Episode #317

Part Three of Five

1820, Santa Elena

"I still do not understand why Colonel Montoya saved your life," Marta says later, as we sit eating dinner in the kitchen. "It does not seem to be in his nature."

I shrug. "I'm afraid that I'm the wrong man to ask about that."

Tessa shakes her head. "I will never understand that man."

"That, love, makes two of us." I'm relieved that Marta did all the cooking, for Tessa is certainly no cook. Tessa asked me if I wanted to eat in her dining room, but I declined. I've visited the Alvarado hacienda enough over the years that her good silver would be tarnished if she pulled it out every time she fed me. No doubt Simon Borges would be shocked to find me back here. That is likely why I am sitting here eating tortillas and drinking wine with the woman he professed to love passionately a month ago and he is marrying Lola. I don't need to speculate which man is getting the better deal.

"You should not underestimate this Malsano," Marta says. "Yes, you have been here many years, but in some ways, you will always be an outsider. He could still create trouble for you, especially if the man who is with him has any information about you."

I sip my coffee, to mask my surprise. "What man?"

"Ana, one of the maids from the Borges' ranch, told me that she has seen a man speaking with Malsano outside the hacienda."

"What did he look like?" Pirenne. Has to be. Hell, it had better be.

"I did not see him, of course, but Ana said he was a big man, bearded. She said that they were whispering together about Gaspar Hidalgo and some sort of plan, but when she reported it to Don Borges, he told her to mind her own business."

A plan. There was always a plan with Pirenne. Who am I kidding? There was always a plan with me. Why should I expect him to be different? At least now, I know he exists, and isn't some phantom from my fall at Christmas. "His name is Pirenne. I knew him in the War."

Tessa and Marta are both staring at me. "Is he dangerous?" Tessa asks.

"That depends on what your definition of 'dangerous' is." And what he has in mind for Gaspar, or me. Could he be behind those rumors that Malsano is spreading? Are they even true, then? And why would Pirenne want to smear Gaspar's reputation? I finish my wine--both women are still staring at me. "All right." I put up my hands in surrender. "I don't know if he is or not. I've seen him and spoken with him since he came here and he seems harmless enough." I really hate the way both of them can share an expression--in this, case, skepticism. "He warned me about Malsano. Whatever he has up his sleeve, I doubt it involves letting Malsano get me hanged."

"We really need to talk more about this tendency of yours to keep important things to yourself, Roberto," Tessa says. I don't think she is reassured by my blurred recommendation of Pirenne's character. Neither am I, when it comes down to it. "Why are you being so casual about this man? What is he to you?"

I sigh, letting my shoulders slump. "Well, for starters, he saved my life in Spain...."

1813, Catalonia

"Arrêtez!" Another French patrol. At this rate, we will never get there. After the first two, Ramon got out of the back and rode up front with the farmer. The wagon slows. I can feel the reluctance of the farmer in the way he stops his cart. He does not like the French.

When they ask him for papers, he grunts and mutters in Catalan. I suppose he must hand them over, but of course, I can't see, being still under the sack and among the bundles. The girl wraps her arms around me and huddles against my chest. Absently, I stroke her hair, wondering what I should do if she panicks. Smothering wouldn't work--she'd struggle and kick and that would draw the guards. Snap her neck, maybe. And yet, it's a distant prospect. I don't think she'll scream at all, not while she has me. If I die, Ramon may have trouble with her, but if that happens, I won't care anymore.

I hear footsteps approaching the wagon, and voices--Ramon's and the sentry's. They circle the wagon, poking at it. Fortunately, I am so ill that I scarcely react, until the sentry starts to lift the blanket. Even sick as I am, that jolts me out of my fever haze.

"Non," says Ramon.

"Lêves-ça maintenant!" the soldier insists.

"Non! Ne faîtes-pas ça!" I hear a rifle being cocked and lift my head, even though I am too weak to fight and cannot see a thing through the cloth. Nor would it do me any good if I tried. They are armed, I'm not. Ramon insisted we leave the rifle behind. Or should I say, he took the rifle away while I was asleep and told me we were better off without it once I woke up. I cursed him, but the headache and fever sapped my strength too much for me to do it very long.

Ramon goes off into rapid-fire French, very good French, in fact, for even a noble. He overrides all of the sentry's objections. I'm too tired to follow much, but I keep hearing a reference to "vos papiers" from the sentry. They both fall silent and there is a rustling, as of someone opening an old and faded note. Ramon and the sentry go off, away from the wagon, so that I cannot hear them as well, but I do hear the sentry exclaim, "Bien sûr!" at one point, in a voice of astonishment.

"Ça va?" Ramon asks him, in a quiet voice that I am sure I was not meant to hear.

"Mais bien sûr!" the sentry says again. I can almost hear him scratching his head and shrugging. "Alors, ça va. Allez." He raises his voice, "Jean!"

"Oui!" comes a voice from ahead of the horse.

"Laissez-eux passer!" the sentry calls to his comrade. So, they are going to let us pass. Ramon must indeed be very persuasive. I shall have to remember that. I have been too sick to think about it before, but I'm remembering that I never found out who betrayed me back in the village. Now, I think I know who it was. What a clever bastard you are, Ramon. Too clever for your own good.

The wagon creaks as Ramon climbs back on it. "Val?" the driver asks in Catalan, sounding suspicious.

"Si," Ramon replies. "It's fine. Let's go." The wagon starts up and we continue down the road. I relax again, but I'm thinking. I'm not so sick that I am going to just let Ramon turn me in. I reckon he saved me from those soldiers because he has plans to turn me in to someone higher up--or maybe he's just ambitious enough to try to tag along all the way back behind our lines. He's got collonades, I will give him that, if he thinks he can win through that plan. But even now, I'm too tired to do more than lie still and think about it. I drift in and out, the girl beside me, just wanting the journey to be over.

The light through the sacking over our heads fades eventually. When it gets well dark, the wagon slows and stops. I wake up, confused, and almost try to crawl out of the wagon on my own. Then, I remember where I am and sink back. The girl is awake, shivering. I hear Ramon and the driver get off. They come round the back to pull the sacks off of us. I lie still, my eyes closed, as if in a stupor. Ramon reaches in and shakes me. "Bernat, wake up." I don't stir at first, even though his shaking makes my bones ache. "Bernat. Can you get up?" I groan and stir, as though I can scarcely hear him. I mutter some nonsense, just to make it look worse for me.

"We'd better carry him," the farmer says in Catalan.

"Si, he's nearly done in," Ramon agrees. "Let's get the girl out and you can help me." I stay limp as the girl scrambles out of the wagon and they reach in to pull me out by my feet. I can't help but wince, though that does my ruse no harm. The more weakness I show, the better.

"Why take so much trouble?" the farmer says as they lift me out of the wagon and pull me to my feet. "He will be dead by the end of the week."

"No, he won't." Ramon doesn't sound angry with the farmer, just stubborn. "He will survive. I said I would get him to Tarragona and that is what I will do." Good boy, Ramon. Maybe I won't kill you after all.

I open my eyes as I stumble along with them as best I can. We are going into a house--it's small and crude, but at least this one has a door. The night air is quickly growing cold, making me really suffer with my fever. Once inside, they bring me over to a bed where the girl is already making up bedding. Gently, they lay me onto it. Ramon brings in a blanket from the wagon and lays it over me while the girl crawls into bed with me again. She pats me on the cheek. "Don't worry, Papa. Everything will be fine." Her voice is light and almost happy. Again, I wonder what would happen with her if I died. I reckon she'd survive, but how well...that is the question. I cannot believe this. Am I actually beginning to care what happens to her?

For all my cunning at lying low, the truth is that I have little more strength or wits about me than I have been showing until now. Though I try to stay awake and watch Ramon, I soon doze and then slide headlong into feverish nightmares. And so, I pass the night.

Act Three

1820, Santa Elena

Pirenne is lying in wait for me when I ride into town the next morning. He steps out of the bushes when I descend into a gully about a half-mile out of town. I rein up as he approaches, uncomfortably aware that my policy of no longer carrying weapons could get me killed. I would not put it past Pirenne to engage me in conversation, just to shoot me out of the saddle.

Except...I have never seen him be that way, never seen him with a pistol or a sword in his hand, though I know he must have used both in his time. I was the killer when last we met. If he and Malsano push me too far, I may yet be the killer again.

"You're up early," I say in French, as he stops a few feet away. The sun has only been up an hour, and the morning dew is fast burning off. But the shade of the olive tree overhanging the road is still wet and cool, like the fall nights in Catalonia. Our conversation will be private enough until someone comes over the hill on either side.

He squints up at me, head cocked to one side. "You've changed."

"It's been seven years." Equus shifts under me, sensing my unease, or perhaps just being contrary. "This is a brave new world. I would be worried if you thought I hadn't."

"So would I." He puts his hands on his hips. "Perhaps it was the girl that did it. What happened to her, by the way? You never told me."

I ignore the question. "If you have something to say to me, you'd better say it now, before anyone comes along to interrupt us." I am damned if I am going to help this man bring down Gaspar Hidalgo, no matter what I owed him in Spain.

"We are all business today, non? Very well. Don Pedro Malsano has decided to force your Colonel Montoya's hand and accuse you formally of murder."

"You're a bit late with that information," I say coldly. Equus tries to graze and when I won't let him, shakes his head and chomps on the bit. If he doesn't watch it, I shall kick him in the head again. It's worked before. "He tried that yesterday."

"He has more backers, this time." Pirenne smiles, but it is not a warm expression. "I believe that if he cannot shame Montoya into at least arresting you, he will challenge you to a duel then and there. You could refuse, of course." He shrugs. "But it would almost certainly hurt your reputation, and your chances of ever marrying that pretty señorita of yours. And if you kill him, then most likely you would hang." A familiar chill runs through me, as if I have caught swamp fever after all, and I shiver. Pirenne sees this and nods. "Yes. You see now. He can hurt you even if the law will not listen to him."

"Why are you telling me this?" I say, yanking Equus' head up so that the horse dances under me. "Are you expecting me to run?"

"Well, you have not changed so much after all, have you, Bernat?" Pirenne shakes his head, somber again. "No, I do not advise you to run. I come to you with information, only. Did you know, for example, that the Conde and Condesa's elder son drank absinthe?"

"Absinthe?" The little voice that has been chattering at the back of my skull about not trusting this man falls silent. I lean forward, almost unbalancing myself in the saddle. "Did he eat arsenic, too?"

Pirenne spreads his hands. "His younger brother, our illustrious young Don Malsano, did not know about that, but I suspect so, yes. It would tie in with the absinthe, certainly."

I swear in English, inadvertently kicking Equus so that he shies. After I get him settled, I notice that Pirenne is watching me. "Absinthe. I didn't know that. I don't know if it would have made a difference in Cadíz, but still, I wish I'd known." I give Pirenne a hard look, considering the information he's just given me. "Why are you telling me this? And while we're on the subject, why are you spreading rumors about Don Hidalgo?"

Pirenne chuckles. "These are noblemen we are dealing with, mon ami anglais. It is all about honor and reputation, remember?"

I sit up in the saddle. "Yes, Roger. You are absolutely right. That is what it's all about, isn't it?" Honor and reputation. I think it's time to get my own back.

Continue to Part Four