Although the lance was presently being held high, it could mean death if it were couched.
"Cover me!" Toby hurled down his pack and grasped his staff in both hands, fading to the right. Hamish jumped to the left, preparing to make a fight of it. If the rider went for either of them, the other could smash the horse's legs.
Whatever his intentions might have been, Don Ramon reined in about a dozen paces away and stared down at the peasants with a hauteur that would have seemed pretentious on the face of Ozbeg, Khan of the Golden Horde.
He was as lean as Hamish and certainly no older than Toby, probably younger. His face was of an unusual pallor and bore a high-beaked nose over a slender ginger mustache curved up in twisted points like bull horns. Its expression of sublime arrogance was sadly out of keeping with his armor, for his helmet had come from some Castilian foot-soldier, the polished cuirass from one of Nevil's German mercenaries, and the great two-handed broadsword hanging from his saddle belonged in a museum. So did his lance and the shield on his back, for who fought with those any more? His breeches had a patch on one knee, his boots did not match, and even his shabby bay mount was notable only for its size and age. It looked old enough to be a veteran of the Granada conquest.
Toby was not accustomed to looking up to other men. He also felt he had a perfect right to raise his staff when an armed man charged him on horseback, although the likes of Don Ramon would see the move as open rebellion. In the resulting silence, he heard only the steady thump of his own heart, and saw only those haughty, unwinking eyes so much higher than his own. Eventually the obvious contempt made him feel ridiculous, so he lowered his staff and bowed to the hidalgo.
Don Ramon turned his gaze on Hamish, who bowed also. Then the chubby little squire arrived on his panting pony.
"Francisco," declaimed the knight, "inquire what manner of men these be who contest our progress, whether they be persons of quality with whom one may seek honorable passage of arms, or common rabble that need be taught respect for their betters." Even Toby could recognize the lisping accents of Toledo in that arrogant voice.
The squire clambered down stiffly from his pony, which had seen many better years. So had his ragged jerkin and hose, and he himself was well past his best, for his round, pink face was sagged in many wrinkles and when he doffed his pie-shaped leather cap, he released a wild straggle of white hair. He advanced a couple of steps toward Toby and then spoke out in an unexpectedly high-pitched voice: "Sirs, my noble master seeks to learn what manner of men you may be."
Toby drew a deep breath, but Hamish forestalled him:
"Sir Squire, pray inform the gracious hidalgo that we are humble but honest men who have pledged our arms to defend the honor and person of a lady of virtue and quality traveling on pilgrimage, and that although we ourselves are foreigners in this country, we are not and never have been servants of the rebel armies which have so grievously wreaked havoc upon it. Furthermore, pray inform the dauntless and esteemed caballero that even in our distant homeland, far away across the boundless ocean, we have heard tell of his innumerable deeds of valor, superlative breeding, and legendary prestige among knights and thus we are honored beyond measure to find ourselves in the awesome presence of Don Ramon de Nuñez y Pardo."
The squire's eyes bulged and his jaw fell open.
Even Don Ramon raised a coppery eyebrow.
Beautifully done, Master Campbell! Taking his cue from Hamish, Toby bowed very low.
"The wench, Francisco?" Don Ramon murmured. Then louder: "Inquire of what sort is yonder fair damsel, so that, if she be worthy, a gentleman may pay homage to her beauty."
"Sirs—"
"Pray inform his magnificence," said Hamish, "that he is in the presence of the exalted and matchless but most unfortunate Doña Gracia de Gomez." (Who uttered a most un-exalted gulp at hearing herself thus promoted to the nobility.) "The noble lady, racked by innumerable misfortunes, is currently on pilgrimage to the monastery of Montserrat."
Don Ramon raised the other eyebrow also. For a moment he stared dubiously at the bottle hung around the damsel's neck, then he grounded the butt of his lance. Francisco hobbled over to hold it and take the destrier's reins, as if that ancient lump would ever move of its own volition.
Don Ramon dismounted in a bold leap and strode across to Gracia with the litheness of a stag, ignoring Toby and Hamish, although they were still armed and he was not. When he had gone past, they could see the heraldry on his shield, which depicted many quarterings, mostly white butterflies on red and blue, daisies on yellow. He sank to his knees and swept off his infantryman's helmet to uncover rich auburn locks reaching to his shoulders.
"Most noble lady, I am enraptured to behold this wilderness enriched by your unparalleled beauty, a loveliness such as I have encountered before only in the songs of the greater poets, and which must certainly be coupled with great elevation of birth and perfect nobility of soul. Reassure me, I beg you, that these yokels who seemingly attend you are indeed thralls in your service and not wayfaring ruffians who have in any way caused you distress. Tell me that they as much as brought a blush to your cheek by a crude word, and I shall instantly perform justice upon their bodies with my sword."
He would have to get to his sword first, Toby thought, fingering his staff.
Gracia shook her head violently, being apparently beyond speech as she stared down at the handsome young caballero. Her silence did not perturb him in the slightest.
"If you so implore mercy for them, sweet lady, then I can refuse you nothing. But surely the good spirits have blessed me today, because I myself am on my way to Montserrat, accompanied as you may see by a modest train of a hundred or so retainers. I beg you that you will consent to let me escort you, so that you may travel in more safety, greater comfort, and company considerably more appropriate to your noble station and personal beauty."
Toby looked again at the straggle of pilgrims trailing down the valley. Then he looked at Hamish, Hamish at Toby, both of them at the squire, and all three shrugged together. Doña Gracia managed to mumble some words of consent.
"Then, most dear lady, it is my dearest hope that you will agree to sup with us tonight in my pavilion, where my attendants will spread a table proper to your genteel taste, my bards and entertainers will seek to amuse you with music, and you will regale our courtly company with your lovely presence and delicate conversation."
"But, senor... I have nothing to wear!
"A trifle, honored lady! My mistress of the wardrobe will see that you are provided with fitting raiment. You will not refuse me, else surely I must die of a broken heart!"
"No! I mean, yes. I mean I shall be honored beyond words."
"Till tonight then. Ah, how slowly the minutes will drag!" Don Ramon kissed her fingers, flowed upright, and withdrew backward, bowing three times. Having paid his respects to the newly ennobled Doña Gracia, he spun around and paced back to his horse, which had not moved a muscle except to continue its strident breathing. He took his lance from his squire and—despite his heavy cuirass and shield—vaulted into the high saddle as smoothly as any professional acrobat.
Hamish whistled softly and shot a wondering glance at Toby.