by Ken Hood
Toby knelt. Hamish took off his wet cloak and spread it on the flagstones so he could lay the old man down. One of the villagers spread another cloak over him. Then they all just waited in the rain, Toby on his knees, everyone else standing. If the spirit was still present, it was ignoring them. There must be many more comfortable places to die.
More people were drifting in. Father Guillem arrived, pushing forward to the front with Pepita in tow. The child knelt and took the dying man's hand, sobbing, not saying anything. For a moment he seemed to rouse. His eyelids flickered but did not open.
"Brother," Toby said. "We are here. It is a good place." His voice cracked. "It will be all right now, Brother."
Pepita bent close and whispered urgently. The slack mouth twitched as if he were trying to speak, or even smile. He gasped a few harsh, rattling breaths... stopped... a couple more... then a long silence. His eyelids opened slightly, showing only whites. Toby reached down and closed them. They stayed closed. The watchers sighed.
Toby stood up and looked around—at the monk, at Hamish. He nodded and pulled a wry face. There was more than rain wetting his cheeks.
"Well done, my son." Father Guillem patted his shoulder. Surprisingly, Toby did not react angrily to this patronizing.
"Pepita?" The monk raised her and tried to scoop her up in his arms. She struggled free and went to Toby instead. He lifted her and held her. She sobbed on his shoulder.
There must be fifty people there now, but what were they all waiting for? Even Toby seemed to be expecting something.
A boy stepped forward from the crowd and walked past Hamish, moving in an oddly stiff gait and wafting a strong odor of goat. He was no more than twelve or thirteen, dirty, clad in rags, thin as canes. He climbed the steps and turned to look over the assembly with a strangely unfocused stare. There was a faint glow around him! So there was a spirit after all, and it was responding at last, too late to help.
Everyone was kneeling now.
"You will be our children," the boy said loudly. Some of the women cried out in joy. "If we may have your love, we will cherish you in return. The man's name was Bernat. Bury him where he lies now and honor his memory. He taught us well and carried us long."
The childish treble rang out again. "Tobias and Guillem and Jaume, we thank you for your help and give you our blessing. Pepita, dear child, weep no more. We told you, we warned you, and we love you still. Why should you weep now that your friend's task is ended? He has completed what he gave his life to. He is with us and will always be with us."
Pepita pulled loose from Toby's embrace and knelt down beside him, choking with her efforts not to sob. The big man put an arm around her.
"Some of you still doubt," the boy said. "We will give you a sign to comfort you. Eduardo, what happened to your eyes?"
"I was hit by a sword, holiness," responded a voice from the crowd.
"Domènech, help Eduardo come forward."
The crowd seemed to rustle. A tall young man with a bandage over his face rose up in their midst and then helped an older, white-haired man to his feet. People cleared a path for them as they shuffled to the front, the old man leading the younger by the hand.
"You may remove the wrapping, Eduardo," the boy said. "Can you see now?"
"Yes! Yes!" The young man threw away the cloth and fell to his knees. "Praise to the spirit! Praise to Saint Bernat!"
Voices picked up the refrain. Hamish, like everyone else, lowered his face to the floor in acknowledgment of the miracle.
"Joaquim has some good years left in him," the tutelary said with a dry chuckle so like Brother Bernat's that it brought a lump to Hamish's throat. "Fetch Joaquim here. We will cure his legs and he will be keeper of our sanctuary. You may have Sancho back now, Joanna. Give him our thanks for lending us his voice."
Hamish looked up just in time to see the glow fade from the boy and his blank expression change to one of horror as he realized where he was. He sprinted down from the dais, red-faced and bewildered, only to be grabbed in a fierce hug by a short, fat woman, probably his mother. The building buzzed with excited chatter.
The town had a tutelary again, it would live. And even Toby had been expecting this! How had he known? Why had he not discussed it? Could it be that Hamish had been so tied up in his problems with Eulalia that he had not been paying attention to what was going on?
"Our work here is done," Father Guillem said, rising. "Are you consoled now, Pepita? That is not Brother Bernat lying there, so you need say no more farewells."
He put an arm around her to lead her away, but at once the strangers were mobbed by the excited, grateful villagers offering food, shelter, hospitality—anything. Toby and the monk declined as graciously as possible, explaining that they were on a pilgrimage and must rejoin their friends.
A little later, as they were leaving the town, Hamish said: "I don't understand. I never read anything about this!"
Toby smiled, although his eyes were still rimmed with red. "You can't find everything in books. It is called alumbradismo." He was amused at being able to lecture Hamish for a change, curse him! "There is more than one way to put a spirit into a person. Or into a town, apparently."
"But... not a hob?"
Shadows darkened Toby's face. "No, just an elemental, and a lifetime of example. I expect Pepita will explain it to you, if you ask her nicely."
He was not going to, obviously.
PART SEVEN
Montserrat
CHAPTER ONE
Two days of steady rain had left everyone grumpy, miserable, and soaked. Father Guillem, coming trudging back along the trail to rejoin the pilgrims, looked like a bedraggled black beetle, and the way he was wielding his staff suggested that he was a beetle in a very foul temper. But why was he so obviously ignoring the man on a donkey following a few paces behind him?
Toby was no more cheerful than anyone else. He ought to be practicing his meditation exercises and cultivating serenity of mind, but he had his hands full with Smeòrach, whose simple mind was anything but serene. He kept trying to stamp on Toby's feet and jerking his head to try and pull his bridle loose from Toby's grasp. He hated the rain just as much as people did, and standing still was never his strong point anyway. As a landsknecht horse he associated a village like that one with nice dry stables, perhaps even oats or hot bran mash, so please could they go there now?
Evidently not. There were men with guns and pikes at the gate, and Father Guillem's efforts to negotiate had obviously not prospered. He was wearing a very unpious scowl as he returned to report.
"We are not welcome?" Toby asked.
The monk shook his head, shaking water from his cowl. "They refused absolutely."
"Did you explain that I am a Castilian nobleman?" the don demanded incredulously.
"I did, my son. And also that I am a senior official of the abbey. I even mentioned they were turning away women and a child, but it made no difference."
"Did you offer to pay?" Josep asked. His lips were blue and his teeth chattered. Most of the others looked just as distressed.
"Even that." Father Guillem shrugged and made an effort to be charitable. "They have their reasons. The Fiend's forces withdrew a few weeks ago—they did not despoil the countryside here, because of the truce that had been agreed, but a company of landsknechte was billeted in the village and caused all the usual troubles. Now that they have gone, there are lawless bands marauding, preying on innocent travelers or anyone else they can catch. They warned me we must be on our guard."
"But there are no troops around?" Toby said. "No garrison around Montserrat?" For him, that was very welcome news.
"They know of none." The monk looked around his dispirited companions and raised his voice. "Be cheerful, my children! There is a fine campsite half a league farther on. Tomorrow is the last day. By nightfall tomorrow we shall be safe and comfortable in the monastery."
"It can't be too soon. Your companion, Father?"
Everyone turned to
look at the other man, who was just sitting on his donkey and smiling in patient silence at nobody in particular. He was clean shaven, fortyish, bareheaded. His jerkin and hose were plain but well made, shabby from long wear yet still serviceable. Apparently he enjoyed being wet, because the hood of his brown woollen cloak lay unused on his sodden shoulders.
Father Guillem frowned. "His name is Jacques. He is a servant of the monastery—a gardener, cleaner, porter, anything of that sort. He says he was sent to meet Senor Longdirk."
Everyone now looked at Toby.
"I am Senor Longdirk."
The man smiled uncertainly at him.
"You have a message for me?"
"No, senor."
"Then who sent you to meet me?"
The smile faltered. "Don't know, senor."
All eyes switched back to Father Guillem. "He is simple. I know him and know of him, but I have never spoken with him, except to order him to fetch something or clean somewhere. The villagers say he arrived last night and was refused admittance. He must have slept under a tree. He was still there this morning, waiting for Senor Longdirk. Frankly, I don't think you'll get any more out of him."
Toby glanced hopefully at Hamish, but he seemed as bereft of ideas as everyone else.
"The tutelary must know I am coming, though."
"Obviously!" the monk growled. "But what does it wish to tell you and why pick so useless a messenger?"
"Would the spirit itself have sent him, or the abbot, or who?"
"I have absolutely no idea." Bad-tempered black beetles disliked mysteries just as much as Hamish did. "I wouldn't trust Jacques to find his left hand with his right. The fact that he found you at all suggests that the spirit guided him." With a little more grace the monk conceded, "There is no harm in him."
"Did you search him for a letter? His pockets?"
"Of course. He has nothing, absolutely nothing except a razor, a thimble, and some shiny buttons. I don't think he's eaten since he left Montserrat."
Toby tried not to smile at the cleric's annoyance. "So all we can do is feed him and take him back with us?"
"Apparently."
Strange! Why send a moron when there must be dozens of eager young novices who would enjoy such a break in routine? It was something to think about. Toby looked to the don. "Your orders, senor?"
The don pouted across the field at the guardians of the village. "Artillery is rarely reliable in weather like this." He twirled up his mustache. "Lead the troops out, Campeador. I shall join you shortly."
"Um..." Telling Don Ramon to be careful would be a futile exercise. Besides, Toby approved of what he thought the young maniac had in mind. "Just let me get the others out of range, senor. Mount up, everyone!"
By the time the procession was moving in some sort of order, the don was cantering Midnight around in a wide circle, warming him up. Then he swung his shield into place, couched his lance, and charged the villagers at the gate.
He had been right about the arquebuses, for not a shot was fired. Three of the defenders displayed military training, swinging their pikes forward in the standard drill to oppose cavalry. The rest just screamed and fled back through the archway. Seeing themselves deserted and the madman still coming, the pikemen chose discretion over posthumous honor and followed. The gate slammed shut just in time, although the don could certainly have come faster and ridden them down had he wanted to. Yelling his war cry in scorn, he set Midnight to prancing and cavorting on their doorstep for a moment, before coming after the pilgrims. As he galloped by them, heading for his place in the van, they all cheered him mightily, even—Toby was amused to notice—the normally humorless Father Guillem. The mysterious Jacques merely smiled, not understanding the joke.
"Sometimes yon laddie is not as daft as he lets on," Hamish remarked with glee.
"You don't think that was daft?"
"No, I mean he didn't wait around until they found a dry arquebus!"
"True." Toby shivered as more water trickled down his neck. "We'll have to keep our eyes peeled for rustlers tonight. Some young hotheads may try to redeem their honor."
"Not to mention the brigands. Um... you won't mind if I trade with the monk and take second watch?"
"Not if he has no objection." Toby eyed his young friend inquiringly.
"He said he wouldn't mind." Hamish was looking elsewhere.
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?
CHAPTER TWO
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."