He turned to Francisco, whose eyes were rather wide, but whose pudgy face otherwise bore a studied lack of expression. "Let's go and talk to the don about our order of march. Senor Brusi, you may start moving again when Miguel and Raphael catch up."
"You don't give me orders!" the old man screeched, lurching to his feet.
"I just did."
It was unfortunate that Pepita chose that moment to snigger. As Toby strode forward, he glanced at the younger Josep, and was surprised to see traces of a grin. He winked. Josep twitched in surprise and then winked back.
Don Ramon had completed his survey of the terrain from the knoll, and was now returning. Hamish fell into step at Toby's right, and a moment later Francisco's pony arrived on his left.
The old man coughed meaningfully. "Senor Longdirk, while I have greatly enjoyed your progress, I do hope you realize that here men of humble station are expected to observe a certain tact when addressing the gentry? Of course I have no intention of criticizing how things may be done in your fair homeland of Scotland, but this is Spain."
"In Scotland they would hang me for it. You think they may hold back my wages?"
The squire sighed. "I'm certain you won't ever see a dinero of them." He chuckled. "But, please, senor, I implore you, do not try such tactics on Don Ramon!"
"I have no intention of doing so."
"Shade his honor in any way and one of you will die, senor, I swear it."
"I shall be as prim as a princess."
How long could he hold to that resolve? Did he even want to try? A dozen adults and a child, and only one of them a real fighter—and even that was giving the don the benefit of a very considerable doubt. His fighting might be as muddled as his thinking. However nimble he was at getting on and off his horse, had he ever swung that broadsword in his life? Apart from him, only Miguel, Rafael, and Father Guillem were likely to put up any defense at all, and none of them could have any training or experience. With Hamish and himself aboard, the company would certainly have a better chance of surviving any trouble it might encounter. Under any normal circumstances, there would be no question—the newcomers would ask to join the band and place themselves under the hired guard's orders. When the hired guard was a raving aristocratic maniac, was that such a good idea?
Toby turned for another look at the pilgrims, which required him to walk backward, making Pepita laugh and drum her fists on his helmet. Then he turned the right way round and said in Gaelic, "Hamish? You want to serve the noble lord?"
Hamish jumped, as if his mind had been a long way away. "You're not serious? You can't be serious! You couldn't even take orders from Sergeant Mulliez! You think you can keep your temper with that snooty lunatic?"
"I might. I wonder whether he's as crazy as he pretends to be. Senor Francisco, is the Senora's packhorse carrying gold?"
The squire choked. "Gold, senor? Whatever... Why would you think such a thing?" His horrified expression said that it did, or at least he suspected that it did. He could have seen how the bags were handled when it was loaded and unloaded.
"There doesn't seem much on its back, and yet it walks as if it had a heavy burden. Doesn't matter." Toby must make his decision soon. "The don has to ride at the front of course."
"Of course!" Even Francisco could not imagine any other arrangement, and Don Ramon himself believed he was leading a train of a hundred—knights in livery, beautiful ladies on white horses, banners flying, band playing. It was a beautiful picture, but it wasn't real.
Nevertheless, Miguel and Rafael were the nearest thing he had to fighting men, so he had put them at the rear. The horses wouldn't like the mule, anyway. The only other man who might strike a blow, Father Guillem, he had set in the middle. And himself at the front.
"I suppose Senor Brusi is paying most of the fee, so he insists on being as close to his guard as he can be?"
"Only the king might insist with Don Ramon, senor. It is by his command that the senor travels there."
A command that conveniently forestalled argument. So the order of march made good sense, but might be mere luck. If Toby were to take charge now, what would he do? Move the two peasants to the center and put the new men at the rear? No, probably send one man on ahead to scout for trouble and have the other patrol back and forth along the line, herding the sheep.
Don Ramon had reined in to await the deputation.
"Senor?" Francisco whispered. "He would really like you and your companions to join our troupe, although I admit his way of expressing himself is a little strange. We should all like it. What do I tell him?"
"That we pray to be considered worthy of entering his service."
The squire beamed, but only briefly. "You will be careful, both of you? His honor is all he has left in the world."
"It will be safe with us," Toby said. "I am not at liberty to explain this, senor, but I have a deep respect for Don Ramon. To serve him will be a privilege."
Surprise, suspicion, then recollection... "You knew his name!"
"And I honor it. Pepita, you have to dismount now. This mule needs a rest." Toby reached up to lift the girl down, then discarded his pack and staff. He accompanied Francisco over to the boy on the big horse. The don stared down at them with his customary arrogance.
The squire dismounted and doffed his cap in a low bow. "Senor, Captain Longdirk entreats you to accept him and his troop into your service."
"Of course. Did you expect him to pass up the opportunity of a lifetime?" Don Ramon looked expectantly at the new recruit and bent just enough to offer a hand, palm down.
Toby bowed, unsure what was expected of him and not entirely certain of his own intentions even yet. He looked up at the sea-blue eyes and the utter contempt in them. He was, said those eyes, dirt. But the don had looked at him like that—exactly like that—when he was on the scaffold, facing the headsman's ax. Any man capable of such defiance at the lintel of death was a man indeed.
"Senor, my company and I will be honored to serve you." Until I cut off your head. He kissed the pale fingers. He stepped back, bowing three times, as he had seen the don himself do.
The don showed no sign of emotion at the touching ceremony, other than a sneer which said that of course the stupid foreigner had done it all wrong but his ignorance would be overlooked this time. "Now, Captain Whatever-your-name-is, send some troopers to scout ahead. They are to keep their eyes peeled at all times for possible ambush. I want no heroics—at the slightest hint of trouble they are to run back like rabbits and report to me personally, is that clear? And set some others to patrolling the column, to make the stragglers keep up. Look lively!"
"As the caballero commands." Toby saluted and went back to issue the necessary orders to his company.
Hamish had heard all that, and his expression was rarer than diamonds.
"Look lively now, Sergeant Jaume!" Toby said. "Take a dozen of our best men and escort Senorita Pepita back to Brother Bernat. After that, ride herd on the civilians and make sure they keep moving along."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"And brush up your Catalan. Your accent's terrible."
Hamish said something in breathy Catalan, too quick to catch. It did not sound respectful, and the grin that followed it certainly wasn't.