“That’s enough, Princess Andrea!” The voice, hoarse like a lion roar, came from behind. The voice of the king. Releasing John’s arm, I turned.
Father had left the shadow of the willows under which he had probably been watching the fight and was coming up the riverbank, his long hair flying loose over his shoulders.
“Don Juan knows perfectly well this is real,” he said when he reached my side. “After all, he is engaged to Princess Rosa, and by marrying her, he will become the future king.
“Besides,” he continued while John nodded with the stiff movement of a puppet, “our kingdom needs Don Juan. His unusual approach will give us an advantage I am not willing to lose. The dice of fortune are already rolling, and in two more days, our army will march to its victory. So now, Princess, you must leave. We have important matters to discuss, Don Juan and I. We have no time for your hysteria.”
I bolted back and looked at John for help. But John, a selfconscious smile under the dark stubble that now shaded his face, was already addressing Father. Soon they were engaged in a heated discussion over some strategic details I couldn’t follow. By the ease of their interchange, it was obvious they had had this conversation before.
I backed away from them, lost in misery. I had failed. Father would never listen. As for John, where did he think he was? Discussing a basketball game with his friends? That was about right. By the way he talked, he could be back in Davis on a Sunday evening sitting around a table at Al’s. How could he be such a fool? Didn’t he know that this time the game he was so lightly discussing was not a game at all, but war? How could I make him understand?
“Hold it!” A voice blasted in my ear, while something hard like iron yanked at my arm and dragged me back. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, looking onto the red-bearded face of Don Gonzalo.
Behind me, I could hear the clashing of swords and the rapid breathing of people fighting. I didn’t have to look to understand. I had just missed being cut into pieces by two of the soldiers fencing. How could I have been so mindless as to walk in their path? I was definitely losing my soldier’s touch. Rejecting Don Gonzalo’s hand, I climbed to my feet.
“My apologies, my lady,” Don Gonzalo said, bowing to me.
I curtsied to him. “You don’t have to apologize, Sir. You have saved my life, and I am most grateful.”
Don Gonzalo smiled. “My pleasure, Princess. But next time I hope you will remember my lessons and not walk into the middle of a sword fight.” This time his voice was firm and stern, as it had been so long ago when I was one of his pages.
I smiled back. “I will, Sir.” And after thanking him again, I turned to go.
“Princess.” Once more his voice was formal, the voice of a knight addressing a lady.
I looked back.
“It would be safer, Princess, if you would allow me to escort her ladyship to the castle.”
At his words, I felt my cheeks burning. How could he dare to insult me like that? I had made a mistake, that was true, but he should know better than anyone that I was a warrior, not a damsel in distress, and didn’t need his help. I was going to tell him so when an idea formed in my mind. Don Gonzalo was close to Father and John. Maybe through him I could get a better understanding of their plans or even find a solution to my present impasse.
I smiled. “I accept your offer, Sir, with great pleasure.”
As soon as we had left the fields behind, I started my probing. “Don Gonzalo, I saw you before, fighting with Don Juan, and I was wondering, why did you let him win?”
Don Gonzalo didn’t answer. Although I couldn’t see his face—he was walking two steps behind me as protocol demanded—I knew he was embarrassed. After a short silence, I tried again. “What do you think of the present situation, Sir? Do you think there is still a chance that the differences between our kingdom and the Suavian kingdom could be solved in a peaceful way?”
“No, Princess.” His voice was clear now, charged with excitement. “We will go to battle and get our revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“As you know, Princess, Don Julián defeated us five years past. His army was smaller, and he wouldn’t have stood a chance in open battle. But he avoided the confrontation and, again and again, launched surprise attacks on us. Before we could maneuver and retaliate, he was gone. It was a clever strategy, and eventually we had to surrender. Don Julián took from us the fertile lands of the upper river. Now our time has come at last to take them back. With Don Juan’s remarkable approach to battle, we will be victorious. Unless . . .”
“Unless?” I repeated after waiting in vain for him to finish his sentence.
“Well, as the offended party, Don Julián may still choose to challenge Don Juan to duel before the battle. It is his right, and. . . that is why Don Juan must learn to fight with the sword.”
I saw his point. Don Julián had been born a prince, a sword in his hands. John had seen his first only a month before—without counting the props I had used to teach him in California. If such a confrontation ever happened, John would lose his life and Father his advantage. Not that I believed in John’s strategic abilities, but at the idea of a duel between John and Don Julián, a cold fear paralyzed me entirely. I’m sorry, John, I said to myself, but you’re going back to California on the next full moon. Even if I have to kidnap you.
Unfortunately the moon would not be full for another four weeks, and by then it might be too late. I needed time. Father had made up his mind. No good asking him to delay his plan. But maybe Don Julián would be more receptive. Why shouldn’t he postpone going to battle if I promised him what he wanted? And as far as I knew, what he wanted was my sister Rosa. Wasn’t the fact that he had declared war on us to get her back proof enough that he still cared for her?
Knowing how volatile Rosa’s affections were, I felt confident that with John gone, she would be willing to marry Don Julián. There would be no war then. Tío Ramiro would have to recognize my genius and reward my efforts by taking me back to California with him.
So once more I left my father’s castle. Dressed in my old page’s gear, I left through the gatehouse in broad daylight. On foot, holding Flecha by the reins, I was just another soldier among the hundreds, and nobody questioned my leaving.
I headed east across the plains, and by early afternoon reached the outskirts of Mount Pindo. Before turning north to avoid the impossible climb, I took a last look at the river. The mist that usually hung over the waters had lifted, leaving behind only shreds of cotton fog and a glimpse of the distant shore—the shore that was Suavia, the enemy kingdom.
The ominous laugh of a crow came from above. Black as night, it flew over my head and, flapping its wings to a halt, perched on the naked branch of a fallen oak. Letting out a screeching call, it stared at me with dark unblinking eyes. And for a brief moment, the time it took me to wheel Flecha around, I had the disturbing impression that through its eyes the ancient gods of the Xarens were watching.
Three days later, I reached the closest ford. The river was narrower there and supposedly shallow enough to cross—at least now, in the summer, when the water ran low. But it certainly didn’t look safe to me as I watched the foam forming on the swirling rapids. I was about to turn and continue upriver to a safer crossing when my father’s words flashed through my mind. “Two more days,” he had said. His troops would be leaving the castle by now. If I wanted to reach Don Julián before they did, I didn’t have time to find an easier place.
Gently, I pressed Flecha’s flanks. Flecha snorted and shook her head. Again I dug in my heels, and this time she jumped forward and cantered into the stream.