Of Sword and Shadow, page 13
I couldn’t stay in the stables anymore, not with Gil sitting there, still looking heartbroken. I’d been given the gift of friendship, but I didn’t know how to be a good friend. “I’m sorry, Gil.”
I rushed for the door, but he called to me. “Stay, Eudocia. Please? A little longer. You don’t need to help load anything. Just keep me company.”
I wanted to leave, but I also wanted to stay. Leaving would cause Gil more hurt, and I didn’t want that, so I nodded.
Gil went to work then, putting the barrel in the cart.
“Is it heavy?”
He smiled, a real smile, like the ones he’d had for me at de Ardoino’s banquet and on our morning walks. “Not as heavy as it would be if it were full of cod or whale oil.”
“What’s inside?”
“Crossbow bolts.”
“Do you expect a battle tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Not with Ballester. But Juan de Urtubia taught me to be prepared. Sebastie too.”
I watched him load another barrel. “De Urtubia trusts you a great deal. You’re not very old to be put in charge of something like this.”
“I’m not in charge.”
“Perhaps not, but much of our task depends on you.” Don Oliverio didn’t plan to accompany us tomorrow. It would be Gil, Thomas, Andreas, and me. Rasheed couldn’t blend in because of his skin, and Sebastie couldn’t either because he didn’t speak the right languages, not clearly enough to avert suspicion. Rasheed and Sebastie would be close, in case they were needed, but all of us would follow Gil’s instructions.
He lugged a few amphorae into the back of the cart. “Goes back to Durazzo, I suppose. When we had free time, I usually went to confession. The other men would get drunk or visit the brothels.”
I eyed Gil’s muscular arms and handsome face. I doubted he’d have trouble finding a woman. Or maybe he already had a woman, and that was why he avoided the brothels. “Are you betrothed to someone? Or married?”
“No.”
“Do Basques marry late?”
He shook his head. “Back home, I probably would have married someone years ago. My sister was seventeen when she married. That’s how old I was when I left.”
“Do you like women?”
He chuckled. “A great deal. Of all God’s creations, women are the most beautiful. But I made a lot of promises to God when I was floating in the Basque Sea. And I always keep my word.”
I smiled, amused because Thomas was completely wrong about Gil. He wasn’t a mercenary who would promise anything in order to bed a woman. Far from it. “Did you take a vow of celibacy?”
“No. But after I was rescued, I had a chat with the village priest. I’d promised to serve God while I was out on the water, but I didn’t know how, and I didn’t think I’d make a good priest—neither did the priest. I couldn’t read back then, and I do like women, especially the pretty ones.” He reached for a rope hanging on the wall behind me and let his eyes linger on my face. “We settled on three specific promises: To remain celibate until marriage. To never hurt the innocent but do what I could to protect them. And to pray daily.”
Gil had faced setbacks: the shipwreck, his time in Durazzo, the poison that had almost killed him. Probably other hard times too. Yet, he had his freedom. Freedom to make and keep promises. Freedom to start over in a new place. Freedom to befriend whomever he wished. I envied him.
Almost as if he were reading my mind, Gil asked, “If Thomas won’t grant you your freedom, would he at least be willing to let someone buy it for you?”
I straightened the coils of the rope he’d just placed in the cart. “After I stole the documents from de Folgueres, we had another job. It didn’t go well, and Andreas suggested they sell me to a man who finds women for the fleshpots. Thomas said there were plenty of pretty faces with young bodies, but not so many people who can blend in almost anywhere and take almost anything. He’s spent years training me, turning me into his ideal tool. I don’t see him letting me go, not if he doesn’t have to.”
Gil’s lips pulled into a stern line. “Has he used you before—in that way? For your pretty face and young body?”
“No. I’ve never seduced anyone. And I’ve never killed anyone. But I’ve done just about everything else. Your village priest wouldn’t approve of me, I don’t think.”
“I think my village priest would hold far more condemnation for the man who’s kept you in slavery all these years. Slavery is rare where I come from, and I’m glad. It’s not right. Will you at least be free when he dies?”
“Andreas will inherit me. He might sell me—he’s more interested in immediate profit than he is in keeping a useful tool. But he won’t free me, not while I can work or while he can profit from my sale. Perhaps if I reach a very old age and become a burden and lose my value in the market, then he might let me go so he doesn’t have to feed me. But I don’t expect to reach a very old age.”
Gil walked around the stable, looking in every stall and behind every pithos, I supposed to ensure we were alone. He returned to where I stood and whispered, “When this is over and my job in Thebes is finished, I can help you escape.” His hand clasped my shoulder, and his eyes were sincere. I couldn’t help comparing his touch with Thomas’s. Both had held the same arm, but Thomas had meant it as a threat, and Gil’s felt like a caress.
“Why would you help me?”
“Because it is the right thing to do.”
“It’s dangerous, Gil.”
He nodded. “I know, but I’ll find a way to keep you safe. A way to get you beyond his reach.”
“It’s not just dangerous for me. It’s dangerous for you. Thomas made threats earlier today. A slave is not allowed to give her loyalty or her affection to anyone without permission. And I don’t have permission to be your friend, no matter how much I want to be.” I held his gaze, making sure he understood. I already trusted and admired Gil, and because of that, I’d already put him at risk. “Thomas will kill to keep my loyalty. He could poison you, Gil.”
“Then I’ll get more antidote from the archbishop.”
“Not all poisons have antidotes. And Thomas has a long memory. He never forgets, and he never forgives.”
Gil took my hand and held it. “I’m willing to risk it. Will you let me help you?”
I believed him, and I wanted my freedom. If he thought it was worth the risk, then so did I. “Yes.”
Chapter Eighteen
“It won’t work.” Thomas glowered at Gil. “You don’t look anything like siblings. You’re far too tall, and your face is all angles. Hers is all curves.”
Gil scowled back. “They aren’t going to pay attention to me. They’re going to be looking at her.”
We were a mile from Bernardo Ballester’s largest estate. We’d left the cart among a growth of olive trees with Rasheed and Sebastie, and the rest of us were reviewing our plan. Gil and I were to be Don Philip and Donya Isabella de Vasquez, brother and sister, newly arrived from Catalonia and seeking an introduction to Ballester. That was what we’d planned, but now, Thomas preferred it to be a father-daughter pair.
“Most of the men will pay more attention to her, but you won’t be ignored. And your Catalan lacks a certain refinement. No doubt that’s why someone tried to poison you at de Ardoino’s villa. They recognized you as a fraud.”
Gil had seemed Catalan to me, but I didn’t have as much experience as Thomas. No matter how much I wanted to be free of Thomas, I couldn’t deny his abilities. He was dangerous precisely because he knew so much.
A hint of doubt crossed Gil’s face. I hated that Thomas was making Gil doubt himself, but what if Thomas was right?
Gil glanced at me but seemed to know he couldn’t ask me to disagree with Thomas. He halted his horse and dismounted. Then he took out the letters of introduction we had. They were forgeries, and though I hadn’t been told who wrote them, I suspected they were from the archbishop. Don Oliverio’s scribe didn’t have as neat a hand.
Gil put the papers away. “The letters don’t specify whether Philip is Isabella’s father or brother, but what about clothes?”
Thomas dismounted and grabbed at Gil’s scarlet houppelande. “Switch this for a tunica and add a little dust to your boots. You’ll fit in well enough as my steward. We’ll switch hats and cloaks. I’ve a finer doublet in the cart. The girl can go back to fetch it.”
We’d brought extra clothing in case we needed to change our appearance, but a change so near the villa made me nervous. We’d kept our strategy flexible, not knowing exactly what situation we’d find ourselves in, but Thomas had always taught me to stick with the plan as much as possible. He seemed to have forgotten his own advice during the last fortnight. Revenge against de Ardoino had made him sloppy once. Would animosity toward Gil do the same thing? But if I said something, Thomas would question Gil’s influence over me, and that might make him even more stubborn.
We all watched Gil, waiting for him to agree or disagree with Thomas. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. You shall be Don Philip de Vasquez. Andreas and I will be your servants.”
Gil rode back to the others to get the needed clothing from the trunk, and then Thomas and Gil exchanged a few of their garments. Gil was far taller than Thomas, and Thomas’s stomach bulged, but by the time Gil had reluctantly handed over his sword and hat, the change was convincing.
Gil climbed onto Thomas’s old mare, and Thomas mounted Gil’s stallion. The horse whinnied and sidestepped, unhappy about the change in rider.
Thomas nudged Gil’s horse forward. “Come, Donya Isabella.”
I swallowed back my nervousness and followed. This wasn’t so different from any other job. Thomas and I were pretending to be people we weren’t, and we were seeking information—possibly a young man too. But the last time we’d challenged a Catalan warrior, we’d failed, and that failure still sat sharply with me. I willed myself not to look back at Gil. Did he approve of the change, and was the change wise? I didn’t know. I only worried.
As we approached the villa’s gate, I reminded myself that I was Donya Isabella de Vasquez. I possessed charm and confidence. I could wheedle information from a man with a smile, and I was accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed. I’d been born to power, as much as a woman could be.
I struggled to feel like Donya Isabella, but I knew I looked like her. I wore a rich Catalan-style gown, and a gossamer veil covered my neck and my hair, which was woven into two braids, wrapped in ribbon, and fastened to either side of my head. A silver brooch from Donya Magdalena completed the illusion.
When we rode through the gate, I let Thomas handle the speaking. He was good at it, and no one would expect a daughter to take the lead. Donya Isabella de Vasquez was of marriageable age and had a significant dowry. I adopted my most haughty demeanor and looked with contempt at the servants in the courtyard, including Andreas and Gil.
Gil dismounted and walked to my side to help me down. I had trouble holding my stern look when he lifted me from the horse and set me down gently, only a handspan away from him. Isabella was looking at a servant, nothing more, not at an attractive and generous friend. Isabella wouldn’t feel as if songbirds were singing and wouldn’t notice the way warmth from Gil’s hands seemed to seep all the way into her heart.
It would have been easier to keep my cover had Andreas helped me dismount. The contempt there wouldn’t have to be played at.
“Come, Isabella.” Thomas held out an arm, and I placed my hand on his wrist.
This was the trickiest part of the plan: getting in and being welcomed. We had no invitation. It wasn’t unheard of for one rich man to approach another rich man about a marriage of their dependents, but most people made discreet inquiries before bringing along their daughter. Everyone had assured me that Ballester would simply assume Don Philip de Vasquez knew Donya Isabella was pretty enough to be tempting. Along with a hefty dowry, it was an irresistible match.
The villa reminded me of de Ardoino’s. It was part palace, part fortress, with a tower at the gate and Catalan men-at-arms and Turkish mercenaries going in and out of the stables and the barracks. The original architecture was Greek, but Ballester had made it Catalan with the gold and red colors of the Duchy. Crenellations topped the walls and narrow arrow slits broke up the otherwise solid stone of the tower.
The steward led us to the main hall, a large room with a giant hearth at one end and a throne-like chair on a dais at the other. We waited. I sat on one of the cushioned benches because that was what a noble lady would do, but I stood when our host entered through the large, wooden double doors.
Don Bernardo Ballester was tall—almost as tall as Gil. And he looked like a formidable warrior, even when wearing a long houppelande with bell-shaped sleeves instead of mail armor. He handed our letters to a servant, who took them and left the hall, leaving me with the suspicion that Ballester didn’t read.
“You seek a marriage for your daughter?” Ballester asked.
Thomas nodded, bowing slightly. “I heard your ward was of marriageable age.”
Ballester motioned to another servant. “Escort Donya Isabella to Donya Eleanor and the other ladies.”
I followed the servant down a corridor and up a flight of stairs to another room, where a woman in fine clothing sat, surrounded by other women in clothing not quite as fine, all of them embroidering or carding wool.
The servant announced me. “Donya Isabella de Vasquez.”
I gave a curtsy that would have made Don Oliverio proud. If only he’d had a daughter. Then I could have pretended to be her, and we wouldn’t be so worried about what would happen when Ballester realized no one had ever heard of the de Vasquez family. But maybe it was for the best. Don Oliverio Domingo didn’t want his involvement known.
“A pleasure to meet you, Donya Isabella.” The woman’s gown had velvet trim, and she wore her belt high to give the appearance of a fashionably rounded belly.
“Are you Donya Eleanor?”
“I am.” She smiled, but there was little warmth in the expression. She was beautiful, and significantly younger than her husband. Perhaps she saw a young woman like Donya Isabella as a rival. The other women she surrounded herself with were plain or aged.
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” I curtsied again, wondering if I could win her over or if pride in her beauty would prevent friendship with a younger woman dressed in finery equal to her own. But Donya Eleanor didn’t have to like Donya Isabella. She just had to talk to her.
“You may have a seat.” Donya Eleanor motioned with her fingers, and one of the ladies beside her moved and offered me her chair.
I didn’t want to take it, but Donya Isabella would have no such qualms. She’d expect that type of treatment.
“Tell me, Donya Isabella, what is the purpose of your visit?” Donya Eleanor still looked at me with scorn, but I ignored it. She was giving me an opening.
“My father is trying to marry me off. My uncle inherited the family estates in Catalonia when my grandfather died, so my father is determined to make a name for himself in the Duchy.” I gave an airy breath and made a helpless motion with my hand. “We heard Don Francisco de Lenda was your ward.”
“He is our ward.”
“Ah, then that is why my father wished to speak with Don Bernardo. He heard de Lenda is heir to significant properties and is in need of a bride.”
Donya Eleanor nodded, but her lips pinched. Perhaps she didn’t like the reminder that de Lenda owned his properties, not her or her husband. “Yes, his father was a wealthy man.”
I attempted wistfulness. “My father is looking into several possibilities. He cares most about the land, but I am more concerned with the groom. What sort of man is Don Francisco de Lenda?”
Donya Eleanor raised an eyebrow in what I took to be annoyance. “He’s more boy than man.”
“But is he tall? Is he kind, or does he have a temper? And what sort of face does he have?”
She chuckled softly to herself. “What questions. We are raising him to be a noble in fact and in action. He’s a fine horseman. And I wouldn’t worry about a temper from that one.”
I leaned forward, as if conspiring with her. She didn’t like me, but she didn’t know I knew that. “May I see him? I don’t even need to speak with him, but I very much wish to know what he looks like.”
Donya Eleanor chuckled again, louder this time, and I got the impression that maybe she didn’t hate me quite so much as she had a few moments before. “I remember my father arranging my marriage and my wanting the same thing—a glimpse of the groom. I’ve learned that there are far more important things in a marriage than how pleasant a husband’s face is.” She smiled at me—a smile full of memory. “But I remember how important it seemed at the time. Don Francisco isn’t here, I’m afraid. He’s in Thebes, at the home where I grew up.”
That was one of the smaller Ballester properties, but I could picture exactly where it lay inside the Cadmea, not far from the Proitides Gates, near the destroyed theater. That little piece of knowledge was what we’d come for. The rest of our mission lay not here but inside Thebes.
“Did you want to marry Don Bernardo?” Most women had plenty to say about their husbands, and I wanted Donya Eleanor to remember more from our conversation than that I’d asked about de Lenda.
She kept her eyes on her embroidery. “My parents believed it was a good match, and I trusted them. He’s older than me—it felt a great deal older when I was a bride—but we’ve come to have the same goals.”
“You’re happy, then?”
She paused in her embroidery but only for a moment. “I am comfortable and secure. And our son will have a promising inheritance.”
