Hart, Mallory Dorn

by Jasmine on the Wind

  "Gracious Majesties, I was a swaddling babe when my sire was judged to have committed the atrocity against the Infanta. I have little knowledge of either of my parents, but I have their blood and I am a gentleman born. For the rest, I am what my soul and spirit and Don Iñigo have made of me, and by your own hand a knight, Sire. But there is deep despair in my heart that my name, the once highly honored name of Venegas, should die of a blight which attacked only one shoot of the tree. To be born a bastard with a lefthand name can cause confusion enough for most men. But to be born with an ancient name one cannot admit is an agony of the blood and a torment of the mind. Perhaps the way Don Iñigo and I chose to prove to you that the blight of disloyalty had not been passed on to me was wrong, but we could think of no other. Whether or not you see fit to restore my name I pray God I may always serve you. But I ask for your mercy and justice, and as a knight of the realm I petition for permission to bear my ancestor's name in pride, my father's titles in honor, and to inherit his lands and estates in right. And failing this, I humbly beg a greater boon upon the small service I have rendered in Granada: that your beneficent pardon go out to Don Iñigo de Mendoza, whose only sin was the charity of sustaining an orphan child in the hopes of adding one more worthy and steadfast knight to your train. If there is blame to be placed for deceiving you, I beg you, let me and the unfortunate legacy that curses me bear the burden."

  Francho's Adam's apple bobbed up and down convulsively, and he bowed his head. It was done. His life either went on or it was finished, and in spite of his apprehension he was relieved.

  There was a trenchant silence. Ferdinand rubbed his jaw and scowled. "A fine kettle of fish," he muttered almost to himself. "Two Venegas popping up on the same night, and both claiming lands that for years have been adding their revenues to our royal coffers." In the face of Isabella's continued, stoney silence he continued, more loudly, "We are displeased that our consort shall have to bear such shock to her memory after the earlier strain of the evening. However, since this—collusion—has been revealed, it must be addressed. Rise up, Don Francisco, and if there is more to your story say it solely to your Queen, for we have little knowledge of the case. We will concur in whatever the Queen's decision."

  Isabella—now that her husband had washed hands of the business—seemed to come to life. With cold eyes and lips white with anger she said rigidly, "What more can they have to report than they have made a mockery of our vengeance. We swore to crush Don Juan's branch of the Venegas family and slept easier because we thought we had. And now the subject we most trust and admire has harbored a scion of that murderer under our very nose."

  "Dear Gracious Lady," Tendilla pleaded, his voice projecting sincerity, "I beg you to understand that I harbored only an innocent boy. If, almost a quarter century in the past, you took an oath under the fresh grief of your brother's death, none could blame you. But surely after twenty years and more your great sense of justice must have risen above your woe and you will not demand that Don Francisco suffer from actions not his own. As a foundling you might have rejected him, but as Don Francisco de Mendoza he has earned your praises and promise of grace. What is in a name, Lady Queen, but pride and continuance and the means to identify one's blood. Loyalty resides not in a name but in a man's earnest heart."

  "Do not presume to lecture me, Don Iñigo. And what is in an oath but the purpose of fulfilling it?"

  "My daughter!" With mouth turned down in his round, ruddy face, the Queen's confessor Talavera broke in. "Do you visit the sins of the father upon the son? It ill becomes a pious woman who loves God to chastise a blameless soul, even though the babe is now grown to a man's estate. 'Vengeance is mine' saith the Lord. Do not place your state of grace in jeopardy with unmerited reprisal. 'Go ye and sinneth no more' were the words of our blessed and merciful Jesu, and this man has not sinned against you at all. Therefore, can you say less?"

  Isabella's high, white brow seemed stretched to transparency as she strained to reconcile the anger of a Queen with the duty of a Christian. Tendilla, standing solidly beside Francho, projected a solemn and calm confidence in Isabella's scrupulous justice. Standing just as erectly, Francho could only pray that she would credit the sincerity of motive behind their deception.

  At last with an explosive outlet of breath, Isabella's white-knuckled grip on the arms of her chair relaxed and the ire cleared from her eyes, leaving them nevertheless wary. "It passes through our mind that if the virulence of a young Princess against her brother's assassin was honorable, the forgiveness of a Queen for his issue is noble. We shall have the courage to admit to you that for all these many years we have borne a certain guilt for the life of an infant we thought we had destroyed. But before us now is an issue we cannot decide tonight. We will need time to weigh the shameful falsehood involved against your intent and your deeds, sirs, so that whatever our decision it will be in full and clear conscience."

  She engaged Francho's eyes. "Francisco de Venegas," she intoned, and Francho's eyes flickered at her use of his rightful name. "You ask of us the right to your sire's title and estates, which have been confiscated to the Crown since our Lord's year fourteen hundred and seventy-eight?"

  "That is my plea, Your Majesty."

  "And if we refuse to grant your petition?"

  "Venegas is my father's name. I shall cleave to it and pray that in any case I may be allowed to serve my monarchs as a proud and loyal knight. If not, I stand ready to accept whatever punishment the name deserves. But I cannot any longer sustain an identity not my own."

  "You have tonight rescued us from an assassin's bolt—do not think we forget that. But we must examine our thoughts, and we ask that you remain totally silent about this matter until our decision is made." An intruding thought caused her to grimace in annoyance. "There is also the petition of Reduan Venegas to consider. He is valuable as an ally and cannot be ignored. On your return to Granada you will inform him his request is being taken under advisement at this moment, but that he has our solemn word that he will not suffer in serving us."

  She leaned back in her carved chair and closed her eyes momentarily with a heavy sigh. "My lord Tendilla, you, sir, will attend us in our chambers on the morrow promptly after morning mass. Now we give you both leave to go."

  Francho saw a subtle nod of encouragement from the somber-faced Talavera. Don Iñigo bowed deeply and backed away, but Francho dared to say one more thing. "Your Majesty, if you please? Don Iñigo informs me that Doña Leonora de Zuniga is now among your waiting ladies. May I have your permission to speak with her briefly before I return to Granada?"

  The Queen's plucked eyebrows raised. "Leonora de Zuniga?"

  "We planned to be betrothed when my duties in Granada were finished, my Queen. We are much in love and it is almost two years since we parted."

  Isabella's eyes flicked to Tendilla a few paces behind him and then centered on Francho again. "She promised to wait until your mission was over and then marry you?" Isabella asked. "And in two years you have had no word from her?"

  "Unnecessary messages could not be transmitted," Tendilla explained, stiff-necked.

  Isabella frowned and addressed a dry rebuke to Tendilla. "There are some 'unnecessary' messages, my lord, that most obviously should have been sent." Knowing that Isabella was much enamored of her own husband, Francho was grateful for her understanding. "She may be already abed, Don Francisco, but we shall have her sent here. Without informing her of your presence."

  "I am most appreciative, gracious Queen," Francho murmured and bowed very low. Isabella rose, took Ferdinand's arm, and the two rulers descended from the dais. As they swept past him Ferdinand stopped for a moment and considered Francho from under heavy brows. "You have been charged with one more vital task to perform in Granada, Don Francisco, and we ask you to dispatch it with all speed. We shall pray for your success."

  Los Reyes Católicos continued on to find their rest, followed by Talavera, who made the sign of the cross in the air before both of
his friends as he passed them.

  Curiously reticent to meet Francho's gaze, the Count nevertheless took him by the shoulder and grasped one hand. "Well done, Francisco. We must rely now upon the good Bishop to further our cause with his special flock, and I cannot believe that this scrupulously fair Queen will deny us. I will await you, along with your mount, at the gate through which you entered. Be warned. There's little time before dawn." Tendilla whirled on his heel and strode from the hall, back still straight as an iron rod even though the anxiety of the interview must have been sapping for him too.

  Francho threw off his dusty cloak and paced up and down before the empty thrones on the dais. Although the fateful dice were cast, he still had nothing but hope to offer Leonora. Yet, fortune or not, he would not give her up. Consent or not, they would marry, they would elope, they could flee to Italy and he could hire his arms to the house of her sister's husband—so went his wild thoughts as what seemed an interminable wait stretched on. His heart pounded. Her name throbbed in his head, over and over, Leonora, Leonora. Nervously he smoothed his long tunic of painted and embroidered silk and raked through his beard with his fingers, wishing he had a bath, a comb, and some pomander. He polished on his sleeve the huge amethyst ring the Sultan had given him and made sure his silver medallion with a guembri and the Sultan's symbol engraved upon it hung straight.

  At last a small door opened and Leonora stood on the threshold. Francho sucked in his breath. She wasn't part of a lotus-scented daydream but a reality, just as he remembered her—fair, sweet-eyed, and delicate, a chiffon veil and circlet covering her loose amber locks and a pea-green velvet robe hastily tied about her small body. Since she probably expected to find only the Queen in this room, her dimples flashed and the charm of that well-remembered smile caused Francho's breath to catch. He stepped forward eagerly, but on seeing him she uttered a startled yelp, her smile fled and she backed away.

  Of course. What was she seeing? Francho laughed to himself. A turbaned, black-bearded, hulking heathen in an exotic coat and white pantaloons, with a barbarous hoop hung from one ear and what could be taken as a sinister smile if one did not know it was merely anticipatory.

  "Has the time been so long that you do not recognize me, my sweetest heart?" he called out, hastily stepping forward and putting out a hand to keep her from fleeing.

  Poised to withdraw she took a moment to stare into his glowing eyes. Her jaw dropped and he saw the shock of recognition leap into her own eyes. Leonora's hand flew to her throat. "Madre de Dios!" she gasped. "Francisco. Is it you?" She stood rooted to the spot.

  He strode to her and took both of her hands in his. "Leonora!" he breathed, anxious for her to get over her shock and welcome him home with her heart.

  "But you look like a Moor," she whispered numbly, "a Moor. Have you been in Granada, then? Not Egypt and Sicily?"

  "Yes, in Granada, in the service of Their Majesties. Ah sweet heart, I thought this moment would never come. Do you love me still, my Leonora, do you? Tell me, so I shall know whether to live or die, tell me that all this weary separation hasn't changed your heart." He squeezed her hands unmercifully. Her lips parted as she stared at him. To be finally and in reality looking into the startled, amber-brown depths of her eyes, at the tender planes and creamy skin, cheeks touched with palest pink, of that dearly remembered face was causing him to stand a handspan off the floor with happiness.

  But as her shock waned her reaction was not what he expected. Suddenly she stiffened and averted her face from him, pulling her hands from his grip with such determined force that he was taken by surprise and let her go.

  "Leonora! What is the matter?"

  "A good deal is the matter, Don Francisco de Mendoza. How dare you utter the word love in my presence."

  It was as if she had rammed a knife into his belly. Hostility hardened every sweet line of the face she now turned back to him and her eyes were filled with accusation.

  "Wh—what are you saying? What has happened that you recoil from me thus? Leonora, my dearest, I love you. I have not changed...."

  The beloved voice that had wrapped his dreams with its sweet, bell-like tones came chilly and disdainful from her pursed lips. "Ah, but I have. I am no longer so naive as to listen to you, so you may save your lies. Nor have you even the right to speak to me thus, for I am a betrothed woman, soon to be married. To Don Felipe de Guzman." The knife in his belly twisted.

  But he didn't grunt or yell, he just stared at her in disbelief. "You are playing with me. This could not be true."

  "Oh but it is true." Her voice lifted, as well as her chin. "In January I shall become the espoused of the Count of Perens, and I am very honored and happy."

  If at first he thought it was a bad joke, the defiant coldness that darkened her eyes and stiffened her back told him otherwise. In sudden fury and in fear he grabbed her by the shoulders. "You cannot do that. I won't let you. You don't love him, you love me. You said you would marry no other, remember, that you would wait for me. And when I left..."

  "Ah yes, when you left!" she broke in and now her voice gathered some heat. "Such promises you made me, such vaulting promises. Everlasting devotion, fortunes to be found on the desert, the world a pillow for my feet—and at that very same time you were dallying with her, that de la Rocha woman, and making great sport of me. Next time choose a more secretive paramour, because just before di Lido was expected back from Egypt she came to me and revealed the sordid affair between you. And as much as I despised the hussy, for she broke my heart, there was naught to do but believe her."

  Into the turmoil of Francho's mind came a wisp of Dolores's conversation, interrupted at the time by something or other. "...and Francho, there is something I did, a wicked deed before I came to Granada, that I am very ashamed of now..." In misery he appealed to Leonora, "But did you love me so little that you would believe the falsehood of a spiteful woman? Why couldn't you have trusted me, Leonora?"

  "Felipe himself told me he saw you leaving her house in Seville early one morning. And she showed me the medallion from your bracelet that you gave to her as a keepsake. She told me—" In spite of her distress a faint blush climbed Leonora's pale forehead. "Do you have a birthmark shaped like a dagger on your shoulderblade?"

  "No. I mean yes, but it is a scar."

  "You see? Even your closest friend, Antonio de la Cueva, didn't know or remember that; I asked him in a roundabout manner. But she knew it."

  "Very well, I should have told you about Dolores de la Rocha. I've known her many years—we were children together—that's how she knew of my scar. If I went to her house in Seville it was to greet her as an old acquaintance, not to meet a paramour. And I most emphatically did not give her my medallion; it was ripped from my bracelet during that business with Perens the night of Antonio's wedding, and she must have found it."

  "You have clever excuses, but she was more to you than just an acquaintance. I saw it in her eyes and women are not mistaken about these things. On a journey south she disappeared into Moorish hands, it seems, and although Medina-Sidonia tried several times to ransom her he had no success. Tell me, sir Moor—for once tell me the truth—was your old childhood friend in Granada with you?"

  "Of course I will tell you the truth. Yes, she was in Granada with me, but only because—" With a violent movement of her hand she cut off his desperate explanation and glided toward the door.

  "You have no more to say to me, señor. I bid you farewell and pray you not to disturb me further or I shall have to inform Don Felipe."

  But he slipped before her small figure and stood blocking the door, not letting her pass. He reached out and swung her chin up so that he could rivet her eyes with his. "No, you will not go with your head filled with such swill. Leonora, listen to me, I swear you are the only woman I have ever loved or ever will love. If only you will believe me! Don't throw away both our lives in a jealous fit over a woman who means nothing, nothing to me. No—look at me. You still do love me, I know it. You m
ust!"

  But even in his frantic despair and secret guilt he was jolted by the hardness momentarily revealed in her eyes, amber-brown eyes now narrowed and spiteful as a cat's, calculating, a glimpse of a woman he had never seen before.

  "Yes, Francisco, I do, and that is the tragic part of living, I suppose. I love you more than I care for Don Felipe. But there is more to life than love, even when families might allow us to think of it. There is the prominence of wealth and position to consider. A woman has a brief youth to flower, and much time to think in two years. To waste one year of youth is sentimental, to waste two is stupid. I could not expect Don Felipe to dance attendance forever while I waited for this mysterious plan of yours to succeed. I had already turned eighteen and there were younger women coming to Court who were taking his eye. So when you did not return in a year as you had promised I saw I must accept the excellent match that was offered and reject fragile fantasy."

  "Leonora, now you know where I am and why. I shall return for good soon. The war is drawing to a close and—and from the spoils I hope to give you the wealth you deserve—"

  "Ah, you hope, that is what I suspected. But Don Felipe does not hope, he can and will make me a Duchess someday and even now will present me with a small castle of my own for a wedding gift and a casket of the finest jewels. And even your prediction about Don Iñigo has come true. Carlotta is gone and my good cousin intends to marry his Lady Fatima. And their legitimate issue will surely get the bulk of his inheritance and his title." If she saw his bitter shock it did not soften her words. "I am sorry, Don Francisco. I once thought I could marry an impecunious knight because I loved him, but I was wrong. Love would soon disappear in the wake of hardship, even my gentle mother knows that. Only regret would be left."