'You're bigger than Thunderbolt.'
And more stupid. He hadn't made many friends so far. There were only two more pilgrims to meet, and they had halted about thirty paces ahead. The don must have told them to wait there, because he was some distance out in front, heading for a rocky knoll.
Toby stopped to let Hamish and Francisco catch up. 'You realize that you have to carry me on the way back, don't you?'
That made her laugh. 'Which of you? The one inside or the one outside?'
He caught his breath. 'Pepita, what do you mean?' She was only fantasizing, surely.
'Nothing,' said the piping voice overhead. 'Just, when I was looking at you, I could sort of see two of you. I can't from up here. That's very curious, isn't it? I'll ask Brother Bernat. He'll know what it means.'
As long as she didn't ask the Inquisition! He wished he could look at her and judge how serious she was, but all he could see of her was little brown feet in shabby sandals. 'Do you often see two of people?'
'No,' she said airily. 'Just you and Brother Bernat.'
The sensible thing to do would be to gather Gracia and go. These pilgrims were nothing to him. Traveling in company was more pleasant and normally safer, but it would not be safer for him if Pepita started babbling her fancies to everyone else. The slightest whisper of demonic possession led straight to the Inquisition.
The chubby squire and his pony arrived, accompanied by Hamish, who gave Toby a reproachful look, which he had certainly earned. Even Francisco seemed a little less convivial.
'The last members of our company, senores — or should I say first, since they travel at the front? — are the esteemed Senores Brusi. The father, Salvador Brusi i Urpia, is a man of much importance in Barcelona, a silk merchant.' Francisco dropped his voice to a squeak. 'Very wealthy! And his son, Josep Brusi i Casas.'
'They saved their hides by running away when the rebels came?'
Francisco cleared his throat, although his eyes had started to twinkle again. 'I expect they had urgent business in Granada or Seville.'
Brusi Senior had found himself a low wall to sit on while he waited; it appeared to be a relic of an ancient sheepfold. He was a shriveled raisin of a man, small and bent, but his eyes were sharp enough and his little prune mouth screwed up in disapproval as he watched the strangers approach. If he was rich, his garments were plain enough not to show it. His horse was a roan mare of quality, though, with smart trappings, and his two packhorses were worth plenty in these troubled times. All three of them needed a good grooming.
The boy holding the mare's reins was about Hamish's age, but sallow and gawky, with the listless air of a humble, bookish clerk, and already showing some of his father's stoop. He wore a knife in a sheath on his belt, but no sword. The Brusis were not fighters.
But they were wealthy, and Senora Collel might be. Why had they not obtained better protection? Had they underestimated the perils of the journey or been misled by the don?
Francisco made the usual introductions.
'More guards?' Salvador Brusi snarled. 'At whose expense? I shall hold the don to our agreement, to the last
'The don is a man of his word, senor,' Francisco said smoothly.
'Bah! And what does he know of these two, hm? Rogues! A pair of footpads who will cut our throats in the night and steal our horses!'
'I wouldn't want them,' Toby said. 'Not in that condition. Why don't you look after them better, old man? They're walking gorse bushes.'
Brusi bristled. 'Insolence!'
'I give what I get. If we did want to steal them, we could knock your brains out this instant and let Don Ramon ride his hack into the ground trying to catch us.' Toby's Catalan was far from fluent, but he had obviously put over the gist of what he had tried to say, for Brusi was scarlet and spluttering. 'Tonight my friend Jaume and I will curry your mounts for you — for a suitable fee, of course — and get those ticks out of their coats before they go sick and die on you.'
He turned to Francisco, whose eyes were rather wide, but whose pudgy face otherwise bore a studied lack of expression. 'Let's go and talk to the don about our order of march. Senor Brusi, you may start moving again when Miguel and Raphael catch up.'
'You don't give me orders!' the old man screeched, lurching to his feet.
'I just did.'
It was unfortunate that Pepita chose that moment to snigger. As Toby strode forward, he glanced at the younger Josep, and was surprised to see traces of a grin. He winked. Josep twitched in surprise and then winked back.
Don Ramon had completed his survey of the terrain from the knoll, and was now returning. Hamish fell into step at Toby's right, and a moment later Francisco's pony arrived on his left.
The old man coughed meaningfully. 'Senor Longdirk, while I have greatly enjoyed your progress, I do hope you realize that here men of humble station are expected to observe a certain tact when addressing the gentry? Of course I have no intention of criticizing how things may be done in your fair homeland of Scotland, but this is Spain.'
'In Scotland they would hang me for it. You think they may hold back my wages?'
The squire sighed. 'I'm certain you won't ever see a dinero of them.' He chuckled. 'But, please, senor, I implore you, do not try such tactics on Don Ramon!'
'I have no intention of doing so.'
'Shade his honor in any way and one of you will die, senor, I swear it.'
'I shall be as prim as a princess.'
How long could he hold to that resolve? Did he even want to try? A dozen adults and a child, and only one of them a real fighter — and even that was giving the don the benefit of a very considerable doubt. His fighting might be as muddled as his thinking. However nimble he was at getting on and off his horse, had he ever swung that broadsword in his life? Apart from him, only Miguel, Rafael, and Father Guillem were likely to put up any defense at all, and none of them could have any training or experience. With Hamish and himself aboard, the company would certainly have a better chance of surviving any trouble it might encounter. Under any normal circumstances, there would be no question — the newcomers would ask to join the band and place themselves under the hired guard's orders. When the hired guard was a raving aristocratic maniac, was that such a good idea?
Toby turned for another look at the pilgrims, which required him to walk backward, making Pepita laugh and drum her fists on his helmet. Then he turned the right way round and said in Gaelic, 'Hamish? You want to serve the noble lord?'
Hamish jumped, as if his mind had been a long way away. 'You're not serious? You can't be serious! You couldn't even take orders from Sergeant Mulliez! You think you can keep your temper with that snooty lunatic?'
'I might. I wonder whether he's as crazy as he pretends to be. Senor Francisco, is the Senora's packhorse carrying gold?'
The squire choked. 'Gold, senor? Whatever… Why would you think such a thing?' His horrified expression said that it did, or at least he suspected that it did. He could have seen how the bags were handled when it was loaded and unloaded.
'There doesn't seem much on its back, and yet it walks as if it had a heavy burden. Doesn't matter.' Toby must make his decision soon. 'The don has to ride at the front of course.'
'Of course!' Even Francisco could not imagine any other arrangement, and Don Ramon himself believed he was leading a train of a hundred — knights in livery, beautiful ladies on white horses, banners flying, band playing. It was a beautiful picture, but it wasn't real.
Nevertheless, Miguel and Rafael were the nearest thing he had to fighting men, so he had put them at the rear. The horses wouldn't like the mule, anyway. The only other man who might strike a blow, Father Guillem, he had set in the middle. And himself at the front.
'I suppose Senor Brusi is paying most of the fee, so he insists on being as close to his guard as he can be?'
'Only the king might insist with Don Ramon, senor. It is by his command that the senor travels there.'
