Presently, with the winded horse blowing and flecked with foam, Francho reined in before the stout gate of Santa Fe and shouted up at the guards who had heard him coming from their battlements. In what seemed like a year the ponderous gate finally opened and he rode through. A grim escort of soldiers awaited him, and although their leader eyed his Moorish cape suspiciously and refused to take him directly to the Queen, he was willing to escort the midnight rider with the urgent command in his voice to the Count of Tendilla. As soon as the Count had responded to the knock on his chamber door Francho pushed aside the guard who opened it and hurried in, followed by several guards. "My lord Tendilla," he blurted out, briefly saluting hand to chest, "I come to warn about a plot to take the Queen's life. Tonight. In her chapel. She must be immediately detained from going to her devotions. Immediately, my lord."
Tendilla asked no questions. Without blinking an eye in the face of Francho's surprise appearance and ugly announcement he coolly clipped out several orders to his adjutant and made short work of drawing on his boots. "Come with me," he instructed Francho and the guards behind him. "No time to get a horse saddled." And they set out in a fast run toward the nearby royal edifice, which loomed taller and bulkier than the buildings surrounding it. With Tendilla leading the way they burst into the audience hall, and the Catholic monarchs and several courtiers gathered with them over a stack of documents looked up in surprise. Tendilla hung back now that he could see the Queen was safe, but motioned Francho forward. Francho, who had almost skidded to a halt, made a low bow and after being given permission panted out his story again.
Except for Isabella's initial startlement to being confronted by a winded, turbaned, and scowling Moor, she kept her composure admirably, Francho thought. But Ferdinand rose up so precipitously from the table where they all sat his chair overturned backward. "What!" he barked, amid scattered cries of shock from the group. He leaned forward angrily, his knuckles on the table. "Have these ears heard you correctly, courier?"
"If the Queen will preserve her life, she will not enter her chapel this night." Francho rapped out again. "There is a plot to assassinate her at her devotions."
"In fact, I was just preparing to bid my tireless consort and advisors good night and repair to my prayers along with His Grace Talavera," Isabella affirmed. "God help us—"
"Do they dare? How do they dare!" Ferdinand railed. "Murder my wife? That villainous Sultan of vipers would murder the Queen of Castile and Aragon?"
"Not Boabdil, Majesties," Tendilla quickly put in. "Not the Sultan. An organization of fanatics."
"I will catch their assassin and hang him up with a hook through his Moslem testicles! What o'clock is it?" At the answer of "near to midnight" from one of the dismayed group, Ferdinand nodded. "Good. We have some time. Yet another hour, I believe, before the moon goes down. Cadiz! See a squadron of soldiers are immediately hidden in the area about the chapel, not too close, we don't want to scare the vermin off. And be discreet, my lord, no noise, no obvious movements."
"It will be done, Sire." The leonine Cadiz bowed briefly and hurried away.
But Isabella had been openly studying the tall courier whose midnight arrival had prevented her demise. Francho looked straight back at her and stretched his lips in a smile. "Is that you, Don Francisco?" she asked him, wonder in her voice.
He broadened his smile and bowed. "Sí, my Queen. It is."
Isabella gave him an intrigued look. Her gaze took in his cockaded white turban, the single gold earring gleaming against his pale olive skin, the forked black beard. "You have a barbaric look about you, indeed, sir. Not altogether unbecoming..." she remarked softly, a certain female admiration plain in her glance.
Ferdinand raised his eyebrow at her. Then he pointed to where Francho's mantle had fallen back. "And what is that you wear on your breast, Don Francisco?"
"A medallion of office, Sire. I am Head Musician to the Sultan."
"Ah. Is that so? That explains much. Astonishing. You must not forget to demonstrate your musical expertise to us, señor, when the time allows." The King now transferred his heavy-lidded gaze to his wife. "My dear, you will retire to the safety of your quarters. I will have the guard tripled. Doña Beatrix, will you see that the Queen's windows are shuttered and barred?"
Isabella demurred. "My lord does not take into consideration that if my shadow does not appear in its usual place the murderer may not show himself."
"Your shadow will appear," Ferdinand said flatly. "We will get a substitute for you."
"No we will not. I cannot allow one of my ladies to take the risk that the killer might get past your ambush."
"A disguised man might do," Tendilla spoke up.
Ferdinand agreed. Francho was about to offer himself as bait, but Ferdinand saw his volunteering gesture and forestalled him. "Not you, Don Francisco, you are too big. Someone small and light."
The Count of Cifuentes offered, "One of your pages perhaps, Sire, in a woman's robe?"
"Indeed. Cifuentes, choose one of the pages cooling their heels without, and then find the lady who is mistress of the Queen's wardrobe. Make haste, my lord."
"I do not think it is wise to return to my apartments and alarm my ladies," Isabella declared. "I shall wait in the chamber beyond the chapel with Doña Beatrix and my confessor, and there the guards can attend me. I will be very safe, my husband."
One look at her set jaw, and Ferdinand took no time to argue. "If you wish it, Lady Queen. Gentlemen, the windows of the dining hall overlook the rear of the chapel. From there, in darkened silence, we can see an end to this calumny." He pushed aside his fallen chair and stalked out, followed by the male members of the group.
From the unglazed window embrasure where he took up watch along with Tendilla, Francho saw little but the shadowy potted trees and plants which softened into the likeness of a garden and the empty little plot before the chapel. But he knew there were armed men deployed in the shadows of the adjacent buildings, each with his eyes alert for any unusual movement or flitting shadow which would indicate a trespasser. A quarter hour passed, and suddenly light flared in the long, yellow square of the chapel window and the shadow of a woman fell on it who in a moment knelt down in prayer, bowing her veiled head devoutly. An owl hooted mournfully in the distance; the regular guards were heard patrolling their usual route about the perimeter of the royal enclosure. A few minutes more and the wan light of the moon faded.
Suddenly, as if sprung from the ground, a dark bulk detached itself from other night shadows and crouching, silently slipped between the big clay planters. Finally, from Francho's line of sight, the killer obliterated the woman's form on the parchment with his own sinister silhouette, heavier at one shoulder from a crossbow which pointed its deadly snout at the victim.
There was an urgent shout "Get him!" and a concerted rush of men from the dark crannies where they had hidden, but in spite of the pikes suddenly whizzing past him the assassin stood fast and with a sharp snick sent his bolt crashing through the parchment. The next second the Marquis of Cadiz who was in the lead of the soldiers cut him down. "Allah be praised, Allah most powerful!" the man shrieked out and then was silent under a rain of pikes and swords which cut him to ribbons.
Gleams of light sprung up from surrounding buildings as the noise of the ambush roused part of the camp. Racing through the inside chambers just behind the King and those with him, Francho arrived at the chapel entrance in time to see the Count of Cifuentes help the shaken young substitute for Isabella to his feet, unharmed because, listening with desperate keenness, the volunteer had thrown himself sideways to the floor at the first wild shout and thereby saved his own life. "Thank the Good Lord," the King muttered at the sight of the gowned boy. "It is de Soto's son and a fine youth. Gramercy, young man. Let the gratitude of your monarch bring the color back to your face." He braced the pale lad by the shoulders. "Your courage is much to be commended."
Isabella swept in with her confidante, Beatrix de Boabdilla, and
an agitated Talavera. She went immediately to examine the splintered shaft of the prie-dieu, where a long iron bolt was embedded six inches deep. "Merciful God!" Isabella muttered, "I would have been mortally impaled!" Talavera creaked down on his knees before the large silver cross on the wall, and his Queen joined him, hands fervently clasped. She prayed, "Dear God, we beg that we may please Thee in all Your works, for Thy mercy has shielded us from evil." Her clear voice rose to the wooden rafters, and those in the chapel bowed their heads. "With humility we pledge to continue to do Thy will, for we will not rest until each and every heathen and Anti-Christ is chased from this land. This, O Lord, do we pledge to Thee in gratitude for Your merciful protection."
Those who listened muttered "Amen" and crossed themselves. Ferdinand helped his wife to rise, and for a brief moment they embraced. The Queen looked about, and Francho realized she was looking for him as her gaze met his. "There was not time to thank you for foiling this frightening plot, no doubt at your own jeopardy, Don Francisco."
"My reward is your smile, Your Majesty, and your royal person safe from harm."
But the Queen's appraising eyes did not leave him. "You have changed much since we last saw you, sir knight."
Francho smiled. "'Tis the Moorish beard and robes, Majesty."
She shook her head. "No, 'tis more than your costume. There is that in your eyes, a certain tempering of experience and a quieter confidence in your bearing that was not present before. As a result of your perilous service in—"
She was interrupted by the vigorous entrance of the Marquis de Cadiz and his lieutenant.
"What of the assassin, my lord?" Ferdinand asked. "Who was he?"
"One of our most loyal Morisco guides, or so we thought, sire, gone to roast in Hell with the rest of the Devil's evil spawn. Do you see now, my Liege, how they lie, how little these Moslems can be trusted? They must be dealt with like the soulless heathens they are."
"Yes. The Sultan will soon know our wrath for this terrible treachery—to treat with us for peace and yet plot to murder our Queen? He is guilty, no matter what you say, Tendilla."
"It was not the Sultan Boabdil, Sire," Francho stepped forward to interpose boldly. "I am certain he had no knowledge of this plot, for he is a man of honor. Most likely it was the General Muza Aben Gazul who arranged the contact by which your Morisco was subverted. Muza Aben not only controls the army but he is stubborn and defiant of the throne. He foments a fanatical resistance among the people and leads them to despise Boabdil's efforts to concede. From my observations we do not battle a city now, my Liege, but the force and personality of one man."
Ferdinand's eyes narrowed and he thought for a moment. "Then by the same stealthy means he sought to employ against Queen Isabella let us rid ourselves of this human blockage. On your return to Granada, Don Francisco, emulate that vermin of a Morisco. You will see that Muza Aben is disposed of before the time limit of our surrender terms runs out."
"You set Tendilla's son a most unreasonable task, my Liege," Cadiz objected, staring at Francho from under his heavy brows and unable to hide his sourness for the respect his rulers showed for this young knight. "After all, a wary commander is more difficult to murder than a defenseless woman. It is my opinion that a heavy attack on the walls would be a surer and quicker method of shaking the Moors loose from their adoration of Muza Aben."
Francho snorted to himself. The old Marquis could see the luster Francho's success in this would add to Tendilla's petition for the governorship of Granada, and he was upset at being thus undercut. Francho opened his mouth to speak, but Ferdinand was quicker.
"For such an attack to be successful in the face of their defenses, we would have to give up half of our forces to destruction, my lord. If the assassination of their defiance-inspiring general saves us that, we will thank God."
"But young Mendoza may need to wait months for his chance at the man, who is after all guarded and not stupid. Our walls have ears too, and he may be aware how depleted our coffers, and that the specter of hunger may stalk our camp as well. Many of our nobles have so wearied in these long months that they have left part of their contingents and gone home to tend to their affairs. War is war, my liege, and as I have stated, if we do not strike now while we still have our might we may not have the power to do so later. I submit that we are staking our opportune moment upon a murder most difficult, even improbable, to perform."
Always willing to consider well-taken points, Ferdinand contemplated Cadiz's advice. Then he swung his hooded gaze to Francho and put the problem to him. "Ill-conceived heroics which do not succeed may harm us, sir."
"You may leave the task in my hands, Your Majesty, with certitude that it will be done, and swiftly. Perhaps I may calm my Lord Cadiz's doubts with the fact that we have a powerful ally in Granada—the commander Reduan Venegas."
He could hear their breaths suck in. Even Tendilla, who had been standing silent by the King's side, narrowed his black eyes in surprise.
"What? Reduan, the perpetrator of so many bloody ambush attacks upon our garrisons and towns? Turned traitor?" Isabella was incredulous.
"It was Reduan who warned me your life was in danger, my Queen, and helped me to speed the warning to you. He leaves the sinking vessel and begs me to inform Your Majesties that he is ready to act in your behalf in any measure to help depose Muza Aben and end the war. He pledges vassalage and his loyalty on the soul of his Christian-born grandsire."
"And what does he want in exchange for his allegiance? And for rescuing me from a premature tomb?"
"He sends this letter."
Isabella broke the seal of the heavy parchment he handed her and scanned the lines written there. She handed the missive to her husband, who read it quickly.
"He wants the former Venegas lands and estates, as the only remaining blood member of the line." Ferdinand threw Isabella a querying look, adding, "It may not be a price too high to pay if he can help us to quickly end this interminable war."
Francho's stunned glance at Tendilla caught the lean face darkening. Near him Talavera's hand groped for the silver crucifix on his breast.
"Reduan indicates there would be numerous ways in which he could effect just such a service, Majesties." Francho went on in a strangled tone, keeping to the letter of the bargain in which he had unwittingly traded the Queen's life for his own future. But Tendilla seemed to have come to a quick decision, and now he moved firmly to stand at Francho's side.
"Most gracious of Majesties," he began, and for once there was a nervous tension in his voice. "As your most loyal and devoted servitor of many years I beg the boon of a private audience with you. Right now, if my lords and lady will allow?"
"Now, Tendilla?" Ferdinand rumbled. "It is late—"
"A matter most urgently involved with this current subject and most sensitive. I humbly plead your indulgence, Majesties."
Isabella searched the face of her valued advisor for it was rare for him to show any agitation. "Very well, my lord, but we will retire to the audience hall; secular business has no place in an edifice dedicated to the Holy Spirit. My lord Cadiz, our grateful thanks for the swift apprehension of the Morisco traitor, and bid you a well-deserved rest tonight. Doña Beatrix, inform those who have been awakened by the clamor"—she indicated the half-dressed, craning courtiers kept outside the open chapel door by the guards—"that we are safe and unharmed. And good Bishop, attend us. We keep nothing from your ears." She picked up the short brocade train of her furred surcoat and both monarchs exited, Isabella resting her slim hand on Ferdinand's arm.
In but a few minutes Francho stood at the foot of a dais in the tapestry-adorned audience hall along with Tendilla, both of them facing an impatient Ferdinand, whose face sagged with fatigue, and a tired but curious Isabella. Talavera settled in his chair to one side of the dais. Tendilla spoke, in his suave and elegant voice. "Gracious Majesties, we throw ourselves upon your merciful justice. I beg you, do not in the following minutes turn your face against me yo
ur eternal loyal servant, nor grow wrathful with Don Francisco, who has but followed my advice."
Isabella cocked an eyebrow. "Grow wrathful with the daring knight who burned Granada's food stores and this very night snatched me from Death's scythe? 'Twould be strange reward, Count."
Ferdinand added, "We had in fact marked Don Francisco for special honors after our final victory. Tonight's warning, regardless of the cooperation of that renegade Reduan, has served to deepen our gratitude." He glanced puzzledly at Francho and back to Tendilla again. "We are at a loss for your meaning."
Tendilla took a deep breath and began, quietly but clearly. "My meaning is that Don Francisco and I are guilty of perpetrating a falsehood. Not to dupe Your Majesties, I swear it, but to serve your greater glory. This man"—and he turned to face Francho, a solemn pride and a shadow of pain deep in the black eyes—"is not my son at all. His name is not Mendoza but Venegas. Don Francisco de Venegas, issue of Elena de Lura and Juan de Venegas—whose name my Queen will remember." The last was said in a respectful but deliberate tone.
Blue eyes widening in disbelief, Isabella jerked further upright in her chair and clutched at the gilt arms. "My lord Tendilla! You confound us! What you declare is most improbable. The infant son of that murderer Venegas was never found and was reported dead."
"He had been hidden in a monastery leagues from Toledo. Eight years ago pure accident gave the youth Venegas into my hands, and I spared no effort to secure every proof of his identity. My Queen, forgive me, but fearing the rancor you might have still borne his name I acted to give the innocent boy a chance to deserve your mercy, and so I brought him to Court as my natural son. Here he stands before you, the knight honored as Don Francisco de Mendoza, who has done a remarkable service to prove his undying loyalty and devotion to your throne. And we humbly beg your forbearance and your understanding of our deception."
Francho felt both pairs of royal eyes boring through him askance, as if he had turned into something not quite human. It was not as he had pictured this final denouement as happening, he in his alien Moorish attire covered with the dust of his ride and everyone in the room wearied from the hour and the events. The necessity to reveal his birth here and now was an unexpected jolt, and yet what better time than when both rulers were still indebted and relieved that there were yet two of them and not just a single grief-stricken one. The sweat broke out on his back and under his armpits and trickled down his sleeve. Falling to his knees before the powerful monarchs of Castile and Leon, he prayed that his eloquence would not desert him and that he would remember some of the thoughts he had composed against this moment.
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