Her horse reared violently as a rider galloped up from behind and almost cannoned into her. As she fought to control the frightened animal the rider wheeled about, caught the reins and dragged the horse off the street and into a narrow alleyway. Madelon was about to give vent to her anger when Valentin swung round in the saddle and grinned at her. With a cry of relief she threw herself into his arms. Diya, who had followed her mistress into the alley believing she was being abducted by celebrating Leonese soldiers, took one look at the couple locked in each other's arms and quickly turned about, positioning her horse so that no one could pass by. Stephen rode out of the crowd and edged his mount close to hers, completely blocking all view of the alley,
"What were you buying those beautiful silks for?" Valentin asked Madelon with a slow smile. "Your wedding?"
"Don't tease me, Valentin, you know all my clothes were stolen. Is it safe for us to be here?"
Valentin motioned to their two watchdogs and Madelon's heart warmed towards her maid arid the young squire as she saw the protective shield they had set up.
"We have little time," Valentin murmured. "Listen to my plan. Tonight Alfonso intends to throw a large banquet for his court and all the prominent people of the town. He means to get on the right side of them from the start, for he's going to introduce new taxation tomorrow, to pay for his coronation. Sancho will be there, he has no choice. Alfonso means to keep him within seeing distance until all Castilians have been disarmed and dispersed."
"You sound as if you mean to try and rescue him," Madelon breathed and her eyes widened fearfully at the thought of him taking such a terrible risk. He gently touched her cheek with loving fingers.
"You didn't think Sancho would surrender himself without us having a ready-made plan, did you? But that is not for you to worry about. You must think of yourself ... of us."
"Of us," Madelon faltered, "but it's impossible now."
"Only if you don't have the courage to do as I say," Valentin replied, his eyes quickly searching her face. "I don't intend the Count of Segovia to have my woman, nor do I expect her to give herself into his hands like a lamb. The town tonight will be in chaos - my men mixing with the townsfolk will make sure the celebrations are successful. Prepare for the banquet as if nothing is amiss. As you come downstairs there will be a group of acrobats outside the house. Go and watch them, step out into the street and then lose yourself in the crowd. Stephen will bring you to me. Once in the safety of our camp you will join Teresa and young Cristobal - he's recovered enough to ride - and leave for the Castle de Aguilas. I shall be sending a dozen men with you. You will have no trouble reaching there safely."
"But... but Alfonso said ... What about the guards?"
"They will not detain you, I promise," Valentin said with a soft chuckle. "Urraca is not the only one who can mix an effective potion."
"So you know."
"It was a shrewd guess. How did you know?"
"Paco told me. Urraca had two of the town courtesans entertain your men last night. I think Paco was quite disgusted with it all. He seems more reasonable today, more like his old self."
"Does that mean you wish to stay with him?" Valentin asked, his voice suddenly strained.
Madelon reached out and clasped his hand, her eyes bright with unshed tears, but with determination in her lovely face.
"No, my love of little faith, I want to be with you. After tonight I will be - for always."
***
Madelon swung away from the mirror, her eyes alight with excitement.
"How do I look, Diya?"
The Persian girl made a last minute adjustment to Madelon's blonde hair, secured in a loose coil of curls high on her head, then she stepped back and studied the exquisite little figure in pink brocade and satin. Madelon had taken great care in the choosing of the dress and matching slippers for she wanted to look her best tonight. Not for the Count of Segovia, but for her beloved Valentin. Her cousin Urraca had talked incessantly of her plans for the forthcoming wedding and Madelon had remained discreetly silent. It no longer mattered what plans were made for her, they would never be fulfilled.
"If you continue to look so radiant, your brother will suspect something," Diya said anxiously, but then her face cleared and she hugged Madelon. "I am happy too, my lady, so happy. Soon you will be away from this terrible place, cared for by the Lord of the Eagles. Once in his castle you will be safe from Don Paco, the king's anger and everyone who wants to harm you."
The Castle de Aguilas, Madelon murmured. Her eyes shone at the thought of the impenetrable fortress high in the Sierra de Gredos and the gentle Francesca Maratin who had already accepted her as a prospective daughter-in-law. How wonderful it would be to be surrounded by people who loved her. If only Paco ... no! It was impossible and she must put him out of her mind.
"I can see a group of acrobats coming this way," Diya called from the window and Madelon flew to her side eagerly.
"They must be the ones we were told to watch for. We must go down now, but remember, to keep your eyes open for-Stephen."
Diya flashed a wicked grin that made Madelon wonder how far the relationship between her maid and the squire had developed. "I will, my lady. I promise."
Almost at the entrance of the banquet hall, Madelon stopped and turned in the direction of the street door, as if attracted by the acrobats and players, performing on the steps.
"Oh, Diya, aren't they clever," she cried pointing to a couple of jugglers near the doorway. "I must watch for a while."
Threading her way through the courtiers heading for the banquet, she stood on the steps pretending to watch the entertainments and gradually edging her way closer to the packed street. Diya lightly touched her arm and hissed:
"Yonder, the man in the brown cloak standing by the wine cart. I'm certain it's Stephen."
Madelon's eyes quickly singled out the man who turned sufficiently in their direction for her to glimpse a familiar freckled face. Holding tightly to Diya's hand she stepped quickly into the crowd and was immediately lost from the view of anyone in the house. As they reached Stephen's side, he turned and disappeared into an equally crowded side street. Diya pushed and cursed at people who jostled them, threatening to separate her from her mistress and to cut them off from their guide. It was almost dark. People appeared carrying torches. Someone thrust one into Madelon's hand. She hastily passed it on to someone else, frightened that her face might be recognized in the nickering light. Stephen continued to dodge ahead of them, down narrow foul-smelling alleys, past crowded stalls where merchants were taking advantage of the celebrations to peddle their wares at double the normal price and she realized he was heading for the little used south gate. Madelon's heartbeats quickened with the anticipation of encountering Valentin at any moment.
Diya came to a sudden halt and Madelon pulled at her hand impatiently. Already Stephen was out of sight. As she turned and saw her maid struggling in the arms of a burly soldier, a man's hand closed over her wrist, another over her mouth, and she was dragged backwards beneath the overhang of a building. A torch was thrust close to her face and a voice declared matter of factly:
"Yes, this is her. Take her back to the Dona Urraca and don't let her make a scene. Cover her with a cloak. I don't want her recognized."
Madelon's struggle tailed off weakly and she sagged in the arms of her captor at the mention of her cousin's name. She had been followed - trapped - hysteria seized her at such a cruel trick of fate and gave strength to renew her attempts to free herself. She struggled so violently against the arms which held her that it took two men-at-arms to subdue her. The sergeant in charge stared stony-faced at the dishevelled, panting girl being hoisted unceremoniously on to a horse where she was held in the grasp of a red-faced soldier. A heavy cloak was wrapped around her head and body, obscuring her face from curious onlookers.
"You'd best calm yourself, my fine lady, or you'll end up bound and gagged. And you!" He glared at Diya who was swearing in a most profound
fashion at the man who held her. It was in her own language which made it sound doubly offensive. At a glance from Madelon she fell silent.
Madelon's relief at Stephen's prompt disappearance was shattered by the sight of the boy's unconscious form being slung across a nearby horse. She felt sick with disappointment and fear and offered no further resistance as her captor turned his mount around and headed back into the centre of the town. Her last chance to escape marriage with Gaspar Vivaldes was gone. The realization left her dazed and totally without hope of ever being reunited with Valentin again. She prayed he would not try to find out what had happened to her. If Urraca had had someone following her, it was possible she also had a watch kept on Valentin too. One wrong move and his life would be in danger.
In her misery she did not notice the curious stares of the townspeople or the uncomfortable ride. She was lifted from the horse outside a side entrance and pushed roughly into the house. The sergeant pushed past her on the stairs and led the way to the floor where Urraca had her apartments. He knocked on the door and disappeared inside, to reappear almost immediately.
"Inside," he ordered Madelon. "You, stay outside and guard the other prisoners," he ordered the escort.
Urraca was not alone, Paco was sprawled in a chair. Beside him on a table were several bottles of wine and a full goblet. He stared at his sister and said nothing. After a moment he drank his wine and refilled the vessel.
"You may go, sergeant, I will reward your diligence as soon as I have dealt with my little problem here." Urraca smiled warmly into the weather-beaten face of the soldier, allowed him to kiss the tips of her jewelled fingers and waited for him to withdraw. As the door closed behind his retreating figure, she turned slowly on Madelon, her eyes glittering with satisfaction at her appearance. The beautiful pink satin had been ripped in several places during the brief but hectic struggle and Madelon's hair hung down her back in wild disarray. Paco blinked at her over the rim of his goblet.
"You look like our mother," he mumbled.
"Be quiet, you drunken fool," Urraca snapped.
"Why have I been molested by your men-at-arms like a common whore? Why have 1 been brought here?" Madelon demanded with immense dignity. Her fear had gone and anger had come in its place. Anger for the brother who sat staring at her in silence, neither condemning her nor siding with her - and anger for the beautiful, scheming cousin whose plans she had tried so hard to destroy.
"If you act like one, my dear Madelon, you must expect this kind of treatment. Here you are about to become a bride and yet you sneak off to meet a lover."
"I was watching the entertainments in the street when I was suddenly grabbed and bundled back here. I demand an explanation."
Urraca relaxed down on to the couch and leaned back amid velvet cushions, her face breaking into a sneer.
"I wonder how the young man outside, Maratin's squire, or your maid would tell the story - under torture."
Madelon blanched. She suspected they would both die rather than betray them, but she knew she could not allow either of them to be touched. She shrugged her slim shoulders.
"Very well, I was on my way to see Valentin Maratin. I - I was going to ask him to take me away with him."
Paco uttered a stifled groan and poured himself another drink. He was not drunk, as Urraca thought, but the constant drinking had revived memories he had put out of his mind for many years. Madelon, standing before him in her torn gown, was as proud and defiant as their mother had been in the slave market at Toledo. One hand had clutched the remnants of her clothes about her as best she could, the other hand held Paco's tiny fingers tightly in hers. She had borne threats and beatings as an inducement to let him go, but they had not been parted since their capture. Among so many other bitter memories he had forgotten the way she had clung to him and protected him without any thought to her own safety. She had loved him once... they had been close, just as he and Madelon ... He ran a hand through his hair and then wiped it across his wet mouth, and continued to drink... all the time waiting and watching and listening.
"Tomorrow the court leaves for Burgos," Urraca was saying. "Alfonso will be crowned in the cathedral there. The day after we shall both be at your wedding. Do you understand me, Madelon?"
"You will have to drag me to the church," Madelon declared defiantly, "I will not go of my own free will. If Paco beats me I will wear sackcloth and let everyone see the bruises on me."
Did she really think he would sink so low as to beat her, as their father had done, Paco wondered and inwardly shuddered to think of himself bruising her soft skin. His eyes suddenly fastened on her arms and saw several unpleasant-looking marks he had not noticed before. She had not lied when she said she had been manhandled by the soldiers - Urraca's men, acting on her orders. The smiling face of his mistress grew even more loathesome to look at. Damn her, she was enjoying Madelon's discomfort. He stifled the impulse to leap from his chair and plant his fist in those attractive features. Her turn would come. He did not know when or what form his revenge would take, but somehow he knew he was going to have the pleasure of seeing Urraca stripped of her powers - as defenceless as all her victims. It no longer mattered if he fell with her, so long as her corruptness was destroyed.
Urraca gave a low amused laugh as if she considered the sight of Madelon in sackcloth would be highly enjoyable.
"For disobeying the command of your king, you could be stripped of all lands and titles, dragged through the streets on a rope like a common peasant and then thrown into a dungeon to await his pleasure."
"Or yours, cousin," Madelon retorted. "I'm not afraid of your threats. I don't care what you do to me."
"Then a finger won't be laid on you," Urraca said. She contemplated her long polished nails and changed several rings on to other fingers. "I shall simply have Valentin Maratin executed."
"No!"
The pitiful cry which came from Madelon's lips brought a cruel gleam to the older woman's eyes.
"Yes, Madelon, yes. I shall call in my sergeant in a few moments and give him instructions to take a detachment of men to the lodging house where Maratln is staying. He will arrest your lover and bring him back to the excellent dungeons beneath this house. A night with my private executioner may persuade him to reveal a few of Sancho's secrets. If not, it does not matter, he has a strong will and my executioner will enjoy trying to break him. Tomorrow, before my brother's coronation, I shall have him beheaded. Did you know that's the way the Moors deal with their Christian captives? They cut off their heads and nail them over the archways over the roads leading into their towns. Perhaps I shall have the head of the Lord of the Eagles decorating the door of the church in Burgos. An appropriate end for a man who is a follower of the Moorish way of life, don't you agree?"
Madelon gave a soft moan and began to sway unsteadily. Paco came out of his chair with surprising swiftness and steadied her. He sat her down and put his goblet to her lips, waiting while she drank deeply of the honeyed wine and recovered her composure.
"You bitch." He glared at Urraca with hate-filled eyes. "You were fathered by the devil himself."
"I like that, Paco, your sense of humour is returning. The devil's daughter and a Moor's bastard. We should be good company for each other."
Madelon raised her head and stared at Urraca with horrified eyes. Her mind was still so full of visions of a headless Valentin that she could scarcely take in this new development, yet instinctively she knew the remark had been directed at her, not Paco. Beside the chair, her brother had become like a frozen statue. His hand, still holding hers, was like ice.
"What does she mean, Paco?"
"Nothing - she only wants to hurt you."
Urraca ignored the wildness growing in Paco's expression. One way or the other she would make sure Madelon married Gaspar Vivaldes.
"Don't look so tragic, cousin," she purred, "no one but Paco and I know the truth and Sancho, of course, but he is in no position to cause any trouble."
Mad
elon felt as if she was going out of her mind. She leapt to her feet with an anguished cry.
"For the love of God, what is it I don't know? Paco, why am I like my mother? Why do you always compare us? Do we look alike, is that it?"
Mutely Paco nodded. While he floundered desperately for words - the right words, gentle words, to explain, Urraca rose to her feet and poured herself some wine.
"Your mother was taken in a Moorish raid and sold as a slave in Toledo. She was bought, according to Paco, by a Moor of some repute, though the name escapes him. You are a result of that liaison."
Madelon did not move or speak. Her face was so white, her expression so shocked, that Paco put his arms around her shoulders, half afraid she would faint, but she appeared not to notice. Hundreds upon hundreds of thoughts flashed through her mind as she stood there. How clear everything was now. Her father had hated her not because she had been born a girl, but because she had been fathered by another man - a Moor! His violent quarrels with her and his hatred for her poor mother, his desire to marry off his unwanted bastard and rid the house of her presence, it was easy to understand now. There was Moorish blood in her veins, blood of men like Yusuf. She glanced down at the slim hands clasped tightly in front of her. They were the same - she was the same. Whatever was in her now had always been in her, nothing had changed. Her fingers sought Paco's hands, firm on her shoulders and clung to them.
"I am grateful to you, cousin Urraca, you have opened the door to many secrets which have been kept from me," she said calmly. "My only regret is not knowing sooner."
"Some day I will kill you," Paco muttered, glaring at Urraca. He turned his sister gently in his arms and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Forgive me, I should have told you, but when you met Maratin and it became obvious there was an attraction between you, my hatred of him overruled everything else. I was wrong to keep it from you, to force you into marriage with a man who isn't fit to kiss the hem of your gown. Our mother was forced into marriage too, perhaps that's why she found pleasure in the arms of another man. I was a fool to condemn her."
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