The Flesh and the Devil (45 page)

         
He stopped short in a paroxysm of noisy coughing, and the
smile in Tristan's eyes grew steely.

         
Ìt is past now, Luis, and forgotten. Where is Elisabeta?'

         
Ìn the house — you will stay, both of you?' He was ushering
them in as he spoke with quick shooing motions of his hands. `Come in and see
her. Hey, you, Pepe —' he jabbed a toe into the rump of one of the urchins who
crouched, playing knucklebones, in the doorway of the house that seemed to be
half shop, half dwelling — `see to my friend's horses; take them to old
Garcia's shed and get them fed and watered, and tell him I will take their
stabling off next week's bill for flour.' As the urchin reluctantly departed,
Luis gazed anxiously at Juana. `My house is not what you will have been used
to, my lady — Felipe is an old friend and knows how we live, but you must
forgive —'

         
'I see nothing to forgive in a friend's hospitality, Senor
Luis.' Juana smiled, but she was thinking of the cave as she answered, and saw
by Tristan's sardonic glance that he had read her thoughts.

         
`Truly?' Luis flushed with pleasure. `Then my house is
yours, for as long as you wish to stay in it. Elisabeta!' His voice rose to a
roar. `Felipe has brought his wife!'

         
From inside the door came the noise of breaking crockery,
and a middle-aged woman, wide-hipped and round-eyed — obviously Luis's wife—
appeared in the doorway as though conjured by a spell. When she saw Tristan she
uttered a shriek of delight and threw herself upon him, her plump arms
stretching up to clasp his neck, and he bent his head to her with such a gentle
look on his harsh face that Juana felt suddenly sick with jealousy. After a
moment Tristan looked up, meeting his friend's eyes above Elisabeta's greying
head.

         
'This secrecy of yours will undo me one day, Luis. Speak
softer, if you do not want me hanged!'

         
'But to Elisabeta — !' Luis gestured liberally, beaming.
'And half the neighbourhood, by the time you have done shouting.' Tristan
detached Elisabeta's clinging arms with a brief smile, and then addressed both
of them. 'I beg you to remember that my bride's kin will not love me when they
know I have married her, any more than the husband that she was meant to
marry.' He glanced across the room at Juana, a warning look in his eyes. 'The
fewer people know that we have taken sanctuary with you, the longer our married
life is like to be.'

         
Luis and Elisabeta exchanged looks, and then the elder man
broke into an uncertain chuckle. 'You are jesting, eh? You say that because you
want some peace after—'

         
Tristan shook his head without a word, and the silence was
all at once so deep that the faint sounds in the street were magnified between
them like thunder.

         
Juana said in a voice that did not sound like her own, 'If
you say so, we shall go. We do not want to bring trouble to you and your wife.'

         
'Trouble? What is trouble?' Elisabeta bustled forward,
elbowing her husband in the ribs. 'I only know that our friend and his bride
are welcome. I tell you, I am glad to see this Felipe married! I thought he
would spend all his life alone because he refused to care for anything too
much. That is right, eh, Felipe?

         
Nor for God either, still?'

         
There was a pause, and then Tristan shook his head slowly.
'You are incorrigible, Elisabeta. My dealings with God are my own affair, and
as for the Church — I have compounded with its ministers now because my wife
has faith in its doctrines, even if I do not.'

         
'She has a name, this wife?' If Elisabeta noticed the
uneasy atmosphere she took no notice, cocking a shrewd eye at Juana. 'You may
like to say my
wife
 
often, but
what are we to call her? What is your name, Felipe's wife?'

         
Juana told her, conscious even while she smiled and talked
that her husband was studying her with the chilling detachment that she knew so
well. She could feel his gaze resting on her like the touch of ice. She had
been answering some question about their journey, but as she did so she began
to wonder whether she was giving away more than he wanted any other to know;
her tongue slowed and she hesitated, lost the thread of her speech and fell
silent. Luis, catching the exchange of looks, broke in with heavy-handed tact.

         
'You must be hot and thirsty, both of you, and here you are
standing in the street! Felipe, go through to the back door — the trough is
full, and you can wash and fetch some water for your lady to do the same, while
I find somewhere for you to sleep tonight.' He turned to Elisabeta. 'Alfonso
and Carlos can sleep at their Tio Enrique's, yes? And if we have little Rodrigo
to sleep with us, our guests can have some privacy.'

         
Juana started forward. 'We do not need —' she began, then
stopped, aware of the amusement on the three faces confronting her.

         
Tristan's brows lifted in mock enquiry, and Elisabeta
laughed outright.

         
'Indeed you do! Married yesterday and sleep with a couple
of children? The two eldest can go to my brother across the street for as long
as you are here, and the youngest one will do well in our room.'

         
She darted her husband a teasing

         
look. 'Luis does nothing but snore all night anyway!'

         
Disturbed as she was, Juana could not help laughing at
Luis's indignant expression. Tristan crossed to her and encircled her shoulders
with one arm, saying dryly, 'I shall not pretend I am not grateful, Elisabeta,
whatever my wife may say. Now, Luis, show me this trough of yours.'

         
As the two men led the way in Juana followed them and
halted, gazing curiously round her. The house itself reminded her of some that
her father had had built for his graziers in the last days of his old
prosperity: solid and thick-walled, with a trodden-earth floor and deep-set,
small-paned windows. But that Luis carried on some sort of trade here was
obvious; the entire room was lined with boxes and sacks and jars, and there was
a thick sweet smell of grain in the air, mingling with spices and the
unmistakable earthy odour of growing things.

         
'You must love him very much.'

         
Elisabeta's voice startled her and she looked up almost
guiltily. It was not a question, only a sympathetic statement, and Juana nodded
with a curiously defeated little gesture. 'Yes, I do.'

         
The other woman grimaced. 'Why else should you come with
him to a place like this? Where did you meet him, a fine lady like you?'

         
'In Andalusia.' That cramping self-consciousness was
hampering Juana again as she spoke. 'I was visiting the Castillo Benaventes,
and he was there, and

         
— we saw each other then.'

         
'And that was enough for both of you! It shows, you know. I
never thought to see Felipe look like that again, after what happened to him
here — you must have found him difficult at first, not apt to confess his
feelings? He has not prized any woman very highly for fourteen years past.'

         
Juana's lips tightened. 'Oh, I know he esteems me to my
full worth,' she responded acidly.

         
Elisabeta did not seem to notice her tone but began to
bustle about. In moments she had relieved Juana of her cloak, exclaimed over
her tangled hair, admired the style of her gown and lamented the ragged hem
where her skirts had been cut away, and then embarked on an explanation of her
husband's long friendship with Tristan. She seemed to assume that Juana knew
most of the details of Tristan's boyhood, but the girl dared not press for
enlightenment for fear of stopping the flow.

         
'Luis has always been a trader, Felipe will have told you
that. He inherited the business from his father, and some people look down on
us because we buy and sell — but not Felipe! He would always stop and talk with
us: there was never any false pride in him. I think he felt for us; he knew how
it was after the way his own countrymen treated him! And then, when his mother
and father were — taken

         
— he came here to tell us.' Elisabeta shook her head, and
tears came in her eyes.

         
'He did not weep, you know, even then. Fourteen years old,
and he would not cry for his father and mother! We wanted him to stay with us
then, but he would

         
not — he
went
 
off, saying that
he
 
must learn to get his own living, and we did
not see him again for nearly three years.'

         
'Where did he go?'

         
'We did not know, then. He came back when he was almost
seventeen and said that he had been with the army — we were not surprised at
that, he has always looked older than his age. He had been an officer, he
said.' Elisabeta's smile was reminiscent, but it faded swiftly. 'Then he took
lodgings with Don Ignacio de Guzman, the father of
la viuda
 
Herreros, while he tried to go to law for what
was left of his parents' property, and stayed on even after they told him that
the Church had had it all after they died. The old man was kind to him, he
said, and he seemed happy. Luis and I — it was just before we were married — we
were glad for him. He stayed there for another two years, until —' she stroked
her own plump cheek — 'this — his face — and after that he refused to stay. He
never could stomach being pitied, Felipe. We have seen him now and again in the
years since, and once he wrote to Luis from Seville; but though Luis has asked
him to come and stay here often, this is the first time he has done more than
come for a few hours at a time.' She sighed. 'And then it was never the same.'

         
The sadness in her voice puzzled Juana. She wondered
whether Elisabeta meant that their friendship had dwindled with the years, and
it trembled on her tongue to say that she had never seen Tristin so forbearing
as he was here, among his old friends.