by Ken Hood
"It has to be the hob, Toby. I know you don't think it's smart enough, but suppose it's learned to read your dreams, or fears, or thoughts? It could be reflecting them back at you like a mirror..." Mirror... shaving... A fit of nervous laughter took him unaware. Toby's puzzled scowl only made it worse. He howled.
"What is the boy laughing about?" Gracia demanded angrily.
"He suffers from a looseness of the wits."
Hamish coughed himself back to self-control and wiped away tears. "I just thought—if your next attack of augury brings your beard back again, we'll know for certain that it's the hob doing it."
Toby looked startled, then his big mouth twisted into a smile. "Yes, I'd have to agree with you on that."
He walked on for a moment in silence, hitched his load higher on his back, and said, "I promised our companion, whose name I shan't mention, that I would see her to where she wants to go, which is not far away from the city I shan't mention either. Then I'm going to put you on a ship. I don't care what lies you have to tell or what sort of rat-infested leaky basket it is, nor whether it's bound for Scotland or Karakorum, if we can find a master willing to take you on, you go. Far away from this accursed land."
Hamish said, "Um." Nice thought but not possible. Can't desert a friend in need. But Toby would insist he try. No need to equivocate, though. "That's a promise! I'll try." If he was to be allowed to lie to the seamen, he would explain that he wanted to leave Barcelona because his mistress had just died of plague. That would reduce his employability to much less than zero.
He was still savoring a mental image of this mistress in her days of health and lust—naked on a bed, of course, with a rose in her teeth and a flush of desire spreading over her plump, red-tipped breasts—when Toby said:
"If these visions are Oreste's doing, would he find me harder to get at it if I had more company?"
Hamish riffled through all the books he had read and stored away in his mind. "I have no idea. Where are you thinking of finding more company?"
"Right there." Toby pointed.
Their little valley had joined a larger valley, equally desolate, but not deserted. A party of travelers was proceeding down the larger way, heading in the same direction as themselves—a dozen or so, men and women both, some on horseback and some on foot. Two of the riders had already seen the trio and were coming to investigate.
"There are friars!" Gracia moaned. "You will not betray me to the Inquisition, senor?"
"Not all friars are Inquisition, senora. And we wouldn't. Why should we? You are not possessed by a demon. It would be wise if you will not tell them about my wrists healing, either."
Sunlight flashed off a metal helmet. The two horsemen were soldiers, or at least the one in front certainly was—indeed he was a knight, for he carried a lance and rode a huge warhorse. The other was probably his squire, for he was thumping his heels on a pony, trying to keep up.
Then Toby said, "Oh, demons!"
"What?" cried Gracia. "You turn pale, senor! What is wrong?"
He answered in Gaelic, to Hamish.
"I know him. His name is Don Ramon de Nuñez y Pardo. About an hour ago I cut off his head."
CHAPTER THREE
The images in the visions remained sharp as crystals, the sounds and scents and pains and tastes no less so; only the words spoken and heard lay blurred in Toby's memory. As Hamish insisted, that was a strong argument that the hob was behind the visions, for a human hexer would have more interest in conversation. But names were different. Ludwig, Captain Diaz, Don Ramon... those he remembered. This, without question, was Don Ramon cantering up on that gigantic horse.
Although the lance was presently being held high, it could mean death if it were couched.
"Cover me!" Toby hurled down his pack and grasped his staff in both hands, fading to the right. Hamish jumped to the left, preparing to make a fight of it. If the rider went for either of them, the other could smash the horse's legs.
Whatever his intentions might have been, Don Ramon reined in about a dozen paces away and stared down at the peasants with a hauteur that would have seemed pretentious on the face of Ozbeg, Khan of the Golden Horde.
He was as lean as Hamish and certainly no older than Toby, probably younger. His face was of an unusual pallor and bore a high-beaked nose over a slender ginger mustache curved up in twisted points like bull horns. Its expression of sublime arrogance was sadly out of keeping with his armor, for his helmet had come from some Castilian foot-soldier, the polished cuirass from one of Nevil's German mercenaries, and the great two-handed broadsword hanging from his saddle belonged in a museum. So did his lance and the shield on his back, for who fought with those any more? His breeches had a patch on one knee, his boots did not match, and even his shabby bay mount was notable only for its size and age. It looked old enough to be a veteran of the Granada conquest.
Toby was not accustomed to looking up to other men. He also felt he had a perfect right to raise his staff when an armed man charged him on horseback, although the likes of Don Ramon would see the move as open rebellion. In the resulting silence, he heard only the steady thump of his own heart, and saw only those haughty, unwinking eyes so much higher than his own. Eventually the obvious contempt made him feel ridiculous, so he lowered his staff and bowed to the hidalgo.
Don Ramon turned his gaze on Hamish, who bowed also. Then the chubby little squire arrived on his panting pony.
"Francisco," declaimed the knight, "inquire what manner of men these be who contest our progress, whether they be persons of quality with whom one may seek honorable passage of arms, or common rabble that need be taught respect for their betters." Even Toby could recognize the lisping accents of Toledo in that arrogant voice.
The squire clambered down stiffly from his pony, which had seen many better years. So had his ragged jerkin and hose, and he himself was well past his best, for his round, pink face was sagged in many wrinkles and when he doffed his pie-shaped leather cap, he released a wild straggle of white hair. He advanced a couple of steps toward Toby and then spoke out in an unexpectedly high-pitched voice: "Sirs, my noble master seeks to learn what manner of men you may be."
Toby drew a deep breath, but Hamish forestalled him:
"Sir Squire, pray inform the gracious hidalgo that we are humble but honest men who have pledged our arms to defend the honor and person of a lady of virtue and quality traveling on pilgrimage, and that although we ourselves are foreigners in this country, we are not and never have been servants of the rebel armies which have so grievously wreaked havoc upon it. Furthermore, pray inform the dauntless and esteemed caballero that even in our distant homeland, far away across the boundless ocean, we have heard tell of his innumerable deeds of valor, superlative breeding, and legendary prestige among knights and thus we are honored beyond measure to find ourselves in the awesome presence of Don Ramon de Nuñez y Pardo."
The squire's eyes bulged and his jaw fell open.
Even Don Ramon raised a coppery eyebrow.
Beautifully done, Master Campbell! Taking his cue from Hamish, Toby bowed very low.
"The wench, Francisco?" Don Ramon murmured. Then louder: "Inquire of what sort is yonder fair damsel, so that, if she be worthy, a gentleman may pay homage to her beauty."
"Sirs—"
"Pray inform his magnificence," said Hamish, "that he is in the presence of the exalted and matchless but most unfortunate Doña Gracia de Gomez." (Who uttered a most un-exalted gulp at hearing herself thus promoted to the nobility.) "The noble lady, racked by innumerable misfortunes, is currently on pilgrimage to the monastery of Montserrat."
Don Ramon raised the other eyebrow also. For a moment he stared dubiously at the bottle hung around the damsel's neck, then he grounded the butt of his lance. Francisco hobbled over to hold it and take the destrier's reins, as if that ancient lump would ever move of its own volition.
Don Ramon dismounted in a bold leap and strode across to Gracia with the litheness of a stag, ignoring
Toby and Hamish, although they were still armed and he was not. When he had gone past, they could see the heraldry on his shield, which depicted many quarterings, mostly white butterflies on red and blue, daisies on yellow. He sank to his knees and swept off his infantryman's helmet to uncover rich auburn locks reaching to his shoulders.
"Most noble lady, I am enraptured to behold this wilderness enriched by your unparalleled beauty, a loveliness such as I have encountered before only in the songs of the greater poets, and which must certainly be coupled with great elevation of birth and perfect nobility of soul. Reassure me, I beg you, that these yokels who seemingly attend you are indeed thralls in your service and not wayfaring ruffians who have in any way caused you distress. Tell me that they as much as brought a blush to your cheek by a crude word, and I shall instantly perform justice upon their bodies with my sword."
He would have to get to his sword first, Toby thought, fingering his staff.
Gracia shook her head violently, being apparently beyond speech as she stared down at the handsome young caballero. Her silence did not perturb him in the slightest.
"If you so implore mercy for them, sweet lady, then I can refuse you nothing. But surely the good spirits have blessed me today, because I myself am on my way to Montserrat, accompanied as you may see by a modest train of a hundred or so retainers. I beg you that you will consent to let me escort you, so that you may travel in more safety, greater comfort, and company considerably more appropriate to your noble station and personal beauty."
Toby looked again at the straggle of pilgrims trailing down the valley. Then he looked at Hamish, Hamish at Toby, both of them at the squire, and all three shrugged together. Doña Gracia managed to mumble some words of consent.
"Then, most dear lady, it is my dearest hope that you will agree to sup with us tonight in my pavilion, where my attendants will spread a table proper to your genteel taste, my bards and entertainers will seek to amuse you with music, and you will regale our courtly company with your lovely presence and delicate conversation."
"But, senor... I have nothing to wear!
"A trifle, honored lady! My mistress of the wardrobe will see that you are provided with fitting raiment. You will not refuse me, else surely I must die of a broken heart!"
"No! I mean, yes. I mean I shall be honored beyond words."
"Till tonight then. Ah, how slowly the minutes will drag!" Don Ramon kissed her fingers, flowed upright, and withdrew backward, bowing three times. Having paid his respects to the newly ennobled Doña Gracia, he spun around and paced back to his horse, which had not moved a muscle except to continue its strident breathing. He took his lance from his squire and—despite his heavy cuirass and shield—vaulted into the high saddle as smoothly as any professional acrobat.
Hamish whistled softly and shot a wondering glance at Toby.
"Francisco," the don declaimed, "the superlative Doña Gracia will be joining our train. See that she is properly furnished with attendants and suitable quarters. As for her retainers..." He eyed the retainers with distaste. "Question them straightly and establish whether they are honest men or no better than they appear. If they are mere vagabonds, then slit their ears, administer a sound beating, and let them go. However, if they do have some merit, you may enroll them in our retinue with whatever standings their experience and abilities may justify. Have them clad in our livery, outfitted with proper equipage and weapons, and issued the customary rations. I shall accept their oaths of fealty later."
Hamish whispered, "Steady!" and Toby unclenched his fists on his staff.
Turning his horse and spurring it to a lumbering walk, Don Ramon headed for the rest of his companions, who had continued on down the valley. The others watched him go until he was safely out of earshot.
"Did he by any chance," Toby inquired, "recently fall off that mountain of dog food and land on his head?"
The old squire chuckled and shook his head. "Not at all. Will you accompany me, senora, senores?" He set off on foot, leading his pony. Gracia moved close to Toby as the men took up their packs and followed. She seemed understandably bewildered, so he smiled at her and she brightened.
"You mean he has always been like that?" asked Hamish, wearing the owlish expression he displayed when faced with a knotty problem.
"I am Francisco. You have the advantage of me, senor."
"Sorry. I am Jaume Campbell i Campbell. My large friend is Tobias Longdirk i Campbell... and Senora de Gomez. Everything else was true." Jaume? Diego had translated himself again, this time into Catalan.
"I am honored to make your acquaintances. Let me put it this way, Senor Jaume. If you had a friend with a distressing disfigurement—a cast in one eye, for example would you draw attention to it by commenting?"
"Of course not."
The old man chuckled, high-pitched. "Then you would likewise be reluctant to mention any temporary misfortune he might be revealing—a lapse in the quality of his attire, for example?"
"I suppose so."
"Nor would you expect him to discuss it. So you understand! And surely I need not mention that a nobleman of impeccable ancestry, who can trace his line back to the later Caesars, will naturally be touchy on such matters. It would be extremely dangerous to emphasize any trifling discrepancies between what you may falsely perceive to be Don Ramon's current circumstances and the conditions to which he is entitled by his birthright."
Hamish walked on in silence, staring fixedly ahead, looking as if he had just met a dragon selling souvenirs.
"You are bound for Montserrat, though?" Toby asked.
The old man beamed up at him. "To Barcelona, which is very close. And if certain persons in our company are so deluded as to believe that they hired a strong young man with a sword to defend them on their journey, that may not be how everyone views the same arrangement."
Paid guard... mercenary soldier... wages?
"A nobleman could never stoop to a crass commercial arrangement of that sort!"
"Of course not. I see you are a man of discernment, Senior Tobias."
"The weapons and livery you are to issue to us?"
"They look very splendid on you, senor."
This was madness. Why, therefore, should Baron Oreste want Don Ramon's muddled aristocratic head chopped off? Unfortunately, that might become clear in due course.
CHAPTER FOUR
The valley was wider now, affording some glimpses of rocky, scrubby hills, and seeming a little less barren than before, but the war had reached it. A casa on the far side had been burned, as had its surrounding crops and vineyard. While Don Ramon had been interviewing his new retainers, his charges had spread out in a dangerously extended line. Even in this bare landscape, Toby could see innumerable stone walls, patches of shrubbery, and rocky knolls that could provide cover for any evil-intentioned persons who wanted to lie in ambush. Whether or not the deluded don recognized the problem, he was heading for the front of the group as fast as he could move his antediluvian knacker.
Francisco was moving no faster, hobbling along beside his pony and stabbing nosy little questions in his squeaky voice.
Hamish gave an abbreviated account of his wanderings with Toby. Gracia recovered her tongue and began asking about the real live don who had invited her to dinner—Toby would be much in favor of this new interest if it would stop her making calf eyes at him. But Francisco was a quick-witted old rascal and proved more expert at prying than she, displaying a dry cynicism in total contrast to his master's grandiose posturing. He soon learned the lady's true status and what she had been in her former home, but even his skill failed to elicit an explanation of the bottle hung around her neck.
After a while the old man apologized for the state of his feet and mounted his pony so they could all go faster. "May I inquire, Senor Jaume, how you knew my master's name? While he will understand that his fame should have reached as far afield as you said, I myself—being cursed with a deplorably skeptical disposition—have some trouble with the n
otion."
"Oh, he was pointed out to us in Toledo."
"When?"
"Um... about a month ago."
"I am quite positive that he was not there then."
Hamish frowned in exasperation, for his guess had been a reasonable one. "Then it was a man who looked very like him, wouldn't you say, Toby?"
"Astonishingly so, and he looks even more like the man. But who are all these pilgrims? I trust those friars are not servants of the Inquisition, for I confess, being a stranger, I consider the Inquisition an institution of doubtful merit."
This heretical sentiment made the squire roll his eyes in alarm. "Do remember the wise old saying, Senor Tobias: When in Rome, keep your mouth shut. And you must not confuse the Black Friars, who are Dominicans, with the Black Monks, who are Benedictines. We have preachers of many suborders of Galileans in Spain—possibly even too many for our own good," he conceded. "The Mosaic and Arabic philosophies have been suppressed of late, as you probably know. We do have a friar, Brother Bernat, but he is a Franciscan, and the other learned scholar is Father Guillem, a Benedictine monk. I shall introduce all these fine people to you as we go by. Now these first, or perhaps it would more accurate to call them these last, are natives of Catalonia who fled before the invaders and now seek to return."
The four to which he referred were trailing some distance behind the main body of the pilgrims, having trouble moving a well-laden mule. The two men were dragging it along on a rope, and the two women driving it, whacking its rump vigorously with sticks. All of them wore the dark, monotonous dress of peasants and looked bent, weathered, and hopeless, prematurely aged by toil. Francisco introduced Senora de Gomez and her two fine guards, who would henceforth put their strong arms at the disposal of the company. The men regarded the strangers with glowering suspicion.
"Miguel and Rafael," Francisco explained, without distinguishing which was which or mentioning their wives' names.
Toby and Hamish expressed their honor and happiness at the meeting. The women paid no attention at all, one keeping her eyes on the ground, and the other redoubling her efforts to wallop the mule into faster motion. The men grunted and scowled. Then the taller spat. "Foreigners!"
