“Nonetheless, I intend to buy back the land that was mine, or a part of it. I wish to live again where we did when you came to visit us, when you hunted upon the moors with my father. It is my home, and I long for the view of the sea there, the rocky shores and the high meadows. I will have it again, General.”
“Aye,” he said gloomily, “I miss it myself. But come! We cannot carry on in Gaelic and leave our friend standing.”
He turned to Don Vicente. “I do know him, and I cannot thank you enough for behaving toward him as you have done. You have been gracious and considerate.”
He paused. “It is a delicate matter, Don Vicente. This man is no ordinary seafaring man, nor even a soldier. He is of the blood royal, although a man without domains.”
Don Vicente shrugged. “I guessed as much. He has the manner.”
We seated ourselves and our talk was in Spanish, and pleasant enough it was. General O’Connor I found to be an urbane and charming gentleman, a skillful politician as well as a military man. To have survived and advanced himself to his present status in a foreign country was proof enough of that.
“We must talk again,” he said finally. “Do you come when you can.” To Don Vicente he said, “We can certainly reach some understanding.”
Two days later we met again. “You must have a care,” O’Connor warned me, “for there are spies about.”
“Spies for the Inquisition?”
“Yes. You are Irish. If they suspect who you are, you will be murdered. There are also those in Spain who are spies for England. They suspect all Irishmen of plotting against England, so all are suspect.”
“I am not thought to be Irish, but from the Hebrides.”
“Ah? A nice thought, that. It may help. In the meanwhile, what is it you wish to do?”
“To return to England. I have my ventures there.”
“I am afraid that will be impossible. Ransom can be arranged, I think, and luckily for you, Don Vicente is your friend. However, even he is powerless against the Inquisition. And no matter what your beliefs, they will wish to question you if you should draw attention to yourself. There are those among them who do not take kindly to any foreigner in their land. Even we who fight for Spain are suspect.”
“Where then should I go? What should I do?”
“I would suggest the Lowlands. I am taking a detachment of troops to join the Duke of Parma there. You will volunteer. That will take you away from their eyes to where much can be done.”
“You are very kind.”
“Kind? No, not land. We Irish serving abroad have learned we must stand together. You are one of us, even though what your family was they will never be again—not in the lifetime of any who now live, at least.”
We talked the hours away, and planned the steps that must be taken. If I were to volunteer to serve in the Spanish army no thought of ransom would remain, although a small indemnity might have to be paid. I knew naught of such matters and left negotiations in the hands of General O’Connor, who had much experience.
In the meanwhile, I fenced each day and rode with Don Vicente over his estates in the country. By night I read much in the admirable library Don Vicente possessed. I say possessed, but this was all he did with the books. For I discovered with some surprise that he could not read, disdaining the practice as not befitting a gentleman. The library had been in the home when it was taken by his grandfather from the Moors. Some of the books were in Arabic, of which I knew nothing, but most were in Latin, at which I was proficient.
Yet every day and every night I bethought me of ways by which I might escape once I had reached the Lowlands, for my only wish was to return to England and my ventures, such as they might be. And each day in Spain I must walk with care, for I was free only upon a whim of circumstance and might at any time be imprisoned.
Carefully, I had avoided women. In England those I met were not the sort who appealed to me. Those I was meeting in Spain were ladies of great houses and ladies of the court. To give attention to such women even if they wished for it was to incur trouble from some other less favored man. And true it was that with Don Vicente and General O’Connor I constantly met women, many of whom were lovely.
Although I was permitted to move about with seeming freedom I knew I was not free, that I was under observation most if not all the time. My movements, comments, and actions were subject to scrutiny.
Meanwhile I was learning a good deal about the Spanish army from General O’Connor. “Many Germans and Irish serve with us,” he explained. “Young Spanish men of good family wish to avoid service, as do many of the others. A few years ago volunteers thronged to serve, but now they grow fewer. Yet it is a good army, and the men are well trained.”
“How long,” I asked him, “will it remain so if the citizens themselves do not wish to serve? In ancient Rome the mercenaries soon controlled the government, and I hear it has been so in other places as well.”
The general shrugged. “I ask only to serve. When we lack for government or army of our own, some of us must needs find careers where we can. I am loyal to Spain because it is Spain that gave me opportunity to be so. But you are right. Those who do not wish to be bothered with service to their country soon find there are others only too willing to occupy the places they shun. Those who shunned service soon become the servants rather than the masters.”
Suddenly I was restless. Too long had I remained inactive and I wished to be about my business. I was never one who could spend my days in social activity, no matter how pleasant. I said as much.
“Soon,” O’Connor said. “We are preparing now to send men to the Lowlands. I shall see that you are among the first to go.” He paused then, walking to the window that overlooked the narrow street. “You know,” he suggested, “there are worse lives than this. You have started well. You have made a place for yourself here.
“Don Vicente likes you. You are important to him as evidence of his first success, but he obviously likes you personally, as does his family. They have great power here, and I am sure your every success would be considered a success of their own.”
“That may be as you suggest,” I replied, “but my future must be elsewhere. I must return to my own country.”
“Sooner or later they would find you out.”
“That may be, but there I must go. I will serve with you, and serve you well, but sooner or later I must return to Ireland.”
“Very well.” He buckled his sword. “It is time for me to go. You are meeting Don Vicente?”
“I am. We are going to some races. I—”
“A moment!” O’Connor lifted a hand. “I have been meaning to warn you. There are family feuds here in Spain as well as in Ireland, and Don Vicente and his family have enemies. Only last night one of my people informed me that Don Vicente is in grave danger.
“He is fiercely proud, as are all hidalgos. His enemies intend to destroy him, and with him the pride of his family. For as you know, he is an only child.”
“Destroy him? How?”
“One of their number is Don Fernand Sarmiento. He is one of the finest swordsmen in Spain, and lately returned to Spain from France, where I understand he killed two men in duels. For one reason or another, he is desperate to establish a pretext for challenging Don Vicente.”
“You are sure of this?”
“I am. One of the principal ways of remaining secure in a country not your own is to be aware, to know where the power lies, and what moves are being made. Long ago I established my own lines of communication. Believe me, my information is reliable.”
I considered what General O’Connor had said and debated what best I might do.
Warn my friend? That would do no good, for his pride was such that he would not flee from danger, or even try to avoid it. In fact, to warn him might only precipitate the situation I would be trying to avoid.
I had fenced much with Don Vicente, and held my skill from sight, careful not to seem too proficient, but to let him have the better of me at times. After all, he was my friend, and what had I to gain by proving myself better than he? With a skillful swordsman for an enemy, Don Vicente would have no chance at all.