"Antonio," said the serene voice of the spirit, "the greatest of all tragedies is that evil cannot prosper long without the help of the good, and yet prosper it does. Though you were doing less evil than the baron wanted, you were still doing enough."
"I see that now, Holiness. You opened my eyes. I will serve him no more. I will not return to Barcelona with him tomorrow, or whenever he leaves here. If you refuse me sanctuary, then I must flee and hope that he does not track me down with his black arts. He regards anything less than perfect loyalty as treason."
Some executions for treason lasted for days, with the victims' suffering extended by demonic power beyond all normal endurance. He had no close family, but his cousins and uncles might well...
"A late repentance is still repentance. This is your firm decision?"
"It is, Holiness."
"Then you are forgiven. Walk in peace and do better."
Ah, what blessed relief those words brought with them! The tutelary had not yet offered sanctuary, though. Nor named a penance...
"Was it only our anger that opened your eyes, Antonio? Nothing else?"
"Your disapproval was enough, Holiness, when I had time to think about it. Although... well, later I watched a young man give himself up to the Inquisition in place of his friends. When I compared his actions with mine I was ashamed, bitterly ashamed. I saw myself rotting in evil."
"And how did you see Longdirk?"
The question disconcerted him. "An impressive young man, but a tragic one. I am surprised that his demon was able to conceal itself so well. He showed absolutely no signs of possession that I could see, unless the brigands... but I did not really witness what happened to them."
The tutelary sighed. "Ignore his demon for now. We believe he has mastered it, or will soon. We can discuss that another time. Without the demon, would you accept that man as a friend?"
The question stabbed to his heart. "Alas, Holiness! The boy is undoubtedly dead by now, hanging in chains that I fastened myself."
"Answer our question."
"Friend? That one would never have extended friendship readily. To have earned his trust would have made any man proud, for it would have been an anchor in the wildest storms."
"He is not dead."
"It would be better for him if he were. Are you saying you want me to go and rescue him, Holiness? A man possessed by—"
"No, we are saying he is here, beyond the reach of the tormentors. He stole away the viceroy's demons and left him bereft of his powers."
"He did?" Was that why Oreste had come hastening to Montserrat? "Longdirk did? He and his demon? Why, that is the most incredible, wonderful—"
"No help from his demon. A little aid from us and from one of his followers, but mostly just Longdirk himself. He reminds us very much of El Cid in his younger days, before he realized how good he was."
"Praise indeed, Holiness!" Diaz muttered. El Cid!
"Praise well earned. The baron was enchanted to obey the Fiend, you know. Now Longdirk has released him, he is truly penitent. Like you he will serve Nevil no more."
"That is marvelous news, Holiness!—for Barcelona, for Aragon, and for me." So Diaz need not resign his commission? But he had promised to do so, and the tutelary had let him make that promise.
"It is good news. We have not yet named your penance, Antonio. First, go and meet our hero. Return here in the morning." The nun rose from her chair to end the interview. "We shall guide you to him."
Without waiting for his command, his legs raised him from the cushion and walked him out the door. Needing no light, they moved him surely through the silent, dark labyrinth of the monastery, along corridors and up stairs until he was thoroughly lost. Eventually he came to a door and his hand lifted the latch without knocking. He entered a capacious chamber, lit dimly by dying embers in the hearth and a single candle.
A large man sat by the fireplace, his head nodding. He was apparently about to retire, stripped to his doublet and hose. He looked up with a smile as Diaz closed the door.
"Welcome, Captain Diaz!" He rose and came forward to offer a hand. "So you got my message?" His grip was powerful. Even in chains he had been impressive. At liberty and close quarters he dominated, and not all of that dominance came from his size.
Message? Did this vagabond use the tutelary as a page?
"I am very happy that you escaped, Senor Longdirk, even if it was my responsibility to see that you did not. I am glad you made a fool of me."
The young outlaw's smile became a yawn, and Diaz saw that he was exhausted—which was hardly surprising in the circumstances. "I did not make a fool of you at all. You cannot be blamed, because Montserrat did it all. I regret that I cannot offer you some wine, but they drank your share also." He gestured at the table, which bore bottles and several goblets. Apparently there had been a party.
"It is of no matter," Diaz said.
"Sit, then." Longdirk waved him to a chair and sank into his own as if even his great limbs could barely support him. He leaned his head back with a sigh. "I want first to thank you, Captain. You treat your prisoners with respect, and I have been locked up, arrested, confined, manacled, fettered, and incarcerated often enough to be a good judge of jailers. I appreciated your kindness greatly."
Sensing mockery, Diaz bristled, but he could detect no guile in those dark eyes, deep-sunken under their heavy brows. Deathly fatigue, yes, and a worry that belied the man's efforts to seem relaxed. But no trace of ridicule. "That was some kindness!"
"You did what you had to do, and you did it without jeering or unnecessary humiliation. There is no better way to assess a man than to see how he treats a beaten foe."
"The orders he chooses to obey are more revealing, senor. Montserrat tells me that you have gelded the hexer. For that I thank you from the depths of my soul! All Europe will rejoice at the end of the infamous baron."
"I took his demons away from him, yes. He's not basically an evil man at all, Captain." The big mouth twisted in a weary grin. "So tonight I gave them back to him again."
"You jest?"
"No. He broke down and wept. It was very touching." The outlaw smiled through his exhaustion.
"You are more gracious to beaten foes than I have ever been, senor. Was this wise?"
"I hope so. I need his help, you see, as well as..." Longdirk interrupted himself with an enormous yawn. "Excuse me! As well as yours—your help. I wanted to invite you to the meeting, but Montserrat said you were busy. I'll outline the plan and let you sleep on it. It will be called Don Ramon's Company, naturally. Have you met the honored caballero? No? You have a treat in store. He postures a lot, but he's brilliant at working out what I want to do and then ordering me to do it. He disapproves of fighting for money, but his m..." Another yawn. "...His squire persuaded him that this was the only option open to us. I shall be his campeador, whatever that is—it just seems to mean that I do all the work."
Diaz was beginning to see the penance the tutelary had in mind for him.
"Senor Josep Brusi has agreed to provide the necessary financing on very generous terms. The baron..." Again Longdirk yawned. Muttering angrily, he heaved himself out of his chair. "No, sit still. The baron will be our hexer—he is most eager to serve and no band in Europe will be better protected. My friend Hamish—Jaume—will be in charge of intelligence, because he has more of it than he knows what to do with."