Demon Rider

turn the pilgrims into a team, but Toby and the don between them did effect some improvements.

'Captain,' the caballero proclaimed as camp was being struck the first morning, 'the terrain has changed. The enemy may conceal his forces anywhere. We should need a hundred men to reconnoiter our advance effectively.' He was fully armed, holding his horse's reins and ready to mount, but then he had been awake for the last two hours, so his blue eyes and arrogant red mustache were bright and perky respectively.

Toby was still a little blurred by sleep. 'This is true, senor.' Certainly the plains offered far more opportunity for ambushes. The coastal trails wound through trees and overgrown fields.

'Reserve all pikemen for defense. Close up the ranks. The foe will direct his attacks upon our commissary.'

'Um…' He probably meant the packhorses, and that was a reasonable analysis when the most probable foe was a starving rabble of refugees. 'Yes, senor.'

'Divide the infantry between the van and the rear guard.'

'And the cavalry in the center? As the hidalgo commands.'

'Excellent. Carry on, Captain. You may have the buglers sound the advance.'

The don's commands always made good sense when properly interpreted. Either he had been given a sound military education or he had a natural soldierly instinct — perhaps it came from the limpieza de sangre—but translating his whimsies into real-world instructions required an understanding that the siege train was Thunderbolt because he carried axes and shovels, the artillery was Brusi Senior with his flintlock pistol, and Hamish's predilection for books had made him the corps of surveyors.

Other than the hired guard, there were six potential fighting men in the band: Toby, Father Guillem, Rafael, Miguel, Josep, and Hamish. Toby inflicted quarterstaff lessons on all of them whenever an opportunity presented itself. Young Josep was willing enough, but his weapons of choice would always remain the quill and ledger. Father Guillem — unlike many Galilean clerics — conceded that a man had the right of self-defense; he was surprisingly good — not quick, but powerful and devious. Rafael and Miguel were straightforward sloggers and deadly, because they saw every practice session as an opportunity to kill the big foreigner. When failure discouraged them, he let them inflict a few bruises on him to spur them to greater efforts. Of course Hamish was better than any of them except Toby himself, and they both had swords to use if the game need be played for serious stakes.

He insisted the women carry weapons. Eulalia settled for a sickle, and Gracia a knife, although he could not imagine her ever using it. Senora Collel accepted a stout cudgel and promised to crack the skull of anyone who tried to steal her mount, but she and whoever she allowed to ride the other horse — Gracia or Eulalia by turns — were perched so high that they were horribly vulnerable to snipers or low branches. Salvador Brusi agreed to carry his flintlock pistol in his belt instead of his saddle bag. The hob's reaction to gunfire was usually tumultuous.

The new order mixed up the groups to some extent and promoted a little more friendliness. Senora Collel and Eulalia were seen talking with the wives of Miguel and Rafael, both of whom were named Elinor. Brother Bernat rarely sought out conversation but would respond to anyone who addressed him, and even a ferocious argument on the ethics of trade between Salvador Brusi and Father Guillem could be regarded as an improvement. The don remained aloof, locked away in his own grandiose world.

Other, less conspicuous, relationships had developed also. Hamish became much given to quoting Catalan poetry and noticeably goggle-eyed in the presence of Eulalia, but his eyes goggled so easily that Toby thought nothing of it until the second morning, when he was striding along the line and Senora Collel snapped at him.

'Monsieur Longdirk!' She glared down from the giddy height of her horse-borne throne.

He knew to expect trouble when she spoke French. 'Madame?'

'Your companion Jaume is debauching my servant!'

'He is?' Toby shot a glance back at Eulalia, whose turn it was to ride on the other silla. She tossed her head disdainfully at him, but there was certainly a hint of triumph there also. Perhaps she understood more French than her mistress suspected. It was quite similar to Catalan.

'You are not much of a sentry if you did not see them sharing a blanket in the night!' the senora sneered.

'A sentry's job is not to spy on his friends, madame. Besides, I am quite certain my young friend has never progressed beyond holding hands in the past, so who is debauching whom? Can you say the same of her?'

And bully for Hamish! Toby would not grudge him his good fortune.

'He is taking advantage of her. The girl is simple.'

'I really find that hard to credit, madame.'

'Then what of Madame Gomez?'

Toby's heart skipped a beat. The senora must have seen his reaction, for she curled her hairy lip at him. 'You did not know about her either?'

'I am sure that you slander the lady, madame. Besides, her tragic experiences have left her in a highly disturbed emotional state, and if you are implying that I would exploit—'

'Not you. The don.'

That snotty aristocratic pervert! How dare he! 'I cannot believe that they are more than friends! How can you doubt her virtue or his honor?' But Toby had wondered what the two of them found to talk about — the prospect made his mind reel. Imaginary armies or imaginary ghosts?

'They, too, share a blanket,' Senora Collel announced triumphantly. Her pleasure came from seeing Toby's anger, not from outraged morality. 'Gentry like him think casual seduction is a game, yes? That they have the right to defile any woman they fancy?'

'Madame Gomez is a grown woman and I am not an abbess. Nor, if I may say so, are you, madame!' Feeling his face burning under her scorn, he lengthened his stride and stalked away.

Poor, foolish Gracia! All she needed was affection to support her in her bereavement, and she was not likely to find it in the fantasy world of Don Ramon. If Toby himself developed ambitions toward her, he could do nothing about them. So why this furious urge to punch a certain arrogant stuck-up nose until it sprayed blue blood all over its ridiculous mustache?

* * *

Yes, the company was coming together, if slowly, and on that fourth morning he had some reason for optimism as he strode along the column. He also had serious worries, because the last of his food had vanished the previous evening. Father Guillem admitted that the clerics were down to their last crumbs. The devastation of the Valencian countryside had been rumored in Toledo, but none of the pilgrims had comprehended the scale of it. There were no inhabitants to offer charity, no markets in which to shop, no crops to pillage. At noon Toby would have to propose that the haves start sharing with the have-nots, but he was hard put to see the four peasants doing that, while Salvador Brusi would expect to be recompensed liberally for every lentil they wrung out of him.

The don paraded in front with his squire, followed by Josep and Father Guillem, Pepita and Brother Bernat and Gracia, then old man Brusi and his horses, Senora Collel and Eulalia riding, and the two Elinors and Thunderbolt. Hamish, Rafael, and Miguel brought up the rear. Toby mostly patrolled back and forth, exhorting, encouraging, and keeping watch for stragglers — usually Pepita, who kept running off to search for berries or butterflies. Although he approved in general of the don's disposition of forces, he always tended to loiter near the center of the group, uneasy about that vulnerable midriff.

The sun still scorched as if it were summer. The country was a melange of overgrown pasture, weed- covered fields, burned hamlets, and groves of mutilated trees, a landscape broken up by walls and hedges and imperceptible ridges, a paradise for ambushers. It seemed deserted, but that was illusion. A sharp eye could gather evidence that people had used the road recently, and at sundown thin columns of smoke wrote warnings in the sky. Distant dogs barked in the night. Whoever the inhabitants might be, they were likely to be lawless and desperate. The calm was deceptive.

Around mid-morning, catching up with Brusi, Toby said, 'Senor? Have you any idea of where we are? How many days to go?'

'No.' The old man was hunched in the saddle like a bundle of sticks. 'We still have not crossed the Ebro. It is utterly shameful to destroy olive trees like that. It takes many, many years to grow an olive tree. The destruction