Will wondered just how dire the situation in San Gabriel was. “Soon the princess will have the advisors she needs. Perhaps, by the grace of God, King Carlos and his son have already been released from prison and are on their way home.”
“Even the grace of God has its limits, Major Masterson,” da Silva said bleakly. “How soon can you leave? Tomorrow morning?”
That quickly? Very well, then. “I’ll need to consult my commanding officer, but if he has no objections, yes, tomorrow,” Will replied. “I assume your men are well mounted?”
“Very well mounted, thanks to the defeated French.” Da Silva’s teeth showed in what was not a smile. “I also ask you to take messages to my wife, and to assure her that I and our eldest son are well. He is one of my captains and was wounded in the recent battle, but he is recovering. Soon we will both be home again.”
“I’ll be happy to carry such news,” Will promised.
As quickly as that, the matter was settled. Colonel Gates approved Will’s departure, so Tom Murphy immediately started packing, organizing, and disposing of things that were unnecessary.
That night, Will made his farewells to his friends in the camp. Though he would not miss the war, he would miss the intense camaraderie developed under shared dangers and privations. He wondered what, if anything, would replace that closeness.
At dawn the next morning, Will led out his small troop for his last ride through Spain.
Chapter 3
The Kingdom of San Gabriel, April 1814
The news raced across Europe like a summer storm. The emperor has abdicated. Napoleon is gone! The long wars are finally over!
And as the initial euphoria faded, the more thoughtful wondered, What happens now?
* * *
Athena Markham was at work in her small study in the Castelo Blanco, wondering how the devil this small, war-ravaged country would get the money to survive and rebuild, when Princess Maria Sofia del Rosario de Alcantara—and several other less important names—burst into the study, so excited she could barely speak. “Athena, the war is over! Napoleon had been forced to abdicate!”
Athena looked up from the account books, anxiety vanishing at the good news. “Well, glory be! The end has been coming for some time, but Bonaparte is so tricky and ambitious that I half expected him to pull another tiger out of his hat. Has a Porto courier just arrived?”
“Yes, as soon as the messenger announced his news down in the courtyard, he was mobbed by people wanting to hear him repeat it over and over. When he breaks free, he’ll call on Uncle Alfonso, then come by here.” Sofia chuckled. “Inviting the couriers to stop in San Gabriel for food and lodging as they travel to and from Porto and Lisbon was one of your better ideas.”
“In uncertain times, staying well informed is vital.” Athena just wished that the summer before they had been warned in advance that General Baudin and his troops would sweep through San Gabriel as they retreated east from Wellington’s army.
Unable to hold still, Sofia danced across the study like a butterfly. Petite, dark-haired, and beautiful, she looked seventeen rather than twenty-four years old. “Will Papá and my brother be home soon, now that the emperor has fallen?”
Athena sighed and leaned back in her chair, absently petting Sombra, Sofia’s gray tabby cat, who was relaxing on the desk. “I don’t know, Sofi. We haven’t heard a word since General Baudin burned his way across San Gabriel and took them away. I would think there will be a general release of political prisons such as your father.”
“Unless they’re dead,” Sofia said, her dance ending. She gazed out the window, her shoulders rigid. “They must be alive, Athena. It was not like Napoleon to kill the ruler of a country, even a tiny one like San Gabriel.”
“That’s true of the emperor, but his general was a brutal man, and your father and brother were not the sort to cower before anyone,” Athena said gently. “It’s not a good sign that we haven’t heard a word about them since they were taken prisoner.”
“You think they are dead,” Sofia said flatly.
It was the first time Sofia had admitted the possibility. Until now, she’d spoken as if they would return to San Gabriel as soon as the war was over.
If they were dead, Sofia would become the ruler of San Gabriel. Knowing it was time for plain speaking, Athena replied, “It is not beyond hope that they will return, but there is a strong chance that they will not.”
“I’m not strong enough to rule San Gabriel,” Sofia said in a low voice. “There is so much I don’t know!”
“A deficiency we’ve been working to correct ever since I arrived here,” Athena pointed out. “You’ve made great progress in learning how to govern, and since Gabrileño custom says a female who inherits can’t take the throne until she’s twenty-five, you still have a year to learn while Prince Alfonso is your regent.”
Sofia turned from the window, her expression wry. “The official regent, poor dear uncle. He tries, but San Gabriel would fall apart without you. A pity that you can’t carry the title of regent, since you’re doing the work.”
Athena laughed. “Nonsense, I’m merely the too-tall and too-English companion to Her Serene Highness, Princess Maria Sofia. Your people love you, Sofi. You’re the one they look to for guidance. You will rule well if the task falls to you.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” Sofia fidgeted with her bracelet. “It’s very selfish of me, but the worst part of taking the throne is knowing that I must marry for political reasons. That’s what princesses do. But Papá always promised that I would be able to choose my own husband, within reason. Instead, I’ll have to marry some horrid, pop-eyed royal duke who will want to push me aside and govern my country as he sees fit.”
“You’re a long way from having to do that, Sofi!” Athena said firmly. “No need to worry about such things today. The war is over and we should be celebrating. Your father and brother may be on their way home already.”
“I wish I believed that.” Sofia collected Sombra from the desk, then held the cat close for long moments before she raised her gaze, her dark eyes stark. “Promise you won’t leave me while I still need you, Athena! Please.”
Athena hesitated. She’d never intended to stay so long in San Gabriel. Her heart yearned for the green fields and peace of England. But she could not abandon Sofia, or San Gabriel.
Wondering if she’d ever return to the home of her heart, even though she’d never been very welcome there, she said quietly, “I’ll stay, Sofi. For as long as you need me.”
Chapter 4
The road through the mountains from Spain to San Gabriel was ancient and worn deep into the earth. Will wondered if Roman troops had marched through these stony hills and passes. Perhaps not, since Roman roads were usually wider and smoother.
As his small group of Gabrileños emerged from the sunken stretch of road, Sergeant Gilberto Oliviera spurred his horse forward. “San Gabriel! Home!” he called, his voice vibrating with emotion. Then he pulled his mount back as he laughed. “And our beloved homeland is drowning in fog so we cannot see it!”
Will and the rest of the riders joined the young sergeant and looked down the road ahead. Sure enough, the long, oval valley below was filled with white clouds. Toward the far end, a rounded hilltop just barely broke through the mist.
Oliviera explained to Will, “This happens sometimes, though usually only in winter. If it was clear, you could see all of San Gabriel from here. The river that runs through the valley, the royal castle, the villages, the fields and trees and vineyards.” He released his breath softly. “Home.”
“I look forward to seeing my own home.” Will chuckled. “We have mists much more often.” Raising his voice, he called out, “I know you’re impatient, but have a care. Your families will be really angry if you break your necks on their doorsteps, and I don’t want them to blame me!”
With a ripple of laughter and excitement, the troop started down the track at a reasonable speed. There was enough width
for a wagon or two riders, so Will fell in beside Oliviera. The sergeant had run away from home to fight the French at a ridiculously young age. Though still young, he’d seen almost as many years of war as Will. He kept his men under such good control, Will suspected that his own services as a commander hadn’t been needed. Duval’s real interest must be information about how San Gabriel was faring.
Will asked, “What do you look forward to most after greeting your family?”
Oliviera considered. “After my family, Gabrileño wine! It is the best wine you will ever drink, Major. One swallow and I will truly know I am home. You shall share that wine because you must stay with my family. My father is the chamberlain to the royal castle and we live within the walls. There will be ample space for you and Sergeant Murphy.”
Living in the castle would be a good way to learn the country. Wondering what he’d find, Will said, “Thank you, I accept most gratefully.”
Martinez, the lead rider, called out, “The shrine of Madonna de las Rosas is ahead! We must give thanks to Our Lady for our safe return!” He spurred his horse forward eagerly.
Squinting, Will could see the faint shape of a tower through the mist. The outlines of the small structure solidified as he drew nearer. Ahead, Martinez halted in front of the shrine and gave an anguished cry.
His fellow riders responded to that anguish at top speed. As Will pulled up, he saw that the building was in ruins. The front wall had collapsed and there was just enough of the stone structure left to support the battered tower. Behind were the remains of a small building that had been totally destroyed.
Oliviera made a low, pained sound as he swung from his horse. “The shrine was built to offer welcome to travelers coming from Spain. There was water and a small shelter for rest. And now . . . !” He spat. “May those French swine rot in hell for this!”
The other Gabrileños stared at blackened stone and charred rafters, their expressions stricken. Will guessed that this destruction brought home to them the reality of what San Gabriel had suffered. If a shrine could be destroyed, what, then, their homes and families?
Will dismounted as he studied the exposed interior. This close, he could see that some effort had been made to clear away the burned rubble and restore order. “The enemy could damage the building, but they could not destroy the sacredness of this place,” he said quietly as he recognized a familiar shape inside the ruined structure.
He stepped inside and laid his hand on two charred rafters that had been nailed together in the shape of a cross as tall as he was. “Your countrymen have done what they could. Soon there will be the time and labor to rebuild completely.” He gestured at a small, crudely carved wooden figure in front of the cross. “A cross, and a statue of the Madonna and child. What more does a shrine need?”
Oliviera swallowed hard. “You are right. Those godless brutes did not destroy the holy spirit of this place.” He knelt and crossed himself. Will stepped back as the other members of the troop did the same. One of the older soldiers spoke a prayer of thanksgiving for their safe return home.
But when they rose, one by one, their expressions had lost the earlier jubilation. They were steeling themselves to face what other damage their country might have suffered.
The mood of the Gabrileños was grim as they rode down into the valley. Dusk was starting to fall. The gathering darkness combined with the fog made Will feel as if he was riding through a haunted land.
The track led into a grove, and vicious oaths rang out at the sight of the blackened trees. One of the men snarled, “They torched the cork trees, the bastards!”
Another man said, “Cork trees recover from fire better than any other trees. Look, there is new growth coming.” He spat. “But may the Frenchmen who did this pay the price for their sins by never having a decent bottle of wine again!”
Will smiled a little. In this wine-loving part of the world, that curse was more ferocious than rotting in hell.
A quarter mile farther along, a young man called Ramos said tensely, “Soon we will come to my family home. I pray God they are safe and well!”
Ramos spurred his way to the head of the group. When he reached a lane leading to a farmhouse, he turned onto it. The house at the end looked abandoned, with no lights or other signs of life.
As the troop followed Ramos, Will saw that the structure was solidly built of local stone, but one end was charred and the roof in that section had collapsed. Ramos urged his horse into a gallop, crying, “Mamá! Papá!”
Grimly Will loosened his lightweight, accurate carbine in its saddle holster as he approached the farmhouse. Though the house looked deserted, a soldier who wanted to survive learned to take nothing for granted.
The shutters in a window opened a little, showing parallel bars of light from inside. A woman shrieked, “Julio, mi hijo!”
As people rushed from the house, Ramos vaulted from his horse, calling, “Mamá! Mamá!”
As soon as the young man touched the ground, he was engulfed in family. Will sighed with relief and settled back in his saddle. This was one story that wasn’t ending in tragedy.
Ramos’s father gave his son a long, bone-crushing hug as silent tears ran down his cheeks. Then he stepped back so other family members could greet their returning son.
Will led his horse over to the patriarch, saying, “I’m glad to see this reunion, Señor Ramos. We saw some of the marks of war on our way down the mountain. How is San Gabriel faring? Your soldiers have had little news from home.”
The older man turned and recognized Will’s scarlet uniform with a nod of respect. “It has been difficult since the French pig Baudin stormed through our valley. Very difficult.” He gazed at his son, his heart in his eyes. “But with our young men returning, surely we will rebuild and grow strong again.”
That sounded more like hope than optimism. Will said, “This is only the beginning. In a few weeks, the rest of your soldiers will also be home.”
He took his leave of Señor Ramos, then returned to his horse and collected the other riders to resume their journey. Since the mountain night was growing cold, he tugged on his greatcoat, which was warm and many-pocketed and designed for riding.
He and that coat had gone through a great deal together. With luck, he wouldn’t have to sleep in it tonight. But as he guided his mount deeper into the misty valley, he wondered what he would find at Castelo Blanco.
* * *
Weeks had passed since news of Napoleon’s abdication had reached San Gabriel. Unfortunately, it had not been followed by any news about the captured king and prince. There were occasions when no news was good news, but this wasn’t one of them.
Unable to sleep, Athena rose and donned her robe and sheepskin slippers against the cold. Though her room had a fireplace, fuel was in short supply and not to be used without good cause.
She opened her notebook, which grew larger by the day. She had lists of things that must be done, broken down by their urgency, followed by more notes about possible solutions.
There were other, shorter lists of resources. Isolated in the mountains, San Gabriel has always been largely self-sufficient. There were no reserves of money in foreign banks. Much of the country’s treasure had gone to outfitting the troops sent to war. General Baudin had stolen anything of value he could get his greedy hands on. There wasn’t much money left here.
Plus, having so many men go off to war had created a severe shortage of labor. Those Gabrileños left—women, children, young and old—had worked hard, but there weren’t enough people to do all the planting, harvesting, and maintenance.
She frowned at her notebook and wished she knew when the surviving soldiers would return. While fighting the Corsican Monster was no doubt brave and noble, Athena, as a woman, couldn’t help thinking that staying home and doing the unglamorous work of raising food and running the farms and vineyards would have been more useful.
Where did one seek help for a damaged, remote little kingdom that most Europeans had n
ever heard of? Her annual allowance was enough to provide her independence and the freedom to travel, but it didn’t go far in a place with so many needs. She’d used a whole year’s income in advance to buy food over the recent winter.
Her mouth tightened when she thought of her father. He could help if he wanted to, but he’d never want to. That had been established long ago.
If San Gabriel’s soldiers returned home soon, might some of them bring loot that could benefit their family and friends?
She was smiling wryly at the thought when a scream brought her to rigid attention. It was followed by more shouting, barking, and cries as if a battle was raging right here in the castle. Could bandits have broken in? The castle was virtually impregnable; but in these quiet days, the only guard on the gate was a twelve-year-old boy, Señor Oliviera’s youngest son.
Athena reached for her rifle, sure the disturbance was in the Olivieras’ apartment. She checked swiftly to see that the weapon was properly loaded, slung her ammunition bag over one shoulder, and raced from her room to the stairs.
Sofia emerged from her room, blinking awake and looking worried. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” Athena snapped. “But stay back, and be prepared to run if necessary!”
She hurtled down the first flight, spinning around a corner to the second flight down. Athena wasn’t much of an army, but she was the closest thing to it in the castle.
* * *
By the time Will and his two remaining companions reached the Castelo Blanco, he’d been witness to numerous joyous reunions, but even they paled compared to Sergeant Oliviera’s welcome. When they reached the gate in the curtain wall that led into the castle courtyard, they were greeted by a very young Oliviera brother who was standing guard. The boy had peered out through the small window in the middle of the door, then flung it open, crying, “Gilberto!” in a voice so high-pitched it almost disappeared.