The King's Armada

by Doug Walker

CHAPTER SIX

  The day wore on, sunny and hot. Bees droned in the flowering shrubs, birds called from thickets, the afternoon came and with it the desire for siesta. But García had promised Hidalgo, and the two of them, accompanied by Poncho, began their walk to the edge of the city and then down a shady country lane.

  “This is what the peaceful life is all about,” García remarked.

  “Yes,” Hidalgo agreed. “I often long for the peasant life. The good man working in the fields, sometimes shoulder to shoulder with his wife and family. The small hut full of joy and laughter. Good bread and good meat and good wine. Church on the Sabbath and finally the good long rest after a productive life with your children to carry on in your absence. And the Good Lord from His mighty throne would say, ‘Well done, Hidalgo. Well done.’”

  García nodded. He knew this was so much balderdash. The man would rather slash his wrists than live as a peasant. It would take a corporal’s guard to get him into a field to plant a grain of corn or to harvest a sheaf of wheat. But let him lead men into battle, or drink a pitcher of wine, proposition a serving girl. That was his meat. Words and reality often did not meet.

  When García began to wonder where this chapel might be, they had come a considerable distance. He spied three men blocking the road ahead. One was instantly recognizable, a tall thin man with only a left eye and a horrible scar down the right side of his face: Alonso Albertina.

  García glanced at his companion. “Fancy meeting these three again. Do coincidences never cease?” He had little doubt Hidalgo had lead him into this grim meeting.

  “I am amazed,” Hidalgo said.

  “Perhaps they will accompany us to the chapel.”

  “A possibility,” Hidalgo replied. “I’m certain they will let us know what brings them to this secluded spot.”

  The two men and dog moved a few steps ahead, and the three that blocked the lane approached them.

  “We meet once more,” Alonso said.

  García heard a noise behind him, then the voice. “Thought I’d come along.”

  “Jesus, what brings you here?” Hidalgo demanded.

  “I am the captain’s orderly,” the trooper responded. “Where he goes I should go.”

  García noted that Jesus had a cutlass stuck in a sash at his waist. “Join us, please.” Jesus moved up next to García so that they were three and three facing on the country lane.

  García guessed it was his turn to speak. “Sorry about the duel, Alonso. But I did have to defend myself. How are you feeling?” Alonso was a sorry sight, his wounds not yet healed, the vicious red scar, uneven with crude stitches still apparent, then the eye, a twisted, hideous lump.

  “Much better after meeting you here under these pleasant circumstances. I’ve brought along a couple of rapiers so that we can finish our business.” With that he brandished the two swords.

  “I think I know what you have in mind,” García replied. He noted Hidalgo had moved to one side, stepping away from him. Just how treacherous was this Hidalgo, he wondered. Possibly just angry because he had involved him in the Florida campaign. “I’ve decided to give up the lovely Juanita. You may have her.”

  Alonso laughed. “I do have her and I will have her. She is not involved in this affair of honor. I cannot let the man who did this to me continue to enjoy life.” He motioned to his face.

  “I don’t always enjoy life, you know. I have good days and bad days. I do feel sorry about your wounds. You might look better wearing an eye patch.”

  “And you would look better wearing a shroud,” Alonso taunted, and then tossed him one of the rapiers. “Prepare to defend yourself.”

  “One moment,” García said. “This is not my weapon of choice. And here you are, once again the challenger.”

  “These are the weapons at hand.”

  “I have no wish to kill you,” García said. “A one-eyed man would seem to be at a disadvantage.”

  Alonso smiled. “You think I will lose my temper and become brash. Believe me, my rapier will find your heart.”

  García turned to Hidalgo. “What if I kill him? Will this end it? Or must I fight his friends?”

  “Of course it will be over. But there is scant chance of your killing the best swordsman in Spain. You might say a little prayer to ease your way into heaven.”

  “Tell me this, my friend, does it matter how I kill him?”

  “How? You mean by some other method rather than with the rapier?”

  “Yes. Would that make a difference?”

  “I don’t think so. If you kill him by any means, his seconds will take the body away. I’m certain they have a coach nearby.”

  “But the method of his death would make no difference?”

  “I’m certain, no. This meeting is unconventional. It is outside the strict rules of the duel. You might kick him to death or smash his head with a rock. Whatever pleases you.”

  “Then we can continue our walk to the chapel?”

  Hidalgo laughed. “Certainly. We can say a few Hail Marys at the chapel and maybe an Our Father or two. Are you ready to do battle?”

  García hefted the rapier. Alonso had been standing by listening to the conversation with growing impatience. “Are you certain you gave me the best weapon?” García asked, tossing it back to Alonso.

  “They are identical.” He tossed the other one back to García, then took a step forward and did the formal salute with a flourish. “Defend yourself,” he shouted, then began his studied advance.

  García dropped the rapier, reached inside his waistband, withdrew a small pistol and with a sweep of his hand shot Alonso in the chest. He then replaced the gun.

  García said, “Touché.”

  The four witnesses were stunned into silence, and Poncho would have liked to smile.

  Alonso’s knees crumpled beneath him, then he fell back, supported on his elbows. “Twice we have met and twice you have defeated me.” The man was obviously dying, and his seconds rushed to help him, but Alonso waved them off. “Let me die in peace, here on the ground. It is the spot I have chosen. And you, Pedro García, with your odd accent and strange dog, I will give you some advice. Don’t marry Juanita Tera. She is a beautiful witch and could never be true to you. I am the only one who could ever control her. And that through fear.”

  García nodded solemnly. “I’m truly sorry it had to come to this.”

  “Now, now,” Alonso chided. “Now we are both murderers, which makes us brothers. We live on the edge and we die on the edge, and then I suppose we burn in hell together. If there is such a place.” Alonso grimaced in pain. “Just between you and me, I think hell might be somewhere in La Florida,” He forced a grin at the reference to García’s posting. “I had hoped I’d be a beautiful corpse, you have seen to that. Tell me, what sort of weapon was that?”

  “It’s called a belly gun.”

  “Thank you.” Alonso paled and his elbows began to give way. “And goodbye.” Then he was dead.

  García kicked the rapier away and turned to go. Jesus, Hidalgo and the dog followed. “It’s too late in the day to seek the chapel. Anyway, I’d like a nap.”

  “And I’d like a drink,” Hidalgo said. “This fight has ended, and this day I shall remember.” He paused, then added, “I’d like to extend my apologies.”

  “No offense taken,” García replied. He was pleased that he would not have to kill Hidalgo. There had been sufficient bloodshed.

  “You will be famous,” Hidalgo remarked. “You will be known as the man who killed Don Alonso de Monzon, accomplished swordsman and a Knight of the Order of Santiago.”

  Startled, García stopped in his tracks. “He was Don Alonso de Monzon?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I didn’t know that, but I should have known. A great mystery has been solved,” García said in awe. “Fantastic! If this isn’t fate, I don’t know what is. Something incredible has happened.”

  Hidalgo with a questioning glance asked, “What might
you be talking about?”

  García exhaled a sigh. “Really nothing. It’s just something I read in history. Let’s go on. It’s getting late.”