Once a Soldier

by Mary Jo Putney

  She rinsed her mouth with water from her canteen and spat it out. “This is my country, my charge,” she said seriously. “It is my duty to know as much about it as I can. And that includes the soil.”

  As they resumed riding toward the quinta, Justin said, “All great wines reflect their native soils and specific climate. Though San Gabriel is part of the Douro watershed, that doesn’t necessarily mean the soil has the same composition. Given the taste of the local wine, I thought the soils must be very similar, and I just confirmed that.”

  “So all we need do is raise our productivity back to normal and find a way to transport the wine to Porto and beyond.” Sofia smiled a little wistfully. “Strange to think that the fruit of our vines might travel to places I’ll never see.”

  Justin gave her a searching glance. “You wish to visit distant countries?”

  She nodded. “I never quite believed in foreign lands when I was a child. Then I was sent to Porto to a convent school. The first time I saw the sea . . .” She stopped, not wanting to reveal her useless fascination with ships and the dream of exotic places. “Tell me of your home, Justin. You look very Portuguese, except for the blue eyes. Do all Scots look like you?”

  “Most are fair-skinned, but I have a Portuguese grandmother, and I spend much time in the sun,” he replied. “Scotland is green and misty and rather magical. Also sometimes cold and wet and dismal!”

  “Do you miss your homeland?”

  “Yes, but I love Portugal. I also love London, where Ballard Port has a major office and warehouse.” He smiled ruefully at her. “I supposed it’s better to love several places than none, but I have trouble imagining settling down in one place forever. The shipping trade suits me for that reason.”

  “I would love to see London. Uncle Alfonso enjoyed his time there and used to tell us stories of it.”

  “It’s a grand place, but the weather is better here,” Justin said pragmatically. “You’ll see for yourself someday. When the political situation is stable again, you’ll be able to visit London. You could stay at Ballard House. My mother and sisters would welcome you.”

  She sighed and looked across the valley. “If I become queen, which every day seems more likely, traveling so far will not be possible. At least not until I am old and have grown children to succeed me.”

  “You think your father and brother are not coming back?” Justin asked quietly.

  “Hope refuses to die,” she said, her voice tight. “But I am not a fool. There has been no word since Baudin carried them off in chains. He might have had them shot and buried them in a shallow grave on the other side of the mountains. Or left their bodies to feed the crows.” Her voice caught and she ducked her head to hide the shameful tears.

  Justin moved his mount so close to hers that the horses were almost touching, and stretched out his hand to clasp hers. He held it for a long moment before letting go and moving away. “I can only imagine how difficult this last year has been for you. But from what I’ve seen, you are doing admirably. Your father would be proud if he could see you now.”

  “I’m trying to become the ruler San Gabriel needs. I don’t know what I would have done without Athena.” Sofia’s mouth twisted. “I rely too much on her. A year ago, the main thought on my frivolous mind was whom I might marry. Athena did her best to teach me more serious subjects, but I didn’t take those lessons seriously until Papá and Alexandre were taken. Now I listen when Athena teaches me how to carry the responsibilities of a queen.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “I suppose your father would have arranged a political marriage for you?”

  “Since I wasn’t the heir, Papá was willing to let me choose my own husband within reasonable limits. I couldn’t marry a poor nobody, of course—it would have to be a husband who would bring some benefit to San Gabriel—but I would have had more choices.” She made a face. “Now I’ll likely have to marry some beastly grand duke with warts and three chins.”

  Justin laughed. “Surely, there are better grand dukes than that!”

  “I hope so!” Turning serious, she said, “How my husband looks is not important. What matters is finding a man who will not try to take over San Gabriel because I am a mere weak woman. I’ll marry Grand Duke Toad if he respects the fact I will be queen and this is my country. He will be my consort, not the king.”

  “Such a man will be difficult to find,” Justin observed. “Men who are born to power often crave greater power.”

  “I know.” She made an exasperated gesture with one hand. “And I don’t even know how to go about looking for a suitable husband! I will discuss it with Colonel da Silva when he returns to San Gabriel. He is an intelligent and worldly man. I’ll probably make him my chief minister. He will have some useful thoughts, I’m sure.”

  “A prosperous foreign merchant who is uninterested in power would be a good choice in some ways,” Justin said softly as he glanced at her, his eyes intense. “But, of course, that would be impossible.”

  Emotion pulsed between them, hot and demanding. If I were free to choose, I would choose this man and never regret it. The knowledge was vivid and undeniable. She would think it absurd, except that her mother and father had felt the same certainty when they met.

  Perhaps love at first sight was a mark of the passionate Gabrileño temperament, except that Justin was British and she saw the same certainty in his eyes. Maybe that ability to love in an instant came from his Portuguese grandmother.

  But her mother had been the well-dowered daughter of a Spanish nobleman, a good match in terms of worldly rank and wealth. Sofia was a royal princess with the weight of her small kingdom on her shoulders, while Justin was a foreign merchant. Though she was popular, most Gabrileños would be horrified by such a match. It would damage the country, and that she could not allow.

  Trying to keep her tone light, she said, “Quite impossible, alas. I shall be required to wed one of the Archduke Toads of the world.”

  “There are sometimes royal love matches. I hope you have one,” he said, his eyes filled with regret and acceptance. Turning back to the quinta, he remarked, “It appears that Señor Carnota has done a good job of rounding up neighbors.”

  “That will save us some time,” Sofia said, hoping she sounded normal. Today’s oblique conversation was as close as she and Justin could come to discussing the impossibility of becoming more to each other. Her duty must come before personal happiness, and that reality hurt her heart.

  Yet there was some comfort in knowing that he also cared for her. That comfort would have to be enough.

  Chapter 20

  A week of riding across San Gabriel, distributing food and assessing needs, had restored Athena’s control. She wished she hadn’t broken down and told Will about Lady Whore, one of the worst nightmares in her private chamber of horrors, but she trusted him not to reveal it to anyone else.

  Though he’d reflexively claimed that illegitimacy and her mother’s reputation didn’t matter to him, he’d clearly been shocked by the picture she’d painted of social ostracism for him and any children they might have together. He was too much a gentleman to withdraw his offer, but by now he must be feeling relief.

  A week of observing the problems of others had put the situation in perspective for Athena. She’d visited homes that had lost sons and husbands to the war, and hovels where the inhabitants were near starvation, but always she had been greeted with warmth and welcome. Her bruised heart was a mere bagatelle by comparison.

  After visiting virtually every hamlet and farmstead in San Gabriel, she turned her small party and unburdened pack mules and headed back to the castle. She now felt capable of treating Will Masterson as a friend and no more.

  With luck, he’d soon be heading for home and she’d never have to see him again.

  * * *

  As Will and Tom Murphy surveyed the churning waters of the San Gabriel River, the batman asked, “How old do you think this bridge is, sir? Might the Romans have built it?”r />
  “I suspect that the bridge would still be standing if it was Roman work. My guess is that it’s three or four centuries old.” He glanced at the younger man. “You’ve worked on your share of bridges. Which were the worst?”

  “The ones where the French were shooting at us as we splashed around in the mud!” Murphy said feelingly.

  Will grinned. “Hard to argue with that. As bridge-building projects go, will this one be difficult or easy?”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed as he studied the banks and the flow of water. “It should be easier than most,” he said cautiously. “The stone piers on both banks are intact, and now that the spring snowmelt has gone down, another stone pier in the middle of the river is visible and that will give good support for the center section of the bridge.”

  “The middle pier will make the job enormously easier,” Will agreed as he calculated lengths and designs. “The beams we pulled out of the royal barn are sturdy and long, close to sixty feet each. Half of them can be used to stretch from this bank to the middle, and the other half will reach from the middle to the far bank. How should we go about this?”

  “Use the barn beams to make two sixty-foot-long pontoons,” the batman said promptly. “Luckily, we also salvaged plenty of planking from the barn and it should be enough to make the pontoons really solid.”

  “Which is important for a bridge that needs to last indefinitely, not just months. How should we get the pontoons in place?”

  “To begin with, someone will need to swim out to the middle pier and pull over some heavy cable to connect the bank to the pier.”

  “Are you volunteering to do that, Sergeant?”

  “No, sir, you’re a much stronger swimmer!” Tom retorted. “Once there are cables in place between all three piers, the first pontoon should be slid in the water upstream and floated down, then raised to rest on the center and east-bank piers. Once that pontoon is secure and planked over, we can carry the second pontoon to the middle, then haul it over to bridge to the west bank. Will that work?”

  Will nodded approval. “Very good. Do you think railings should be installed on the sides?”

  “With people and carts and livestock crossing, definitely some sort of railing to keep them from falling off,” Tom said. “Sheep aren’t very clever. Be a pity to lose them to the river.”

  “Do we have enough wood for railings?”

  “Not just now, but we could put uprights every couple of yards across both sides of the bridge and string rope between them from one end of the bridge to the other,” Tom said thoughtfully. “Two levels of rope at least. Three if there’s enough strong rope. Not as good as a solid railing, but it could be put in place quickly.”

  “That will work,” Will agreed. “How long do you think it will take us to rebuild this bridge?”

  “Sir, are you giving me an examination?” Tom asked suspiciously.

  Will chuckled. “Of sorts. If you decide to stay in San Gabriel, it will be useful to have a skill, and I think that a good builder could be well employed here.”

  “Would I be able to stay here without being considered a deserter, sir?” the younger man asked, surprised. “I enlisted for twenty-one years so I’d get a pension if I lived long enough, which I didn’t expect to do.”

  “With the war over, I can make it right for you to return to civilian life, though you won’t get any pension.” Will thought about that “privilege” Justin had explained to him. Yes, Major Lord Masterson could make it easy for a young soldier to stay in San Gabriel if he wished. “No reason for you to travel all the way back to Britain, unless you wish to return to Ireland?”

  Tom sighed and his accent became more Irish. “It would be a fine thing to see the green fields of Ireland again and no mistake, but there’s not much for me there. My mum is dead, my father has probably drunk himself to death by now, my brothers and sisters don’t know how to read and write, so I’ve not heard from any of them in years. I don’t know what I’d do with myself there.”

  “While San Gabriel has Maria Cristina.”

  Tom blushed. “It does indeed, sir.”

  “She seems like a lovely young woman,” Will said encouragingly.

  “That she is, sir. You might not know this, but the French killed one of her younger brothers when they invaded. Señora Oliviera has been hinting that another son would be welcome. Señor Oliviera seems to like me, but he’ll not let Cristina marry a man who can’t support her properly.”

  “Do you find all this approval wonderful or alarming?”

  The batman grinned. “Mostly wonderful, sir. They’re a fine family and they’ve been very kind to me, at least after they found out I was Catholic. But if Cristina and I marry, I’d like us to have a house of our own.”

  “That would be wise,” Will agreed. “Coming from two different countries, you’ll need time to adjust to each other’s ways and that will be easier without in-laws staring over your shoulder and taking sides when you disagree. Noisily.”

  Tom made a face. “I’ve thought of that, but I haven’t the blunt to buy a house.”

  “If you decide to stay and settle down, you’ll be due a wedding gift after all you’ve done for me. A house sounds about right.”

  Tom turned and stared at him. “You’d do that for me?”

  Will nodded, wondering if wealth and privilege were the same thing. To some extent they were. He could buy a fine house for Murphy and his bride and not even notice the cost. “You don’t have to decide this minute, but think about it.”

  Tom’s gaze swept the valley in a new way. “I won’t talk to Cristina just yet. I need to consider a little more to be sure. But this is a happy country despite what they’ve endured.” After a pause, he added softly, “It’s easy to imagine living a long and rewarding life here with Cristina.”

  Someone might as well be happy, Will thought wryly. “You can think about it while we rebuild the bridge. Then on to the wine caves!”

  “There will be a festival then and no mistake!” Tom said exuberantly.

  Anything that kept Will busy was welcome. How long could her mission keep Athena away from the castle?

  Too bloody long.

  * * *

  “I wonder where everyone is,” Maria Mercedes da Silva said as they rode through town on the way to the da Silva home. A bright-eyed, energetic young woman, she was Princess Sofia’s best friend and had been looking forward to a good gossip at the end of their weeklong sojourn. “Do you suppose my father and the others have returned and there is a festival?”

  “Not yet,” Athena said, sorry to quash Mercedes’ hopefulness. Besides missing her father and brother, she and one of her father’s young lieutenants were sweethearts and the girl was almost jumping out of her skin with eagerness. “We’d certainly have seen signs of a large group of men coming down the road from Spain. But perhaps there is a different festival going on.”

  “Maybe the bridge has been rebuilt!” Mercedes guessed. “That would be worth a celebration.” Seeing the elderly gatekeeper at the da Silva entrance, she called, “Diego, where is everyone?”

  “The wine caves are about to be opened!” he called back, his weathered face wreathed in smiles. “The bridge is finished and very fine it is. So the British major put the men to digging their way into the caves. They will break through at any moment and all Gabrileños are waiting to celebrate!” He sighed with elaborate regret. “All but poor Diego.”

  Laughing, Mercedes said, “Alas, poor Diego! I shall see that one of the servants who is at the caves will return to relieve you before the fiesta ends so you can join the celebration.”

  He sighed again, even more loudly. “That will have to do, Señorita Mercedes. You are kind to a useless old man.”

  “You are a master at sounding ill-used, Diego! But that won’t work with me. We are off to the wine caves!”

  And Will Masterson would be right in the middle of things. The prospect made Athena wonder just how good her control would be when they met face-
to-face; there would be no way to avoid him entirely. “I’ll take the pack mules up to the castle, and the rest of you can go to the caves.”

  “Nonsense!” Maria exclaimed. “You and Sofia closed the caves to keep our wine safe from those wicked Frenchmen, and it is only right that you be there when they’re opened again.”

  Athena turned to the royal servants, who rode behind and managed the now-unburdened pack mules. “Does anyone want to return to the castle now?”

  A chorus of “No’s!” rang out. Everyone was in the mood for a fiesta.

  “The mules can be left here for now,” Mercedes said. “Our splendid Diego will take them to the stables and see they have hay and water.”

  The gatekeeper raised his face to heaven and muttered a prayer or curse. Athena knew that this was an old game for Diego and members of the da Silva family, so she resigned herself to the inevitable. Collecting her reins, she said, “Then onward we go!”

  If she couldn’t avoid seeing Will, she hoped he’d be looking magnificent in his uniform. That would be compensation for her nervousness.

  By the time they reached the wine caves, her nerves were under control again. Part of the population of this end of the valley had gathered and already had begun celebrating. Food and drink were laid out on improvised tables; children ran shrieking; dancers twirled to the sound of buoyant music; a tantalizing scent of roasting meat filled the air.

  “A pig roast!” Mercedes exclaimed rapturously. “No fiesta has been so fine since the coming of the French.”

  It was a mark of how much Gabrileños cared about their wine that a precious pig had been slaughtered for the celebration. With so many people present, no one would get more than a small piece, but the pork was a symbol of better times to come. And it smelled delicious.

  The great mound of fallen earth and stone that covered the original entrances was now pierced by a surprisingly large dark rectangle with a wisp of dust puffing out. No sign of Will. She should have realized that he’d be digging away in the shaft rather than supervising from a lordly distance.