Demon Rider

'Nothing?'

'Nothing,' Francisco admitted sadly.

'When did you last eat?'

'We had a little yesterday.'

Great spirits! 'You can't go all the way to Montserrat without eating!'

'No, senor. But the don… He is a proud man and—'

'He still has to eat.' Toby had expected that his own group would be the first to run out, or possibly the clerics, whose packs seemed skimpy, but not for a few days, and he had been hoping that by then he might have thumped these stubborn individualists into more of a team and taught them the need to share.

'I am offering payment!' Francisco whispered despondently. He held out a hand. 'This ring is very pure gold.'

Tony took it and peered at it in the fading light. It was a plain wedding band and could be gold for all he could tell. Returning it, he caught hold of Francisco's hand. It was a small hand, very delicate. He looked up at the plump, aged face.

'Francisca?'

She drew in her breath and snatched her fingers from his grasp. For a moment she seemed about to flee, and then her shoulders slumped. She groaned. 'You are perceptive, senor! I don't think any of the others have guessed.'

Toby laughed gently. 'I'm sure you're right, because Senora Collel does not know. Sit down and tell me about it. As one seasoned campaigner with another, you will not object to watching me wash?'

'We can talk later, senor.' She sounded close to tears.

'No, sit down! Turn your back if you wish.' Toby scooped water in both hands and soaked his face, his odd-seeming, naked face. He was glad to be rid of the beard, because he hated it, but it would return fast enough. He owned no razor. 'Tell me the story. I won't repeat it. I promise, but I do want to hear. Think of it as my day's pay.'

The old woman settled to the ground stiffly, not turning her back but not facing him either. She sighed. 'I am his mother.'

Who else could she be? He might have guessed grandmother, but she seemed younger as a woman than she had as a man. The pitch of her voice had lost its strangeness, of course.

'He is of the limpieza de sangre, the pure blood. Look at the veins in his wrists — blue as the sky! His family is very old, very distinguished, but it was never wealthy. In his grandfather's time… You do not care about that. Suffice it, senor, that when his father died, two years ago, and then the bankers called in their notes, he was left with only one tiny holding. Four sheep wide and ten sheep long, he called it, but he was still a hidalgo with land and a roof over his head. When the rebels came, he had not even that.'

Toby was starting to wish he had not asked. He slopped water over himself and said nothing. In the camp behind him Pepita trilled with laughter and a horse whinnied.

'He answered King Pedro's call, of course. He fought very bravely! You may doubt a mother speaking of her son, but I tell you much less than the truth. Many persons commented on how he distinguished himself on his first day in battle. At the end his horse was killed under him and his arm was broken. He was taken prisoner. His armor was forfeit, of course, his weapons, everything.'

Toby shivered. 'He was extremely lucky not to be butchered most horribly.'

'I know that, senor. He killed a guard and escaped back to the Castilian lines.'

'With a broken arm?'

'Yes. Alone.'

That was an incredible feat. If true it deserved an epic, and somehow he did not doubt a word of it — fiction would have been made more believable. 'How old is he?'

She evaded the question. 'He was a man when he was fourteen. But he could fight no more. By the time the bone had knitted, the war was over.'

'And you had nothing.'

'We were out in the streets. He did not even have clothes in which to go to court to seek recognition of his services.' She sighed. 'I doubt he would have gone anyway. He comes of proud stock. His father… No matter. I heard of certain persons who wished to return to Barcelona and wanted to hire a guard. I found others like them. I made the arrangements, senor. Then I went and told him what I had done.'

Proud stock could not be a hired guard. Toby did not ask the obvious question, but she told him anyway.

'He was enraged! Furious! He turned the color of the dead and would not speak. I asked him if he would watch his mother starve. Or if he would make a thief out of me, for I had naturally taken some of the fee in advance to buy weapons and armor and horses. He could not answer. He would say nothing. He walked the streets for days. He did not sleep or eat. I almost wished he would strike me for betraying him so. On the morning we were due to leave, I dressed in these clothes and went and told him I was his squire and his retinue was waiting. He smiled for the first time since the war came. He ordered me to have the bugles sounded.'

The knot in Toby's throat made speech impossible. He bent forward and emptied the last of the water over his hair, then rubbed it vigorously with his shirt.

'We have kept up the pretense ever since,' she said, sounding proud of that. 'I have told you the truth, senor.'

She knew it was pretense, but how much of it did the boy believe? Was he just honoring his mother's courage or had his mind snapped?

'I do not doubt it, Dona Francisca. You are as brave as your son. We have some provisions to spare. We shall divide them with you, so that when we run out, we all run out together, and who can say what may happen before then? No,' he insisted when she held out the ring again. 'I will not take it. You may pay me when you collect your fee in Barcelona.' He pulled on his wet shirt and his doublet over it.

'Please, senor! Let me pay with this, now.'

'Never!' He could even laugh a little at her stubbornness — the son had not taken it all from his father. 'Your wedding ring for a bag of beans? Even barbarous Scotsmen are not without honor.'

'You do not understand,' she said miserably. 'They say that in Barcelona now this would be a fair exchange, gold for beans. I was a fool, I knew I was outbidding many seasoned soldiers, so I did not ask nearly enough. I had no idea of prices… I did not even leave enough for food, so we have run out already. Do you think those peasants will honor their pledge? Or old Brusi? That woman? They will laugh at me when I ask for the rest. My son will not recognize the problem. And even if they pay, it will not be enough to take us home again.'

That would not be a problem. Toby had a very clear image of a head rolling across bloody planks. Her son was going to die in Barcelona, and he would be the executioner. He choked down a surge of nausea and jumped to his feet. He held out a hand to help her rise.

'Come and collect the food so you may lay out the banquet for your lord and the lady. I will not take one blanca for it, because your tale has been reward enough.'

The telling had been a strain for her. He had been cruel to insist on it. Realizing that she was weeping, he went on alone and left her to follow at her own hobbling pace.

PART FOUR More Questions and Some Answers

CHAPTER ONE

They had two more clear days before death claimed the first of them. Two days were not long enough to