Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
‘Think, Jesse, think, he commanded himself as he swallowed the panic that rose in his throat like bile. He stared at the food another moment, then turned around to see Harper right behind him.
"Captain, I can kill him in a second," the private whispered.
"No," Jesse whispered back, putting out his hand. "We don't know where Elinore is. Let me try this." He took a deep breath. Forcing himself to smile, he walked back to his host, who stood by the nearest table. "Count, your hospitality is nearly overwhelming, but I think the food has been on the table a few days too long."
The count shook his head, as though admonishing a fractious child. "Captain, I had no idea the British army was so particular! Last summer some of Marshal Marmont's troops stopped here, and they were much more accommodating."
I wonder under what stones you have buried them, Jesse thought, not daring to look at Harper, who was standing beside him now. "Actually, Count, we're so cold from marching in rain all day, that I was wondering—as a special favor to me—if you would bring us some soup instead. We can tackle this feast tomorrow night, eh?"
The count clapped his hands together. "What an excellent notion!" He put his hand on Jesse's arm, and Jesse tried not to stare at the length and color of his fingernails. "My wife would call me remiss." He clapped his hands until an antiquated servant shuffled into the dining hall. "Pablo, bring some soup and bread for this army."
Keep him talking, Jesse thought. "Your wife? When may we be graced with her presence, Count?"
"Alas, she is quite ill, and could never visit."
"Count, I am a surgeon," he reminded the man. "I would be pleased to tend to her. It is the least we can do to repay your magnificent hospitality." Top that, you old bastard, he told himself.
The count shook his head, "She is too ill even for you, I fear." He clacked yellow nails against yellow teeth, and Jesse shuddered. "That was why I was visiting that shabby excuse of a priest. I tell him she needs Extreme Unction, but he never listens."
"Last Rites? My God, Count, let me see her!" Jesse insisted. "Surely I can make her more comfortable."
"I doubt you can make her more comfortable," the count replied, laughing as though enjoying a huge joke. "You may see her in the morning. She will keep."
I am not even going to think about that last remark, Jesse told himself. "I would like to see her."
"Then I will oblige you," the count replied with a deep bow. "And now, I will see to your dinner. Please make yourselves comfortable until I return."
After the count left the room, humming to himself, they stared at each other. "We have wandered into a mess," Leger said at last.
"How right you are," Jesse replied. A mob of thoughts careened about inside his brain, like balls pinging around a billiard table. "I don't know what to do, but I do know this: we had better do everything in our power to stay together tonight."
"And tomorrow?"
"Who knows? I think we will have to act very quickly." He looked around. "I haven't seen many servants, and the ones we have seen are as old as he is."
"You don't need to be young to poison food," Leger observed. "Or fire a pistol."
"No, you don't," Jesse agreed. "Let us insist that the count join us for soup."
They waited silently, standing in a miserable little circle. Jesse ached to know where Elinore was, and if she was being well treated. What have I gotten us into, he asked himself.
"We'll find her tomorrow, Chief."
He looked up to see Harper regarding him with a look dangerously close to affection. He called me Chief, Jesse thought. My goodness. I had better prove myself worthy of that honorific.
Dinner turned out to be surprisingly normal. The count returned with a large bowl of barley stew. Jesse couldn't readily identify the meat, and warned himself not to think too long about Marshal Marmont's troopers of last summer. They all watched the count dip from the bowl, take a few bites, pronounce the stew good, and gesture to them to follow his example. No one needed further urging. The meat turned out to be sausage.
The count was the perfect host, content to pass the basket of crusty bread, and see that everyone had a generous slice of cheese to float on top of the soup. He mourned that such a common meal had to be served at any dinner hosted by an Almanzor, but these were difficult, perilous times. "I trust you will overlook my poor hospitality, Captain," he said, pushing away his empty bowl at last.
"On the contrary, Count, your food is excellent, and you are showing us every possible attention," he said. He thought a moment. What can I possibly lose by not venturing, he asked himself. "Count, considering these difficult times, I understand if you did not wish to trouble yourself with painting my wife. We can return some other time."
"It is no trouble to me, Captain, none at all!" the count replied. He looked around at them all, his eyes bright. "I wasn't planning to paint her myself, you see. Tonight I am going to address a letter to Se?or Francisco Goya in Madrid. He should have it in a few weeks, and if he has time in a month or so, he will be here to paint the se?ora."
Jesse stared at the count. "Perhaps you do not understand, Count, but we are probably being followed by the French, and must continue our retreat tomorrow.''
"You may leave her with me, Captain."
Never, he wanted to shout, then leap up and wring the man's scrawny neck. After a warning look at Harper and Wilkie, he forced himself to sit back in his chair. "I would miss her too much for that, Count. Perhaps you could make arrangements with Goya—I certainly appreciate that you have chosen him, of all painters—to come here in the spring when we return with Wellington's army."
The count shook his head sadly. "It cannot be, Captain. She has to remain here."
Jesse could think of nothing to say in the face of such calm assurance. From his medical school days, he knew that arguing with a lunatic was akin to attempting to reason with a two-year-old. "This is certainly an honor for the Randalls, Count," he said finally.
The Spaniard beamed at him. "I am so glad you agree!" He looked around. "On the whole, you are much easier to deal with than Marmont's soldiers. You never heard such complaint when I… Oh, never mind. It is time I showed you to your chambers."
Jesse didn't have to look at his soldiers to sense their alarm. "I have a request, Count. Please let us stay in the same room. We're rather used to each other by now."
"I wouldn't dream of it!" the count declared. "Soldiers and gentlemen together!" He touched Jesse's arm, and Jesse tried not to wince when he thought of those fingernails. "We have never been so egalitarian here in Spain, sir!"
"Then I insist that you quarter them in a room right next to Armand and me," Jesse said, trying to sound firm when his insides were in turmoil. "They are my men, and I am in charge of them."
Was that too much? Was it enough? he asked himself in agony as the count regarded him out of narrowed eyes. He returned the count's stare, his eyes not wavering, all the while wondering if staring at a madman was as provocative as staring at a strange dog. "I insist," he said, his voice quiet.
To his relief, the count removed his hand and lowered his eyes with a self-conscious laugh. "How silly! I will do as you say, because I love the English so well."
"Walk next to him, Armand," he whispered to the Frenchman. "I need a word with my men."
Without a blink or hesitation, Armand stood next to the count, bowed elaborately, and extended his arm. Jesse hung back, and Harper and Wilkie walked slowly beside him from the dining hall. "When you get in your room, barricade the door with anything you can find. You had better take turns standing guard. I'm going to try to see Elinore."
"What are you going to do, Chief?" Harper whispered.
"I have not a clue. Ah, Count, do tell us something about these wonderful pictures here in your gallery!"
They were wonderful: a Velázquez here, an El Greco there. If he wasn't mistaken, a Tintoretto and at least two Titians languished in a darker comer. He thought he recognized a Raphael carelessly leaning against another painting on the floor. "Count, these are magnificent," he said, and he meant it. "I will be honored to have my darling Elinore painted by Goya and displayed in your gallery."
The count beamed at him and blew him a kiss.
Here I go, Jesse thought. "Do let me look in on her tonight, Count. I'm sure she is enjoying the best of your hospitality, but I miss her lovely face."
"Of course, Captain," the count said promptly. Jesse could have dropped to his knees in relief. "But first let us quarter your men." He laughed, and Jesse felt his scalp tingle. "But we won't draw them, eh? Just quarter'um." He went off in a gale of laughter at his wit in English.
Jesse forced himself to laugh along. "Count, how clever you are with English!" He leaned closer, trying not to cringe as his head touched the count's. "You must be the wittiest man in Spain." And the most diabolical, he thought. Oh, Lord, take pity on stupid people tonight, please.
Both Harper and Wilkie were pale and subdued when they reached a door. The count opened it, and ushered the two men inside. Jesse could see a large bed, and a fire burning. He glanced at the barred windows, then looked away.
"Here you are, lads. Do have a pleasant night in your quarters," the count said. He fumbled with the keys at his belt, tried several, and then locked the door. Jesse looked at Leger. The Frenchman managed a small shrug.
"You and Se?or Leger will be here," the count said, indicating the room next door. They went inside, and Jesse noticed their medical satchels and other traveling kits lined against the wall. "You are treating us so well, Count," he said with a bow.
"Anything for my allies." The count gestured grandly around him. "The king of Portugal slept here in 1494 when he came to sign the Treaty of Tordesillas." He permitted himself a small giggle behind his hand. "I can assure you the sheets have been changed at least once or twice since then!"
Jesse laughed, and Leger joined in. "You have a magnificent wit," the Frenchman said. "Captain Randall, have you ever been so entertained?"
"Not within recent memory." He looked at the count with what he hoped was a pleasant but firm expression. "And now, Count, please take me to my wife."
"Indeed," Almanzor said promptly, as though responding to a cue. He locked Leger inside the room, and handed the lamp to Jesse, after dismissing the old servant.
He was silent then, and Jesse was grateful. He concentrated on each passageway, and every staircase, but with a sinking feeling found himself hopelessly confused. The castle was a labyrinth, probably built this way on purpose centuries ago to fuddle any warlord trying to conquer it. Well, I am fuddled, diddled and scotched, Hippocrates, he thought, as they traversed yet another corridor, climbed yet another set of stairs, narrower now, and obviously in an older part of the sprawling building.
He forced himself to be calm. The last staircase spiraled up inside a narrow tower. His confidence returned, because he knew he could find this structure again, provided he could get outside and walk the grounds. When the count, wheezing now, stopped at the only door and began the search for the key, he looked up and noticed a trapdoor that must lead to the roof.
The chamber was circular and small, and lit only by a fire in a brazier. He could barely make out Elinore in the gloom, sound asleep in a bed with heavy curtains drawn back. I have wandered into a fairy tale, he thought in amazement. Here we are, living in modern times, except for this castle in Spain. He went to the bed to see Elinore.
She stirred when he sat down beside her, but did not waken. He touched her hair, pleased to see that it was clean, and that she wore a simple nightgown. Beautiful lady, he thought, if I kiss you, will I break a spell, or make things worse? He kissed her cheek, then returned to the count. He bowed. "Count, you have taken such wonderful care of Elinore. Could I not stay with her tonight?"
"Alas, no," the count replied, shaking his head. He shook a finger at Jesse. "I think you are a naughty man. She doesn't wear a wedding ring. Why should I believe that she is your wife?"
"Surely she said so."
"Oh, yes, yes, but who can believe a woman?"
You can believe this one, he thought as he looked at Elinore. And trust her with everything you own. "She doesn't lie, Count," he said, unable to disguise the emotion in his voice. "I trust you will allow me to see her again in the morning."
"Possibly. Come, come! Wouldn't you hate to wake a sleeping princess?"
You, sir, are certifiable, he thought as he followed the count from the room, down the winding stairway, and into the first of several halls. He had nothing to say to the old man, and pointedly ignored his chatter. He tried to remember where he had come, but gave it up for a bad business when he finally realized that the count was returning him to his quarters by a different route.
"You shouldn't sulk," the count told him when he unlocked the door. "Good night," he called out. "What is it you English say, ‘Good night, sleep tight'?"
Disgusted with himself, Jesse leaned against the door. To his irritation, he looked toward the bed to see Armand Leger smiling at him. "I do not understand why you think any of this is amusing," he snapped.
"Captain, I've never seen you so down pin before." Startled, he looked closer into the gloom. "Private Harper?"
"At your service, Chief," Harper replied. His little army stepped from the shadows by the tapestry. "I never did find a lock I couldn't pick, sir."
Jesse laughed. "And I don't suppose you ever tried to avoid one, either, eh? Thank goodness for that." He looked around. "Where is Private Wilkie?"
"I expect him along any time now, sir. He followed you and that old rip."
Jesse found the nearest stool and sat on it. "I didn't hear a thing."
" 'Course not, sir," Harper replied, his expression slightly offended. "Wilkie is an expert."
Jesse shook his head. "And here I was certain you two were the most useless soldiers in the entire army. What could I have been thinking?"
Harper ducked his head modestly. "Gor, Chief, that's all right. We'll let it go." He inclined his ear toward the door. "Here 'e is now."
Jesse strained his ears. He heard nothing beyond a few scratching noises in the vicinity of the lock, and then Wilkie sidled through the barely open door. While Jesse stared in dumbfounded amazement, he closed it quietly, fiddled with the lock less than a minute, then smiled. "We're locked in again now." He nodded to Jesse. "Captain, I know right where she is."
"Amazing. Can you get her out in the morning?"
Wilkie shrugged. "Piece a'cake, one way or t'other. It's a different lock, an older one, but we'll get her out."
Harper grinned at his companion and clapped an arm around his shoulder. " 'E's not very humble, sir, but I like'um."
"You're both rascals and scoundrels and any self-respecting officer worthy of a king's commission would slap you in irons the moment you reach the lines at Torres Vedras," Jesse said, biting off each word. He paused and considered the matter for the last time. "Thank God that you had the stupidity to cast your lot with me, instead! Men, I am in your debt," he concluded simply. "What can I do now?"
Harper appeared to be considering the matter. "Begging your pardon, Chief, but all I want in future is for you to not go losing Mrs. Randall."
"Agreed. I promise not to let her out of my sight."
"Promise, sir?" Wilkie asked, grinning.
"Cross my heart, Private."
"That'll do then, Chief," Harper said generously. "Now I want you to get a good night's sleep. Wilkie and I have plans to extricate your wife."
"Uh, could I ask the nature of your strategy?"
Harper shook his head. Wilkie was already at the lock, opening it silently. "Best not to know, sir." He followed Wilkie through the door, then stuck his head back in. "All you got to know is that Wilkie is also an expert at diversion."
"I will be involved in her rescue, won't I?" Jesse asked. "I insist upon that."
Harper beamed at him. "Chief, you'll be the hero!" He lowered his voice. "I was nearly nabbed by parson's mouse-trap once. I know them women love a hero. 'Night, sir."
Jesse didn't know how he could sleep, but he did. When he woke, the sun was beginning to rise. He sat up in the bed and looked toward the window, where Leger sat, staring out at the morning. The Frenchman motioned him over and pointed out the window. "I think your wife is a very resourceful woman," he said.
He joined Leger at the window. "I do believe you are right," he agreed.
Elinore—it could only be Elinore—had hung a strip of red cloth out the window at the top of a narrow tower. "I think we can safely say she has no real interest in waiting a month or more to be immortalized by Francisco Goya."
He heard the familiar scratching at the lock. In a moment Harper was inside the room. He had coiled a sheet over his shoulder, which on closer inspection became a rope made of cloth strips knotted together. He winked at Jesse. "I didn't learn this knot in the army, but it's gotten me out of a few bedrooms, sir."
Jesse took him to the window. "Can it get Mrs. Randall out of that bedroom?"
"Clever'un, your lady, sir," Harper replied, after a long look. "Let's do it better. You can get her out of that bedroom, Captain."
"Me?"
"You. Wilkie and I went back there this morning. He can't pick that lock, but we have a better idea." He held up the jury-rigged rope. "You're not afraid of heights are you, Chief?"
Jesse gulped. "I suppose there is not a wrong answer to that one, is there?"
The plan was simple enough. Jesse arranged pillows in the bed to approximate a human body. Leger agreed to spin a tale of late-night woes, the surgeon's complete incapacitation, and Captain Randall's burning urge to spend a few more hours in bed to recuperate. He also agreed to distract the count. "I could kill him, Jesse," Leger said.
"That's more distraction than he needs, monsieur," Jesse replied. "I know he is at least three parts lunatic, but we are allies. Such a deed might cause repercussions we are unaware of now. Please excuse me now. Apparently Harper expects me to be a hero."
Jesse shouldered his medical satchel with the precious bottles and the tools of his trade and urged Leger to throw the other satchels out the window if he could. "We'll reconnoiter by the drawbridge there. Do let us hope it remains down."
He hurried into the hall to find only Harper there. "I should warn you that Wilkie does love a good diversion, sir."
"And I shouldn't ask, eh?"
The private grinned, and started to clap him on the back, but obviously thought better of it. "We had best hurry along."
They quietly traversed the halls, empty of servants. He wanted to pause for one more look at the art in Conde Almanzor's gallery, but Harper nudged him when he slowed down. They ran down the last corridor and took the spiral staircase two steps at a bound. Harper didn't even glance at the door, but continued up the ladder and banged open the trapdoor. Jesse eyed the ladder dubiously, but there was Harper above him now, reaching down. He handed up his medical satchel first, then followed it.
To his surprise, Harper was standing still on the roof, looking intently toward the wall. "Over there, sir. I told you Wilkie was a wonder."
In the distance, smoke billowed from a stone building that looked like the stables. Harper gave a low, admiring whistle. "I think even Wilkie exceeded his expectations, sir. Best blaze I've seen since the time he and I . . . well, I'd best keep that to myself." He made a motion to kneel on the flat roof, then grimaced. "Lord love us, Chief, I'd wager no one has swept off a pigeon dropping since the Inquisition."
"A reasonable assessment, Private," Jesse said.
Harper knotted a loop in the sheet. "Come here, sir. Now you get to play hero."
"I was afraid you were going to say that, Harper," he replied, but held up his arms while Harper dropped the loop under his armpits. "Now, you will hold tight?"
"You'll be safe as houses, Chief," Harper said. "Of course, it's a good thing you're a little fellow, if you'll pardon me."
Jesse looked down. Directly below him was a small balcony that he knew opened on to Elinore's room. He had repelled down a cliff at Ronda once to set a broken leg. After a moment's ignominious swing, he found his feet and walked down the wall while Harper played out the sheet. He landed on the balcony, lost his balance, and fell into more pigeon droppings. Elinore threw open the window, which caught him on the side of the face.
"I am sorry!" Elinore said as she pulled him in, then hugged him.
Jesse hugged her back, then tried to brush the droppings off his trousers, only to discover that some were fresher than others. He grinned at her and held out his dripping hand. "Harper said this would make me a hero. D'ye think so?"
"Only if your wife were truly daffy, which I am not," she replied, belying her words by beaming at him. She handed him a towel.
"Captain Randall? Mrs. Randall?"
Elinore went back to the balcony and looked up. "Private Harper? He's fine, even though I just hit him with the window. I am fine, too." She stepped inside. "Jesse, he said there is a sudden change of plans, and that we should look into the courtyard." She turned back. "Horses!"
He joined her on the balcony, and put his arm around her waist because he wanted to. She looked back at him in surprise, then thrilled his heart by leaning against him. "Is that Wilkie?" she asked, pointing.
"I think so." He looked closer, which put his cheek wondrously close to hers. As usual, she smelled better than he did. "There's someone with him. I believe it is Monsieur Leger. My, but that smell of smoke is strong."
Just then the sheet rope began to sway. Jesse looked up to see Harper descending. I thought we were to go back up and escape through the building, Jesse thought. He looked again at Wilkie and Leger, with horses. Elinore went back inside for her cloak and medical satchel.
Soon Harper stood beside him on the balcony. "Gracias," he called, looking up, then gave the rope a tug, and stepped out of the way when it dropped.
Jesse looked up, but could see no one. "I don't understand," he said. "Who is helping us?"
Harper shrugged. "Chap says he knows you, Captain. At least, I think that's what I think he said. My Spanish ain't much better than yours and his English is puny."
Swiftly Harper tied the sheet rope to one of the iron balustrades on the balcony. "I'll let you down first, and then I'll send Mrs. Randall." He grinned and nudged Jesse. "I wish you could carry 'er down and be a really big hero, but I'm not sure my rope is up to that. Go now."
Jesse snatched up his shoulder satchel again and pulled the loop over his head, fitting it snugly. By the time he readied the end of the rope, Wilkie was there with the horses.
The rope was too short to see him to the ground, so he jumped, wincing at the tinkle of glass inside his shoulder satchel. The fragrance of oil of cloves rose around him as he dusted off his trousers again. He glanced inside his satchel at the bottles, and pulled out the cloves and the potassium iodide, victims of his clumsiness.
"Kindly don't look up my skirt," Elinore called down, and he looked up automatically to see her begin her descent. When she reached the end, Jesse took her around the waist and pulled her down in front of him on his horse.
"Handsome legs, Mrs. Randall," he said, and got a dig in the ribs for his pains.
"I told you not to look."
Laughing, he handed her down to Wilkie, who quickly gave her a leg up onto a horse. "Wilkie, I must congratulate you on these horses," he said.
The private shook his head. "Sir, I 'ad nothing to do with these horses. And that fire? I never set it. 'Pears to me you have a guardian angel."
Startled, he looked up as Harper descended. Who is that who helped Harper on the roof, he asked himself. And why aren't we having any trouble in this courtyard? "Since we don't appear to be in control of this situation, have you any idea what is going on, Private?" he asked Wilkie.
As Harper dropped to the ground, and with considerable help from Wilkie, found his way onto the remaining horse, Jesse turned to Leger. "Monsieur Leger, did the count even come to our room?" he asked.
The Frenchman was obviously the only horseman among them. With a clicking sound and a graceful dip of the reins, he edged his horse close to Jesse. "He did, sir, and I listened to his ravings for a while—I never heard a more successful madman—then tied him up with a bellpull." He shrugged. "Captain, I am not as good a man as you."
"He is our ally," Jesse said, but his argument sounded feeble to his own ears.
"Perhaps," Leger replied. "I would not encourage too many armies as small as ours to visit Tordesillas again anytime soon. And now I suggest we leave this place."
"With pleasure," Elinore said. "Jesse, did you know that ... that dreadful man was planning to keep me here to paint my picture? Why on earth?"
"He thought you were beautiful. I agree with him," he said impulsively.
He could tell by her blush and the way she looked at him out of the comer of her eyes that she was pleased. "But you have just told me he was insane," she teased.
"He had an eye for loveliness, Elinore, same as I do." There, think on that for a while, he thought as he spurred his horse up close to Harper, who was deeply involved in staying in the saddle. "Private, it appears to me that the hussars will never issue you a summons to join their ranks."
"I won't go if they do," Harper replied, a trifle grimly.
"What can you tell me about that man on the roof?"
"Nothing much. I think he said he knew you from Santos. I think he said something about a baby, and then he was gone."
Se?or Ramos meant it when he said he liked to pay his debts, Jesse thought, as he moved closer to Wilkie. "Private, I do believe these horses have French saddles? Any ideas?"
"Not me, Captain. They were saddled and waiting when I started for the barn."
"And you didn't set the fire?"
"No, sir."
They rode through Tordesillas, the town quiet in the early morning. Church bells tolled, and as they crossed the plaza, the priest from last night came out and motioned for them to stop. "We see the smoke," he said. "Please assure me that the castle is on fire."
Jesse stared at him. "Padre, you surprise me."
Unsure of his Spanish, he motioned Elinore forward. She listened to the priest, her eyes wide. "He says that everyone in Tordesillas has been hoping that the French or the British would bum down the castle! He says we are welcome here anytime. Imagine."
"Do tell him I feel some little guilt because the conde told me his wife needed Extreme Unction, and he wouldn't even let me see her. Perhaps I could have helped her." He looked back at the smoke that rose high over the trees now.
She spoke to the priest and then listened, gasping several times during his reply. When he finished, she told him good-bye as he went back to the church, then turned to Jesse, her eyes wide. "The priest says that the count usually came once a week to ask him to the castle, because his wife was near death."
"And he wouldn't go? The people here should expect better from their clergy."
"Jesse! He says she's been dead three years!"
"Oh, my," he said faintly.
"There are all sorts of rumors about French soldiers on patrol disappearing, and even cats and dogs gone, poof! without a trace." She shook her head, her own amazement undeniable. "He congratulated you on being so resourceful."
"I hope you told him that I was the biggest idiot of the whole lot."
She smiled and blew him a kiss. "I told him thank you quite prettily, Captain, and wasn't I the lucky lady?"
He felt the strongest urge to lean closer to her from his saddle and kiss her, but he knew that his equestrian skills were no greater than his abilities in shinnying down a rope. He smiled instead, because the whole thing suddenly became monumentally funny to him. Here I jog along like a bag of bones, he thought, bird shit on my trousers, another black eye forming—thank goodness I am not a Cyclops, with the potential for three—with a four-day beard and smelling of cloves.
He looked around. I have time on my hands, a beautiful wife who labors under the dementia that I am a hero, a two-man army of thieves and cutpurses, and a Frenchman who seems to think he is important to Napoleon. Oh, yes, we are riding horses with French saddles, which might suggest to the more rational that we could be in serious trouble. I have a guardian angel, but he has paid his debt to me now, and I think we are on our own. Perhaps now I can tell anyone who will listen, that I did take a commission in the Medical Corps for the adventure of it.
He called a halt when they were out of sight of Tordesillas, and suggested to the others that they ride to Salamanca without stopping. To his dismay, or perhaps their good fortune, Elinore remembered something else the priest had told her. "He said that Soult is rumored to be there already, and only waiting for Souham to move south and join him."
"That puts a new complexion on this retreat," he said, more to himself than the others. He hoped that someone would offer a suggestion, but they all seemed to be looking at him, as though expecting some wisdom to come bounding out of him like Athena from Zeus's brow.
"I have an idea," he said, after a long pause. "We have tried villages, and our luck has been haphazard at best. Castles do not seem to agree with us, either. I suggest the convent now. Elinore, do you remember Santa Isabella?"
She shook her head.
"The Chief had me stay there an extra week while the army moved ahead to Burgos last August. The sisters had an orphanage, and some of the children had the croup. Ring a bell with you now?"
"Why, yes, it does. It's a little west of Salamanca, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Let's go."
They arrived after dark, picking their way along a stony path lit only by the moon, which appeared to be in danger of disappearing behind a bank of clouds coming up quickly from the north and east. Only one lamp gleamed outside the convent walls, but Jesse knew enough of Spanish poverty to feel no alarm. Elinore gasped when he jangled the bell outside the massive gate and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls. He reached out and touched her leg. "Don't worry, my dear, I know this place."
He smiled in the dark, already relishing the opportunity to show the others something of his own skill. Two of the nuns were from Italy, and it was going to be his turn to demonstrate his linguistic prowess. Hippocrates, the sin of pride is the stumbling block of physicians, eh? he told himself as he heard footsteps and waited for the smaller gate it in the larger one to be opened.
Lorenzo the slow boy was there at the gate, peering around it at first, tugging it open when he saw how few they were, then running to call for the nuns. Sister Maria Josefina came first, tall and handsome and so Italian. She smiled to recognize him, taking his hand in hers, her beautiful Tuscan-flavored Italian tumbling out as though she had been waiting just for his arrival.
"Captain Randall, you are an answer to my prayers. How did you know we needed you?"
"It is not the children again, is it?" he replied in Italian.
"No, we have sent them south to a safer place. Oh, sir, here are others. Do follow me, and bring your men." She jeered closer. "Captain, do you have a wife now?"
"I do, sister."
"High time: Bellissima."
He indicated the others to follow, and left Lorenzo with the horses. He had to hurry to keep up with the nun, but she was taller than he was, and had a longer stride. He almost ran with her down one corridor, the others trailing behind. She stopped and pushed open the smaller portion of another large door, this one of iron.
When she spoke next, it was in French. "I have brought you help," she said in a louder voice. He felt the familiar tingle down his spine as he stared at two rows of French soldiers, some on cots, others lying on pallets. "My God, sister," he whispered. "My God."