“What do you want?” He jogged to catch up.
“Nothing from you,” I said. “I’m on my way to see Garcia. The tavern’s out of wine.”
“You can’t see Garcia,” said my sour-tempered companion. “He’s sick abed.”
“Sick?” I said. “Garcia? He’s never sick.”
“I suppose your word makes me a liar,” said Symo. “He hasn’t come to work today.”
“Poor man.” I looked about. “Which of Na Pieret’s servants can sell me wine?”
He paused in his tracks and stuck out his chest, the peacock. “You don’t need to ask a servant,” he said. “You can ask me.”
“Oh, can I deal directly with the heir to the estate? How fortunate I am today!”
It was fascinating, the way his features bunched up when he was angry. And he was so often angry that I never lacked for opportunity to behold this marvel.
“Get off with you, then,” he snapped, “and find your viṇ somewhere else.”
I’d prodded him too far. This wouldn’t do. There was no one else whose wine Plazensa wanted. A thorny burr was this new son of Na Pieret’s. And worse, now I must placate him.
“Pay no heed to my teasing,” I said in a sweeter voice, though it choked me. “It’s just our way here in Bajas.”
He marched onward, but since we were heading in the direction of Na Pieret’s cellars, I took this as a good sign.
“I’d be grateful,” I said, “if you would sell me your wine. It’s what Plazensa prefers, and there’s no crossing Plazensa.”
He favored me with an answering growl. “Hurry up, then. I can’t be all day about it.”
I quickened my footsteps to keep pace with him, and when a few minutes had passed with no further sarcasm, I risked combining two errands into one.
“All the young maidens are aflutter at your arrival in Bajas,” I said. “Now that you’re so well settled, with such good fortune in your prospects, and by all report, such an able vintner, it’s certain you’ll be thinking about marrying.”
Sarcasm returned in full measure. “Oh, so you read the future?”
“Not I,” I said. “That’s Sazia.”
“Then you read minds?”
“Still Sazia.” I smiled. “Though Plazensa also does a fair job of knowing what I’m up to.”
We reached the cellars, which were really a cave that had been excavated deeper and framed by a small hut. Symo pulled open the door and disappeared into the darkness. I followed unbidden and watched as his head vanished into a hole in the ground.
His voice echoed up through the cave. “Your sister this, and your sister that,” his ghost voice said. “Don’t you ever think on your own? Don’t you do anything besides meddle?”
“Meddling is my special skill,” I bellowed down the hole. His head poked up before I’d finished, which left me bawling into his left ear.
“Sorry,” I said.
Symo hauled two large jugs of wine onto the floor of the hut, then hoisted himself up to my level and counted my shillings.
“The money’s all there,” I said. “I’m no cheat. But tell me, what do you think of Astruga? Remember, I introduced her to you yesterday, at Felipa’s burial?”
He only gave me a look, then loaded the jugs onto a small one-wheeled barrow. “Can you push this yourself, or shall I send a lad to help you?”
“You can’t deny she’s pretty,” I said. “What a figure! Longest, thickest hair in all Bajas.” Excluding Plazensa, but we needn’t quibble.
Symo pushed the barrow, and with it, me, out the door. “You can take her hair, and her figure, elsewhere. Be off with you. Andrio!” He beckoned to that young ome to come help me.
“I don’t need Andrio,” I said. “Leave be. But you should think more on Astruga. She’s—”
Symo set down the barrow. “If I had to listen to that”—no word seemed sufficient to contain his contempt—“that female, prattling and simpering every day of my life, I’d jump into the lagoon and float wherever the tide took me.”
“Well!” I said. “Look well to yourself. With your temper, Lord knows how difficult it will be ever to find you a wife in Bajas who suits you.”
His face reddened. “The day I need you,” he said, “to find me a wife, is the day I—”
“Is the day you realize just how far your savage manners will take you here!” I cried. “You’ve got no cause to come here, Senhor Nobody from Nowhere, and think that just because your rich tanta has become your maire, and given you her all, suddenly you’re too good for everyone and everything.”
His face was inches from my own. His eyebrows were poison-tipped darts.
“You pestilent wench!” he hissed. “Don’t meddle in my affairs.”
“I won’t,” I snapped, “and you can die a lonely bachelor.” I seized the barrow and lurched down the hill with it.
“Better to die alone,” he shouted after me, “than to live with a prating female!”
“Better a prating female,” I retorted, “than a man who’s a devil!”
I rattled all the way back into town feeling particularly pleased with myself. For planting a first nuptial suggestion, I thought, it had gone well. Symo’s type always resisted loudly at first, but I’d bet the coins still jangling in my pocket, he’d pay closer heed from now on whenever Astruga walked by.
BOTILLE
returned to find the tavern fragrant with freshly baked fogasa, and Plazensa haggling with Focho de Capa over the price of four plump pheasants.
“Botille!” cried that fat and jolly man. “Na Pieret bids me tell you and your sisters to come as honored guests at Saturday evening’s feast to celebrate her nephews’ arrival.”
Focho de Capa did a little of everything, and a whole lot of nothing, but whenever there was a party, there he was, lord of the revels, master of drink, player of fidel tunes, and caller of dance steps. There was no feast in Bajas without Focho. If there were, we’d sit and stare at one another without knowing what to do. Today, though, poacher was his trade.
“Never mind that,” Plazensa said, chopping carrots with fury. “It’s robbery what you think to charge me for these fowl. So be it. I don’t need roast pheasant. I’ve got plenty of beans, and Botille’s onions, and I can always go to Amielh Vidal for a pair of nice fatty ducks.”
I kissed Focho’s whiskery cheek and left them to their argument, and took two flat loaves of fogasa without Plazensa’s notice, not that she would have minded.
One was for Lisette and Martin next door. I hadn’t heard the baby fuss all morning, and I was worried. I entered the house, and my heart sank. No fire burned on the hearth. Nothing moved at all. There on the bed lay the still forms of Martin, Lisette, and the baby. At midday, in sunshine such as this? I hurried over.
They were all so still. I was sure something terrible had happened. I opened my mouth to call their names.
Then the baby made a soft murmuring sound and twisted its head slightly. Lisette, without waking, moved a protective hand toward the child and patted its belly. Martin snored.
I realized then that I was not alone. Their young daughter stood beside me, watching me through dark, serious eyes.
“Are you all right, Ava?”
No response.
“Are you hungry? Are you frightened?”
She didn’t even blink. I sighed and reached out my hand. “Come with me, then,” I said. “We have things to do.” I broke off a chunk of their fogasa and handed it to her, then left the rest on the table. She gnawed on it as we climbed up the hill toward the town. Crumbs and dribble spread in a slow patch down her dress front.
Next we went to the humble de Prato maisoṇ, and knocked.
Astruga opened the low door and ducked out, looking ready to bite the ear off anyone there, until she saw it was me. Then she looked ready to bite both my ears. From behind her came the sounds of children squalling. Peering past her, I saw Joan de Prato sprawled upon his bed, snoring drunk.
“So it’s y
ou,” she said.
“Bonjọrn, Astruga,” I said. “Ava, say ‘bonjọrn’ to Astruga.”
Ava said nothing.
“A fine sọpa you’ve stewed me in, Botille,” Astruga said through clenched teeth. “Easy enough for you to say, ‘Go help those children.’ I don’t see you here, bruising your ears on their noise, pinching your nose at their filth.”
I handed her the fogasa. “Some bread for the children,” I said. “God reward you.”
“That little tozẹt wets himself,” she hissed. “At three! And you knew it before you sent me here, didn’t you?”
I clutched Ava’s hand tighter and backed away. “I swear I didn’t, Astruga.”
“I’ll never forget how you tricked me into doing this,” she said. “I’ll finish the day, because someone’s got to get to the bottom of this reeking mess, and then I am through. Done. Going home. Do you hear? Find someone else to come look after the little beasts.”
“Astruga,” I whispered. “Hush your voice. They’ve lost their mother.”
“If I stay here another hour,” she cried, “I’ll lose my head!” She ducked back through the low door and slammed it shut.
Ava’s bread-crumbed face regarded mine, as though she expected a comment.
“Come on,” I told her. “Let’s go home.”
Those poor children. Were they more unfortunate than they’d been before Astruga appeared to inflict her care upon them? Perhaps my instincts had steered me wrong this time.
I brought Ava back to the tavern and sat her in a chair at the bar with an apple. Plazensa made a welcoming fuss over her while I slipped away and headed for Garcia’s maisoṇ. If illness was in the air, I had no right to bring a child there.
I found Na Pieret standing outside the door to Garcia’s home.
I bowed. “Bonjọrn, Na Pieret. Should you be here? You mustn’t get sick.”
Na Pieret took my hand. “At my age, Botille,” she said, “I can get sick if I want to.”
I wrapped my arm around her waist to support her. “Bajas would be lost without you.”
“Non. I have my sons. I can go in peace when the bon Dieu calls me.” She squeezed my hand. “That is why I can afford to wait here for news of my faithful Garcia.”
I didn’t like the way Na Pieret spoke, as though she were already choosing her burial clothes. Inside, Garcia’s wife moved between two beds. I should go in, I thought, but I was not eager to catch an illness.
“Have you felt ill at all?” Na Pieret asked me.
I was surprised. “Me? Not a bit.”
“I have wondered,” she said, “if this illness is something Garcia and his son caught in their travels.” She turned my face toward the light, and I blinked against the sun. “But of course you and your sister are well, and so are the tozẹts.”
“It will pass,” I said. “Garcia wouldn’t miss Saturday’s feast.”
She looked worried. “Ah. The feast. I told Focho to announce it yesterday, before I knew about Garcia.”
I wondered if Dolssa could help. But I mustn’t bring her out of hiding. “We will pray for them,” I said.
Na Pieret smiled a little. “Really? That’s kind of you.”
“You sound surprised,” I said. “Why is that?”
She leaned against me once more. “Some people pray for the sick,” she said, “while others bring them dinner.”
“And some, my dear Na Pieret,” I said, “do both.”
“If Botille has begun to pray, I’m sure the angels are smiling.” She winked. “I’ll make sure they have plenty of food and drink, Botille,” the good lady said. “I know you normally tend to these things, but I will look after Garcia’s family.”
I nodded. “You are wrong, Na Pieret,” I told her, “if you think those new sons of yours can ever replace you in Bajas.”
She turned a worried look my way. “What? Don’t you like them?”
I thought of the veins bulging in Symo’s neck this morning, and coughed to hide a laugh. “Well enough, well enough,” I said. “But no one could ever replace you. Not for Garcia, nor for your other servants.” I squeezed her tight. “Never for me.”
She returned the embrace. “There’s my girl.” She placed a hand over her heart. “Here, Botille, is where you’ll always be.” She smiled. “I need you to like the tozẹts. Who else will tell them what to do when I no longer can?”
That afternoon a groggy and awkward Martin stumbled next door to collect his little Ava, and he disappeared before we could ask him how Lisette and the baby fared.
Plazensa and Sazia spent the day doting on Dolssa as though she were comtessa of all Provensa. They bathed her nicely mending feet and rubbed them with olive oil and lavender. Dolssa seemed embarrassed at the attention, but also pleased.
The sun had just begun to set in glorious pink and violet behind Bajas when Plazi summoned us to follow her into Dolssa’s room. “I want you to try something on,” she told Dolssa. She helped her out of her nightshirt, then pulled a gown from her basket. “From Sapdalina.” She draped it long for us both to see. Together we helped Dolssa feed her arms into the sleeves and button it up.
The linen fabric was a rich woad-dyed blue. The bell-shaped sleeves fluttered gracefully past Dolssa’s hands, and the yellow sash we tied around her waist bunched up excess fabric.
Plazi frowned. “We must feed you more and fatten you up,” she said, “but I’ll still need to tell Sapdalina to take these seams in before she finishes the trim. You’re too thin by half.”
I patted Dolssa’s shoulder. “You look beautiful.”
Sazia chimed in. “Don’t let Plazensa make you feel bad.”
Dolssa smiled and ran her hands over the gown. “It’s fine, indeed,” she said, “though here in my little cell, I have no need for clothing this fine.”
Plazensa took a step back for a better look and sighed. “Ah, such a dress,” she said. “You could get married in a dress such as this.”
Dolssa’s eyebrows rose. “Is this . . . is that why you’ve had this dress made?”
“No!” said Plazensa, then quailed under Dolssa’s gaze. “Well, it was.”
Sazia and I gaped at each other. Was this our Plazensa, cowering at Dolssa?
“When you first arrived,” Plazi pleaded, “we thought marriage was your best safety. And Botille, she is good at finding husbands for young femnas.”
Not lately. I kept my thoughts to myself.
“We thought you might be a fit for our Senhor Guilhem.” Plazi was actually squirming.
Senhor Guilhem!
Santa Sara, Dieu help me, but I had never sent word to Bajas’s lord that the fabled lady would not be coming to Bajas tonight! A thousand curses on my sorry head!
“But now,” Plazensa went on, “we vow not to speak of it again. Our home is humble, but you are welcome here forever.”
Sazia poked me with her elbow. What’s the matter? her eyes asked.
“After what you’ve done for us . . .” Plazi wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
Dolssa blushed at my sister’s gratitude. She squeezed Plazi’s hands. “Grácia.”
“Then you’ll stay?” asked Plazensa. I’d never seen her so eager, so nervous. I confess, I felt the same.
Dolssa smiled. “For as long as it pleases God.”
Plazensa let out a squeal and threw her arms around Dolssa. We all joined in, encircling the girl who lived in Jhesus’s embrace, who, with her beloved, had saved our sister.
Down the corridor we heard the tavern door bang, and footsteps on the floor. “Suppertime,” I said, and my sisters and I hurried to the front room.
Sazia cornered me behind the bar. “What’s the matter, Botille?”
I buried my face in my hands. “I told Senhor Guilhem, days ago, that a noble lady with a broken heart would pass through Bajas tonight. That he could meet her in Na Pieret’s woods.” I wanted to tear out my hair. “And that you had prophesied her to be his one true love.”
Sazia
shook her head. “You never know when to stop, do you?”
I hoisted a pan of turnips out of the coals. “You’re no comfort at all.”
“Do you think he’ll go to meet her?” asked Sazia.
A glimmer of hope at this thought. “You’re the seer. You tell me.” I burnt my finger and stuck it in my mouth. “He acted uninterested. Maybe he’ll forget about it.”
Sazia reached for my pan and spoon. “Go now,” she said. “Give him the message. Make something up, since you’re so good at that.”
I pulled off my apron and kissed Sazia’s cheek. She waved me away.
I was out of breath from running by the time I reached Senhor Guilhem’s home, straight up the hill near the church of Sant Martin. A servant boy answered. He told me Senhor Guilhem was not at home.
“Is he away from Bajas?” I begged.
“No.” The youth eyed me strangely. “He was here earlier today, and will sleep here tonight. He asked us to prepare a special supper for him and a guest.”
I was so dismayed at this that I ran off without thanking him. A great discourtesy.
I ran through the streets in the deepening twilight, uphill and down, searching for any sign of Senhor Guilhem, and found none, reproaching myself all the while. A pretty web I’d been weaving ever since Dolssa had come here. Now I’d lost count of its threads. The trap I’d spun to catch my runaway a noble husband had worked too well.
Full darkness fell. The moon rose, glimmering in the sky. I had failed to find him. Nothing for it but to head to the woods and intercept him there myself.
Nightingales called to one another overhead as I made my way toward Na Pieret’s woods. Twice today I’d traveled this way, but now darkness swallowed the path. Creatures of the night with pale eyes filled the skies—owls and bats and spirits of the dead. I gave myself a good shake.
These woods were a small grove, only a bit larger than one of our small peasant’s plots. I passed through grassy vineyards, taking one neat row all the way up a slope to the thicket of trees. But I balked at penetrating the wood. I was too skittish. So I skirted around it and picked a large chalky rock to sit upon, just uphill from the vineyards and the trees. From here, I thought, moonlight would give me the best view of the road, the woods, and the path to it. I perched upon the rock, hugged my knees to my chest, and waited.