The Years of Longdirk- The Complete Series

by Dave Duncan

  It was standard procedure now for him to share first watch with Josep. It was also standard procedure for him to spend second watch with Eulalia, although presumably not watching anything. Quite often he was still off in the shrubbery with her when Toby was awakened to take third watch. Although Toby was careful not to pry, he had overheard enough angry words to know that their romance was not all honey and rose petals. Remembering how he had seen Hamish in earnest conversation with the acolyte that afternoon, he wondered if Father Guillem himself had suggested the switch.

  "I don't mind. Just don't turn your back on Rafael tonight."

  "I never do," Hamish said sharply. "Why not tonight especially?"

  "Because tomorrow's our last day as a group. First thing in the morning, I plan to bring up the matter of the landsknechte's gold. I think there should be a friendly sharing-out of the loot."

  "They know that?"

  "They may guess."

  "I agree about the sharing-out," Hamish said. "But you're dreaming if you expect it to be friendly."

  The campsite, when they reached it, was a dense grove of cypress, but even there the ground was waterlogged. The pilgrims muttered and grumbled and made the best of it. Their fire smoked, people banged their heads on low branches, and the horses had to be hobbled to keep them from wandering in search of better grazing. No one was in a mood for singing.

  The inexplicable Jacques ate as if he was starved. He spoke to no one unless he was addressed and even then provided no information. He could tell Toby nothing about the road he had come or people he had met on the way; indeed he had forgotten that he had been sent to meet Senor Longdirk. It had been the villagers who told Father Guillem that much. When he was not admitting that he could not answer a question, he just stayed in one place and smiled, but when Toby asked him to chop firewood he worked hard until he was told to stop.

  Surprisingly, Pepita disliked him. She seemed frightened of him, and this was very unlike her. When Toby asked her why, she pouted.

  "He is broken."

  "He's not very clever. Do you think he may hurt you?"

  She shook her head. "But he is broken." She seemed unable to explain what she meant.

  Hamish found him an intriguing problem. "He's French, originally! Speak to him in Catalan and he answers in Catalan. But speak to him in langue d'oc and he answers in langue d'oc! He knows some German too. He must've traveled a lot. How did he manage that with no wits?"

  "Pepita says he's been broken."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I wish I knew," Toby said soberly.

  The night was black as pitch. Everyone retired as soon as the meal was over. Toby, having given the sentries' whistles to Josep and Father Guillem, rolled himself up in his wet blanket to sleep. Hamish was already curled up shivering in his, so he really had turned over a new leaf. Amazing! How long would it take Eulalia to turn it back again?

  2

  A white swan drifting across dark water, trailing a soft vee of ripple, one dark foot just visible below ... Lochan na Bi, Lochan na Bi.

  The swan was swimming in the back of Toby's mind, and it seemed to be working. He could not judge his heartbeat, but he felt no fear or even anger, no sweat or dry throat. Of course he always tended to stay cool when there was a fight coming, so perhaps this was not a fair test of Brother Bernat's technique. He could not hope to win against the don, so he must try and talk his way out of his predicament.

  He said, "I am at fault also, senor. I should have wakened at the proper time, as you did."

  About the hour he should have been coming off watch, the don's foot in his ribs had awakened him and not gently either. Hamish and Rafael should have called Toby and Miguel; they in turn should have called the don and his squire. They had not. Don Ramon had demanded an explanation. In the ensuing search, it had been Doña Francisca who found Hamish lying in the weeds, bound and gagged, one side of his face caked with dried blood. Now Don Ramon was demanding Hamish's head.

  From the way Hamish was holding it with both hands, he might be very glad to be rid of it. He was barely conscious even yet, sitting there huddled under a blanket in the first glimmers of a very rainy dawn while nine people he had been supposed to guard stared down at him with expressions ranging from Pepita's sympathy to the don's homicidal fury.

  Nine. Once the pilgrims had numbered sixteen. Now they were only ten, not counting Jacques who was still asleep in his cloak, and that was assuming Hamish and Toby survived the next few minutes.

  "It was his job to call you, not yours to wake yourself," Don Ramon repeated. "He failed in that duty. He failed to sound the alarm. The penalty for failing on guard duty is death."

  "Not in this case, senor," Toby said with the best blend of deference and stubbornness he could muster. "He was set to guard against intruders, not against treachery from his friends." Liar! He had warned Hamish not to turn his back on Rafael.

  Hamish peered up at him blearily. He did not speak—fortunately so, because he was confused enough to say almost anything, even the truth.

  "A sentry taken unaware," said the don, "is put to death. I expect he was fornicating in the bushes with the whore."

  Hamish closed his eyes in abject misery.

  "Were you?" Toby asked. He was taking a risk, but he was almost certain that the answer was no.

  Hamish whispered, "No."

  "I believe him, senor. Granted, the fire she lit in his belly has melted most of his brains, but he would not betray us when he was supposed to be on watch. Josep? You've shared watch with him more than any of us."

  Josep's anger twisted into a grin. "No, Campeador. Sometimes he lay with her before and sometimes after, sometimes even both, but never during."

  Hamish's great romance was common knowledge. He opened his mouth as if about to speak, then turned his head and vomited. Had he done that five minutes ago, he would have suffocated behind his gag and this inquiry would be a post mortem. He might easily have frozen to death. Feeling a rush of hatred for the people who had treated his friend so, Toby reached again for calm. Lochan na Bi!

  He scowled at Eulalia, who was wearing what she might think was an expression of wounded innocence. "But the whore may have been an accomplice. I cannot imagine Jaume being taken like a broody hen unless he was distracted somehow. Did she come and talk with you?"

  Hamish tried to shake his head and winced. "Don't remember," he croaked.

  "Then they must have bribed her!" the don decided. "If we search her, we shall find some gold chains, I expect."

  Eulalia screeched at this outrage to her honor and appealed to Senora Collel. The senora told her to shut her face. Gracia, who had been standing beside her, pointedly moved away.

  "That wouldn't prove much," Toby said. "She may have looted some from the landsknechte." He had a strong suspicion that Eulalia had been helping both Manuel and Raphael enjoy their newfound wealth behind their wives' backs, but he would not say so in front of Hamish.

  Again Eulalia erupted in torrents of Catalan. The senora silenced her with a slap as loud as a gunshot.

  Hamish's eyes had opened wide. He turned to look at Eulalia and suddenly produced a strange sound, somewhere between a laugh and a choke. "I do remember! She came and told me she's with child."

  "She is lying," Senora Collel declaimed. "I know it"

  True or false, that assertion would certainly have been a potent distraction, and for a moment even the don looked amused. Then he found his anger again. "Very well, Campeador, we shall let Jaume live. See that he is thoroughly thrashed. We are wasting time. We must hunt down the traitors."

  "No, senor."

  Icy silence.

  "Do I hear you correctly?" the don said very quietly.

  Lochan na Bi ... "Yes, senor. They will travel at least as fast as we can, and they have several hours' start on us. To chase them would be folly. They have stolen some horses from us, but we stole them in the first place. They do not seem to have taken much else that did not belong to the
m."

  He waited for contradiction from Josep or Senora Collel, who used their moneybags as pillows, but neither disagreed. Whatever balance Miguel and Rafael still owed on Don Ramon's wages was a debt that must not be mentioned, and his mother had always known that her chances of collecting from them were slim.

  But not all wealth was beneath a caballero's dignity. "You forget the rest of the booty!" the don snapped. "That belongs to all of us. You, especially, earned your share. They did not."

  A penniless fugitive fleeing from the long arm of Baron Oreste would certainly find a few gold chains useful, but Toby could not accept that he had earned a link of them. It had been the hob who destroyed the landsknechte, not he. The fight had not been honorable, so the prize was tainted and he would shed no tears over losing it. He was probably being stupid again, but that was how he felt.

  "We cannot ride down the fugitives without their seeing us coming, senor. They will have ample time to make the evidence disappear before we reach them."

  "We can make them tell where it is!"

  "Not I, senor."

  The don's hand was on his sword hilt. The blue eyes flamed madness. "You are refusing my orders?"

  "I am advising the noble hidalgo that to pursue those worthless peasants would be folly. We can reach Montserrat by evening."

  "This a matter of honor you cannot comprehend. We shall pursue the thieves."

  "Not I, senor."

  Day by day Toby had been taking over the leadership of the group. Spirits knew he had not planned to and had done everything he could to preserve the fiction that the hired guard was still in charge, but no one was deceived. Now he had thrown down the gauntlet. It had been inevitable, probably, because he could never tolerate authority for long and was especially incapable of obeying nonsensical orders, but to upstage the deranged caballero was to die for insolence. As the don's great sword slid from its scabbard, his mother caught hold of his arm with both hands.

  "Ramon, he is right!"

  He froze. He could not have looked more shocked had she stabbed him.

  Gracia stepped in front of him. "Senor, please!" she whispered.

  "I agree with the campeador and your noble squire, my son," Father Guillem boomed. He rolled forward to clap a hairy paw on the don's shoulder. "What good will be served by a long chase and then bloodshed? As Tobias says, we should merely be trying to steal back stolen goods, and some of us might be hurt in the fight. It will be you and he against the two of them."

  Toby waited, arms folded, doing his breathing exercises. The don just continued to glare at his mother, and she glared right back at him—truly, there was a most admirable lady! At last he opened his hand, the sword dropped back in its scabbard, and death flew away.

  He was still insanely furious, though, and he would never forget this insult. "We must be guided by the counsel of the holy scholar in matters of righteousness. The woman will remain behind, though. She has forfeited any claim on us."

  Eulalia cried out and threw herself on her knees. "Senores! Senoras! You will not abandon me!"

  Hamish opened his mouth —

  "No!" Toby barked. "You owe her nothing. She didn't tell you her lies earlier, did she? She came to distract you when you were on guard. She was in on the plot, Hamish. She set you up so Rafael could cosh you."

  Hamish groaned and buried his face in his arms.

  "Senoras!" the don proclaimed. "Take this harlot over there and strip her. Find out what —"

  Instantly Eulalia was gone through the trees, arms and legs flying. Only Toby or the don could run her down and catch her, but that would be beneath the don's dignity, and Toby was glad to see the last of her.

  Pepita moved over to Hamish and clasped his head between her hands. "Let me try to ease your pain, senor." Everyone else was suddenly made uneasy by this suggestion of gramarye.

  "Prepare to move out, Campeador!" The don spun on his heel and stalked away. The others dispersed, and Toby began to consider the problem of catching the remaining horses, because the deserters had removed their hobbles to delay pursuit. Fortunately Smeòrach would usually come to his whistle.

  Montserrat lay somewhere in these forbidding hills. This was the last day.

  3

  The last day was likely to be the worst. At times Toby could barely see two horses ahead of him, either because the trail was winding through forest or because the fog had closed in like gray bed curtains—and frequently both. The rain varied from annoying to drenching. Once in a while terrain and weather would open up to reveal a breathtaking, unreal landscape, towering almost vertically overhead in bright green slopes and spectacular beetling cliffs whose tops were lost in cloud. It was perfect ambush country.

  Father Guillem insisted that there was only one road up this valley and hence no chance of getting lost, but Toby was far less worried about losing his way than he was about the reports of bandits molesting travelers. To send scouts out ahead would be useless in these conditions, even if he had any to send.

  One way or another, the pilgrimage was ending. If he could deliver his charges safely to Montserrat, then Pepita, Gracia, and Father Guillem would remain at the monastery, while the others would resume their journey to Barcelona in a day or two. Toby himself would carry on alone, toward France, but here he was very close to Baron Oreste, who must be hunting for him with gramarye.

  All day the don rode a few lengths ahead, bearing his lance and shield ready for use. Toby mostly stayed at the rear with the rest of the men, but from time to time he would ride along the line, trying to raise people's spirits. It was hard to keep up a cheerful front in such weather. When he asked Senora Collel to take a turn at leading the packhorses, she refused vehemently.

  "I did not entrust myself to the don's protection," she snapped, "in order to serve as a mule skinner. Furthermore, I contracted to be escorted directly to Barcelona, not dragged up into these wild hills."

  She was probably looking for an excuse to refuse further payment, and she was undoubtedly annoyed at no longer having a servant to nag and bully. But she had not mentioned hiring Toby as her resident Pretty Boy since she learned he was possessed, and that was an improvement.

  Even the normally sparkly Pepita seemed glum, although that was partly because she still mourned Brother Bernat. She perched on her horse like a sodden bundle of laundry, her tiny, pinched face peering out from a cocoon comprised of every spare garment the pilgrims possessed. "You are my friend. I do not want you to go away and leave me."

  "I do not want to leave you either, Senorita Pepita. I have enjoyed traveling with you, but life is full of sorrows, and parting from friends is one of them."

  "You sound just like Brother Bernat! Why cannot I teach my spirit friend about happiness, instead of just about sorrow?"

  "You have taught it about friendship by being my friend. Friendship is a great happiness, perhaps the very best of all."

  "I shall not forget Brother Bernat, because he was my friend, and I shall not forget you."

  "And I shall always remember you. You have taught me many things about carrying the burden of a spirit."

  She wagged a minute finger at him. "You must not let it throw thunderbolts at people again! That was a bad thing you let it do."

  "No, I never shall. I promise." He would at least try.

  Even Doña Francisca was not quite her usual indomitable self. "I will pray to Montserrat for you, Senor Toby. I am very grateful for all your help. We should not be here now had it not been for you."

  "Oh, that isn't true. In fact, I put you all in danger. You would have done better without me. Your son would have managed perfectly well."

  She smiled disbelievingly. "I only wish we had money to reward you, for you have served us all loyally without a hope of —"

  "I wish you had money, too, senora, for then I could refuse it. Journeying with you has been its own reward."

  Gracia was better company, foreseeing the end of her strange mission. Either she did not comprehend the p
ervasive danger, or she had faith in her voices.

  "These mountains must be very splendid when the sun shines, must they not?"

  "Indeed they must," Toby agreed. "Brother Bernat said that spirits choose beautiful places for their domains, so I suppose very great spirits should have very wonderful scenery."

  "My sons will be happy here, and all those other wraiths also." Her hand closed around the bottle. She had not been parted from it since he rescued it from the Inquisition.

  "I am sure Montserrat will cherish them. And what of yourself? You will enter the nunnery?"

  She hesitated. "I swore I would not mention ... But this is our farewell, yes? We shall never meet again, and I owe you so much that I cannot bear not to tell you... . You will not betray my confidence, senor?"

  "Of course not."

  "Don Ramon and I are pledged to be married! He wishes his saintly mother to be first to hear the news, and she is presently at home, running his great estates, so we are to say nothing until he has a chance to write to her."

  He looked down at the stars of happiness sparkling in Gracia's eyes and could say nothing except to offer his congratulations and best wishes. The don was a man of honor as he defined honor. Deceiving pretty girls did not count. It was a gentleman's privilege.

  Jacques rode in silence, smiling blissfully at the fog, except when he was answering a question with a worried, "I don't know, senor." He claimed he could not remember how long he had lived at Montserrat, where he had come from before that, or even if he had ever been married. Once he burst into song and sang to himself a long romantic lament in French without ever hitting a wrong note or stumbling over the words; and another time, as Toby came by, he was shaving while still riding on his donkey. He did an excellent job, too, without a single nick. Toby was tempted to borrow the razor and try the same feat just to see if he could do it, but his courage failed him. Jacques was a total mystery.

  Josep was so muffled under a sodden fur hat that little of his face was visible. He smiled with blue lips, though, and held out a purse. "Your fee, Campeador."