by Kris Tualla
Speaking of trials, I am afraid my situation here is quite desperate. My majordomo has stolen almost all Paolo’s money over the last years, and invested in a pair of trade ships under the guise of being my husband’s partner. If I cannot pay the balance due on the ships, he might redeem them out from under me, thus leaving me destitute.
I have cut my household staff to one third, and am selling most of the palazzo’s goods and furnishings. Jakob (yes, he has found me out) was good enough to publically claim that I am refurbishing the palazzo in order to remove all traces of my debauched husband, so that is how Barcelona society considers my circumstances for now. It is only a matter of time before the truth is revealed.
This is the second reason I am writing to you. Would you, dear friend, be willing to make me a loan of nine thousand pounds? Combined with the monies I am raising with my thrift, I would be able to redeem one of the ships, and have the contracts rewritten to protect my investment.
Afterward, I shall search out two additional investors to redeem the second ship, and have contracts drawn up which assure that I retain control. Because of my time spent in your court, I do believe I shall have no trouble accomplishing this. And to rest your mind, I should be able to repay the loan within two sailings.
Please give my love to Mary, though she is so young that I fear she will soon forget who I am. Hold her close to your heart, and know that she is God’s gracious blessing to you.
With all my love and affection,
A
*****
December 23, 1518
Barcelona, Spain
My Lord and King ~
I am now safely and comfortably ensconced in a palazzo in Barcelona, which I am sharing with King Henry’s man, Sir Percival Bethington. Because Sir Bethington and I traveled together from London to Barcelona, I received the added benefit of Henry’s generosity, which made the journey unexpectedly pleasant.
The Order of the Golden Fleece will convene in nine days. I have met a few of my fellow knights thus far, as there are many Spanish interests represented in the Order’s numbers.
Though we will not know for certain until the time comes, Sir Bethington and I expect that the Ottoman threat will be one of the topics of greatest concern, as well as shipping routes and land claims regarding the New World.
I will attempt to bring the Swedish threat to Denmark forward as well, though I am certain Your Highness will understand if the Ottomans capture the lion’s share of the Order’s attention. I shall write to Your Grace every fortnight to keep you apprised of all that transpires.
I am finding that the milder climate in Barcelona has eased the ache in my leg considerably. Though I will always suffer a limp, I am not in as frequent or severe pain.
Your humble servant,
Sir Jakob Petter Hansen
Chapter Sixteen
February 14, 1519
Jakob sat in his seat during this, the sixth week of the eighteenth Chapter Gathering of the Order of the Golden Fleece, glancing frequently across the aisle at Bethington, and waiting for the shouting to die down.
The heated discussion concerned Ottoman brothers Oruç and Hayreddin. Oruç was killed this past year during his invasion of the Moorish Kingdom of Algiers, just across the narrow western end of the Mediterranean Sea from Spain. Hayreddin succeeded his brother as military commander and had requested the Ottomans’ assistance in exchange for a declaration of loyalty.
Because of the violent purging of Muslims from Spain, a retaliatory attack was quite possible if Hayreddin succeeded in securing the Ottomans’ presence so close to her borders. As a result, King Ferdinand’s ten Spanish representatives were asking for the full support of the members of the Order to repel it.
Jakob had nothing to add to the argument. Denmark and Norway were so far removed from the conflict as to be useless. And when the issue was first brought before the Order, Percy told him privately that Henry gave him strict instructions not to become embroiled with any skirmishes that did not threaten England’s soil directly.
Since the last meeting of the Order in 1516, the Pope ordered that the number of members be increased to fifty-one, and voting those members in was the gathering’s first order of business. Jakob found the solemn pageantry quite moving and was honored to be in attendance.
Now, however, he was just bored.
When he caught the English knight’s eye he tipped his head toward the back of the church.
Percy gave a tiny nod and stood. He made his way toward the door, as if he needed to relieve himself.
A few moments later, Jakob followed. The men slipped out of the cathedral and walked toward their palazzo, ducking into a tavern to escape a damp wind off the sea.
“I will pay for the ale today. You paid for it last time.” Percy strode toward the innkeeper.
Jakob sat at a small wooden table by the window. The sky was trying to rain, but thus far had only succeeded in spitting droplets against the thick glass.
“One would think that being an ambassador of your king, and in the center of creating policies and agreements, would be fascinating,” Jakob told Avery at supper last week. “The truth is, each man seems to be overly concerned with protecting his own interests, and not considering what might be best for all involved.”
“No one wants to appear weak.” Avery gave him a sympathetic look. “Can you excuse yourself without being obvious?”
Jakob snorted. “I am beginning to believe that the reason they painted the coats of arms on the seats was to make note of exactly who is missing.”
Avery laughed, her mirth a delightful contrast not only to the long days in the cold and musty cathedral, but also the long hours spent in the taverns afterwards—where much of the bandying about for favors took place and rumors were eagerly shared.
Jakob and Percy’s early acquaintances, Diego de Mendoza, Alvaro de Zuniga, and Pietro San Severino, had individually quizzed Bethington regarding his Welsh patron, Thomas Windsor, Duke of Merthyr Tydfil. To his credit, Percy kept a straight face, answering the men’s questions casually and with just enough detail to sound believable.
Though how the Spaniards discovered the fictional duke’s existence was a mystery, Jakob and Percy agreed that the questions meant that interest in Avery’s trade ships was growing. To date, however, she had not been successful in finding any investors other than the vaguely committed Gustavo Salazar.
Percy set down the pitcher of ale and two mugs. “That Bavarian prince, from the house of Wittelsbach—what is his name?”
“Frederick. The Second.” Jakob filled his mug. “Why?”
“He asked me a lot of questions about Denmark.” Percy took the seat across the little table from Jakob. “I found his interest, well, interesting.”
Jakob frowned. “What sort of questions?”
“What sort of health the king’s son is in, for one.”
“The boy is barely a year old.” Jakob made a derisive noise. “Does he have a daughter he needs to marry off?”
Percy shrugged. “Or an alliance to form, perhaps.”
“I am not going to worry about him. Let him come to me.” Jakob swallowed a refreshing gulp of the ale. “Have there been recent enquiries about the ships?”
“No.” Percy dropped his voice. “Is it time for the Duke of Merthyr Tydfil to visit Salazar?”
Jakob nodded, slowly. “Possibly. Two months have gone by and the man continues to pursue Avery without adequately explaining his plans. It is time to push him a bit, I believe.”
Bethington grinned. “Then he shall receive a message today.”
*****
Avery tried very hard to fall in love with Gustavo Salazar, but thus far, the highest emotion she could conjure for the man was warm and amused friendship. With Jakob holding her at arm’s length and yet enticing her to come closer at the same time, she thought falling for a different man would make her life simpler.
The trouble with that plan was that her heart would have none of it. Jakob
was stubbornly in residence and would not be displaced.
As she gazed at Gustavo across his supper table, she tried to attend to the story he was telling, but her mind kept wandering to her undefined future.
It was still too soon for any money to arrive from England. In the meantime, her bankers kept Esteban from being able to access the remaining Mendoza funds. Now that the sale of her household goods was complete, she had accrued nearly nine thousand pounds in addition. These funds were also safely stowed out of the majordomo’s grasp.
Avery absently drummed her fingers on the table top.
“Am I boring you, Averia?”
Avery straightened. “I am sorry, Gustavo. I think I am unusually tired this evening.”
“I can certainly understand that. These last weeks of emptying your palazzo have been quite demanding.” He gave her a soft smile, one that squeezed the edges of his interesting grey eyes in a very attractive manner. “Have you decided what to do next?”
“I have begun inviting painters to bid on the interior walls,” she lied. “It makes the most sense to repaint the plaster while the rooms are empty.”
“Very clear thinking, my lady,” Gustavo approved.
Encouraged, Avery continued her prevarication. “After that, I will have the floors repaired and refinished.”
His expression shifted, evincing concern. “Are you managing your finances adequately? Do you wish for my help?”
Avery’s jaw tightened at his condescending words, but she forced it to relax. “No, thank you. I excelled at figures in my tutoring days.”
His expression intensified. “Please remember that I am here and willing to assist you in any manner possible.”
She smiled stiffly. “And I do appreciate that, Gustavo.”
“In that case…” Gustavo stood and cleared his throat. “There is something I would like to ask you this evening, before you grow too exhausted.”
As the man walked around to her side of the table, Avery’s heart began to pound her ribcage, as if asking to be let out. “Gustavo—”
He put up a hand to silence her. “Please, Averia, hear me out.”
Avery straightened in her chair, pressed her lips together, and jammed her fists into her lap.
Gustavo turned the chair next to hers to face her, and sat. “Three months have passed since Paolo died.”
She nodded. Blood rushed in her ears.
“His behaviors and their resultant cause of death were well known. No one in all of Spain would question you for moving forward with your life in less than a year of mourning.” Gustavo peered into her eyes. “Especially considering that you vacated his bed more than nine years ago.”
Jakob strode into her thoughts and stood, feet apart and arms crossed over his chest, staring at her.
She blinked him away. “I do believe that to be true as well.”
Gustavo gave her a crooked smile. “Do you know what day this is?”
“February fourteenth? Oh!” Avery’s face flamed. All doubt about what was about to occur dribbled away like the sporadic rain hitting the windows.
“Saint Valentine’s day has become a symbol of love.” His face reddened a little. “Romantic love.”
Avery was struck speechless, her mind a blank darkness of doubt. The only thought she could grasp was she must not give this man an answer.
Gustavo slid out of his chair and knelt beside her. “Averia Galaviz de Mendoza, will you consent to marry me?”
“I—I cannot answer you.”
His brow twitched. “Do you not care for me?”
Avery’s eyes widened. “No! I mean, yes. I care for you deeply.”
“But you do not love me as yet.”
“I—you are a very nice man.” Gustavo winced; she was making a mess of this. “But I am so uncertain about my future.”
“And I wish to settle that uncertainty.” He pulled one fist from her lap and unfolded it. “Together we shall build a new and successful future.” He kissed her palm.
Avery had every intention of avoiding the direct question until she received word from Catherine, but Gustavo’s sudden proposal made that path unwise. She considered him with an intense gaze of her own.
“Since you have broached the subject of finances,” she said carefully, “shall we discuss your investment in the trade ships?”
Gustavo blanched, but recovered quickly. “Of course.”
Avery lifted her wine glass, trying to appear calm. “How much are you planning to invest?”
“Well, that depends…”
“On what?” She took a sip of wine, her eyes fixed on his.
He tilted his head and gave her an impish look. “On whether you are my business partner or my wife.”
While obvious, that answer did not give Avery the information she was seeking. “Please answer as if we were business partners.”
Gustavo’s expression darkened and he rose from his knees to reclaim his chair. “If we are to be equal partners, then we should invest equal amounts.”
“Of course.” Avery set her glass on the table top, and irritation at his continuing deflection sparked. “Did you have an amount in mind, Gustavo, or do you expect me to speak the first number?”
“Well, I…” His voice trailed off.
Avery decided at that moment to trust that her royal friend would come to her aid, and quickly. “One hundred and fifty thousand maravedis.”
Gustavo’s jaw fell so far open, Avery wondered if she might need to lift it off the table for him. His eyes rounded and the idea they might fall out of his head and go rolling across the table cloth nearly discomposed her. Clearly, the man had no idea of the magnitude of the remaining balance.
Gustavo scrubbed a palm across his mouth, and his facial features retreated to their normal stance. “How much?”
“One hundred and fifty thousand maravedis.” Avery leaned one elbow on the table and laced her fingers.
He shook his head. “How much of the contract is still due?”
“Twenty-five percent.” She frowned. “How much did you believe was still due?”
“Esteban said—” Gustavo’s lips snapped closed.
Avery untangled her hands and slapped her palm on the table, making her dinnerware jangle. “Esteban! When were you discussing this with Esteban?”
Señor Salazar looked like a rat trapped by a cat ready to pounce. “The week that Paolo died.”
“Why did you speak with him?” Avery knew her voice sounded shrill, but she was too angry to care.
“He came to me, Averia. Because I was on the original contract, he offered me another chance to invest.” Gustavo took a splashing gulp of his wine. “He said that only ten percent remained on each ship.”
“Seventy thousand maravedis?” Avery’s mind ran through a myriad of possibilities. “For ten percent ownership of one ship?”
He nodded. “That was his offer. So you see, I thought that if you put in seventy thousand to pay off one ship, and I paid that same amount for the other we would own both vessels outright…”
Avery growled under her breath. She gripped the arms of her chair and turned it to face Gustavo head on.
“Except, sir, it was my husband’s money which paid the other ninety percent.” Avery gasped as the realization set in. “However, if we were married...”
Gustavo had the decency to blush. “Averia, you are a very beautiful woman who has truly claimed my heart—”
“Stop. Please.” Avery drew a deep, calming breath and leaned back in her seat. The ramifications of what she had just learned were galloping through her thoughts at breakneck speed. “Did anyone else invest?”
Gustavo’s voice was barely audible. “I honestly do not know.”
“Esteban was running out of time and money,” Avery thought out loud. “If anyone else had invested, they would have come to me by now. You must have been the first man he approached.”
“I suppose so.”
Avery sniffed. “I assume that you do no
t have one hundred and fifty thousand maravedis.”
“Not at this precise time, no.” Gustavo leaned forward. “But that does not mean that I am unwilling to try to raise those funds on your—our—behalf.”
Avery stared at Gustavo, wondering what to do. Her friend was handsome, intelligent, and engaging. Even if she declined his proposal, she could certainly do worse for a business partner.
“If you can bring me the remaining one hundred and fifty thousand maravedis, then I will grant you what you will have paid for—twenty-five percent of one ship. Even if we eventually marry, that is still a fair offer.”
Gustavo brightened a bit at her words and nodded. “I agree.”
She pinned his gaze. “Though you were not immediately forthcoming about Esteban, I do trust you, Gustavo.”
Gustavo reached for her hand. “I will not disappoint you.”
“Thank you for supper.” Avery stood. “It is time for me to go.”
Chapter Seventeen
February 19, 1519
Jakob poured Percy a mug of cooled ale as the English knight removed the trappings of wealth, handing the rich garments to his valet, Denys. Bethington was of the same mind as Jakob, meaning he preferred the comfort of his work clothes to the restrictions of formal court attire.
“At the least, our Order robes are comfortable,” Jakob said as he handed Percy the ale. “I would hate to sit through all those debates with my neck itching and my sleeves dragging in everything.”
Percy lifted the mug in agreement, and then took a seat in an upholstered chair in his apartment’s outer chamber. He propped his feet on a low table. “That feels better.”
Jakob claimed another upholstered chair. “So what did our man have to say?”
