middle of the night. The historic old town square was deserted. He recalled from previous visits how its cobbles usually burst at the seams with people. The statue of Jan Haus remained prominent, the great religious reformer having been burned at the stake five hundred years ago. The Tyn Church still dominated one side, its spired twin towers lit to the night. Crisp air carried the last bit of winter’s bite, and he was glad he’d brought a jacket.
A colorful array of buildings encircled the cobblestones, their windows dark, doors shut. The architecture and façades varied—Renaissance, Baroque, Rococo, Art Nouveau. He knew how Prague had escaped destruction during World War II, the country’s leader summoned to Berlin by Hitler and told that either a document be signed requesting Germany to take the Czech people under the protection of the Reich or bombers would reduce the country’s cities to ashes. President Emil Hacha, elderly and ill, had fainted at the threat. Once revived, he signed and, without resistance, Prague was occupied.
But the country paid a horrible price, especially its Jews.
Ninety percent died.
Stalin assumed control of the country after the war, and the city languished for decades behind the Iron Curtain.
But the old city survived.
Alle had said little on the four-hour ride. Neither had he. They both seemed satisfied just to be there, neither willing, as yet, to yield an inch. Before leaving Vienna he’d printed out a map of Prague’s old town, including the nearby Jewish quarter, noting its major landmarks.
Legend proclaimed that Jews first came here after the destruction of their Second Temple in the 1st century. History records the 10th century as the start of their occupation. Jews called Prague ir va’em b’Yisrael. City and mother of Israel. As close to Jerusalem as one could get. Another myth proclaimed that angels brought stones for the synagogue from the destroyed Temple, on loan until another Temple rose from the mount. By the 13th century Jews had established their own town and were forbidden to live anywhere else, their movements restricted, their trades hampered. Eventually, they moved from one side of the Vltava River to the other, into an enclave bordering the old town, which was annexed into the city in 1851, renamed Josefov, becoming Prague’s fifth quarter. Not much space. Only 100,000 square yards. A maze of streets, houses, yards, and passageways where, at its height, nearly 2,000 people lived.
And it flourished.
Establishing its own schools, forming a government, creating a culture. Forging an identity.
Which began to erode in 1848, when Jews were granted the same rights as all other Czech citizens, including the ability to live wherever they wanted.
The rich quickly vacated and the poor moved in, transforming the quarter into a ghetto. By the end of the 19th century a social, sanitary, and hygienic collapse led to a call for urban redevelopment. In the 1920s Art Nouveau façades and multistoried blocks of flats replaced the low-slung buildings—shops filling the ground floors, apartments the top. The low rampart wall with gates was razed, the streets now freely connecting with the rest of the city. Where the synagogues once towered over everything, now they were lost among high rooflines.
Tom recalled the story he’d written, how sad the place had been to walk through. Only the six synagogues and town hall remained, all now more tourist attractions than places of worship.
And the cemetery.
That’s what he remembered most.
Perhaps the saddest place he’d ever visited.
In Inna’s apartment Alle had talked of her new religion and a duty she felt toward it. He wondered if she had any idea how Jews had suffered. Here, in Prague, twice through history they were expelled. Pogroms—that word Saki had burned into his memory—came more frequently. In the story he’d written he’d included what happened during Easter 1389, when Jewish youths supposedly tossed rocks at a priest carrying the Eucharist to a dying man. Christians were incensed, their hatred fueled by zealous clerics. Three thousand Jewish men, women, and children were slaughtered. Others committed suicide simply to avoid the atrocities. The quarter was plundered and burned. Even the synagogue was not immune, as marauders invaded and butchered people hiding inside their holiest place. For centuries after, their blood was left on the walls as a reminder.