The Spanish Exile (Islands of the Crown Book 1)

by Allen, Jewel

  The King’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “Yes, I hear there is discontent out there. Sad to say, that is the nature of being monarch – everyone has something to say about each aspect of the kingdom, and you aren’t able to defend yourself too easily against petty protests.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Your Highness,” Father Zamora said, becoming more animated, “but this is not just a petty little protest. Unless you concede to the demands of the people, listed on this paper,” he handed it to the king, “the citizens claim they will take more violent action.”

  “Strong language,” the king said.

  “Accurate language,” Father Zamora said. He looked at Raúl for confirmation.

  “He’s right, Your Highness,” Raúl said. “I’ve been out there. The riots are worsening, not easing off.”

  The Marquis of Esquilache seemed to wilt even further.

  The king tented his fingers, then sat back. “What are the people’s demands?”

  Father Zamora recited the list:

  “That the minister Esquilache and all of his family leave Spain. That there only be Spanish ministers in the government. That the Walloon Guard be disbanded. That the price of basic goods be lowered. That the Juntas de Abastos, or the Council over goods, be suppressed. That the troops withdraw to their respective headquarters. That the use of the long cape and broad-brimmed hat be permitted. That His Majesty show himself and express from his own mouth his desire to fulfill and satisfy these demands.”

  “And if I don’t accede to their demands?” The king raised an eyebrow. “What then?”

  Father Zamora said gently, “Then the people will reduce your palace into rubble within two hours.”

  The king shrank back. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Your Highness,” the Marquis of Esquilache said, “You mustn’t give in. They’ll keep pushing, you’ll see. You can always wait and have this blow over.”

  “Blow over?” Count Saldana said. “To advise the king thus is irresponsible. Something needs to happen. Either we crush the people –”

  “Not a good idea,” King Carlos said.

  “Or the king addresses them,” Count Saldana added.

  The king nodded. “Agreed.”

  The Marquis’s mouth trembled. He turned away.

  “I wouldn’t wait,” Father Zamora advised. “I don’t claim to know everything, but I do hear a lot from our citizens. This will only get worse.”

  The king bowed his head in thought. “Thank you, Father Zamora. I will take your words under advisement.” He turned to Raúl. “Captain Calderón, I am inclined to go out and address the people in an hour. Will that give you enough time to gather your men so they can keep the peace?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” he said.

  “Then leave me, so I may collect my thoughts.”

  Raúl bowed, exiting the room with the priest. In the hallway, he clapped Father Zamora on the back. “That was brave of you to approach the king with those demands.”

  Father Zamora smiled. “I surprised even myself. You know I am rather mild-mannered. But when it comes to protecting people...I don’t know. I get animated.” He looked down the hallway and sighed. “That looks like an awful long way out.”

  Raúl grinned. “The offer for the carrying litter still stands.”

  Stubbornly, Father Zamora shook his head. “Let’s get going. If we hurry, we might even catch the king’s speech.”

  Raúl looked down the halls, and, not seeing anyone, touched the priest’s sleeve. “Father Zamora, I must issue you a warning.”

  “Yes?”

  “The Jesuit order is under scrutiny. Please be very careful what you say or do from here on. It may very well be used against you. That’s all I can really say, but please take my warning seriously.”

  Father Zamora swallowed visibly. “All right. Thank you for that advice.”

  As they moved on, Raúl caught movement in his peripheral view in the doorway to the Habaldier Room. Leandro Aguilar watched them.

  How long had he been standing there? And did he hear Raúl’s warning to Father Zamora?

  “Good evening, Captain,” Leandro greeted the pair. “Father Zamora.” He spoke in that insolent way which grated on Raúl’s nerves. Ever since he surpassed Leandro’s rank, Leandro turned even colder.

  “Good evening,” Raúl said, then walked on, Father Zamora leaning heavily against his arm.

  50

  An hour later, a lone figure stood on the palace balcony. King Carlos surveyed his subjects, his expression somber.

  Behind King Carlos stood Count Saldana and several other ministers, but notably, no Marquis of Esquilache. Walloon guards flanked him. His Majesty wore no royal adornment on his head nor body save for a red robe over his frail-looking shoulders. Torches cast a rosy glow on the windows and pillars of the three-story palace façade.

  Raúl and his troops stood in groups among the people. People glared at the soldiers, but for the most part left them alone. Paco, Mercedes’ widower, stood at the front line of the crowd. Someone lit lamps on the balcony, and the sweetish smell of burning oil wafted below.

  King Carlos’ glance swept over the silent crowd.

  “I read your demands,” the king said. “For the benefit of those present, I will have a page recite them.” A young man came forward and read the list in a clear voice. Upon his conclusion, many in the audience nodded.

  The king studied the crowd. “When I first arrived from Naples, my greatest wish was to improve your lives. I wanted to share what I knew from my native land. As your new king, I hoped that my new subjects would appreciate my efforts. For a while, it seemed you did.” His expression grew pensive. “But now I see that I haven’t been in tune with what the people wanted. I may have surrounded myself with advance thinkers, but I forgot something along the way. I need to be more in tune as to your needs.”

  He paused. “I have studied your demands. You wish for more freedom from foreign influences. Correct?”

  “Yes!” the people shouted.

  “On that count, I will accept your demand. You have many capable Spaniards who can help me in my government.”

  The crowd stirred with sounds of approval.

  The king glanced at the Walloons. “On the subject of my troops. It seems highly counter-intuitive that as people get more vocal, as you have shown tonight, that I will lessen my military might. But I cannot live in fear. Nor should I give my people the burden of living in fear. I shall withdraw my troops as you have asked...”

  Cheers began to fill the plaza.

  “...on one condition.”

  The cheers died down.

  “That you will not attack them when the remaining ones walk among you.”

  “Not if they shoot at us first,” Paco said.

  “Yes, how about if they promise to leave us alone?” another shouted.

  “The promise goes both ways,” the king replied. “Do you promise not to attack?”

  “Yes,” the crowd said. Then, louder, “Yes!”

  “As for the other demands.” The king paused. “I admit, I do not relish them. In fact, my advisors have recommended that I do not accept them.”

  A stunned silence descended upon the crowd.

  “My advisors seem to think that if I agree to them, that will open up the door to other concessions. Especially on the last one.”

  “The stupid ban on cape and hat?” someone shouted.

  King Carlos smiled. “That ban, yes.”

  The crowd bristled. Murmurs echoed in the plaza.

  Someone shouted, “With due respect, your highness, if you take the cape and hat away, there goes our identity as Spaniards. We don’t want to look like the French.”

  “So you’d rather look like a thief?” the king asked.

  “Better a Spanish thief than a French dandy!” a man shouted. Silence ensued, then a few giggles, followed by robust laughter.

  The kin
g smiled, then chuckled. “You win. You win.”

  Someone near Raúl whispered, “Does it mean --”

  King Carlos announced, “Marvelous citizens of Spain, your ban on the cape and hat is lifted.”

  Applause and joyous shouts broke out. A few cocked hats flew in the air.

  Paco raised his arm and led the others in chanting, “Viva la España!”

  When the noise died down, the king leaned over the balcony and addressed Raúl. “Captain, see to it that some grain is dispensed from the royal larders to these people.”

  Raúl bowed. “As you wish, your Majesty.”

  The king waved. “I bid you all a good night.”

  “Viva el Rey! Long live the king!” The people chanted as guards escorted the king back inside. Double doors shut firmly after him. At first, the crowd stood dazed. Then everyone turned their expectant gaze towards Raúl.

  Raúl pulled Mario aside. “I have business to attend to. Can I count on you and your men to make sure the king’s request is carried out?”

  “Certainly, Raúl .”

  Mario chastised the anxious crowd. “Get back, all of you. And form a respectful line.”

  Raúl went over to talk to Paco.

  “I can’t believe he said yes,” Paco said, “to all of the demands.” He looked dazed.

  “I myself am surprised.”

  Paco’s eyes glittered. “On behalf of the people, thank you.”

  “Now let’s hope the violence subsides. How are you holding up?”

  “About what you’d expect from a man who’s just buried his wife.” Paco’s mouth trembled.

  “I am truly sorry. That soldier will face disciplinary action.”

  Paco eyed him warily and nodded.

  Raúl lowered his voice. “I need your help with something, Paco.”

  Paco’s expression was guarded. “What?”

  “How did you and Mercedes know about the plaza riot yesterday?”

  “When I got home from work, someone told me she had gone to join it. I merely followed. She never told me about it.”

  “I just wondered if you knew the men who provided the weapons at the Plaza de Antón Martín.”

  “What weapons?”

  “The ones in the Plaza de Antón Martín.”

  Paco frowned. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

  Raúl hesitated. “I’m trying to find out who the principals are.”

  Paco pursed his lips. “I don’t know who they were. But if I do, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Paco --”

  “Don’t,” Paco said, backing away. “Just leave me alone. You’ve caused enough damage.”

  Raúl gazed after his friend, sadness filling his heart.

  Before going back to the barracks, Raúl made one more stop: to see Conchita. The thought of her being out in the capital, in the company of that snake Gabriel, possibly in danger, gnawed at him.

  Conchita lived close to the Manzanares River, which intersected the city of Madrid. Raúl could hear revelers nearby, carousing near the bank. Otherwise, the neighborhood was quiet. The riots in Madrid appeared to leave this area untouched.

  He knocked on the door of Conchita’s villa. It was just his luck; her landlady Mother Rita came to the door.

  “What do you want?” she gummed, her dentures taken out for the night.

  “May I please see Conchita Benavente?”

  “It’s late. See her tomorrow!” She slammed the door. The resident mule, Chucho, brayed in the back, as though laughing at him.

  Raúl stared at the door, irritated. Then he heard giggles. He looked up and saw three girls laughing at him. But he only had eyes for one.

  Conchita’s hair was down, and she wore a pretty nightgown that shimmered in the moonlight. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re safe,” he said, his heart in his eyes.

  Conchita’s housemates giggled some more. She told them to hush and sent them inside. She leaned so her hands supported her chin, but her eyes were solemn. “That is very sweet of you to check.”

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “That is a difficult question to answer. Do you mean forgive you for kissing me, or for subsequently rejecting me, or for tearing Gabriel’s shirt, using me as an excuse for that violence?”

  “The second. I’ll never apologize for roughing up a pompous fool like him. And the kiss was, well...”

  “Raúl,” she scolded.

  “All right. Sorry.”

  She cocked her head. “I can about stay mad at you as I can stay mad at Mario.”

  He took that as a positive sign, even though she was essentially reminding him that they could only have a brother-sister relationship. “Is there any way you can come down to talk? Just even for a few minutes? I promise to not bring up politics.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  She gestured at her nightgown. “Well, for one thing, I’m dressed for bed.”

  “And the problem with that is...?”

  She gave him an arch, disapproving look. “It’s late, and nothing good comes out of a late rendezvous. Besides, Chucho will make noise and give me away. Here.” She broke off a rose blossom from a pot and threw it down. “For your thoughtfulness.”

  The thorny stem pricked him as he caught the flower, but he didn’t mind. “I’ll catch one of your performances soon.”

  She sighed. “Every day, we think we’ll have to shutter it, with all the riots. When’s it all going to end?”

  Raúl smiled wryly. “I wish I knew.”

  “You look exhausted. Go and get some sleep.”

  “All right. Good night, Conchita.”

  She trailed her fingers on the rail and went inside.

  Raúl smelled the rose and smiled to himself.

  51

  That night, Raúl slept for maybe four hours, only to be roused in the barracks. He woke up cranky. It was beastly hot in his quarters. He didn’t relish the intrusion. But when the messenger said, “Count Saldana summons you,” he got up without further complaint.

  Shaking his head out of the fog of sleep, Raúl washed as quickly as he could, got into his uniform and pulled on his boots. Within a matter of minutes, he reached the palace on horseback. Other guards had already arrived and were waiting in the Habaldier Room. A few trays of tapas sat on a table, hardly a full meal, but Raúl gladly helped himself. If the day was like the previous ones, he’d be lucky to get a bite to eat any meal. He needed to eat when he could.

  Count Saldana arrived, causing a stir among the soldiers. They stood at attention as he walked purposefully towards Raúl. “I have an assignment for you.”

  “Consider it done,” Raúl said.

  Count Saldana lowered his voice. “The king wishes to go to Aranjuez. It is a secret journey. I want you to commission a dozen trusted troops to convey him safely there. No fanfare.”

  “And the other regiments?”

  “They are to stay in Madrid and keep the peace.”

  “When do we start the trip?”

  “Tonight, under cover of darkness. So you have a few hours to rest and...” Count Saldana glanced pointedly at Raúl’s hair, “...groom yourself properly.”

  A sheepish Raúl smiled. The Count went back to report to the king, while Raúl went to find Mario. “You need to gather a dozen of your best men and arm them for an assignment.”

  “Where to?” Mario asked with a mouthful of cheese.

  Raúl looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Aranjuez.”

  “Do we leave right now?”

  “No. Tonight.”

  They had reached the palace’s main stairwell. Mario breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, because I need a proper meal first.”

  As dusk approached, Raúl and his trusted corps met just outside the palace, their horses readied for the half-day journey. Two carriages rolled out into view and too
k the private little path that skirted the gardens and led out a back road to Aranjuez. The carriages bore no royal crests to indicate whose they were. Raúl looked in on one of the windows and nodded to acknowledge King Carlos. The widower king’s mother and children sat in the carriage, too.

  “We’ll get you there in no time, Your Highness,” Raúl assured him.

  King Carlos thanked him, then leaned back into anonymity. In the next carriage, Raúl glimpsed the Marquis of Esquilache, who sat with eyes closed and a pained expression.

  Raúl motioned for half their contingent to move to the front, and the other to the back, while he rode alongside the carriages. A half-moon rose in the sky, casting the trees in silver relief. In the saddle, Raúl sat, but his eyes scanned the forest in the deepening darkness.

  His gelding, Dante, pricked his ears forward, then walked normally. Moments later, his ear flicked again, his long legs sidestepping. Raúl signaled the corps to stop. He rode up to the carriage driver. “Be prepared to stop or speed up if...”

  There was a boom – a musket shot!

  Raúl pulled on his reins and wheeled to face the direction where the shot came from. In the corner of his eye, he saw one of his soldiers slump forward and fall off the saddle. Light from the glint of a weapon flashed between the trees. He turned back towards the forest.

  “Mario,” he twisted in his saddle. “You and two of your men stay here with me.” He turned to Alcántara, a senior officer. “Take the group and race to Aranjuez.”

  Raúl watched to ascertain that the carriages and cavalry got well on their way. And then he turned his attention to the trees, where he was sure he saw the shooter a minute ago. He could make out movement, a man on foot.

  The shooter ran up the road. Raúl spurred Dante forward, bore down on the man and cut him off, but he only veered into the thicket of trees, where there was no room for a horse. Raúl dismounted, unsheathing his sword. Rocks and fallen tree limbs littered the path. He leaped over them, a few times nearly losing his footing. Mario and his men followed close behind. He sent them one way and he went down another.