'I am only a landless freeman, senor. I cannot depose the master of half of Europe. Affairs of kings are not mine to question.' The Earl of Argyll would not concede that he was even a freeman.
'Hmm. Nevil's viceroy rules in Barcelona, the notorious Oreste.' The don stared away at the bright courtyard and the blue sky overhead. 'My own position is problematic. My estates lie in that part of La Mancha that King Pedro was forced to cede to the rebels. It would seem that my fealty now lies with King Nevil.'
Toby exchanged more puzzled glances with Dona Francisca.
'I cannot presume to advise the honored
The young man chuckled as if that were a ludicrous suggestion. He continued to study the skies, perhaps watching the lonely kites that had been passing overhead ever since the massacre. 'Of course not. But tell me,
'You flatter me, senor.'
'And you must have a rudimentary concept of ethical principles.'
'I hope I do.'
'Have you ever contemplated the possibility of striking a great blow for righteousness?' The mad gaze turned back to Toby. 'Of making some demonstration of your, um, manhood, that would make your life remembered, even at the cost of making it short? Of offering yourself as a sacrifice to a noble cause, in other words?'
Could even Don Ramon imagine that he stood a chance against a paramount hexer like Oreste, with his demonic bodyguards? A bloody head rolled across the boards of the scaffold…
Toby took a moment to rein in stampeding thoughts. 'If the cause were great enough and the chances of success reasonable, then any man should see it as his duty, senor.'
The don sneered and turned his head away, almost losing an ear to the razor. 'Reasonable? What sort of quibble is that?
Toby was very glad to go. The don was not merely mad, he was dangerously mad.
And so, perhaps, were certain others in the party. Hamish had been babbling strange nonsense about Gracia's injuries and recovery. Gracia herself had apparently accepted Don Ramon's view of the world, because she now spoke breathlessly of his vast estates and the high honor in which his friend the king held him — which confirmed that the noble lord's honor was distressingly malleable where women were concerned.
And then there was Brother Bernat.
It was time for a serious talk with Brother Bernat.
Toby found him in a shaded corner behind a shed, sitting on the ground with his back turned, so that only his pink scalp with its downy fringe was visible — that and the gray cowl covering his narrow shoulders. In front of him lay a block of building stone like a low table, with Pepita on the far side of it, facing Toby but too engrossed to notice him. They were both very intent on something. It could only be some sort of child's game, yet their concentration was so intense that he hesitated to interrupt.
Then he saw that the girl rested her hand on the stone with a crumb held in her tiny fingers. The minute brown speck creeping toward it over the gray stone was a mouse. Or perhaps it was a vole or a dormouse or something exclusively Spanish. It looked like a mouse, but it was displaying unmouselike courage, inching forward, nose and tail twitching. Toby, too, held his breath.
The mouse came to a halt and stretched out like dough until its nose could inspect the crumb. Satisfied, it took a few more steps, and gently lifted the crumb from the child's fingertips, then sat up on its haunches to nibble at it. With agonizing slowness, she slid a finger around and stroked its back. Toby stared in disbelief.
The spell broke. Mouse and crumb flashed away and were gone. An immense grin split Pepita's little elfin face from side to side. Her tiny fists clenched with glee and drummed on the stone. It had certainly been a remarkable trick.
'I did it!' she whispered excitedly.
'You did indeed,' answered the old friar. 'Very well done!'
She looked up and gasped in dismay. Fear! Guilt!
'It is only Captain Tobias,' Brother Bernat said without turning. 'He can be trusted.'
Toby stepped forward and sat down at the end of the big stone. He stared into those strangely clear eyes, dark agates in a face of ancient marble. 'And how did you know it was me, Brother?'
'I knew you would be at the corner, and I could see the angle of her head. No one else is so tall.'
An unlikely explanation. There was much secret amusement in the old man's smile, but Pepita was staring anxiously at the big stranger.
He said, 'I should like to have a word with you if I may.'
'Have as many as you wish, my son. Don't mind Pepita. She doesn't gossip either.' His voice was as soft as gossamer.
'Some do.' Toby cursed himself as soon as he said the words.
A twinge of sorrow flashed over Bernat's face. 'Whatever the senora said about me, she does not understand the truth of the situation.' He had been put on the defensive, though, and that was disturbing.
But Toby was feeling defensive, also. To hint at gossip was even worse than repeating it.
'I put no stock in her babbling. What brings me is something that Hamish… Jaume, that is… Jaume insists that Senora de Gomez was seriously hurt when she fell from her horse today. This is not surprising, considering how high those seats are. He says she was unconscious, her face was flushed, her eyes were open and the pupils dilated. Her breath was harsh and irregular, her pulse very slow. He says these symptoms exactly match some that he once read about, so he knew she was very likely to die and he could nothing for her. He went to assist Senora Collel and found that she had escaped with a twisted ankle. The next time he looked at Senora de Gomez, you were helping to her feet. She was a little shaken but not badly hurt.'
Brother Bernat smiled again. How could anyone so old endure these long marches, these hardships, the alarms of today's battle, all without at least looking tired? But he never looked tired. He never ran around like a puppy either, but he was no fresher in the mornings than he was at night. And he rarely bore any expression other than a tolerant smile. He made Toby feel like an obstreperous, bad-mannered child.
'Sergeant Jaume must have made an error, you mean? This disturbs you. Is he prone to errors?' The smile widened, displaying very white teeth — apparently a complete set, too.
'He is not prone to errors. I am disinclined to believe he made one today.'
The friar looked at Pepita, who returned his smile hesitantly. When he spoke, though, he was plainly addressing Toby.
'And you decided it was time for a serious chat with the old man?'
Suppressing a bad-mannered, obstreperous desire to growl, Toby said, 'Yes I did, Brother.'
Brother Bernat turned to him again, but this time he was not smiling. 'I am sorry if my manners annoy you, my son. I have had them so long that they are hard to change, but I know that I tend to counter questions with other questions. I have wandered the world a long time, and it is a dangerous place. One learns discretion or one stops wandering.'
'I have no wish to pry!' That was a lie.
'You have a right to pry, because the security of all of us rests on your judgment. I think I can help you with your problem, Tobias.'
Toby flinched. '
The smile crept back, but there was no mirth in it. An attempt at reassurance, perhaps. Sympathy, possibly. 'I have no problem except my manners. But you do. You ask questions, I answer with other questions, and you don't answer at all, which is your right. But it gets us nowhere. I think I can help you, but only if you will tell me the whole story. Everything.' There was Toledo steel inside that cobwebby exterior.
'I—'
'You are not ready to do that, so it will have to wait. But don't wait too long, please. The sands will run out quickly once they start to go.' He lifted a pale and slender hand to indicate he had not finished. His eyes bore their disturbing stare again, as if he were looking inside Toby's head. 'Just answer me one thing, my son. How long has it been?'
