Secrets of a Lady

Fraser looked at her. “The Carevalo Ring.”

Melanie Fraser’s eyes widened. “Why—”

“What ring?” Roth asked.

Fraser drew a breath. “You’ve heard of the Marques de Carevalo?”

“Spanish nobleman. War hero.”

“Yes. He was one of the guerrillero leaders whose forces were allied—somewhat uneasily at times—with Wellington’s troops in driving the French from Spain. Carevalo was reckless to the point of insanity, but he was a brilliant enough commander that his crazy risks paid off more often than not. The Carevalos are an old Spanish family. Carevalo saw his service to Spain as part of his family’s tradition. He was inclined to view the royal family as incompetent upstarts, with little understanding of what was due to the Spain he believed in. Like many Spaniards who opposed the French, Carevalo isn’t best pleased with the course his country has taken under the restored monarchy. He’s now working with the Spanish liberals, who are in increasingly vehement opposition to the king.”

Roth nodded. In his view, the British government had woefully betrayed their Spanish allies. Many of the Spaniards had seen the struggle against Napoleon’s occupation as a time to enact long-needed reforms in their own country. At the end of the war, the Spanish king had been restored under an extremely progressive constitution. But the restored King Ferdinand had promptly repealed the reforms made in his absence, restored the Inquisition, stifled all freedom of speech and discussion, and refused to honor the constitution. All the while, the British government continued unwavering in their support of him.

“Carevalo’s in England now, isn’t he?” Roth said. “Trying to turn British opinion against the Spanish monarchy.”

“Yes, he—No, I’ll have to start at the beginning. It’s a hell of a long story.” Fraser looked as though the last thing he felt like doing was telling it while more time ticked by with his son missing.

“If there’s any chance it has a bearing on your son’s disappearance—”

“Quite.” Fraser pushed himself to his feet and took a turn about the room. “To understand what the ring means today, you have to understand its history. What came to be known as the Carevalo Ring is a gold signet ring, a lion with rubies for eyes. It was forged in Andalusia in the eleventh century, when Spain was divided between Moorish and Christian princes who fought each other and often fought on the same side, in a complex web of shifting alliances. Ramon de Carevalo was a friend and comrade in arms of El Cid. Like El Cid, he fought in the service of both Christians and Moors.”

Fraser continued to pace, speaking with the crisp precision Roth imagined he would use to outline a strategy for steering a bill through the House of Commons. “There are different stories about how Ramon de Carevalo came to possess the ring. The ring was commissioned by Princess Aysha, wife of Tariq ibn Tashfin. She and her husband presided over a court that was known for its tolerance and artistic achievements. The ring represented what was best in the court. A Jewish sculptor designed it, a Christian gem-cutter cut the rubies, a Moorish goldsmith forged it. According to some versions of the story, Aysha commissioned the ring as a gift for her husband. After Prince Tariq was killed in battle, Carevalo stole the ring and abducted Aysha. According to other versions, Aysha commissioned the ring not for her husband but for Carevalo, who was secretly her lover. After her husband’s death the two of them ran off together.”

Fraser’s mouth tightened for a moment, perhaps with impatience. “Whether it was an abduction or an elopement, they were pursued by Aysha’s brother. Carevalo and the brother fought. Supposedly the magical power of the ring protected Carevalo. Less fanciful versions of the story say that Carevalo put up his hand to ward off a death blow and the sword point glanced off the ring. Or perhaps Carevalo was simply a better swordsman. What does seem certain is that Carevalo survived and he and Aysha escaped to an estate he had been given in Leon.

“Whatever the reasons for the marriage, apparently it was a success. Carevalo more or less retired from fighting. Aysha brought a small but talented group of artists to their estate from various cultures and religions. The castle they built is still standing today. It has some of the most beautiful frescoes and metalwork in Spain. They —”

The crisp voice broke off. Fraser stopped pacing and drew a sharp breath. He stood stock-still, his back to Roth and his wife, his fingers pressed over his eyes, as though he could not remember what he had been saying or the point of the conversation.

Melanie Fraser watched her husband for a moment, then turned her gaze to Roth. “Aysha and Ramon’s great-great-grandson wore the ring on the Third Crusade,” she said, her own voice taut with self-control, “which is decidedly ironic, considering the spirit of tolerance in which the ring was forged. He was the only one of his party to return alive. He came home to find that his younger brother had usurped the title and estate in his absence. An armed guard awaited him, but when he rode up to the castle, the peasants rose up on his side.”

“Because he showed them the ring?” Roth said.

“According to the legend,” said Melanie Fraser. “Whether the ring had come to the Carevalos through conquest or as a gift to a beloved, it had come to symbolize power. People often find it easier to follow a symbol than a person.”

“That certainly seems to have been the feeling in the Carevalo family.” Charles Fraser strode back into the center of the room. “In the time of Ferdinand and Isabella, a Carevalo cousin stole the ring and then apparently had the current Carevalo heir murdered and usurped the title. He went on to become the first Marques de Carevalo. His grandson, the third marques, failed to wear the ring when he went off to fight in the Spanish Armada. Not only did he perish at sea, so did all the other men from the Carevalo region who went with him. So, of course, did a number of other Spaniards who were part of the Armada, but that minor historical detail hasn’t dimmed the legend of the ring’s power. During the War of the Spanish Succession, the eighth marques and his son supported rival claimants to the throne. They stole the ring back and forth from each other several times in the course of the conflict. The loyalty of the people in the Carevalo region seems to have gone to whoever possessed the ring.”

Roth leaned forward. “You know a great deal about the history of the Carevalo family.”

Fraser grimaced. “I’ve had reason to learn. Sometime in the middle of the last century, the ring disappeared. No one is sure exactly when—it was a while before the Carevalos admitted it was no longer in their possession, and no one wanted to take credit for being the one to have lost the ring. One story is that it was taken by bandits but the Carevalos were too proud to admit it. Another is that one of the Carevalo sons lost it in a card game and then was afraid to tell his father. Or that a Carevalo secretly presented it to his mistress as proof of the extent of his devotion. But the ring’s loss only seemed to make the legend stronger. The story grew up that whoever recovered it would be invincible in battle. Which brings us to November of 1812.”

Fraser paced the carpet, as though mapping out the terrain of a battlefield in its scrolls and medallions. “Wellington’s troops were wintering in cantonments near Ciudad Rodrigo, just beyond the Portuguese border. The French were spread about Spain. It was clear that the real push of the war would come with the spring thaw. I was on the staff at the British embassy in Lisbon. We got word that a group of bandits in the Cantabrian Mountains had stumbled across something that looked like the Carevalo Ring in the course of plundering a village.”

Fraser stopped pacing and met Roth’s gaze across the room. “You can understand the significance. The current Marques de Carevalo was a noted guerrillero leader, but the people of his own region were slow to rally to the Spanish cause. Or perhaps I should say the British cause. We’d rather taken over their war.”

“And it seemed the recovery of the ring would rouse the populace to battle?”

“That was our hope. The Carevalo lands were strategically situated for the spring campaign.” Fraser strode to the fireplace. “The bandits were willing to turn the ring over to us, but only for a substantial payment in gold. Carevalo was away fighting in the south. The ambassador wanted to act quickly before the French got wind of the ring. There were a fair number of French sympathizers in the Carevalo region. If the French had recovered the ring it might have turned the tide in their favor. The ambassador thought the fewer people who heard the story, the better. So he sent me to retrieve the ring.”

“You’d undertaken such missions before.” It wasn’t a question.

“From time to time. When they found it convenient to use someone without direct links to the military.” Fraser leaned his arm on the marble mantel as though to anchor himself. “I went off to the Cantabrian Mountains. I had a detachment of soldiers with me, but none of them knew the point of our mission. I was half-convinced I was on a wild-goose chase.”