Kitty’s Greatest Hits (12 page)

Ricardo started to lunge, but the friar held up a hand and said, “No!” The younger man stopped, spear upraised, face in a snarl, an allegorical picture of war.

Fray Juan smiled. “Understand, you are mine. You will serve me as my caballeros served me. You cannot stop it.” The Master had a toothy, wicked smile.

Ricardo closed his eyes. He’d fought for nothing, all these years and nothing to show for it but a curse. He was not even master of his fate.

Free will was part of God’s plan. What better way to damn the sinful than to let them choose sin over righteousness? But he had not chosen this. Had he? Had something in his past directed him to this moment? To this curse?

Then couldn’t he choose to walk away from this path?

He started to pray out loud, all the prayers he knew.
Pater Noster, Ave Maria,
even passages of Psalms, what he could remember.

The friar stared back at him. His lips trembled. “You should not be able to speak those words,” Juan said. “You are a demon. One of Satan’s pawns. He is our father. The holy words should burn your tongue.”

“Then you believe the tales of the Inquisition? I don’t think I do. Come, Juan, pray with me.” Louder now, he spoke again, and still Juan trembled at the words.

“They’re only words, Padre! Why can’t you speak them?” Ricardo shouted, then started the prayers again.

The hold on his body broke. He had been balanced, poised for the strike, and now he plunged forward, his spear leading, and drove it into the friar’s chest. Juan tumbled back in his chair, Ricardo standing over him, still leaning on the spear though it wouldn’t go farther. Juan didn’t make a sound.

Juan’s skin turned gray. It didn’t simply dry into hard leather; it turned to dust, crumbling away, his cassock collapsing around him. A corpse decayed by decades or centuries.

Ricardo backed away from the dust. He dropped the spear. His knees gave out then, and he folded to the floor, where he curled up on his side and let the sleep of daylight overcome him.

*   *   *

Rumor said that the small estancia had once been a mission, but that the friar who ran it went mad and fled to the hills, never to be seen again. A young hidalgo now occupied the place, turning it into a quiet manor that bred and raised sheep for wool and mutton. The peasants who lived and worked there were quiet and seemed happy. The governor said that the place was a model from which all estancias ought to learn.

The hidalgo himself was a strange, mysterious man, seldom seen in society. Of course all the lords in New Spain with daughters had an interest in getting to know him, for he was not only successful, but unmarried. But the man refused all such overtures.

It was said that Don Ricardo had ridden north with Coronado. Of course that rumor had to be false, because everyone knew Ricardo was a man in the prime of his life, and Coronado’s expedition to find Cibola rode out fifty years ago.

But such wild rumors will grow up around a gentleman who only leaves his house at night.

T
HE
B
OOK OF
D
ANIEL

Daniel stood at the edge of the pit and prayed.
God of my ancestors, wise in all things, powerful beyond measure, thank you for my life. All praise is yours.

Daniel’s rivals at court stood around the pit, almost daring to smile.

King Darius—a proud king, susceptible to flattery and prone to suspicions—would not face him. He could not look Daniel in the eye as he condemned him, however much Daniel stared at him, trying to meet his gaze. Darius had trusted him, once.

“Put him in,” the king said and turned away.

The royal guards shoved Daniel onto the ramp that led into the brick-lined pit of lions. Daniel fell and rolled down. The thick wooden lid closed overhead, and the light was gone.

*   *   *

For a man who had been twice-conquered, Daniel had done well. He stood among the advisers to Darius, King of Persia. Before that, he had counseled Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon. Then Persia invaded. Because Daniel was not Babylonian, he was spared the fate of the conquered. He was an Israelite and already in exile.

The Persian king held court in the great atrium of the palace at Babylon, which until five years ago had been the seat of the kings of Babylonia. Civilizations had risen and fallen on this spot for countless centuries. Cities, palaces, and the fortunes of men like Daniel rose and fell with them.

The atrium of the palace reached several stories high, a tower soaring to heaven, a triumph of empire and ambition. Fountains and artificial streams watered a jungle of vegetation, trees—palms, cedars, poplars—and rare flowers that climbed for the sunlight shining through windows set high in the reaching walls. The splash and trickle of water made a constant sound that blended with the murmur of voices in conversation and with the music from the chimes and lyres of the musicians. Darius nominally conducted business when he held court here, but the setting was pleasant and distracting—a world apart from the dirt and heat outside.

Near the musicians, a court dancer performed, a piece of living artwork. Suza moved like a sapling in the wind, swaying, her limbs curving. Her bare feet touched the floor with the lightest grace. Bangles around her ankles rang at each step. Her gold tunic, tightly cinched, showed the curves of her hips and breasts. Her dark, curling hair—loose and unadorned, scandalous and alluring—fell down her back. She had almond-shaped eyes the color of mahogany.

Much food and wine circulated, carried by slaves in gleaming white tunics, bearing bronze ewers and platters. Supplicants to the king were lulled and diverted. Unfortunately, many of the advisers and administrators were as well. Not to mention the king himself, so noble in his tunic and robe, whiter than the plumage of egrets. His rich headdress sat perfectly on his head, pressing on his curled and oiled hair, even as he leaned back in his throne, half-asleep.

Daniel drank water, to keep his senses clear.

The court was in the midst of hearing an adultery case. Two prominent merchants claimed they had seen the wife of a judge in a dalliance with a young man. The woman was young and beautiful. The rumors flew. Many could believe such a deed of her, no matter that her husband was well respected and their family admired. If found guilty, she would be put to death.

In the marketplace, around the wells and plazas where people gathered and talked, Daniel had heard other rumors: The merchants had made advances toward her, she had rejected them, and now they took revenge on her. When Daniel focused on the merchants, he could smell the sweat of a lie on their skin, even through the smell of spice, flowers, honey, and perfume.

The merchants made a great deal of the story they told the king, dramatically relating how they chanced upon the house’s garden, saw the lady send her maids away, watched as the young man in question appeared from his hiding place, and then how the couple sported in the shade of a tree outside her husband’s very window. The witnesses did not seem concerned that the identity of this young man remained a mystery.

The husband—a self-made man who seemed uncomfortable in his finery—looked stunned, uncertain, glancing back and forth between the merchants and his wife. The lady stood apart. She was draped in a rich silk tunic and shawl. Two veiled maids stood with her. Her gaze was downcast, but her posture was proud.

The merchants finished and begged the king for his judgment.

Darius glanced at the husband, then at his advisers. He said, “It is difficult to deny the firsthand testimony of such esteemed citizens of our empire. What say my advisers?”

They agreed, bowing and murmuring, that yes, the account told by such respected witnesses was undeniable, the lady must be guilty, yes, yes.

Hands clasped behind his back, Daniel stepped forward, leaned close to Darius’s ear and said, “Sire, question them separately. Discover if their testimony remains as sure.”

One of the advisers spoke angrily, “Why must you always be contrary, foreigner?”

Lifting a brow, the king said, “You do enjoy making things difficult, Daniel.”

“I seek only the truth, Sire.” He was out of place in his simple tunic belted with a plain brown sash.

“And if such truth goes against my wishes?”

“Truth is truth, Sire,” Daniel said with a careful bow.

From another adviser, a not-so-subtle whisper reached them. “See how arrogant he is, he thinks his truth is greater than the king!”

Daniel met the king’s gaze and did not flinch.

Darius looked away and gestured, “You. Come forward.”

The first merchant approached the dais and bowed. Did his hands tremble ever so slightly? Darius tipped a finger at Daniel, indicating he should proceed.

In a low voice, so that only the king, the other advisers, and the merchant could hear, Daniel asked, “What kind of tree was it that you saw them under?”

The man shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at his fellow, but Daniel stepped beside him and held his shoulder, to keep him facing forward. The man said, “How should I know? I’m not a gardener.”

“Just describe it.”

“It … it was wide. With many branches spreading out.”

“And the leaves?”

“Dark green. Oval.”

“Did it have fruit? Lemons, perhaps? Or apples?”

“Yes, yes. Perhaps they were lemons.”

“Thank you.”

Released, the merchant retreated from the dais. Darius called the second forward. Daniel guided him, so the two merchants could not exchange words.

When asked what tree it had been, the second merchant said, “Why, I’m sure it was a date palm.”

The most common tree in all of Babylon, of course.

“Tall?” Daniel said.

“Yes, yes. Very tall.”

“And the leaves?”

“Fronds, high off the ground. You know what a palm looks like.”

“Thank you.”

As the second merchant retreated, Daniel said to the king and the other advisers, “Sire, they are lying.”

Darius nodded and announced his verdict. “Their story is invention. They have witnessed falsely against an innocent woman.”

Then came an uproar, because the punishment for false witnessing was death. Darius ordered guards to come, the advisers shuffled and grumbled among themselves, and the courtiers sighed in wonder. The husband ran to his wife. When she lifted her face to him, tears covered her cheeks. They embraced, abased themselves before the king, and begged leave to return to their home.

Daniel stood out of the way, smiling wryly at the havoc he’d created.

“That was well done, Daniel, my friend.” He looked behind him to find Suza leaning on a marble pillar, her arms crossed, grinning. “But you make enemies. The sycophants hate it when you make them look bad.” She nodded at the advisers who huddled in conversation. Occasionally one glanced at him. Daniel could almost taste their envy of the attention he garnered from the king. It was like sand, dry and coarse.

King Darius eyed him as the advisers whispered around him.

“They make themselves look bad. I don’t have to do anything.”

“They’re jealous of your wisdom.”

He shook his head. “It is not my wisdom, but God’s.”

“You always say that.” She touched his arm. “Have supper with me at the bazaar tonight.”

“I’ll be there.”

She drifted away, her footsteps ringing.

*   *   *

Pavilions and awnings in a hundred colors spread across the marketplace. Beneath them, merchants sold wares from across the empire: the gold of Egypt, the silk of the far eastern lands, horses from Anatolia, coral and pearls from the coast. A dozen different languages clashed and made music, cheers went up as an acrobat finished a series of backflips in the plaza, a camel brayed across the street. Meat roasted and wine spilled, turning the air heady.

This was truly the most wondrous city in the world. This was truly a wondrous time to be alive. This was the height of civilization. Except for the cruelty of empires and conquerors.

The sensations would have overwhelmed Daniel, if he hadn’t been used to them. He could hear conversations a block away, smell a dozen different scents on the air. He’d grown used to the complex barrage of information. It was a part of the curse he’d learned to use.

On the steps leading from one level of houses to the next, he leaned against the wall, eating a handful of dates one by one. He smiled when he saw Suza running toward him, weaving around market crowds and crates of pottery.

He might have guessed Suza was a dancer, even when she wore a loose-fitting tunic the color of dust and hid her hair and striking face under a wrap and veil. She moved with the grace of mist rising from a pool of water, effortless and peaceful.

In the same movement, she stopped and sat beside him. “You’ve started without me.”

“Nonsense. I was saving this one for you,” he said, and offered her the last date. She laughed.

They wandered the marketplace in search of delicacies. Suza bought her supper from a woman who roasted spiced pork on a skewer. She offered some to Daniel, who shook his head.

“There’s a booth on the next row that’s run by a Hebrew family. I’ll find food there.”

She smirked. “You and your Hebrew law. You understand, I had to offer you some out of politeness, even though I knew you wouldn’t accept.”

“I know.”

They rested at a terrace overlooking the marketplace and watched the sun set over the palace gardens. Suza leaned on the wall, her mood turning somber.

“The full moon rises tomorrow.”

And they’d been having such a lovely evening. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

“Come with me. I hate for you to be alone on those nights.”

“I will stay at home and pray, like always.”

“You always
say
you will, but you never do. You can’t, any more than the rest of us can.”

“I will pray.”

“Your devotion to your Hebrew God—it makes you both a hero and a fool. Everyone says so. You’re admired for it—but because of it you’ll never belong here.”