The Flesh and the Devil (12 page)

         
Juana thought suddenly, unwillingly, of Felipe Tristán.
'Not even her intended husband?'

         
'Especially not her intended husband! I see no wrong in the
old customs, as I have said all along. Duque or no, it would do your husband no
harm to have to cat the iron at your window, like any ordinary man!'

         
'He is not yet my husband.' Juana's voice almost broke,
then she added with an effort at steadiness, 'Senor de Castaneda promised that
the Duque will not be alone, Tia. We shall be well accompanied, he said.'

         
'I still think that I should go with you,' her aunt
repeated for the dozenth time.

         
Juana made no reply. She would not quarrel with anything
that kept Tia away, she was thinking; it would be hard enough to broach the
matter of a severance, even without the complication of her presence. The sun
was high, she thought as she glanced from the window; the time must be close to
noon. . . .

         
A bustling outside heralded the arrival of de Castaneda,
and through the sound of his voice came the toll of a bell telling the
three-quarters. Juana wondered wryly how long it would take to reach to Duque's
library — exactly fifteen minutes, she would swear— and a bitter smile was
hovering on her lips as de Castaneda came hurrying into the room. 'I am ready,
senor,' she said meekly.

         
He stood akimbo in the doorway for a second or two, his
eyes bright with approval. 'You are prompt, Senorita Juana — you long to see
your husband, mmn? I came to escort you to my nephew's presence myself, for 1
should be loth to miss this first meeting of yours.' He offered her his arm,
talking glibly as they went of the Duque's profound longing to meet his bride.

         
Dona Beatriz, watching them as they passed by her, found
herself smothering a twinge of unexpected apprehension. After all, she reasoned
to herself, her niece was young; she was bound to learn the art of compromise
as she matured, and would quickly come to terms with a reality that fell short
of her romantic dreams. That brief, disastrous love for Jaime de Nueva would
soon be forgotten — it must.

         
With a sigh, Dona Beatriz crossed herself and went quietly
towards the nearby chapel to pray for her niece's happiness, while the sound of
Eugenio de Castaneda's voice faded down the echoing corridor.

         
The great library proved to be situated off the castillo's
central quadrangle, and the bells were tolling noon as de Castaneda paused in
front of a pair of tall gilded doors. A clangour of metal, as if something
resounding had been struck or thrown down, came from beyond them, and Juana
turned to her companion to find him grinning broadly.

         
'Your husband grows impatient! Come in, and you shall have
your will at last.'

         
Her lids were lowered to hide the resentful brilliance in
her eyes, so that it was as the picture of demure meekness that she crossed the
threshold. Looking up, she had a dazzling impression of rows of bay windows
letting in light across a grey tesselated floor, and books that stretched in
gilded ranks down the length of a room so vast that carpets lay islanded in the
floor's space like lily-pads in a pool. She glanced round her in search of the
promised company but could see none, and then her eyes were drawn back to the
isolated figure halfway down the room.

        
'I have brought you your birthday gift, Bartolomé — this is
your bride, Senorita Juana de Arrelanos. Her father has agreed that she can
become betrothed to you. De Castaneda spoke from beside her.

         
The Duque de Valenzuela looked up. He was standing beside a
golden globe higher than he was tall, and the metallic clash had been the blow
of an impatient foot that set it spinning. He gave it one final noisy kick and
turned.

         
'Truly, uncle? You promise she will be m-my very own?' 'You
have only to give consent to marry her, as I told you.' De Castaneda's tone was
bland, but his eyes avoided his nephew's by a fraction. 'I can do no more than
tender her to you as a fitting wife; now you and the lady must agree between yourselves.'

         
The Duque laughed, the empty clacking sound of a child's
uncomprehending laughter at an adult's jest, and Juana's blood chilled. She
thought of her plan to use reason, to explain her plight in an attempt to
excite this man's sympathy: no wonder that Eugenio de Castaneda had made no
effort to prevent her when he discovered it. She stood still: every instinct
urged her to run back the way she had come, but her limbs would not move.
Sickness tasted sour in her throat.

         
'We shall do that well enough!' The Duque had left the
crazily-spinning globe and was coming towards them, eyeing her half-sidelong.
'She must marry me, must she not? You said she is to match into the n-nobility,
and I am noble, am I not?'

         
Juana closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, stupidly
trying to blot out the reality of the sight.

         
Bartolomé de Benaventes y Rioja, the Duque de Valenzuela,
was half a head taller than she; his hair was dark brown, his eyes blue, and
face to face he looked little more than twenty years old. But nothing could
have prepared her for the blend of vacuity and cunning in those eyes, the
deformity of the long heavy jaw. Even the smooth contours beneath the blemished
skin looked like the blankness of idiocy rather than the freshness of youth.
Somehow, she thought, the impeccable barbering of the dark hair— thin and
straggling, yet cut skilfully to veil the worst of that grotesque jaw — and the
elegant doublet and breeches, silver

         
- grey trimmed with burgundy, made the deformities seem
worse. It was as it no one else had noticed or understood the message of the
half-open mouth with its slack scarlet lips and brown teeth, or the dully
malicious gleam in the eyes.

         
De Castaneda was glossing over the question, urging his
nephew forward. His tubby fingers closed round Juana's wrist and extended her
hand as the shambling figure advanced. The Duque bent clumsily, and she felt
the touch of his wet mouth against the back of her hand.

         
'Now we are to talk together.' He took her reluctant hand
in his bony one.

         
'My uncle is to leave us, and I am to — to court you.'

         
He sounded like a child rehearsing his instructions, but de
Castaneda only chuckled. 'I told you, did I not, senorita, that Bartolomé was
impatient? I shall leave you to give hint his hearing.'

         
'Senor!'

         
He paused as she cried out, brows blandly lifted.

         
'I cannot stay here alone with your nephew, my aunt would
not countenance it.' And never, Juana thought half-hysterically, had she
expected to have to invoke Tia's name for protection!

         
De Castaneda's smile broadened. 'You will not be alone,
senorita.' He snapped his fingers. 'Felipe!'

         
In one of the furthest bays a shadow moved, and Felipe
Tristán came forward with his long, light stride. He still wore the same black
livery that he had had on the previous day, the golden griffin dazzling on one
broad shoulder; otherwise, only the grey silk of the stiffened golilla collar
relieved the soberness that seemed to enhance rather than subdue the vivid red
hair. Juana caught her breath sharply; in the flood of sunlight the strange,
slanting eyes were a clear, brilliant emerald. She dragged her gaze away to
find that de Castaneda was grinning at her.

         
'I forgot, you have not met my nephew's man. Know him, he
will serve you well. Felipe Tristán. Felipe —' he scented to be enjoying the
undisguised repugnance on Juana's face — 'here is the Senorita Juana, my
nephew's bride.'

         
Tristán bowed but made no other move, and when he spoke his
voice was without expression. 'I have met the lady before, senor, when I saw
her accompanying Dona Luisa to Mass. I guessed then who she was. I am honoured,
madam.'

         
Juana did not respond. The flawless civility of his manner
was a pretence, she thought, and she wondered with a tinge of panic why de
Castaneda did not seem to see it; Tristán was allowing himself to be commanded,
as a lion might obey an ape, for the greater pleasure its master's shock in the
instant of rebellion. Perhaps de Castaneda was too accustomed to his obedience
that he gave the man no thought, but to her it was frighteningly clear.

         
De Castaneda tapped Tristán's arm. 'Favours, eh, Felipe?'

         
His tone was jovial, and it was only then that Juana
noticed the blue gloves fastened amongst the bunch of black ribbons on the
mercenary's sleeve.

         
The green eyes met hers fleeingly, and the scarred mouth
curved in a faintly sardonic smile. 'A gift from a lady, senor.'

         
De Castaneda laughed. 'Before God, I could almost petition
heaven for a face like yours! A new conquest or an old one? You do not commonly
wear what they give you, mmn?'

         
'I make no doubt she wishes that they would blister my
hands, senor. She threw them at my feet in a fit of temper, more like a gage of
battle than a pledge of devotion.'

         
Juana tried to speak, her expression pure hatred, but her
voice died as she met Tristán's level gaze; she wanted to denounce him, to
strike him, but she could not.

         
De Castaneda's gleeful voice seemed to come from' far away.
'What, did she spurn you? Well, she may have been feigning, but even if she was
not, you will not have far to look for consolation.'