by Dave Duncan
"He is a friar, madame, a pious teacher of ethics."
She lowered her voice. "That is what a friar is supposed to be, yes. But is he what he says he is? I think he is an —" she paused dramatically, "—alumbrado!"
"I am not familiar with that term, madame."
She pouted, curling her mustache. "It is a foul heresy. There are ill-disposed people who travel the wild lands, Tobias, seeking out elemental spirits."
"Hexers. They harvest the elementals and turn them into demons. I know of this evil, but —"
"Not only hexers! Worse! You have never heard of the alumbrados?"
He hitched his pack higher on his shoulders, wondering what could possibly be worse than the gramarye he had met in Lady Valda or foreseen in Baron Oreste. "No."
"Alumbradismo is the worst form of gramarye, Tobias! These abominable persons do not worship good spirits and tutelaries, as honest folk do, but the wild elementals themselves!"
"Why should that be worse than hexing? It sounds dangerous, for elementals are unpredictable, but they are not evil in the way demons —"
She dismissed his ignorance with a wave of her fan. "These heretics sacrifice children to the elementals!"
Oh, that was ridiculous! What interest would a wild elemental have in human sacrifice? They just wanted to be left alone.
"I never heard of this terrible thing, madame. For what purpose do they do it?"
She rolled her eyes. "For power, of course! It is said that they make themselves immortal."
This was not even gossip—it was pure malice. He did not believe a word of it. "That is a most serious charge, madame. Have you any evidence?"
Senora Collel resented his doubts and scowled at him. "I told you I only had suspicions! But there is something very strange about that Brother Bernat and his sweet little ward. You speak with him and then come and tell me if you do not sense something very strange about him."
"I confess I already have sensed that he is an unusual man."
"There! What did I tell you!"
Hamish had never mentioned alumbradismo, and if Hamish did not know of it, then it had never been written in any book. Perhaps it was some sort of local superstition.
"I shall keep your warning in mind," Toby said. "Now tell me of the most interesting person in this company."
"The don, you mean?"
"Of course not. Madame Collel."
She laughed raucously. "So you can Hatter? Ah, the woman is a terrible harridan! She was born very poor and married a man much older than herself, disgustingly rich. She has outlived three husbands. It is a well-known scandal that her household always includes a well-built young steward, whom she pays well to keep her servants in line and herself content. It is said she usually tires of these staunch youngsters after a year or so, but dismisses them with a generous requital. Have you employment in mind when you reach Barcelona, Tobias?"
He gaped at her brazen smirk. He had no idea how much she was mocking him, or if her monstrous suggestion could be at least partly serious. "Monsieur Brusi has already offered to make me a porter in his warehouse."
"I pay better, but the work might be harder."
It would indeed! "I shall keep this generous offer in mind, madame."
She chuckled. "But I do not roll in the undergrowth like Eulalia. If you wish to try out for the post, you will have to wait until we arrive. What do you think of the don?"
"He puzzles me. Is he as deluded as he pretends?"
"How can he be, unless he lost his wits in battle? He is reputed to be a good fighter." From her that was probably significant praise, but she said no more about Don Ramon. She frowned. "There is something very odd about his squire, also. He bothers me more."
7
By sunset they were almost out of the hills. Hamish had located an excellent campsite, sheltered by cypress trees and furnished with a small pool trapped behind an earthen dam. The water was slime-covered and bad-smelling, but it would serve to wash off the sweat and dust of the day. When Toby tried to borrow the Brusi bucket, he was reminded of his promise to curry the horses and informed that his fee for that could be the rent of the bucket. The better one came to know Brusi Senior, the nastier the old prune seemed, but the only other bucket belonged to Rafael and Miguel and the price of that one would be the captain's heart on a stick. What a jolly lot they all were!
While Hamish was building a communal fire, therefore, Toby gave Josep a lesson in caring for horses. Eulalia attended to Senora Collel's and obviously knew what she was doing—a farmer's daughter, no doubt. Each little group sat under its own tree, well apart from the others. Pepita wandered around being friends with everyone, but she was a notable exception, because there was still no sign of the adults cooperating. Rafael and Miguel had marched up to the Brusi camp and carted away their possessions without a word of thanks to anyone.
Even the two clerics remained aloof. Toby had talked with them on the march, receiving a severe lecture from Father Guillem on the virtue of peaceable methods and the iniquity of drawing a sword on unarmed peasants. Toby refrained from pointing out that the procession had moved a lot faster since his bullying.
Brother Bernat was courteous, inquisitive, and inscrutable. At times his talk rambled and he seemed almost senile, but his questions were sharp enough. Anything he said about himself was trivial, as when Toby congratulated him on keeping up with youngsters like him.
"I am a friar, Tobias. I have been walking all my life. I would take you on any day and walk your feet off. But you have walked all the way from Scotland? By what route did you come?" Yes, Brother Bernat was much more likeable than the monk, and not as feeble and feathery as he pretended.
When the horses were seen to, Toby collected the bucket and headed for the pool. The sky was darkening already, and the long day had left him bone weary. It was not over yet, of course. He was accosted by the don, on foot but still wearing his cuirass and now bearing his great broadsword as well. He held out two wooden whistles hung on thongs.
"You will post the order of the watch, Captain."
Toby accepted the whistles and made a rapid calculation. Two would be the minimum to guard so many horses, and he was surprised the don had not ordered him to post twenty. How many men could he call on, though?
Then Don Ramon added: "Leave orders for my personal staff to be awakened two hours before dawn, so they can prepare my bath and so on."
"As the hidalgo commands," Toby answered gratefully. He assumed that meant the don and Francisco would take the final watch, so the night could be divided into five, which would be a great deal easier than the last few nights had been. He would not trust Rafael and Miguel together, though, and probably not the two Brusis, either. It would take some thought... .
"We must assume, Captain, that the Fiend has learned from his demons that I have taken the field against him. He will undoubtedly hasten here in strength to oppose me. You should anticipate a surprise attack before dawn."
Toby drew a quick breath and said, "This is serious news, senor. I shall pass it on to the officers and take the necessary precautions."
That was easier than trying to explain to the madman that he himself, Toby Longdirk—pauper, smuggler, mercenary, and habitual odd-job man—had been the reason King Nevil had invaded Spain the first time... .
He filled the bucket and went off into the dark trees to clean up. He had barely removed his doublet and shirt when he heard a quiet rustle behind him and a high-pitched voice murmured:
"Captain?"
He stayed where he was, on his knees, annoyed at this intrusion. "You need the bucket, Senor Francisco? I shall be only a few moments."
"Oh. No. Or not yet." The old squire cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. "I was wondering ... That is, I propose ... "
Toby sat back on his heels with an inward sigh. "Whatever it is, I shan't tell the don."
"Ah, you are understanding. I should like to buy some provisions, if you have some to spare. You see—you will recall—
Ramon invited Doña Gracia to dine with him this evening. He has ordered me to prepare a banquet in her honor, but this will leave me a little shorter of supplies than ... He does not realize ... "
Toby's mind jumped back to the siesta break. Those two had ridden off alone. He turned to stare at the old man.
"Have you anything left at all?"
"Oh, yes! I mean ... Well, not a great deal... . "
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," Francisco admitted sadly.
"When did you last eat?"
"We had a little yesterday."
Great spirits! "You can't go all the way to Montserrat without eating!"
"No, senor. But the don ... He is a proud man and —"
"He still has to eat." Toby had expected that his own group would be the first to run out, or possibly the clerics, whose packs seemed skimpy, but not for a few days, and he had been hoping that by then he might have thumped these stubborn individualists into more of a team and taught them the need to share.
"I am offering payment!" Francisco whispered despondently. He held out a hand. "This ring is very pure gold."
Tony took it and peered at it in the fading light. It was a plain wedding band and could be gold for all he could tell. Returning it, he caught hold of Francisco's hand. It was a small hand, very delicate. He looked up at the plump, aged face.
"Francisca?"
She drew in her breath and snatched her fingers from his grasp. For a moment she seemed about to flee, and then her shoulders slumped. She groaned. "You are perceptive, senor! I don't think any of the others have guessed."
Toby laughed gently. "I'm sure you're right, because Senora Collel does not know. Sit down and tell me about it. As one seasoned campaigner with another, you will not object to watching me wash?"
"We can talk later, senor." She sounded close to tears.
"No, sit down! Turn your back if you wish." Toby scooped water in both hands and soaked his face, his odd-seeming, naked face. He was glad to be rid of the beard, because he hated it, but it would return fast enough. He owned no razor. "Tell me the story. I won't repeat it. I promise, but I do want to hear. Think of it as my day's pay."
The old woman settled to the ground stiffly, not turning her back but not facing him either. She sighed. "I am his mother."
Who else could she be? He might have guessed grandmother, but she seemed younger as a woman than she had as a man. The pitch of her voice had lost its strangeness, of course.
"He is of the limpieza de sangre, the pure blood. Look at the veins in his wrists—blue as the sky! His family is very old, very distinguished, but it was never wealthy. In his grandfather's time ... You do not care about that. Suffice it, senor, that when his father died, two years ago, and then the bankers called in their notes, he was left with only one tiny holding. Four sheep wide and ten sheep long, he called it, but he was still a hidalgo with land and a roof over his head. When the rebels came, he had not even that."
Toby was starting to wish he had not asked. He slopped water over himself and said nothing. In the camp behind him Pepita trilled with laughter and a horse whinnied.
"He answered King Pedro's call, of course. He fought very bravely! You may doubt a mother speaking of her son, but I tell you much less than the truth. Many persons commented on how he distinguished himself on his first day in battle. At the end his horse was killed under him and his arm was broken. He was taken prisoner. His armor was forfeit, of course, his weapons, everything."
Toby shivered. "He was extremely lucky not to be butchered most horribly."
"I know that, senor. He killed a guard and escaped back to the Castilian lines."
"With a broken arm?"
"Yes. Alone."
That was an incredible feat. If true it deserved an epic, and somehow he did not doubt a word of it—fiction would have been made more believable. "How old is he?"
She evaded the question. "He was a man when he was fourteen. But he could fight no more. By the time the bone had knitted, the war was over."
"And you had nothing."
"We were out in the streets. He did not even have clothes in which to go to court to seek recognition of his services." She sighed. "I doubt he would have gone anyway. He comes of proud stock. His father ... No matter. I heard of certain persons who wished to return to Barcelona and wanted to hire a guard. I found others like them. I made the arrangements, senor. Then I went and told him what I had done."
Proud stock could not be a hired guard. Toby did not ask the obvious question, but she told him anyway.
"He was enraged! Furious! He turned the color of the dead and would not speak. I asked him if he would watch his mother starve. Or if he would make a thief out of me, for I had naturally taken some of the fee in advance to buy weapons and armor and horses. He could not answer. He would say nothing. He walked the streets for days. He did not sleep or eat. I almost wished he would strike me for betraying him so. On the morning we were due to leave, I dressed in these clothes and went and told him I was his squire and his retinue was waiting. He smiled for the first time since the war came. He ordered me to have the bugles sounded."
The knot in Toby's throat made speech impossible. He bent forward and emptied the last of the water over his hair, then rubbed it vigorously with his shirt.
"We have kept up the pretense ever since," she said, sounding proud of that. "I have told you the truth, senor."
She knew it was pretense, but how much of it did the boy believe? Was he just honoring his mother's courage or had his mind snapped?
"I do not doubt it, Doña Francisca. You are as brave as your son. We have some provisions to spare. We shall divide them with you, so that when we run out, we all run out together, and who can say what may happen before then? No," he insisted when she held out the ring again. "I will not take it. You may pay me when you collect your fee in Barcelona." He pulled on his wet shirt and his doublet over it.
"Please, senor! Let me pay with this, now."
"Never!" He could even laugh a little at her stubbornness—the son had not taken it all from his father. "Your wedding ring for a bag of beans? Even barbarous Scotsmen are not without honor."
"You do not understand," she said miserably. "They say that in Barcelona now this would be a fair exchange, gold for beans. I was a fool, I knew I was outbidding many seasoned soldiers, so I did not ask nearly enough. I had no idea of prices... . I did not even leave enough for food, so we have run out already. Do you think those peasants will honor their pledge? Or old Brusi? That woman? They will laugh at me when I ask for the rest. My son will not recognize the problem. And even if they pay, it will not be enough to take us home again."
That would not be a problem. Toby had a very clear image of a head rolling across bloody planks. Her son was going to die in Barcelona, and he would be the executioner. He choked down a surge of nausea and jumped to his feet. He held out a hand to help her rise.
"Come and collect the food so you may lay out the banquet for your lord and the lady. I will not take one blanca for it, because your tale has been reward enough."
The telling had been a strain for her. He had been cruel to insist on it. Realizing that she was weeping, he went on alone and left her to follow at her own hobbling pace.
FOUR
More Questions and Some Answers
1
They had two more dear days before death claimed the first of them. Two days were not long enough to turn the pilgrims into a team, but Toby and the don between them did effect some improvements.
"Captain," the caballero proclaimed as camp was being struck the first morning, "the terrain has changed. The enemy may conceal his forces anywhere. We should need a hundred men to reconnoiter our advance effectively." He was fully armed, holding his horse's reins and ready to mount, but then he had been awake for the last two hours, so his blue eyes and arrogant red mustache were bright and perky respectively.
Toby was still a little blurred by sleep. "This is true, senor." Certainly the
plains offered far more opportunity for ambushes. The coastal trails wound through trees and overgrown fields.
"Reserve all pikemen for defense. Close up the ranks. The foe will direct his attacks upon our commissary."
"Um ... " He probably meant the packhorses, and that was a reasonable analysis when the most probable foe was a starving rabble of refugees. "Yes, senor."
"Divide the infantry between the van and the rear guard."
"And the cavalry in the center? As the hidalgo commands."
"Excellent. Carry on, Captain. You may have the buglers sound the advance."
The don's commands always made good sense when properly interpreted. Either he had been given a sound military education or he had a natural soldierly instinct—perhaps it came from the limpieza de sangre—but translating his whimsies into real-world instructions required an understanding that the siege train was Thunderbolt because he carried axes and shovels, the artillery was Brusi Senior with his flintlock pistol, and Hamish's predilection for books had made him the corps of surveyors.
Other than the hired guard, there were six potential fighting men in the band: Toby, Father Guillem, Rafael, Miguel, Josep, and Hamish. Toby inflicted quarterstaff lessons on all of them whenever an opportunity presented itself. Young Josep was willing enough, but his weapons of choice would always remain the quill and ledger. Father Guillem—unlike many Galilean clerics—conceded that a man had the right of self-defense; he was surprisingly good—not quick, but powerful and devious. Rafael and Miguel were straightforward sloggers and deadly, because they saw every practice session as an opportunity to kill the big foreigner. When failure discouraged them, he let them inflict a few bruises on him to spur them to greater efforts. Of course Hamish was better than any of them except Toby himself, and they both had swords to use if the game need be played for serious stakes.
He insisted the women carry weapons. Eulalia settled for a sickle, and Gracia a knife, although he could not imagine her ever using it. Senora Collel accepted a stout cudgel and promised to crack the skull of anyone who tried to steal her mount, but she and whoever she allowed to ride the other horse—Gracia or Eulalia by turns—were perched so high that they were horribly vulnerable to snipers or low branches. Salvador Brusi agreed to carry his flintlock pistol in his belt instead of his saddle bag. The hob's reaction to gunfire was usually tumultuous.
