The days crept by. Listening to the meeting of the inner circle seemed to have exhausted Juana’s luck. She was on the alert, all the time, for the slightest chance of escaping, or at least getting a message out, but none came. The ring of protective custody around her was absolute. In moments of near despair, she thought of trying to win old Luisa over to her side, but abandoned the idea as worse than hopeless. For Luisa, the sun rose and set in Vasco. To tamper with her was to ensure disaster.
Confinement was beginning to tell on her health as well as her spirits. She slept badly, haunted by horrible dreams, and in the daytime made herself walk up and down, up and down the bedroom in a vain effort to tire herself out. An appeal to Vasco to let her walk in the courtyard after dark fell on deaf ears. ‘We must take no chances, my Queen.’
She felt sick now, when he called her that, but luckily he noticed her less and less as the days wore on toward the November meeting of the Sons of the Star. He had never referred to her suggestion that she should act as Handmaiden, and she did not dare bring the subject up, for fear of rousing his suspicions. Pacing her room at night, when Luisa was sleeping the deep sleep of the stupid, she saw the central courtyard filled with moonlight. Two days to the meeting … one day … tomorrow … tonight.
She had not seen Vasco for two days. Perhaps he would not even return before the meeting. She must not think like that, it was too close to despair. ‘I’m bored,’ she said to old Luisa. ‘When is the master coming home?’ She had fallen into Luisa’s habit of calling him this, because she could hardly bear to say his name.
‘I thought you were missing him!’ The old woman was delighted with the question. ‘I knew why you were moping, my Princess, better than you did yourself. Never mind, I’ve good news for you: it won’t be long now. He sent word this morning that he would sup with you tonight.’ She had crossed the room to the wardrobe where hung the regal gowns Vasco must have had made in advance. ‘You are to wear this. See! A gown for a Queen.’ She shook out crimson velvet folds lovingly.
‘But I’ll stifle in it!’ These clothes, too, witness of Vasco’s long-term planning, made her feel sick, and not only with fright.
‘Never mind that. The master expressly said you were to wear it.’
Why? Not, surely, just to sup with him. What did he care what she wore? Wild hope flooded through Juana. ‘Oh, in that case,’ she said, ‘of course I will.’
‘And the diadem too.’ Luisa went on. ‘Look, senhora, did you ever see anything so beautiful? It will hide that short hair of yours and make you look every inch a Queen.’
‘Yes, several inches too many.’ Juana made it a joke, but a cold premonitory finger touched her spine. Suppose she did not manage to get out of this; suppose she found herself, fantastically, Queen to Vasco’s King Sebastian? How long would he bear the fact that she towered half a head above him?
The crimson velvet was a perfect fit. ‘How on earth did he manage?’ asked Juana, as Luisa shook out the heavy folds of the skirt.
‘Manage? Oh – to get the fit? Why, Maria, of course; she came every day for a while.’
‘Did she?’ The ground shook under Juana’s feet. Maria, her friend from childhood, had been conspiring against her all the time. Was there no one she could trust?
‘There!’ Luisa adjusted the shimmering diadem on Juana’s rebellious locks. ‘There,’ she said again, with complete satisfaction, and then, surprisingly, sank into a deep, awkward curtsey. ‘God save your majesty!’
It was at once moving and terrifying. ‘I hope He will,’ said Juana.
Her thoughts were racing. This regal costume must mean that Vasco intended to present her to the Sons of the Star tonight. It might give her a chance, a hairsbreadth, desperate chance to save herself, and Portugal. She must be ready to take it with both hands and use it with all her intelligence. That was her only weapon, she knew, against Vasco – the fact that he thought of her almost as a thing, not for a moment as an equal.
When he arrived, she became aware of another advantage. He was visibly taken aback by the regal figure she presented, and kissed her hand with a deference that had been notably absent since he had had her in his power. When he said, ‘My Queen,’ she thought he almost meant it.
She would ask no questions. She had thought about this meeting all day and had drilled herself to impassivity. Whatever his plan was, she would make him broach it, would seem, herself, hardly interested, just the mindless female he expected.
She made herself eat heartily of a dish of chicken with rice and almonds, drank a glass of wine, and said nothing. As the silent meal dragged on, she began to be aware of his sideways glance upon her. When he had planned this conversation, she thought, it had began with a question from her. He would have to replan it.
‘It’s the full moon tonight,’ he said at last.
‘Good gracious, so it is! I had quite forgotten. One loses count of the days, shut up as I have been.’ And then, quickly: ‘Don’t think I’m complaining, cousin; that would be ungrateful indeed. But is it really the full moon?’
‘Yes.’ He took this, she saw with pleasure, as merely another proof of her expected stupidity. ‘It is indeed, and the last time the Sons of the Star will meet in secret.’
‘Goodness!’ She tried to sound like Daisy. ‘Are you sure? Isn’t it exciting?’
‘I find it so. But, Juana, a while ago you said you would like to act once more as Handmaiden of the Star. Do you remember?’ He obviously thought it quite possible that she had forgotten.
‘Of course I do,’ she said warmly. ‘I thought it would be so splendid to do it when I knew it was for you, cousin. But I thought you didn’t like the idea, so I rather gave it up.’ She looked at him with what she hoped were large, adoring eyes and wished she could inconspicuously get herself slumped down still further against the table so that the difference in their height would be less apparent.
‘You were right. I didn’t much like it at the time, but now things have changed. Are you ready to do it once more, my Queen, for my sake?’
‘But of course. Why should I be afraid when I know you are there? Only – in these beautiful clothes?’ She left it, vacuously, in character.
‘Luisa will find you a black robe to wear over them. The Sons of the Star will never know that a Queen has acted as their Handmaiden tonight.’
Oh yes they will, she thought. It was clear now. He meant, suddenly, somehow, to bring her forward and present her to the Sons of the Star as Queen Juana. This would be her chance. She must be ready for it.
But it seemed fantastic that he should risk it. Could she really have fooled him to such a point? She would like to think so, but could not. So, when he suggested a glass of madeira with dessert, she moved, carelessly, so that she could watch him in that invaluable looking-glass. And saw, once again, a vial produced from his pocket. What could it hold this time? Not a soporific, surely, but something that deadened the will? That would make her act as his puppet?
‘Thank you.’ She accepted the glass enthusiastically. ‘I need this if I must really go down the winding stair once more. But how shall I get to it?’ It was surely a natural enough question, but one, she hoped, that he would find it difficult to answer. At all costs he must be distracted for a few moments while she got rid of her dubious drink. ‘You’ll never take me through the castle, surely?’ If only he would.
‘Leave all to me, my Queen. I have a secret way of my own. Only, for your own sake, you will let me bandage your eyes? It’s safer for you that you should not know it.’
‘Of course, if you say so.’ She pretended to sip her drink, but merely let the liquid touch her lips. ‘Your madeira is delicious, cousin.’ He was sitting across the table from her, watching her every move. She pretended another sip, and, this time, was compelled to let a few drops into her mouth. She dared not swallow them but tilted her head back a little so that the sweet liquid settled under her tongue. ‘But strong.’ Her singer’s training stood her in good stead. ‘Could I have one of those little cakes to go with it?’ Her handkerchief was ready in her hand as he rose to fetch the plate of sweet cakes from the sideboard. When he returned, it was back in her lap again, soaked in madeira. But there was still the nearly full glass to be dealt with. She took another pretence sip and a bite of cake. ‘What time do we start?’
‘Soon. Drink up your wine, my Queen.’ She could feel his impatience strong in the air between them.
‘It’s making me dizzy.’ Would he know what the effect of those sinister drops should be? ‘I must have a breath of air.’ She rose and moved over to the window. ‘How glad I shall be to get out of doors again.’ She felt that he was following her, but had a moment while her body screened what she was doing. It was time enough to tilt the glass against the heavy velvet curtains so that the liquid trickled slowly down them. She left a little in the bottom and turned back to face him. ‘It’s quite the most delicious madeira I ever tasted, but the strongest too. I feel ready for anything, cousin, even the winding stair. Look! The moon is up already.’ Still standing by the window, she kept between him and the tell-tale stain on the curtain.
‘Yes. Time we thought about going. It’s a roundabout route, I’m afraid, I have to take you to the cavern. The carriage is ready.’
‘But what about my cloak? The bandage for my eyes? Are you sure I ought to go down into that horrid cavern in this dress? It’s the most beautiful one I ever had: I wouldn’t want to spoil it.’ She sounded, and meant to sound a complete fool. Anything to get those probing eyes off her for a moment.
‘There’ll be a hundred more where it came from. It’s time to go.’
‘So soon?’ She leaned towards him lovingly. ‘I’ve missed you so, these last two days. When can we be together all the time, my King?’
He backed away a little. ‘Very soon now. Tonight I launch my great enterprise. I only wish you could be there to see, instead of shut up in the Handmaiden’s cell.’
‘So do I.’ Thank God (and Mrs. Brett) that he did not know she would in fact see and hear everything. She leaned a little nearer to him. ‘Your day of glory,’ she murmured.
‘Quite so.’ At last he turned away, and on the instant the rest of the madeira was soaking into the curtain.
‘I feel better now.’ She moved back to the table and grasped it as if for support. If only she knew what those drops were supposed to do to her. She must just hope that Vasco had not seen their effect before.
Luckily, he was impatient to be off. ‘I will take you up to Luisa. She has your cloak ready for you. We must lose no more time.’
‘Shall I really need a bandage over my eyes?’ Juana asked as she rejoined Vasco. ‘I can’t see a thing if I pull my hood together so.’ Would he trust her? It would be immensely encouraging if he did.
He laughed. ‘But suppose you forgot, my Queen. This is a secret too dangerous for a woman.’
It is indeed, she thought; the secret of your treachery. And shrugged, and made a little moue: ‘You must be the judge, of course.’
‘Of course.’ He took her arm to lead her down the stairs. Down, at last, past the dining room, down to the central courtyard where she had longed to be for her two endless weeks of captivity. She had time to see that the great gates were still tight shut. Vasco was taking no chances.
He helped her into the carriage with all the deference due to a Queen, then took a silk scarf out of his pocket. ‘The time has come.’
‘So soon? And with the moonlight so beautiful. My first drive for two weeks, too!’ She intended it merely as a token protest, and submitted with good grace as he tied the scarf around her hood so that she was blinded with a triple thickness of material. She thought they were both glad when it was over. It was odd, and terrifying, to realise that he actually disliked touching her. And yet he intended that she should bear his child. It conjured up a picture so horrible that she found herself shivering inside the heavy velvet.
‘You’re cold?’
‘No,’ she said with perfect truth. ‘I’m frightened. I hate going down that winding stair.’
‘It’s the last time.’ He spoke tolerantly, as to a child, and she knew he was pleased. It was right that she should be frightened.
‘How far can you come with me?’
‘Not all the way. I will get you to a place you know: the bottom of the second flight of stairs. Then, I fear, I must leave you. It would hardly do for me to be late for my own entrance, tonight of all nights.’
They drove for a long time, probably, she thought, round in a great circle. At last he made sure her blindfold was still in place before helping her out of the carriage. ‘Do exactly as I tell you,’ he said. ‘The way is dangerous.’
A doorway … a long narrow passage, with her skirts brushing each side as she walked behind him, her hand on his shoulder … The stairs, upwards, extraordinarily difficult to negotiate blindfold. ‘Don’t speak from now on,’ he warned when they came to them, and she thought, with a pang, that they were no doubt entering the Castle on the Rock. Through the wall, one way or the other, Daisy and Teresa might be sitting mourning for her. Or Maria, plotting against her, as she had been all the time.
‘Level ground now,’ he whispered. A narrow opening. They must be in Mrs. Brett’s bedroom, the room from which she had been abducted. Suppose she were to scream? In all probability there would not be a soul in the whole turret, now the old lady was dead. To scream would merely be to give herself away. But she longed to be sure. She pretended to trip, fell sideways, and touched material. Brocade. The curtains of Mrs. Brett’s big four-poster?
‘Shh.’ His angry arm was round her to hold her up. ‘Careful,’ he whispered. ‘This way. Wait.’
She recognised the squeak of the wardrobe door as he opened it, heard him push clothes aside, and then waited, with strange amusement, while he had some difficulty in finding the secret spring at the back of the cupboard. He had known the other passage by heart, to this one he seemed, comparatively, a stranger. she had a frightened vision of the plunging steps they had to negotiate to reach the bottom of the second flight where he meant to leave her. It was bad enough on one’s own, with a lamp, but to have to do it, blindfold, under his orders …
On the other hand it was a chance – a horrible one. She knew the winding stair much better than he did. She had only to pick one of the places where one side was open to perpendicular darkness. If she jumped there, and pulled him with her, they would both fall to certain death. It would save Portugal – perhaps. It would save her, at least, from the intolerable prospect of marriage with Vasco.
‘This way,’ he whispered. He must have found the secret spring at last.
As she obeyed his whispered instructions and followed him down the stair through the castle, she carried on the dreadful argument with herself. If she killed them both, she would never know what she might have achieved by staying alive and taking her chance at the meeting.
‘We can talk now,’ he said. They were through the bottom door and the dangerous stairs lay below. ‘Go very carefully,’ his voice was louder now. ‘A step out of line means death.’
How well she knew it. Both their deaths. Was it courage, or cowardice, that kept her dutifully behind him, feeling her way down the endless flights, pretending that she did not know, by count, when they reached the landings and the tunnel where the bats were. At last, on the second landing, he stopped. ‘Just a moment.’ he said, ‘I must find the entrance.’
There was a little business of his making her stoop to go under an imaginary archway, of leading her up and down the landing a couple of times. Then, at last: ‘Here we are,’ he said, and untied her bandage.
They were standing, as she had expected, on the second landing and he was busy lighting a spare lantern that must have been left ready for him. ‘From now on,’ he said, ‘everything must be just as usual. You need have no fears of the acolytes, by the way. They are my friends. You know your way?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll watch you down the next flight. Go carefully, my Queen.’
Of course he would watch her. He did not want her to see his lantern go twinkling back up the flights of stairs toward the Castle on the Rock. She was supposed to think he had brought her in by a different entrance. Starting obediently down the next flight, she thought about waiting and following him back up to the castle. Hopeless, of course. He would bolt the door at ground level and the one into the closet. Her chance must come, if it came at all, when he brought her in to present her to the Sons of the Star. Since she had not killed them both, she must stake everything on that moment.
After two weeks of constant surveillance, it was delicious to be alone, even down here in the dark heart of the cliff. She must have a long wait before her, since Vasco would have to go back up to the castle and so out to the cliff entrance. Would he go back the way they had come, or would Maria be waiting to let him out of the main gate of the castle? Maria? Or some other member of the family?
Horribly, anything was possible. And the acolytes were his friends, he had said, in warning or reassurance. So much for one of her plans. There was no hope of enlisting their aid against him. She passed through the door of the great cavern, then leaned against it for a moment, savouring the temporary feeling of safety. What would happen if she locked it behind her and simply did not open the great doors when the gong rang?
She dismissed the idea at once. That would be a coward’s way. Besides, somewhere in the big cavern there must be another entrance, the one from the Pleasant Valley. Bitterly, now, she regretted that she had never made herself come down early and look for it. But among the rough rock and shadows of this huge place, what chance would she have had?
She made herself go about her usual duties, then, when all was ready, found herself standing irresolute by the council table. Should she try, at this eleventh hour, to find the way out? It would at least be something to do, something to keep terror at bay. But would it? She remembered the first time, when she had slipped among the rocks making just such a search. If she was to have any chance of convincing the Sons of the Star of how Vasco intended to betray them, she must have a cool head and a calm voice. She put her lantern on the big table, sat down in the leader’s chair and rehearsed what she must say. She would not have long. A few moments of surprise, before Vasco or his gang silenced her, would be all her hope. She must use them well. But suppose, in this moment of crisis, she should find herself stammering, even in Portuguese? She did not dare think about it. How stop herself? She remembered Gair, back in the sunlit maze at Forland House, where it all began. He had fooled her finely then, and she had sung, that night, for him alone. Tonight she would speak for herself. Would she ever have a chance to tell him that he had been as much a dupe as she? That they and Mrs. Brett had all been Vasco’s puppets, jerked this way and that as he pleased? She would enjoy telling Gair that.
The sound of the gong knifed through her thoughts. Vasco had wasted no time. Did he not trust her alone in the cave? It was not a reassuring thought.
Strange to remember the simple fear she used to feel when she admitted the acolytes. Tonight’s was compound, stifling … And, for this very reason, tonight everything must seem exactly as usual. She was relieved to feel no trace of stammer as she spoke her ritual greeting. If Vasco had not told her the acolytes were his friends, would she have appealed to them now? But already the moment was past, and she was shut in her cell. Once again, listening to the key grate in the lock outside, she felt the temptation to bolt herself in and refuse to stir. What would happen? She knew Vasco now. He would leave her to die, alone here in the dark.
The gong sounded for the second time. She thought she counted more slowly than usual, but when she opened the secret panel the meeting had only just begun. As usual, the leader was speaking. It was odd to know he was Vasco.
And terrifying to hear how well he was putting his case. What chance had she, if ever she got a chance, of destroying his skilful argument? He spoke of Pombal, of Portugal for the Portuguese and, at last, of Sebastian, the lost Prince, and his own claim. In fact, she thought, he was really telling them very little, that was the genius of it. Without going into dangerous detail, he had whipped them up to a point where they were his to command.
‘Sebastian!’ The shout rang through the cave. ‘Long live the House of Aviz.’
Watching, she thought she saw Vasco hesitate and was sure she could read his mind. He was wondering whether he needed her to back his claim. If he decided he did not, she was lost. Very likely she was lost anyway.
But one of the hooded figures had risen to ask a question. ‘Most Royal Star’ – it was the Brother of the Silver Serpent – ‘Are you, after all these years, the only descendant of the lost Prince?’
‘No!’ Vasco had reached his decision, or been pushed into it. ‘Brothers! Our Brother of the Silver Serpent has spoken well. There is indeed another descendant of the great Prince Sebastian, one with a better claim than mine to the throne of Portugal. She is my cousin, and my wife, Juana. She is also, thanks to the Star, mistress of the Castle on the Rock and Handmaiden of the Star. She waits now in the antechamber, as befits a woman, even a Princess. Is it your pleasure, brothers, that she appear before you, the first woman worthy of the notice of the Star?’
There was a murmur of approval, but Juana did not dare to listen longer. She closed the secret panel and sat down on her hard wooden chair to wait, trembling in every limb, for the summons of the Star. And, humbug, she told herself bracingly.
It did not feel like humbug when the key grated in the lock and the cell door swung open. She rose to her feet, pulled the hood close around her, and faced the two acolytes.
‘Daughter of the Star,’ said the one who had unlocked the cell door. ‘The Star summons you to his presence.’
She was supposed to be surprised. ‘Now?’ she said, and was aware of heads turning at the big table.
‘Yes, now.’ This was Vasco’s friend. He had not been taken by surprise, but must pretend to be. ‘Approach the Star, and fear not.’
Fear not? Lunatic advice. She moved forward with all the dignity she could muster. Too soon, now, to start speaking. She must await her chance – what did Vasco call it? Her moment of glory. Very likely her last.
The acolytes led her forward, and round the long table to where Vasco was waiting for her. As she approached, he threw back the hood from his face in a dramatic gesture and stood there for all to see under the big star that hung above the table. He held out his hand to her, his attention still focused on the hooded figures round the table. She was his puppet; he did not need to look at her. ‘Brothers of the Star,’ he pushed back her hood to reveal her diadem-crowned head. ‘I, Vasco de Mascarenhas, lineal descendant of the great Sebastian, son of the House of Aviz, present to you my wife, Juana, Lady of Aviz and Queen of Portugal.’
Their shouts of approval echoed strangely through the cavern, then died away raggedly into silence. Now was her chance. She had thought of so many things to say. She said none of them. ‘Sons of the Star,’ she pitched her voice as if she were singing, and it echoed back to her. ‘I am indeed Juana, Lady of the House of Aviz, descendant of the great Sebastian.’ Beside her, she was aware of Vasco’s astonishment. He had not expected his puppet to speak, but so far what she said suited him well enough. She had a few seconds more. ‘And I warn you,’ she kept her voice clear and steady, ‘do not trust this man who will betray you as he has me. Ask him about the Treaty of Fontainebleau; ask him his plans for the Braganzas; ask—’ strong hands pulled the hood over her face, silencing her.
Beside her, Vasco was speaking. ‘The woman is mad,’ he said. ‘My Brothers, I had meant, for the sake of the House of Aviz, to endure this and make her my Queen. I should have known that no woman is worthy of trust. Out of her own mouth she has convicted herself of treachery to us all. We cannot allow of a divided claim. Brothers, out of a grieved heart I call for the verdict of the Star.’
Unable to move, blinded and stifling under the hood, she heard the ripple of condemnation pass round the table: ‘Death … death … death …’
Then, from somewhere across the table, a dissenting voice: ‘Brothers, should we not look further into this before we condemn the heir to the House of Aviz on one man’s voice, even be it the Star’s – and he her co-heir? Should we not ask, first, what she means by the Treaty of Fontainebleau, and what the Star’s plans are for the House of Braganza?’
Juana held her breath as a little doubtful murmur ran round the table, but Vasco’s voice quelled it. ‘All in good time, Brother of the Silver Serpent. As for the Treaty of Fontainebleau, it is true I had not meant to tell you of its monstrous provisions yet, but I see that I must. We are betrayed, Brothers, betrayed by our false friends, the French.’ He rapidly outlined the provisions of the treaty as Juana had heard him describe them to the inner circle. ‘As to the House of Braganza,’ he went on. ‘It is not I, but Napoleon, who plans its destruction. I hold in my hand, Brothers, a copy of the French gazette, the Moniteur, dated from Paris on October 13th. It says, in so many words, that the House of Braganza has ceased to reign in Europe.’
‘Long live the House of Aviz,’ said a voice somewhere to the left. The cry was taken up round the table.
‘And death to the traitor.’ This was a voice from the other end of the table, and Juana had a horrid picture of members of the inner circle, scattered at intervals where they could act as crowd-leaders.
‘But is her treachery proved? Has she not shown herself careful for our good? I say this needs more investigation, Brothers. I will not condemn even a woman unheard.’
‘Brother of the Silver Serpent.’ Vasco’s head must still be bare; his voice sounded more clearly than the others’. ‘You have tried the patience of the Star long enough. Ever since you first joined our Brotherhood you have been a quibbler and a questioner. Now I, who have revealed myself for the glory of the Star, demand that you too be put to the ultimate question. Bare your face, Brother, and show yourself a man to be trusted.’ And then, mockingly, ‘See, Brothers, he dares not meet the challenge of the Star. Seize him and let us see.’
There was a scuffle; an exclamation: ‘The Englishman!’
‘You see, Brothers, how we are betrayed. This is one of Lord Strangford’s people, set to spy upon us. At leisure, we will find out how he came to insinuate himself among the Brotherhood. But now we have lost too much time: I put the question to you all: death to them both.’
‘Death!’ The unanimous shout echoed strangely from the cavern roof. Juana writhed unavailingly for a moment in her captor’s grip, then made herself stand still. At least she could die like a Queen. She bit her lips under the hood, remembering the ruthless cord that had killed Father Ignatius in front of them all. But Vasco was speaking again: ‘The Star is merciful,’ he said. ‘For a traitor and a traitress the death in life will come fast. Take them away, Brothers.’
No cord. Her captors were dragging her away from the table. She was aware of other struggling figures nearby. The Brother of the Silver Serpent … The Englishman … It hit her like a blow. Gair. She stumbled, and was pulled along ruthlessly, rough rocks bruising her, then thrown to the ground. She lay for a moment, panting, sobbing for breath, then heard the unmistakable sound of the cell door slamming shut. The key turned in the lock outside. She pushed back the hood from her face and sat up, painfully.
The lantern was still burning on the table. Gair lay inert on the floor beside her, breathing heavily, unconscious … Quickly, shakily, she felt his pulse and found it steady enough, nor did he seem to be bleeding. Merciful to have left her the lantern. Merciful? The only source of air to the little cell was from the door, or the secret panel. With these shut, and the lantern burning, the two of them would not last long. The Star’s merciful death in life was simply death by asphyxiation.
She rose shakily to her feet and moved over to the secret panel. Dared she open it? If the acolytes had been stationed by the cell door, it would destroy their last chance. But why should they be? No one knew about the panel. She thought she must risk it. Trembling convulsively, she blew out the lantern and pressed the spring.
Nothing happened. The acolytes were back in their places. The meeting was going on with extraordinary, blood-chilling normality. The episode of herself and Gair was over. The Sons of the Star were making their final dispositions for attacking the French and taking over the country.
It was frighteningly efficient. Vasco, still speaking with bare head, finished outlining his plans. ‘Remember, Brothers, not a word, not a breath till the French are in our power.’
‘And the signal?’ asked the Brother of the Ragged Staff.
‘I, Sebastian, will give the signal when I proclaim myself heir of the House of Aviz and rightful King of Portugal.’
And once again the cavern echoed with cries of ‘Sebastian!’ and ‘Long live the House of Aviz,’
‘I thank you, Brothers. And now, we meet only to part …’
Juana closed the panel. The meeting was over. She dared not wait and see how Vasco dealt with the problem of closing the cavern.
She found the tinder-box on the shelf, relit the lantern and knelt down by Gair, who was breathing more easily. Was she right about the death in life? Or would an executioner, any moment now, unlock the door and drag them out to the torture? She began, breathlessly, to count. How soon did she dare reopen the panel?