"I promised nothing. Shoot him at the next word, Jose. That's an order."
Toby stared up helplessly at Jose's teeth and eyes shining mockingly in the gloom.
The caudillo sneered down at him. "Too late for heroics, little boy. You can keep your lives if you behave, but that's all. Nothing more. The run up to the monastery will warm you. This one has a treat in store for her." He poked a finger at Gracia's bottle. "What's in this?"
She clutched it with both hands and tried to step back, but there was a tree right behind her. "Nothing, senor!" she wailed.
"Nothing?" The caudillo seized the bottle in one hand and her throat in the other. With a yank, he broke the thong and snatched it from her grasp.
Gracia screamed and tried to reach for it. Toby ground his teeth, horribly aware that any visible move would provoke the twitch of Jose's trigger finger that would end everything. At his back, his hand groped the gravel in search of a rock small enough to throw, large enough to damage...
The caudillo pulled out the stopper and tilted the bottle. Nothing emerged. He snorted and tossed it over his shoulder. It shattered. "We'll fill your flask for you tonight, senorita. I told the rest of you to take your clothes off. Do I have to kill one of you to get..." He turned and peered up the road. "What's that noise?"
The crossbow menacing Toby fell away as Jose stepped back, staring fixedly at something in the woods. His eyes seemed uncannily bright in the gloom. "Oh, no!" he wailed. "No, no!"
Toby risked a quick glance around and saw nothing behind him except darkness and tree trunks. What was going on?
With a shrill scream, the caudillo drew his sword. "Leave me alone! Begone!" He parried like a fencer, then began slashing and leaping as if beset by invisible foes, gradually drawing away from the captives.
More of the brigands cried out and started flailing pikes or swords at the fog. Their frenzy grew wilder, their screams of terror louder. Metal clashed against metal. The prisoners were being totally ignored. Injuries forgotten, Toby lurched to his feet and made a dive for a fallen sword. He came back armed and much happier for it, although he could see that there would soon be no enemies left. His friends huddled in around him, as if he could defend them from what was happening. Gracia clutched at him, and he put an arm around her.
"The voices!" she cried. "Oh, do you hear them, senor? Do you hear what they are saying?"
"I hear nothing." But he could feel the hair on his scalp stir.
Pepita's squeal sounded more like laughter than fright. Senora Collel shrieked wordlessly and kept on shrieking until Toby gave her a shove. "Be quiet!" he said. "Will you draw attention to us?" She choked into silence.
There was no escape, for the road was blocked in both directions by cavorting weapon-wielding madmen, whose windmill strokes were inevitably starting to find flesh-and-blood victims. Screams of terror were being overwhelmed by screams of agony and mindless rage. Jose was still the closest; he swung his bow like a club at a swordsman, who turned on him with a string of lurid oaths. The two of them engaged in a wild duel, bow against sword, both slashing ineptly as if they could not see each other properly, both shrieking hysterically.
"Villains! Monsters!" the caudillo bellowed. "I will not accept your lies!" He felled Jose from behind. The other man promptly reversed his sword and threw himself on it. A crossbow bolt thudded into the caudillo's breastplate, toppling him backward. He kicked a few times and then lay still.
It was almost over. A few vague figures still screamed and howled in the fog, battling one another without mercy or any visible reason. When they lost their weapons they went for each other with bare hands, punching and strangling, battering heads on rocks. Several hurled themselves over the edge of the track, their yells dying away in thuds and crashes among the trees on the slope below.
"Wraiths?" Hamish said. "Can you see them, senora?"
"I can hear my voices!" Gracia cried.
"Victory!" Josep cried shrilly. "Senora de Gomez has defeated them!"
The last two brigands rushed at each other in a duel, shrieking nonsensical insults, hacking wildly with no attempt to parry. One dropped, the other took a couple of paces and pitched headlong to the ground. The gurgling cries of pain died away into silence.
It was over, all over. Incredibly, the enemy had destroyed themselves in their madness, to the last man. No one would mourn them, but they might have claimed two worthy lives in their villainy, and those lay heavy on Toby's mind. He had come to like the mad don and admire him. Lately he had even come to terms with the crusty old monk. In fact, if not in name, Toby had been in charge, so their loss was on his conscience now. He also owed Gracia a profound apology for doubting her and her voices.
More screaming... in the distance, farther down the hill.
"Listen!" Josep shouted. "The wraiths have gone to rescue our horses." His voice cracked with fear or excitement.
Pepita laughed. "They will drive them back to us!" She was much less upset than any of the adults. "Those bad men were fighting ghosts. Did you see, Toby? Their swords went right through them!"
"I did not see, but I guessed." He saw that Doña Francisca was kneeling over her son again. "Is he alive?"
"I believe so, senor."
"I am glad."
The don was young and fit, and all he had suffered was a fall. Was there any chance that Father Guillem had survived? Stepping over corpses, picking his way through the slaughter, Toby set off down the road to where the acolyte lay beside his horse. Everyone except Francisca came after him, wanting the comfort of his presence. He was a failure and a coward, but he was all they had.
He squatted to lay fingers against the stricken man's throat. Astonishingly he found a pulse—weak but regular, not the fluttering uncertain beat of a dying heart. Although it was hard to tell in the gloom, he could see no trace of a wound, or even injuries. Another miracle? He felt anger surging and struggled to suppress it.
He rose. "Father Guillem's still alive! We must get him to the sanctuary as fast as possible."
"I do not think that will be necessary," Hamish said quietly. "Listen."
Hooves clinked and splashed on the downhill bend—apparently the horses were returning as Pepita had predicted. But there were voices from the opposite direction. Balls of brightness in the fog came into view around the corner and gradually resolved into flaming torches as they approached, a dozen or more of them.
CHAPTER FIVE
The five at the front were nuns in black robes and head cloths, and although four of them held lanterns, almost nothing of their faces could be seen. They halted a few feet from the huddle of pilgrims and just stared at Toby, who had remained standing when his companions knelt. The one in the center was taller and probably younger than the others. She carried no light, but the rain around her glimmered with another sort of brightness.
Behind them came a dozen monks in the black robes of Benedictines with their hoods raised against the drizzle, so that the flicker of their torches showed only disembodied faces floating in the gathering dark. They divided into two lines and took up position like a guard of honor along either side of the road, shedding light on the battlefield. More monks without torches followed them.
"Is this not wonderful!" Gracia enthused, reaching up to pull on Toby's arm. "After so many troubles, to find sanctuary! And the wraiths tell me that Montserrat will cherish them..." She prattled on.
Toby kept his attention on the silent women and especially the one with the golden shimmer around her. So this was the famous tutelary of Montserrat! Why had it not intervened sooner to prevent so much anguish and so many deaths? He felt he had a bone or two to pick with Montserrat, but it was obviously not going to speak until he behaved like a grown-up. Angrily, he threw down his sword and sank to his knees on muddy stones that felt accursedly sharp and cold through the only pair of hose he possessed.