Demon Rider

wasn't valor and prowess, it was bloody murder! Look at them! They weren't soldiers. Half of them were only kids. Brusi's dead, Josep's father. You promised. You took his—'

He stopped himself just in time, seeing the instant change in the caballero's face, the coiling surge of madness. No, the don had not taken Brusi's money. His mother had, and he refused to know that. In any case, the old man's death had been an accident, so Toby was being unfair. But gleeful boy had become furious man already, reaching for his sword, and that would be a fight Toby could never win.

He bowed curtly. 'Your pardon, senor. When we arrive at our destination there will be time enough for honors. Now we must… With respect, senor, the baggage must be collected and redistributed on the horses. The enemy may return. If the caballero will excuse me, I shall make arrangements for the burial and reorganize the train.' He turned his back on the don's quivering rage and looked around the pale faces. 'Anyone injured?'

'Senora de Gomez,' Hamish said. What was wrong with Hamish? He'd seen violent death before, so why did he look like that? 'She was badly shaken by her fall, but… but Brother Bernat healed her, Toby.' His face was saying more than his words were. 'Nobody else. Just bruises and scratches.'

'Healed her? Oh. Well, that's good.' Something else to think about. Meanwhile they must bury the old man, gather up their litter, and move on, although he doubted there would be any reprisals after such a massacre. The survivors would come and bury their own dead. 'Manuel, Rafael — either of you know anything about butchering?'

They both shook their heads, but that meant little, and he could do it himself if necessary. The food problem had been solved for the time being. They could eat horse today and tomorrow and every day until it began to rot.

CHAPTER TWO

'We owe our lives to you, Senor Toby,' Josep said solemnly. He was walking, leading his two packhorses, because he had given his father's roan to Senora Collel to replace hers. 'Without you we should have lost all the livestock, and then none of us could ever reach Barcelona.'

'That is nonsense!' Toby had explained this four times already to other people and apparently had to explain it again. 'It was the don who saved the day, not me. Without him, I was about to die. Without me, he would still have beaten them. He is the finest fighting man I have ever seen — he put a destrier at full gallop through a riot like a seamstress sliding a needle through cloth.'

'You killed more men than he did.'

'I had more time.'

'He had a horse and a lance.'

'Honestly, that made very little difference. He is a fighter, I'm just a big lad. Josep, this I swear — if you matched up the two us with the same arms, he would skin me as nimbly as he skinned the horse!'

The don had attended to the butchery, asserting that the dead animal was the handsomest ten-point stag he had seen in years and explaining all the time to his helpers, the two Elinors, the joys of hunting boar. Fortunately, they would have understood little of his Castilian. Mad or not, he was as skilled with a skinning knife as he was with a broadsword.

Josep smiled disbelievingly. 'I do not know on what terms Don Ramon hired you that morning we met, senor, but when I pay him off at my door, I shall give you the same amount I give him, and gladly. My father's death is not to be laid to the fault of either of you.'

Toby swallowed a twinge of pride he could not afford and thanked him for this unwarranted generosity. He and Hamish might not starve in the gutters of Barcelona after all, or not immediately.

Josep shot another thin smile at him. 'You think the spendthrift boy will soon fritter away the Brusi fortune. You may be right, Tobias, but I am convinced that the most valuable aid a man of business can have — apart from a reputation for honesty, of course — is a team of trustworthy employees. If you will be seeking work in Barcelona, I shall outbid anyone else for your services.'

'The senor requires a strong porter?'

The thin boyish face flushed scarlet. 'That was not what I meant! Many of our workers have fled or were slain in the fighting and must be replaced. I will make you foreman in our warehouse without a moment's hesitation. Do you wish to discuss wages now?'

'No, senor, but I am even more grateful than I realized.'

Brusi's offer was certainly better than his father's had been, and much more appealing than Senora Collel's lascivious hints. The oak tree had fallen. Josep had escaped from his father's shadow and was starting to flourish already.

He was not alone — unexpected death had given the whole band new life, a sense of comradeship. The men had shared in the digging, laying Salvador Brusi to rest by the roadside in an unmarked grave. Toby had put Hamish in charge of reloading the pack animals, and when he called a halt and announced that everything remaining must be left where it was or manhandled, there had not been one word of protest, even from Manuel and Rafael. Now everyone was chattering excitedly to everyone else. Long might it last!

* * *

They did not go far that day, for they came upon a deserted casa. The unroofed walls still enclosed a courtyard that would hold both people and horses and could be defended if necessary. Toby proposed that they spend the night there, although the hour was not far past noon. The don frowned and then conceded that some of the auxiliaries might need time to reorganize.

They built a fire and feasted together on horseflesh, tough, stringy, and delicious. Toby could not recall the last time he had eaten roast meat and tried not to recall the last time he had smelled it, in the orange grove. The ensuing luxury of just relaxing for a few hours was almost as welcome as the feast — his suggestion of a break from travel had been a good one for both people and horses. He had pickets to think about, of course, and he must insist on some more lessons in using quarterstaffs… later.

In the lazy heat of late afternoon, he had two curious conversations.

The first was when he was summoned by the don, who was sitting on a sawhorse stripped to his shirt so his squire could shave him.

'Captain,' he announced grandly, 'I have decided to appoint you campeador of Nunez y Pardo. Henceforth you will receive a one-twentieth share of the rewards. You may divide this with your own men or not, as you please.'

Toby thought he might feel very honored if he knew what a campeador was. He exchanged astonished glances with Dona Francisca, expressed humble thanks, and said, 'What rewards, senor?'

Mild surprise. 'Plunder from the cities we sack, of course. And ransoms, when we grant quarter to persons of quality.'

'The hidalgo is most generous.'

'Not at all. You and your minions fought with distinction today.' Don Roman shrugged, which almost caused his mother to cut his throat. 'The musketry was perhaps not up to my usual standards. See that it improves.'

'Yes, senor.' Was that madness in the blue eyes or mockery?

'I have also,' the don continued, 'been considering our future campaigns when the Barcelona operation is completed. You are an Englishman?'

'According to the English I am, senor. In Scotland we disagree on the matter.'

'But you do speak English?'

What Toby called English the English called Scots, but the don was not waiting to know that. 'Little better than I speak Castilian, senor.'

'That bad? But you are not a supporter of King Nevil?' The copper eyebrows rose inquiringly. Behind his shoulder, Dona Francisca was gaping. Whatever her son had in mind had not been shared with her.

'No, senor. I despise him and detest him.'

'Ah.' That was apparently welcome news. 'But Barcelona is his.'