"You will have to excuse them," the squire said. "Their homes have been destroyed, and they lost dear ones. The mule, whose name I am pleased to recount is Thunderbolt, carries all that they possess in the world—most of which they will have eaten before we reach our destination."
"They can have no cause to like or trust foreigners," Toby agreed. Their pleasure would be even less if they knew that he was the reason King Nevil had invaded Aragon at all. Miguel and Rafael each carried a stout staff. He wondered if they could use them, because he was already making mental notes about defense. If he was to assist the don in his task of guarding the pilgrims—as unpaid assistant, obviously—then he would see it was done properly. Taking orders of any sort was never his strong point, and he had endured floggings rather than obey foolish ones. To keep the party together, the slowest members should be put at the front.
Any marauder who tried to drive off Thunderbolt would not have a profitable outing, but the next two pilgrims were of a different sort, a large and well-gowned lady on a gray palfrey, and a more-simply dressed girl on a piebald pony, both of them riding on cumbersome sidesaddles. A roan packhorse trailed behind them on a tether. Here was wealth worth guarding, because people could be murdered in Aragon at the moment for a horse.
"Senora Collel," Francisco declaimed in a Catalan so mixed with Castilian that even Toby could follow it, "may I have the inestimable honor of presenting the charming Senora de Gomez, who travels like ourselves to Barcelona? And her stalwart companions, who will aid the don in guarding us?"
The two women exchanged polite words and penetrating inspections, Senora Collel being obviously intrigued by the bottle. She was a large lady of middle years, with a buxom figure and a coarse, mannish face bearing a visible mustache. Her imperious manner, while it would not match Don Ramon's, left no doubt that she was a person of considerable importance in her own eyes, and she was dressed accordingly, in a red and green gown with lavishly embroidered hooped skirt, puffed sleeves like strings of sausages, and an ornate neckline displaying an elaborate chemise beneath. The roundlet on her head and the long casing enclosing her braid were embellished with pearls and gold thread. Her wisdom in wearing such finery under the present circumstances could be doubted.
Her younger companion was not introduced, but the predatory way she looked Toby up and down gave him gooseflesh. He felt his bare-shaved face color under her calculating smile and averted his gaze quickly. She would doubtless be pleased to have won such a quick response.
Senora Collel's features stiffened when the new guards were named. "Foreigners?"
"But nothing to do with the rebels, senora," Francisco said hastily. "Wandering scholars who have had the misfortune to become caught up in this terrible war like ourselves."
"Scholars?" She ran a frown over Toby from his helmet and oversized pack to his already-battered buskins, and then back again, all the way. "And what do you study, Senor, er, Long... senor?"
"Civilization, senora," he said blandly. "I believe my own poor land of Scotland has much to learn from the more cultured ways of Aragon, and from Catalonia in particular."
"Indeed? Perhaps you are not quite so barbaric as you appear, then. I trust you have brought your own rations, because we have none to spare."
"You expect me to bleed for you without pay, senora?"
She glared. "The don has guaranteed our security. How he provides it is his concern. Senora de Gomez, will you not ride with me for a while? Dismount, Eulalia. A walk will do you good. You will, however, stay close to us." She reined in her horse and the others halted also.
Gracia viewed the saddles with alarm. "Oh, that is most kind of you, but I have no experience on the silla, only the angarillas."
"Then it is time you learned. If this halfwit girl can manage it, I am sure you can. Eulalia, you heard me."
The maid seemed unconcerned at losing her place, but she was waiting for Toby, holding out her hands so he could help her down. When her hopeful smile failed to produce the desired result and Hamish moved forward in his place, she refused his aid and slid easily to the ground on her own, contriving to reveal most of two very shapely legs in the process. Toby promptly lifted Gracia to the seat, which was a sort of chair mounted on a packsaddle. She blushed crimson, while all the others pretended not to notice.
Rafael and Miguel and the rest had almost caught up by then, so the horses were chevied into motion, and the three men set off once more toward the front of the procession, leaving the two senoras chattering like parrots.
"Senora Collel is going home to more than Miguel and Rafael are?" Toby inquired.
"I would presume so, senor." Francisco's manner was guarded, so he might have the same suspicions about the packhorse that Toby did. It seemed to be making heavy work of carrying a very compact, unassuming load.
"A formidable lady!" remarked Hamish, although he had spent the whole time ogling Eulalia.
"Indeed," Francisco agreed. "And a very well informed one. Senora Collel is the person to ask if you want to know anything at all about anyone in our party, Senor Jaume. That will shortly include your own life story, I am sure. Or else that will be the price required for the answers you seek."
"Is gossip a weakness of the fair sex, do you think?" asked Toby.
The squire quirked a puckish smile. "And of the old, senor. Now we come to our learned clerics. Father Guillem is from Montserrat, and is not merely a learned monk but also a holy acolyte of the sanctuary. I am not sure where Brother Bernat came from originally."
"And whose is the child?" Toby asked, for a skinny girl of about seven was bouncing along between the preachers, holding a hand of each and periodically lifting her legs so they had to swing her. As each man was laden with a bulky pack, this was probably not easy for them. "Are not friars and monks expected to be celibate in Spain?"
"Most are celibate, senor. A certain number are even chaste. The girl's name is Pepita. She is Brother Bernat's ward. I suspect her parents died in the war, but... but Senora Collel may be better informed on the matter than I am."
Hearing the three men and one pony advancing on them, the two robed men halted and turned. Little Pepita frowned with a child's frank distrust, moving closer to the taller and older of the two, who wore the gray and must therefore be Brother Bernat, the Franciscan.
The other spoke first, in a voice with the rumble of thunder. "Good spirits bless you, my sons!" Father Guillem was a monolith of a man in his forties, solid and square-cut—square his jaw, square his shoulders, and his sandaled feet seemed set too far apart. Even his black tonsure appeared somehow angled instead of round. In a large and hairy fist he clutched a staff almost as massive as Toby's own, much heavier than was needed for walking, so he could be added to the list of the company's defenders. He frowned as he listened to Francisco's introductions. "And whose men are you?"
The questioned burned, as it always did, and Toby bristled. "We appear to have become Don Ramon's, Father. For the time being."
The cleric disapproved. "Laws in all lands require a freeman to have a lord. No land, no lord, no guild?"
"Only honesty and a strong right arm."
"The strong arm I can see. I trust you will demonstrate the honesty."
"I also try to be civil, unless I am given cause not to be."
"A civil reply in the circumstances," said Brother Bernat mildly.
Grateful for that remark, Toby turned to him. He was tall and spare, a willow. His face was lined and aged, even his eyebrows silvered, and his tonsure had shrunk to a trace of swansdown around a naturally bald pink scalp. He seemed absurdly ancient to be walking the length of Aragon with a pack on his back, but his wizened lips were smiling.