And sorrow again...
Several stanzas later he ended in a minor key tremolo, letting the melancholy note die away wavering, to drift into silence. He had chosen the song for no reason except it was one he knew he could do well.
Tendilla sat quietly, staring at a corner of his writing table. Finally he raised his head, giving Francho a surprising glimpse of loneliness in the back of the dark eyes before the lids quickly flickered and impassivity resettled upon the aristocratic features.
"Bravo, Don Francisco. Well done, indeed. You have surprised me with your gift for music."
"Gracias, my lord."
"I think we shall see to it that you acquire even greater skill. This unsuspected talent could prove the key to the road you must follow. What other abilities have you developed in your short fifteen years?"
Francho shrugged. "I can read and write in both Latin and Castilian. I know by memory numerous prayers and saints' lives. I can stay on a horse, but just barely. That's all."
His candid appraisal amused Tendilla. "And—you have very crafty fingers and nimble legs, do you forget?"
Francho flushed, then grinned. He had no intention of apologizing for that. But he decided to speak up while his host seemed receptive.
"You give me fine clothes, your name, the freedom of your castle. What is it you want me to do in return?"
"For the first thing, learn to speak less directly," the Count responded. "By approaching a subject obliquely you ofttimes can disarm your opponent into a more honest admission, or even a surprise blurting of the truth. Yet, in this instance you are right. Between us, at least, we shall have to have complete frankness if our purposes are to succeed." He pushed back his chair so he could cross his long, black-sheathed legs. "As your friend and advisor I shall speak to you always without guile. And I shall expect the same honesty from you."
Francho sat down in the x-chair the Count indicated at the side of his table. He nodded. "I have reflected much since yesterday, my lord, and I am willing to follow your advice. I will do anything I can to regain my own name and my right to my father's properties."
"Would you place your life in jeopardy?"
Francho did not hesitate. "If the prize is rich, yes. Once, when I was little, I dreamed of being a soldier, to fight against the Moors and have worth in the eyes of others. I forgot this for a while, but now... instead of fighting the Moors I will fight for my own legacy."
"You may do both, my cockerel, if you agree to act as I direct."
Francho nodded. He felt his heart beating quicker, in anticipation.
How serious his mien, with those azure eyes burning out from under that frown, Tendilla thought. How very much like her.... He yanked his thoughts from that path. "I shall give you a very brief history first, so you may understand the catastrophe which overtook your house. Queen Isabella's half-brother Henrique, who ruled as king before you were born, was called 'The Impotent' by the people because he was a corrupt, vacillating man who would not control the veniality and power feuds of his vassals. The epithet had another meaning as well: in twenty years and two queens he had had no issue, legitimate or otherwise. Then, suddenly, his Portuguese queen swelled and was delivered of a girl child. There was open accusation that the baby had been sired by Beltran de la Cueva, the royal favorite, an obnoxious, stupid man the King had allowed undue influence.
"There were those who desired to keep this child, this 'Beltraneja,' from any claim to the throne, nor could they tolerate any longer Henrique's disastrous domestic and foreign policies. Many of the grandees and nobility of Castile—and I was a leader, along with the Marquis of Villena and the warlike Archbishop of Toledo—openly demanded the King be deposed. In his place we wished to install his little half-brother, the eleven-year-old Prince Alfonso."
"I have heard tales of this prince," Francho said.
"No doubt. He was hailed as a savior by nobility and populace alike, and in fact he was an amiable and intelligent boy. Every noble chose a side, and for three years there was what amounted to a miserable civil war between the minions of Henrique and the Beltraneja, and us, the supporters of Alfonso."
"Was my father with you?"
"Yes, he was. He and I had been fast friends since our youngest years, we rode together in the... Well, now I must tell you of your father." Tendilla studied his long fingers drumming slowly on the table. "He was a brave man. Most personable, generous to a fault, an admirer of poetry and painting, a man of charm. But he had two failings which in the end undid him: an uncontrollable extravagance that made him the prey of rapacious moneylenders; and a stiff pride which would not allow him to approach his friends for help, or even advice, when his life seemed to be going askew."
Francho shifted in his chair. "What did he do?" he asked, reluctant to find out.
"During the power struggle I have just mentioned, the impractical Marquis of Olivenza fell into dire financial straits. His estates were potentially rich but managed poorly. He seemed to lose all perspective. He showered money and jewels and even land upon artistic hangers-on to whom he had become patron. Not one of us realized how profoundly in debt he was to the usurers of Toledo, how heavily his houses and properties were mortgaged. And then you were born—the celebration lasted four days—and evidently his empty purse precipitated a mood so black and desperate that he clutched at any way to recoup. Except to go to his friends..."
Francho sensed that under his cool exterior Tendilla was finding his tale uncomfortable. The Count pushed back his chair and commenced to pace the study.
"But there was someone much more astute at guessing Don Juan's situation than I, for I was embroiled at that time in my own personal distresses. You have heard of the Count of Haro? He was at that time Constable to Henrique, and it is my opinion, totally unprovable, that it was he who offered your father 200,000 maravedis for special services to the throne. And so the Marquis of Olivenza switched his allegiance to the Beltraneja. In secret, of course. We knew none of this until it was too late."
Tendilla turned to refocus his attention upon his listener and noticed the apprehension on the youth's face. He made an effort to soften his tone. "Look you, Francisco, your father in his normal mind would never have consented to such calumny. Something seemed to have gotten a grip on him. His behavior became gradually bizarre. His physicians finally diagnosed a nervous malady, but none could cure it and it was soon to cause his total collapse. It was grave illness that befuddled his senses."
Francho nodded to indicate he accepted the palliative.
"The unthinkable happened," the Count continued, returning to a more matter-of-fact manner. "The date will never leave me: July 5, 1468. The young Infante Alfonso of Castile and Leon was discovered dead in his bed, the victim of a meal of poisoned fish. The consternation of my faction was intense; we found ourselves a rebellious body without a head. We turned then to Alfonso's sister Isabella, who was then seventeen and a calm and commanding person, and we championed her in Alfonso's place. Those years, so distressful, were filled with uproar and betrayal. Finally, in her commendable wisdom, Isabella decided to reconcile with Henrique if he would recognize her rights. The Count of Haro, hearing the popular acclaim for Isabella and smelling her victory, defected to her. And to prove his loyalty the despicable toady denounced Juan de Venegas, naming him as the murderer of Alfonso and producing a receipt for the blood money scrawled with your father's signature. Haro never revealed where he got the receipt."
Francho found his fists clenched in his lap. Don Juan de Venegas was still just a name to him, he couldn't even picture the man, and yet—and yet...
Tendilla stepped up to the window, where he paused for a breath of air. Then he turned back to fix Francho with his hard stare. "Francisco. Never forget that Isabella of Castile and Leon is your sovereign and that you and I are her most loyal and devoted vassals. But rulers are human and amidst their nobler qualities they have grievous faults. Isabella was a young woman. She mourned inconsolably for her little brother, who
m she had loved so well. The need for vengeance consumed her, and she sent her minions in pursuit of your father, who had just in time gathered up his wife and child and was fleeing north to the protection of the Mendozas. He had sworn to me he was innocent of the murder and I believed him, and I believed he had really just been a dupe. My family would have helped him to cross into France until it was safe for him to return."
"Would have?" Francho asked slowly. "Was my father caught and executed for treason, then?"
"He did not die by the axe," came the softer reply. "He foolishly made a stop at Toledo and there cleared his estates of all liens, but he became too sick to continue the journey north. Someone gave away his hiding place. He was found by the Queen's men and taken away into custody. But the Queen did not have her revenge. Don Juan fell mortally ill and died in a coma."
"And my mother?"
Tendilla shook his head and sighed. "Your mother? Your mother could have saved herself as you were saved, by being hidden. There had been warning just before the pursuers arrived, but the servants we questioned said she refused to leave her sick husband. I do not think she was killed, she had no knowledge of Olivenza's treachery and the de Luras are not powerful, they would not have made trouble for a son-in-law's death. But she was taken away with him and soon thereafter died. Of a chill... so it was reported."
The thin lips twisted. Francho saw a shadow pass over Tendilla's face.
"Who was it who betrayed their hiding place in Toledo?"
Tendilla cleared his throat. "I do not know."
"Then I will find out, somehow...."
"And will your knowing bring back the dead? In any case it is an impossible quest; many who were involved are now dust these fifteen years and dust will not speak. What is more important now is the living—you. You cannot hope to prove whether your father committed murder or not. But you can regain honor for his name and carry forward his line. Can you see that this is more eloquent than avenging his death?"
After a moment's deep reflection, Francho nodded. To him came the duty of raising a house from its ruins, of forcing a new respect for his family's name. His name— incredibly—his heritage. The sudden sense of high purpose, of crusade, raised a thrill like little mice feet running along his spine.
"Gramercy to the empty condition of the Royal Treasury, we have time to develop my scheme," Tendilla continued dryly, rubbing his thumb across the jeweled hilt of the little dagger in his hand. "You are to be trained as an observer— more bluntly, a spy, to go among the Moors, achieve a sensitive position in the Sultan's train, and return information to me. So few words, it sounds so easy. It will not be. I will demand hard work from you and the deepest dedication, and a relatively solitary life at first to screen out prying eyes. And all this comes before the adventure, the intrigue that is zest to a young man's life." He came to stand before Francho and Francho rose. Tendilla put a firm hand on his shoulder and looked deeply into him, the black eyes boring through to his soul. "My instinct tells me you have all the ability we need. If you follow my orders implicitly, with God's help we will gain our ends."
Francho nodded, then boldly ventured, "But what is your end, my lord?"
Without wavering the reply came. "I wish to be Governor of the City and Territory of Granada when we have finally gained the might to conquer it."
"I promise you will have no cause to regret your faith in me." Francho's gaze was just as steady.
Tendilla extended his long, sensitive hand. "Give me your hand on it, Francisco, and we are bound."
The solemn handclasp, a seal of a bargain to aid each other's purposes, held firm. Francho regarded the noble before him gravely, trust and a deep respect welling in him. Tendilla smiled slightly.
"You shall take supper with us tonight, in my chamber," he said, ringing a bell for a lackey. "The good Bishop would like a word with you before he departs for Madrid."
"Yes, my lord."
"See you don't give him Godspeed by lifting his jewelry."
Tendilla's dry chuckle spilled out afterward, when Francho had departed and closed the door.
Chapter 6
"There seems no doubt but that you must go, my daughter. It is your duty."
Blanca's delicate, strained face continued to reflect her reluctance. "But Reverend Mother, I have not yet finished my studies."
The tiny prioress, almost dwarfed by her winged coif and high-backed chair, folded her thin lips in the same manner as she folded her hands within her sleeves, dourly. To Dolores, standing back in the shadows of the vaulted audience room, the directress of the Convent of the Familia Santa y Santa Rosa resembled a vulture staring stark and uncompromising from a ruff of white feathers. It was obvious to her that Reverend Mother had no sympathy for Blanca's unwillingness to leave the small but sheltered world where the girl had spent her childhood.
"Doña Blanca, your grandsire's demand must come before your studies. He is dying, so we're told, and you are his only kin. You must hurry to attend him, and pray God to stay his flight to heaven until he can look upon you once more." The prioress's stern tone brooked no more argument.
Blanca hung her small head and sighed. Her long, gangly body was sheathed in a gown of gray brocade amongst whose supple folds she twisted her nail-bitten fingers. Her brown hair was parted in the middle, plaited and coiled about each ear, and then caught in a silken red net, and covering her head was a white chiffon scarf, which was no less pale than the color of her face at this painful juncture of her life.
The Reverend Mother studied her young charge for a moment out of cold eyes. "However, I am concerned that you must travel so far a distance north at this uncertain time of the year. The roads could turn to quagmires and become impassable, no matter all the assurances of the fellow who came to fetch you. You might have to tide over somewhere a few weeks until the spring settles in and the mud dries up. I do not like to think of a maiden of fourteen years traveling alone with only a male servitor to see to her. This is a problem."
Blanca muttered something into her chest.
"Speak up, child, I cannot hear you."
"My serving maid could go with me. I trust her. She is not lazy, and she is very resourceful."
The prioress directed her lashless gaze to the slim girl who stood in the background, hands folded under her apron.
"Stand forward, my child. Ah yes. It is—Dolores, is it not? The innkeeper's daughter? The one Father Julio of Ciudad Real brought to us two years ago?"
"Yes, Mother." Dolores's curtsey was not an ordinary bob up and down, but the deeper one practiced by the half-dozen young ladies being boarded and educated at the convent.
"Well. What think you? Do you wish to accompany Doña Blanca to her home? It is a long way from here. And your family, what would they have to say?"
"I have only two brothers and they are—far distant. They will not care where I go, or wish to say me nay. See, I have become used to serving Lady Blanca, and I would like to remain with her."
The girl's tone was pitched respectfully low, but there was a vibrant quality underlying it which the prioress thought made a good match to the wench's high coloring; the warm, peach complexion with its glowing cheeks as well as the tilted, luminous gray eyes which gazed so steadily into her own. She judged the girl to be about fifteen, not a robust peasant sort, if dainty wrists and a slim neck were any indication, but healthy and well knit. With sour approval she also noted the clean serge gown and the reddish hair, neatly coiled and knotted under a small, white cap firmly tied under the chin.
The hard-headed nun was not fooled by the present quiet, serious demeanor of the serving maid before her. She had often peered into the refectory to see whose laughter rang in such peals as the chattering lay aides helped to arrange the tables for the noonday meal. There was no doubt but this one was a lively wench; certainly good as a balance to Blanca's timidity.
Of all the servitors attending her damsels, this girl had always struck her as being the least sneaky and ignorant. She w
as indeed better than nothing.
The prioress nodded her head in stiff assent. "Go then, if you so desire it. And look you both after each other." The two girls now stood side by side before her. They were almost of a height, the high-strung Blanca drooping and unhappy, her serving maid calm and clear-eyed. "I shall see you provisioned for the start of the journey, and I have this for you, Doña Blanca...." She removed from a coffer at her chairside a purse which jingled interestingly and proffered it. "Upon admission of our young women in statu pupillari, we always require a sum of money deposited, to be kept for their return to their families. It is a wise precaution in such an age where families squander their resources in feuds over a hectare of land and dishonesty is everywhere. It will help ease your journey. Go now and prepare yourselves. You must make haste, Doña Blanca, if you are to see your grandsire alive."
She blessed them quickly, spent a thin smile, and then turned to other affairs, finished with the business, not caring about the relieved look that ran between the two girls as Blanca hefted the full purse.
***
They left in the fogged-over morning. The girls perched on a wooden seat fitted into a canvas-hooded, four-wheeled cart, which was loaded with Blanca's iron-clasped chests and walnut prie-dieu and Dolores's small bundle of possessions. Miguel, the wiry old retainer who had come to fetch Blanca, rode on the lead of the two mules hauling the cart, urging the animals on by voice and whip over the difficult road.
Wrapped in a cloak and hood against the damp, and swaying with the jolting vehicle, Dolores saw Blanca's downcast expression and determined to cheer her up, even though her own heart was not light and she was still not sure she wasn't sealing herself away forever into a remote barony, far from the quest she had set for herself. Still, she believed it was a step forward from the convent, from which she had already extracted much learning and good experience of the well-born classes, and which could do nothing further for her but assign her to a new mistress and circle her around to the beginning again.
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