In the Great Hall a long table stretched across the far end filled with Castilian nobles and soldiers of high rank. In the midst of them was Sancho and Rodrigo de Vivar seated on his right. The chair beside the latter was empty. This was probably Valentin's place, Madelon thought. She waited for him to move past her and sit down, but he did not do so. Instead he followed her into the room and stood a few feet to one side of her, a determined expression on his dark features. Did he mean to make a scene, she wondered? He was high in Sancho's favour now - his position at the table was proof of that. He could ask for the death penalty for his enemy and probably get it.
As Paco bowed respectfully before his new king, she swept down in a low curtsy. A page advanced towards her brother holding out a sword on a silk cushion. It was the Sword of State. Rodrigo rose to his feet and glared balefully at the man before him. He was almost hoping Paco would not put in an appearance, thus proclaiming his rejection of his new monarch and also signing his own death warrant. A quick way to solve Valentin's problem and rid the country of a troublemaker.
"Paco del Rivas y Montevides, kneel." Paco knelt and the hall was suddenly quiet. "Do you swear as God is your witness, to give your loyalty to Sancho, eldest son of Ferdinand, rightful king of Leon and Castile and to no other?"
"I so swear."
"Kiss the sword and may God strike you down if you have lied."
Paco touched the cold steel with his lips and quickly straightened, to encounter Sancho's piercing gaze. Taking a deep breath he said in a harsh tone:
"If you are waiting for a plea for mercy, sire, you will wait until eternity. I have done nothing for which you can condemn me. I am a soldier and I have been loyal to my king. If that is a crime in Castilian eyes, then I am guilty."
"I am your king," Sancho snapped. "How will you serve me?"
Paco was silent. He had sworn an oath of loyalty and he would keep it, but Sancho would never hold the same sway over him as Alfonso had done - there was too much personal enmity between them.
"You know the answer to that as well as I," he returned.
Madelon grew pale at the sight of the grimness which settled over Sancho's face, knowing he was about to pronounce some terrible sentence. She ran to her brother's side and caught his hand.
"Paco, for my sake, bend a little," she pleaded.
"To Sancho? You don't know what you ask of me. I am his kinsman, but it carries no weight. We hate each other too much."
"But why?" Madelon was oblivious to Rodrigo calling her name or to the interested speculation among the Castilians. She had eyes only for Paco who seemed determined to throw his life away. "As boys you were close."
"Jealousy, perhaps. I've resented him ever since the day our mother died and he was the only one she wanted to see. Me - her own flesh and blood she shut out of the room. Sancho was alone with her when she died. I should have been there, shouldn't I?"
Madelon nodded, hastily brushing away the tears which blurred her vision. Poor Paco, how tormented he must have been for years. She wheeled away from him in a swirl of yellow satin and stood before her cousin.
"Your Majesty, may I speak?"
Sancho's expression darkened. He had watched and prayed she would not interfere. She had suffered too much in her young life and he did not want to add to it. He had promised her mother he would look after her if the time came when she needed protection and Paco was unable to give it. Even if she went down on her knees he would not relent in his determination to rid himself of Paco. He was too dangerous to remain alive. He sent a withering glance at Urraca, then said coldly:
"My head is still full of my sister's constant whining. Am I to be plagued by another tearful woman trying to appeal to my better nature? Believe me, cousin, you are wasting your time."
"Beg, sire?" A faint smile crossed Madelon's face. "I will not beg. You are too hard a man to be swayed by tears or the sight of a woman on her knees, so I will save you that ungainly sight. Paco has spoken the truth. He is guilty of only two things: loyalty to his king and love for a heartless woman who has scorned and betrayed him. I know it is in your mind to take his life and I know why. Consider carefully, sire, is it your intention to have him executed because he is your enemy, or because he failed my mother? I ask you to spare him - in the name of all you once shared with her."
For a moment Madelon thought she had gone too far. A heavy buzz of conversation broke out all around her, she was half aware of the incredulous stares being cast in her direction and of Valentin moving closer as if to give her moral support, but it was Sancho who held her attention. The colour fled from his face, then returned in a heavy flush which stained his neck and cheeks a dark red. She watched his fingers tighten around the carved arms of his chair until the knuckles grew white.
"You go too far," he said between clenched teeth. "Have a care or you may share your brother's fate for this act of folly."
"I am prepared even for that," Madelon answered proudly. She had seized her opportunity and it seemed she had lost, but the next moment her heartbeats quickened as Sancho leant across the table demanding:
"What if I exiled your brother to Zamora with the rest of the Leonese court, are you willing to go with him, to be his jailer? Can you swear to me he will never plot against my person or my kingdom?"
Madelon was silent. From one side of her she heard a hoarse whisper - "No! In the name of God, no!" - and knew it came from Valentin. She did not turn around. Sancho began to smile, confident she would not give up a bright future to go into exile.
"Your Majesty has forgotten I am to be married to the Count of Segovia. I cannot be a wife and my brother's keeper."
"The choice is yours."
"Then I will accompany my brother," Madelon replied simply. She was free! Safe from the clutches of Gaspar Vivaldes, of Urraca, and Paco still had his life. "Thank you, sire ..." She sank into a curtsey and found her legs were trembling so violently she could not rise. It was Paco who drew her to her feet.
"No," he said harshly.
Sancho's eyebrows rose sardonically and a courtier tittered.
"Be thankful you have your worthless life. Take your sister away and thank her before I change my mind."
"Yes, I have my life - at the cost of her happiness. The price is too high." A terrible look passed over Paco's face as his pride fought with his conscience. He put Madelon away from him and faced his cousin challengingly. "She would not beg, but I will. If I am to be exiled, let it be to my estates in Salamanca.
I have been away a long time and they are in need of my attention. Besides," he gave a bitter smile in the direction of his ex-mistress, "I no longer have a stomach for intrigue and murder. There is nothing for me at Zamora."
"Such a weakness, I will gladly overlook,'' Sancho retorted. He was unsure, wavering on the brink of a decision. His gaze fastened on Madelon and on the tall, silent figure standing nearby. "And your sister, what of her? Do you intend to drag her off to that mausoleum as thanks for what she has done for you today?"
"With your gracious permission Madelon will remain in your care - or rather in that of Valentin Maratin whom she loves deeply and who," Paco stumbled over the words ... "who I now realize loves her."
Madelon felt someone's hands fasten over her shoulders and knew it was Valentin. She leant against him weakly and felt his lips brush the back of her neck.
At the table Rodrigo whispered something in the ear of his king.
"If that old devil gives me any trouble, I'll cut off his beard," Valentin muttered.
"It is settled then." Sancho relaxed back in his seat and stared at Paco. "Paco del Rivas y Montevides, it is hereby decreed you are to be exiled to your estates in Salamanca until it pleases me to recall you to court. I need hardly warn you of the consequences should you disobey my command. You will leave Santa Maria de Carrion before the sun sets. You have my leave to go."
Paco bowed and turned away, still a little dazed at his good fortune. One day perhaps, he and Sancho would be able t
o talk... At the sight of the tears in his sister's eyes, he smiled and gently kissed her.
"Tears, little one? Isn't this what you wanted? Come now, dry your eyes and let me see you smile before I go. Will you ride part of the way with me?"
"You are leaving at once?" Valentin asked in a quiet tone.
His dislike of Paco had not lessened, but in those last brief moments he had come to respect the enemy.
"Yes."
"Of course I will come," Madelon said, smiling bravely through a mist of tears. "I will change and meet you in the courtyard." Paco nodded and left them. She turned and looked into Valentin's face and her lips trembled. "There is something you must know ..." she began, but he laid a hand against her mouth and silenced her.
"Persian women are terrible chatterboxes," he murmured. "Did you think it would matter to me, shafra? I don't care who your father was, do you hear me? Now go and change and meet me by the stables. I am coming too."
***
Paco said nothing when he saw the man accompanying his sister. He helped her to mount and the three of them rode in silence through the streets of Santa Maria de Carrion towards the outer wall. A mile beyond it Paco reined in his horse and turned to face them. He was pale, but perfectly in control of his-emotions and they could only guess at the tumult of feelings he was concealing.
Taking both of Madelon's hands in his he drew her to him and kissed her. She would have clung to him, but he put her from him into Valentin's hold.
"Good-bye, little sister, try to forgive me for being such a blind fool. Come and see me sometimes." He stared at Valentin for a long moment and his voice was strained as he said. "Make her happy, Maratin, she's had too little of it in her life."
Valentin nodded. This was not the time for speech-making and both men knew it. His arm tightened comfortingly around Madelon's shoulders as she began to weep. Paco's hand rested for a final moment on her cheek. As he withdrew it Valentin's hand snaked out and caught it in a grip too fierce for the other man to break free. Paco glared at him, but then his expression lightened and a smile softened the taut line of his mouth. His fingers fastened around Valentin's wrist in a firm clasp.
Before Madelon could grasp the significance of the incident, he had wheeled his horse around and was riding swiftly away from them. Valentin eased his horse nearer to hers. They sat close together, holding hands and watching Paco skilfully guiding his mount down a rocky incline to the valley below. A forest stretched out before him. As he reached it he urged his horse into a gallop and immediately, both horse and rider were lost to view.
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