”Sergeant Braz, who are these men, where have they come from?”
The sergeant said importantly, “They were sent by Father Francis Xavier to us, Governor, but their ship was wrecked in this storm. I don’t know any more than that.”
Kit coughed violently and moaned. The soldiers carrying him asked anxiously, “May we put the Father in your bed, Governor?”
”Of course, of course. Hurry, the good Father is exhausted and ill.” The governor tucked his pistol into his belt and helped lower Kit into his own bed.
Kit gasped and clutched at his benefactor’s hand. “Bless you, my son,” he whispered faintly. “God has preserved us in an un-Christian land.” Then his eyelids fluttered closed.
Malcolm hastened to his side. He knelt and clutched Kit’s hand, giving every evidence of terror. “Father Almada…” Malcolm turned to the anxious Portuguese. “Have you any hot broth? He is exhausted from fighting the sea and then we had to walk miles and miles up your treacherous coast. I feared God would call him away before we saw your walls.”
”You sound like a Basque,” one of the men dressed as an artisan said excitedly. Another had gone in search of something to feed their unexpected visitors.
”Yes, I am Father Edrigu Xabat. I had the grace to be ordained in Rome by the General of our Order, Father Loyola. Father Almada is …”
Kit “roused” with a faint moan. “Where … where are we, Edrigu?”
”God has delivered us safely to these Christian men, Inigo, praised be His name.” One of the farmers handed Malcolm a cup. “Oh, bless you, my son …”