greens, and “I wonder if there’s any vinegar left?” said Giovanna in a suddenly distracted voice.
Frank relaxed his arms, let her move out of his hug and into the other room, her fine nose almost twitching in search of piquant delights. Frank smiled; then, remembering her latest pregnancy cravings, almost retched: the vinegar on the potatoes had been quite reasonable-but mixed straight into the pear preserves?
From the next room, he heard the irregular clatter of his wife rooting through the crockery, a pause and then a satisfied, “There you are. Now, where is the cheese?”
Frank felt his stomach spasm, and he looked out the window again. Not much to see, down in the courtyard. And then he noticed: not only were there no servants running about, and no porters lugging their various burdens, there weren’t even any guards. “Hey, Giovanna, have you seen any guards today?”
“No, Frank,” came the response, muffled by what was obviously a very full mouth. “I didn’t see any yesterday, either. At least, not in the courtyard.”
“Maybe it’s a sign that there are negotiations under way for our release. You know, make us happier campers before they return us?”
“Perhaps.”
“And maybe that’s why we’ve got the view. Maybe it’s not just so we can see out, but so some of our folks can see us. See that we’re healthy, happy: all that good stuff that my dad would want assurances about. And I don’t think he’d trust their say-so. He’d want our representatives to see it with their own eyes.”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, whatever the reason, it sure is a dramatic change from our prior circumstances. And as changes go, it sure is nice.”
“Hmm,” was Giovanna’s subvocal response, which terminated in a gulp. “Too nice, maybe.” A pause, then an almost comically diminutive belch. “I do not trust it.”
Frank smiled. “Honey, you don’t trust anything.”
“And you, my love, trust too many things, too much.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Speaking of which-” Giovanna let her voice trail off.
“Signor Stone?” called a voice from the hall. “Are you still interested in the walk I have arranged?”
“Yes, I am. Just a moment.” Leaning heavily on his cane, Frank poled over to the iron-bound door and tugged it open. Captain Vincente Jose-Maria de Castro y Papas was ready with a bow and flourish that was actually fairly understated, considering some of the extravagant courtly salutes that Frank had witnessed among Spanish officers.
Frank looked behind the captain. “No Sergeant Ezquerra?”
“Ah, it pains me to report that the lout is up to his excessive eyebrows in paperwork.”
“Why does it pain you?”
“Because Ezquerra cannot read.”
Frank guffawed once. “Damn. I sure walked into that one.”
“Pardon?”
“Uh…I stepped right into your joke-trap.”
“Ah, yes. You are kind to pretend amusement at my so-called witticisms. And to inquire after the sergeant.”
“As men go, my Frank is the model of kindness,” Giovanna said from the other room. “Indeed, he is too kind. I, however, am not.”
The captain looked at Frank cautiously. “I will presume, then, that Signora Stone still does not wish to accompany us on our stroll?”
Giovanna had appeared, hands on hips. “You presume correctly, Captain. Now go. The longer you wait here, the longer it is until I get my husband back.”
“I assure you, I will return him back here quickly, and certainly at the first sign of fatigue.”
Giovanna retreated into the other room. “What a charming lie, Captain. Enjoy your stroll.” The sounds of eating resumed.
As the door closed behind them, the captain observed, “The signora has an excellent appetite.”
“I heard that!” came her voice from the other side of the door.
Castro y Papas’ eyebrows raised.
Frank smiled. “Her appetite is pretty good, but her hearing is amazing.”
The larger, central courtyard of the main Palazzo Mattei-the Palazzo Giove-was imposing, with serried ranks of flowers bisecting the quadrangles fitted between the various buildings. They walked in silence for many minutes, the faint hum of bees and flies stilling and then resuming as they passed each of the garden’s colorful, and carefully tended, beds.
“Vincente-may I call you that?”
“Yes, or course. And shall I call you Frank?”
Stone nodded. “Thanks for suggesting this walk.”
“It is my pleasure.”
“Is it? I mean, don’t get me wrong; it’s nice, but it’s not exactly regular duty for Spanish officers, is it?”
Vincente smiled. “No. It is not. But it is pleasant. And you may be sure of this, Frank: I will not lie. Not even in little things.”
“Then just why is it that we two are taking a stroll in the garden?”
Vincente sighed. “Because, as your lovely and very intelligent wife has already surmised, I am to encourage you to trust me.”
“Can you really tell me that?”
Vincente raised an eyebrow. “I just did, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes, but-”
The captain snickered. “Ah, Frank, you are so earnest. It is a charming trait, really. Indeed, I think if we share too many such walks, the machinations of my superiors may reverse themselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, that I will come to like and trust you, Frank. Which it is never wise for a captor to do. He who imposes his will must never feel empathy or sympathy for those upon whom that will is imposed.”
“That sounds more like training for a slaveholder, than a soldier.”
Vincente nodded. “That is because, in our service, it is often the same thing, particularly in the New World. If it is true that the Spanish Empire is the largest the globe has ever seen-and that is true-it is also true that we are the least welcome in more of the places that our flag flies than any empire before us.”
“Which bothers you.”
Vincente shrugged. “Somewhat. Conquest is our way of life. It may not have always been thus, but it is now. And it is the way of the world, as well: the law of nature. The strong always dominate the weak. But I wonder about-well, the limits of imposing dominion.”
Frank paused to admire a bush filled with bright vermillion flowers. “Actually, in our up-time world, I think we pretty much learned that it’s a slippery slope. Once you get started-once you say to yourself, ‘I’m stronger, so it’s my right to take what I want’-there’s really no stopping yourself. Before long, you’re taking everything that isn’t nailed down. And then, even the things that are. Because where do you stop? Once you have dominion over other peoples who never wanted you on their land in the first place, you’ve got to be ready to kill to keep what you’ve taken. Which means killing people who just want to stay in their own homes, keep their own goods, speak their own languages, and live their own lives without answering to a conqueror. Oppression is an all-or-nothing deal, when you get right down to it, because soon enough, even mercy becomes a luxury a conqueror can’t afford. Mercy only enables further rebellion, defiance, hope. And so there you are: master of the world, but the price you have to pay for it is every bit of mercy, justice, and honor that was ever in your soul.”
It looked like Vincente had flinched at each of the three words Frank had stressed: mercy, justice, and honor. After five more steps the Spanish captain commented, “I think this walk has become a bit less nice.”
Frank shrugged. “Sorry, but that’s the truth as I see it.”
The captain shook his head. “I was not complaining. ‘Nice’ walks are pleasant, but they are-well, eminently forgettable, no? One looks at the flowers, listens to the birds, blinks up at the sun, and says, ‘ah! How pretty!’ Fine enough, and wonderful for children. But I would have my walks be times for thinking, for speaking frankly, for
