"Do you think I don't know that?"
Estrada let the break extend for another ten minutes before she returned to the cart and shouted, "March on."
This time there were no complaints. Everyone managed to get started without accident, as though to express their silent support. I wondered if Estrada and Mounteban might have worked it all out before hand, a sly take on the old "good guard, bad guard" routine. But unless she was an extraordinarily fine and committed actress, the black cloud over Estrada's expression made that unlikely.
As the afternoon wore on, matching clouds formed to join it in the sky above. The heat became humid and oppressive, the breeze died altogether, and it was obvious another storm was on the way. That prospect, given our already precarious circumstances, did more to hurry the pace than anything Mounteban could have done or said.
I found myself becoming increasingly bored, my good humour evaporating in the clammy air. Estrada was uncommunicative, and Saltlick plodded along with his head down, as interesting and companionable as the stone behind him.
Once again, I felt the sense of having blundered into unsuitable company. This time it occurred to me that, of everyone there, it was Mounteban I had most in common with. It wasn't so long ago that we'd been… well, not friends, but acquaintances, and compatriots in the odd venture. I couldn't see much justification for his recent behaviour towards me, except a desire to show off how damned honest and sanctimonious he'd become.
Thinking about that, spurred on by the uncomfortable silence and the sultry air pressing down on me, I grew more and more irritable. Finally, I hopped down from the seat. I nearly blundered into Saltlick, cursed him loudly and meandered back through the throng of sweaty, stumbling bodies. When I reached Mounteban, where he rode amidst his gang of ruffians, I fell into step beside him. "How goes it, Mounteban?"
"Piss off, Damasco."
"That's no way to talk to an old friend."
"I'll bear that in mind if I meet one."
I resisted a powerful urge to drag him from his mount and kick him in the teeth. Given that he was surrounded by bodyguards, and given that every one of them looked as though they could kill me in a dozen interesting ways without stretching their imaginations, it was probably for the best. "What's your problem with me, Mounteban? All right, we were never friends, but I didn't realise we'd become enemies."
"You belong in my past. I'd sooner you'd stayed there."
"Oh, of course. Because you're the big hero now. I heard you'd put your lifetime of misdeeds behind you, only I never quite believed it."
"And what do you think now?"
"I think, 'once a thief, always a thief'. But perhaps that's just me." Weariness was getting the better of my irascibility. I added, less than honestly, "Look, I didn't come back here to argue. We'll be parting soon, and I thought we might do it on better terms than we've managed so far."
Mounteban spat into the dirt. His tone was only a touch less aggressive as he replied, "Probably you can't understand a man wanting to put his past behind him."
"My past is nothing to write home about. I'd be the first to admit I'd be better off without it."
While this was probably true, my saying it had more to do with a sudden realisation. I was actually curious about Mounteban. What could have happened to make him hook up with this doomed bunch? In his heyday, he'd have been more likely to slaughter them for gold fillings.
"But you," I went on, "it takes courage to step out from the shadow of your own notoriety."
I was pleased with that, even if I wasn't entirely sure what it meant.
Mounteban also seemed caught between suspicion and accepting it as an honest compliment. His voice low, he said, "Marina approached me some weeks ago now, when Moaradrid's invasion wasn't much more than tavern gossip. She saw it coming though. She said she was talking to figures of standing in the community, whatever their trade — because a threat to the Castoval was a threat to all of us."
"She was very astute. From what I heard, Moaradrid had marched the length of the Castoval before most of the town leaders noticed anything was amiss."
"She was astute. It took me a while to see it though. Fortunately, she was insistent as well. Still, most of those she talked to are probably cowering beneath their tables in Muena Palaiya right now."
"You did a brave thing joining up with her, Mounteban," I said. I offered him my hand.
"Well, perhaps you're not entirely a coward yourself, Damasco." He didn't sound convinced, but he shook anyway.
As I hurried back towards my place at the head of the column, I congratulated myself on a job well done. Mounteban's enmity had been making life difficult, and if I'd done anything to rid myself of it then that was worth a little false praise. Having him on side could only make life easier until I found a means to slip away. I'd also gleaned some valuable insights into what had occurred over the last few days. Perhaps best of all, I'd confirmed a suspicion I'd been harbouring for some time.
Castilio Mounteban was helplessly in love with his good lady mayor.
I hopped back up to the driver's board and grinned at Estrada, who responded with a scowl of baffled irritation. I felt like a child with a secret, and had an appropriately infantile urge to drop hints. Estrada's expression soured my brief pleasure.
In fairness, she had a right to be on edge: heavy drops were beginning to fall, and the clouds above had congealed into a single ominous mass. The road might not be too bad when it was dry; if it became slippery then casualties would be all but unavoidable.
I breathed a sigh of relief as we edged around the next corner, and heard Estrada do the same. Close ahead was the point where our road met the eastwest pass. I could see the gap in the mountainside where the trail to Goya Pinenta began. Both ways joined at a wide intersection, and beyond that, the main road twisted back on itself, continuing beneath us to the floor of the Castoval. The road would be in better repair after the junction, even fenced in places. We should be relatively safe there, storm or no storm.
Given the pace at which we were crawling along, it still took us a while to reach the junction. There was some traffic there, as I'd predicted, mostly irate fish merchants from the coast hurrying to get their produce into Muena Palaiya while it was still fresh. Our pace slackened even further as we struggled to join the flow. No one was very pleased to see two hundred bedraggled armed men descending upon them. Some cursed us; others, assuming we were bandits, tried to appease us with offerings from their reeking cargo. Estrada asked me to take the reins again and passed a few minutes on foot, trying to retain order while propitiating our new travelling companions.
I found myself in the uncharacteristic position of leader. It crossed my mind to lash the horses and try to make my escape, but if I hadn't driven straight over the edge then Mounteban would have caught up with me in no time. I concentrated instead on setting a steady pace as we drew closer to the horseshoe bend that led into the last long decline. It was disconcertingly tight. The volume of swearing behind me increased tenfold as I crept into the turn.
Once the curve began to level out I could see the floor of the Castoval spread before me. Muena Palaiya lay ahead, chalk-white roofs tumbling leisurely down the slope, looking too small to be a town at this distance despite its high walls. The hillside descended gradually towards us on the town's south side, cut into terraces of vineyards and small farms. Beyond the road that hugged its western edge the decline dipped more steeply to the woodland below and on toward the Casto Mara, which flowed grey and frothy in the pounding rain.