Samurai of Seville

In which the Samurais reach St. Tropez, Rosario relies upon her mother, Guada has a nightmare, and the King is displeased

The Mediterranean thickened further until it resembled a pewtery porridge and the clouds lowered and darkened and the skies began to rumble. During the night, the swells and the wind increased so that by the time day broke, a fierce storm was upon them. Men who needed to be on deck were tied to the masts. Many of those confined below were miserable with fright and sickness. Unforeseen currents flowing north from Africa pushed the ship off course toward France.

As the intensity of the storm abated, the ship found calmer waters the following evening and dropped three anchors off the shore of Saint-Tropez. Heavy rains fell through the night. But with morning all was clean and fresh, and the warm sun returned, turning the water blue and transparent again. The Delegation came ashore for provisions and remained there for three days, causing much sensation among the local populace.

They never touch food with their fingers, but instead use two small sticks that they hold with three fingers…. They blow their noses in soft silky papers the size of a hand, which they never use twice, so that they throw them on the ground after usage, and they were delighted to see our people around them precipitate themselves to pick them up…. Their swords cut so well that they can cut a soft paper just by putting it on the edge and blowing on it. (Relations of Mme de St. Tropez—October 1615, Bibliothèque Inguimbertine, Carpentras)

But Shiro stayed aboard the ship and passed the time swimming, getting stronger, and attempting to close his fingers around the hilt of his new sword.

With Shiro gone, Rosario asked her mother to move in with her at the finca. Her father had died the year before of a broken back, slipping in the mountains while pursuing a goat. Her two brothers were in Cádiz seeking their fortunes, and her two sisters had married men from Arcos de la Frontera. Her ex-husband, Antonio, had remarried, to a girl from the village Rosario had never liked and who had yet to become pregnant.

Her mother, Carmen, had not been in the Duke’s residence for twenty years. It had been her own pregnancy—when carrying Rosario—that had persuaded the Duke to end it with her. This happened at a time when he spent long periods away from his ancestral home.

‘It was when he returned from the disastrous Armada that he first took a liking to me and it lasted for seven years. I remember the house as being much larger, but I suppose that is normal.’

They were walking through the mansion, from wing to wing, from salon to salon, through the well-raked gardens and into the chapel. They paused in the kitchen where some who worked there knew mother and daughter from the village.

They took their evening meal by a small fire in the dining hall at the table where the Duke had lashed out at Doña Inmaculada and Guada. Then they retired to the master bedroom, where they lay down next to each other on the high massive bed. Both of them, decades apart, had experienced hours of intimacy with him there. Neither of them referred to it, but both had it in mind. They lay in silence, taking it all in until Rosario began to laugh. Carmen smiled and said, ‘Vaya por Dios,’ and began to laugh, as well.

After Rosario fell asleep, Carmen rose and walked to the window. The village below was dark with only the church tower visible in the moonlight. In the hills above she heard a lynx howling in heat. She felt a chill. She was the only soul who knew for sure that Rosario was the Duke’s daughter, and she closed her eyes for a long moment to pray to Mary, asking that God not punish her silence by cursing them with a damaged child.

One hundred and twenty-five kilometers away, in Sevilla, Guada was awake, as well. Her abdomen had grown to the point where she needed to get up more often throughout the night. Her room at Soledad’s palacete was lavish. Her aunt had chosen it on purpose, hoping it would help keep her niece there and serve to underline Guada’s sense of belonging to an impeccable bloodline.

Shiro’s last letter had moved her deeply and made her all too aware of her true feelings for him. And though she was glad for him, glad to learn he had rejoined his compatriots and thus the world, glad to think he had left the lugubrious finca in Medina-Sidonia and its comely mistress, she felt an ache in her heart. For the distance between them now was vast again. The farthest that she had ever journeyed had been to Madrid, many years ago. The recent travels to Medina-Sidonia and to Sanlúcar de Barrameda had been dramatic events in her young life. Most people she knew, including Julian, including her mother and her aunt, had hardly traveled, either. But Shiro had come from the other side of the Earth and was now on his way to Italy to meet with the Holy Father. Afterwards he would return to Madrid once more before leaving for Japan.

In the letter he had written, ‘Though I rebel against the notion, I realize there is a good chance we shall never see each other again. Where, Guada, is your sense of fate when I most require it? Or is this what your fates had in store? For us to meet, to dream of a possibility, in my case at least, and then to part forever?’

She considered his question valid and only wished that it be his definition of fate that would somehow prevail, the one in which one’s will predominated. That they could have some sort of a future together was, of course, impossible, unthinkable. But she did wish to see him again, if only to prove to herself he was not an invention of her battered spirit.

She was reluctant to go back to sleep. It comforted her to know her aunt was just down the hall, the servants in their quarters, that she was safe. She had awakened from an unpleasant dream in which Julian had again been forcing himself upon her. She could not make out his features but felt his weight and urgency and though she fought to get him off her, her limbs were heavy and barely responsive, the way Shiro had described his damaged fingers to be. She had only been able to raise her head enough to see her mother seated in a chair beside the bed, filled with mirth and urging the beast on. Guada had begun to scream until Julian finally looked at her, as if to tell her to be quiet. But as he did, she saw that his face was different, it was the face of her father Rodrigo and she had awakened from the dream whimpering and in a sweat. Reaching for the chamber pot she began to pray immediately, cursing the Devil for having toyed with her so cruelly. And she remembered how in the dream the pillow where her head had thrashed back and forth was embroidered with the letters M and V entwined together, stitched in blue thread. All she could think of was the Virgin Mother, or was it Marta Vélez?

She was in no hurry to return to sleep. She was content to sit by her window enjoying the night jasmine and to wait for the first light of day.

Philip the Third decreed a week of hunting for young noblemen on the grounds of the Pardo Palace. It was the Duke of Lerma’s idea that he and the King make a concentrated effort to get to know the up-and-coming young men who would soon be replacing fathers too old or infirm to continue journeying and contributing to the Royal coffers.

Two days into the event, the King was already bored and impatient, and he complained to the Duke of Lerma for having made the affair three days too long. The Duke in turn blamed it on an underling and promised the Monarch it would never occur again. At the end of the third, raucous meal, set out on long tables in the countryside, the King left early, unconvincingly begging their collective pardon, claiming to be overly burdened by pressing matters of state. All rose and bowed and toasted his good health.

The Duke of Lerma stood by as the King mounted his steed. Surrounded by a dozen mounted soldiers and followed by pages, priests, and secretaries, the ruler of the world’s largest empire set out, relieved to return to the palace. But just as they were about to break free of the area, something caught his eye. He reined in his horse and raised his hand for all to do likewise. The Duke trotted up beside him. ‘Sire?’

At the outer perimeter of the clearing chosen for the meal, all of the horses belonging to the young nobles were gathered. They were tied to posts and branches and next to each horse saddles and hunting gear rested on the grass guarded by faithful servants, some of whom had accompanied their masters from distant parts of the kingdom. Strapped to one of the saddles was a red leather quiver filled with arrows.

Instructions were shouted, and within seconds a soldier stood beside the Royal stallion holding the quiver in both hands for the Monarch’s inspection. The King leaned down and took a good look at it. There could be no two like it in the world and certainly not in Spain. And the arrows bore the markings of his own master archer, a skilled Jinense inherited from his father Philip II.

The King turned to the Duke of Lerma. ‘Find the man that saddle belongs to, and bring him to me immediately.’