The Spanish Exile (Islands of the Crown Book 1)

by Allen, Jewel

  “And some of the stories are true. Some of the natives do not love Spaniards, regardless. And then some genuinely wanted to know more about our Savior.”

  Raúl sat up and swung his legs slowly off the bed. He still felt weak, but to his relief, his head no longer hurt.

  Father Zamora nodded approvingly. “I’ve had a bath prepared for you. And fresh clothes.”

  Once he washed the grime of the past few days, Raúl felt like a new man. He packed his meager belongings and found the priest in the kitchen.

  “You can stay here as long as you need to,” the priest offered.

  “Thank you, Father Zamora,” Raúl said, clasping his hand warmly. “But I have a dream to chase.”

  “I understand.”

  “Oh, and Father?”

  “Yes, my son?”

  “If you see my family, could you please not tell them you saw me in this condition? I don’t want them to think I didn’t...succeed.”

  “Wouldn’t your mother be relieved to hear you are doing well?”

  “Please. I can’t explain. You just need to promise.”

  The priest nodded. “Yes, I promise.”

  Raúl paused at the door. “I will forever be in your debt.”

  29

  “Where would I find Count Saldana?” Raúl asked at the barracks gate.

  “The Count himself?” the guard asked.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s inspecting the troops. What business do you have with him?”

  “He invited me to try out for his regiment.”

  The guard eyed him suspiciously, but opened the gate. Raúl followed his directions, arriving in the exercise yard. He recognized the count straightaway. Count Saldana sat astride a white horse, talking with a soldier. Raúl walked up to the circle of discussion as though he belonged. Luckily, Leandro was nowhere to be seen.

  “Count Saldana, do you remember me?” Raúl asked.

  The Count studied his face. “You look familiar.”

  “Ensign Aguilar nearly ran me over with his horse the other day.”

  The soldier next to him stared as though scandalized that Raúl dared address a high ranking officer that way. But the Count just nodded, his glance flicking towards Raúl’s forehead. “That’s right. All cleaned up.”

  “I’m here to accept the position in your regiment,” Raúl said.

  “Ensign Aguilar told me you weren’t interested.”

  “I still am,” Raúl assured him.

  Count Saldana sat back in his saddle. “Were you telling the truth when you said you knew swords?”

  Raúl’s heart thudded. Was he ready to fight? He felt rusty. Still, he answered, “Yes.”

  The count unsheathed his sword and threw it for Raúl to catch. “Gaudencia!” he called out. A soldier with a thin mustache and lean build approached them. To Raúl, Count Saldana said, “Are you ready to prove yourself?”

  Raúl swallowed, then nodded, getting in fencing position.

  Gaudencia bowed, then whipped out his sword. “En garde.”

  Raúl waded through Don Busco’s advice through his mind.

  Pay attention to your surroundings. Use obstacles to your advantage. Slide rather than lift your feet. Keep your elbows close to your body.

  Gaudencia advanced, pushing Raúl towards the barracks’ outer wall. Raúl feigned, nearly losing his balance as the toe of the boot caught a dip in the ground. He attacked, putting Gaudencia on the defensive.

  Swords clanged, tangled, disengaged and engaged. Raúl dodged and twirled, setting his blade near Gaudencia’s throat. The man’s eyes narrowed, beads of perspiration forming on his upper lip. He answered with an explosive movement that drove Raúl to his knees. Raúl parried it with his sword, straining to keep it away from his face, then twirling and jumping off to the side.

  A crowd of soldiers gathered. They cheered for their colleague Gaudencia. The two men took turns at advantage, neither drawing blood yet. Raúl walked backwards gingerly onto a set of stairs that led to the ramparts, repelling Gaudencia’s thrusts.

  Gaudencia slashed the air where Raúl would have been standing had he not jumped away. Again. And again. Raúl landed and twisted his ankle, losing his balance and falling to the ground. He rolled, then parried Gaudencia’s sword. But his adversary pinned him by the collar to the stairs.

  Gaudencia smiled.

  Raúl flicked the sword by the hilt and flung it off his collar and away. The metal clattered somewhere behind him. Gaudencia sprang up and took three giant steps, reaching the sword before Raúl could take advantage of the lapse. Gaudencia turned and caught Raúl’s blade in his. Raúl’s sword skittered across the steps. He turned to get it but a sword tip rested on his collarbone. The blade nicked his cheek. Raúl touched his skin and looked at his hand, stained with blood.

  It was over.

  The onlookers, who had by now massed by the dozens, applauded boisterously.

  Count Saldana rode up to Raúl. “It appears that Gaudencia is the better swordsman.”

  “Yes, he is,” Raúl acknowledged as he stood. He kept his chin up even though every fiber of his being wanted to hide under a rock in shame.

  Count Saldana grasped Gaudencia’s arm. “But look.” Gaudencia’s black sleeve sported a tear, and on his skin, a nick.

  The count continued. “You drew blood. A scratch, but nonetheless, you cut him. To cut this master is an achievement. You have much to learn, young man, but you are on your way there.”

  “With all due respect, sir, what does that mean?”

  The count rode his horse so he hovered over Raúl. “It means you are now part of my regiment, as an ensign in training.”

  Raúl bowed, his whole body trembling with excitement. As he straightened up, he saw Leandro glowering in the crowd.

  30

  A soldier gave him a uniform and showed him to his barracks, full of men coming and going who clapped him on the back over Gaudencia. The fabric showed signs of wear and tear, but he didn’t mind. He touched the cloth and smiled.

  I am in the army!

  Footsteps echoed behind him. He turned and stiffened as he saw Leandro approach.

  Leandro walked right up to Raúl’s side, his demeanor radiating hate. “I don’t know what potion you had the count imbibe, but remember that you answer to me. During the last recruitment, dozens of men went back home to their mothers. I don’t expect you to last long.”

  When Raúl didn’t answer, Leandro shoved him, before exiting the room.

  Raúl shook his head and sighed.

  “What a lout, eh?” A soldier two beds over told Raúl. “He thinks just because he’s curried the count’s favor, he can push you around. He’ll make it hell for you, the next months, all right. Just keep your head together and you’ll get through.”

  “Thanks.” Raúl nodded, picking up his uniform. Once changed, he frowned. The uniform felt too tight. It would need to be let out.

  He smiled. He knew just the person to help him.

  31

  That evening, Raúl went to Conchita’s apartment. A young woman came to the door and smiled at him invitingly.

  “Is Conchita here?” Raúl asked. Behind her, other ladies peeked and giggled.

  “Yes,” the woman said, eyeing him like a piece of candy. “Conchita hasn’t told me about you.”

  “We’re friends from childhood,” Raúl explained.

  Her fingers skimmed over his coat buttons. Well, in that case, since you’re just friends --”

  “Thank you Arabella,” Conchita said, pushing her out of the way. “Hello, Raúl.”

  Suddenly, Raúl found himself tongue-tied. She looked so beautiful, with her hair swept away from her face and her blue dress dipping into a modest but flattering neckline.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  He coughed. “Pardon me. I was wondering if you could help me let the seams of my coat out. It’s too tight.”

  She eyed him slowly, from head to toe. “A soldier now,
are you?”

  He nodded. “As of today.”

  “I don’t have any supplies here. We’ll have to go to the shop.” She linked arms with him. “Let’s go, before my landlady sees you.”

  “What would happen if she sees me?”

  “She’ll box your ears and kick you off the premises.”

  The pair walked among other pedestrians – families, couples and younger people their age taking their evening stroll on the cobblestone street. The air had cooled off and so had the main thoroughfare through Madrid. Men stared at Conchita.

  “Stop glaring at them,” Conchita whispered, elbowing Raúl. “You’re worse than Mario.”

  “Did you see how those men were staring at you? I hope you go to work with other ladies.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly fine going to work by myself, thank you.”

  They arrived at a row of shops: a barber’s at the corner, a milliner’s, a cobbler’s, and then a dress shop – Las Estrellas. It was a pretty little store, with a cheerful red awning and colorful dresses in the window. Conchita took out a key from her dress pocket, looked down the alley both ways, and unlocked the door.

  “Come on in,” she whispered, leading the way and shutting it firmly after Raúl.

  The shop was cramped, with just enough room for the two of them in a waiting area. After a moment, Raúl’s eyesight got used to the dimness. A row of gowns on mannequins stood in the corner, sewing tools and fabric scraps covered a hefty table, and beyond, bolts of fabric and more dresses on mannequins crowded the space.

  “Nice shop,” Raúl said, trying to be polite.

  She giggled. “Why are you whispering?”

  “Because you’re whispering.”

  “We’ll be quick. Madame Marceline doesn’t like us to be here after hours. Especially on account of a non-paying client.”

  “I can pay.”

  “Hush. You don’t have money.”

  “Well, you’re right, but...”

  “Let me see your coat.”

  He took it off and handed it to her. She quickly went to work, letting out seams and sewing it back together. “There’s some water in a flask there, if you’re thirsty.”

  He gratefully took a swig of the cool liquid. “’Madame?’ Is she French?”

  “Very aggravatingly so. She thinks the French are better than the Spanish. But she is brilliant. Come. Try this on.”

  He shrugged the coat on. “I can actually breathe now. You are marvelous.”

  She smiled. “Raúl Calderón, you are good for a girl’s ego.” Conchita walked past the dresses, fingering a collar here, a hem there. “Mira. Look at all these dresses. This one’s for a contessa’s daughter. This is for an opera ball.”

  Raúl noted the elegant finish. “Do you make the dresses?”

  “Yes, but Madame always gets the credit.” Conchita sighed. “When the patrons come in, you would think I just keep the store clean, picking up scraps and pins. I’m always finding pins. I ask everyone to please put them on the cushion, but they don’t. Once in a while, Madame Marceline lets me help the ladies at the counter. Hello, how are you? That kind of thing.”

  “I can see you being good at that.”

  “Well, thank you.” Conchita’s head jerked up and turned towards the shop door. There was a sound of someone turning a key in the lock. “Quick, under the table.”

  Conchita scampered under the table and Raúl squeezed himself behind her. It was quite an awkward situation. She practically sat on his lap. But it was no time to quibble. A female voice with a French accent said, “This is my latest masterpiece, Sophie. What do you think of it?”

  “Madame Marceline,” Conchita mouthed.

  The new arrivals discussed the dress while Raúl sat more discombobulated by the minute. Conchita smelled wonderful, like a rose. She felt soft and delicate in his arms, just the right size for him. Her silky hair tickled his face.

  Suddenly, he became aware of his sweaty self. He wished he could put space between them. That was no way to make a good impression on a girl.

  “And what is this?”

  Footsteps came close. A slender woman with a wide set of skirts swished past and picked up the flask of water Raúl left on the counter. “I tell that Conchita all the time, to tidy up. She never remembers. A forgetful mademoiselle.”

  “Hired help these days,” her companion responded.

  The footsteps went to the back.

  Raúl didn’t dare move. Conchita turned her head. Her face was just a breath away from his. He studied her face, fascinated. That pert nose, those luscious lips, and dark eyes that studied his features in turn.

  The footsteps went to the front. “Let’s go,” Madame Marceline urged, then the door opened and shut, and they were gone.

  Raúl expelled his breath and laughed shakily. Conchita smiled, then her expression turned serious. She looked at his mouth, and once again, his breath caught in his throat. He swallowed then lowered his head slowly. His lips encountered her fingers, splayed against his like prison cell bars. She slipped out of his arms and stood up. He got up, too.

  She straightened his coat and winked. “Good luck, soldier.”

  Friends, they were to remain friends. He ached for her but he just smiled. “Thank you.”

  32

  A bitter winter wind flayed Raúl’s arms as the massive double doors to the mess hall opened. Leandro strode in, his gaze scanning the crowd and landing on Raúl. Inwardly, Raúl groaned.

  Was the man never going to leave him alone?

  Leandro had made good on his promise. The past months, he’d made Raúl’s training hell. From sunup to sundown, Leandro wouldn’t leave him alone. Especially since Leandro was promoted to Lieutenant.

  He shoveled two big mouthfuls of the dry beef stew and lumpy gravy and chewed like mad. He knew that would be all he could eat. By the time he could go back to his plate, the other soldiers would have divvied up his portion among themselves. Whether or not he’d be able to keep it down after Leandro’s sadistic drills was another story.

  “Calderón,” Leandro barked.

  “He’s got it in for you,” someone at Raúl’s table said under his breath.

  “You think?” Raúl muttered.

  Raúl stood at attention. Leandro jerked his head, indicating for Raúl to follow him outside. Raúl only had his military-issued wool coat, warm enough for the cold, barely heated barracks, but largely ineffective against the humid winter. Today, clouds smothered the sun, making the temperature feel more chilly. Most days were mild, but today the wind sliced through his coat and turned his fingers numb. He walked stiffly, still sore from the previous day’s drills.

  The courtyard was deserted save for a few soldiers crossing it quickly to get to the mess hall. They glanced at Raúl without sympathy. They were upperclassmen who’d paid their dues, and Raúl had to pay his in the hands of a sadist.

  “Twenty laps around the yard, Calderón,” Leandro said.

  As he began, Raúl’s bad leg protested. His thighs and feet burned with the effort. Each step hurt. His hips and joints rubbed, inflamed. His strength threatened to desert him.

  Still, he kept on, aware that Leandro watched him from the building doorway, protected from the wind by the stone arch. Raúl pumped his arms even though they flagged and wanted to just drag at his sides. Sweat drenched his shirt, under the coat that he was not supposed to shed unless he was in his quarters. He wiped a trickle of perspiration away from his eye, but didn’t see the stone on the ground until it was too late. His foot landed on it, an excruciating pain shooting up his ankle to his leg.

  He fell on his side, scraping his arm and clutching at his leg. The pain took his breath away.

  “Get up!” Leandro yelled. “Or get out of the army.”

  Raúl watched the plume of his breath against the overcast sky that looked down upon him with indifference. He raised his body from the unyielding ground, then tested his foot.

  His leg buckled at
the pain and he collapsed once again.

  Leandro appeared beside him. “What, can’t do it? Don’t have what it takes? Why don’t you just go on home to your mother. Oh wait, that’s right. She doesn’t want her cripple son.”

  With shaking arms, Raúl pushed himself to a kneeling position. He took a deep breath and hoisted himself up once again. The first step nearly made him faint. But he just sucked his breath in and took the next step. And the next. Until he was jogging again, past the monument that marked one corner of the lap, to the next, to the lamp post, and finally past Leandro.

  “Two,” Raúl whispered.

  Three, four, five. His foot throbbed and swelled in his boot.

  Raúl’s mind began playing tricks on him. That was the seventh, wasn’t it? But no, Leandro counted six.

  He fell at eleven. But at least he was past half. He got up slowly, but surely, staring Leandro down before running again. One foot in front of the other. The other foot, and the next. Time crawled, like he wanted to do, but he just ran, ran and ran.

  His boots thudded on the stone, each step jarring his legs, but by now he was past feeling. Numbed. He slurred the next number, thirteen, then focused his eyes on the flag stones ahead.

  He ran over one stone. Two. Three, and so on, until his head played a staccato.

  Eighteen laps. Nineteen.

  And now, the last one.

  Ay, he had no strength left. His legs refused to move. They were done for. So he did the thing he needed to do -- pulled his leg with his arms, and pulled the other one. Even as his limbs shook, and his legs banged clumsily against each other. He gritted his teeth. Sweat poured from his body with each step.

  “Just give up,” Leandro said. “Go on home. This won’t be the end of it. You don’t belong here. I’ll make sure -- ”

  “Shut up,” Raúl growled. “Shut up.”

  Leandro struck him across the mouth. “You don’t talk to your superiors that way.”

  “I can see why he would.”

  Raúl looked past Leandro to Count Saldana, who stood with his thick winter cape flapping in the wind. “What are you doing, Lieutenant Aguilar?”