The Flesh and the Devil (86 page)

         
'What do you mean?' Juana was shocked by the savage note
that lurked beneath the light, ironic tone.

         
'My father and mother lived for four years in France before
they came to Spain, and for two years after that no one questioned them.'
Tristan spoke wearily, as if the narration bored him, but there was an
unnatural intentness in the piercing green eyes as he talked. 'My father took
in pupils to earn his living and my mother did fine sewing -then someone
denounced them to the Inquisitor-General, on the grounds that their faith must
be suspect because - they had been friendly with French Huguenots and even talked
with Jews. Your race was ever hostile to the Chosen People, worse even than the
English.' His averted face was growing ever more bitter. The village priest
took pity on me and vouched for me, or else
I
 
would have been taken, too; there were times
afterward when I wished I had been. My parents were in the cells of the
Inquisition for six weeks, and their confessions were published after their
deaths. My father was past fifty when I was born; he would not have altered his
ideals for what be thought was false doctrine, and my mother was too gentle.'
He broke off the sentence short, then finished in a flat voice, 'That is why I
have no faith in the Church, and small love for the Spaniards who administer
it.'

         
Juana said unevenly, 'I see,' and the hand that she had
reached to him fell back into her lap. Even like this, cradled against her, he
was apart from her; she could not hope to bridge the gulf between them now. It
was wider than any difference of race or birth, wider than her imagined hatred;
wider even than the wedge of murder had driven it. Now she knew why he had
silently declared himself her enemy at their first meeting; she knew that it
was unalterable. Even their marriage had been one more weapon against her, a
convenient, unbreakable bond that had suited his purpose. He would discount it
as soon as it ceased to serve him, she thought, while she, bound by the tenets
of her faith and her love for him, would never escape it.

        
'I have not married any other woman,' he said suddenly,
watching her. 'I had not the stomach.'

         
Her cheeks warmed as she realized he had partly read her
mind. 'It should have been you who was accused of witchcraft, not I,' she
retorted. To break the ominous spell that bound them in the shadowy dusk, she
said with sudden briskness, 'When we reach Cadiz we must find Placido and give
him back his cart

         
- I should have asked Rafael where to find him, but I shall
have to enquire him out.'

         
Tristan settled himself across her lap, his hand grasping a
fold of her skirt so that she could not dislodge him, before enquiring dryly,
'Is that the most important thing that you have to do in Cadiz?'

         
'It is the first. It would only confirm his ill opinion of
me if I repaid him by robbing him of his cart.'

         
'Repaid for what? He has treated us like lazars.'

         
'And refused to take any money for our passage. He told me
to buy myself some shoes instead. . . .'

         
Sleep was creeping over her; she was tempted to lie down
beside him and draw the cloak over them both, then found that she had done so.
Tristan lay on his back unmoving as she stretched out beside him. She could
sense the remoteness of his thoughts even while she struggled with the sleep
that threatened to overcome her, and she guessed that his mind had travelled
back to old, intolerable memories in which she had no part. Then, just as her
eyes closed in spite of herself, she felt him take her wrist and draw her arm
round his waist, and she was asleep before she could withdraw it.

         
They reached Cadiz just before noon, and the noise that
reached out and enfolded them made Villenos seem like a haven of peace by
comparison. As they crossed the neck of land that led to the city, Juana was so
awestruck by her first glimpse of the sea that if the oxen had not continued on
their way by themselves, shuffling placidly in the wake of the other traffic,
she might have overturned the cart. As it was, the equipage jolted and Tristan
muttered something terse under his breath as the vibration jarred his wound.

         
'What is it?' He had been lying among the sacks at the
bottom of the cart, and his head came up sharply.

         
'I can see the sea,' she answered breathlessly, and there
was a brief, astonished pause.

         
'Then why did you-' He cut himself short. 'I forget. Is it
the first time?'

         
'Yes. My father always swore that I saw the sea when I was
small, but I cannot remember it. I never dreamed that it would be so—so huge.'

         
Her face was radiant as she stared at the blue-green,
ever-moving water, and in that moment she looked so blindingly lovely that the
driver of the wagon in front, turning to remonstrate with her for allowing her
oxen too near his load of hay, found himself gaping at her, goggle-eyed.

         
It was ample, she found, to make her way into the teeming
city despite its strangeness. She had only to follow the line in front of her,
for the oxen seemed to know well enough where they were going. Once, when she
tried to turn down a broader road that looked promising, they ignored her tugging
and took her inexorably ahead. A sudden thought made her call out, 'Felipe!'

         
'What is the matter?' His voice sounded faintly strained.

         
'The animals seem to know the way better than I. Do you
suppose they would take us to Placido if I let them?'

         
He gave a brief, smothered laugh. 'We can try-I expect they
know where they are usually quartered. Just hold the reins and let us see where
they take us.'

         
Several times in the course of the next half-hour Juana
regretted her impulse, as the cart creaked and ground through a warren of
ever-narrowing streets. But the oxen seemed sure of their destination and
pursued an unswerving course, and before she could suggest that they stop and
enquire their way, the cart came to a gradual but decided halt. The sudden
cessation of the sound and movement was startiing, and Juana blinked as she
stared about her. All the buildings looked identical - peeling pink or white
stucco with arched doorways and slitted windows-and all around them people
hurried obliviously, intent on their own affairs. Quickly, for fear someone
else should drive up and want to pass in the narrow roadway, Juana hailed a
shawled woman who was leading a very small donkey in the opposite direction.

         
'Can you tell me where to find Placido the mule-driver? I
have brought back his cart and oxen.'

         
The woman sniffed disapprovingly. 'So I see. He is
 
in the nearest tavern - where else would he
be after a voyage? Over there.' She pointed to a shabby doorway with a bush
tied above the lintel, and went on without waiting to be thanked.

         
'It seems to pay to have faith.' Tristan's tone was very
dry.

         
Juana secured the reins and slithered to the ground,
staggering as her cramped legs threatened to give way, but with a look of
determination on her face.

         
'Stay here while I go and find Placido,' she said. 'He may
know what ships are in port, and that will help us.'

         
In the course of the journey she had developed a rolling
gait like a sailor's in swinging on and off the swaying carts, but she had not
noticed it until she found herself within doors again. Now the ill-lit room
with its stained tables and heavy odour of stale wine seemed to swing round
her, and she groped her way from wall to table to chair, steadying herself with
outstretched hands against whatever she encountered. She was clinging to the
back of a low chair, wondering whether she would ever regain her sense of
balance, when she recognized the hunched, persecuted-looking shape of its
occupant.

         
'Sehor Placido.'

         
'Oh - you.' He sounded more disgruntled than surprised to
see her. 'Did those knaves who were following you get my cart?'

         
'No, my husband drove them off. Your cart is outside.' She
was becoming monosyllabic as he, she noted with a glimmer of amusement.

         
'Well.' Placido sniffed dourly, and Juana thought she had
been dismissed until he added, 'And now?'

         
'Now we have to get passage on a ship.'

         
Placido's leathery face wrinkled as though she had done him
some personal injury. 'A ship, you say? A ship bound where?'

         
'Anywhere out of Spain, but it must be quickly. I – we need
to get away.'

         
'I did not suppose your man to have been shot for sport,
and I do not commonly smuggle people through the streets under the noses of the
watch - not often, anyway.' He scowled up at her, and then away again. 'Well,
your luck has run out. Unless you want to sail round the coast to Gibraltar or
try your luck in North Africa - and even that route is uncertain - there are no
ships foolhardy enough to venture out, nor have been for three months past.
There is a fleet of Portuguese ships blockading the whole Gulf, and nothing can
sail in or out.'

         
Two days‘ painful enquiring in the harbour area only served
to confirm Placido's gloomy statement. Many of those whose work was repairing
ships, sailmaking or loading and unloading cargoes, were either standing idle
in the streets or else had gone inland to find work.

         
'But the land is sour,' as Mother Salsa told Juana,
grimacing, 'and even the peons living there already are having to grub for a
living. There will be no work for them there.'