“Oh, I’m sure that Saint Peter knows that, sir,” said Wake, his leg throbbing. “Thank you so much for giving us some respite, Padre. It’s extremely good to see you again. May I introduce you to my companions? You remember Peter Allen, of course. This is Doña Carmena Garza and Manuel Salmerón. I believe you recognize those two last names.”
The priest’s smile disappeared as he nodded. Wake turned to the two stunned Spaniards. “And this is Father Juan Muñosa, a Jesuit who has just returned to Sevilla after many years absence. Pete and I met him on the train here. He warned us against getting involved in the political turmoil here. Unfortunately,” he paused and glared at Allen, “we have.”
“My dear Lieutenant Wake,” said Muñosa. “I sense that there is an absolutely delicious story here and I would love to hear it.” He spread his hands. “It’s only two o’clock in the morning and I have nothing but time until first vespers at dawn.”
Manuel was visibly confused. Carmena’s eyes flared. “Lieutenant Wake?”
Allen looked at Wake and inhaled audibly. “Oh, my dear boy. This’ll be a bit of a long story, won’t it?”
14
The Perils of Land
It took an hour for Wake to tell everyone everything, starting with how he and Allen had met in the West Indies. He explained to Muñosa about Carmena and Manuel and the idea for an escape. During that hour the others sat silent—Muñosa enthralled with the story and Carmena and Manuel worried by it. Wake repeatedly emphasized that he and Allen were in Sevilla as tourists and that no one in authority, from any country, knew they were there.
Muñosa spoke up first when Wake had finished his narration. “So it appears that this is a tale of friendship,” he gestured to Wake and Allen, “and of love.” A nod went to Carmena and Manuel. “How very wonderful. It is all as if in a novel!”
He registered the surprise on their faces. “You expected reproach from me? You think that a priest, even an old one like me, does not appreciate a little intrigue and some romance? I am a Jesuit, not an ogre, my friends.”
“Thank you, Padre,” said Manuel. “Carmena and I are very much in love. We know well the Church’s teachings, but don’t know how to handle the situation.”
Muñosa shrugged. “First things first, my children. Save your lives, then worry about the rules of the Church. You can repent later. Better yet, you can arrange an annulment according to the laws of God later. But for now, let’s get you out of here and on that British ship at Cadiz.
“As for the situation in Spain, you know the Church has all kinds of leaders. Some of them are supporting the Carlists, some support the other factions. I support the people.” He winked at them. “And after all of these years as a priest, I know a thing or two about intrigue and getting things done outside of the regulations myself.”
Muñosa then suggested they use one of the secret tunnels below the cathedral that exited at the river. Few people knew of the tunnels, which were hundreds of years old. At the river he proposed that they could “borrow” a boat and make their way down the river to Sanlúcar and take a carriage from there to Jerez. At Jerez they could join the train to Cadiz. With luck, they would be at the ship by mid-afternoon. It would be up to Wake and Allen to get the two lovers aboard, however.
Manuel was about to speak, but Muñosa held up a hand and grinned. “But let us also bait the field in the other direction. Carmena, please write out a letter to Manuel, explaining that you will meet him at the carriage station in Córdoba to the east when the sun goes down. Put in it some affection, for spice to establish authenticity, and sign it with your full name, so it is obvious who wrote it. I will arrange for it to be found in a street on the north side of the Alcázar—the opposite side of the city from your route.”
As the four of them began thanking him, Muñosa held up his hand again, looking serious. “To try to save lives is the right thing to do. I only ask one thing in return.”
Wake asked, “What’s that, Padre?”
Muñosa leaned forward, the grin returning. “I want a letter from you, Peter Wake, six months from now, telling how the rest of this tale finally unfolded—in exciting detail.”
***
They descended to the deserted main sanctuary of the cathedral. The vast space, dimly lit by a few candles and smelling of sickly sweet incense, seemed ominous to Wake. Their footsteps echoed but Muñosa seemed unconcerned, saying that no one would be about at that time of the night. They followed him into the privileged chapel of the kings of Spain, dating from the thirteenth century. As they walked, Muñosa gave Wake a brief whispered recital of the cathedral’s history, from Muslim mosque in the eleventh century to the third largest Gothic designed Roman Catholic cathedral in the entire world. Only the Vatican and Notre Dame were larger. “ . . . as our brother priests from France keep reminding us,” he explained with a shrug.
From the royal chapel they crossed to a corner where they reached the ancient treasury chamber by the main sacristy. Muñosa stepped into the shadow behind a column and Wake heard a grunt and the sound of stone grinding on stone. A moment later the priest reappeared, gave Wake a short sconce and lit it, then gestured to
