Chapter 5
The hidalgo did not stay in the carriage for long. Two minutes, perhaps. Rebecca was not certain. Several of his men came up the carriage. There was a rapid exchange of words. Rebecca could not understand much of it, partly because of the accent and partly because they were using terms unfamiliar to her. Odd, that. Rebecca had been born and raised in London. She had thought herself familiar with every flavor of the English language.
But she understood the gist of their discussion. And that, too, she found peculiar. The hidalgo and his men seemed puzzled, as if they were disoriented by their location. They were also confused, apparently, as to what course of action to pursue.
Strange, strange. Again, fear began to creep into Rebecca’s heart. The hidalgo’s men, for all that they clearly respected him and sought leadership, were not addressing him as a nobleman. That meant, despite his courtesy of manner, that he must be a leader of mercenaries. A bastard son of some petty baron, perhaps, from one of England’s provinces. That would explain the accent.
Rebecca shrank back in her seat. Mercenaries were vicious, everyone knew it. Criminals in all but name. Especially here, in the Holy Roman Empire, which had been given over to the flames of war.
Her eyes flitted to her father. But there was no comfort to be found there. Her father was fighting for his life. The Moorish physician was holding him up and giving him some small tablets from the vial he had taken out of his box. Rebecca did not even think of protesting the treatment. The black doctor exuded an aura of competence and certainty.
The hidalgo came back to the carriage. Timidly, Rebecca turned her head toward him.
Relief. There was still nothing in his eyes but friendliness. That, and—
She found herself swallowing. She recognized that look. She had seen it before, in Amsterdam, from some of the more confident young men in the Jewish quarter. Admiration; appraisal. Desire, even, veiled under courtesy.
But, after a moment, she decided there was no trace of lust. At least, she thought not. Lust was not something Rebecca was really familiar with, except the flowery version of it which she had found in some of her father’s books. The romances which she tucked into great tomes of theology, reading in the library of their house in Amsterdam, so that her father might not notice her unseemly interest.
She felt a flash of pain, remembering that library. She had loved that room. Loved its quiet, its repose. Loved the books lining every wall. Her father’s mind lived in the past, and tended to be disdainful of the present. But for one modern device her father had nothing but praise—the printing press. “For that alone,” he was wont to say, “God will forgive the Germans their many crimes.”
And now here they were, in the land of the Germans. Adrift in time of war, seeking shelter in the eye of the storm. Or so, at least, they had hoped. She would never see that library again, and for a moment Rebecca Abrabanel grieved the loss. Her childhood was gone with it, and her girlhood too. She was twenty-three years old. Whether she wanted them or not, the duties of a grown woman had fallen upon her shoulders.
She straightened those shoulders, then, summoning determination and courage. The motion drew the hidalgo’s eyes. The admiration lurking within those blue orbs brightened. Rebecca didn’t know whether to cringe or smile.
As it happened, she smiled. And did not, somehow, find that unthinking reaction strange.
The hidalgo spoke. His words came clipped, full of peculiar contractions and idioms. Automatically, Rebecca translated into her own formal English.
“With your permission, ma’am, we need to use your carriage. We have injured people we must get to proper medical treatment.”
“And quickly,” muttered the Moor, still crouched on the floor next to her father. “I’ve given him some—” aspiring? Rebecca did not understand the word.
The hidalgo’s eyes moved to the chests and crates piled on the other side of the carriage’s interior. “We’ll have to remove those, to make room.”
Rebecca started. Her father’s books! And the silver hidden within!