"You have nothing to fear." Valentin Maratin's quiet tones sounded in her ear. With a start she realized she had allowed her horse to slow its pace and she was some considerable way behind the others. Her companion had obviously come to hurry her up.
"I am not afraid," she snapped, ignoring the sudden friendliness in his voice.
"A little apprehensive, perhaps, but that's understandable."
"Is your home up there?" Madelon asked, looking at the path stretching ahead of them.
"Yes. My father built the castle in the midst of these mountains. He wanted an impenetrable fortress and that's what it is. Many men have laid siege to it and fallen dead at its walls without dislodging a single stone."
He was proud of his home, Madelon thought and if it was as magnificent as the pride in his voice proclaimed, he had every right.
When they had ridden on a little way Valentin stretched out his arm, pointing upwards.
"Look!"
Shielding her eyes against an unexpected flood of sunshine which came streaming through a break in the rocks before them, Madelon followed his outflung hand. The Castle de Aguilas stood on a plateau high above her - the only access to it, a narrow track, wild and desolate, twisting out of a thick wood, on the outskirts of which was a small village, with a river encircling it.
Madelon caught her breath in awe. The whole place looked as if it had been hewn out of the solid rock against which it stood. She could just make out the battlements along the top of the inside wall and a large crenellated tower. The outside wall had battlements also and strong looking towers at each corner. They did not look heavily fortified, but there was no reason for them to be for on each side of the plateau was a gorge of terrifying steepness. The sunlight flashed on steel, probably the weapon of a guard, she thought. As she continued to peer upwards, small figures, looking like coloured dots, appeared on the battlements.
"Will you ride with me, ahead of the others?" Valentin asked quietly.
The disdainful answer which rose to Madelon's lips died away as she looked into his green eyes. What was it she saw there? Self reproach - a hint of apology - interest perhaps? Whatever it was those eyes commanded her respect. His outrageous treatment of her was no longer important.
"My brother ..." she began.
"He will sleep until the doctor has put him to bed in the castle," Valentin answered, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone. "Come, Dona Madelon, forget your wounded pride. You shall have an apology for my rudeness as soon as we can find a suitable moment to talk alone. Now I am asking you to forget our differences and ride beside me to my home. I have sent word ahead to my mother to expect us. She is waiting to greet a guest - not a subdued prisoner. You are not a prisoner, you know that, don't you?"
"Yes, Don Valentin, I know," Madelon said and she even managed a rather shy smile. "I will ride with you."
Rodrigo Diaz, riding ahead of Abraham ben Canaan smiled behind his red beard as the two riders passed him and entered the village. Thank God you didn't see them, he mused with a backwards glance at Paco.
Madelon guided her horse carefully over the well-worn stone bridge, which as far as she could see, was the only access to the village and the castle beyond. The water did not look too deep, but the river widened further downstream and no attacking army could cross it unseen. By the time it had been forded, the alarm would have been raised in the castle. The home of the Maratin family was indeed a fortress.
There were less than twelve houses in the village. Most were of drab brown stone with tiled roofs, but here and there some had been painted white and the roofs stained with some kind of red colouring. People poured out to greet then, lining both sides of the narrow street, their eager shouts proclaiming how glad they were to see their lord returning safe and well. With a shock of surprise Madelon saw among the weather-beaten faces of the peasants, a few swarthy countenances that were most familiar. A Moorish girl in a brightly coloured dress and wearing an elaborate belt of coins ran alongside Valentin's horse and tossed him a large red apple from the basket of fresh fruit hung on her arm. The Lord of the Eagles caught it with a laugh and waved his thanks.
So this was why Rebecca had been so amused when Madelon had voiced her relief at leaving the Moors behind her, she thought with renewed bitterness. Obviously there had been intermarriage between the villagers and people from Yusuf's town.
The village was behind them now and they were entering the forest. There was an almost unearthly stillness in the midst of the tall trees which allowed no fight to penetrate their thick, intertwined branches. Madelon did not hear a single bird or animal. And then they came out into the open again and began to ascend the winding trail to the plateau.
As they progressed Madelon discovered the rocky crevasses were filled with pretty Utile flowers; pink columbines and white daisies, multi-coloured wild roses and purple thrift and the higher they went, there were different coloured hues to be seen in the rock formations. From the valley she had thought the large, somewhat clumsy-looking place as bleak and forbidding as the mighty wall of rock behind h, but as they reached the plateau, the castle had lost most of its menacing appearance. A moat, the usual first line of defence, had not been necessary when the Castle of the Eagles was built for it was unlikely any attacking army would successfully scale the trail, whilst being under attack from above at the same time.
Madelon reined in her horse beside her companion giving a soft exclamation of delight at the magnificent view of the surrounding countryside, but she was not allowed to stay and enjoy it for long. Valentin motioned her to follow him and urged his stallion across the drawbridge which had been lowered to give access to the castle. The inner courtyard was huge and a hive of activity. Outside the massive stables, a smithy was busy at his trade. Behind him Madelon glimpsed a fine selection of animals, Arab stallions most of them as was the one the Lord of the Eagles rode. Pages in dark green livery, their tunics emblazoned with golden eagles hurried to and fro, obviously making preparations for the new arrivals. Two richly dressed young women, Madelon guessed they were ladies-in-waking, were standing on the top of the steps in front of two massive iron-hinged doors. In the centre panels of each were golden eagles, their wings outstretched in flight.
Madelon allowed her gaze to drift upwards, past the window embrasures where curious faces were clustered, to the archers on the battlements high above. Oh, well, I'm here now, she thought, and until Paco is well, I shall just have to make the best of it.
A freckle-faced boy in the dress of a squire came forward and took the bridle of Valentin Maratin's horse.
"Welcome home, my lord. We expected you yesterday."
"I was detained," his master said with a smile and a sidelong glance at Madelon. Sliding from his horse he came around to where she sat. "Let me help you down."
For the brief moment his arms were around her as he lifted her from the saddle, Madelon was reminded of the other side of his nature. Not quiet and reserved as he was now, but wild and rough, forcing his kisses on her unwilling mouth. Two fierce spots of colour burned on her cheeks and she quickly averted her gaze from his face. As his hands fell away from her, she saw once again the strangely shaped birthmark on his right hand - it was almost a perfect five-pointed star. She had seen it several times since their first meeting, but it was not ladylike to ask too many questions and she had kept silent. Now, however, overcome with curiosity, she raised her head, only to have Valentin anticipate her question.
"For generations men of the Maratin family have borne a similar mark. Only the men, never the women. My father had one on his back, my brother's was identical to mine. Unfortunately it helped to betray them while they were escaping from a besieged town. That and the treachery of a man they had thought to be their friend." His green eyes glittered, suddenly as he looked at her. "We Maratins have always been cursed by having treacherous friends. I prefer an enemy I can see and fight. Traitors and spies are the lowest form of human life and I treat them accordingly."
/> Madelon had the horrible suspicion his words were meant as a warning and she felt her old dislike of him returning. Further conversation was curtailed by the arrival of Paco's litter and the Moorish escort led by Rodrigo Diaz. Behind them came a stream of villagers bringing home-made produce, fruit and suchlike, and driving before them several plump sheep and pigs.
"The villagers are pleased to see you return safely, my lord," Stephen said, his freckled face breaking into a grin as one of the pigs broke loose from its owner and dashed squealing across the courtyard. "Is it true Mahmud and his men have dared to return to our lands?"
"They left rather suddenly." Valentin looked down at Madelon, his expression troubled. "Yusuf's men chased them over the border, but I regret they were unable to catch up with the main party who had captured your serving women."
"What will happen to them ... the slave markets?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"Probably, but don't dwell on their fates, Dona Madelon, you escaped. Be grateful and forget."
It was a callous attitude, but a realistic one, Madelon realised. If only her women had not been so young and pretty ... so full of life ...
Valentin looked around him at the villagers and the Moorish soldiers mingling together and nodded slowly.
"Tonight we celebrate, Stephen. Dona Madelon has been entertained by lord Yusuf, now it is our turn. We must show her our Moorish friends are not the only ones who know how to enjoy themselves. Tell Joseph to open the storerooms and use whatever we need."
"Valentin! Thank God you have come back unharmed."
The man turned with a soft expletive and leapt up the stairs two at a time to the side of the exquisitely dressed woman in the open doorway. Her gown was of richly patterned grey damask, the hem of the skirt and the edges of the long sleeves trimmed with sable fur. A head-dress of some wispy white material concealed most of her auburn hair, just beginning to turn grey at the temples. Madelon knew who she was. The pale green eyes glowing with pleasure as Valentin took her face between his hands and kissed her on both cheeks, betrayed her immediately.
"Mother, surely you weren't worried?" he teased gently.
"How could I not worry, my son, when word came from the village that Mahmud was in the area. I was afraid you two would meet."
"We did," Valentin answered, "that's how we have acquired two guests."
"Your message said one was wounded." Pale eyes, so like those of the man beside her, came to rest on Madelon. Valentin indicated the litter being unloaded under the careful supervision of the doctor and Diya. Then he beckoned and she joined him on the stairs.
"Mother, this is Madelon del Rivas y Montevides. It is her brother who is hurt, though with Abraham's skilful tending he'll be on his feet again in no time. Don't you think we've cheated Mahmud of a valuable piece of merchandise?" As the colour surged into Madelon's face, he said, "Dona Madelon, my mother, Francesca Maratin."
Madelon, who had been brought up to show the greatest respect for her elders, curtseyed before the imposing figure of Dona Francesca.
"You have had a hicky escape, my dear," Valentin's mother said as the young girl straightened. "I hope you will enjoy your stay with us. You need have no fears for your safety here, my late husband built this castle to enable us to live in peace, untroubled by Moors or Christians alike and apart from the odd incident, we are very happy."
Madelon glanced into Valentin's expressionless face. Obviously the messenger he had sent ahead had omitted a great many details.
"Before you welcome me so readily, Dona Francesca, I must tell you my brother and I are cousins to King Alfonso of Leon and the Dona Urraca. If you wish to refuse us your hospitality now I shall understand."
Francesca Maratin looked at her son. He nodded, indicating what had been said was true, but he made no comment,
"Your kinship to the people you have mentioned must surely mean you are also related to our gracious Sancho of Castile. As my son fights beneath his banner, you are doubly welcome."
"Cousin Sancho hates my family," Madelon said. "It may go ill with Don Valentin if he learns you have given us shelter."
"Valentin has brought you here and I do not question his judgement," Valentin's mother replied, and took Madelon by the arm. "Come, you must be in need of refreshment after the journey. Don't worry about your brother, rooms have been prepared and servants are waiting to attend him."
With a last glance at the litter being carried across the courtyard, Madelon allowed herself to be led into the castle.
***
The large, two curved window embrasures in the Great Hall of the Castle of the Eagles, looked out over one of the deep gorges Madelon had seen earlier. She was just able to make out a thin silver ribbon of water winding its way in the valley below, probably the same one which circled the village. She sat on one of the window benches while Valentin, sprawled in a huge sheepskin-covered chair, was relating to his mother what had passed since his departure a week ago.
The interior of the castle had taken Madelon completely by surprise. The Great Hall where she sat was enormous - over a hundred feet long and half as wide and so richly furnished it was more like a palace than the home of a mere knight. If all the other rooms were as comfortable, the Maratin family lived in better style than the King of Leon, she mused. Across the room from her was a huge arched fireplace, set into the grey brickwork. The design was undoubtedly Moorish, as were the tapestries hanging on either side. At the far end of the hall was a raised dais, covered in sheepskin rugs, dyed various colours, with a long trestle table on it. The chairs and stools were made of seasoned timber and stained with dark colouring. More and more Madelon was reminded of the Moorish camp as she stared about her. The heavy velvet drapes hanging beside the windows which would be pulled across at night to shut out the sight of the wooden shutters covering the embrasures; the many brightly coloured cushions scattered everywhere, just as they had been in her tent. Wealth and comfort were denoted wherever she looked. Either Valentin Maratin had an unlimited supply of riches or he was being handsomely paid by someone other than his royal master. It was an ugly thought, but what other answer was there?
Madelon saw him suddenly sit up and look around as if realizing the absence of someone important.
"Where's Teresa?" she heard him ask.
"In bed with a badly bruised ankle. Really, Valentin, you must give her a severe talking to," Francesca Maratin said sternly. "Despite all my protests and warnings she tried to ride Conquistador."
"Then she's lucky to get away with mere bruises," came the dry retort. "You are right, it's time I had a word with her." Valentin looked across to where Madelon sat trying not to appear as if she was listening to their conversation. "Where are you putting Dona Madelon?"
"In the South Tower, where Teresa can't get at her. The poor girl looks as if she needs a good sleep."
Valentin smiled and rose to his feet.
"I will show you to your room, Dona Madelon. You will want to rest before the feast tonight. On the way I'll introduce you to the plague of my life, my young sister, Teresa."
Madelon took her leave of Francesca Maratin and followed her host through a door at the far end of the hall and up a winding flight of stairs to the upper part of the castle. As they climbed she often paused to look out at the countryside spread out below. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
"After I've seen Teresa, I'll take you on to the battlements," Valentin said, as she stopped yet again to watch an eagle circling the craggy peaks.
"Has your sister had a riding accident?" Madelon asked.
"You could put it that way," Valentin halted before a brass-studded door and pushed it open. A gasp came from the scantily clad red-headed girl leaning up on tip-toe by the window. As he stood in the doorway, hands on hips, she gave a squeal of dismay and scrambled back into bed.
"Teresa, sister or not, I ought to put you over my knee. How many times have I told you Conquistador will obey only me? You could have been seriously hurt - even kill
ed."
His voice was so fierce even Madelon wondered if he was about to drag the girl from the bed and administer a sound spanking - as he had once threatened to do with her - but as she moved further into the room, she saw the wicked amusement glinting in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Valentin. I didn't mean any harm. Mother said you would be furious, but you aren't , are you? Oh, you beast, you are teasing me." Teresa Maratin sat up in bed and threw a badly-aimed cushion at her brother's head. It missed him completely and hit Madelon full in the face.
"Not only do you disobey all my instructions, but now you insult our guest as well," Valentin said with mock severity.
"Oh, Dona Madelon, I'm so sorry," Teresa's cheeks grew almost as bright as her hair, "but my brother is such an unfeeling brute. Here I am nursing bruises in all kinds of uncomfortable places and all he cares about is his wretched horse. My name is Teresa - I'm much nicer than Valentin, so please stay and talk to me. I expect he'll want to go and inspect his horse after my disastrous ride."
"Not at all - I'm confident he expelled you from his back before you could do him any harm. Besides, Dona Madelon has had a long ride and wants to rest," Valentin answered.
"You've only come from Yusuf's camp, that isn't far," Teresa pouted. "I made Stephen tell me all about you."
She was a very pretty girl, Madelon decided. Not strikingly beautiful, for she did not have her brother and mother's green eyes - hers were grey but the combination of the fiery tresses cascading down her back and a softly-tanned skin, a slightly turned-up little nose and an appealing smile, were more than enough to rate her as pretty. It was obvious brother and sister adored each other, despite Teresa's recent escapade. Madelon found herself envying this other girl who had grown up in the safety and comfort of this huge castle, loved and wanted by mother, father and brother. Something of her thoughts must have showed in her expression for Valentin abruptly took her arm and turned her towards the door.
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