The Spaniard's Innocent Maiden. Greta Gilbert
I have heard that men pay twelve ducados or more for the passage. And you have just been invited to make it at no cost.’ She peered up at him curiously, then pulled her hand free of his. ‘Well, look at us, gentlemen! We have returned to where we began.’
Indeed they had. There was Luisa’s driver waiting beside her carriage. The baker had sold his loaves, the fishmonger his fish and even the nearby butcher’s stall was almost empty of its offerings. ‘Look at that adorable little dog,’ Luisa said, pointing unknowingly at her failed understudy, who was lingering at the butcher’s stall. ‘She appears to be trying to choose between sausages.’
Benicio gave an ironic chuckle, though his brothers did not appear to understand the joke. Suddenly, the chimes of the noonday bells commenced. Benicio bowed his head, though he could not remember a word of the Sext hour prayer.
As he pretended to pray, he told himself not to be a fool. Women were capricious and nothing could be relied upon but the stars in the sky. Still no matter how many pretty young ladies batted their eyes at him, Benicio could think only of Luisa.
He was so consumed with thoughts of her that he did not even notice the conclusion of the bells. Nor did he perceive the quickening of Carlos’s breaths, or how his younger brother fumbled in the pocket of his jerkin. Before Benicio could do anything to stop him, Carlos had dropped to his knees before Luisa, removed his hat to the ground and was holding up a tiny silver ring.
‘Dear Luisa,’ he began, ‘my aromatic rose, every day you grow more...fragrant. The rain, the mist, the abundant dew...’
Overcome by nerves, Carlos shouted his professions, drawing a small crowd. ‘The light of dawn, the rosy glow of morning, your eyes, your lips, your beautiful...teeth. My dear...aromatic Luisa... Can I be your husband?’
There were a few giggles among the crowd. Then a terrible silence descended.
A lonely breeze blew past, tousling Luisa’s curls. ‘Oh, Carlos, do stand,’ she cried at last. She reached out her arms and lifted him to his feet.
‘I am honoured that you would ask me to be your wife,’ continued Luisa, ‘but I cannot accept your proposal.’
‘You...what?’
‘You are a fine young man, but I cannot become your wife.’
‘But our engagement can last as long as necessary,’ argued Carlos. ‘I am well into my apprenticeship at the Casa de Contratación. My knighthood shall be granted in only four short years.’
Carlos looked around desperately, as if searching for something to cushion the fall of his breaking heart. ‘Is it my physical form that does not appeal? I know that I am not handsome like Benicio, nor am I strong like Armando, but I—’
‘My dear friend, it is nothing to do with your physical form. I must consider the interests of my family. I am my father’s only daughter and you are...’
‘A second son,’ Carlos finished.
And there it was.
Carlos, like Benicio, had been born into that particular class of Castilian nobles whose names were respected, whose education was complete, but whose wealth, in the end, would have to be earned—the second sons.
Luisa placed a single kiss upon Carlos’s cheek. ‘I shall treasure your friendship always.’
Carlos dusted off his hat and placed it back on his head. ‘And I yours, my lady,’ he managed. ‘But this is not the end.’ He turned towards the cathedral.
Luisa sighed. ‘I think it is time to go,’ she said.
‘I shall accompany you to your carriage,’ said Benicio. ‘I believe you have something for me in it?’
‘Ah, yes—the gift!’
‘I believe I will join you,’ said Armando.
When they arrived at the carriage, Luisa retrieved a thin leather-covered tome and presented it to Benicio. ‘I have been meaning to give this to you for some time.’
Benicio’s eyes slid down her creamy neck, catapulted off her glorious bosom and finally settled upon the small book lying in her hands. ‘Amadís de Gaula?’
‘Did you not say that you were especially fond of it?’
‘I will savour the insights that lie upon each page of this magnificent work,’ Benicio said, bowing low.
‘Indeed he will,’ added Armando, ‘for he spends his days amassing knowledge, not glory or fortune.’
Luisa turned to Armando. ‘I shall await your swift return from service.’ Then she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Godspeed, noble warrior of Spain.’
‘I shall not return unless I have acquired wealth worthy of a marquesa,’ Armando proclaimed.
That was when Benicio saw it. There, beneath her practised expression—the flame of her life’s ambition: marquesa.
Benicio helped her into the carriage. ‘Enjoy the book, Benicio. Every page of it.’
She measured her nods equally between the two brothers as the small painted chariot moved away. Benicio and Armando were left staring into each other’s eyes.
The world seemed to press at Benicio’s sides. ‘I think I shall walk on my own for a while,’ Benicio told Armando and, without waiting for an answer, he turned and made long strides back across the plaza.
While he walked, he opened the book, flipped through its pages, and spotted a piece of paper wedged therein. He caught his breath as he beheld the image it contained—a charcoal sketch of a woman so beautiful she could not have been real. Her face was turned away from the artist, revealing her rounded profile, her long, beautiful neck, and a cascade of curls. A lump came into Benicio’s throat. It was a sketch of Luisa. He flipped the sketch over to discover a note written in her elegant, looping script:
My Dear Benicio,
I love you, but I must take care to marry well. Seek a fortune. I will wait for you as long as I can.
Your Luisa
Benicio’s heart overflowed. There it was, written in her own hand: her answer to his proposal. She loved him as he loved her. She would wait for him and become his wife. All she required was a bit of wealth, to keep her in the lifestyle she wanted. The lifestyle she deserved.
Benicio looked up and saw the old captain, still there, still waiting at the other end of the plaza. He might have been the Devil himself, considering whether or not to take Benicio’s soul.
Benicio began to walk towards him, letting his book of formulas drop upon the ground. Benicio was a man, after all, and the purpose of a man was not to sit at a desk, but to seek a fortune. To make himself worthy of the woman he loved.
Luisa, I promise, he murmured.
He caught the captain’s eye. The old man flashed Benicio a knowing grin.
Cempoala City, Totonac Territory,
Mexican Empire—March 1519
Tula was not afraid of the dark. She was not afraid of the spirits that lurked in the shadows, whispering their complaints. The darkness was good; it concealed her. It wrapped around her like a magic cloak, letting her pass unseen to the places where she kept her secrets.
Even now, as she walked softly between the mats of her sleeping family members, she felt no need for the aid of light. The warmth of their breath told her where to place her feet and she could feel the fresh air that seeped through the front doorway, beckoning her.
She pushed open the thin wooden door and closed it gently behind her, stepping out into Cempoala’s central plaza. She scanned the sprawling space for movement. Not a single living thing stirred beneath the moonless sky and