The Flesh and the Devil (27 page)

         
It was only when he had gone that Juana became aware of the
silence in the room. Before anyone else could speak, she demanded roughly, 'Who
permitted that man's entry to my chamber?'

         
There was a concerted flurry. 'Not I.' 'Not I.' 'None of
us, seriorita."We came in and found him here when. . . 'Keep him from me
another time.'

         
Juana was not really listening, but the protests started up
a ripple of unease in her mind. She knew these women too well by now to think
that any of them would permit Tristán to enter — they went in fear of
discovery, and such a transgression could not be hidden for long. But there was
no time to ponder, when her heart was aching for the death of her last friend,
and they were all watching her. A smothered giggle made her turn sharply to
Dona Marta Lucientes, to find the woman smiling oddly. The smile jarred Juana's
sore heart almost unbearably.

         
‗What amuses you, Dona Maria?'

         
The woman looked uneasy. 'Oh, it is naught, senorita — only
that it is seen how the pellirojo haunts you and finds excuses to come into
your presence. More often it is the women who follow him.'

         
'Is my maid's death no more than an excuse?' Juana flashed,
and the women around her looked abashed. 'Perhaps you care for death's-heads in
Andalusia,' she added disdainfully, 'but I do not. Senor Tristán haunts me only
to vex me — let me hear no more of such folly.'

         
She allowed them to help her out of bed, standing
impatiently as they began the slow ceremony of bathing and dressing her.

         
'His zeal vexes Dona Luisa even more than you,' one of the
other women murmured grudgingly. 'The poor lady is like to fall into a decline
if he continues so.'

         
'Dona Luisa?' Juana demanded sharply.

         
'Why, of course, senorita, we thought you knew!' They were
all smiling now, and she knew that they had thought nothing of the sort. 'It is
common gossip how she pines for him, and has done ever since he came, but if he
knows aught of it he gives no sign. Yet that is nothing strange, for that one
is like the Egyptian sphinx — and his care for you has put her into despair of
late.'

         
Juana felt an unaccountable freezing sensation in the
region of her heart. So that was another reason, she thought, why the mercenary
dared hold his head so high — if he lost favour with either of his masters, he
still had his mistress willing to maintain him. No doubt it was his ruthless
desire for profiting by his amours that had brought Dona Luisa to despair.

         
'She is welcome to my part of his attention,' she said
tartly. 'Now hurry and finish with this, and tell me what guest it was that you
spoke of.'

         
But they could not tell her more than that a stranger had
come and Senor de Castaneda had sent for her to speak with him, and she was
obliged to submit, her mind whirling with painful images as cruelly clear as
the painted martyrs on the staircase, to their ministrations. When at last she
was ready she did not bother to glance at her reflection but followed the
grim-faced Condesa in silence. She dared not think as she walked; instead she
clung to each superficial impression with the whole strength of her thoughts:
the rustling of her dark-green taffeta skirts as she walked, the subdued
silence of the women who followed her, the cluster of faces upturned to watch
her descend the stairs. She saw Felipe Tristán standing near Pedrino's squat
shape in the well of the hall; but as she looked, the mercenary glanced down
and moved away, as though he sought to avoid reminding the little man of the
painful contrast between their statures. She closed her mind swiftly; she did
not want to think that Tristán could be capable of kindness.

         
Then, as her gaze moved on, she saw her visitor standing
just inside the archway, handsome and brilliant in his best suit of peacock and
silver-grey. For an instant she froze, paralysed; then she was running
downstairs and across the hall, sobbing for very relief.

         
'Jaime, oh Jaime!' she called gladly, and flung herself
into his arms.

         
CHAPTER 7

         
For a long moment Juana remained still, her fingers
clutching feverishly at him as though she wanted to reassure herself of his
reality.

         
'Jaime,' she whispered, raising her face at last, 'I shall
begin to have faith in miracles again. How did you come here? Why —'

         
'Softly, my love.' He smiled fleetingly at her, then
glanced over her head at the startled faces of the silent onlookers. 'There is
nothing strange about it—

         
your father
grew
 
anxious when
we
 
had no news of you, and I said I would ride
here to find out how you fared. I am good enough to be his messenger, if not
his son-in-law. Then, on the way here —' his handsome mouth tightened — 'I met
your aunt Beatriz, and what I learned from her was enough to make me push my
poor mount almost to foundering. You are not wed yet, are you? Where is this
Duque?'

         
'Senor.' The voice at Jaime de Nueva's elbow was very
quiet, but it made Juana's skin grow cold. 'You forget yourself to have your
sword drawn in His Grace's house.'

         
It was only then that Juana realized that while Jaime's
left arm encircled her shoulders, his right hand held a glinting rapier. He
must have been standing, confronting the rest like a soldier at bay, when she
ran down to him. As she looked up sharply, sensing his tension, she saw dusky
colour mantling Jaime's smooth cheeks and an angry look in his eyes, and his
arm fell from about her shoulders.

         
'What, sirrah?' His deep young voice was thick. 'Learn your
own place before you lesson me to mine, you cur!'

         
Unbelievingly, she watched his arm move as if in slow
motion. She

         
wanted to cry out, to catch Jaime's wrist, but before she
could stir he had struck Tristán, hard and angrily, across his disfigured
cheek.

         
The sound of the blow echoed, and for timeless seconds no
one moved. Then the mercenary bowed slightly and said with a perfect, cold
courtesy,

         
'Nevertheless, senor, sheathe your sword.'

         
Jaime stammered something, half-appalled by his own action
and by the flaring scarlet stain across Tristán's cheek. Fingers fumbling, he
jammed his sword back into its sheath as Eugenio de Castaneda came almost
jauntily forward.

         
‗You are most welcome, senor! I had not understood
that you were the Senor de Nueva of whom 1 had heard —' his gaze flickered to
Juana — 'so much. Are you come to be a guest at my nephew's wedding?'

         
Jaime de Nueva shook his head. 'No, senor, only for as long
as it takes to learn the cause of Senorita de Arrelanos's tears. Are you Senor
de Castaneda?'

         
The elder man bowed, his watchful look making a travesty of
the smile that stretched his wide mouth; his fleshy shoulders were hunched
high, as if he were bracing himself against some attack. Jaime surveyed him,
then held out a letter.

         
'This comes from the senorita's father, and by now he
should have learned what Dona Beatriz told me when 1 met her on my way here. I
require an explanation, senor.'

         
'And you shall have one -' de Castaneda patted his arm -
'but do not let us sow more gossip than you have already done, mmn? Your Grace
- my lords and ladies - forgive us this disturbance, I beg. It is merely a
misunderstanding, which may easily be cleared.'

         
Murmuring among themselves, the greater part of the crowd
dispersed, and Juana saw the speculation in their faces as they eyed Jaime: the
men, with curiosity tinged with disdain; the women, with open interest and
admiration. She herself had forgotten the startling purity of his good looks, with
his jet-black hair and dark eyes brilliant beneath low, sweeping brows, and the
realization gave her an unexpected pang of guilt. He was staring across the
hall at Torres but bent his handsome head to look down at her. 'His Grace? Is
that
 
he, Juana? I thought -'

         
That is His Grace de Medina de as Torres,' de Castatieda
intervened smoothly, 'who has travelled from Madrid to represent the King at
this lady's wedding to my nephew.' He glanced round him at the emptying hall,
then added in a conspiratorial tone, 'Let us have no more disturbances, Senor
de Nueva. It is your arrival that has provoked these tears — young girls are
easily moved, and the Senorita Juana is far from her home. As for what Dona
Bcatriz may have told you — sadly, the senorita took a dislike to my poor
nephew's countenance, and her aunt encouraged her to much in her unreason that
I was obliged 'to send her back to her brother! After all, the senorita is
pledged to marry Bartolomé by her father's express desire, and I could not
allow her mind lobe poisoned against him.' Juana's eyes were dry now and full
of scorn. 'My father bought blind, senor. Summon the Duque, I pray you, and let
Senor de Nueva judge for himself whether he is a fit companion for any woman.'

         
There was a brief, ominous silence. Dona Luisa moved
forward to touch her husband's arm with skeletal fingers, and Torres smiled
with his usual air of gentle disinterest. Jaime looked from Juana's set face to
de Castaneda's empurpled one; then, with an effort that made the veins stand
out on his temples, de Castaneda grinned.

         
'But of course! We shall go into the lobby and wait there
until he comes. Felipe, fetch the Senorita Juana's betrothed.' With that last
word Juana knew that she had forgotten that one essential, damnable fact. She
was legally betrothed to the Duque de Valenzuela. It would be useless to claim
that she had been first coerced, then harried until she did not know the
meaning of the words she had repeated after the priest's gabble; she had given
her troth, and now she was bound by all the rigour of the law. Then, even as
the knowledge caught at her throat like a sickness, she found herself staring,
frozen. For the first time she had turns lightly from Jaime's side and found
herself facing Tristán. For all the studied casualness, the patient immobility
of his long, lean body as he stood before the doorway that led to the lobby,
this was not the Felipe Tristán she recognized.

         
The veneer of coldness, like a layer of ice, was gone:. the
harsh-boned face was alight, the slanting eyes brilliant with some inner
triumph beneath their hooded lids. She glanced round her almost fearfully,
wondering if anyone had noticed the change, but everyone else's attention was
occupied; de Castaneda, gripping Jaime's arm, merely jerked his head to speed
the mercenary on his way and did not notice when he only relayed the order to
another man and stood fast.