Longdirk shuffled across to the bed and returned with a quilt. "That's as far as we got. About five hundred men, I think, to start with—pikemen, arquebusiers, cavalry... possibly some light artillery. We're going to begin in Italy."
Some comment was required. "Start what, senor?"
The big man was spreading the quilt on the floor. He looked up, bleary with exhaustion, having trouble making his eyes focus. "Fighting, of course." His grin made his heavy-boned face seem oddly boyish.
"Fighting whom?"
Longdirk straightened up and rubbed his eyes. "The Fiend. He's unbeaten so far, but I have a few ideas. A bit of success and we can start gathering allies... A fighting man could not ask for a foe more worthy, or unworthy, I suppose. He's got to be stopped. Think it over and we'll talk again in the morning. Josep's provided some gold already, so we can start recruiting and arming right away. Sorry, Captain, I'm tuckered out. If I don't lie down I'll fall down. Can you find your way to your quarters? Any questions so far?"
More than a few! It all sounded like raving insanity, and yet...
Yet he was a believable leader! Young and brash... but believable. He had thrown himself to the Inquisition to save his friends. He had escaped the Inquisition by some incredible miracle. He was competent, indestructible, unconquerable. Men would follow him. Even Diaz himself?
But... But... But!
Was it heresy to compare him to El Cid?
"May I inquire what experience you have, senor?"
The boy changed another yawn into his big grin. "None, if you mean conventional military experience. That's why I need you as my deputy. But fighting? Oreste has chased me all the way from Scotland. It took him three years to catch me, and even then he had to call in Nevil and his army. I think I know a little bit, Captain!"
The tutelary vouched for Longdirk, so he could not be as crazy as he seemed. Not crazy at all. He could master demons and overthrow the greatest hexer in Europe.
But!
"If I may have time to consider the matter, as you suggested, senor?"
"Of course. Can you find your way out? Better still, take the bed. I can't possibly sleep on anything that soft. No, I mean it." With no hesitation, Longdirk dropped his clothes and settled himself on the quilt. His wide back was brutally netted by the white scars of the lash, but Diaz had seen those before.
With a luxurious yawn, the big man rolled himself up in a cocoon and laid his face on the rug. "I think you're going to accept, Captain. I know you better than you know me, although I can't explain that now. Take the bed, I mean it!"
"You are very generous, senor!" Diaz snuffed the candle and went over to the huge featherbed, which he had already decided was the most appealing thing he had seen in years, and infinitely better than the thin straw pallet waiting for him in the cramped cell he had expected to share with Sergeant Gomez.
He knew that the offer was a sort of bribe. It would make the other offer harder to refuse—companions in arms already, sharing quarters, sharing trust. Either Longdirk was much more devious than he seemed or he had infallible instincts for handling men. Or he was just naturally generous.
Diaz stripped and sank deep into warm softness. Bliss!
Successful mercenaries could become very rich.
"One last question, senor. Why Italy?"
"Hmm?" said a sleepy voice from the darkness. "Because Nevil's bound to strike there soon. The princes and republics are arming like crazy, hiring every mercenary they can lay hands on. The baron and Hamish agree that Italy's where the next big battles will be. Mind you, I'm not at all sure that Jaume doesn't just want to be Giacomo."
After a moment he muttered, "That was a joke, I think. Spirits keep you, Captain."
"And you also, Campeador."
REALITY CHECK
My geography is more or less accurate. Social customs are very similar, although the absence of monotheistic religions makes some differences inevitable—Medieval Europe without Christianity is a contradiction in terms.
A divergent cast of characters takes over the historical stage after 1241. One of the great turning points in European history occurred in December of that year, when Ogedai Khan, son and successor of Genghis Khan, drank himself to death in far-off Mongolia. The unbeatable Mongol army, which had already conquered Russia, Poland, and Hungary and was poised to advance westward, turned back and never returned. (Russia remained under Mongol suzerainty for more than two centuries.)
Alumbradismo was a transcendental heresy associated with the Franciscans and first detected by the Inquisition in 1519. It sought total submission to God through meditation and claimed healing powers for some of its practitioners.
I have not overstated the cruelty of the Spanish Inquisition.
—K.H.