The next few days were a whirlwind of preparing to find Francisco de Lenda. I wasn’t sure if we were rescuing him or abducting him. Most of the time, I was too busy to care. Gil spoke with me often, up in the watchtower and out in the courtyard, early in the morning and late into the night. I asked about whales and cod and learned the names of all his nieces and nephews. He seemed to understand that there was little I could share with him in return.
Don Oliverio Domingo coached me on the details of being a Catalan noblewoman, his wife’s seamstress fitted me for a new Catalan-style gown, and everyone called me Donya Isabella. Everyone except Andreas, who continued to call me Mouse, and Gil, who seemed to prefer Eudocia.
“Perfect,” Don Oliverio said when I showed him my best curtsy. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you Spanish instead of Greek.”
“Thank you, senyor.” I bowed my head in deference.
“Ah, remember. You are my social equal. I think Donya Isabella is used to getting whatever she wants with a smile. Don’t forget. You’re used to accomplishing much with that pretty face of yours. Donya Isabella feels entitled to favors from men like me.”
“As you say.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “Proper etiquette is important to your role. It’s my hope that the women of Ballester’s household are less tight-lipped than the men. But I’ve heard a great deal about your other talents, and those may be needed. I’d like a demonstration.”
“What would you like, senyor?”
He gestured to the courtyard, where Gil, Rasheed, and Sebastie were sparring with their practice swords. “Bring me Gillen’s purse, without him knowing you’ve taken it.”
I nodded. I’d been taking purses from people most of my life. But Gil would be a challenge. He had a bit of talent for things like that himself, so he’d be harder to fool.
“Take your time. I’ll be with my scribe.”
I wandered into the courtyard. Of the three, Sebastie was the most accomplished with the sword. His Catalan was rough, learned from Castilian, and his Greek was even rougher. But I’d heard him and Gil converse in the strange language of the Basques. That seemed to be one of Gil’s most important talents—his ability to communicate with everyone.
Sebastie showed Gil and Rasheed a combination evade-and-counterattack maneuver. They each practiced the motions against Sebastie, then turned to face off against each other. Gil stepped back, avoiding Rasheed’s cut by less than a handspan. He stepped forward and cut at Rasheed’s neck with a speed that was hard to follow. Had they been using steel, Rasheed would have been dead.
Gil almost managed the same thing against Sebastie when they next sparred, but Sebastie managed to block the counterattack. I came to the conclusion that Gil was still learning his skill but getting steadily more proficient.
I went to the cistern and filled a waterskin, then brought it to the men.
“I don’t think Donya Isabella fetches water for soldiers, but I thank you.” Rasheed smiled when I handed him the waterskin. He quenched his thirst, then passed the skin on to Sebastie, who gave it to Gil when he finished.
Sebastie said something in Castilian, but I didn’t catch all of it. That was Rasheed’s second language, after Arabic, and one Sebastie and Gil knew almost as well as they knew Euskara, but I knew only those words that were similar to Catalan.
I looked to Gil for the translation. “He said we’re done for the day. He needs to check our supply of bolts, and Rasheed and I have other assignments.”
Rasheed walked to the stables, and Sebastie disappeared into the armory, leaving the courtyard empty, other than Gil and me. That was perfect. It would be easier to take Gil’s purse if there were no witnesses who might warn him. But now that I was alone with him, I didn’t want to steal from him. I wasn’t really robbing him. He’d get it back. I was just confirming my abilities for Don Oliverio.
Gil drank from the skin, then poured the rest on his face and the back of his neck.
I laughed. “It’s not even summer yet.”
“I know, but all these layers and that glorious sunshine.” He sighed. “Thank you for the water.”
“You’re welcome.” I stepped closer to take the waterskin. “So how did a fisherman become a warrior?”
“We had to do something when the weather kept us in port. My father had skill with the sword. Not as much as his brother, but he taught me what he could. It’s normal for us. The men go off and fight. The women make sure the crops are planted and harvested.”
I nodded. I had the waterskin, but I didn’t step back. “You had an uncle who was a warrior though?” I fingered the cords tying Gil’s coin pouch to his belt.
“Sebastie. He’s my father’s younger brother. My father inherited the family house. Sebastie went off to make his fortune. He fought for Charles II of Navarre against Charles V of France. Then when that war was over, he fought for Charles’s brother, Louis of Evreux.”
“And you joined him?”
“Eventually. For the campaign against Durazzo.” Gil crossed his arms, and I slipped his coin pouch into my sleeve.
“It sounds like it was a difficult campaign.”
“Yes.” He looked into the distance. “But I learned how to fight and how to read. And I realized just how much I love the Basque lands where I grew up. There’s beauty in new places, but there’s also beauty in the familiar.”
“You can find beauty in anything, can’t you?” Most people wouldn’t find anything good in a siege that had ended with illness and no pay.
“Is that a flaw?”
His question threw me off guard. I’d been teasing him. I hadn’t meant to question the value of something that was uniquely him.
Thomas went from one building to another and paused long enough for me to see him watching us. He seemed to find joy in almost nothing, and he’d taught me to be the same way.
“No, Gil. It’s a strength. Don’t ever change. I’m just surprised, sometimes, by how you can look at something or someone and always find the good.”
“I can’t always find the good.”
“No?”
He shook his head and glanced to where Thomas had disappeared into the hall. “I can’t find any beauty in slavery or in what Thomas has done to you.”
I took a step back. Gil’s eyes locked with mine, and something in that glance spoke volumes about right and wrong and freedom and slavery. I looked away. “I should go.”
I’d walked halfway across the courtyard when Gil called after me. “Eudocia?”
I turned. “Yes?”
“Why did you take my purse? If you need money, I’ll give you what I have freely. You don’t have to steal it.”
Heat flooded my face, and I swallowed back shame. But I wasn’t ashamed because I’d been caught or because I’d failed. I was ashamed because I’d broken Gil’s trust. “Don Oliverio wanted to make sure my skills are sharp, I suppose in case I need to take keys from a guard or a message from a courier. He asked me to take your purse, as a test. We were going to give it back.”
He nodded, but the happiness I’d come to associate with him was absent. I’d hurt him. I shook the pouch loose from my sleeve and tossed it to him. He caught it in one hand.
I turned and went to confess my failure to Don Oliverio. Gloom settled over me. Gil had shown me kindness and respect—things a slave girl didn’t really deserve. But I’d wanted them so badly, and he’d given them freely. What had I given him in exchange? Betrayal. That was what it felt like to me, and based on the way his shoulders had slumped and his mouth had pulled down, it must have felt like that to him too.
I stopped in a corridor, alone and out of sight. This wasn’t the life I wanted, but what choice did I have? I took deep breaths, trying to clear away the swirling emotions: sorrow and disappointment that I’d hurt Gil, a bit of anger that Don Oliverio had asked me to risk it. But I understood Don Oliverio’s reasoning. Gil would be more difficult to steal from than most of the other people in the villa. Thomas would have been a more formidable test, but had he caught me, the results would have been more serious than a heartbreaking frown.
I found Don Oliverio with his scribe. The two looked up when I entered. Don Oliverio nodded to the scribe, who slipped the letter they were working on beneath another sheet of paper.
“Donya Isabella. Success?” He motioned me to a bench.
“I’m afraid not. He noticed before I left the courtyard.” I walked around the room, browsing the handful of books on a shelf. Ledgers, I guessed.
Don Oliverio frowned, but it was a soft frown. Disappointment but not anger. “Gillen is highly observant. Anyone else you might meet in the course of our activities is less likely to notice.”
“I’m sorry I disappointed you.” More than that, I was sorry I’d disappointed Gil. “I have other skills too. I’m good at reading people and getting strangers to trust me. I can’t scale a completely smooth wall, but I could climb the wall around your villa.”
“Could you?”
I nodded. “The fieldstones leave enough footholds and handholds that I could make it, if I wore the proper clothing.”
“I fear most of our targets will have walls that are a bit more sheer.”
I nodded. Then I handed him the letter the scribe had been working on. “I can also steal your hidden report to the archbishop.”
Don Oliverio stood. He and the scribe looked at the paper, then back at the desk. The scribe lifted the paper it had been hiding beneath, revealing blank wood.
“I won’t tell anyone what the letter said.” I hadn’t had time to read it anyway. I’d just seen who it was addressed to.
I’d taken a risk when I’d plucked the letter from beneath its hiding place, but I needed Don Oliverio to trust my skills. I hadn’t been successful with Gil’s purse, so I hoped the letter would make up for it. That, and the keys I’d taken from the pouch hanging on Don Oliverio’s belt. I handed those to him without a word.
He took the keys. “Very well, Donya Isabella. Your point has been made.” He settled back onto his bench. “I think we’re ready. Tomorrow, we’ll begin.”
***
Thomas found me as I was leaving the scribe’s office. “A word, Girl.”
His tone was calm, but the set of his mouth told me I’d done something wrong. I dreaded punishment, but I dutifully followed him across the courtyard and up the stairs to the chamber he’d been given to use while in the villa.
“Watch yourself, Girl.”
If I asked him what he meant, he might become angry. But if I didn’t ask, I might keep doing whatever it was that was making him upset. “I will obey you. But I don’t know what I’ve done.”
“The Basque.”
“What have I done wrong with him?” I’d made plenty of mistakes with Gil—most recently, trying to steal his coin purse—but I didn’t think that would upset Thomas, not when Don Oliverio had requested it.
“I notice the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. If you want to play the harlot, it matters little to me. If you have a child, I’ll have a new slave. But don’t think he can offer you a way out. Mercenaries like that will tell a woman anything in order to bed her. He won’t keep his promises. Even if he were sincere—which he isn’t—he couldn’t keep them, because you belong to me. You are mine, and you will always be mine. Don’t forget that, Girl.”
I nodded my submission. Thomas was wrong. Gil wasn’t trying to seduce me. But he was right about something else. I was attracted to Gil, but more than that, I was drawn to his heart and his mind. He was like a patch of sunshine on a winter day, and I was a traveler who had spent too much time in the shade.
Thomas gripped my upper arms and stared at me. “You can do what you wish with your body, on your own time, but your loyalty is mine. Don’t cross me on this. If I suspect you’ve given your loyalty over to someone else, I’ll sell you to a Turkish pirate or slip your lover something more potent than henbane. Do you understand, Girl?”
“I understand.” And I did. I could give myself to a man, if I wanted, but I could never fall in love with him. Not if I wanted him to live.