The Flesh and the Devil (10 page)

         
De Castaneda eyed him sharply, then gave an approving
grunt. 'Then you will speed Doctor Sanchez, mmn? And still his tongue? I will
give you the thousand reales that were agreed for his fee, and I do not want to
see him again. And I know that you are the very grave of any secret.' He
smoothed back his hair and gave a little tug to his doublet, visibly gaining
confidence as he did so.

         
'Twenty years is a long time . . . I have not waited so
long and worked so hard to ensure a direct succession only to give up now, and
for so slight a reason.'

         
Tristán's curving brows lifted. 'Slight, senor?' he asked
dryly.

         
'It need be no more. Have some wine, Felipe; there are
things that we must talk of, you and I.'

         
As he poured wine for himself and the other man, de
Castaneda was conscious of relief that Tristán was sitting. He hated craning
his neck to speak to any man, and Tristán's arrogant bearing made him doubly
aware of the fact that the top of his head only just reached the mercenary's
chin. Now it soothed his conceit to hand over one of the goblets and then to
sit on the edge of the desk cradling its twin instead of going back to his own
chair. This once the fellow would not be able to look down at him, he thought.

         
'Tell me — ' his bright eyes studied Tristán over the
goblet's rim — 'have you thought what consequences this news will have for us —
for all our lives here, if there is no son and the King takes back his princely
gifts?'

         
Tristán shrugged indifferently. 'Few enough. The Duque
comes of age in less than three years and should not die before — if he does,
Don Gaspar de Benaventes remains his heir and will have the title, whatever
becomes of the estates. The other changes nothing.'

        
De Castaneda nodded slowly, his fleshy face hard and
malicious. 'Yes. And are you content that it should be so? I confess I am not.
I have laboured too hard to change it, to bear failure easily now. My wife's
cousin to be Duque, while the Crown snatches back all this land — no, no, not
to be borne!'

         
'The Duque still lives,' Tristán pointed out. He had put
down his wine untouched, and his eyes were as brilliant as a serpent' s in his
still face.

         
'Pho, we are all mortal!' De Castaneda paused, and his .
sidelong glance was half — furtive. 'It would solve everything if the little
Duquesa had a child.'

         
'Indeed, senor.'

         
Tristán's dry tone belied the sudden alertness in his eyes,
but de Castaneda heard only the almost imperceptible satire and did not notice
the quick, intent turn of the head.

         
'
That
for the doctor's report!' He snapped his
fingers explosively. 'It should be simple enough to contrive.'

         
'You intend to pray for a miracle, senor?'

         
De Castaneda found himself breathing rather heavily and
reminded himself that he needed the man's assistance; he was too useful as yet
to be killed just because it would be a satisfying thing to do. With a heavily
benign note in his voice, he said, 'I do not expect the Almighty to concern
Himself with so petty an affair when a little human ingenuity can do it. Think,
Felipe —' He leaned forward eagerly. 'Don Gaspar is in Portugal for as along as
the wars there continue, and no other — except the good Torres and his royal master
— will be too glad of the birth of an heir to question its parentage too
closely. All we need to do is to ensure that the little Arrelanos is quickly
with child.'

         
'A difficult problem, senor,' Tristán said tonelessly.

         
‗On the contrary, it is a simple one — there cannot
be many who would refuse to bed such a nonpareil and be paid for it.' De
Castaneda paused, then continued, 'I count myself as something past the age to
ensure success or I would undertake it myself; and I know that young Riccardo
would count himself fortunate if I were to ask him. But he is a stripling and
lacks skill.' His eyes ran over the muscular black-clad frame before him with
the affection of a sculptor. 'I rely on you, Felipe, to find a man who will bed
the little Arrelanos on her husband's behalf. A lusty one, who will break that
peremptory spirit of hers.'

         
After a moment the green eyes lifted, sudden and startling.
'She may denounce you to her family, senor,' Tristán said evenly.

         
'How? She is safe here for as long as we choose to keep her
— she was at odds with her father before she came, and aught she writes is
easily lost or burned. Besides, after the first onset she will be docile
enough, I swear, and will not dare tell anyone here for very shame.'

         
'No doubt you are right, senor.'

         
Tristán rose to his feet, a very faint smile on his lips;
his face was set, and the skin round the scar on his cheek had paled as if the
blemish were a cord cutting into his flesh.

         
De Castaneda put out a hand to grip his arm. 'Remember,
there will be gold to spur the fellow on if the little vixen scolds too
shrewdly. But I have no need to tell you, mmn? You will contrive it easily
enough. 'His falsely jocular tone grew hard. '
You
will contrive it?'

         
The red head inclined very slightly. 'I am vowed to your
service.'

         
The elder man's predatory look dissolved into a grin, and
laughter shook his thick body. 'I dare say you will have no easier task in this
life!' He tapped the mercenary's chest familiarly. 'The girl herself is payment
enough even without the money, mmn? But I shall see that you have the best
means to the work, throw you into her company, prefer you to her in some sort
that she cannot refuse.' He chewed his lower lip meditatively. 'We mint think
how to rid ourselves of the aunt, eh, lest she carry tales?'

         
Tristán's expression was as unmoved as if he had received
orders for some trivial household task as ha bowed. 'With your leave, I shall
arrange to see the physician sped.'

         
'Good. Good. I knew you would understand the way of it.' De
Castaneda was chuckling now as he threw a purse to the younger man in a
deliberately awkward toss that was caught with infuriating ease. 'There is his
fee — you can dispose of that as you see fit.'

         
‗Senor.‘

         
As the door closed behind the mercenary de Castaneda was
chuckling softly, his fingers kneading at the crumpled letter. There was no
need to point out to Felipe, he thought, that his plan required the death of
the child's father after its begetting; he would learn that soon enough.

         
CHAPTER 3

         
Juana's choice of attire on the morning she was to meet her
future husband was a last, futile show of defiance. Her gown — of plain black
taffeta, unadorned but for a narrow band of jet beads round the neckline and
hem — was one she had worn in mourning after her mother's death and now had
almost outgrown; Michaela had only packed it because she knew her mistress
cherished it for the memories it evoked. Wearing it and with a black lace shawl
over her smoothlypiled hair, Juana considered that she looked drab enough to
cool any man's interest at first glance.

         
She was wrong: the very severity of the outfit enhanced her
beauty. The gown moulded her figure lovingly, its shimmering coal-black
enriching her flawless honey-coloured skin, while her drawn-back hair threw her
features into prominence — the fine bones, the dark long-lidded eyes full of
rebellion beneath winged brows, the bruised mouth. Dona Beatriz, clucking her
disapproval, saw only an ostentatious show of mourning, but Juana thought she
saw speculation in Michaela's eyes as their gazes locked in the mirror.

         
When Dona Luisa de Castaneda y Benaventes entered the room
at the head of her little retinue of clerics and ladies, Juana saw her flinch
visibly and close her eyes for a moment, as if in pain. Juana curtsied meekly
in response, feeling an unexpected compassion for this wraith of a woman,
unhappy and childless, who even took her dwarf with her to Mass— Pedrino's
mustachioed face peered out from the region of her elbow. Would she, too,
hi" wondered, be reduced to needing living toys for comfort if she stayed
in this rich shell of a castillo?

         
With a murmured greeting she fell in with the little
procession, Michaela behind her, while her aunt seized upon her last night's
escort, Ricardo Marinetti. The sound of her aunt's inconsequential tones
followed Juana all the way down the great staircase. She had almost reached the
floor of the hall when someone moved in the shadows below, and she halted with
a sharp intake of breath.

        
'Senor Tristán!' Dona Luisa had hurried forward with a swish
of skirts. 'You are abroad early — do you come to Mass with the rest of us?'

         
The mercenary shook his head briefly, an unaccustomed
gentleness in his face as he bowed. 'I did the unforgivable long ago, senora,
and made a bargain with God. I do not plague Him overmuch with prayers, and He
does not trouble me with a conscience.' He glanced up at Juana before he
continued smoothly, 'I came to tell you that His Grace has signified his
willingness to meet his bride in the library at noon.'