when

coronation of James I, unfortunately, the political climate had changed. James was partial to the Spanish, and was inclined to grant their many demands. He even executed Sir Walter Raleigh to placate the Spaniards, though the official charge was treason. Jews were no longer welcome at the English court—not even privately—and the pressure on the Sephardic community intensified. In 1609, James again ordered their expulsion.
A few Jewish families remained, Rebecca’s among them. They were sheltered by elements in the British government and, most of all, by the Puritans. The Puritans, a growing force in English society, were much more favorably inclined toward the Jews than the established church. Many of their scholars were keenly interested in the study of Hebrew texts, as part of their efforts to “purify” Christianity.
The Scottish officer stepped into the room and spoke his first words. As soon as Balthazar heard that unmistakable accent, his rigid face softened. Within seconds, Rebecca saw her father’s normal warmth and wit returning.
She, too, had felt the charm of that northerly version of the English tongue. It was not the accent itself, but what lay beneath it. On two occasions, once when she was twelve and again when she was fourteen, Rebecca had accompanied her father and uncle to Cambridge, which was a hotbed of Puritanism. The presence of the two learned Jewish doctors—fluent alike in Hebrew and Greek—had been requested to clarify certain obscure passages in the Biblical texts.
“I bring you greetings from Gustavus Adolphus, Balthazar Abrananel.”
Hearing that accent, Rebecca remembered those earnest Puritan scholars with fondness. Their branch of the Abrabanels had finally been forced to leave England, not long thereafter. Uriel, always the more adventurous of the brothers, had opted to seek his fortune in Germany. Her father, burdened with a sickly wife and a daughter, had chosen Amsterdam. There, among the Dutch cousins of the Puritans, they had found a haven.
Balthazar Abrananel nodded. “Please convey my deepest respects to His Majesty, uh—?”
“Mackay, sir. Alexander Mackay, captain in the king of Sweden’s Green Regiment, at your service.”
Stern and stiff they were, those Calvinists—as humorless and cold as the Sephardim