by Ken Hood
"Senor..." She tried to say "Longdirk" and stumbled over it.
"Call me Toby."
"Senor Toby." She spoke very solemnly. "I asked Brother Bernat why I saw two of you and he said that that was a very bad thing to say about anyone and I must tell you I was sorry and promise you I would never tell anyone else."
He smiled down at her—a long way down, for the top of her head barely reached his ribs. "Then I thank you and accept your promise. Did he tell you why you see two of me, though?"
She pouted. "No. He said I will understand later, and perhaps you could see two of me."
"No, just one. But it's a very pretty one."
She liked that. He wanted to ask more questions, but it seemed unfair to interrogate a child. He would have a talk with her sharp-eyed guardian.
"Are you going to catch the horses, Senor Toby? I can help! I'm very good with horses."
She certainly was. She walked up to each of Senora Collel's three in turn, took hold of its halter, then led it to Toby. He was certain they would not have been so cooperative for him. She demonstrated how the chairs and their footboards were secured to the pack saddles and explained earnestly how important it was that the folding stepladder be the last thing loaded on the packhorse, so that it would be available for the ladies to mount and dismount.
Then the two of them went to help Josep, whose bumbling efforts to catch the Brusi horses had put them to flight. He had gone around behind them and was driving them back toward the casa, but they were still at liberty, staying well ahead of him. Pepita walked out to meet them and they surrendered to her with no arguments.
Josep arrived after them, hot and ashamed. He was not only inexperienced, he was obviously nervous of the big teeth and feet. Pepita's complete lack of fear could not be helping his feelings, although he thanked her graciously enough.
"I am better with ledgers, Captain," he muttered, red-faced.
"Each to his own. Figures terrify me. Let's go and steal some of the mule's load."
"Oh... I have not yet asked my father's permission, Captain."
"Call me Toby. If he doesn't like it, he'll have to take care of the matter himself. I need you to interpret for me. Pepita, you go back to Brother Bernat now."
"Why?"
Because there might be trouble.
"Because you need to put your hair up."
Pepita flounced off angrily. Toby led one of the packhorse over to the Rafael-and-Miguel group, who had just managed to drive Thunderbolt into a corner, where he was being difficult, with hooves flying. Josep explained their intentions in a rapid stream of Catalan, and the peasants grew difficult also. Their surly faces dark with suspicion, they shouted that they did not trust offers of free transportation, they did not trust Senor Brusi or foreigners. They did not trust anyone. The tall one with the big nose was Rafael, the burly one with the long black beard was Miguel. The women were still unnamed.
Handing Josep the horse's bridle while the argument continued to rage, Toby pushed his way in and soothed the mule. Thunderbolt was not quite willing to be friends but reserved judgment on being an enemy, since the stranger had not yet piled any mountains on him. He let Toby lead him over to the waiting heap of goods. The onlookers were impressed. The men stopped carping to watch and the women switched from strident to grumble.
Inspecting the pile, Toby saw that the problem was simpler than he had realized. A bundle of ashwood staves would no doubt prove very useful when these poor folk were struggling to reestablish their living, but carrying such a load through this dangerous countryside was sheer insanity. The same went for three empty wineskins.
"Josep, did they start out with all this clutter, or have they been doing a little selective looting?"
The youngster grinned. "A bit of both. The barrel appeared two days ago."
"Well, will you explain to them that we must make all possible speed, that we are running short of food, that every day on the road increases our danger of being set upon by brigands, and that brigands, if any do attack us, will strip us of everything and either kill us or leave us naked?"
While the translation was in progress, Toby selected a weighty bundle of tools and implements and loaded that on the Brusi horse. He added a bag of meal and a bulky sack that smelled of onions. Rafael tried to stop the food being taken, Toby jostled him aside with a warning glare.
That, he decided, was enough ransom to put into the avaricious grasp of Salvador Brusi, but there was still too much left. He picked up the oaken barrel. Even empty, it was weighty.
"Ask them why they need this."
All four responded with shrill protests that it was valuable.
Toby lifted it overhead, smashed it down on a rock, and then it wasn't.
He halted Rafael's attack by placing a very large fist in front of his nose. Rafael backed off, but Miguel tried to lash at him with a whip. Toby jabbed him in the belly—gently by his standards, but enough to put him down. With shrieks that were probably audible in Barcelona, the women sprang forward, claws out, so he drew his sword. That restored order for a moment; but when he slashed the three wineskins and cut the rope around the bundle of staves, all four of them came for him, and he had to threaten them with it. Even young Brusi looked totally appalled at this method of doing business.
"Josep, tell them that all this junk must stay where it is. The rest they can load, but if their mule won't keep up, I will cut its throat and roast it for supper."
He led off the packhorse, leaving the argument still raging. As he was loading the Brusi chattels, the old man came wandering over to watch, making no effort to help. He had been watching.
"You expect me to transport those goods, senor?"
"I do."
"At what price?"
"None whatsoever."
The merchant frowned. "I do not see that their trouble is my concern."
Toby paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. "It is my concern because I am trying to get you all safely to Barcelona. Speed is vital. It is your concern for the same reason. If I can't make you cooperate, then we are probably not going to arrive before we starve. The country is barren, senor. All this gold you carry won't buy you one dried fig."
Brusi's eyes narrowed at the mention of gold. When spoken by a man with a sword in a lawless land, the remark was close to a threat. Toby gave him a cryptic smile and went back to work, while the old man watched with his wrinkles scrunched down in a glare.
As Josep approached, his father said, "I could use a man like you in my business."
Astonished, Toby took another look at him. "You are gracious, senor. What have I done to merit such praise?"
The withered lips curled in a sneer. "It is not what you have done I value, it is the breadth of your shoulders. You are as strong as two ordinary men. Good porters are hard to find."
"The senor is very kind!" Toby snapped. "You can finish up here."
He stalked away, seething. It wasn't just that people saw him as a chunk of brawn that annoyed him, it was the knowledge that porters' work was all he was good for. Or bullying destitute peasants, and he could not have managed that so easily if he were a normal size.
Heading to waken Hamish and tell him that he was now custodian of the bottle, he was intercepted by the don on his destrier. He saluted. The arrogant eyes surveyed his sweat-soaked condition.
"You show promise, Captain."
That was an improvement! "I only seek to do my duty, senor."
"Of course. We shall move out in five minutes. Have the band start playing." The don wheeled his horse and rode off.
Toby resisted a strong temptation to make an obscene gesture at his retreating back. But he did get them all moving in five minutes, with a rather bleary-eyed Hamish trotting out in front as scout and Toby himself at the rear to make sure the wrecked barrel and other debris were left where they belonged. He was pleased to see that the mule was now in a better mood, which was certainly not true of its owners. As they showed no signs of wanting to chat w
ith him and help him improve his Catalan, he went by them and caught up with the women. The train was moving faster than before, although everyone was now rested, so the improvement might not last.
Gracia was still riding the little piebald, and thus Eulalia was walking, seeming somewhat footsore already. She turned her head so she need not look at the despicable foreigner. Another improvement!
Swaying in her horse-borne throne, Senora Collel appraised him as if she were considering buying him but found the asking price ridiculous. "Come round this side," she said sternly. "Senora de Gomez, you ride on ahead. Go with her, Eulalia. I wish to speak with this man."
Toby moved into position alongside her skirts and well-shod feet. Bent under his pack, he had trouble looking up at her face, but then it was not a face he wanted to spend much time on, all sagging flesh and ingrained paint. Tiny dewdrops of perspiration glistened in her mustache. She carried a red silk fan, which she wielded vigorously every few minutes, causing her palfrey to flicker its ears in alarm.
"You speak French, monsieur?"
Surprised, he said. "A little, madame."
"Your young friend told me of your travels. I, too, have visited Aquitaine."
"You are a lady of culture, madame."
"I am a very nosy one. I want to know why that Gomez woman was carrying that bottle and what she has done with it. She will not discuss it, and neither will the boy."
"Jaume has it in his pack now. Her tale is a sad one, madame."
Senora Collel evidenced satisfaction. "Then you may tell it at length."
Toby racked his brains. Hamish would be better at this than he would—why had he not invented some useful fiction?
"The lady was married very young."
"Obviously. Come to the point."
"Her husband was killed in the war, and her infant sons also."
"That does not explain why she wears a bottle around her neck."
Keep it simple. "Ah, but it does. It was the last gift her husband gave her, on the night they bade farewell. She has sworn never to be parted from it, as a memorial of him."
"That is all?"
"That is all, madame."
"How ridiculous! Foolish child. She will find another man soon enough, or one will find her. She is charming is she not?"
Toby risked an upward glance at the formidable senora. He had known sergeants-at-arms who would have looked prettier in her fancy gown. "Very."
"You did not sleep during the siesta break, Monsieur Longdirk?"
"The don left me on guard, madame."
"The don is a madman. We are safer now we have you. Eulalia slipped away, thinking I would not notice. She returned in a very brief time and in a very petulant mood."
"May it be that the mademoiselle suffers from constipation?"
The reply was a bark of coarse laughter that almost spooked the horse and made Gracia look around in alarm. "I don't think her problem was anything like that in the least. You and Madame Gomez are lovers?"
"No, madame." He accompanied the words with a warning scowl, but scowls bounced off Senora Collel like sleet off a limestone gargoyle.
Her eyes gleamed. "Why not? From the way she looks at you, she is yours for the taking."
That deserved no answer. He peered behind him at the mule and its mulish guardians, then forward, all the way to the don at the front. The company was moving well and staying together. He could trust Hamish to do a good job of scouting.
"Now it is my turn to ask some questions, madame, yes? Tell me about Monsieur Brusi."
She waved her fan dismissively. "Very rich, very powerful in Barcelona, a member of the Council of One Hundred. A dangerous enemy, Tobias."
"I seek no enemies, madame."
"You may have made one already in that man. He sucks life from other people. His wife hanged herself seventeen years ago. If that son of his does not escape from his father's shadow soon, he will never blossom."
Nothing surprising there. Toby had already reached the same opinion of Josep. "Father Guillem?"
The senora glanced down at him warily. "A preacher, an acolyte in the greatest sanctuary in Catalonia, indeed in all Aragon, and probably a senior one. So a pious man and probably a very learned one."
Had the renowned gossip learned no more than that?
"I think I knew that, madame, and I think he does."
She chuckled, an ominous sound. "Very likely."
"And Brother Bernat?"
Surprisingly, this time there was a longer pause, a glance even more guarded. She frowned. She glanced around, although there was no one within earshot and they were still speaking French.
"I have only suspicions, Tobias."
He did not like her use of his given name; here it implied an intimacy he had no wish for. But he did want to hear her suspicions. "Tell me those, Madame Collel, and I shall remember that they are only suspicions."
Her smile of broken, yellow fangs would strike dread into the bravest. "Why is an old man traveling with a tender child, hmm? Tell me that!"
"I cannot. There may be good reasons."
"There may be very evil reasons, also!" she said triumphantly.
"He is a friar, madame, a pious teacher of ethics."
She lowered her voice. "That is what a friar is supposed to be, yes. But is he what he says he is? I think he is an—" she paused dramatically, "—alumbrado!"
"I am not familiar with that term, madame."
She pouted, curling her mustache. "It is a foul heresy. There are ill-disposed people who travel the wild lands, Tobias, seeking out elemental spirits."
"Hexers. They harvest the elementals and turn them into demons. I know of this evil, but—"
"Not only hexers! Worse! You have never heard of the alumbrados?"
He hitched his pack higher on his shoulders, wondering what could possibly be worse than the gramarye he had met in Lady Valda or foreseen in Baron Oreste. "No."
"Alumbradismo is the worst form of gramarye, Tobias! These abominable persons do not worship good spirits and tutelaries, as honest folk do, but the wild elementals themselves!"
"Why should that be worse than hexing? It sounds dangerous, for elementals are unpredictable, but they are not evil in the way demons—"
She dismissed his ignorance with a wave of her fan. "These heretics sacrifice children to the elementals!"
Oh, that was ridiculous! What interest would a wild elemental have in human sacrifice? They just wanted to be left alone.
"I never heard of this terrible thing, madame. For what purpose do they do it?"
She rolled her eyes. "For power, of course! It is said that they make themselves immortal."
This was not even gossip—it was pure malice. He did not believe a word of it. "That is a most serious charge, madame. Have you any evidence?"
Senora Collel resented his doubts and scowled at him. "I told you I only had suspicions! But there is something very strange about that Brother Bernat and his sweet little ward. You speak with him and then come and tell me if you do not sense something very strange about him."
"I confess I already have sensed that he is an unusual man."
"There! What did I tell you!"
Hamish had never mentioned alumbradismo, and if Hamish did not know of it, then it had never been written in any book. Perhaps it was some sort of local superstition.
"I shall keep your warning in mind," Toby said. "Now tell me of the most interesting person in this company."
"The don, you mean?"
"Of course not. Madame Collel."
She laughed raucously. "So you can flatter? Ah, the woman is a terrible harridan! She was born very poor and married a man much older than herself, disgustingly rich. She has outlived three husbands. It is a well-known scandal that her household always includes a well-built young steward, whom she pays well to keep her servants in line and herself content. It is said she usually tires of these staunch youngsters after a year or so, but dismisses them with a generous requital. Have you
employment in mind when you reach Barcelona, Tobias?"
He gaped at her brazen smirk. He had no idea how much she was mocking him, or if her monstrous suggestion could be at least partly serious. "Monsieur Brusi has already offered to make me a porter in his warehouse."
"I pay better, but the work might be harder."
It would indeed! "I shall keep this generous offer in mind, madame."
She chuckled. "But I do not roll in the undergrowth like Eulalia. If you wish to try out for the post, you will have to wait until we arrive. What do you think of the don?"
"He puzzles me. Is he as deluded as he pretends?"
"How can he be, unless he lost his wits in battle? He is reputed to be a good fighter." From her that was probably significant praise, but she said no more about Don Ramon. She frowned. "There is something very odd about his squire, also. He bothers me more."
CHAPTER SEVEN
By sunset they were almost out of the hills. Hamish had located an excellent campsite, sheltered by cypress trees and furnished with a small pool trapped behind an earthen dam. The water was slime-covered and bad-smelling, but it would serve to wash off the sweat and dust of the day. When Toby tried to borrow the Brusi bucket, he was reminded of his promise to curry the horses and informed that his fee for that could be the rent of the bucket. The better one came to know Brusi Senior, the nastier the old prune seemed, but the only other bucket belonged to Rafael and Miguel and the price of that one would be the captain's heart on a stick. What a jolly lot they all were!
While Hamish was building a communal fire, therefore, Toby gave Josep a lesson in caring for horses. Eulalia attended to Senora Collel's and obviously knew what she was doing—a farmer's daughter, no doubt. Each little group sat under its own tree, well apart from the others. Pepita wandered around being friends with everyone, but she was a notable exception, because there was still no sign of the adults cooperating. Rafael and Miguel had marched up to the Brusi camp and carted away their possessions without a word of thanks to anyone.
Even the two clerics remained aloof. Toby had talked with them on the march, receiving a severe lecture from Father Guillem on the virtue of peaceable methods and the iniquity of drawing a sword on unarmed peasants. Toby refrained from pointing out that the procession had moved a lot faster since his bullying.