The Flesh and the Devil (28 page)

         
Juana went with the rest into the lobby with an
extraordinary feeling of powerlessness. Her mind must be numbed, she told herself,
for her to feel so little at seeing Jaime again. Now that her first joy had
ebbed she found herself regarding him with mild curiosity, as though he were
someone she had once known but had almost forgotten. Yet, barely a week ago,
marriage to him had been the summit of all her dreams. Now all she felt was
disappointment, and irritation that he should so easily lose the advantage that
his sudden arrival in the game had given him.

         
For, blandly and inexorably, he was being persuaded out of
his first indignation. She could hear de Castaneda talking swiftly, his tongue
bursting with excuses and explanations; it was all glibness and speed, carrying
no conviction and needing none, for the younger man could find no adequate
answer to the rush of words. De Castaneda patted his arm again, and smiled.

         
'Your haste to come here argues your affection for the
senorita, and rightly, too — you were almost a brother to her, were you not? —
and the fates have enabled you to come in time to witness her wedding. You will
stay for that, mmn?'

         
It made him happy, Juana thought, shocked; he delighted in
causing pain to as many people as he could, even those who could not harm him.
But before she could fully shape the thought, de Castaneda's expression changed
as he noticed Tristán.

         
'Is he come yet, Felipe?'

         
The red head moved in silent negation.

         
Well, fetch him, fetch him! Some slight delay —' he smiled
again at Jaime — 'the bridegroom is full of game

         
with the wedding so close, and a

         
little shy of strange company, so that he lacks your some
of the fitness of things. .

         
. . You, I am sure, would not provoke a quarrel before
people!" It was audacious, but the insistence might have succeeded if
Jaime had not glanced from him to Tristán. The sight of the mercenary's
impassive face made him stiffen, and the angry flush rose to his cheeks again.

         
'You are mistaken, senor - I would brawl before the King's
face for the senorita's sake. I must speak privately to you,' he added with
sudden urgency, his eyes meeting Juana's. 'We have much to say to each other.'

         
She stood motionless, but her thoughts recoiled.
No,
 
her brain said,
Icannot bear it.
 
He would ask her for an explanation of why she
was betrothed to another man, one she professed to hate. There was anger and
puzzled hurt in his soft brown eyes, an almost accusing look. But before she
could speak he had turned back to de Castaneda and was asking leave for a
private interview with her. The elder man shook his head relishingly.

         
'Private? No, no, that I cannot allow! You are careless of
the young lady's honour to ask it, my friend. But you shall stand together in
the corner there, and Felipe shall bear you company until my nephew comes,
mmn?'

         
Jaime started to protest, but Tristán had moved forward.
Half a head taller than the younger man, he had the air of an adult assuming
authority over a rebellious child; mocking green eyes met stormy dark ones, and
then Tristán said 'Senor' in a deferential tone that made Juana's skin prickle.
Her feelings must have shown in her face as he looked at her, because he added
gravely,

         
'Madam, I shall be as mute as a stone.'

         
She drew a sharp breath. She had never had greater need of
coolness than now, she thought tormentedly, but her brain seemed crippled; so
much had happened that she could not focus her thoughts. As she went with Jaime
into the corner that de Castaneda had indicated, all she could think of was the
leashed tension in the mercenary‘s tall frame. Some thing else had happened: he
knew of it and she did not, and the knowledge gave him an advantage. Her heart
was beating quickly as she turned her attention to Jaime, and she realized with
a shock that he had already begun speaking.

         
‗.....without sending me a warning? That day, when
you said you would marry me, I waited until it was nearly dusk to speak to your
father, and then they told me that he was not to be spoken with! Then, when I
rode over next day, they told me that you were pledged to the Duque de
Valenzuela and were busy preparing to travel to his Castillo.‘ His shapely
mouth was tight, but his lower lip trembled. ‗You could not disobey your
father, I know that – but a letter from yoi I might have kept.‘

         
‗I could not, Jamie, for I had no means to send you
anything.‘

         
Juana spoke softly, realizing as she did so that all the
heartache of that time seemed a world away; so long ago, so childish. Her
father's wrath over her refusal to marry a stranger — Duque or no — her
defiance, and her childish scheme to run away and marry Jaime . . . the plot
that Michaela had betrayed. In the face of the destruction she had known since,
those other things seemed petty.

         
'Listen — you must listen.' The words seemed to come from her
in spite of herself, and he bent his black head to hear her. 'You are my only
hope — I cannot stay here. Sooner than marry this Duque, I will enter a
convent—'

         
He motioned her to silence, glancing past her at Tristán.
Then he said quickly, ‗But you cannot! Your honour will suffer if you
refuse to marry the man to whom you are betrothed —'

         
'My honour! My honour is no longer important to me now — I
care only to get away from here. I do not care how.'

         
She sensed a stir like the slight shifting of weight at her
back, and the wild look died from her face to be replaced by an almost haunted
expression. Jaime regarded her worriedly. 'Juan, you are not well. The strain
-‘

         
'No, I am not well, but my brain is not sick, I promise
you. I shall tell you all my reasons later, but I swear I do not say this thing
lightly — I mean it with all my soul. Do you believe me?'

         
He nodded. 'Of course. But if your father has pledged his
word for you —'

         
He cannot have known what the Duque was like! I know he did
not.' He could not, she thought, when even Bartolomé's guardians had not known
the worst of it. 'Help me, Jaime, or they will force mc —' She broke off,
catching her breath like a hunted quarry. 'I cannot stay here.'

         
Jaime's handsome face was the picture of bewilderment. 'But
why,
 
Juana

         
—
I
 
know you
do not love the Duque, but for your honour —'

         
'Do not preach to me of my honour!' There was raw pain in
her
 
voice before she regained control
and managed to say steadily, 'The Duque de Valenzuela is no better than an
idiot. He stammers and slobbers and his breath stinks, and
I
 
swear his brain cannot be sound — he speaks
like an untaught child. My father only knew that his upbringing had been
sheltered, but it must have been because they dare not let people see him. He
is bestial, both he and his —

         
his servant.' She was speaking rapidly now, her tongue
almost stumbling over the words.
Could he hear?
 
she wondered feverishly. She dared not look
behind her to see, and Jaime still looked doubtful, unconvinced.

         
'Many of the nobility are . . . afflicted in some way,' he
said embarrassedly.

         
'Where there is a mixture of Spanish and Austrian blood
there are often weaknesses, my father says, which are unsightly to lesser men,
but truly they are signs of greatness.'

         
'Such as the falling sickness?' she flashed back, and he
frowned at her, shocked. 'In Christian charity I should pity him, but I cannot!
He is like an animal, he. . . .' It was no good, she thought with sudden
desolation; she could see the startled withdrawal deepening in his eyes with
every word she uttered. It was desperation that made
her
 
add, 'The old Duque, Torres, disapproves of
the match, and I believe he speaks for the King. Tell my father that, if
nothing else!'

         
The lustrous brown eyes widened as they stared into hers,
and she realized bitterly that she had touched him more deeply with her last
words than with all her declared unhappiness. Had she suspected as much? Was
that why she had believed so easily in his faithlessness after Michaela had
stolen her letter? She watched his perturbed expression harden into grimness.

         
'I shall speak to Senor de Castaneda; he declared firmly.
If this is so, you cannot be forced —'

         
The words were cut off as a servant came hurriedly into the
lobby, his eyes round with fear, and bowed untidily to the room at large.

         
De Castaneda spoke sharply. 'Well, dolt, is my nephew
coming?'

         
The man shook his head, gulping. 'So please you, senor, we
have all been searching for him! Some dozen are at it now. When we could not
find him in his apartments we searched the whole wing, but the Duque is not to
be found.'

         
Three hours dragged by interminably and still the little
group waited, frozen by that etiquette which refuses to allow the great to
admit to fatigue. Servants came and went, went and returned, and slowly it
dawned upon Juana that fewer and fewer were daring to come back and admit
failure. A slow, irrational hope began to burn again in her chilled heart, but
she did not stir; if she showed the slightest trace of hope, she thought, some
unkind fate would quench it on the instant.

         
De Castaneda's complexion had darkened from scarlet to
purple and his narrowed eyes were like slits of restless mercury when Torres
spoke quietly from his place.

         
'I think we must declare ourselves baffled by His Grace's
whereabouts for the present, and need not await him longer.
 
He spoke so mildly that the command in his
voice was almost unnoticeable, but it was there. It may be that now he is
regretting certain events which we all know of - perhaps he even a dislikes the
idea of his betrothal.' His cool hazel eyes rested briefly on de Castaneda's
working features as he continued, watching each barb sink in. `When he is

         
found, he must be reassured that his marriage will not take
place with any unseemly haste, and perhaps that will calm his fears. Senor de
Castaneda, I know, will agree with me.'

         
There was a choking sound from his side, almost lost in
Juana's quick cry of relief. 'No, no, wait — the boy is playing some prank! He
has got loose before —

         
you cannot stop it — not now —'

         
Clumsily, like a baited bull, de Castaneda lurched forward,

         
staggering

         
from one to another as if he would stop them by physical
force. He was almost weeping, rage and chagrin blurring what he was trying to
say into near-incoherence; his meaty hands clutched at a shoulder, an arm, as
if he were trying to shake a response into the faces that stared back into his.
All of a sudden he halted, lifting both hands as if to claw at his own face;
the wild imprecations that he was spitting at Torres seemed to catch in his
throat in a tremulous gasp. He staggered forward as though he had been shot,
his right hand clutching his left arm across his breast, and lifted a face that
was weirdly contorted, teeth bared like an animal's, as he tried to force
himself erect again. In the meaningless roar that came from his throat, Juana
could only distinguish the words, 'Proxy — Felipe —'