“This is my reward? I am repaid for restoring your sight by being dismissed from my post?”

Madrid, Spain, Late 1400s–1500s

"Avraham, pass the new bandages.” Aviasar spoke assertively, in a low voice. One would never guess that the Jewish doctor was under pressure — certainly not under threat of his very life. “That’s it, the ones in your left hand. Careful now…”

The onlookers pressed closer until a wall surrounded Aviasar. His eyes were locked onto the king’s as his hands moved with methodological precision. Here, operating on a patient, he was in his element. All that existed were the deep breaths inside his chest, and his razor-sharp mind commanding his hands to complete one of the most difficult medical operations of that time.

“Finished.” Aviasar exhaled and stood back.

The king’s hands reached up, grasping for air.

Aviasar took the king’s hands and felt the king squeeze.

“Thank you.” The king sighed. “As usual, you’ve done a good job. Time will tell if it was good enough.”

Father and son left the palace, eager to be as far as possible from the soldiers who glared at them from the stone entrance. They felt at that moment the truth of their reality. They could run, but they could not hide. Successful or not, the operation would likely be the last Aviasar would ever perform for the king.

Sometime later, a message arrived from the palace. The king wanted Aviasar to return. His stomach turning in fear, Aviasar immediately set out.