proper escort. And I'm crazier than any of them.' Toby did not really think he was crazy, but he suspected the hob was. 'We all should get along famously.'
Hamish grinned. 'It's lonely being the only sane man in the world. You're right about Brusi. Senora Collel says he got such a good price from the don that he couldn't resist the bargain.'
'Oh? And what's her excuse?'
The grin widened. 'She heard about Brusi and thought he was shrewd enough to know what he was doing, so she signed up too. None of them had any idea how bad the devastation was.' He tugged a weighty book from his pack.
'What's that one about?' Toby asked.
'Hmm? Catalan verse. You did tell me to brush up my Catalan.'
'You planning to quote poetry to Eulalia?'
Hamish looked up, wide-eyed with hope. 'Would that work?'
'I've heard it can be quite effective. And if you think it will help, you can tell her that Gracia and I are lovers.'
Hamish turned faintly pink. 'I already did.' He began to read with great concentration.
Poor Hamish! Since the evening of the day his voice broke, he had been making advances to pretty girls. Even now that his beard had grown in — a little scanty in spots, but an honest beard — they still seemed to think of him as only a boy. He had no trade or land or family prospects. Possibly he was too intellectual, all head and no heart, and probably too solemn and serious, although he was witty enough with men. It was definitely time to send him home to the glen to wed some bonnie lass and raise another generation of schoolteachers.
And poor Toby! He had the opposite problem. Since Mezquiriz, he dared not even think about women in case he reminded the hob of Jeanne.
Oh, Jeanne!
Hamish yawned. They were both worn threadbare by too many broken nights.
'If you drop off up here,' Toby said, 'then you will drop off. Take a nap.' He would not. The don must not catch them both sleeping on duty.
Hamish peered at him blearily. 'Half and half? Wake me in an hour?'
'Promise.'
Hamish closed his book and jumped down. He stretched out on the grass and was snoring in seconds.
Toby retrieved the sword from his pack and fashioned a loop of rope as a baldric for it, thinking the sight of it might make the pilgrims more inclined to accept him as a guard. Worried he might go to sleep in the heat, he clambered down and walked around to see to the others. They were all doing what Hamish was. There was no sign of Don Ramon or Francisco.
The landscape baked in silence, nothing moving under the sun, not a bird in the empty blue sky. He went off to the remains of the vineyard to see if the birds and insects had overlooked any grapes. The vines were grown on the ground, not on trellises, and he waded knee-high through rustling brown leaves, pushing branches aside with his sword. He found only a few moldy raisins to eat, but it passed the time.
Help soon arrived in the person of Eulalia, slender and slyly smiling, who had no doubt feigned sleep to evade her mistress and was now elated to have the big young stranger to herself. That he would be equally pleased she would not doubt, nor should she — her shapeless servant garb could not completely deny the lure of the body within. Her robe was of coarse brown fabric, long-sleeved to cover everything except face and hands, decorated crudely with strips of yellow and orange, probably by herself. A darker cloth covered her head, but the casing on her braid hung to her waist, and nothing could disguise the magic of the dark eyes, the sculptured perfection of features, the complexion like aged ivory. Dress her as a princess and she would be one. Small wonder Hamish had lost his wits already.
She had as few words of Castilian as Toby of Catalan. Speech could help little, but shiny red lips and dark eyes said everything.
'Are you finding any, senor?'
'No. A few.'
She knelt to search among the leaves. In a moment she said something excited and beckoned him. When he squatted to see, she popped a raisin in his mouth. Her eyes again, the smile, her hand on his thigh…
He stood up and shook his head. 'Not me, senorita. Try Jaume.'
She glared at him and caught his wrist, trying to pull him down beside her. He walked away, conscious of sweat, the oppressive heat, the pounding of his heart. He despised himself for them and the lingering tingle in his loins. Were all men so easily tempted, or was he a weakling? How did other men keep their self-control in such situations?
Many didn't, he supposed. He was not the only bastard in the world.
He paced around, afraid to settle. Guard duty was more interesting at night, when a single cracking twig might be the only warning. Here, the empty landscape made it too easy. There was no sign of the don — had he left his new deputy in charge, or did he hope to catch him neglecting his duty? What disaster had brought a
Seeing that Eulalia had returned to the senora, he went back to the vineyard and scavenged some more. Later he saw a chicken in the undergrowth and spent time stalking it. It would not have survived so long had it not learned to be wary, and it eluded him. He did not waken Hamish. He had never intended to keep his promise.
When he went to the well for a drink, he found Gracia there in her widow's weeds, still wearing the bottle that proclaimed her delusions. She was not as tall as Eulalia, and her face was less striking, but lovely enough. So fragile! She was delicate, she had suffered, she was not perfectly sane by the world's standards. One look at her and her sheer vulnerability made him want to clasp her in his arms and swear to defend her against anything for ever. She was much more dangerous than Eulalia.
Just one kiss? There need be no seduction, no false promises, just a moment of mutual tenderness in a world unbearably harsh.
No, not one.
'Senor, a favor?'
'If I can, senora.'
She clutched the absurd bottle in both hands. 'This brings questions.'
How surprising! 'Yes?'
She raised her chin as she did when she spoke of her mission to the dead. 'My voices tell me that it will be safe with you, senor. Will you put it in your pack and carry it for me?'
It couldn't weigh much, one empty bottle. 'Of course. I am honored to be trusted with it, because I know how much you value it.'
She smiled again and lifted the cord over her head. He took it and hung it around his.
Fortunately he had very good reflexes. He caught the bottle before it hit the ground. Then he straightened up to face dismay that became astonishment that instantly turned to fear. She backed away, staring at him like a cornered fawn. The knots had untied themselves? No, the hob had untied them. Why should the hob object to an empty bottle?
Because it
There was no use trying to think up some prosaic explanation. 'It would seem, senora, that the wraiths do not approve of me as a guardian.' He thrust the bottle at her quickly, lest it wriggle snakelike out of his hands. 'Come with me and put it in Diego's pack. It will be safe with him.'
'But…? But why? How did that happen?'
'You saw what I saw.' He shrugged. 'I have a sort of curse on me, senora. The wraiths may not approve of me, but I am sure that they will not find fault with my friend.'
'Curse?'
'Senora, what would happen if I told the Inquisition that you hear voices and gather the ghosts of the dead?'
Her lips curled back from her teeth in terror. 'You will not!'
'Of course I will not. And you will not tell them about my curse! We are companions, friends. Now we share each other's secrets.' After all, they were both crazy. She collected the dead, he had visions. Lunatics should stick
