“Coming.”

He strode to the door and unlocked it.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Father.” A boy entered the room. “Your face is white!”

“Did I not tell you, three knocks in quick succession and then one louder knock?”

“Oh, I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Aviasar ran a hand through his hair and let out a weary sigh. “If you can’t remember these simple things, Avraham, what will be when we need to employ even more secrecy? We are Jews living in Spain, have you forgotten? The gentiles have stirred themselves into a tremendous hate for us, burning non-believers by the stake, chasing down and forcing Jews to—”

“Father, Father, I know! I’m sorry! I’m aware of what’s happening to our people. I guess I just got excited because today is the big day. You said I can accompany you to the king.”

“Speaking of which, we need to go immediately!”

Aviasar hid his tallis and tefillin behind a quilt on the wall behind him and pulled Avraham from the room. They hurried outside and began saddling their horses. Within moments, they were galloping toward the palace in great haste.

As they advanced down the road, they saw a group of soldiers galloping toward them from the opposite direction.

“Aviasar?” The lead soldier pulled the reins, stopping before the Jewish physician and his son.

“Yes?”

“Did you forget that you have an audience with the king?”

“Of course not. Where do you think I am heading right now?”

“You’re late.” The soldier pointed at the sun. “Do you realize the king is in pain?”

“Do I realize…?” Aviasar shook his head in disbelief. “Sir, you’re well aware that I am King John II’s primary doctor, are you not?”

“For now.”

Aviasar felt his blood run cold.

“Excuse me?”

“Times are changing fast, Doctor.” The soldier stared at Aviasar. “What would take a man so long to attend to his king early in the morning? What else could possibly cause him to come late? A long breakfast? Perhaps… some sort of prayer service?”

Aviasar glanced down and saw his sleeve was slightly lifted, revealing the strap marks of his tefillin on his skin.

“I am still the king’s personal physician, soldier. Remember the honor of your king. He still trusts me, relies on me, and would not tolerate such disrespect toward me.”

The soldier’s jaw clenched for a moment.

Without another word, the soldiers turned and began galloping back toward the palace. After a moment, Aviasar and his son Avraham followed them.

“Let’s escape this place, Father…. If we don’t leave now, perhaps one day soon it will be too late.

The Inquisition is closing in on all of us.”

“As long as I have the protection of King John, we can stay. Just stay silent in the palace, and remain alert. Do as I tell you, down to the last instruction. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

Aviasar marched through the palace, each doorway opened before him as he strode with his son. There was still some respect for him, the master physician. The most skilled doctor in all of the land.

The last set of doors opened, and Aviasar and Avraham entered. Over 60 people were gathered in the king’s chamber. A soft round of applause rippled around the room as Aviasar strode confidently to the king’s bedside.

“The miracle worker is here,” the king murmured. “Tell me, Aviasar. What are the chances of my ever seeing again? Can your miraculous hands work their magic once more and restore my vision?”

“Your Majesty, as I’ve always told you, I possess neither magic nor strength of my own. I am only a conduit, an instrument in the Hands of my G-d….”

The room went silent. Aviasar froze, his eyes darting to the cold expressions on the faces around him.

“Father, shall I remove the bandages?” Avraham spoke loudly, quickly.

“Yes.”

The king’s bandages were gently removed and the area cleaned. Some in the room moved in closer, and others looked away in disgust.

“Pass me my instruments.”

Avraham reached into his father’s pouch and withdrew a hollow tube, an extremely sharp blade, and several other instruments.

“Couching is never an easy technique, Your Majesty. Many remain blind, and some are even worse off than before the technique…. I will do my best to remove your cataracts, but success is not guaranteed.”

“Just do it.” The king’s face was white. “If you are unsuccessful, it won’t be good for you. Especially at a time like this…. For you or your… people.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 898)