

# THE KING'S ARMADA

##

### Published by Doug Walker at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Doug Walker

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CHAPTER ONE

Dust and the heavy smell of horses. Lieutenant Hidalgo stirred in his chair and eyed the man on the bench across the room, the man who claimed to be Lieutenant Pedro García, the man who sat with a small animal he claimed was a dog in his lap. "I will tell the captain," Hidalgo finally said. He rose heavily to his feet, head pounding from too much partying last night, even though the new evening was rapidly approaching.

"There is a man who says he is Lieutenant Pedro García from the Presidio of Bilbao. He wishes to speak to you about matters of great importance." Hidalgo hesitated, then added, "He says." The captain's office was small, but well appointed. A crucifix decorated one wall, crossed swords another. Double doors opened to a balcony behind his comfortable chair. A terra cotta wine decanter and four small glasses stood within easy reach.

"You have reason not to believe him?" Captain Delgado asked. Contrasted with Hidalgo, the captain appeared fresh and crisp. It did not add to Hidalgo's dragging spirits to know the captain had just completed a two-hour siesta followed by a bath and a change of uniform.

"He has a small animal he says is a dog. To carry such a beast does not inspire confidence. He has no papers, yet he says he is an officer of the King."

"There are exotic animals of all sizes in Africa," the captain remarked. "Whatever, send him over."

"Yes, Sir."

As he reached the door, the captain said, "You look a mess, Hidalgo. Get the corporal to relieve you. Take a nap and try not to drink so much tonight."

"As you wish, Sir." The lieutenant almost shrugged, but thought better of it. Drinking and carousing was a soldier's life. A common soldier at 18, a sergeant at 25, an officer at 30 for an act of bravery, Hidalgo had little hope of further advancement at this drab post, or elsewhere.

Sure enough, Pedro García carried a small dog when he entered the captain's office. It was difficult, but he attempted to snap to attention and salute with the dog under an arm. The dog, which Pedro called Poncho, was as confused as Hidalgo had been. After all, they had arrived in Bilbao under odd circumstances and it had not been without considerable trouble that a suitable horse had been found. There followed the long ride to Santander.

"I am Lieutenant Pedro García, late of Bilbao, at your service, Sir."

Hidalgo had been right. Not only the small, odd animal, but García's speech, although perfect Spanish, and his attire, although the perfect uniform for a King's officer, seemed unusual. "And to what do I owe this honor?" the captain inquired.

"I am on a mission of grave importance. I carry intelligence of the English brought to Bilbao at great risk."

The captain smiled. "Sit down, lieutenant, and tell me who took this great risk."

A spy, Sir. A devoted Catholic, a patriot of Spain." García attempted to mold his face into a grim mask.

"Tell me, are we about to be fallen upon by the English heretics, do their fleets approach our coast, is an invasion in the cards?" His tone was light, but not without respect as he continued to size up this stranger.

"No, Sir. My message is more general." García, not much over thirty and with black hair that tended to curl slightly and the dark intelligent eyes, settled into his chair and placed the dog on the floor. "His name is Poncho." He motioned toward the animal.

The dog knew well that his name was Pierre and wondered why his master now called him Poncho. The confusion mounted in the canine head, a head inclined toward logical thought. Logical thought, yes, but inside that small head was a mischievous spirit of adventure, and the dog was imagining that the stage was set and the show was about to begin.

The captain nodded and smiled slightly. The animal had eyes like dark marbles, partially obscured by hair. There was a lively intelligence about him, this Poncho. "I do not see a dispatch case. Have you left it in the care of your horse?"

"No, Captain. My report is in my head. I stop here on a courtesy call and, if at all possible, could you spare a couple of troopers to accompany me to Madrid?"

"Are there no troops in Bilbao?"

"Sad, but true. There has been sickness there and recruiting problems. Bilbao is undermanned."

It was an old story and probably true. But there was something bizarre about this young lieutenant and Poncho. The captain's mind was quick, and he had hit upon his answer instantly, but he would wait.

"We will dine together, and in the morning we will see what we will see."

García rose, snapped to attention, saluted, then picked up his dog.

"You must bathe and nap before dinner. Your journey has been long. My man will show you to the facilities."

Morning came too early. A servant woke García at first light. The evening with Captain Delgado had been of great interest, a lesson in current events, many trivial items that García knew nothing of, plus the great topics that kept all of Europe abuzz. They talked of Spain's near bankruptcy despite the masses of gold and silver pouring in from the New World, of the English corsairs that preyed on the treasure ships, and of King Felipe II and how Spain stood as a world leader in this year, 1586. In his younger years on the throne, the king had acted with the patience and reserve of an older man. Now as an older man, he was showing the audacity and risk taking of the very young.

In turn, García told the captain about his younger life, much of it spent in splendid isolation. He had also pulled a document from his tunic for the captain's examination, a document that linked García with one of the noblest of Spanish families, a document that would have permitted him to use the title of "Don" if he had so chosen. The importance of family was not lost on Captain Delgado.

Following a solitary breakfast of eggs, ham and fried bread, Delgado appeared accompanied by Lieutenant Hidalgo, both men looking well rested and in crisp attire.

"You will have your two troopers," the captain announced. "And I have prevailed upon the lieutenant to accompany you as well. It has been years since he has seen Madrid."

Poncho, aka Pierre, who was wrestling the last shred of meat from a hambone while seated in a chair beside his master, pricked up his ears. Here was something of interest that held the possibility of evil. He had distrusted Lieutenant Hidalgo at first sight. Call it canine instinct, but there it was, a first warning. Not that the small Yorkie had any knowledge of his master's total plan.

"Very good," García responded, "Can we leave at once?"

"Even as we speak," the captain smiled, "horses are being saddled and a pack animal prepared. You will be in Madrid in only a matter of days."

From Santander, set by the Bay of Biscay, there was a fair road leading almost directly south to Madrid. Many hamlets dotted the road along the trip, but only one city of any proportion, Burgos, stood on the major crossroads between Miranda de Ebro and Valladolid. The only geographic barrier was a mountain range just north of Madrid.

And so the four of them rode south enjoying the fine weather, the two lieutenants and the two troopers, chatting and bonding as the days passed. The dog, ever present, listened and learned, grasping his master's overall intent, but unable to discern the final objective.

A high point for García was reaching the Camino de Santiago, the pilgrim's trail that ran from St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port in the French Pyrenees for 500 miles to the northern Spanish city of Santiago. Pilgrims seeking religious points have trod the trail since the ninth century when the burial place of St. James the Apostle was said to have been discovered in a Roman-era tomb.

They took shelter in one of the many refugios along the path, this one adjoining a Benedictine convent. That afternoon menacing Griffon vultures with eight-foot wingspans circled the four travelers for more than an hour causing one of the troopers to frequently glance skyward and cross himself. He was the one named Jesus, a short sturdy man with what appeared to be one bad eye, although he never seemed to lack for sight. When not menaced by giant birds he had a ready smile and quick wit. García took an instant liking to him, taking him to be a man who would stand by you in a tight spot. He would get to know Jesus better as the days passed into weeks.

It was just after sighting the Griffons, possibly triggered by those great birds who brought a spiritual quality to the march, that Pedro had a moment of truth, or a moment of fear, call it what you will, but a sudden chill, a feeling of complete loneliness in an alien world at a time in history he did not fully understand.

But one could say he understood it more than anyone alive in Spain on that lovely day, in that epic era. You see, this was García the time traveler, a man who had stumbled across a formula to move from the 21st Century back to the late 1500s.

A persistent nagging thought was, "Can I do anything to change history, and, if so, do I want to?"

As a boy García had learned Spanish from his mother who taught it in high school. In their youth both parents had been hippie types who had traveled in a flower painted VW bus throughout Mexico and the U.S. southwest. Growing up, García (not his real name) had spent long, dreamy vacations in Oaxaca and Isla Mujeres in Mexico, plus other destinations south.

It was only natural that García, after a hitch in the Marines, had become both a Spanish and history major, with a doctorate in Spanish history. During his studies and vacations he often found himself in Spain. During one of these outings he discovered time travel documents in a long forgotten, dusty Spanish archive. Did he copy them? No. Although generally honest and ethical, he shoved the documents inside his shirt and walked off.

His prime fascination as a scholar and an adventurer was with that greatest adventure, the Spanish Armada.

CHAPTER TWO

When the mountains had been crossed and the small party passed the checkpoint and entered Madrid, Poncho was still certain Hidalgo had been sent along as a spy, but so skillfully had his master played the role, drinking and card playing in taverns along the way, he seemed now an ally.

Madrid was the major power center, but Felipe's palace-monastery, a good day's ride from Madrid, often held the crown and court. Valladolid, the royal city where Felipe II was born, and Granada, were centers of the higher judiciary.

Madrid and El Escorial, the palace, would become familiar places to the two lieutenants in the coming weeks. These were exciting times; the very air seemed charged with intrigue.

"What now?" García asked, as they traveled the streets of the city toward the royal palace. He had come to rely on Hidalgo, who was at least five years older and a veteran in the ways of the military and its role in the great scheme of things.

"We will drop the troopers off at a barracks, then find suitable quarters ourselves among the officers. Tomorrow we will approach the palace and learn just who will look after your information."

"King Felipe, of course," García said.

Hidalgo chuckled. "Of course not. The King has many advisors. He will not bother with a mere lieutenant. Just how high up the pecking order we go is a matter of speculation."

García heaved a sigh of relief. Confronting the King was not part of his plan. His plan was to get a foothold at court and then find the person he sought. And tomorrow should see his program start to bear fruit.

But tomorrow seemed to be at best a week hence. The two lieutenants were shuffled from office to office until the size of the royal bureaucracy boggled the mind. Hidalgo would smile and whisper, "This is what the treasures of the New World have birthed, a plague of parasitic bureaucrats."

There were compensations. They found themselves well housed and well fed and at least, temporarily, shirttail members of the court. It was at one of the nightly social gatherings that García found the person he sought — the one cause that had sent him on this personal pilgrimage.

The next morning he confessed to Hidalgo. "The love of my life appeared before me last night."

Hidalgo smiled. "Too much wine and tough beef. You had bad dreams, my friend?"

"No. In the flesh. A dream, yes. But fleshed out. The beautiful Doña Juanita Tera. I knew I would find her. It was my dream to come to Madrid and find this woman."

"Somehow you knew this woman was here?" A puzzled, bemused glance.

"No," García replied. "I knew I would find my dream woman. A woman of consummate purity."

"You came to Madrid to find a pure woman?" Hidalgo questioned incredulously. "You might just as well seek a virgin in a bordello. Court life has unhinged your brain. Get some sleep. Take a cold bath." He opened the decanter and poured himself some wine, gesturing to García, but the younger man declined.

"You don't comprehend. The young lady, probably in her late teens, has led an impeccable lifestyle. She is always accompanied by a dueña, thus purity is assured."

Hidalgo shrugged. "Such chaperones can be bribed. A piece or two of silver. A bottle of wine. A sweet cake. They often hate their charges and pray for their transgressions."

"I am a man of the world and understand such things," García said. "But in this case, I think you are wrong."

The Yorkie, now dubbed Poncho, had been awake listening, moving his ears, large in proportion to his small body, attempting to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Unfortunately for him, it was his master's habit to shut him in the room during the nighttime festivities.

But now the dog knew everything, or so he thought. The entire plan was revealed. Many times he had thought that his master, the man who now called himself Pedro García, would take a wife. He had considered this and wondered if he could survive such a mating. But yes, it was inevitable and for the best. In fact he put the idea in García's head. But in seeking such purity his master had placed himself in perilous straits. This Hidalgo, for one, was not to be trusted. Hidalgo was full of envy, but what could a mere dog do. Poncho would watch and wait.

The dog was not entirely divorced from the romantic side of life. He had slipped out from under his master's control more than once and gotten a couple of bitches in trouble. Then there was his almost total recall of past lives; colorful, yes, but sometimes ending in sordid disillusionment. Not that this life was so bad. He did have deep affection and respect for his master, half-baked as some of his thinking might be. And he was always fed, pampered, bathed, given a soft bed, always petted and cuddled. Yes, he would endure this dog's life until something better came along.

Two days later García was summoned to the office of a deputy of the Spanish Secret Service. It was a pleasant morning as García walked to the appointed office. Birds sang, soft breezes stirred the trees and García pondered how wondrous slow the Spanish wheels turn. But this was the age of sailing ships and horsepower. It was wonderful to contemplate the sweetness of life, yet there was the harsh reality of the Inquisition that revealed the darker side of persons in high places who wished to remain so.

"I understand you bring news of the English heretics?" the deputy said, once García was seated. There had been no introductions and García assumed that was standard policy in the secret service world. They were meeting on a spy-to-spy basis.

"I do," García replied. He hesitated, not knowing just what status his questioner commanded. Finally he asked, "Are you the one I should talk with?"

"Of course. Any message you bring, if it is considered of consequence, will find its way to the King. Our security mills grind slowly, but they are precise. Talk freely."

"Fine. It seemed to me the information was general, yet the man who brought it deemed it of great importance."

"And why didn't that man himself accompany you to Madrid?" It was a good question, one that García had anticipated.

"He called himself Orbigo. You know that name?"

The deputy smiled. "Yes, it is the name of a river." But he did not add that secret service spies often used the names of rivers or mountains.

García raised his hands as if puzzled. "Perhaps he has a river of information. What he said was simply this: The English queen, Elizabeth, is unpopular. The people are on the brink of rebellion. The royal coffers are almost empty. Many loyal Catholics would rise and fight by our side. The time is right to send a fleet to sea and destroy the English heretics. He also suggested that Spain's friend, Mary Stuart (Mary Queen of Scots), might be in jeopardy from Elizabeth. If friendly troops could be transported across the channel from the Netherlands, they would make short work of the English heretics."

"This information would seem to complement information we have from other sources. But again, where is this man, this Orbigo?"

"He was aboard a merchant ship that touched shore for only a day. It was important, he said, that he rejoin the vessel and return to England. But he did give me a token, although it seemed strange to me." Saying that, García dug into his pocket and produced a small round of metal bearing a strange device.

He passed it across the desk and the deputy examined it briefly, noting the outline of a bull's head with three stars marking the spots where eyes and nose should be. The deputy dropped the piece into a drawer. "You have done well, Lieutenant García. The information you have delivered will be passed along." A bottle was produced and two small glasses filled with sherry. "Let us drink to the confusion of our enemy, the English heretics." They touched glasses and downed the warming liquid. Then the meeting was over and García found himself once more at liberty without a hint of what he should do next.

Poncho was waiting when he returned to his lodging. As was his custom he placed the small dog on his lap and recounted the day's activities. Sometimes he believed the Yorkie could understand his words. And sometimes Poncho wondered if García could get along without him. He had helped his master many times in the past and his persistent goal was to see his master safely married to a woman who could offer some guidance. Poncho was keenly aware that a dog's life was limited and he would not be around forever to protect the guileless García.

Presently, Hidalgo returned to the lodging and García told him what had occurred and sought to learn what might happen next.

"We wait," Hidalgo said. It was the Spanish way. And during that wait, García would attempt to get to know the lovely Juanita Tera.

The court was abuzz with plans to restore the True Church to English soil. It was well known that Don Alvaro de Bazan, Marques of Santa Cruz and hero of the Azores, had proposed a daring sea assault. But the cost was too great for Spain's diminished treasury.

It was said that Felipe had put his trust in the young Alexander Farnese of Parma, the son of Margaret, the former regent of the Netherlands. An able soldier, Farnese reconquered Flanders and Brabant. He rolled over Bruges, Ghent and less important towns, then laid siege to the finest city the Netherlands had to offer, Antwerp.

By building a bridge of boats across the estuary of the Scheldt, Antwerp capitulated and all of the southern Netherlands once again pledged loyalty to Felipe. The stage was set. If Spain's sea power could move Farnese's army of well officered veterans across the channel, England would surely fall. Although far outnumbered, Spain discounted the English force as ill-equipped, ill-trained, disorganized rabble.

CHAPTER THREE

While new rumors rose and fell with the daily tides, García managed to convince Juanita Tera's family that he was of noble stock and dropped hints that he might be called "Don," and even someday the title "Grandee" could be his. He felt these exaggerations were only slight and the means to an end that was, in his mind, honorable. He had only one document to back up his ancestry, but it was obviously authentic and difficult to track down because of the hodge podge of regional Spanish rivalries.

And with the young lady herself, his advances were well received, but always under the watchful eye of her dueña. But that was one condition of which he approved. After all, his quest, his perilous quest, was in search of a girl of great purity. Juanita had all the sparkle of a bubbling brook. Her skin was ivory, her hair auburn, tied up with a red velvet band and reaching almost to her waist. Her mouth was wide and expressive. To García she was perfection.

Ancestry was important in Spain, but not everything. "God made men, not lineages," was often expressed. There was a rising interest in education that fired the rivalry between arms and letters. A great Baroque poet of the day wrote, "Ducats make dukedoms and crowns coronets."

Most of the important lineages of the period were descended from warriors of the northern mountains who had seen battle in earlier civil wars. And it was of this noble race that García's sole document placed his ancestry.

Then one day the sky fell. And, as Poncho had surmised, it was Lieutenant Hidalgo's doing.

"I have been speaking with the adjutant general about you," Hidalgo said one peaceful afternoon. "He would like to see you in his office tomorrow morning."

"A posting?" García questioned.

"He did not confide in me, my friend. Tomorrow all will be revealed."

And so it was the following day in the office of the adjutant general, García heard a short lesson in history. Although it was still morning, the adjutant sipped sweet wine. García had brought Poncho along, and the early conversation was of the small canine. Such a pint-sized beast was new to Spain.

"In September of 1565," the adjutant began, "Pedro Menendez de Aviles set foot on the east coast of La Florida and began founding the Presidio of San Augustin."

García nodded. He knew well this bit of history. The location was an important defense of the trade route to Europe and the Bahamas Channel (the Gulf Stream) and would also serve as La Florida's territorial capital and defend the northern reaches of the Spanish Empire.

A wooden fort was constructed. It seemed that word had just arrived in Madrid that the Englishman that Queen Elizabeth called Sir Francis Drake had recently attacked the town and the fort, and before departing had burned both to the ground.

"We cannot abide this sort of mischief from the heretic English," the adjutant said. "I have talked at length with Lieutenant Hidalgo, and he is generous in praising your judgment and military ability. You are a leader of men!"

These words came as a surprise to both García and Poncho. Poncho was the only beimg García had ever led, and that on simple daily walks for sanitary purposes. Poncho was instantly aware of Hidalgo's perfidy. He knew a scheme was underway.

"I am grateful for his words, but perhaps his faith is slightly misplaced."

"You are a sound man. A humble and no doubt devout Catholic man." This startled García because he had neglected religion even though he was aware of its importance. It was a glaring error that he must soon correct.

The adjutant went on to say that it had been decided to post García to San Agustin, to promote him to captain and to put him at the head of a body of men to rebuild and defend the fort. He added that early plans were underway to build a masonry fort, and even though a single block had not yet been laid, it would be called Castillo de San Marcos.

The news shattered García and did nothing to help Poncho's disposition. Both knew Florida was a vast wasteland populated by alligators and hordes of mosquitoes. Disease and famine were daily messmates. The heat and humidity could push one over the brink of sanity. Then there were the seasonal hurricanes that swept away all in their path.

"What can I say," García replied. "Except that I am unworthy of this great honor. Surely there is a skilled engineer better equipped to handle this task. I am but a humble soldier."

The adjutant smiled. "Exactly what Spain needs, a fighting man to defend the fort and deal with this heretic Drake and those like him. There will be laborers who know construction. Congratulations, Captain Pedro García!"

Left with no choice, García felt he could at least do a favor for Lieutenant Hidalgo. "Thank you. I feel I will be well armed and prepared for this mission if you will grant me one favor."

"And what might that be?"

"That Lieutenant Hidalgo be at my side as second in command."

The adjutant rose from his desk and seized García's hand. "Granted, great defender of the faith and deliverer of the True Church to the pagans of La Florida. Granted. You are the flower of Spanish nobility."

García and Poncho returned to their quarters. "There is always a way out," the new captain said to his canine friend. Knowing the way the wheels moved, he guessed it would be some time before he departed for his new assignment. Getting to the coast would consume quite a bit of time.

Just before lunch Hidalgo showed up and questioned García about his meeting with the adjutant. García feigned reluctance to answer, but finally said, "I have been promoted to captain."

Hidalgo's face fell in displeasure. "You have simply been promoted to captain?"

"Why, yes. What did you expect?"

Hidalgo stammered. "Why, nothing my friend. It was a great mystery. I congratulate you. But there was nothing else?"

"Oh, yes. I am posted to San. Augustin, Florida, to rebuild and defend a wooden fort, apparently destroyed by the pirate, Francis Drake."

Hidalgo smiled. "Sir Francis Drake, a favorite of the English queen."

"That's the one. The fort is important to our trade routes and acts as the northern defense of our New World Empire."

"That's true," Hidalgo agreed. "I've heard it's extremely hot over there. And there is disease, and occasionally the lack of food and other provisions makes for uncomfortable living. But you are a brave man and you will do fine."

Hidalgo was grinning broadly now as he made preparations for the noon meal.

"No braver than you," García said. "You will accompany me as my second in command. I'm sorry you weren't promoted. But the honor of serving Spain in Florida shines brightly in your favor."

"This can't be," Hidalgo said. "Why wasn't I told of this? It can't be!"

"My friend, my companion in arms, I'm telling you now. This is your captain speaking. Shall we lunch together?"

Hidalgo rubbed his forehead, his bronze face noticeably pale. "I have little appetite. Perhaps a taste of wine." He went to the cupboard, extracted a clay goblet and poured it full with sherry. "You go ahead. I think I'll just stay here and drink."

That evening, García had dinner with his precious Juanita Tera's family and afterwards sat in the garden. Stars were above and a waxing moon was on the rise. The time was nearly midnight, not late by Spanish standards. On occasion he had touched the young lady's hand, but nothing more. The dueña, a woman of middle years, her hands always occupied with some sort of needlework, knitting, tatting or embroidery, (García could not tell the difference) sat nearby.

He bent toward Juanita's ear. "My darling, I would like you as my bride."

Juanita gave him a sidelong glance, then studied her hands. "That would be a question for my father."

"But it is your approval that I seek."

"You are presumptuous. Such decisions are not mine to make."

"You would abide by your father's wishes?"

"I must."

"But my affection for you is deep. I would not want you as a bride unless you were in agreement."

"Then you must seek my father's blessing."

"I take that as a yes."

"You may take it as you wish. But you mustn't tell my father that I have said yes."

"I see."

"You must know these rules. You are a Spanish cavalier. You are too direct."

"But it is your heart and hand I seek, my darling. We must be in accord."

She smiled and her lips moved toward his. The dueña cleared her throat. "Talk to my father. Don't tarry."

García returned to his quarters the happiest of men. He had won the heart of the fair Juanita, a maiden of exquisite purity. It was his dream fulfilled. Soon he would talk with her father and later turn his concern to the wretched coast of Florida with its burning heat and insect-infested, unwholesome thickets. The thought of a long sea voyage to that end of the earth on a cramped and leaky wooden sailing vessel sickened him.

Seeking an audience with Juanita's father, he was put off several times, but at last managed a meeting with the man of both wealth and nobility. As a captain in the King's service with noble antecedents, García had some status. The father, a perfect picture of nobility, dressed in velvet set off by flashes of satin and embellished with lace, put him off, but bid him to come again. Perhaps he guessed what was coming.

CHAPTER FOUR

What was coming happened very quickly. García was accosted by a tall, extremely thin man dressed as a cavalier, but without military rank. A quick slap across the face with a leather glove dazed him momentarily while the man barked: "Sir, you have insulted me. I demand you appear on the field of honor. Tomorrow at dawn. My seconds will call."

With that the man, accompanied by two companions, turned on his heel and quickly strode off.

The puzzled García returned to his quarters and explained what had happened to Hidalgo. Poncho, of course, was also present.

"We must wait," Hidalgo said. "The seconds will come and we will know all. But you must be prepared to fight."

"To fight? To fight whom?"

"You will be told."

"But I have offended no one."

"It probably involves the girl."

"Juanita?"

"Yes, that pure maiden who has so bewitched you."

"Might the challenger be her brother?"

Hidalgo smiled. "More likely a rejected suitor. But we will not have long to wait. Tomorrow is not far away and the seconds must come by nightfall."

And it was true. The two men who had accompanied the challenger came to the door minutes later. Hidalgo bade them sit and poured sherry all around. When they were comfortable, the older one spoke. "You have insulted Alonzo Albertino. He will be expecting you on the field of honor at dawn."

"I don't recall ever meeting this gentleman," García replied.

"Nevertheless, you have insulted him through some act unknown to me. A gentleman and a King's officer is obliged to respond to such a challenge."

"I suppose," García said, then turned to Hidalgo. "Do you know this Albertino person?"

"Only by reputation," Hidalgo smiled. "He is said to be the greatest swordsman in Spain, possibly in Europe. He has killed, who knows, several men. And never a scratch on him."

"That's heartening," García said. "And his weapon of choice?"

"Rapiers, of course," the older second replied. "It is the only gentleman's weapon."

"But there are other weapons," García said.

"That's of little interest to us here," the older man said. He emptied his wine glass as if preparing to leave.

"Of course I would like to attend mass before the meeting."

"It might delay things a bit, but that's understandable. We will make no objection." García was making up for his long neglected error. There was the Inquisition after all, and no one, except perhaps the King, was immune.

"And there are rules of such a duel," García added.

"Of course," the older man said impatiently, standing as if to go.

"And I, the challenged, have the choice of weapons."

"Gentlemen fight with rapiers. Thrust, parry, thrust, you're dead," the older man replied, repressing a grin.

"I choose sabers."

"Sabers! Sailors fight with cutlasses, something like a saber. Soldiers hack their foe with sabers at times, but gentlemen duel with rapiers. That's tradition."

"Tradition is on my side, gentlemen," García insisted. "I have the choice of weapons and I pick sabers. And that's that." He rose and bid them goodnight. "After morning mass," he added, "this Albertino fellow and myself will meet and we will do battle with sabers. Please inform him so that he may have a sound night's sleep. Good night."

When they were gone, Hidalgo poured himself more wine. He was in good spirits. "Very interesting," he finally spoke. "Sabers. Mother of God, I wouldn't miss this for the world. If I die tomorrow night I will die a happy man." He laughed aloud. "You are quite the entertainer, Pedro. You will grace the pages of the history books. Sabers on the field of honor in Madrid."

"Thanks, Lieutenant. And now, as my second, I trust you to locate a couple of sabers for the festivities. I'm off to bed. I will sleep like an innocent babe because my heart is pure."

The last thing he heard was Hidalgo laughing to himself as he poured more wine.

When he woke, two bright sabers were lying on the table of the common room. García bathed as best he could, shaved and went to breakfast in the officer's mess where he was joined by Hidalgo. He asked the older man if he would attend mass with him.

"Definitely, we will both make a great show of our devotion. Then it's off to the dueling grounds." Hidalgo was in a rare mood of great cheer and ate with the gusto of a starving teen, downing half a pound of salty ham and six fried eggs plus a stack of fried bread.

A small crowd had gathered at the dueling grounds when they arrived, many of its members fellow officers who García recognized. There was talk and laughter in the group, which was shielded by the great limbs of giant chestnut trees. Birds sang and the morning was sweet, perhaps the last for one man present.

Three men stood apart. García recognized the tall slim figure of the challenger as his two seconds approached. The older man said, "Sorry, we were unable to find sabers on such short notice."

Hidalgo smiled and produced the weapons he had concealed beneath a cloth. "These should be sufficient for the day's work. Take your choice, gentlemen."

Both men scowled and the older one said, "This is quite irregular."

"In no way," Hidalgo replied. "We are on the dueling grounds; mass has been attended as you approved; these are the weapons as chosen by the challenged. Everything is in order. Let the spectacle begin."

"This is not a spectacle, but a matter of honor."

"As you wish," Hidalgo replied. "Let the matter of honor be settled."

The older man examined the sabers, picked one and turned upon his heel to walk back to where Alonso Albertino was waiting.

García hefted the other saber and took his stance facing his opponent. Alonso was obviously not happy with the saber and tried to point it as one would a foil or a rapier. However he had no choice, particularly with an audience nearby, and thus had to face García.

"There is no cause for this fight," García said in a loud voice. "However I offended you, and I know it not, I apologize."

Alonso considered these words for a few moments. It would suit him to be well out of this conflict. But never before had he accepted a proffered apology. He knew he would be judged a coward by his peers. The duel must go on.

"I will accept your blood as an apology. Shall we begin?" He hefted the unfamiliar weapon, moved it to and fro as if testing the wind. He speculated that one lucky thrust and the fight would be over.

Trained like a dancer, nimble on his feet, and slim of build, Alonso was a deadly opponent with a rapier in his hand. The two observed the normal salute and Alonso moved forward as if with a rapier.

García, almost as tall, but with a sturdy build that he had nurtured with a regular regime of exercise, made a great rush, flailing the heavy saber like a windmill. He contacted Alonso's weapon and sent it flying. Then, in the next second, slashed down, taking out his opponent's right eye and laying his face open to the chin bone. Then continuing downward in its natural arc through the chest, five ribs were exposed.

Alonso was thrown to his back, shouting in pain. García stepped back and handed his saber to Hidalgo. "I think the fight's over," he remarked.

"I agree," Hidalgo said. "But you have not killed him."

"I thank God for that. I suspect he will study the saber when and if he recovers."

Alonso's seconds had gathered around him and a doctor had come forward, the one who had been summoned to pronounce García dead. The crowd of officers had also moved in closer to the fallen man, now writhing on the ground.

This left García and Hidalgo standing alone. Hidalgo shrugged and the two men walked away, heading back to their quarters. "I suppose I should have stopped when he lost his saber, but in the heat of combat I made that final slash through instinct."

"I understand," Hidalgo said. "You are a gentleman. But you must also understand that Alonso kills people. He would have not have given you the same consideration. If you had been wounded, defenseless, and on the ground, he would have finished the job. Such is his reputation."

"He may still die. There was much blood. I will go to confession," García said solemnly. Up until now it had been something of a game, but a human life was in the balance, a life he had placed in peril even though it was meant to be the other way around. "This dueling business seems to be taken so lightly, yet it is serious work."

"In this life, we all play roles. Men hide their feelings. Women pretend not to, but it is all pretense. We dance to a strange tune and there is always the shadow of the Inquisition."

Yes, it was the Inquisition that had driven García to Mass initially. But now he felt a need to confess, to clear his mind. Possibly the end of his adventure was in sight. And for the first time he could see the possibility of disaster written there.

CHAPTER FIVE

Later that day, when he was alone, García's first confession was made to the dog. As always, Poncho listened attentively and seemed to chew and digest each word. The fur ball was a great comfort to his master and a sterling companion. Many things had happened and much was yet to come. The dog's mind was a catalog of their lives together.

Upon the advice of other officers, García, as a captain, was entitled to an orderly who would clean his quarters, keep his gear in order and attend to baggage during travel. He picked the trooper Jesus for this task, and he had no reason to regret the choice. Jesus did his job with alacrity, all the while keeping García amused with stories of his youth and army life. He was a deep well of information and got along famously with Poncho.

During this period he relied on Jesus to check with headquarters and keep him posted on preparations to sail to Florida. Vessels were being prepared on the coast and workers and soldiers assembled for the venture.

It was also during this period that García had his first brush with the Inquisition. He was called to the office of Bishop Medina de Avila who spoke in length about God's obvious design, which was of course to spread the True Church throughout the known and unknown world.

García had brought Poncho along for the interview and held the Yorkie on his lap, which seemed to vex the bishop, although he never gave words to his distress. It was obvious through questions inserted here and there that the reason for the exchange was to test García's faith.

Medina de Avila was somewhat baffled by the presence of Poncho and by García's odd accent, but he was left with no reason to doubt the captain's faith. And he felt he had impressed upon García the nobility of the Church's cause, a message that the captain would in turn deliver to his men. Through the years there had been considerable friction between the church and the secular world over authority. The power of the church came directly from Rome, and that of the secular world from the King, in the present case, Felipe II.

Several days passed following the duel before García once again visited the beautiful Juanita. He was greeted on one hand with what seemed to be controlled passion and on the other a studied aloofness.

"You have neglected me," she said coolly.

"You know I would never do that. All my love is given you, but my allegiance is also to my military duties. I am, after all, a soldier of Spain."

"An officer of Spain," she said with delight. "And you have defeated Alonso. For that you have won my heart."

García was startled by this declaration. "Then I shall speak to your father?"

"Of course, silly. You were the third to fight Alonso. I told him if he killed three suitors, my hand would be his. I never really meant it, you must believe me. However Alonso took it to heart and he would have held me to my word."

"You would have married him?"

"My father would have insisted. I too am something of a Spanish trooper. Serving at the whim of my family."

"Alonso, then, he pursued you?" García felt they were on troubling new ground.

"Call it what you will. We were children together. We played as children played. Of course he is older, but not that much. My dueña, the old person you see over there, she is Alonso's aunt. Of course when I was very young I had no dueña, and when we were older she allowed the two of us liberties."

"Liberties?" García questioned.

"Well, we could be alone. You know, coming of age, exploring and testing the waters."

"I see," García replied. He wondered how far this coming of age had gone. He sought a girl of absolute purity, something he had been unable to find elsewhere.

"He still seeks your hand?"

"Possibly," Juanita replied. "I have many friends. They tell me he will recover, but lacks a right eye and has a horrible scar down his face." She drew her finger down the right side of her face. "I would never marry such a disfigured person, father or no father. It would be disgusting to attempt to love such a person. One might as well breed with a monkey."

"I see your point," he said, although he didn't see at all. García was of a romantic disposition and would have stayed with his lover, whoever it might be, until parted by death. At least those thoughts were in his head.

Juanita took his hand. "Let's walk into the shadows. I think the old woman is napping."

At breakfast the following morning, García wondered whether he had enjoyed a romantic interlude, or a rude awakening. Jesus, who bustled about tempting him with more food than anyone could eat, was enthusiastic about taking him to an "auto de fe" that was being held in the gigantic square that forenoon.

García, long immersed in Spanish history, was eager to attend. He had heard of these ceremonies, doctored to appear as much as possible like the final judgment day. Some mistakenly thought they were the actual executions of heretics, but in fact they were only to announce the sentences of certain heretics and to stress the hideous consequences of thoughts, words and crimes against the church.

Of course heretics were burned and put to death in other painful ways, but these executions were done in public places, as the miscreants had been turned over to secular authorities for that purpose.

The saving grace for officers of the Inquisition was that they could not make a mistake. If there was a mix-up and it turned out the person burned was not a heretic, well then, everyone had to die some day and a higher authority would step in. God would ultimately decide who was a heretic and who was not. So those twisting and screaming in the flames were actually being sent off to a higher court of appeal.

An excellent example of this sort of thing, when justice misfired by accident or design, took place in the French city of Rouen on May 30, 1431 at the height of the Hundred Years War. It was here Sainte-Jeanne D'Arc was burned at the Place du Vieux Marche, for all to see. Much later, when events were viewed with a crystal eye, she was forgiven and created a saint.

The question remains, was Jeanne transported directly to hell when life ceased at the flaming stake, did she languor among hell's fire until the Church in its wisdom reconsidered and decided she was bound for sainthood? Very likely it would take an advanced biblical scholar and a phalanx of lawyers to unravel that one. Then the question remains, since the Bible mandates against killing, were the church people involved in the conspiracy guilty of the murder of an innocent woman, and if we sojourned to hell today would we find them there? The issue of judgment hangs heavy on mankind.

After the close encounter in the garden, García stayed away from Juanita for four days. The lady then sent a sealed message by way of the orderly Jesus. García was to come to her that very night, but not until after the midnight hour. The dueña would be fast asleep in her bed.

It was with some apprehension that García napped during the early hours of the evening, and then, following instructions, climbed the wall of the very extensive Tera garden at a spot Juanita had designated. Once over the wall, he waited while his eyes accustomed themselves to the shadows, and then he moved to the appointed spot.

Juanita was waiting. He approached, and they embraced. To his surprise she wore nothing but a thin gown. "My God," he exclaimed, "your body!"

"Shush," she whispered. "Why encumber ourselves with clothing? We are like Adam and Eve in the original garden. And there are no apple trees here. Come." She led him to a secluded spot where she had placed a blanket on the ground and began to undress him. "I'll be your orderly. And you can be mine."

García was glad that he had taken a nap, but surprised at the carnal twist his courtship had taken. The two of them were at it almost till dawn and could have continued. They agreed to meet the following night, and García slipped away, arriving back at his quarters just before dawn. He was tired, but also stunned by the turn of events, almost placing himself in the sadder-but-wiser category. If his dream had been a pitcher, he could picture a crack in it. When he entered quarters, he could hear Hidalgo snoring and Poncho was at his feet, jumping frantically as if asking what had passed.

García would have told the dog immediately, but Hidalgo might wake. In any event, he would eat a normal breakfast and then slip away for a nap and possibly a chat with the Yorkie. Plans were advancing for the voyage to Florida, and he could not absent himself from his duties for long.

The next four nights were copies of the first and García was nearing exhaustion. Juanita told him that she believed the French were right when they said that marriage marks the end of romance. Her desire was to keep the romance alive as long as possible. García, meanwhile, pondered the difference between romance and raw sex. Then there was the talk with her father still left to be done.

But García was also thinking of an exit plan, a way to disentangle himself from this back-street affair. He did feel affection for Juanita, and she was a clever and resourceful woman, but she was no better, or no worse, than women he had known previously. She lacked the purity of spirit and body that he had sought. He had begun to think that such attributes were non-existent. Or maybe, if there was such a person, he would be bored to tears by her.

Certainly, Juanita was not boring and he thoroughly enjoyed the nightly sessions. They also provided fuel for his regular visits to confession. He did have some problems coming up with sufficient sins. The priests must think he spent all his time overeating and drinking, plus occasionally abusing his dog and cheating at cards. What a liar he was becoming. Now he had something to sink his teeth into. But had he betrayed Juanita, or had she betrayed him? Or was this simply part of the mating dance? Confusion!

Then one morning he returned early and fell into a deep sleep only to be shaken awake by Hidalgo. "Get up, my Captain, or you will miss breakfast. You have developed strange habits of late."

"Yes," García agreed. "Long walks in the countryside. Our voyage to La Florida has been heavy on my mind. It will be no picnic in the countryside, but we must discharge our duty to King and church."

"Yes," Hidalgo responded, a slight scoff in his voice. "A dual obligation. We face a difficult job in a difficult part of the world, but the penalties for failure are severe. The rewards for success are what? I don't know."

"We serve for the glory of Spain and the defeat of heretics everywhere." García knew on which side his bread was buttered. "I've heard that virtue is its own reward. Do you agree?"

"I'll think that one over. There is an interesting chapel nearby. Knowing your interest in religion, your devotion, I thought you and I might walk there after lunch. Will you accompany me?"

"Of course. I assume we can finish our military obligations by early afternoon."

"I'll definitely see to it," Hidalgo said, then went off to breakfast.

Poncho, who had listened to every word, was alarmed. Something was afoot. Just what was uncertain. With his short legs he made a mighty leap to his master's cot, placed his front paws squarely on García's chest and stared intently into his eyes. García had been through such behavior with Poncho before, and he knew enough to pay attention.

There they were, the master on his back, the dog focusing, burning his eyes and soul into García's eyes. The message was "be careful". Precautions are needed here. Be prepared. Be prepared for the worst.

At length, the dog hopped down and García sat on the edge of his bunk. He addressed the dog. "The invitation from Hidalgo, it was strange wasn't it? There is danger in the air. I must take precautions to see that the two of us get out of this situation alive. We could do it on this very morning, but excitement is near. I will take precautions."

Poncho was delighted. He hopped around and licked García's hand to show approval.

CHAPTER SIX

The day wore on, sunny and hot. Bees droned in the flowering shrubs, birds called from thickets, the afternoon came and with it the desire for siesta. But García had promised Hidalgo, and the two of them, accompanied by Poncho, began their walk to the edge of the city and then down a shady country lane.

"This is what the peaceful life is all about," García remarked.

"Yes," Hidalgo agreed. "I often long for the peasant life. The good man working in the fields, sometimes shoulder to shoulder with his wife and family. The small hut full of joy and laughter. Good bread and good meat and good wine. Church on the Sabbath and finally the good long rest after a productive life with your children to carry on in your absence. And the Good Lord from His mighty throne would say, 'Well done, Hidalgo. Well done.'"

García nodded. He knew this was so much balderdash. The man would rather slash his wrists than live as a peasant. It would take a corporal's guard to get him into a field to plant a grain of corn or to harvest a sheaf of wheat. But let him lead men into battle, or drink a pitcher of wine, proposition a serving girl. That was his meat. Words and reality often did not meet.

When García began to wonder where this chapel might be, they had come a considerable distance. He spied three men blocking the road ahead. One was instantly recognizable, a tall thin man with only a left eye and a horrible scar down the right side of his face: Alonso Albertina.

García glanced at his companion. "Fancy meeting these three again. Do coincidences never cease?" He had little doubt Hidalgo had lead him into this grim meeting.

"I am amazed," Hidalgo said.

"Perhaps they will accompany us to the chapel."

"A possibility," Hidalgo replied. "I'm certain they will let us know what brings them to this secluded spot."

The two men and dog moved a few steps ahead, and the three that blocked the lane approached them.

"We meet once more," Alonso said.

García heard a noise behind him, then the voice. "Thought I'd come along."

"Jesus, what brings you here?" Hidalgo demanded.

"I am the captain's orderly," the trooper responded. "Where he goes I should go."

García noted that Jesus had a cutlass stuck in a sash at his waist. "Join us, please." Jesus moved up next to García so that they were three and three facing on the country lane.

García guessed it was his turn to speak. "Sorry about the duel, Alonso. But I did have to defend myself. How are you feeling?" Alonso was a sorry sight, his wounds not yet healed, the vicious red scar, uneven with crude stitches still apparent, then the eye, a twisted, hideous lump.

"Much better after meeting you here under these pleasant circumstances. I've brought along a couple of rapiers so that we can finish our business." With that he brandished the two swords.

"I think I know what you have in mind," García replied. He noted Hidalgo had moved to one side, stepping away from him. Just how treacherous was this Hidalgo, he wondered. Possibly just angry because he had involved him in the Florida campaign. "I've decided to give up the lovely Juanita. You may have her."

Alonso laughed. "I do have her and I will have her. She is not involved in this affair of honor. I cannot let the man who did this to me continue to enjoy life." He motioned to his face.

"I don't always enjoy life, you know. I have good days and bad days. I do feel sorry about your wounds. You might look better wearing an eye patch."

"And you would look better wearing a shroud," Alonso taunted, and then tossed him one of the rapiers. "Prepare to defend yourself."

"One moment," García said. "This is not my weapon of choice. And here you are, once again the challenger."

"These are the weapons at hand."

"I have no wish to kill you," García said. "A one-eyed man would seem to be at a disadvantage."

Alonso smiled. "You think I will lose my temper and become brash. Believe me, my rapier will find your heart."

García turned to Hidalgo. "What if I kill him? Will this end it? Or must I fight his friends?"

"Of course it will be over. But there is scant chance of your killing the best swordsman in Spain. You might say a little prayer to ease your way into heaven."

"Tell me this, my friend, does it matter how I kill him?"

"How? You mean by some other method rather than with the rapier?"

"Yes. Would that make a difference?"

"I don't think so. If you kill him by any means, his seconds will take the body away. I'm certain they have a coach nearby."

"But the method of his death would make no difference?"

"I'm certain, no. This meeting is unconventional. It is outside the strict rules of the duel. You might kick him to death or smash his head with a rock. Whatever pleases you."

"Then we can continue our walk to the chapel?"

Hidalgo laughed. "Certainly. We can say a few Hail Marys at the chapel and maybe an Our Father or two. Are you ready to do battle?"

García hefted the rapier. Alonso had been standing by listening to the conversation with growing impatience. "Are you certain you gave me the best weapon?" García asked, tossing it back to Alonso.

"They are identical." He tossed the other one back to García, then took a step forward and did the formal salute with a flourish. "Defend yourself," he shouted, then began his studied advance.

García dropped the rapier, reached inside his waistband, withdrew a small pistol and with a sweep of his hand shot Alonso in the chest. He then replaced the gun.

García said, "Touché."

The four witnesses were stunned into silence, and Poncho would have liked to smile.

Alonso's knees crumpled beneath him, then he fell back, supported on his elbows. "Twice we have met and twice you have defeated me." The man was obviously dying, and his seconds rushed to help him, but Alonso waved them off. "Let me die in peace, here on the ground. It is the spot I have chosen. And you, Pedro García, with your odd accent and strange dog, I will give you some advice. Don't marry Juanita Tera. She is a beautiful witch and could never be true to you. I am the only one who could ever control her. And that through fear."

García nodded solemnly. "I'm truly sorry it had to come to this."

"Now, now," Alonso chided. "Now we are both murderers, which makes us brothers. We live on the edge and we die on the edge, and then I suppose we burn in hell together. If there is such a place." Alonso grimaced in pain. "Just between you and me, I think hell might be somewhere in La Florida," He forced a grin at the reference to García's posting. "I had hoped I'd be a beautiful corpse, you have seen to that. Tell me, what sort of weapon was that?"

"It's called a belly gun."

"Thank you." Alonso paled and his elbows began to give way. "And goodbye." Then he was dead.

García kicked the rapier away and turned to go. Jesus, Hidalgo and the dog followed. "It's too late in the day to seek the chapel. Anyway, I'd like a nap."

"And I'd like a drink," Hidalgo said. "This fight has ended, and this day I shall remember." He paused, then added, "I'd like to extend my apologies."

"No offense taken," García replied. He was pleased that he would not have to kill Hidalgo. There had been sufficient bloodshed.

"You will be famous," Hidalgo remarked. "You will be known as the man who killed Don Alonso de Monzon, accomplished swordsman and a Knight of the Order of Santiago."

Startled, García stopped in his tracks. "He was Don Alonso de Monzon?"

"Yes, of course."

"I didn't know that, but I should have known. A great mystery has been solved," García said in awe. "Fantastic! If this isn't fate, I don't know what is. Something incredible has happened."

Hidalgo with a questioning glance asked, "What might you be talking about?"

García exhaled a sigh. "Really nothing. It's just something I read in history. Let's go on. It's getting late."

CHAPTER SEVEN

The officers' mess was buzzing with the news that night. Many were the glances at García, but none approached him. There seemed to be some delight in the fact that one of their number had actually done in Don Alonso de Monzon. He was a notorious figure who had killed more than one officer in a so-called duel of honor.

García was pleased that Alonso had died such a good death, no last minute curses or recriminations. He was beginning to like the man. And that delicious joke about his posting to La Florida. Alonso likely guessed that he was as good as dead. If the mosquitoes and gators didn't get him, the English brigands would.

There was always a trooper on duty in the transit officers' quarters and always wine, bread and cheese available at the pulling of a bell cord. Hidalgo and García shared many drinks after dinner with the Yorkie looking on impatiently. It was bedtime, and dogs needed their sleep as well as humans.

Relaxing after the grim day's work and falling deeper into his cups, García suddenly asked, "Are the dead really dead?"

"What do you mean?" Hidalgo asked.

"I mean," he almost fell forward splashing wine on the table, "I mean are we dead, or could we be dead and do the dead live?" Several times he opened and closed his eyes, trying to shake off the wine.

"Your meaning is not clear to me."

"Well, for example." García stared off into space for a full minute. Hidalgo waited patiently, and Poncho saw trouble coming. "For example," he finally said, "take Queen Isabella, the Catholic. Is she dead?" Everyone in Spain was aware that she had gone to her reward near the turn of the century.

"It's well known that she is dead. There was a great funeral, well before our time. But she is dead." Hidalgo was also drunk.

"But what if we could go back to her time. Would she be dead?"

"How could we do such a thing?" Hidalgo had been in many drunken conversations, but this one was taking a weird turn.

"Turn back the clock. Reverse the calendar."

"Through some black magic, witchcraft?"

Poncho realized his master was treading dangerous ground, so he barked. The bark was his last resort to warn García, and it was seldom used.

"What was that?" Hidalgo asked.

"The dog barked," García said, regaining some of his senses.

"The dog doesn't bark. That dog doesn't bark."

"All dogs bark. Bow wow. Bow wow."

"But that dog, that Poncho, your dog, doesn't bark."

"Some dogs say arf arf. But Poncho has his own distinct bark."

"But he is mute," Hidalgo insisted.

"No, not Poncho. There are mute dogs. I've heard of them. But Poncho barks." He looked at the dog and said, "Don't you, Poncho?"

Poncho barked again to assure Hidalgo.

"So your dog does bark. But why?"

"He's sleepy and so am I."

"OK, we will sleep. But first tell me more about this dead thing, dead people not being dead."

"It just popped into my head. It is religious. The Bible says that we will have eternal life. But we don't know the exact form. That is a mystery of the Church."

"Ah, truly," Hidalgo agreed. "The Church has many mysteries. Some of the things the Church claims to know seem quite mysterious."

"So," García said, hoping to end the long day on a light note, "when I get to heaven I can chat with the good Queen. We will all be equals there."

"What if she is in hell?" Hidalgo countered.

"Then you can talk with her."

The night was not long enough for García. He was awakened slowly by Poncho licking his hand. His head was throbbing, his eyes like stones. He bathed and shaved and was tempted to use Hidalgo's cure for a hangover — a cup of wine, but resisted. He welcomed the help of Jesus who laid out his attire and would straighten his quarters and see to any other needs.

After a light breakfast he attended to his duties. The Madrid contingent of men chosen for the Florida expedition were being assembled. García was making every effort to whip them into a unit and to know each and every non-commissioned officer. They would be meeting a larger force on the coast. Unfortunately, these were the dregs of the army, many of them recent recruits who had been dragooned from back alleys. His Majesty was saving the cream of the crop to face the English heretics.

For the next few days he busied himself with his work. Almost daily he received notes from Juanita seeking further trysts. He labored over return messages citing overwhelming obligations to duty, always promising to meet soon.

One day on arising, there was no Jesus. He had gotten used to the short, stout man with the bad eye and so had Poncho, who had come to depend on him for food. Halfway through the morning a messenger arrived from the provost: Jesus had gotten into a mean barroom quarrel and now rested in the stockade where he would remain for a good many months if not rescued.

Dressed in his finest and most military outfit, García, dog in hand, marched to the provost's office. The dog had become something of a famous mascot. García was often recognized by the Yorkie. The canine was like a nametag, or a badge of honor, both now were famous for slaying the man who had brought a sword to a gunfight.

Upon hearing of García's arrival, the provost came into the outer office to offer personal greetings:

"If it is not Don Pedro García, the man who faced down and killed Don Alonso de Monzon," he exclaimed. Then taking the Yorkie from his master's arms, the provost said, "And this must be Poncho. The fame of you two has preceded you. It is an honor to have you both present, the inseparable duo, a man and his dog. To see the two of you, like this, and we must remember this is army life, it reminds me of the domestic scenes of my youth. How you can preserve that touch of domesticity in this rough environment, Don Pedro, it is marvelous."

García, who had learned at this juncture that he would be addressed as Don Pedro by his peers from now on, wondered how long the provost would carry on. The man and the dog were invited into the inner office for the inevitable glass of wine. García wondered if no one drank tea or coffee in the forenoon. Then it was small talk, García telling about himself, the provost doing the same, time slipping away, and finally to the point.

"There was the unfortunate incident involving my orderly, a certain trooper named Jesus. I believe he is confined under your good offices."

"Ah, but yes," the provost replied. "A good stout man, but a naughty one. He partially wrecked a drinking emporium, battered a couple of vacationing sailors and badly cut a civilian man who had the misfortune to become involved."

"But Jesus is a mild mannered man, surely there was provocation?"

"Mild mannered, perhaps, when sober. Drink does take its toll of our good senses and at times causes us to stray from the path we know so well." With this the provost hiked up his glass, grinned, and took a good swallow. "But, God bless the good wine. As we journey through this forest of snares and daily disturbances, it brightens our souls, chases the bad, brings on the good, submerges our sorrows, even brings on romance. But about Jesus, truly he is locked up for cause."

"I'm certain he deserves harsh punishment," García agreed. "But harsh punishment awaits him. You might know he is part of the men being assembled for La Florida Expeditionary Force. We will leave for the coast soon, embark and be gone. Some will not return."

"Yes, I know of that wild place. Vicious beasts and insects lay in wait on land, while hungry sharks ply the lovely waters. The isolation is supreme." The provost stared out the window for a moment. Madrid was in the midst of its workday. Donkey and pony carts mingled with the foot traffic. Fruit vendors had sidewalk stands, open-fronted shops sold cloth and other necessities. "I'm sorry that arduous mission has fallen to you. And for Don Pedro García, the hero of the moment, we will make special concessions." He called a sergeant and ordered him to bring Jesus to the office.

"By the way, Don Pedro, if you need a band of bastards who simply don't give a shit, I'll empty the stockade for you. Of course you'll have to provide an armed escort to get them to the coast and aboard ship."

"That's generous of you, and we are having some problems lining up truly rugged men. That might be just the solution."

The provost raised his hands in compliance. "Bring your guards when you are ready to depart. It will save me the trouble of feeding those misfits and save my guards from a bad case of nerves. Some of our inmates would just as soon knife you as say hello."

Jesus soon entered, followed by the sergeant.

"Captain, Sir," Jesus said. "I'm grateful. I kiss your hand."

"Don't bother," García said, although he knew it was merely an expression. "I understand you created some rough trouble, Trooper Jesus."

"Defending the honor of my girlfriend. A man insulted her, my Captain."

The provost tossed in, "Not to injure your feeling, Jesus, but your girlfriend, one Doria Queveda, is a notorious whore."

"Yes, provost, Sir. She is famous. I am proud she has chosen me to be her partner."

"I imagine she would have many partners," García said.

"Perhaps you are right, Captain, but only one special partner. Myself. She and I are that way about one another."

"Anyway, you caused property damage, you knifed a civilian, you battered a couple of sailors, what else did you do?"

"That sums it up."

"Are you ready to renounce your sinful ways, perhaps go to confession, embrace the Good Lord and attempt to adhere to the path of the true believers?"

"Of course I am. This was an affair of honor. Very much in keeping with your duels with Don Alonso. Let me say you are famous throughout Spain for that bloody deed."

"Thank you, Jesus," García said, not terribly pleased with his fame, then to the provost, "What about this trooper, can he be trusted to return to duty? He is a good orderly and acts with some initiative."

Again, the provost raised his hands. "Take him, but keep him under cover until you depart. The tavern keeper will seek remuneration." Jesus started to speak, but García bade him remain mute. He thanked the provost and the two of them were on their way.

Outside, in the pleasant air, García remarked that he meant to confine Jesus to his quarters and his duties until their departure for San Augustin.

"We will never see Florida," Jesus said.

"You are frightened?"

"No, my Captain. I have no fears, because I know my fate."

"Your fate? What might that be?"

"It may be difficult for you to understand, although you are an unusual man and sometimes I think that dog listens with understanding to our every word, but my mother had the gift. And I have the gift."

"And what gift might that be?"

"To glimpse the future."

García nodded. This information interested him in the extreme. "I am not surprised there is such a gift. Because there is a future as well as a past. Most of us live simply for the present. Tell me, what does the future hold for us?"

"You are correct, Captain. The three of us are together. You, me and the dog called Poncho. But we are not in Florida. We are somewhere else. Frankly, there are things that I see that are beyond my understanding. For now, let me say that we are not marked for death in the near future. But just what chaos is to come, I know not. Between the night and the day, when the first birds sing and I rouse from a deep sleep, I sometimes see these bits and pieces, but not always. As I fit the puzzle together, you will know."

And they left it at that. García was certain Jesus would perform his duties well. He was also certain his orderly would attempt stealthy meetings with the prostitute queen, Doria Queveda. He would be on guard.

CHAPTER EIGHT

That evening there were two messages, one from the beautiful Juanita and the other from her father, bidding him to stop by for a chat. He arranged to meet the father in the next few days, but late that night went over the garden wall and again found Juanita waiting in her skimpy gown. If there was passion before, it was turned up to white heat on this night. He had earned his reward as the slayer of Don Alonso de Monzon. Alonso had recently been a thorn in the side of the entire Tera family.

García returned to his quarters as dawn broke and slept soundly till the sun was squarely overhead. With the help of Jesus, he bathed, shaved, dressed and ate a fine lunch. It was then siesta time. After a peaceful nap he was ready to meet the senior Tera and then looked forward to another midnight frolic over the garden wall. Was this the good life, or not?

As these thoughts rolled through his mind, thoughts of the lovely and well proportioned Juanita, and what to say to her father who might be actively seeking a son-in-law, Jesus once again broke into his world.

"We will soon embark on a perilous sea journey toward a dangerous country, my Captain, Sir."

"That is true."

"In considering that situation, the pleasures in life are scarce as gold coins, but the dangers and pitfalls multiply."

"Also true." García groomed his hair. He had a fair day's work ahead before the night's occupation. He wondered if Jesus was simply playing the philosopher or had some point in mind.

"I have spoken to Doria Queveda about holy matrimony."

"The prostitute?"

"Yes, my Captain. Each of us must make their way in this life using the assets the Good Lord metes out. Is it not true?"

"I suppose." This marriage thing puzzled García. Jesus was a practical man of uncommon common sense. Why would he marry a whore just before departing for God knows how long? "You want my permission to marry?"

"That is true, my Captain. I beg you for this favor."

"But why marry, then embark? You already sleep with the woman."

"I see your point, my Captain. Your thinking is very advanced."

My thinking might be advanced, but there is more to this than meets the naked eye, García thought. Jesus has something up his sleeve. Poncho, who had been taking in the entire conversation, sat in a state of high amusement. He loved these exchanges and could only guess at the result.

"You have not totally confided in me, Jesus. Tell me your mind in full."

"My Captain. You have the gift of anticipation. Yes, there was one more item that might concern you. A matter of, you might say, morale."

"Morale? Something like esprit de corps?"

"Exactly. The military powers encourage certain personnel to take wives along on long, unpleasant postings, such as Florida."

This surprised García. "You can't mean you would take that woman aboard a troopship?"

"My Captain, you speak of my wife to be. You see, if I were a sergeant I would rate a small room aboard, only a cubicle, but enough for the two of us."

"A sergeant? You are a common trooper."

"Not so common, my Captain. I am a man of considerable military experience and leadership ability. I was a corporal once, almost a sergeant, then there was some trouble and so it was back to trooper."

"Trouble?"

"A trifling matter."

"Could it have been a barroom fight over a woman?"

"How did you know that?"

"I have the gift. How many were killed?"

"Only one. And he was a sheep farmer. It was an affair of honor. Here, you, my Captain, and people like the late Alonso Albertina, can kill at will and nothing happens. But me, I dispatch a stinking sheep farmer to the next world and I am punished. Where is the justice?"

"You make a point, Jesus. Let me think this over. I must examine the question from all sides. It boils down to this: What would serve King Felipe best?"

"We all love our king," Jesus agreed. "But keep in mind, my Captain, it was only a sheep farmer who died and that incidental to the quarrel."

"Every man has value in the eyes of God, Jesus. Even small birds. Anyway, I thought sheep roamed free on hillsides and were followed by men called shepherds. These are free people who sleep out at night and provide us with both meat and wool."

"The shepherds watch the sheep. It is the sheep that provide us with meat and wool, against their will I might add. The men are like prison guards. They pretend affection for the beasts, but wish only their early demise. I myself enjoy a stew of lamb, potatoes, onions and carrots. And when I was in the mountains killing the French people, I wore a great long sheepskin coat that reached almost to the ground. It served me well against the wind and cold."

"You served up toward San Sebastian?"

"Even beyond. I was a pikeman, and we fought as far as Bayonne. Perhaps God sees men and birds as equals, but I tell you a Spaniard is worth a dozen of the French. We rolled over them and took their women. Blood and wine flowed like the freshets of spring. Those times were rich with excitement, but now we are afflicted by peace."

García laughed. "Possibly, if there is no war where you are, there is local peace. But in La Florida and South America there is conflict, men die in wholesale numbers. Also, drums roll and banners are unfurled with great plans to attack England."

"And you as captain, and I as your sergeant and orderly, we can do great things together. I have seen it through a dim and puzzling vision."

"You would not think war so glorious, Jesus, if it was you on the wrong end of the pike. We pity the innocents killed in war. Who would think the gruesome sight of a battlefield strewn with the dead of both sides is a thing of beauty? Yet men do. There is beauty in the chaotic aftermath if you have eyes to see. Is there any cure for the lure, the lust for combat? If everyone could see the mutilation, the agony, even hear the cries of the dying, perhaps if the dead could talk, would there be an end to war?"

Jesus was solemn. "No, my Captain. It is the nature of man. And it is the nature of women to birth warriors. It is bred in the bone."

García scratched his head and sought a more pleasant topic. "Tomorrow, or in the next few days, I will research regulations. In the meantime, attend to your own appearance. My orderly should at all times comport himself in a military manner."

Jesus looked at himself, fresh out of the stockade. There was no uniform in the Spanish military. Officers and men alike garbed themselves in the most garish manner with gold buttons and lace, garments of silk or satin, velvet and embroidery, feather plumes and silk tassels. García preferred to dress plainly in rough, dark cloth with leather trim, buckles and buttons of brass that Jesus kept shined.

Taking a cue from his master, Jesus also confined himself to plain dress, usually armed with only a dagger, which he carried in his boot.

As a captain, García was permitted to carry a sword, but generally reserved it for ceremonial occasions. He too had taken to having a dagger in his boot, plus the deadly belly gun, which had given him an aura of mystery.

Cannon were commonly used in warfare, but hand-held weapons — the muskets of the era — weighed up to 20 pounds and had to be fired from a forked rest. They were fired by a trigger that brought a slow match down to the priming pan that set off a flash and, after a short interval, fired the main charge. The musketeers wore broad-brimmed hats that they would pull over their faces at the moment of firing to protect them from the blinding and burning flash. To draw a small weapon and fire it created a stir. And it might be a matter for the inquisition to consider. The odd small dog might also draw the attention of the Catholic police.

That someone might challenge him to avenge the death of Alonso had crossed García's mind, but it seemed that Alonso was singularly unpopular and, because of his twice defeating that able swordsman, García himself was feared with great sincerity.

A hundred piddling details of the journey to Florida occupied García's time as commander of the military contingent. Hidalgo had been sent ahead to Lisbon, Portugal, which had been annexed by King Felipe in 1580, as that was where the force would embark for the long, perilous journey. Men who could be spared from other units, many of them disciplinary problems, would come dribbling into Lisbon and be placed under Hidalgo's command.

Meanwhile, García had decided to take the provost at his word and empty the stockade of all but the criminally insane. King Felipe and the cream of the army, navy and nobility were focused on assembling a mighty armada to go against Queen Elizabeth and the English heretics. Their thoughts seldom drifted to La Florida, the northern fortress of Spain's new world, guarding the treasure trove of gold and silver that kept the scattered empire afloat. For King Felipe II ruled not only Spain, but Portugal, Sardinia, Sicily, Southern Italy, Milano, Parma, a section of France and the Spanish Netherlands, which were based in Antwerp, plus his overseas holdings.

García had cleared his desk of most of the morning's work when a grizzled sergeant entered his office with an invitation to dine with a Captain Mateo de Recalde.

"And who might this captain be?" García inquired.

"He is late of La Florida command."

"And you served with him?"

"I did, Sir. I have served the captain for these last 20 years."

"And did you enjoy your Florida tour, sergeant? I understand the climate to be moderate."

"Stifling hot, Sir, in summer. Pleasant enough during the winter months. But the captain wishes to bring you the details in person. There is a private room in the officers' mess. Say at 10 tonight?"

García agreed to be there and later sent word to Juanita that duty would keep him from the evening's passion. He welcomed the respite and, indeed, looked forward to first- hand knowledge of his new command. He was aware that the San Augustin contingent was commanded by a lieutenant, the survivors of the fracas with Drake, plus a few marines from the two relief ships.

He took particular care with his appearance and attire for the meeting and decided to let Poncho remain in quarters, a fact that upset the small canine to no end. The dog considered himself García's guardian and felt that he had been placed in this life, in this small body, for that purpose. In previous lives he had been of the Chinese nobility, and several lives back he had even been an Egyptian princess. Now, in a fit of pique, the dog wondered if in the next life he could be the master and García the dog. Wouldn't that be a dog of another color?

Promptly at 10, García was ushered into the private room where he found Captain Mateo to be thin, of medium height and lacking his left hand. He wore a metal hook in its place. García was welcomed with great courtesy and the usual offer of wine.

"I'm happy you returned safely," García said.

Mateo held up his hook. "Most of me came back. But our losses were painful. Of 250 men in my command, only 45 returned, and a good third of them either wounded or sick. Use great caution, my friend. Trust no one, particularly the Indians."

"They are wild people?"

"Savages. One of my men who got to know a few of them was bold enough to go to one of their villages alone. I think he was seeking a woman. They stripped him and staked him out among the sand spurs and insects. What tortures he experienced and how long he survived, I know not. His body was partially eaten by wild beasts when we found him. His eyes plucked out."

The two men were seated at a large dark candle-lit oak table. The flickering light threw dancing shadows on the wall. "We all must die," García said. "But there are ways to die and there are other ways to die. What of the other casualties?"

"Malaria, stomach sickness, clashes with the Indians and pirates. Not to mention gangrene. That is what took my hand. It started with a mere mosquito bite that I had the poor judgment to scratch. Anything can start an infection in that low country." Mateo shook his head sadly. "A few of the men simply disappeared." He poured more wine and called for a waiter to bring more.

"Deserters?"

Mateo smiled. "Perhaps. But where would they go in such a place? The Indians to the south, the Seminoles, are hostile, the Indians to the north, the Creeks, are hostile. The English pirates hold us in low regard. Perhaps they chose suicide in the sea."

"You had priests?"

"Five. Two returned and one remained there. Being a man of the cloth is no guard against the perils of La Florida. I thank God that I am back and hope to sail with the Armada." A waiter brought fried steak, potatoes and more wine. García noticed that the old sergeant was standing just outside the door.

"And how did you get back?"

"A pair of relief ships. La Trinidad, a vessel of more than 700 tons and 24 guns, and the Valencera, slightly smaller, but still with 24 guns. They brought only a hundred soldiers, but some of the marines were forced to stay on. Fortifications have been thrown up and improved on a daily basis. They will lay low until you arrive with fresh men. With your men and those already there, you should have a fair time. Absolutely, it is a good opportunity for a man of your age. You can make a name for yourself."

"I hope to serve my king."

"Don't we all," Mateo said lightly, "And you might as well add the Good Lord and all the saints." The two fell to eating. The older man explained that fish and shellfish were in good supply, and food crops and fruit crops could be grown and harvested year round because of the subtropical climate.

They lingered over brandy to talk of the weather, geography and location of Indian settlements. Mateo produced a series of helpful charts and maps. Medical supplies and the need to keep the men healthy were touched on. What artisans and other staff personnel that should be taken along were discussed.

García mentioned the request by Jesus to take a wife along, omitting her past history.

"Women can be trouble," Captain Mateo said thoughtfully. "We had none. But some of the men already there had women, some of them Indians. An Indian woman is much like a slave. Trained in that manner from childhood."

"You advise against women?"

Mateo smiled broadly. "No. They are a necessary evil. Can't live with them, can't live without them. To satisfy the priests, they should be married."

"And how are the priests satisfied?"

Mateo chuckled, catching the pun. It was after midnight when the two parted, García with an armful of charts and maps. He felt he had a wealth of information to share with Hidalgo, Jesus and the other non commissioned officers. And he had decided to grant Jesus his wish.

CHAPTER NINE

With the help of his true love, Doria Queveda, Jesus immediately launched plans for an elaborate wedding celebration, the actual ceremony being incidental to a grand scale party with no stop left unpulled.

García attempted to rein in his enthusiasm. There were many things to be done. The orders promoting Jesus to sergeant had to be written and approved, a bit out of standard policy to elevate a common trooper. But Jesus was anything but a common trooper, plus he had the gift. The time for departing for La Florida was approaching with great speed. Men had to be drilled, orders given, the organization firmed up, weapons issued and inspected.

Jesus managed to keep his head above water and attend to the work of soldiering despite his excitement. Poncho too was in a state of excitement. Frantic activity was a joy to him. In past lives he had been on the ragged edge of the red-light world. The small canine had been incarnated as a taxi dancer in Chicago's tenderloin during the early part of the 20th Century. Tragically, he, or she, died young, departing the world as we know it during a poolroom ruckus over the ownership of a feathered bonnet

Then García was troubled by his obligation to meet with Juanita's father, Don Tomás Hernando Pizarro, known for his documents establishing his purity of blood — "pureza de sangre" — because not every Spaniard was equal in the 1500s.

Although each person was a Christian, at that time certain individuals such as "Moriscos" and "Conversos" were not permitted to rise to certain levels. Even though a family may have been Christian for generations, the impurity remained. This was a boon to certain researchers who constructed family trees and provided elaborate documents such as Pizzaro possessed. In truth, Pizzaro dealt in animal hides and had risen from the peasant ranks with questionable ancestry.

The Moriscos of Andalusia mounted a serious rebellion in 1586 and made the fatal error of asking the Ottoman Empire for help. They were kicked out of the country without ceremony, even the Conversos among them who had become devout Christians. Hundreds of thousands were expelled.

If Pizzaro was a hide dealer, he was a hide dealer on a magnificent scale. He was the king of hide dealers within a week's wagon trip from Madrid. Even though the father wanted Juanita wed to a rising military leader, García's orders for La Florida stood as an obstacle. An obstacle, unless Pizzaro could somehow contrive to have the orders changed.

By a strange warp in Madrid's social strata, and despite the ever-present eye of the Inquisition, Doria had become something of a social queen. Of course she knew where the bodies were buried, but there was more to it than that.

She had been forced into her profession at an early age and, like many of her colleagues, she had been exposed to great wealth and, in rare cases, outstanding intellect.

As a late teen, a wealthy old widower, in fact a grandee, had made arrangements with her place of employment and installed her in his household. There she had not only acquired a taste for the opulent life, but had also learned to read, thereafter devouring every shred of literature she came across.

Nothing lasts forever, but the wise person unlatches the hatch when opportunity knocks. The old man died and mentioned Doria in his will for what might seem a pittance to some, but a fortune to this ambitious young lady.

Sufficient it was for her to create her own establishment, recruit a few fresh young things and, with previous contacts, as well as those made as the grandee's mistress, the rest is history.

Doria grew in intellect, charm and established social contacts among both sexes. To know her, to invite her to your functions, became fashionable.

And always, two objectives were fixed in her mind: To find a suitable husband and to protect her young sister, Frenesi.

When Jesus sauntered in, the worse for wine and seeking affection, no bells rang, no angel choirs. Short of stature, one bad eye, the strength of a bull, he looked the perfect peasant. Returning sober and cleaned up, engaging her in gifted if earthy conversation, gradually the haze lifted and she could see his heart. Jesus had been taken with her through that first wine-fogged glimpse. The mating chemistry was in full flower.

Savvy as she was, Doria did not expect to marry well, to marry a duke or even a king's officer for instance. Her wish was to marry for love, marry for compatibility, to find a soul mate, to find Jesus.

The wedding night arrived. And it was at night. Ten o'clock, and preparations in the hall and adjacent rooms had been going on since midday. Whole pigs and goats had been roasted. Wines by the cask. Cheeses, breads and sweet cakes.

Jesus and Doria held hands and traded tentative glances as the first of the guests began to tumble in. A jumbled medley of voices. Would all the invited show up for this union of a whore and an army sergeant? Had they reached above themselves?

The excited high voices of women and the lower macho tones of the men. One could close the eyes and catch the tempo of the evening. By 10:30 the crowd was milling and the lubricant of wine had smoothed the crowd into a holiday mood. Friends greeting friends, clusters forming, then breaking away and new clusters forming. A swirl of heady activity. The hall was illuminated by hundreds of flickering candles, some multiplied by well placed mirrors, the soft light adding glamour to the plainest of countenances.

The hall seemed to take on a life of its own. Doria was embraced and kissed on either cheek by each new arrival, strong hand grasps for Jesus, who returned them in kind. Jesus had promised Doria not to over drink before the ceremony. And the ceremony! The two of them would drift off to a nearby chapel at midnight and make the solemn union, then return to the merry makers.

There was muted color, beauty and flashes of satin and gold in the candlelit hall. Doria and Jesus glowed with good will. Their party, their triumphant moment, was a smashing success. Their flame would soar to the heavens, and then they would embark and be off on a grand adventure.

Everyone seemed to be in harmony. Older groups had found chairs, the younger, more fashionable crowd sought their own kind, admired the gowns of the ladies, complimented the men, glasses were filled and refilled by a battery of servants. The hungrier revelers broke away from their groups to circle the tables, pondering, debating, what delicacy to go for first and asking themselves whether it might be possible to eat a little of everything.

There were old men with canes, invalids in rolling chairs and ladies of the night in satin and lace. García placed Poncho on the floor and ordered him to stay close by, an order Poncho had no thought of disobeying.

Here and there in the crowd, standing out like peacocks, were the brightly displayed uniforms of the officers with their flashing braid, satin, garish ribbons and muted velvet. Caste had given way to egalitarianism. Colonels greeted Jesus as an equal. Clients of Doria introduced her to their wives and daughters.

Eyes danced and hearts were warm. There was magic in the room. Doria turned to Jesus and nodded, misty eyed, on the brink of tears. "This is what I've always wanted. This is like a fairy princess dream come true. I think this is the peak, the mountaintop. And now we can settle into a peaceful happiness and put this behind us."

Jesus smiled and put his arm around her shoulder. "Together we will face life and its many challenges. You have made a simple soldier very happy. Now you move from this into my world."

"And our world together," she replied.

Captain Don Pedro García stood nearby sipping wine and occasionally chatting with a fellow officer. He was glad that the lovely Juanita was not among this festive crowd. Her father would not permit his gentle flower to be thusly soiled by association. García scanned the party for clergy, but found none. It had been said that the Inquisition is everywhere, and he wondered if spies were among the crowd.

If invitations had been issued, no one was checking. It seemed everyone was welcome, and by the medley of attire and faces, every strata of Spanish life was represented. García drank it all in. Each day, each hour was an education. He would be the only professor in the 21st Century to have such a storehouse of information on this particular slice of history. And he was picking up bits and pieces of data from all over Europe as well as news drifting in from South America and Asia. But could he ever put it to use?

Men's voices could be heard discussing the world situation. The power that was Spain and the weakness and disorganization of the English. Such a mob of rabble would turn and run at the first sight of the well-organized Spanish legions, plus the Army of Flanders commanded by the Duke of Parma. What an array of power Spain could put into the field. A weak sister like the English Queen Elizabeth would fall to her knees and beg for mercy. And Spain had the support of the Vatican and the Pope in its just cause.

The party reached a higher elevation as the crowd increased. Doria, as the hostess and friend of all, was the flower of attention, her face bright with pleasure as she greeted each new guest and found others who had been hidden by the crowd. This was her night, and she would make the most of it. Jesus stood by her side, beaming, shaking hands, or embracing acquaintances.

García was moved by the grace and charm of Doria and realized why Jesus had chosen her and why she had picked the cheerful trooper, now elevated to sergeant. He wore his new insignia with great pride and vowed never to betray his captain and fall from grace.

Across the room, Doña María Botella stood among a group of wealthy friends chatting about the mating and also about Sergeant Jesus' captain, although little seemed to be known about Don Pedro.

Doña María's family had grown so wealthy in the wine industry that the founder of the fortune had been called Botella first in jest but then on a whim had adopted the name for his family. And what did this stately, handsome heir to the fortune want?

She did not want a perfidious man romancing the family fortune. She had deftly avoided such overtures, but now approaching 25, her mind was in tumult. She did not want a man to manage her life, but she didn't want one who would be unable to lead. A strong man, a courageous man, a man she could look up to, yet not worship. Confusion.

Then, across that large, dimly lit room, candles and oil lamps flickering, stood Captain Pedro García. Her first thought was, "What a common name."

When her friends filled her in on the good captain, another thought entered her mind, "What an uncommon man, to kill Alonso Albertina in self defense."

Add that to García's handsome face, his military bearing, the understated uniform of leather and rough brown cloth. Toss in a dab of mystery over his sudden appearance in Madrid (from the north, wasn't it?) and she needed only to know if he could talk and do certain other things. Could this be the one?

Like a shark through a tranquil lagoon, María worked her way through the crowd, a goblet of wine in her hand and a mellow glint in her eye. He was standing alone and had just poured Poncho a saucer of wine when she approached him.

"You have no friends?" she asked.

García smiled at the beautiful woman with a strong grace about her, well turned out. "Perhaps I am not a social creature." He looked her up and down. A grand female Pooh Bah, a woman of height with almost a shocking sensuality, sturdy and well proportioned, proud and arrogant, yet stunning. She was wrapped in the sleekest of evening dresses that left little to the imagination. The very gown spoke of raw sex.

"I have heard of you, Captain Don Pedro. I hope you don't mind my approaching you in this manner?" She attempted a shy, downward look, but it came out smoldering. Yet there was some discretion that disguised the naked sexual prod. "Do you enjoy the party?"

"I enjoy watching the passing parade. The texture of the party, the ambiance of the room, the art of a hundred blended faces in the dim light. We hide from the garish light of day."

Doña María's smile broadened. "I think you are making fun of me with your texture and ambiance. Surely you are an officer of the King, not an art critic."

"Perhaps I am both. However, I am your servant, yet you have me at a disadvantage, not knowing the name of perhaps the loveliest lady at this grand ball."

"You have a pretty way of speaking, Captain. Do you mind if I simply call you Don Pedro?"

"Not at all."

"I am Doña María Botella."

"I have heard the name, Doña María, your fame precedes you. But your beauty, that is another matter. It tarries here." Although entering into the spirit of the evening, García was apprehensive about involving himself with another high profile friend. No matter how flawless he imagined his masquerade, there could be a day of reckoning. Poncho, half drunk and sprawled on a table, took it all in. He too was awed by Doña María's beauty and sensuality.

"Your dog seems a little the worse for wine." She had noticed the saucer.

He complains of the vintage," García smiled. "His tastes are beyond my means."

"It is difficult to talk in this hubbub of texture and ambiance. Come, we will walk together and you can describe the moonlight." She took his hand, scooped up Poncho, and led him through the crowd, out the front door and around the block to her carriage.

"Is this an abduction?" he asked.

"You are too bold, Captain. I am but a woman."

In the carriage, she told him she would like to have a look at his quarters and that of the dog whom she cuddled near her breast. García made no objection. He and Poncho were riding in a private carriage in Madrid in the middle of the night in 1587 with one of the richest and most desirable women in all of Spain, possibly all of Europe.

As always, there was an attendant in the officer's quarters, and García asked for wine. He lit candles and an oil lamp for maximum light, and Doña María wandered about the place, finally commenting, "What a mess. I thought a person of your stature would have a servant."

"I do. Jesus, the bridegroom. He is temporarily occupied with other matters but will soon return." García poured each of them a terra cotta vessel of wine. Poncho crawled under the bed and drifted off in a wine-fogged stupor.

Doña María sipped hers and made a face. "This stuff is worse than at the party. Perhaps it is fit for a dog."

García took a drink and smiled. "Army rations. There is no bad wine."

"Perhaps you're right." She drained her cup and began to remove her clothing.

García watched in amazement. "This is so sudden."

She gave him a look. "You didn't expect to find a 25-year-old virgin in Madrid in 1587, did you?"

"I am at your service," García said, and then began to unbutton his tunic. When he moved to blow out the candle, Doña María objected.

"Hold on. I like to see who I'm screwing. You provincials."

Morning came on schedule, and García order two camp breakfasts. Doña María decked herself out in a blanket held together with a leather belt.

"You know, I'm shopping for a husband," she said over a steaming cup of chocolate.

García nodded. "I had a good night. I think we had a good night. Am I a candidate?"

She shrugged. "You're in the running, but your credentials. You don't have any."

García changed the topic. "Soon I will leave for the wild coast of La Florida. Gone for how long? Maybe forever. Not good domestic material."

Doña María gave him a long look. "You could be domesticated. And I could get your posting changed in a Paris minute if I were so inclined. What would you say to that?"

"I would say it is my duty and my destiny to serve my King and church."

That provoked a cat-like smile. "Even for a provincial your words smack of the counterfeit. Surely a lonely death on a barren coast isn't all that appealing?"

"I am a soldier. Look at these crude surroundings. You tasted the wine. Marry a soldier, marry his lifestyle."

"When I marry I will be true to my husband and I will see to it that he remains the same. I am of a large frame and my youth will flee fast enough. I will become sturdier. My waist might go somewhere else and I will bear children. For that I need a good man."

"Every woman needs a good man. The reverse is also true." García broke off another hunk of crusty bread, dipped it in chocolate and tossed it to Poncho who had roused himself and was listening intently. He had taken an instant liking to this woman, the enjoyment of being cuddled to her breast, even in his drunken state, had not escaped him.

"I intend to make inquiries into your history."

"Why do such a thing? And for that matter, why tell me?"

"I am an honest woman, and a man of mystery is always intriguing. Your duels with Alonso, incidentally an old friend of mine, brought you fame. That odd dog," she cast a hand toward Poncho, "has added to your mystique. And I have grown fond of that small beast even in these few hours. You will allow me to take him?"

"You cannot separate a man and his dog," García replied.

"Nor would I. But this is not a man's dog. This animal is more suited for a woman's lap. A man's dog is a great growling beast that barks at small noises and attacks intruders. A man's dog waits near the table for great bones to be cast on the floor. A man's dog is a large furry thing full of fleas. Then there is a fact that this animal shows tendencies of alcoholism."

"But Poncho is my dog and a great comfort to me. He has insights, and somehow we communicate."

"But you a provincial, and the rustic life does not square with such a creature."

"You forget, possibly I am a provincial, but a coastal provincial. Ships come and go with exotic cargo. I have seen and heard a few things in my lifetime. I am also a few years your senior. Perhaps you would be better equipped to dominate a younger man."

"I will dominate whomever I please. And before I leave I think we should have another roll in the hay. You fascinate me, Don Pedro, and I will learn your secrets."

CHAPTER TEN

If Jesus arrived late, García arose even later. A pan of cold water to douse his head, a cup of strong coffee and then hot water for shaving, followed by a session with a primitive Spanish toothbrush. The captain often thought of the everyday necessities of modern day America that would be considered exotic luxuries even in the wealthiest Spanish household.

Jesus stood by, a bit puzzled, as he watched his charge discharge the morning routine. "You have had a trying night, my Captain?"

"You might say that, Jesus. I enjoyed your gathering, but I didn't sleep well."

"Are you ill?"

"No. Nothing of the sort. Just one of those things."

"More than one person said you left the party early accompanied by a quite striking lady, the wine lady."

"The wine lady?"

"For a better name, my Captain. I believe it's Señorita Botella, but the botella is a bottle and wine is the lady's considerable fortune."

"I understand, Jesus. And it's true. I did meet such a lady. She seemed quite, well, worldly."

"Yes, my Captain. A woman of the world." He offered García a clean towel. "I have heard an interesting story about that lady."

García shrugged. "And what scandal monger might have whispered in your ear?"

"It is not an evil story, my Captain. It involves the Duke and Duchess of Aragon, a couple of some importance. The Duke is well liked and a friend of Doña María's. His wife the Duchess is, you might say, more distant and not overly attractive, but a splendid dresser. She seems to believe that stunning attire makes up for the plainness of her features. And she has an exclusive dressmaker."

"You are into fashion," García said. "You are beginning a story about fashionable women in Madrid?"

"Not at all, my Captain. You see Doña María felt she had been snubbed by the Duchess. This was three or four years ago. So Doña María planned a very large and very grand ball. At the same time, with the help of a few gold coins, she recruited a spy in the hire of that exclusive dressmaker. She obtained the details of what the Duchess would wear to that ball."

"Really, Jesus, you talk like a back fence gossip."

"If you will but bear with me. Doña María had two maids, both of medium build. She hired four more serving girls for the ball, two quite slim, even skinny, and two on the stocky side, you might say fat. She dressed the six of them, these serving girls, in exact copies of what the Duchess would wear. The night of the ball, with the Duke and Duchess in the middle of the room, all six of these serving girls appeared with trays of refreshments."

García smiled. "That is good fun. What did the Duchess do?"

"Nothing for a long moment. She took in the scene as if she were paralyzed. The she turned a series of colors, and one witness said that smoke emerged from her ears. But that is only a rumor."

"A good story, Jesus. A deed worthy of Doña María. I believe it."

"But there is more, my Captain. With Doña María looking the other way, the Duchess took a tray from a serving girl, placed a single glass of wine on it and approached Doña María who took the wine without really looking at the Duchess. The Duchess started to speak, but Doña María waved a disdainful hand and turned away. At that time the Duchess raised the tray and struck her hostess over the head."

"My God, Jesus. It sounds like a barroom fight, but among the elite of Spain."

"Yes and no. Doña María was not really hurt. She turned, saw the Duchess holding the tray, both women gaped in shock, then they both began to laugh. Since that moment they have been the best of friends."

"A fitting ending to a marvelous story. But now a morsel of food to repair the night's work."

"There is a matter of small importance that I would discuss. If you have a minute," Jesus said, after ending his tale.

"I do have a minute. But if I could first have more coffee, or chocolate, and a little breakfast?" García's mind went to a higher state of alert. Each time Jesus sought a discussion there was a price to pay.

At breakfast, Jesus explained that Doria had a younger sister, a girl of exquisite beauty now blooming into womanhood. "It is Doria's solemn wish to protect Frenesi from the ways of the world, to guard her against snares and traps that beset the path of a young lady without noble family connections.

"That seems only natural," García agreed, wondering what would come next.

"As a captain, you have the ability to recruit cadets, young men of good quality in training to become officers."

"I've heard that," García replied. Wondering what in the world this might have to do with Doria's sister. Perhaps he would like me to find a cadet who would marry this Frenesi.

"A cadet would be under your protection, travel with you, sleep nearby."

"That's possible."

Jesus came to the point. "Frenesi would make a handsome cadet."

García glanced toward the ceiling and put a finger in his ear as if to clear the wax. A bland smile creased the face of the sergeant. "I believe you said Frenesi is Doria's sister, not her brother. Is there a question of sex here?"

"No, my Captain, not at all. Dressed in the uniform of a cadet, Frenesi would be a striking addition to your entourage."

García rubbed his forehead. In the company of the statuesque Doña María, he had gotten little sleep last night. "Jesus, I have no entourage. Only you might qualify. Otherwise I lead a group of determined Spanish fighting men. I stress the word men."

"But there is another way, my Captain."

"Another way to what? To enlist a pretty teenaged girl in the Spanish army?"

"No, my Captain. Frenesi, and she is available for inspection, is a fresh young thing of prime quality. She would make you an elegant wife."

García was almost ready to ask God to strike down Jesus with a merciful lightning bolt. "And I could carry her along to La Florida where she would bear me a brood of children, there among the savages and pirates."

"If that is your wish, my Captain."

"That is not my wish. Nor was it my wish to promote you to sergeant and see you married to a woman who seems to be a Madrid social queen, but who will now be closed up on a stinking trooper for at least weeks and endure the hardships of military life."

"What is done is done, my Captain. But back to the cadet idea because I think you are not ready to leap into matrimony." García nodded in partial agreement. "Frenesi is quite clever with writing and in mathematics. She could lift the burden of paperwork from your head, she could sleep in an adjacent room, protected from the officers and men, just as I will protect Doria, and her sex would not be discovered. Is it worth a throw of the dice?"

"She can read and write and do figures?"

"Very definitely."

The idea of a clerical person had its appeal. And thus far, Jesus had been a man to lean on and had not led García too far astray. "All right. If you turn her out like a cadet, then bring her around and I'll give her a trial.

So it was that a Cadet Francisco became a member of García's entourage.

Her real name was María Elena. Her father had dubbed her Frenesi at an early age because she seemed always to be moving, sometimes almost in a frenzied way. Her hyper activity wore off, but the nickname remained. She was quite young when sister Doria bolted home in search of adventure in the big city, only to be pressured into prostitution, a profession that fit her like a glove.

She was yet a slip of a girl, but a very attractive one, when tragedy struck the family.

Her father was ruggedly handsome and her mother had been the beauty of the village before she married and went to live on a small farm. Frenesi had grown up among the chickens, geese and ducks. There was also the family cow and usually a pig. She learned to draw milk from the cow and pluck feathers from the fowl at an early age.

After a week of heavy rain, her parents were returning from a wedding party when the mother was swept away while crossing a swollen stream. The father, his brain numbed by wine, never forgave himself for failing to rescue the love of his life.

Depressed, at loose ends, he entered Frenesi into a convent as a novitiate. With that burden lifted from his head, he sold the farm and livestock, gave the money to the church and wandered off toward the mountains and into oblivion.

Frenesi was given a rigid course of study under the hawk-like eyes of the stern nuns. The ability of her intellect to grow was recognized, and she was launched on an academic course while others were sidetracked to more menial duties.

As Doria advanced in her profession she kept a watchful eye on her sister's progress. Upon learning she was about to take serious life-time vows to become a nun, she snatched her from the convent.

Shortly after that Doria and Jesus cooked up the scheme to make Frenesi a cadet. It was the hope of Jesus that the lovely Frenesi, in the fresh flower of life, might wed the man who had become his idol, Captain Pedro García, or Don Pedro as he was sometimes called. No one challenged his authority to use the title.

In fact Doña María encouraged it. As the days passed, García was seeing more of Doña María and less and less of the lovely Juanita. Perhaps it was this fact that caused Juanita to show up one day in García's office where she came face to face with Cadet Francisco.

"I didn't know that Don Pedro had such a handsome clerical worker," Juanita cooed.

"I am a Spanish cadet, Señorita. And I aspire to become an officer of the King." Francisco had practiced keeping her voice low. It carried a certain sexual timbre that fascinated Juanita. With the cadet's attractive, almost feminine face, along with that voice, Juanita almost forgot why she came to the office. Of course her father was now importuning her to marry García. He sensed a certain wildness in his daughter that marriage might bridle.

She drew up a chair to Francisco's desk and chatted with the young cadet for the better part of half an hour. The cadet knew her/his role well and carried off the masquerade in style until there came a time when he/she said that certain work must be done, thus dismissing Juanita.

"But I will see you again," Juanita pledged. "We are of an age, and youth is for the young." Francisco nodded in agreement. Certainly many things were for the young and a casual flirtation should do no harm.

Despite distractions, García's work with his troops went on. He had divided the men into groups of 60 and then those into a larger company. Practice with weapons was an almost daily event, while close order drill instilled discipline and camaraderie. They marched for at least two hours a day except for the Sabbath. He had even made up nonsense songs for them to sing while going through what otherwise might be a boring routine. A couple of the songs were:

Don't be sad and don't be blue,

We'll be coming after you.

Or:

If I die in Barcelone,

Box my ass and ship it home.

Of course they were much different in Spanish.

On the day after the wedding party García received a note via messenger requesting his presence in Juanita's garden late that night. He replied by the same messenger that he had spent the previous night at a wedding party and was bushed and needed a night's rest.

Within the hour the messenger returned with a sizzler:

"Dear Don Pedro, I am well aware of your activities last night, as is most of Madrid. Doña María Botella is a well-known man-eater and half of Madrid saw you escorting her from the wedding party. If you must cheat on me, I would counsel discretion. If I were a man I might challenge you to a duel. But I am a tender woman and I'll forgive your sin. Get your rest and I will wait your presence at midnight tomorrow. With a fervent hope that you have not contracted the French disease from that bitch. Your Loving Juanita."

García read the message twice, then read it to Poncho before committing it to the flames. He poured himself a vessel of wine and a saucer full for Poncho. "We might as well both get trashed on this rotgut," he remarked to the dog.

The following morning a case of good wine arrived at his quarters with a note from Doña María: "Take a step up, but don't drink it all. I'll see you in a few days."

Jesus got things humming again after his brief honeymoon. García had missed the orderly, who almost served as second in command even though three lieutenants had joined the outfit. García guessed they were rejects from other units, the screw-up sons of minor officials, or merchants.

Doña María was fascinated by García and needed a project. Simply being rich can often be boring. She was convinced that Spanish was not his first language. If he was a foreigner, there would be gaps in knowledge of language, culture, geography and so forth. Hers was a classic education, and she could easily trip him up. Very likely he was as advertised, a provincial of peasant stock.

Their previous liaisons had been primarily of a carnal nature at out of the way places. But this time she sent a note inviting him to dinner and stated that her carriage would call for him at eight sharp. García was puzzled at the formality, but he was up for almost any game. Soon he would be off for La Florida, leaving all this behind. He spiffed up as best he could and boarded the coach at the appointed hour. The apartment was in a grand old house with an elaborate wrought-iron gate guarded by two men in police uniforms.

The carriage passed through sculpted boxwoods, formal gardens and reflecting pools, snaking down a long lane to an excessively large house. It stopped at a side door from which a servant emerged, opened the carriage door and greeted García as a celebrity.

Captain Don Pedro García, we are honored to have you visit this dwelling. Please follow me."

Up wide steps and through double doors, then through a high ceilinged hall hung with portraits and finally a closed door, the male servant rapped and a pretty maid answered. "Please step inside, Don Pedro."

Doña María was seated on a couch and did not rise. She motioned him to a chair opposite and signaled the maid to pour him sherry. She was already holding a glass. "It is early, Don Pedro. We will have a lovely chat before dinner."

"I look forward to the chat and dinner, Doña María. You might be the most fascinating person in Madrid." García was truly interested in discussing Spain and matters Spanish, and here was a treasure trove. He was acquainted with the history and geography of the land backward and forward, but he did not know the small talk, what people were thinking and talking about at this critical time. The worries, fears, joys and expectations of the populace.

"You flatter me, but I am a fool for such talk." And they talked. The talk went east and the talk went west. It traveled north and south. Doña María used difficult words, words the average man on the street would not know. But she found that García was her master in language, history, geography and current events. She could trip him up on trivia, but he brushed that aside, saying he was a military man, leading a military life and often missed out on trivial events.

Getting nowhere, she decided to try religion. "Do you think the church ever has, or ever will have, two popes?"

"If you want my opinion, I'd say one pope is plenty. But you must know the successor to Gregory XI in 1377 was Urban VI." García raised his hands indicating a problem. "There was something wrong about him, and another pope was chosen, this one Clement VII. So we had two popes. Urban in Rome, Clement in Avignon."

It was María's turn to raise her hand. "Alright, I know the story. You needn't go on."

García smiled. He knew he was being put to the test. "I thought we were launched on a philosophical religious discourse. Was I wrong? Let me ask you a question. There's talk of a mighty invasion of England. What do you think will come of that?"

"A Spanish victory of course."

"And for what purpose do we invade England?"

"To root out the heretics. Restore the true church."

"Possibly you are aware that ten years ago, the date was Nov. 5, 1576, Spanish Catholics massacred a large number of Protestants in Antwerp."

"I've heard of such a thing. A great victory for the church, so I was told."

"Yes, that's the face put on it. I am a soldier. But a massacre of civilians, it just doesn't sit well. I just wonder if the same might happen in London once we conquer those heretics?" García knew he was treading thin ice.

"I should think not. The heretics will be given the chance to return to the faith. It's only fair. But why talk of such things on such a night when we are both young and healthy. We can talk of many things. We can even discuss the Renaissance."

"Good. Truly great men like Bramante, Fra Angelico, Bottecelli, Raphael and Leonardo da Vinci. I love to delve into that era. Not that it's ended. The artistic, cultural and scientific energy that was generated, an explosion of creative brain cells. Tell me your thoughts, Doña María."

"My thought is that you're teasing me. You are the cat and I am the mouse. Your knowledge dazzles me. Please fill my wine glass." She held it out and he carefully poured the good sherry. "Now I will lead you to my bedroom and you can dazzle me with something else."

"But you said talk, then dinner."

"We will eat dinner presently. The night is young and we are energetic. You know, I believe you have a certain type of memory."

García chuckled and sipped his wine as he walked. "You mean photographic." As soon as the word was out of his mouth he almost choked on his wine.

María stopped in her tracks and turned toward him. "What was that word?"

Dumb, dumb, dumb, García though to himself. How many new words had crept into the language since the 1580s and wasn't he aware not to use them. He was aware of being watched and he had almost frozen for an instant. María was nobody's fool. "I think it means like a painting or a drawing. That you would look at it and then remember it in some detail."

"But I've never heard that word. I am educated, don't you know?"

"Of course you are. But I've lived on the coast. Travelers come and go on an almost daily basis. I think the word is from the Greek. There are many languages in the world."

"And the Greeks have a word for it. I've heard that one before. But I believe, Don Pedro, that you have a secret. And I also believe that I've tripped you up. You are smarter and more sophisticated than me. I underestimated you and thus started at a disadvantage. But now I'm wise and I've stumbled on your secret."

"You have? Tell me about it." He drained his glass.

"You've started to unravel. For some reason the word embarrassed you, and you, a man of the world. I'm going to find out what makes your wheels go round, Don Pedro. You might as well confess and save me the trouble."

"And destroy the mystery, thus destroy my appeal? No thanks. Please remain in the dark. Shall we continue?"

There came a day not long before their departure that Don Tomás Hernando Pizzaro showed up at García's office quarters with his daughter, the lovely Juanita, in tow. "This is a social visit, Don Pedro," Pizzaro said. He was in high good humor, jovial, projecting the bon vivant spirit. "I thought you might show us around."

Juanita's eyes had at once fallen upon Cadet Francisco, who occupied a small desk in the corner.

"I would like nothing better, Don Tomás." García grasped the older man's hand and made a slight bow to Juanita. "I will escort you through the Presidio."

"Oh, military matters," Juanita said sweetly. "They are the life of men, the talk of men. You two go on and I'll find a comfortable chair in the office. I rose early and am a bit fatigued."

It was a surprise to García that Don Tomás had sailed with the Gold Fleet in his younger days. He had been a common seaman before the mast, but possessed an excellent understanding of military matters. The old man related a story that García was familiar with. That of English privateers, or pirates as the Spanish called them, capturing a Spanish ship and found it had a total cargo of what they believed to be animal dung. The English burned the ship, never to know that the cargo was cocoa, as valuable as silver or gold to the Spanish.

Don Tomás assured García that he was pulling strings attempting to get him reassigned from La Florida to the mighty Armada. King Felipe himself was overseeing every detail of the Armada. He had high hopes that his name would resound through the halls of history as a great Catholic and an outstanding warrior king.

García sensed that all was not right when they returned to his office after a thorough tour of the installation. Francisco was at his desk, but seemed pale. Juanita was petting Poncho who was perched upon García's desk. Nothing seemed amiss, but still the feeling of unease.

Pouring a measure of army wine for Don Tomás and himself, the two men drank and parted the best of friends. When they were gone García asked Francisco if he would care for wine.

"Yes, please, Captain. It was terrible, what happened the moment you departed. That woman asked me to show her the living quarters. I took her to the bedroom and she attacked me!"

"She attempted to injure you?" García asked in disbelief.

"No! To make love! She grabbed me, pawed me. She said her father wishes her to marry you, but you are too old. She said she wanted a virile young buck like myself. Imagine me, a young buck."

"What else happened?"

"I didn't lose my head. I did as you told me. I kept my voice low, although I couldn't have spoken if I had tried. Our lips were locked. She kissed me and I returned her kisses. Her tongue was in my mouth. Is this romance?"

"I suppose it's one type. I won't ask if you enjoyed it."

"I was shaken to my boots and blurted out that you might return and ask for satisfaction, that I could be killed in a duel of honor. Me, no more than a teenage girl, in a duel of honor. The horror of it."

"She backed off then?"

"Finally. She told me that she would send for me and that I should come to her garden late at night. There would be instructions. The two of us would be lost in a sea of blissful love. She pawed me over. I had trouble keeping her hands away from my crotch. But I carried it off. Thank God. What happens next?"

García laughed. "Francisco, you make a handsome young man. You'll break many a lady's heart."

"But what am I to do, Captain? If I go to that garden I think her intentions are serious sex. Don't you see the mess I'm in?"

"Yes and I'll help you out of it. You must write a note pledging your love to the beautiful Juanita."

"Tell her I love her? That's not my first instinct. I fear her. Maybe I should say that."

"No. Add to the note that you are just recovering from a social disease you picked up at a whorehouse a week or two ago. But when you are totally recovered you will rush to her side and seek passion in the garden."

"I see what you mean. But what if I do recover?"

"Very soon we leave for Portugal. Incidentally, did Poncho follow you into the bedroom?"

"Yes, Captain, he did. He seemed to be watching us, taking in everything. Sometimes I think that dog will speak to me. He likes for me to cuddle him at night when you are gone."

Poncho sat in a corner listening to the conversation between his master and the attractive cadet. It was his thought that not even previous lives had been this conflicted. Soon they would all set off for Portugal and then out into the Atlantic on a great adventure. But even Poncho, with all his sagacity, could ever imagine that such a wild card would soon fall onto the table.

The small dog had seen in Juanita a flash of wild passion, a fire that flared almost out of control when she clutched Francisco. If Francisco had been a willing partner with the proper equipment, Poncho had no doubt that the two would have mated right there on the bed.. Was this typical Spanish? Such instantaneous passion he could not remember during any of his previous lives. If he could but write he would start a journal. If he could but talk. But he had eyes and he had a brain. And he had four good legs, perhaps short, but sturdy. And a tail to wag and a pair of fine ears. There seemed to be more questions during this life than answers.

But the one nagging question was why? Why had he been blessed, if that was the word, with reincarnations and the ability to remember past lives? And in human form, both male and female (had he ever been gay? He couldn't remember), was he able to remember past lives. He thought not. That memory was only thrust upon him in animal form, which might be thought of as maddening. Was there a grand plan behind his lives, was he a pawn of some master being? If there was a why or wherefore, would it ever be revealed to him? Sometimes he felt his soul was like a butterfly, fluttering from one being to the next.

The Yorkie could read and understand several languages, including Persian and Chinese. He often fell back on his considerable knowledge of existentialism at times like these, the truth that there was no truth. It was plain that we lived in an irrational world and that philosophy fed our desire to make rational decisions. The dog knew well that the thirst for logic and immortality are futile. But it might be possible to define one's own meaning, no matter how temporary.

Perhaps this was hell. Forced to endure these lives. Lives no matter how fulfilled and rewarding generally came to tragic ends. Dying was not much fun. Dead people were crashing bores. Was he being punished for some heinous past crime? On reflection, he thought not. He was something of a canine philosopher and, on balance, enjoyment in every life far outweighed grief. He put these thoughts out of his head and scratched his ear with his left hind foot and his thoughts turned to mealtime and a saucer of wine.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The great plaza in Madrid was a spot García enjoyed. Today he had come to clear his mind and map future plans. Even though he had made friends, there was a great sense of loneliness and a weariness caused by being constantly on guard. Nearby, an old man fed the pigeons. Street vendors were everywhere, some with fixed tables, some wandering. They sold melon slices, sweet drinks, jackets, hats, children's toys and a variety of other items. Musicians, jugglers and a few con men also plied their trades on this day when a few white clouds drifted overhead and a soft breeze stirred the ruffles of ladies' skirts.

García sat on a stone bench with Poncho, sometimes talking to the small canine, his only long-term friend on this Iberian Peninsula in the year 1587. He had noted what seemed to be a monk, thin, not too tall, who seemed to be circling him, perhaps fascinated by Poncho. The black garment and cowling hid the face.

He had lost track of the figure and was assessing his life: Francisco was working out well as a cadet. She was extremely literate and could handle secretarial duties. His torrid affair with Juanita had cooled somewhat, but he saw her once or twice a week; her father still insisted that the two of them unite in marriage and was pulling strings to get García a more favorable assignment. He had met with Doña María Botella three or four times. They enjoyed a good physical and intellectual relationship, had fun sparring over almost any issue.

With these thoughts filtering through his brain a voice behind him asked, "Could that dog be named Pierre?"

García whirled at the familiar voice, only to see the monk, still cowled. Then it struck him: the question was asked in English! "Who are you?" he demanded.

"A friend."

"You're Mary McKay," García said in amazement.

"Dr. King, thank God I've found you. I was at my wits end."

"For God's sake, Mary," García hissed, looking around to see if anyone was listening, "Why? Why did you do it? You were messing with my papers, weren't you?"

"I had looked over your papers, just now and then, ever since your sabbatical began. Then I found the strange ones."

"The formula," García broke in.

"I suppose. I had taken them home. You were gone. Then I got to drinking. Not much, I opened a bottle of wine, then I thought, why not."

"The wine's part of it and why not? Why not? Speak low and speak in Spanish. Do you realize I prepared for four years to make this journey? I studied and memorized everything about Spain, its culture, its geography, the leaders. Then I made an army officer's outfit with my own hands. Now you come along, your Spanish is bad and you're wearing a ridiculous black robe. Why in the world?"

"I'm not wearing a black robe. I mean, I wasn't. I'm wearing blue jeans, Birkenstock sandals and a Carolina blue T-shirt."

"Holy Christ," García almost cringed. "If the inquisition gets hold of you, you are toast. And where does that leave me?"

"I won't give you away, Guy. Honest."

"The hell you won't. The torture is exquisite. You'd give your own mother away and beg for death. And I wouldn't blame you. Christ! Someone warned me about getting involved with a graduate assistant. They were right."

"We weren't involved."

"Maybe not, but we are now. Incidentally, the dog's name is now Poncho. You can begin by remembering that. When did you get here and what have you been doing?"

"Maybe three or four days. I lost track. I found myself standing in downtown Madrid in the middle of the night. It scared the shit out of me. I got sober right quick, but I kept my head and stole this robe off a clothesline. It saved my ass. I begged for a little food, drank out of the fountain. I think people believe I'm some sort of holy man."

"The inquisition will holy your ass. OK, come with me. I'll think while we walk. I've got an idea."

García led the way back to the presidio. Now he wasn't alone. There was one other person in Spain who knew he taught Spanish history and culture at Chapel Hill. In a whisper he asked if Mary McKay had chosen a Spanish name. She replied that she was now María Harvey.

"Harvey's not Spanish," García sputtered.

"Well, it is. It's the name of the best known sherry, definitely a Spanish wine."

García couldn't argue with that, but he whispered back, "Why not call yourself Gallo or Sandman or Livingston Cellars."

Mary stifled a laugh. "I'm starved and I'm thirsty."

García led her into his office where Francisco was busy at her desk. "Cadet Francisco, this is, uh, Padre Jose Padilla. I have to talk to him in private, in my room." Francisco stood at attention and greeted the hooded figure. "Will you please find Sergeant Jesus?"

Once in the room, Mary sat on the bed and was near collapse. "I thought I was dead meat. I do know about the inquisition. What can I do? Reverse the incantation?"

"No. It may only work once. You'll have to stay. Francisco, the one in the office," he motioned towards the door. "He's a cadet doing office work. I can use one more. So we'll deck you out as a cadet and you can stay close. In the meantime I'll get you food and drink and you can sleep here with Francisco. The bed's big enough for two, and in a day or two I'll rustle up a cot."

Mary looked up in amazement. "You want me to sleep with that man?" she said in loud English.

"Speak Spanish, dammit, and keep it down. Francisco's not a man."

"I saw him. I know that. He's a handsome boy, but still past puberty. You can't just throw me in with a Spanish cadet. I know I'm in a tight spot, but there must be another way. "I've always liked you Guy. You and me, we could sleep together."

"Yeah, right. I sleep with a cadet. Somebody would know and I'd be branded as a flaming fag. Not popular with the inquisition. I'd likely be flaming before you know it. What I mean is, Francisco is a girl. She too is posing as a cadet for reasons too difficult to explain at the moment. So you will be two girls."

"That's amazing, Guy. What sort of mess are you in over here?"

"I'm a captain and a commander. My name is Don Pedro García. When you address me, do it as Captain García. And when you speak Spanish please mumble. Your accent sucks. I'll let it be know that you have a speech impediment.."

"Oh, shit. Why did I drink that wine?"

Jesus knocked and García let him into the room. "It's a twisted story, Jesus, but this woman under that hood will be called Jose Padilla. Cadet Jose Padilla. We have one cadet, we now have two. I want you to cut her hair and dress her out like you did Francisco. If you need any money, ask me. But no one should know except Francisco, who will be sleeping with her until we can find a cot."

Jesus was wide-eyed, but up to any circumstance. "Yes, my captain. It will be done. Would the lady do me the honor of removing the cloak?"

Mary McKay rose and dropped the cloak. Jesus was bug-eyed at a woman in tight blue jeans, a Carolina blue snug fitting T-shirt with the strange lettering.

"Give me a minute to talk to Francisco," García said and left the room.

Francisco rose and asked if she could be of service. "There is something. That person in the cloak, that Jose Padilla. He will be a cadet, and for the next day or two you two must share your bed. Then we will get him a cot."

Francisco put her hand to her mouth in surprise and despair. "You want me to sleep with a young man, Captain García? I can't believe you mean that. Jesus said that you might be interested in me, but that you would give me away to a young cadet. It's impossible."

"No. No, Francisco, Jose Padilla is not a man."

"He's homosexual?"

"No. He's a woman. Just like you. It's another masquerade. You will be two cadets together, both women, both doing officer work, possibly helping one another."

"I'm startled. But things have been very strange recently. That Juanita, you know. She sends me notes. Love notes."

"Forget about Juanita for the time being and think about Jose Padilla. He is from the north, his parents died." García was creating a history as he talked. "Maybe some kind of illness or plague. Also, there is something wrong with his speech. So you must talk slow and he will talk slow and sometimes like a child."

"He talks like a child?"

"Yes. Very much. Probably shock over the death of his parents. You must give him your sympathy."

"Of course. But you're certain he is a woman?"

"Definitely. A woman."

It took Jesus only a few hours to outfit the new cadet. Francisco, who was informed about the operation, cropped Jose's hair. And Jose, aka Mary McKay, scarfed down food, drank half a liter of wine, then slept for 14 hours without relent.

When she woke, García carefully went over the operation once more, coached her on her Spanish, stressed the seriousness of their situation and once again scolded her for her sins. She had been a good undergraduate and García, aka Dr. Guy King, had been pleased to accept her as a graduate assistant working toward her master's. He had carefully avoided the sexual entanglement so common in such a setting. Now he learned she had been all too willing to plunge into such a liaison. He was, after all, thirty-one, unmarried, a full professor with great expectations. Much greater than the rest of the University of North Carolina faculty realized. Possibly he was their first and last time traveler. A scholar studying history before and after the fact.

CHAPTER TWELVE

As things worked out in those last days before departure, Jose Padilla fit into the staff very nicely. Sergeant Jesus loved the situation. He thought it a delicious joke on the army brass. Poncho enjoyed it, although he was aware they were walking a fine line. The canine tried extra hard to stay alert and often found his mind dwelling on his next life and wondering just what it might be. He was doing his best, and an occasional saucer of wine shouldn't upset the apple cart.

There came a day when the lovely Juanita Tera visited the office. Oddly enough, she knew that García was on a short march with his troops.

Entering the office, she stopped short at the sight of Jose Padilla. "Who is that?" she asked Francisco.

Francisco snapped to attention. "Let me make you acquainted with Jose Padilla, Señorita. He is a new cadet, from the north. Jose was also on his feet and made a slight bow.

"Another handsome young man," Juanita said with a slight smile, "but not as handsome as you, Francisco. I need a private word with you. Perhaps we can enter the living quarters." She crossed the room and opened the door, not noticing that Poncho slipped into the bedroom. Juanita only had eyes for Francisco.

Francisco hesitated, guessing what was coming. "I have a pile of work and people are constantly coming and going."

"Only for a moment."

"Of course."

Immediately in the room, the door shut, the two were locked in a lover's embrace, clutching and kissing. Francisco responded in kind. It was not at all unpleasant and there was certainly no danger of pregnancy. She did take pains to keep Juanita's hands away from her crotch, but otherwise she was in the game, afraid not to be. For wasn't she a young man in the flush of life, and would such a man resist the advances of such a one as the lovely Juanita? Of course not. She must play the role to the extent she could. Poncho, under the bed, marveled at their energy and enthusiasm.

Juanita broke away and said, "You must come to me. Come to my garden at midnight. We will be in paradise."

"Yes, Juanita," Francisco panted, sincerely into the role. "I would come, but Captain García. You are promised to him. It would be my life to do such a thing. And the dishonor of it, to betray my captain. If only it were possible." Francisco was counting the days until their departure for Lisbon. How to get out of this impossible situation?

"Don't worry about García, my darling. I'll take care of him. I'll send for you. Just be patient. Our paradise will come true. It is my dream." She straightened her clothing and said, "Yes, we mustn't stay in here too long. That Padilla person will be curious. How many cadets can this command have?"

"I don't know. At least two." They left the room and Juanita took a long look at Jose, who hadn't uttered a word. Then she departed.

Francisco sighed and put her hands in the air in a sign of despair. "I might as well tell you, she and Captain García are pledged to be married, but she wants me as her lover. It is a messy situation."

Jose was so shocked that she nearly blurted out her astonishment in English, but managed a deep breath. "Does García love her?" she asked in halting Spanish.

"I don't think so. I think maybe at first he was taken by her. She is beautiful. But I think he would like to get out of the entanglement, and I think our quick departure would solve a lot of problems."

Fortunately, Jose's Spanish was such that she understood every word. "What does she want from you?"

"Kisses and hot embraces so far. But later, probably something I cannot give. Do you think you would enjoy kissing a woman, I mean as a lover?"

"I've never given it much thought. But you've experienced it."

"Yes. It's really not bad. In fact I've never kissed a man like that. Maybe if we play our cards right Juanita might fall for you and she can take you into the bedroom."

"No thanks. I have kissed a man. I'll stay with the one sex." Both women were smiling broadly and got back to their tasks. But Poncho was troubled.

García came in tired and dusty after the day in the field. He was trailed by Jesus, who devoted less time these days to being an orderly and more to that of husband. He left the picking up to the two cadets who seldom left the quarters.

"We will depart in three or four days," he announced. "The men are well equipped and ready." Turning to Jesus he said, "Now is the time to get the prisoners from the stockade. They will fill out our complement nicely."

"They are dangerous men, my captain. They might run, they might turn on us. There is no way to tell what they will do."

García slumped into a chair and poured himself wine. The cadets and Jesus stood by. "Have a seat my friends," García offered. "The prisoners are no more dangerous than our men. Most were soldiers. They are in the stockade because of a slip any of us might make. You fix a time to get them fallen out. Try getting them washed and fed first. Then I will speak to them. We will pair them up on the long march to Lisbon."

"We walk to Lisbon?" Jesus questioned.

"Of course. Up to 350 men, how else? Of course I and the other officers and the cadets will ride horses. You do ride?" he asked the cadets. Both said yes.

García yawned. He was thoroughly entrenched in the role of Spanish captain. In fact he enjoyed it more than teaching at Chapel Hill. "I will nap before dinner. Jesus arrange for food for the three of us to be brought to quarters, then you may go to your lovely wife." He was mildly amused by the thought of the trip to the sea. The cadets had probably done some wimpy trail riding for pleasure, but not a forced march of several days. Their butts would cry out in pain. And he did intend to make it a forced march. He would be glad to shake the dust of Madrid from his boots.

He explained to Jesus his plan to place each freed prisoner with one of his regulars, thus breaking up any cliques that might form and making for greater safety as well as training. And the partners must stay together night and day. Jesus then left to arrange dinner and be gone.

Cleaning up following his nap, García found a messenger had brought a note from the lovely Juanita. He sat on the side of his bed and read it aloud for Poncho's benefit. "Please come to me at one a.m. tomorrow night. I'll be in the garden awaiting your passion. J."

Poncho was aware that Francisco had yet to tell García about Juanita's visit. And had she sensed the danger? But this was his look out, García was his baby. So he barked, startling his master.

"Poncho. Are you ill?"

Poncho barked again, trying for a "no" and again startling García. The note was on the bed and Poncho took it in his mouth.

"Ah, the note," García said. "It is odd, isn't it? One a.m. when usually she invites me at the stroke of midnight. What do you make of it?"

Poncho stared at García. The two stared at one another. García finally said, "Danger."

Poncho wagged his small tail.

"Danger at Juanita's. Right?"

Poncho wagged his whole backside.

"What should I do? Not go?"

Poncho was still. He was uncertain. So he barked again.

"I should go, but take precautions."

Poncho wagged slightly.

"Take the belly gun, like before?"

Poncho remained still.

"Not go alone."

Poncho's tail moved.

"Take someone, but who? Who else but Jesus."

Poncho wagged and jumped in circles. This was about the best he could do.

Jesus was a married man, but remained García's orderly as well as his chief aide de camp, although technically the lieutenants were next in line. They understood the importance with which García regarded Jesus. So the following morning Jesus showed up in García's sleeping room promptly at six a.m. with a pot of hot chocolate and a small loaf of hard bread.

García at once told him about the note from Juanita, told him of Juanita's feelings toward Francisco and said he suspected the odd hour might mean some treachery was afoot. The two of them would go armed and cautious into Juanita's garden. How fickle are the breezes and sighs of love, García pondered.

There had been some difficulty in adjusting to the Spanish lifestyle, a long midday snooze, maybe an evening nap before the late night dinner, but on this day García slept soundly for most of the afternoon in preparation for tonight's adventure.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The two moved with caution through the darkened streets, past taverns with flickering oil lamps and candles, music and boisterous conversation through the open windows. Then they were in the quiet part of the city at the familiar wall that García had scaled many times. Once inside the garden, they drew weapons, García his sword, Jesus a dagger in each hand.

The moon was almost full and white light illuminated the garden, except for the dark patches of small trees and shrubs. Cautiously, García led the way toward the usual meeting spot where they found Juanita waiting, seated on a wooden bench clad once more in her gown. Quickly, the two sheathed their weapons.

She rose when she saw the two and put a hand to her cheek in surprise. "Who is that with you?" she croaked in a harsh whisper.

"It's my sergeant, Jesus. We have been so busy, Juanita. Preparations for the march to Lisbon to embark for Florida. I've come simply to say goodbye."

She hesitated for a moment, looking from one man to the other. "I see," she finally said. "So this is goodbye."

"We don't know how long we will be in Florida. There are storms and battles to be fought. We may perish on a foreign strand." García hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick.

"I understand. So you may kiss me goodbye." After a short embrace and a kiss, Juanita said, "May God go with you."

The two men stood for a moment, then realized it was over. "May God be with you," García said, then turned and led Jesus back down the path.

Once over the wall and headed back to the presidio, Jesus spoke. "We were not alone in the garden."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone was lurking in the shadows. I could feel their presence and I could see a slight movement."

"I'm glad you are with me, Jesus." Approaching the lights of a tavern, García said, "Let's have a drink."

When the two men had departed, Juanita again took her seat on the bench. After several minutes a dark figure approached. Juanita stood and said, "You failed me."

"Failed you, Señorita? There were two strong men with drawn weapons. You told me there would be only one with no weapon. They were expecting something."

"Possibly. But what I have paid you will have to do. You didn't earn the final payment."

"I will give up the gold, Señorita, for a single favor."

She looked the ruffian up and down. "What favor do you speak of?"

"A matter of sex, Señorita."

"There is a night watchman here. He stays in the front of the building. If I scream he and others will come."

"I don't wish you harm, Señorita. But know certain things. If I should reveal them, your reputation and your family's good name would be in the mud."

Juanita hesitated. "You know I like sex and you are a big healthy brute. There is no reason why we shouldn't." She opened her gown to expose her body in the pale moonlight. "But let's do it right. Remove your clothing first. It's so much better that way."

The woul-be assassin was pleased at such an easy conquest of such a dewy young beauty. Quickly he removed his belt and heavy sword. Juanita helped him. He fumbled with his clothing. He was a dirty unkempt man and his shirt was held together with bits of string. Juanita stood back and watched him begin to disrobe.

When she could see his naked belly she withdrew his short sword from its scabbard and thrust it with all her might into the soft flesh. He made only a low moan as the blade emerged from his back. He crumpled towards her and Juanita jumped back, certain that he was dead, or dying. She was amazed that there was no blood.

Resuming her seat on the bench and readjusting her gown, she sat watching the still figure for a full five minutes, then got up and returned to her bedroom. Once in her bed, one thought coursed through her head before sleep overtook her: Killing a person isn't all that difficult.

At midmorning the following day, Juanita's father, Don Tomás Hernando Pizzaro showed up at García's headquarters. He seemed excited and hesitant, as if he didn't know where to begin. Finally he said, "my servants found a dead man in my garden this morning."

"Was he a soldier?" García asked.

"No. A ruffian." There was no contradiction here, García thought. Most of the soldiers are ruffians of one sort or another. "We called police. The man is a well known criminal, a sneak thief and possibly an assassin."

"You mean he meant you harm?"

Don Tomás sighed. "Perhaps. He was within a few feet of Juanita's bedroom doors and she often forgets to secure them. You've been to the garden. He was dead in front of the wooden bench."

"How did he die?"

"A sword thrust through his middle. The sword remained." Don Tomás pulled his handkerchief and wiped his brow, García poured him a cup of wine. "The police thought it might be his own sword. Then he appeared to be partly disrobed." He raised his hands in despair. "I don't know what to do, but I will hire an additional watchman for the garden."

"It sounds like a group of thieves, at least two, invaded your garden and, perhaps fell to quarreling. That's luck for you."

"Perhaps. Perhaps it's for the best. But I felt I must tell Juanita. I went to her bedroom and when I told her, she was appalled at the horror, the nearness to her chamber. She fainted dead away. Her dueña is with her at this moment."

"But she will recover."

"Yes, but she was shaken, and she said she would like to end her relationship with you. I'm sorry, Don Pedro. But she heard about you and that woman, that Doña María Botella. She is a well known woman about town. A true beauty. Women fear her."

García placed his hand over his eyes to hide his pleasure and pretend to be emotionally wounded at this announcement. Do all lovers play games, he wondered. Madrid is just like Chapel Hill. Finally he admitted guilt. "I was indiscreet, Don Tomás. You are a man of the world and you can understand how one could be, be uh, enamored, shall we say, with Doña María. She is a healthy animal."

"Perfectly. If only I were younger. If only I could trade places with you. But Juanita is my daughter. I know, I am the father, and it is I who must approve the husband, but I can't go against her wishes."

"I understand. We will soon depart for Lisbon and then Florida. I may never return. A soldier's life is a chancy thing."

"I know, Don Pedro. You make Spain proud. And I have been unable to reassign you, even though they need men like you to attack the English heretics. So may God go with you." They shook hands, and the older man was about to go when he hesitated. "Incidentally, Juanita has apparently had friendly conversations with a young cadet on your staff, a Francisco. She asked as I was leaving if I might invite him to call."

"Yes, Francisco has been a great help to me. We are in a rush to get organized and start the march, but I'm certain we can spare him an hour or two. But surely she couldn't receive him in her chamber. Send a note when she is better and I'll send him along."

"Done." And the older don departed.

"Yes, I will send Francisco to your side, Señorita. And by his side will be Jesus who will serve as his dueña!" García smirked.

The weather was fine and the banners were unfurled, a glorious sight on the presidio parade grounds as García's men, almost 350 strong, were falling into their ranks, the shouts of the non coms, the permanent garrison and commander fallen out to bid them farewell. It was a gallant panorama that would make the blood course swiftly through the body, the heart swell with pride.

García and his two cadets sat their horses and watched the formations take shape. At that moment, a horsewoman, Doña María Botella, came riding up on a handsome chestnut gelding. "Don Pedro," she called. "I come to say goodbye, at least for a time. For we will meet again."

"You are coming to La Florida?" he asked in jest.

"I have no such plans." She circled the three of them, closely inspecting the cadets. "I have heard of your cadets. They are a handsome pair. And so far beardless." She gave him a wink and a smile.

"They have been a great service to me in the mountain of paperwork that goes with running such an expedition. You might know that King Felipe is keen on keeping records."

"I do. We all know of the record office at the Castle of Simancas. I would guess you couldn't have picked a better pair of clerks. And a cadet will eventually be an officer, is that a fact?"

"That is the plan. But they must prove their worth."

"Of course." The two cadets sat uneasily in their saddles. This beautiful woman with her sly remarks. Their masquerade had gone very well up until now. The four horses were restless, Doña María moved hers in a circle and drew close to Francisco. She rubbed the back of her hand against the young cadet's face. "You have beautiful skin. I envy you."

"Thank you, Señorita. You too have lovely skin and are a handsome woman."

"You play your role well," she grinned.

"Well, it was good of you to come, Doña María," García said. "But we will soon hit that dusty trail for Lisbon and the perils that lay beyond."

"Ah, yes, the perilous life of the soldier with his two stout hearted cadets. I understand one of them, Jose Padilla, is a relative of yours."

"Yes, a shirttail relative, a distant cousin."

"From the rugged mountains of the north."

"Of course."

"I assume then he speaks like you. Because you do have a distinctive accent. Correct in every way, but distinctive."

"I hesitate to discuss it, particularly in his presence, but the young man has a slight speech impediment. It in no way tarnishes his work, but it can be a social barrier."

"How convenient. I mean, it would be convenient if one were anti-social, or wished to discourage idle social intercourse."

"That might be true in some cases, Señorita. That's a fine horse you ride."

"I seek out good animals. I have made some casual inquiries about your family in the north. You will forgive me, but I enjoying knowing the antecedents of my intimates."

"I am pleased. There is nothing to hide."

"How could there be anything to hide when there is no family?"

"Truly. I am the last of my line. If I pass without issue, the name dies with me. It is sad, but it is a melancholy fact."

The troops were formed up and a lieutenant came galloping up, shouting, "Captain, we are ready to pass in review. Shall I give the order?"

"Please do."

The lieutenant galloped away and soon the drums and bugles sounded and García's expedition began its sprightly march before the turned-out garrison troops. It was a proud moment. García had stressed close order drill and this was the pay off. Even with the recent addition of the prisoners the formation was near perfect.

Over the din and the dust, García shouted to Doña María, "This is the fruit of my labor. These well drilled troops. Disciplined, battle ready."

She drew close to García and placed her hand on his. "I am glad for you, Don Pedro. Now you must go and I must go. But we will meet again soon."

"Perhaps you are right, and such a meeting would not be unpleasant. But you seem to speak in riddles."

"We both have our secrets, is it not true?" Then she spun her horse and moved away at a fast trot.

The review was soon over and García took his place at the head of the long column on the march to Lisbon, some 300 miles, or just over 500 kilometers distant. He reckoned the march at 12 to 16 days, making allowances for breakdowns and the unexpected. But it was in his mind not to tarry. Already Doña María had sniffed a rat, but he liked her and considered her a friend. Muleskinners with the supply wagons brought up the rear. Poncho sat on the seat next to the driver of the lead wagon, taking in the columns snaking ahead and imagining himself a field marshal off on a glorious mission.

García called a halt to the first day's march after just 15 miles. The day had been shortened by the ceremony, and they had arrived at a large green meadow. The men had been drilled to set up camp with a goal of 30 minutes, but had never completed the task in less than 45. Thank God for the seasoned non coms, García thought as the men fell into their proper formation and began the task.

A farmer came racing from a nearby cabin to attempt to shoo the military from his pasture. García sent Francisco galloping to intercept him, show him the orders from the high command and piece him off with a few ducats.

When the camp was assembled and the cook fires lighted, García sent word for the bugler to sound church call. The two priests, one almost feeble with age, the other fresh with the flower of youth, had assembled a portable altar.

When the men had gathered under the watchful eye of their non coms and lieutenants, García addressed them. He stressed their duty to one another on this mission so important to Spain, their duty to King Felipe II, their duty and obedience to the church and their supreme obligation to the people of Spain.

Then he spoke of religion. "Sometimes we will worship as a group as we are today, sometimes we will pray in silence, sometimes aloud, sometimes we will pray as individuals and at times we might gather in small groups and choose one to lead us in prayer. Because of our role as fighting men we will not always have the services of the clergy and the holy sacrament of the mass. But we will always know that God is watching and that God is with the Spanish cause. Our cause is just, our conscience is clear, let us sustain the purity of our hearts in accordance with the confessional." Then the older priest took over.

Blue smoke rose from the cook fires as the mass was said, tents were in orderly rows, horses were picketed and the world seemed totally at peace in that vast green meadow. This was in sharp contrast to the stewing doubts and twisted thoughts of the troopers who had heard wild tales about the barbaric coast of Florida.

In their tent, with three cots in a row, Jose Padilla commented on García's speech in her strange halting Spanish. "You have become quite a military leader."

With a glance toward Francisco, he replied, "Of course. It has been my training since youth. I could tell you tales of harsh winter campaigns in the mountains and pitched battles that would curl your hair. But modesty compels me to refrain."

"I am weary and my backside is sore after this day's ride," Francisco said.

"My feelings exactly," Jose agreed.

García squeezed wine into his mouth from a leather pouch, then rolled into his cot and was soon asleep.

"Men," Francisco whispered to Jose, "they drink too much, sleep heavy and snore." Jose giggled, then fell asleep.

The cooks were up and had their fires kindled before dawn. The muleskinners were getting their animals into line. The shouts of the non coms turned the men out for roll call. Would there be desertions? García wondered, but his buddy system seemed to be paying off.

After a quick breakfast, García sat his horse along with the two cadets. He discussed the paperwork they had prepared for provisions aboard ship. He feared scurvy and beriberi during the substantial sea voyage and even after landing in Florida. Would there be fruit trees? He supposed the earlier Spanish settlers had provided for that. Anyway, through the cadets he had ordered casks of lime juice as well as a quantity of fresh limes. He had discussed hygiene and health with the two doctors and instructed them to lecture the men during the voyage.

As the column shaped up, the drums rolled and the bugles blared and the order was given for the front rank to move forward, García sent Francisco galloping to the rear of the column to bring word when the last wagon began rolling ahead.

He talked conspiratorially to Jose. "You know there is a lot we ancient Spanish scholars don't know. Of course that's why I picked this time frame for my one and only chance at time travel."

"And to return," Jose added.

"Hopefully. But I have learned a lot and have stumbled onto one fact that had been discussed during our annual gatherings. In fact it's something of a solution to a nagging mystery." The two of them began riding along with the front of the column as the men poured out of the green meadow in columns of fours.

"It sounds intriguing," Jose said.

"It is. I can tell you, but no one else would believe me. There was a famous swordsman in Spain during the era in which we now live. And suddenly we heard no more about him. No records. As if he had vanished. There were hints that he had been killed, but how? He was a master with the rapier. No one could defeat him."

"And?"

"I killed him."

Jose nearly fell off his, or her horse. "You killed him? That's crazy."

"To save my life. We fought two duels over Juanita. You see, when I met her I thought she was the purest of the pure. Incidentally, that is another reason I choose to take this risk and test the travel formula. I thought I would pick up, not pick up, but find, an intelligent Spanish young lady and possibly propose marriage."

"Are you joking? You would select a three or four hundred year-old girl as your wife? That's not only crazy, it's stupid."

"You don't understand time travel, Jose. She would be the same age in the 21st century. As I am the same age here. And you."

"Well I hope you gave up that dumb idea."

"Believe me, I did. I suppose I am a romantic. Or rather, was. But I found purity knows no era. We're better off with our own generation in our own times. You're right. It was a crazy idea. We had one helluva fling though. Then she threw me over for Francisco, believe it or not."

Jose laughed. "Star-crossed lovers if there ever were any. She frightened Francisco."

"I'll bet."

García spurred his horse and galloped ahead to lead the formation. Jose followed. Both cadets had turned out to be good riders.

"Who did you kill?" asked Jose.

"Don Alonso de Monzon, a knight of the Order of Santiago. I saw his grave, quite elaborate, when I visited Madrid a couple of years back."

"That's weird. How did you kill him?"

"Derringer. I'm glad I brought it along."

"The old sucker trick, eh. The Don brought a sword to a gun fight."

Francisco joined them and reported that the entire column was in motion. The fine day wore on. At noon they paused for water and a cold lunch, then continued into the fading light of evening and another campsite. They had spent 10 hours on the road that second day and traveled almost 25 miles.

The long march continued without incident during the following days, save for the desertion of three troopers, all former prisoners, and a few run-ins with farmers attempting to save wear and tear on their fields.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Then one fine afternoon they came to Lisbon, a city perched on hilly terrain overlooking the estuary of the Tagus River, one of the best harbors in all of Europe. Leading the column, García could see a number of large ships at anchor and bustling activity of small boats moving like water bugs across the large expanse of the harbor. He led the march into the presidio.

From the commander of the presidio, García learned that Lieutenant Hidalgo had long ago departed for Florida. He was also told that the vessel La Anunciada lay at anchor, fully provisioned and ready to receive his troops. The presidio was jammed with troops being prepared for the assault on England. They could accommodate García's men overnight, but they would embark the following morning and sail with the next tide.

With the troops bedded down, García, the two cadets, Jesus and his wife, Doria, went aboard La Anunciada and greeted its master, Captain Joao Alvares, a youngish man with a ready smile and a warm handshake. He was happy to see García, for the seamen were restless and eager to get under way for the first leg of their voyage, the 700-mile sail to the Azores. The captain was a bit surprised to see Doria, but found a small cabin for the couple. He was even more puzzled by the presence of Poncho, but immediately insisted on holding the dog and stroking its back.

The newcomers decided to spend the night onboard. García and the cadets would dine with the captain. Jesus, a seasoned scrounge, would set up housekeeping for the two of them. Another senior sergeant and a ship's lieutenant also had wives along, which would make three women on the vessel.

García learned that La Anunciada was a vessel of 703 tons and 24 guns. It could squeeze in his 350 troops and carried a crew of 33. It was a converted merchantman from Ragusa.

García was provided with a good-sized cabin, plus an anteroom to be used as an office. Captain Alvares said the cadets would bunk in with the ship's junior officers. García declined the offer and said they would share his cabin, and he would sleep in the anteroom, explaining that both would be busy with paperwork during the voyage. Discipline, regular exercise, sick calls, mess preparations and morning reports must all continue during the trip.

In the back of García's mind, the name La Anunciada seemed to ring a distant bell. But he could not come to grips with it. Poncho, on the other hand, who had been at his master's side during preparations for this odd time travel and had almost total recall, knew instantly the vessel they had boarded. But because dogs cannot talk, he could not communicate this knowledge. Time would tell.

The Yorkie often fell back on his knowledge of Zen to carry him through trying periods. That school of Buddhism stresses that the religious practice of meditation can be a strong healer. Ignorance created by our hate, greed and delusion blocks the individual from knowing that enlightenment is theirs. Centuries ago in another life, Poncho had studied under Zen Master Eihei Dogen.

He well remembered that master's words: Learn the backward step that turns your light inward to illuminate yourself. Body and mind of themselves will drop away, and your original face will be manifest.

Fully loaded and underway, the long haul to the Azores was pleasant enough, cramped though the quarters were and despite bouts of seasickness. There were good days of blue with white clouds scudding overhead, and the sight of every sail unfurled and bent to the wind was one not easily forgotten. Sailing vessels leaving or entering port were never under full sail. So this was a sight landsmen never viewed. The circling and mewing gulls, white caps and the occasional porpoise. Deep water sailing. It was a lifestyle the adventurer in García cherished. The cadets seemed to treat it as a delicious holiday.

Then there was the food. García had taken great pains to insure that the troops would be healthy and relatively happy. Panforte di Siena, an Italian name for "strong bread," had been baked as far back as the Crusades. It was a chewy sweet bread that could be baked in quantity and a welcome relief from the humdrum diet on cramped shipboard.

For special treats there was marzipan, a delight credited to the Arab, or Moorish occupation of Spain. Of course this required eggs as well as sugar and almond paste. Hens were on board, but egg production was limited, and the officers demanded, what else, but Spanish omelets. Of course there was Focaccia with sage, ideal for dunking into the morning chocolate.

They came to the delightful Azores, a group of volcanic islands scattered over 373 miles, circled over by Goshawks, which are actually buzzards, and marked by black cliffs dropping sheer to the sea. Volcanic energy, earthquakes, gas emissions, bubbling water, and clouds of steam persist. They dropped anchor at Sao Miguel at the settlement of Ponta Delgada.

The troops were delighted to feel dry land underfoot and find fresh water for laundry purposes. They washed caked salt from clothing and bodies. A camp was established, and the routine of garrison life began.

Just a week into this routine, when things were going very well in the moderate island climate, García approached Captain Alvares and asked when they would depart for La Florida coast. Time was passing, and he thought it his duty to join Lieutenant Hidalgo at the makeshift fort. Hidalgo's vessel had not tarried at the Azores, but under orders to sail with all deliberate speed had taken on water and supplies and pushed off days before.

"I might have told you before, but there was no need. I sailed with sealed orders. We are to wait here."

"To wait? To wait for what?"

The captain shrugged. "Wait for more orders. Is this not a pleasant place? Good food, good wine, a bit heavy on the seafood, but good."

"Well yes. My troops seem happy here. I believe it's a cut above La Florida. But wait for what?"

"Orders from Madrid via Lisbon. Perhaps we are to be joined by another vessel. Maybe not."

"Maybe yes, maybe no," García said. He was actually pleased. This would give him time to get his notes in order. And he was helping Jose hone his Spanish every day. Soon he would lose his speech impediment. "I am a soldier, orders are my life."

"And mine," Alvares grinned. "They might be stupid, they might be baffling. But we can only hope for a higher purpose. A glint of intellect here and there."

So they waited. Weeks turned into months. The troops were trained to a peak. So much so that García worked out a plan to break them into small groups to teach the illiterates among them to read and to explore history with those already literate. More hens were purchased to lay eggs and for meat, cows to give milk, garden plots were laid out. La Anunciada was scrubbed and shined, her 24 guns were spotless. Then one day a fast schooner arrived from Lisbon, orders were passed aboard La Anunciada.

Captains Alvares and García were both present when they were opened. So were García's officers, ship's officer and the cadets. Alvares made the announcement:

"We are to return to Lisbon to join the great Armada that is being assembled to capture England and convert the English heretics. God save King Felipe II."

The captain's cabin erupted into cheers. No stinking Florida coast, but England with victory assured. Spain's heel would crush the English rabble, and the true Catholics in that island nation would rise up and join our forces. They would rule like Dons and Grandees once Queen Elizabeth was beheaded, or better yet, burned at a stake!

Officers from both services and cadets alike embraced one another and fairly danced on the deck. "Let cowards stay behind!" one young lieutenant shouted. But the fact is each man felt he had been snatched from the jaws of death, an ignoble death in the wastelands of La Florida, and restored to participate in the most glorious conquest of the century.

Poncho knew all the time. He had looked over the Armada fleet more than once and was keenly aware that La Anunciada was among the vessels. He also knew the rest of the story and hoped his master would be wise.

Two weeks passed while fresh water, pipes of wine and other provisions were stowed away aboard the vessel. A standard ship's provision for the men was "bacalhau" in Portuguese, or salted codfish; the dish was so widespread its nickname was "o fiel amigo," or faithful friend. The officers fared better. Chickens supplied fresh eggs; and a large number of rabbits had been trapped on the island and brought on board for the enjoyment of the officer's mess.

Oddly enough García's force had made a net gain while on Sao Miguel. Half a dozen men had deserted, but ten hardy island boys had been recruited. García preached that desertion might bring the death penalty, but he made little effort to find the miscreants. He suspected that some had been transported by fisherman to the island of Terceira. But why bother? They would be bored soon enough with island life.

The return trip to Lisbon was largely without incident. But García's thoughts often turned to Lieutenant Hidalgo who headed an undermanned force on the coast of Florida. When he shared his thoughts with Captain Alvares, Alvares pointed out that they would "strike at the head of the snake" that threatened the flow of Spanish gold. "If we hold England, as we surely will, the English pirates will be caught by the throat." García knew better. But he also knew that the archenemy of Spain, the major English "pirate" Sir Francis Drake, was in England, fully aware that Spain was piecing together the mightiest armada that had ever sailed the seas.

Shortly before the Lisbon landfall García had to deal with Sergeant Jesus. He learned that Doria had been practicing her trade both aboard ship and on the island. The newly weds had gathered almost every coin the enlisted men had and were now working on barter.

"You have deceived me, sergeant. You have slyly deceived me. A sergeant of your standing should not be running a brothel. And remember, there are diseases that could run rampant through the ranks. I don't know what I shall do with you."

"But my captain, what I, that is we, have done is a morale booster. The men are happy. It gives them something to think about, to talk about."

"How you got by with it this long without my knowledge is something of a mystery. Did Cadet Francisco know what was going on? Was she a conspirator?"

"No, my captain. She had no knowledge of the transactions. But remember this, I did it for the good of the ship."

"The good of the ship? A floating brothel? We approach Lisbon. I suppose I can simply put you both ashore."

"My captain, please. We will soon be outward bound to defeat the English. In England we will be like royalty. We will crush them. You need me by your side. I have helped you, is it not true?" Poncho was seated in a chair enjoying every minute of the row. He knew his master needed Jesus. And he liked both Jesus and Doria, in spite of their shortcomings.

"I could lock the two of you in the brig and confiscate your gold and silver."

"Our money! It was hard earned. A dream of a lifetime. Please, my captain. Spare us."

"For the moment. There will be guards on your door twenty-four hours a day, different men who cannot be bribed. Only you will be admitted, and Doria may not come out. In Lisbon, I will decide your fate."

"But, my captain."

"That's all. Leave me." Knowing the fate of the Armada, García thought it would be an act of kindness to leave the deceptive couple in Lisbon with their gold. But there was fate. This troubled García. Could he change fate? Could he alter history by just one degree? Had it been he who had actually killed Don Alonso Albertina? There were certain things he could not reconcile in his mind. Chapel Hill was such a pleasant place. Why had he thrust himself in the middle of this Spanish maelstrom?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The large estuary of the Tagus River was alive with activity when they arrived at the harbor of Lisbon. Disembarking the troops and getting them into camp and seeing to their needs took fully three days. García took pains to see that Jesus found Doria quarters in the city, distanced from the camp. He also was careful to keep the two cadets billeted with him.

After reporting to the Presidio, García bumped into an old acquaintance, Doña María Botella.

"What a surprise, Doña María. What brings you to Lisbon?"

"You're late. I thought you'd be here a week ago."

"What's this? You knew of my return?"

"Of course. I planned it. Why do you think you were assigned to La Anunciada?"

"Chance, I guess."

"Chance? No. I have considerable influence in Spain. Far more than that silly ass father of Juanita. By the way, her indiscretions were revealed and he sent her off to a nunnery."

A look of disbelief, then a broad smile. "Juanita in a convent. It's hard to believe."

"There's also a rumor that she might be with child."

García almost cringed, but managed a reply. "She seemed to be taken with one of my cadets, the one called Francisco. But it's hard to believe she's pregnant."

"There seems to be a lot of things going on that are hard to believe. I'll have another surprise for you tomorrow, but it's better that we get together in private. I have rooms at the Le Freire. Be there at three. We'll drink a little port."

García was happy to agree. It had been some time since he had shared fellowship with this lovely strong willed woman. But before they parted, he said, "I still can't believe Juanita's in a convent, although it serves her right. But can't she escape?"

"Escape to what? Live on the streets? The novitiates are watched carefully during their work and study by day. At night they are locked in their cells. Believe it, Juanita is married to the church."

"She did have a strong attraction to Francisco."

Doña María smiled. "There are many strange attractions these days. I'll see you tomorrow. We have much to talk about."

As always, García was puzzled and fascinated by this forceful woman. He plunged himself back into the chaos of getting supplies for his troops, seeing to their general welfare and meeting others who would soon depart to crush the English heretics and thus guarantee the flow of gold and silver to Spain. That night he attended a requiem mass arranged by the priests for the men they had lost. Two had died of disease during the voyage home and a third was missing, doubtless fallen or thrown over the side.

During this time he was visited by a black-garbed man of youngish years. Not tall, but not short, with black piercing eyes and heavy brows. His hands seemed constantly in motion, reminding García of fluttering birds. He identified himself as Jose Juarez, an Inquisitor.

Young, old, or in between, an Inquisitor was always something to be reckoned with. "And to what do I owe this honor?" García asked.

"Do you know a certain Lieutenant Hidalgo?"

"Of course. He accompanied me from the north. I served with him. I know him well."

"Then you might be aware of certain heretical tendencies on his part."

"Not at all. He seems a good Catholic and a servant of the King, an officer of the King."

"That could be part of the problem," Juarez said. "He springs from vulgar roots, yet he is an officer. The men look up to him as an example. Such a person, if heretic, can sour the barrel. Many of the troopers are scum, slime, from the sink pits of humanity and already false ideas dance before them."

"Has someone denounced Hidalgo? If so, who might that be?"

"Certain things have come to the attention of my Prior, and he has authorized me to track down this Hidalgo and have a formal hearing. It is my job to hunt down the beasts who would destroy the Lord's vineyard. It seems that this Hidalgo was once overheard to say, 'I believe because it is absurd.'"

García almost smiled, but remained simply puzzled. Hidalgo was no more or less religious than most other officers. "I'm sorry, Father Juarez, but I've never heard Hidalgo utter a heretical statement."

"These sowers of discord, they can be quite subtle, a word, a wink of the eye, who knows when a sheep will go astray. And an officer is skilled at setting an erroneous example. I am a defender of the cross, and it is my duty to try to see into the minds and hearts of those suspected of heresy."

"A difficult task," García said. "Hearts and minds have few windows."

"I am not without training. We can be as subtle as the bold deceiver. I suppose Hidalgo is without an estate."

"Sad, but true. He is a poor man, but a good soldier, advanced due to his leadership and valor."

"There are valorous heretics, and the Church doesn't always seek to confiscate estates. Yet if we do come across a wealthy heretic, so much the better. But they seem to be running on the poor side of late."

"Perhaps the rich have influence," García suggested.

"If you are hinting that I or others would seek bribes in our quest for truth, that in itself might be considered heretical."

"No such thought crossed my head, Father. By influence I meant they had done noble acts that might discourage a careful examination of some loose remarks they may have made. But let me get to the heart of this matter. Lieutenant Hidalgo is no longer under my command. So you must seek him elsewhere."

"My Prior has ordered me to seek out this man wherever he might be, and I must obey. So, if you will tell me where he is, there I shall go."

"That might be difficult. There are remote postings."

"I follow the orders of the Church. And I will ferret this man out and hold a formal hearing with a scribe present."

"I might be able to arrange transportation for you. I've heard that some messages and possibly supplies are about to be sent off to his command. If true, you would be leaving the day after tomorrow. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Of course. The sooner the better." García left it at that. He was glad the Inquisitor had not asked Hidalgo's location. Let it be a surprise. But he had told the padre to bring along his traveling bag and the scribe, if there was one.

With the Inquisitor on hold, he was at Doña María's hotel promptly at three. The clerk told him he was expected, and to go on up. He knocked, and the door was opened by a young soldier. García did a double take, then a triple take. He was looking at Doña María in the beautifully tailored uniform of a Spanish cadet.

She smiled and snapped to attention. "Greetings, captain."

"What's with the costume?" He noticed that her hair had been close cropped. Her beautiful hair, he was momentarily stunned. She made a splendid young man.

"I am your newest cadet. Ready to enter the fray with the English heretics. May God save the King of Spain."

"And may God send women home to their cook stoves and sewing. Women are not candidates for the cadet corps."

Doña María relaxed, walked to the table and poured them each a glass of port. "Sit down and drink this. You know the dons and grandees of Spain are packing fine dishes and other household items to use, not on shipboard, but afterward when they have defeated the English and hold sway over that wretched rabble. But women are left behind. So to be in on the flush of victory, there go I. With your help, of course."

García tossed off his small glass and stretched out his arm out for more. She obliged. "I must tell you, Doña María, that we are going into battle. Smoke, gunfire, boarding parties, death and destruction. With the help of God, we will prevail. But there is no guarantee. The opposite could be true."

"Your talk would be treasonous if it reached the proper circles. Of course we will win. King Felipe has assembled the greatest Armada and has massed the greatest army ever. Victory is ours. The troops in Flanders under the Duke of Parma are waiting for our convoy. We will roll over them." She held up her glass in a triumphant gesture and drank it down. García too drank.

"Perhaps. But still I cannot have a woman in my command. You would be found out and my motives would be at hazard."

"If we were found out, both our motives would be in peril. But your sergeant, this Jesus who you place so much stock in, his wife will go and her background is a matter of question."

"You were at her party."

"That's true and so were many others. For a whore she has some social standing. And through her I have met Jesus. And there was a time in Madrid when Jesus needed funds to repay a tavern owner. There had been a misunderstanding."

So that was it. Jesus had talked to Doña María. First about Doria, or Francisco, then about Jose. Or had he? Maybe she had guessed. "If you were a cadet you would have to bunk in with two other cadets, both young men. Now they would find you out. And the game would be up."

"But they are loyal to you, Don Pedro."

"Well, perhaps. But think of the propriety of your sleeping with two young men."

"It really doesn't sound too bad. I have seen them and they are a handsome pair. It's almost as if you picked them for their youth and good features."

"I assure you, if the choice had been mine, I would have no cadets, helpful as they are. And they do have a function."

"I too will have a function, Don Pedro. So let the charade end. I know they are girls and we will be three women together, three cadets. The voyage to England isn't that long and you will lead your troops into battle with me at your side. What a glorious adventure it will be for the two of us. Something we will remember in the years ahead."

So she knew. "That son-of-a-bitch Jesus. Sold me out for a few pieces of silver. That Judas. That bastard!"

"More like gold, Don Pedro. You're over a barrel and you're stuck with me. So now that you've seen my finery, I'll remove the uniform. I suggest you do likewise so we can spend a few hours undercover. This wrapping of the breasts to look mannish can be confining."

Later they had dinner in the hotel room and García stayed the night, rolling out in time to reveille roll call the following day. They had agreed that Doña María would join them on the day of departure. Till then they would remain apart.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

And now preparations were final, and La Anunciada was ready for sea. García's men were camped nearby ready to embark. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait until the entire Armada was ready to weigh anchor. King Felipe, a great detail man, fussed over every loose end.

The day soon came when the Inquisitor returned, bag in hand, a scribe trailing behind. "We are ready to travel," he said. "I assume we will have a coach."

"Much better than that, Father Juarez, a small, swift vessel that carries messages and supplies to our brave troopers at San Augustin."

Juarez paled. "That's in La Florida, far across the sea."

"Yes. Lieutenant Hidalgo commands the troops there. You know the small wooden fort and settlement have been burned a time or two by the piratical English heretics. We will soon wipe them out when the Armada sails, and there is talk of building a large fortress of stone and masonry. You may be in on the start of this bold adventure."

Juarez took a seat. His pallor had turned to pale green. "There are insects and wild animals, venomous serpents and savage natives in La Florida. The heat has been compared to that of hell."

"But the Church is there, Father. There are priests."

"I know. Failed priests would be a better word. I think I should consult my Prior."

"There's little time. The packet boat sails with the tide. The captain expects you on board. He is buoyed up by your coming. You will say mass for his hardy crew. And your example will be spread across the Atlantic."

"My bones may be spread across the Atlantic. Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"You didn't ask and it didn't seem important. Your Prior has told you to seek out the heretic, wherever."

"That's true." He glanced at his scribe who was cringing in the corner. "One thing is certain. We are assured passage through Heaven's gate. We go." García summoned an orderly and instructed him to see the Inquisitor and his scribe aboard the vessel. He bade him have a pleasant voyage and they parted.

Later that day, as García strolled with Poncho in his arms, he came across Jesus decked out in civilian attire. "Where have you been, sergeant?"

"Personal business. Getting my affairs in order, preparing for the fight with the English."

García guessed he had been squirreling away the gold and silver coins he and Doria had piled up during the Azores voyages. But where? How would he safeguard it? Anyway, it was a fine day and a glass of wine or brandy would go down well. "Why not join me for a drink? There is a tavern up ahead. By the way, an Inquisitor visited me today. He would have words with Lieutenant Hidalgo."

"But, my captain, Lieutenant Hidalgo is across the wild sea, and what would trouble an Inquisitor about that simple man?"

"Know your place, Jesus." García spoke sternly. "Hidalgo is an officer of the King."

"I regret my impertinence, my Captain. But still, La Florida is far off and the inquisition would hardly intrude on our military duties."

"But there has been something. A word, an enemy, who knows what? But this inquisitor, a certain Father Jose Juarez, has boarded the fast packet and is now at sea in his quest for religious justice."

Jesus actually laughed. "But, my Captain, if this Inquisitor happens to be lucky enough, or have the misfortune, to reach La Florida coast, and begins to question Lieutenant Hidalgo, we must remember that the lieutenant is the commander of the troops in that dismal place."

"I'm aware of that, Jesus."

"Then you must know that an Inquisitor, or anyone else, including a simple scribe, might be lost forever in the Florida swamps, devoured by prowling beasts. They say there are large cats that scream like women from the dark night thickets."

"That seems so, Sergeant. One wonders why someone like Father Jose Juarez would undertake such a journey."

"Save for the glory of the true church," Jesus responded. "This padre, this Juarez, he is a dead man, a foolish dead man."

So the two men fell into step and continued their approach to the tavern, and as they drew near Poncho became exited and even emitted a slight yelp. "That dog," Jesus said, "that dog would like to speak."

That was true. Poncho was looking at the tavern sign, the Trident and the Lobster, but there were no words, simply a trident and a lobster pictured on a large hanging board sign. It struck Poncho like a lightning bolt, a past life during this very era. He had been a bartender at this very bar. Could it be that he was about to meet himself? Was that possible?

In the bar the two men ordered port and called for a small saucer for Poncho, who at that point needed a drink. He looked at the bar and appeared agitated. Was he about to appear? He had started as a young man here and with his usual luck had been run through by a nobleman before his thirtieth birthday. He recalled it was fairly painless.

"Poncho wishes to tell us something," Jesus said. "I can almost read his mind."

García remembered that Jesus had some sort of inordinate gift. "Do so then and we will not need conversation."

Jesus turned the dog to face him and looked into those dark marble eyes. "I will question you. Yes is one bark. No is two barks. Now, first question: Is there something you want to tell us?"

One bark.

"Is it about a crime or a criminal?"

Two barks.

A man at a nearby table grumbled, "Shut that damn mutt up or I'll do it with my knife."

"It is annoying," García agreed. "No more barking, Poncho." He was amazed that the dog seemed to be responding, and in Spanish. Very likely he knows Portuguese too.

Jesus again took over. "We use eye blinks. One for yes, two for no. OK?"

One blink.

"You want to tell us something about this tavern?"

One blink.

"You have been here before?"

One blink.

"My Captain, you brought Poncho here before?"

"No. Never. This is the first time down this street."

Jesus shrugged. "Maybe one of the cadets. You were here recently?"

Two blinks.

"Long ago?"

One blink.

"Puzzling," García said. "The dog must not be telling the truth, or doesn't understand perfectly."

Two blinks.

"I think he does understand. I think Poncho knows quite a lot. Was it a previous life?"

One blink.

My God, García thought to himself. We are from the Twenty-first Century. Surely this tavern's life is limited. How to handle this? Then he decided to ask the questions. "Let me be the interrogator, Jesus. I know this dog well." Turning to Poncho, he asked, "Was the tavern much like this when you were here before?"

One blink.

"You were a frequent patron?"

Two blinks.

"You seldom came here?"

Two blinks.

García turned to Jesus. "An obvious contradiction."

"Not so." He asked, "You were an employee?"

One blink.

"Bartender?"

One blink.

García once again took over. "Do you recognize anyone here other than the two of us?"

One blink.

They had been served by a young lady, probably not yet of age. An old man sat on a chair toward the rear of the room, very likely a swamper and dish washer. An older woman was behind the bar. Three patrons were at the bar and a few others scattered at tables in the large, cavernous room.

"The old man back there?"

Poncho looked around, then blinked twice.

"The woman behind the bar?"

One blink.

"She was young then," Jesus guessed.

One blink.

"Where did you go from here?" García asked, then realized it could not be answered with a yes, or no."

But the dog blinked twice.

"That's a no," Jesus said. "It might mean he went nowhere. Did you die here?"

One blink.

"Were you killed?"

One blink.

"A bad barroom fight?"

Two blinks.

"An assassin?"

Two blinks.

"Sword?" Jesus asked.

One blink.

Jesus looked at García. "Probably a local noble ran him through over the women. Not uncommon."

One blink.

"Let's move to the bar," García said. "How's your Portuguese?"

"She'll understand Spanish," the sergeant replied.

At the bar, García asked the woman for another round of drinks and offered to buy her one. She accepted. "What's your name?" he asked, as she poured the wine. He placed a gold coin on the bar and told her to keep the change. Her face lit up as she pocketed the gold.

"Pilar."

García placed Poncho on the bar and Pilar eyed him with suspicion. "I don't know if people want a dog on the bar. It is a dog, isn't it?"

García said yes and told her its name. "It's a special dog. Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"I don't know. You mean dying and returning to life as someone else?"

"Yes. That's it."

"I don't think the church would welcome such an idea. We usually try to avoid religion in the Lobster and Trident. The weather's always a good topic."

"Tell me, Pilar. And I'm not with the church, I'm a simple soldier waiting to invade England and crush the heretics. Have you worked here for many years?"

"Years. Since I was no older than that bar maid who served you, still in my teens. This," she looked around and made a motion of despair, "this place, this swamp, has eaten up my life." She downed her wine and García placed another gold coin on the bar.

"During that time have there been fights, men killed in the heat of anger?"

"Men and women," Pilar replied, refreshing their drinks. Poncho was staring at her intently.

"How about men run through with swords, a gentleman's weapon?"

Pilar sighed and frowned. "Sadly, twice."

"Did you know the victims?"

"Yes, it's an odd thing, don't you know. Both of them worked the bar here and both of them were named Jose and both of them had the nickname Pepe, which is quite common."

"To have the nickname Pepe."

"Of course. You know why."

"Of course." Paintings of Joseph, or Jose, head of the Holy Family, which hang in most Spanish and Portuguese churches, always have "PP" on the canvas.

Pilar continued. "In both cases the swordsmen, young noble riff raff I'd call them, made advances to me in a crude way and the two Pepes came to my defense, only to be killed."

"The swordsmen were arrested?"

"Of course not. They were of noble blood. I'm happy to say the other patrons beat the shit out of them before the police arrived. Hardly sufficient punishment."

"Did you care for these two Pepes?"

"You mean in a romantic way? One I hardly knew, the other, yes, we were involved. He was wonderful and our future stretched out before us. Life's a stormy sea."

"Did he have a last name?"

"Yes and no. He was called Jose La Mancha, but La Mancha is a place. You know it's not unusual for people to take the names of places or things. A man was in here early today and said a rich woman from Madrid is in town who is named after a bottle. I think she's a wine heiress."

García nodded. Word gets around. He turned to Poncho and whispered, "Were you Jose La Mancha?"

One blink.

"Pilar, this may surprise you. In fact astound you, but Jose La Mancha has returned in the body of this small dog."

She looked at the dog and smiled. "No more drinks, gentlemen. When did the two of you start drinking, or the three of you? I saw the dog lapping out of a saucer at the table."

"I'm serious. And I can prove it."

"And I can prove the world is flat and that I am the Queen of Africa. I suppose this is leading up to your selling me this mangy mutt?"

Jesus piped in. "The dog is clean and we can communicate with it. It can answer yes and no. Yes is one blink. No two blinks. Try it."

"I will." She turned to the dog, then thought for a long minute. "Poncho, or Jose darling, did we serve baked lamb when you worked here?"

Two blinks.

"OK, you're right on that one. But here's another. Was the bar owners name Carlos?"

One blink.

"Right again." She gave García and Jesus a look.

"Why don't you ask him multiple choice questions," García suggested.

"What would that be?"

"Like your favorite color. Then say blue, green or red. Him blinking for each color. Something like that."

"OK. My favorite color, darling Jose." She asked blue, green or red in turn and got a negative answer each time. "He is amazing. My favorite color is black." Poncho wagged his tail frantically.

"Now to get serious. I have a fair-sized birthmark. Is it on my back?"

Two winks.

"My butt?"

Two winks.

"My breast"

One wink.

She shook her head in wonder. "Left?"

Two winks.

"Right?"

One wink.

"Pepe, my dearest. It is you. She seized Poncho off the bar and dashed into the back room, shouting, "You have come back to your Pilar. Now we will never part."

She said other things, but they could not understand her in the depths of the rambling building. "We may have carried this experiment too far," García said. "Jesus, could you try to retrieve Poncho?"

"Yes, my Captain." Jesus was gone ten minutes and returned empty-handed. "She has taken the dog somewhere. I know not where. It's a rabbit warren back there. It might be best to let her have it. The two of them, they are lovers."

"Lovers, my ass," García shot back. "That's my dog. My constant companion. Also, it knows stuff. Stuff that I don't know. It can help us when we go to England."

"It can?" Jesus asked, puzzled.

"Yes. Poncho and I read together. I just realized it. The dog's memory might be better than mine. There's something I've been trying to remember that the dog might know."

"But, my captain, Pilar is gone with the dog. Tomorrow she should be back here. Then we will talk with her about the dog. It will come to no harm overnight."

García finished his wine and picked up the second gold piece that was still on the bar. "I don't like this, but we'll let it slide until tomorrow."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The cadets thought it strange that García returned without Poncho. He sensed their surprise and told them the dog had been kidnapped.

"Stolen? Someone snatched Poncho?" Jose questioned.

"Yes. It's true. But there's more to it. I know who has Poncho and I'm hoping to get him back tomorrow. It's just a matter of time."

"Tell us the rest of the story," Francisco asked.

"It's too complicated. Also a little unbelievable. The truth is the dog has had past lives and it can remember them. Today we ran into someone from one of his past lives and she took him away. She claims he is her lover."

"That little dog is someone's lover?" Jose asked.

"I told you it was too complicated to explain. I've already had too much wine. I'll sleep until dinner. Maybe we can all eat together and forget about Poncho for the evening."

"But such a small dog," Jose mused. "If it were a much larger dog the story would be more believable. Are you certain it was Poncho?"

García looked grieved. "Forget it for now."

"There was a message for you." Francisco reported. "A Don Rafael de Aranda will call on you tomorrow morning at nine."

García asked Jose to pull his boots off. "Who is this Don Rafael and what does he want?"

"He didn't say, but his messenger said he is quite important."

"Isn't everybody," García said, then went to his bed.

García had scarcely finished reading the morning report the following day when Francisco announced Don Rafael's arrival. They met in a room sometimes used for small conferences. Rafael was young, slim, with bland features, black curly hair and decked out like a popinjay. Feathers, gaudy silks and satins, bits of velvet, billowing trousers of gold cloth embroidered with crossed swords were buckled just below the knees, soft leather shoes more fit for dancing than for a soldier's gear.

García remembered a passage written by a Spanish military expert of the era: "There has never been a regulation for dress and weapons in the Spanish infantry because that would remove the spirit and fire which is necessary in a soldier. It is the finery, the plumes and the bright colors which give spirit and strength to a soldier so that he can act with furious resolution, so that he can overcome any difficulty or accomplish any valorous exploit."

García greeted the Don and acknowledged the two companions who accompanied him. Don Rafael introduced the man as his valet and the small woman as his maid and general housekeeper.

The woman was a small Oriental. "Is she Japanese?" García asked.

"Why, yes. I'm surprised you know that. Few Japanese have ventured so far from home. I bought her from a Silk Road trader. Her name is Keiko Watanabe." Upon hearing her name she bowed to García who returned the gesture.

"It is true," García said, "that Marco Polo made his famous journey through Asia many years ago. And already Mongols and others were pushing their way westward on the Silk Road. Of course there was some commercial intercourse between the Japans and the mainland. But such a person as Keiko is a treasure. She is like a doll."

Aware that Don Rafael was an heir to an important family, García was at once interested in learning all he could. He was attempting to amass knowledge that would make him the leading expert in this era globally. He was living it; what better teacher? "And to what do I owe to the honor of your visit, Don Rafael?"

"The honor is mine, Don Pedro. You are known to have the smartest and best disciplined force of all those assembled here, and it is my request that I join you as a cadet."

Holy shit, García thought, all I need is one more cadet, a valet and a Japanese slave girl, plus Poncho. "I'm flattered by your offer, Don Rafael. Would your intention be to bring the valet and Keiko along?"

"Oh yes, I couldn't be without them. Also quite a few supplies for my household in London. The fight with the English should only be a slight diversion, then I will be among the rulers of England, as will you. Your nobility is without question."

"What I'd like to do, if you have the time, is for you to return tomorrow. I'll have a small boat ready and we can inspect La Anunciada and what space there might be for your needs. I would also like to get to know you better, perhaps we could have lunch or dinner."

"A splendid idea," Don Rafael agreed. "Incidentally, I had a few words with your Cadet Francisco. I would like to send the valet and Keiko along to their duties and chat with Francisco at greater length. He could tell me about the life and duties of a cadet."

"No problem," García said. "I've got a few errands to run. So we will meet again tomorrow at this time."

García showed up on the parade ground to see his troops turned out, then located Jesus, and they headed for the Trident and Lobster where they found Pilar behind the bar looking ten years younger. She had done something nice to her hair, her dress appeared to be new and her face was made up in quiet good taste.

"I'm glad to see you two," she said when they entered and promptly poured them drinks, smiling, "they're on the house."

Jesus grinned and tossed his down. García was more reserved.

"I know you've come about Pepe, and I'm prepared to give you a generous amount of money for taking care of him for me. How's that?"

"But, Pilar, the dog is mine. I need him."

"I wish you wouldn't refer to him as a dog. We have been so long apart and there is so much to catch up on. Surely you wouldn't think of separating us."

"I wouldn't dream of it if it weren't absolutely necessary," García said. "You know that Pepe, I call him Poncho, has extraordinary talents. He knows certain things about the English that he has not yet revealed. It is vital that he accompany the Armada as we set off to destroy the English heretics and bring that island back into the bosom of the true church."

"I can't believe such a thing," Pilar said, anguish showing in her voice. "If it's a matter of money. I have saved quite a bit."

"I wish that were the only obstacle to uniting the two of you, I would be happy to part with Poncho, or Pepe, knowing that he was happy. But it is in fact a matter of national security. This I promise. After we crush England and return to Lisbon, Pepe will be yours for as long as you both shall endure."

"It is scant relief, scant hope, to be reunited, then to be ripped apart again is heartbreak. Better that we had never met again."

"But there is hope. The Armada will sail and the Armada will return. And you have my word as a Spanish officer that Pepe will be yours at that time of return. So, as a God-fearing woman, the last thing you would want is to give in to despair. For hope is eternal."

Pilar was resigned to her fate. She had placed her trust in money and had been betrayed. Duty to Spain, duty to King Felipe, duty to the church all came first. "No doubt you are right. I know Pepe has special gifts and I have no doubt that he will use them for the good of Spain. I will bathe him tonight and you may pick him up about midday tomorrow. There will be time for us to say goodbye and there will be a time for tears."

After they had left the tavern, Jesus asked, "Can you trust her?"

"Yes, Jesus, beyond question. Pilar is a good woman who thinks only of her man. She wants Pepe to go forth into the world, to sail with the Armada and do great things for Spain. She will wait the return of her hero."

"But will you follow through on your promise, my Captain?"

"You can be sure I will if we return to Lisbon in this year, 1586."

When García returned to his office he was greeted by a badly shaken Francisco.

"Captain García, that man, Don Rafael, he wanted to speak to me in private, and we went into the sleeping quarters. He said he noticed something unusual about my demeanor. What he meant, I don't know. Then he embraced me and kissed me. It was much like that Juanita with her kisses. He groped me. Again, I kept his hands away from my crotch. Why would he do such a thing? Does he know I'm a woman?"

García pondered, then said, "I don't think so. He did seem quite the dandy. I think he sensed that you were, or are, effeminate."

"But, of course. I am a woman. But I don't let it show."

"Our good Don may think you are an effeminate man. You know the word homosexual?"

"Why yes, I do. But I've heard that is sinful."

"Technically, yes. Particularly in these days. But it is a fact of life. There are such things. I hate to ask you this, but did you enjoy being kissed?"

Francisco thought a moment, then said. "Once you get over the initial shock, it's not unpleasant. This time I felt more comfortable being kissed by a man. But now that I know I was being kissed by a man who thought that I was a man, I have second thoughts. Perhaps I would find greater joy in being kissed by Juanita who thought I was a man. But definitely, the situation is confusing."

"I will see the Don tomorrow and try to see to it that he is never alone with you again. Treat him politely, but don't give him a big warm smile. Remember, we are soldiers."

"Yes, I know that well and try to live by the sword. But I wonder if all the cadets in the Spanish military are either women or homosexuals?"

"I hope not," García replied. "Because you are the future officer corps." He left Francisco with a pained expression on her face, probably considering a day far ahead when she would be commanding a company of infantry storming a Moorish castle.

The next day went well. Jesus retrieved Poncho from a weeping Pilar who gave him a saucer of her best wine and downed quite a bit herself during the sentimental parting. Jesus also drank his share and even managed to shed a tear.

García gave Cadet Rafael de Aranda a tour of La Anunciada and let him see for himself the cramped quarters he would have to share with the two current cadets. There would be no room for the valet or Keiko Watanabe, or storage space for the household goods he hoped to transport to England.

Seeing how dismayed the young dandy was, García suggested that he could ship out aboard La Regazona, the flagship of his squadron. García's Levant squadron was one of the smallest. It boasted ten vessels and was commanded by Martin de Berten Doña. But La Regazona was a huge vessel of 1,294 tons and was armed with 30 guns. García knew there was adequate room for Rafael, his retainers and equipment.

"La Regazona is nearby and I see by his flag that the commander is on board. We have the small boat and we can go at once." Rafael was delighted and, as it came to pass, Martin de Berten Doña was also pleased to welcome another young nobleman aboard. One could not have too many friends among the nobility. The peers of the realm viewed the Armada and the 10 million ducats it had cost to assemble as pleasure transport to England where they would rule.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Then came the day before departure. García sent word to Doña María Botella, who came aboard La Anunciada in the early afternoon followed by a serving man with a small amount of luggage.

She was directed to García's quarters where she found him and the two cadets busy with paperwork and orders involving the almost frantic process of getting the troops on board and insuring bedding and rations.

"Cadet Don Diego de Beauvais reporting," she announced, snapping to smart attention. García noted that she had made herself a Don, no small trick. Of course he had done the same. Francisco and Jose were puzzled by this tall, imposing figure who seemed to have amazing self confidence.

García rose and greeted her, or him, now accustomed to such masquerades. The two other cadets said nothing while Don Diego's luggage was placed near theirs. Earlier they had seen that an additional cot was folded and leaning in a corner.

When the serving man had departed, García introduced the cadets and was about to explain Don Diego's gender, when she raised her hand and said she would prefer to talk to them alone. "Both of us, I hope," Francisco said, fearing another mauling and smooching session.

With the door shut, Don Diego directed the two to sit on a cot and then began to speak. "I am a woman you know, Doña María Botella. I am joining the masquerade because I want to be in on the invasion of England. Men will rule, but as you know we rule the men.

"Now I know we are cramped here for sleeping quarters and I don't know what either of you have done in an intimate manner in regard to Don Pedro. But let me inform you that he is mine. So I will nominally have a bunk here, but usually I will share his bed. Now that we understand things, tell me, how do you like my outfit?"

"You make a handsome cadet," Jose said, slightly stunned by this new cadet's over-the-top manner. But she couldn't help but admire such confidence.

"Yes, the uniform fits to perfection," Francisco agreed, relieved that she would not be pawed. "It must have cost a fortune." The younger woman was even more impressed by Don Diego's chiseled features, striking personal appearance and take-charge style.

Don Diego shrugged. "Money is nothing. I do not like to bind my breasts though. I suppose you two do the same."

Jose laughed. "It's not a big problem for me, but Francisco is a bit uncomfortable."

"Jose, I notice that you speak better these days. You have somehow overcome your speech impediment?"

"Yes, with time in the new environment. It was shyness. I come from the northern mountains and was much alone as a child."

"I understand," Don Diego said. "Both you and Don Pedro must have been much alone. As far as I can tell neither of you left a trace in those mountains. It's amazing, but your accent is more pronounced than his."

"The mountains are vast and rugged. A person can get lost. There are strange things that happen, and they say even strange creatures walk about those mountains." Jose took the initiative and said, "I think the three of us are going to get along fine."

"I agree," Don Diego said, and one could see the excitement rise in her eyes. "This will be one of the greatest adventures ever undertaken. And to think the three of us are a part of it, thrown together for one reason or another, women masquerading as Spanish soldiers." She took their hands in hers. "I was born for this day."

Later, Jesus brought food and the three cadets, García and Poncho shared the meat, bread and wine in the dark cabin illuminated by candles. The scene was intimate and casual and talk flowed easily. García said the cadets should arm themselves with short boarding pikes. Regular officers carried ceremonial halberds, their shafts cased in studded velvet as marks of rank.

"Perhaps we should have firearms," Don Diego put in.

"No," García said. "The only such weapons suitable for you would be the light harquebus, but even they are cumbersome and totally unfaithful in wet conditions. Of course you should have daggers, and the boarding pikes are decent defensive weapons."

"My dagger is sharp," Francisco said, "and it is at hand in my boot. Rather than fall into the hands of the English I would use its point to pierce my heart. What about you, Don Diego?"

"I would prefer to use my dagger to pierce the heart of the English."

"If confronted by the English in a seemingly hopeless situation," Jose said, "I think negotiations might be in order."

"And what might you negotiate with?"

"Logic, reason. I would attempt to convince the English that violence never prevails in the long run. That peaceful talk can carry the day and make all parties winners."

"But they speak a foreign tongue, the Devil's tongue," Francisco tossed in.

"I'm sure there are ways to get around that," Jose said coolly, sorry she had entered into this conversation.

"You have an interesting viewpoint, one that calls out for further exploration. But it seems the time for peace talks is over for the moment. We have an offensive band of soldiers," Don Diego said.

García smiled. "Offensive to the English, perhaps. But if we are attacked we must defend ourselves. There is time to plot strategy ahead. The duty of the cadet, if the question arises, is to inform the men that we are all expected to fight to the death. There are many things that you do not know, Don Diego. Pardon me for calling you that, but we must watch our tongues to guard against slips. A great adventure does lie ahead, but there will be surprises."

"Perhaps you could inform us now of what might lay in wait."

"The time is not right. We are busy with the Armada and the business of Spain. Later we might be busy in protecting our own lives. So please handle the short pikes, learn to use them. Jesus will be your teacher."

"I have not seen Doria," Francisco said. "Does she sail with us?"

"Yes, your sister is aboard," García replied. "She and Jesus share the same cabin as before. But now the door is guarded. If you wish to see Doria, I can arrange visits."

"She is a prisoner?" Francisco was not surprised, just curious. Very little surprised her anymore.

"No. Not in the greater sense. She is simply constrained from practicing her trade." He knew Doria's profession was known by Francisco. "She can leave the cabin accompanied by the guard and Jesus. A lone woman prowling around a troopship is, uh, inappropriate."

"So tomorrow we sail," Don Diego said, raising her glass, "Let us drink to that and our future."

The four of them drank a bottoms-up toast. "And tomorrow, if time permits, I will present you to our captain, Joao Alvares. The three of you will have to take your turn on the quarterdeck and learn the ways of the ship. This time it will be different because we cannot just sail directly for a destination. We are part of an armada, or a flotilla, and we must keep our place in that flotilla. And remember, La Anunciada is a converted merchantman from Ragusa. It is not one of your dashing fighting vessels that will protect the Armada from the English pirates, who will surely be upon us once we enter their waters."

"But we will defeat the English heretics," Don Diego said.

"If luck is with us," García said. "Consider this, we are a lumbering Armada filled to the brim with soldiers. If we can close with the English ships and board, then victory is ours. But they are swift and expert mariners. They can strike and they can run."

"You give them much credit," Francisco said, for she was a veteran of one long voyage on La Anunciada and she knew its well-disciplined crew and the soldiers and she loved the vessel. She was infected with the feeling that the Armada was invincible.

And so the talk went back and forth late into the night. And Poncho was attentive. He had studied the charts, maps and accounts at García's side, and his memory was superior to García's. But as to their personal fate, he was full of wonder.

The following day, during the inevitable wait to get such a large force underway, García was able to introduce Don Diego to the ship's captain, Joao Alvares.

"I have never seen three more handsome and well turned out cadets," the aptain remarked. "And from my experience with the first two, they are exceedingly quick-witted and eager to help. I congratulate you, Don Pedro."

"I am a lucky man, but the credit goes to them. You may have noticed Captain Alvares, that I have crammed every nook on this ship with provisions, both food and water."

"And not to neglect wine," Alvares added. "There is not a ship in the Armada with more provisions per man. I have been told more than once that you seem over cautious. We should soon be on English soil feasting on English fare."

"That is the plan," García conceded. "But there is no certainty. We are all aware of the drastic weather conditions that plague the English coast. I am placing my men on strict rations from this moment. We will conserve what food we have, and caution will be our guide."

Alvares shrugged. "With all this food and wine aboard I thought your men might feast their way to London. But have it your way."

"I'm doubling the guard on the supplies. If any man is caught filching, he will be severely punished. I hope you will do the same with your seamen."

"Of course. I tolerate no thieving. And your prudence is commendable. Have you made any other observations that might be of interest to me?"

"There is one. The English have been known to use fire ships in battles at sea. I would say beware of fire ships."

"Yes, they could be a great danger to close formations. I cannot influence the overall formation of the Armada, but there are drills and precautions I can take to preserve La Anunciada. And I will do just that. You are a thoughtful man, Don Pedro. And once again, I am happy to see Poncho aboard." He tousled the little dog's head as it lay in his master's arms, then gave a slight nod to Don Diego who had taken in the conversation.

When they were once again alone, Don Diego said, "You expect trouble, Don Pedro. What gives you cause for such precautions?"

"In the fullness of time, Don Diego, all will be revealed. Never forget that I command the troops on board and you are but a cadet. My thoughts are my own."

Don Diego considered these remarks and decided to remain silent. In bed they were equals. Otherwise Don Pedro was clearly the leader, and thus far he had done nothing to make her doubt his ability. And now, for England.

The full strength of the Armada sailed from Lisbon on May 28, 29, and 30, 1588. And what a sight it was to see the great vessels, particularly the galleons and galleasses, some 600 tonners with three square-rigged masts and 28 rowing banks on each side. Four convicts, or prisoners, each chained to the benches, manned each oar. One small compensation for such a degrading job was the best food. The officers knew they must stay strong.

The Armada was a clash between King Felipe of Spain and Elizabeth Tudor of England. Felipe was born to lead and had been carefully groomed during his lifetime. By 1580 his empire dwarfed that of the Roman Empire at its height. His power was absolute, yet in contrast to his nobles' gaudy attire, he always dressed in plain black and he normally assumed an attitude of humility.

This was in sharp contrast to Queen Elizabeth with her pomp and ostentation. She was reared in the household of Henry VIII; four of his wives entered and exited after Elizabeth's mother had been executed. And she, early on, had been proclaimed a bastard and spent part of her half sister's reign under house arrest.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It wasn't until July 30, 1588 that the Armada was first sighted off the Lizard, that twisted piece of land at the south end of the English Channel. Much had happened during the interval, a series of mishaps for the Spanish. On June 19, the fleet scattered by stormy weather, put into Coruña. On June 27, a council in session in Coruña advises the King to abandon the attack, but on July 19th the council decided to try again. Two days later the Armada once more sailed for England.

A day before the sighting from the Lizard, the Spanish had detected land, and a council of war was called aboard the San Martin de Portugal, the Spanish flagship. The King's Captain-General of the Ocean Sea with 125 ships and 30,000 men under his command greeted the brilliantly attired officers as they came aboard.

He was Don Alonso Perez de Guzman el Bueno, twelfth señor and fifth marquis of San Lucar de Barrameda, ninth count of Niebla and seventh duke of Medina Sedonia. Oddly enough he had no experience at sea. History marked this a grave error.

It was not long after sighting land that the Spaniards had captured a Falmouth fishing boat and learned from the terrified fishermen that the English fleet had put to sea under the command of Lord Admiral Howard and Sir Francis Drake.

With beacon fires alerting the English, a strong segment of the fleet put out from Plymouth and managed to slip past the Spanish in the night, thus gaining the weather gauge, a marked advantage they never lost during the entire conflict.

Aboard La Anunciada there was growing excitement as the Armada fell into battle formation. García, halberd in hand, was often on the quarterdeck while the three cadets stood watch for watch, each with a boarding pike. Grappling hooks were at the ready and sharpshooters could be sent aloft at a moment's notice. Because of the long cruise to the Azores and back, La Anunciada functioned like a well-oiled machine. Nor was religion neglected. Full services were held at least once a week, and at dawn and dusk the ship's boys sang "Salve" and "Ave María" at the base of the mainmast.

With the battle cry "Arise O Lord and vindicate Thy Cause!" as well as other religious trappings, the Armada was definitely a crusade.

Although beacon fires had been lit along the English coast to alert both those on land and at sea of the danger, the military was ill prepared to fight a land battle against such a massive force as the Spanish commanded. Truth to tell, the fleet that set out from Plymouth Sound was the only wall between England and defeat.

That night in bed, García felt he should begin to confide in Don Diego. He was on his back and could feel her warm body nestled into his. "I think, if you don't mind, we could loosen some of the formality and I might call you simply María under these circumstances."

María pondered a moment. "You mean because we have just completed the primary sex act, we could refer to one another informally?"

"Yes, that's it exactly."

"I might even carry it a step forward, Pedro, and suggest that from time to time we might even resort to terms of endearment."

"I understand. They say the French are very romantic and they often use the word 'cher.'"

"Yes, Pedro. But why resort to the French? We do well at romance in our own fashion. In fact, from time to time I can imagine us continuing this into the future."

"I suppose there are many terms. For instance, I could refer to you as my heavenly flan."

"I think the specific is not the best. The general might weather the long term to advantage. A word such as 'sweet.'"

"You would like me to call you sweet?" Pedro inquired.

"Not really. We seem to be hung up on desserts. We need a term that would apply to both of us so we could go to and fro. Frankly I would consider the piece de resistance superior to a mere dessert. I was not meant to end a meal."

"Nor I. How does the term 'lamb chop' come down with you."

María made an uncharacteristic giggle. "What if we should slip and be overheard on the quarterdeck of this floating castle to call one another lamb chop?"

"It would not redound to our credit in your present disguise."

"But I am undisguised at the moment, in fact totally undressed. And, as mentioned earlier, this thing we are doing now might be projected into the future."

"That thought has crossed my mind, but somehow, at this moment, I seem unworthy of your complete affections."

"Should I consider that in the way of being a proposal, Pedro? Maladroit, though it might be."

"In different circumstances that could be the case. But at the moment, I feel unqualified to seek long-term arrangements. Believe me, the fault lies with me, it is none of your own."

"These words you string together form a certain thought that needs a bit of explaining. You seem to possess a certain amount of self-confidence in the command of your men and your relations with the ship's officers. What is this faint heart?"

As they lay in bed they could hear the constant creaking of the great wooden vessel and occasionally the voices of crewmen drifted through their open cabin window. La Anunciada was into the channel chop, but there was no sea sickness aboard as the troopers and crews had months of experience at sea.

García placed his hand on María's arm. "This time, these events, have brought us to the point where I must begin to reveal certain things to you. But I cannot do it in full at present. You must trust me, have confidence, and believe that all will be revealed at the proper time."

"Secrets," María said. "I knew there were secrets. Tell me this. Why can't I know them all?"

"Again, trust me. You would not believe me."

"But I would."

"No. Even though we are close, closer than I have ever been to someone, the truth would be difficult to chew, hard to swallow. Strictly indigestible. But there is a beginning."

"OK. I'll be good. Tell me what you will."

"This Armada is bound for disaster. We shall never set foot on English soil as conquerors. Our attention must be directed at saving ourselves and our command."

María sat up in bed and pulled the covers around her naked body. "You're right, I cannot believe you. This is the greatest force ever assembled by man. The English army is rabble, in disarray. I shall pour us wine and we shall talk." She rose and sought out the oil lamp. García climbed out of bed and pulled on a nightshirt.

When they were at the table, the flagon between them, their glasses filled, García said, "We must keep our voices down. Francisco is not ready to hear this news."

María glanced at the door barring the room where the two cadets slept. "Francisco," she whispered. "What about Jose?"

García raised his hands as if to say, OK. "Jose is like me. She knows." He left it there.

"I see. That's not surprising. The two of you, there is a mystery."

"A great mystery. Now I want you aware of what will unfold in the next few days. You said England's army is rabble, ours is far superior. The troops waiting in Flanders for transport to the English shore would rout that ragtag force in short time. Yes, all true. But what if we fail to land one man on the English shore? What if our ships are harried by the English fleet into the North Sea and beyond Scotland? That will happen."

"That's crazy, Pedro. You could be executed for such talk. I've a mind to betray you myself."

"But you won't?"

"No I won't. We are in love. You may not want to speak of it, but that is a fact."

"Love and war, a deadly combination. You heard me warn the captain of fire ships. So that will be a sign to you that I speak the truth. There will be fire ships, and they will be effective. We will be unable to close with the enemy and board, our only hope of victory."

"And when can we expect these fire ships?"

García searched his mind, attempted to calculate the differences in the English and Spanish calendars, then spoke: "Very soon. Probably in one week."

"If you know this, witchcraft is afoot. But let's speak no more about it. I will await the fire ships, then we can talk again." She smiled. He was opening up.

García poured more wine. "The night is young. I believe we both have a lot of energy. And I do have a plan for our safety." They touched glasses.

"My protector," María whispered. She would play the submissive female.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The following morning at breakfast, he told his three cadets about the English victory over an uprising in Ireland in 1580. At that time a band of Irish exiles with Vatican blessing returned to the western tip of Ireland and launched what they hoped would be a general uprising. Their pleas for help brought up to 800 Spanish and Italian volunteers.

"A small squadron of English vessels, including the Tiger and the Revenge, attacked the rebel forces located on a peninsula that pushed into the bay. Here's the tactic that I'm certain will be repeated against our Armada," García said. "The larger ships lay somewhat off the coast in deep water. Their sails were furled, but they were not anchored. They bombarded the fort, it was called the Golden Fort, or Castello del Oro, with their bow guns."

"These were effective?" Jose asked.

"Very," García replied. "There were three small, swift vessels. They came into shallower water loaded with sail, firing as they came, then turned at the last moment to fire broadsides, then turned and ran firing their stern cannon."

"And?" Don Diego asked.

"After three days the defenders surrendered upon a promise of fair terms."

"And they were permitted to leave Ireland?" Francisco asked.

"No. All but 15 were executed."

"The bloody English," Don Diego spat.

García shrugged. His was the certain knowledge that the Armada was standing into danger.

What might be called the first day of the battle did not go badly for the Spanish. The English were duly impressed by the mighty flotilla and the seamanship to hold it in formation. They failed to close and fired from long range, moving in a line down the length of the armada, discharging their broadsides, then turning and sailing back, permitting the other side of their vessels to fire broadsides.

However, the Spanish lost a pair of important ships. First the San Salvador, which was heavily armed and the seat of the fleet's paymaster, suffered a tremendous explosion from within. Many survivors, along with the royal treasure, were evacuated and the ship left to the English, who towed it to Weymouth.

The second ship lost was the Nuestra Señora del Rosario, which suffered a series of mishaps, finally losing its foremast and left floundering. A decision was made not to delay the Armada, and the ship fell into the hands of Sir Francis Drake of the Revenge the following day. Drake came under the suspicion of some English captains who believed he neglected certain fleet duties to enrich himself.

Meanwhile, the former merchantman La Anunciada plodded along in the middle of the Armada, protected by vessels more skilled at warfare. And García continued his training of the cadets, having García instruct them in the firing of small muskets from the quarterdeck. Approximately half of the troops were equipped with primitive firearms.

His frequent inspections of the troopers continued, always accompanied by Sergeant Jesus and usually one of the cadets. Jesus with his short, muscular body and bad eye was feared by the men, and García's cold-blooded slaying of the best swordsman in Spain had become legend. The occasional discipline problem was dealt with swiftly and harshly.

García fretted daily over the health of his men and their dietary needs. After the mishaps that plagued the Armada on leaving Lisbon, it was forced to put in at Coruña where it was reassembled and resupplied. García took care in restocking to insure his salted and smoked food supplies would not suffer the same spoilage afflicting many of the Armada vessels.

And García continued his whisper campaign to María during the dark hours between the sheets. "If you aspire to rise to power in England, it would be wise to learn English."

"The English heretics would be wise to school themselves in Spanish," she replied.

"It works both ways. Do you know any English?"

"Of course. How about you?"

"I speak that language."

"I guessed you might. There is a suspicion that you might be an English agent sent to throw the Armada into disarray. Your accent is strange, and your background non-existent."

"If I were capable of such a thing I would be a dark genius."

"I know. You work in Spain's interest. When young, we had an English gardener. They are good gardeners, but notoriously bad cooks. He taught me several things." She paused, and García waited to hear her English. "Good morning, or good day, a greeting. How are you, inquiring after health. Good-bye, a farewell. And the last one was 'dumbfuka.'"

García stifled a laugh. "Is that a greeting, or a farewell?"

María was serious. "It's a phrase you might use in a restaurant."

"In what way?"

"You could say it to a serving person, or possibly a cook. Although it's rather difficult to understand."

"I'll say. Not to make a pun, but it's not what you'd call in good taste. In fact tasteless would sooner apply."

"Oh, so you're the expert."

"Your gardener was having fun at your expense. You understand."

"I suppose. Anyway, we seem to be in the thick of things now. Bombarded from afar by the English fleet. We had better use this night to our advantage. Tomorrow belongs to no one." She turned and cuddled near.

* * *

In Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 2005, the University of North Carolina was in summer session and things were buzzing along as usual. Dr. Guy King, the head of the Spanish language and history department was on sabbatical. Everyone guessed he had returned to study in Spain, as he had done before, but he had left no forwarding address.

A loud splash that had disturbed the tranquil water of the academic community was the disappearance of one graduate assistant, Mary McCay. She had been assigned to King's department. But she seemed simply to have vanished.

In her unkempt one-room apartment, police found an empty red wine bottle on the eating table, a glass half filled with wine, a burnt out candle with wax spilled over onto the table, and some photocopied texts in Spanish that appeared to be fairly ancient.

Her apartment door was locked. Her car keys, purse and wallet were in a large terra cotta bowl near the door. Her old Ford pickup was parked in the drive. She was last seen wearing blue jeans, a Carolina blue T-shirt with Chapel Hill printed on it and Birkenstock sandals, her usual outfit. No other clothing seemed to be missing. There was no sign of forced entry.

A police detective sergeant speculated that she may have been slightly drunk and disoriented, left the apartment to fetch more wine, forgot her keys and money, accepted a ride from a stranger and been assaulted and murdered in some distant place, perhaps the mountains four hours to the west. But nobody showed up, and no one had seen anything, or anyone suspicious.

The police chief speculated that her disappearance had something to do with Homeland Security and had passed the information on to the Federal Justice Department. A spokesman for Homeland Security said no comment could be made about a case under investigation, but some progress was expected soon. He said there would be no change in the alert status.

* * *

Sir Francis Drake's capture, plunder and dalliance with the Nuestra Señora del Rosario, when he was supposed to be leading the English fleet, caused temporary confusion and gave the Spanish another day to reform their Armada into a "roundel," or their chosen battle formation.

Even though the bulk of the Spanish formation had held well during the initial attack, some right-wing commanders had deserted their post under English attack.

García, Jose and Francisco were on the quarterdeck, standing near Captain Joao Alvares, when one of six "pataches" drew near and asked to board. When the small vessel was made fast, three individuals clambered over the side and saluted the captain.

They identified themselves not by name, but by rank: A sergeant-major, a provost-marshal and a hangman. The provost handed orders to the captain and said, "This from Armada command. It details the exact position of your vessel in this battle formation. Any captain who leaves his assigned position without authority will be hanged."

The provost stepped backward and saluted the captain. A puzzled look crossed Alvares' face. "Surely this is not an accusation. La Anunciada did everything possible to hold position during the bombardment. We are an old plodding merchantman and could do nothing else."

"No, Captain. There are six pataches. We are visiting every major ship in the Armada to deliver this message. Please note the presence of the hangman. It is, what you might say, to stress the point. No captain is exempt."

"I understand perfectly. We are a disciplined ship, a tight ship, we will follow Armada orders to the letter." He returned the salute and the three hastened over the side to continue their rounds.

Alvares stared after them, and García approached him. "To reach Flanders and the waiting troops is imperative," he said.

"Obviously so," the captain replied. "There has been talk that the Armada should head directly for the English cost and discharge the thousands of troops and supplies on the nearest protected beach."

"It might be wise," García said, knowing that if that was done the English would be unable to stop the Spanish, the English fleet would be useless and the English army almost non-existent. And where it did exist it would be poorly positioned and even more poorly commanded.

"But it would be against the King's orders, so a form of treason."

"Exactly," García replied, knowing there was no escape for the Armada. "I was glad to see the drills made in case of fire ship attack."

"I took your words to heart. We have buckets of heavy canvas and long lines to raise them to the topsails. Each topman knows his place in case of attack."

"And my troops will stand by to replenish the buckets and send them aloft. I hope other vessels are also prepared."

Both the captains and García had scoped out nearby ships and noticed no such preparations despite warnings. "Let us hope for fair winds to Flanders," Alvares said, "And confusion to our enemies." Jose and Francisco had been listening intently. They had both become disciplined soldiers, and they contained and hid their fears.

But all was not well. The overall commander, Medina Sedonia, was troubled because no word had come from Parma confirming that his troops were ready for boarding and the brief trip across the channel. He decided to move the Armada to Calais, closer to the link-up position with the Army of Flanders. At the same time he sent an urgent message to Parma via swift pinnace requesting confirmation.

Sanitation and food service aboard English vessels was not of the best, but it put the Spanish fleet to shame. Feeding troops and seamen aboard the ships of Spain was a hodge podge, and with no regular deck swabbing and other cleaning techniques, there was a vile stench rising from most of the vessels.

In making certain La Anunciada was well stocked with provisions and citrus, García also had seen to the ship's cleanliness, which did not in the least embarrass the captain and crew. His soldiers were divided into regular work parties responsible for clean sweeps above and below decks. Sergeant García, generally accompanied by a cadet, made daily inspections.

Because the Spanish fleet was heavily laden with soldiers and provisions, they lacked both maneuverability and firepower. In contrast the English vessels were built for speed and maximum firepower and had no need to be burdened with either provisions or soldiers in their home waters.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

With a fresh wind on the morning of August 2, 1588, both fleets prepared for battle. As the Armada moved forward toward its meeting with Parma's troops, García and the three cadets paced the quarterdeck along with the captain and ship's officers. The crew was battle-ready and cannon fire could be heard at a distance. This was high adventure.

During the day scattered fights could be seen, cannon thundered and smoke rolled over both fleets. Considerable powder and shot were spent, but very little damage was done to either fleet. Through August 4th the English harassed the Armada, attempting to pick off stragglers, but with little success. The swift English fleet clung tenaciously to the weather gauge, the wind at their back in every attack.

The English denied the Armada a safe anchorage and contact was broken off, permitting the English to rearm and the Armada to sail free until Saturday, August 6th when they dropped anchor at Calais. The Army of Flanders was less than 30 miles away.

But at that time, due to poor communications, a message from Parma arrived that his army would not be ready to embark for England for another six days. Medina Sedonia's heart sank. The Armada was short on supplies. The English fleet waited to windward just out of cannon range, to leeward were the treacherous Banks of Flanders and he was stuck for six days.

On the night of August 6, with the Armada safely anchored at Calais, reprovisioning having been carried forward during the day, María snuggled in bed and whispered to García, "Where are your fireships?"

"Has it been a week?"

"A week has slipped by. Your witchcraft is a flop," she chided.

"Patience. Our ships are closely grouped and we are on a lee shore. The English are to windward. It's a perfect setup for fireships."

"Not a shot has hit La Anunciada and we have confused the enemy. The Armada is safe, but the English are at peril."

"Patience," García counseled. "Parma and his Army of Flanders is not ready. The Dutch have blockaded his passage. His open barges would sink even in a rough sea. There has been a total breakdown in communications."

María considered his words. "I can wait. We have heard the cannon roar and whiffed the gunpowder. It's stimulating, my love. My heart is on fire."

"That's not the only thing."

During the day of the seventh, Spanish officers were ashore and provisions continued to flow to the Armada. Blockading the harbor, the English felt some action was called for.

Medina Sedonia was well aware that a fireship attack might be effective against the huddled Armada. He sent small craft, pinnaces, to screen the fleet and attempt to grapple and drag any fireships into the shallows. The attack came at midnight, alarms were sounded and García and his cadets rushed to the quarterdeck.

Eight fireships pushed by the wind bore down on the Armada. They were packed with combustibles, their vicious guns double loaded so they would fire when the heat reached them. In a gallant effort, the pinnaces managed to grapple two of the fireships and beach them in shallow water. But the six came on.

Captain Alvares rallied the crew to begin wetting down the vessel while García's troopers helped with the bucket brigade. "What a lovely sight," Don Diego said as she viewed the oncoming fireships, ablaze against the night sky. I shall never forget this moment. To be in love, to be in battle. If I die tonight, my life was well spent."

At that moment word came from Medina Sidonia for all vessels to cut or slip anchors and disperse. In an odd twist, the greatest damage inflicted by the fireships was the loss of the Spanish anchors. Because of strong tides, some vessels had three anchors out. All were lost and the Armada fell into confusion. Nevermore could they anchor with safety. In the confusion of cutting away anchor lines, large hulks were set adrift, collisions were common, some causing frightful damage.

With the coming of dawn, the Spanish were able to regroup to some extent and followed a nine-hour running battle during which the San Mateo and San Felipe received their death blows. Other vessels were hard hit and an estimated 1,000 of the Spanish died by drowning or cannonade and musket fire.

Gacia later learned that Cadet Rafael de Aranda, who had been so taken with Francisco as a young man, had been killed by a musket ball aboard BertenDoña's flagship, La Regazona.

At the end of the day the Spaniards were in despair and there was no hope of herding the Army of Flanders to the English coast. The Armada, in ragged formation and licking its wounds, was driven before the wind toward the North Sea. The only hope was to sail round the Scottish and Irish coasts and return to Spain via the Atlantic Ocean. But many of the vessels had taken a mauling, were leaking badly, rigging shot away and supplies dwindling.

There was frenzied activity all through the broken Armada that night. Surgeons worked non-stop, running gear was repaired, sprung hulls and shot damaged vessels were repaired as best they could be. With sullen gray dawn, the English were nowhere in sight, and García knew their shot lockers were empty and they would give no more trouble to the badly battered fleet. At this point many of the Spanish vessels could have turned and made their way back through the channel, possibly doing great harm to the English. But the orders were to skirt Scotland and Ireland, returning via the Atlantic. The rough weather of the North Sea and Atlantic would demand its toll.

After a quick breakfast, García searched the cabin for Poncho. He had not seen the dog since the beginning of yesterday's action. La Anunciada had not come through the long day's battle unscathed. There were leaks below the waterline, the foremast had been truncated and the exhausted seamen were still at the task of re-rigging. She was far from seaworthy.

García began to become alarmed after a quick search of the cabin. He had not yet debriefed the Yorkie on the fate of La Anunciada. Also he feared for the dog's life. Perhaps the small creature had been washed overboard.

He called the cadets together and suggested that each take a trooper and go through the vessel looking for Poncho. García himself would have a look through the officer's quarters. Mid morning came and still no canine!

Then Francisco reported back that she had heard that two men in a storage room in the bow of the ship had boasted that they would have dog meat for lunch. García checked his belly gun, summoned Jesus, and the two made their way forward. Sure enough, two men were crouched in an empty storage room, one clutching Poncho, the other working on a small fire in a metal container.

"That is my dog," García said, entering the room. "I'll have him back."

"Sorry, you're too late," the younger man said. "Food is short and this dog's value lies in its meat. Stick around and you can have a front leg."

"I am a captain in the King's army and this is my sergeant," he gestured to Jesus. "And we demand custody of the dog."

"I'm sorry, captain, but I too am a captain. We are survivors from the San Mateo. And we will eat this dog. And this is my sergeant." He gestured toward the older man who picked up a short musket. García noticed that the slow match was smoldering and assumed the weapon was loaded and primed.

"You would shoot me over a dog?" García questioned.

"Food is scarce. On the San Mateo our fish and half the meat spoiled and had to be jettisoned. The flour was full of bugs. We must eat."

"Food is plentiful on La Anunciada," García said. "We will feed you."

"We will see to that after the dog has been eaten," the captain said. He withdrew a wicked looking dagger from his boot.

"If you harm the dog, I will kill you."

The captain smiled. "My sergeant will kill you. Isn't that obvious?"

"I will first kill your sergeant. Then it will be your term. But tell me, what is your name? I would like to know what captain it is who escaped death on the San Mateo, then went to his reward on La Anunciada." With good timing, García was certain he could shoot the sergeant before the musket fired. First the slow match had to be applied to the firing pan, then there was always a slight delay before the weapon fired.

"I am Captain Largo Azaña and my sergeant is called simply El Toro."

García eyed the sergeant who remained at the ready. "He has the neck of a bull, but where are his horns? I fear he is simply a lamb, fit for slaughter."

"You will find the musket ball unforgettable in your heart. So if you'll give me the courtesy of your name, we'll get on with it."

"Of course," García replied. "I am Captain Don Pedro García, late of Madrid. And my sergeant is called Jesus."

Azaña pondered a moment. "Might you be the man who killed Don Alonso de Monzon, the swordsman, not once, but twice?"

"It is difficult to slay a man twice. I merely badly maimed him the first time. But his wounds healed slightly and he pressed me the second time. I had little choice. Of course in your case..."

Azaña held up his hand to stop García in mid sentence. "You may have the dog. Alonso was a mean spirited man and killed a friend of mine in a trumped up affair of honor. I am grateful to you, Don Pedro, as are many others."

"Thank you. And you will find we do have sufficient food. I oversaw the loading of it myself. And we will need it for the work ahead."

El Toro set the musket aside and García took Poncho from him. "It could be a long, rough haul back to Spain. But our ship is still afloat."

García petted Poncho and the dog wagged all over and licked his fingers. "I invite you to join my command, Captain Azaña, and you too El Toro. It is important we keep the troops healthy and in good spirits. Weather conditions being what they are and the ship's condition what it is, neither good, we may have to come ashore on the Irish coast. Which will mean keeping the men armed and organized as a fighting unit. I have a plan."

Largo Azaña shrugged. "We are all adventurers here. Our hope to clip the English wings has failed. So let us be mindful of our safety and a speedy journey home. My sword is at your command." García led the way to the officers' quarters and turned El Toro over to Jesus. Poncho could not believe his good fortune. The fire was already kindled, the dagger drawn, but he too had a plan. To wrench free and throw himself on the musket, thus preventing the slow match from reaching the powder. He thanked his lucky dog stars that it never reached fruition. He recalled a former life when he indeed had his throat cut. He had been a Persian fighter and was captured by the force led by Alexander the Great.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As it happened, the Armada toyed with the idea of returning to the channel and getting Parma's army across to England. The English fleet, with shot lockers empty and food running low, could have done little to bar its path. But the wind blew from the south, and on August 13th, the Armada's small contingent of pack animals was dumped overboard to conserve water, and orders were issued to round the northern coast of Ireland and sail for Spain.

Already on short rations since Calais, García and Captain Alvares agreed to rations of one pint of water, half a pint of wine and half a pound of biscuits per day per man, except on Sundays when meat or fish was issued along with a full pint of wine.

During August and into September, damaged ships were separated from the Armada. Some sank outright with all hands lost, others ended on the Irish coast where the survivors were robbed of their clothing and gold by the Irish and English garrison troops. Many were slaughtered in the field, or hanged after surrender.

La Anunciada's hull had sustained damages during the fireship attack and was further battered during the running fight to the north. García and Poncho had gone over charts of Ireland together using the one blink, two blink system, and it seemed Poncho's memory was indeed better than García's. Their vessel would get no farther than Scattery Roads in the mouth of the Shannon River. García noted that it was not too distant from the large settlement at Limerick.

It was García's plan to see to the safety of his men, then he would return to Chapel Hill if he could make the formula work in reverse.

Badly leaking, steering like a lobster pot, La Anunciada made it part way up the Shannon River. Five pinnaces were still with her, and the next day she was joined by the Barca de Danzig, also badly leaking.

Captain Alvares, noting the condition of his ship was hopeless, sent his carpenters to help repair the Danzig. After several days work, the Danzig was pronounced seaworthy and Alvares made the decision to transfer men, guns and other supplies to that vessel and head for home. But it would be sorely overburdened.

As the transfer was being made, García spoke with Alvares. "I would like to keep my men as a fighting outfit and march them up the Shannon to Limerick. There, I believe, is enough gold among us to hire a sound ship to deliver us back to Lisbon."

"But we know the Irish are plundering and murdering our men as they come ashore," Alvares said.

"Yes, in small numbers. Exhausted and unarmed. My men are well fed and well armed. There is not an English garrison nearby that could defeat us. Also, you are short of supplies, and the Barca de Danzig would be badly overloaded with my men aboard. We would each have a better chance of reaching Spain."

"I see," the captain said. In truth, he had no authority over García's men. And soldiers at sea were only a nuisance. They continued to eat and drink and sometimes cause trouble, but as to their value, they were in minor figures. "Take what provisions you can carry and what arms you need. And if you would, stay nearby until we are safely at sea in case of attack. I have seen the treacherous Irish lurking at a distance. They would make sport of us if they could."

García shrugged. "Some would. Others are friendly. They are much like us, Joao."

"Yes, I suppose. Well, rally your men. We should be ready to sail with the second tide. The pinnaces will serve us well in standing clear of this estuary."

At noon the following day, García's 300 plus men were marching up river toward Limerick. Captain Largo Azaña and his sergeant, El Toro, had joined them. El Toro and Jesus had become great friends, and Jesus's spouse, Doria Queveda had donned trooper's clothing and marched with them. For once it wasn't raining in Ireland, the sky was fair and the day pleasant.

García had borrowed extra drums from the Danzig, and one drummer was always beating out the time of the march. Now and then all the drums would join in, accompanied by a trumpet flourish. Two flag bearers marched in front. It was a gallant sight, the men with their colorful uniforms in battle array, half of them armed with firearms, the others with pikes, some short some exceptionally long.

The scene was just what García had planned, enough to give the stoutest enemy heart cause for pause. And to appear to have a military manner, he let Francisco carry Poncho. As they marched along she asked García if Ireland had a king.

"Long ago there was a single king who ruled a unified Ireland, but only that one time. That must have been at least 500 years ago. Norsemen, Vikings, native Irish, Scots and the English have been wrangling over this land since heck was a pup. As far as I know the friction will never be resolved, just transformed from time to time. The Irish are great for drinking and singing songs that make them feel sorry for themselves, then they drink some more and fall to quarreling among themselves. Never a dull moment."

"I think I prefer the country life," Francisco said, "the Spanish countryside. This land seems most suited to frogs and creatures of the swamp. When there is no rain there is often mist. But today the weather is fine and the countryside delightfully green."

"We have seen excitement in these past weeks, Francisco. But the best is yet to come."

She gave him a glance, then fell back to walk with Jose and Don Diego. They were approaching a small settlement, and García ordered drums and trumpets and for the men to step lively into formation. Word of their coming would spread ahead and Limerick would be waiting.

In mid-afternoon, García learned by questioning peasants that Limerick was not far away. He asked Captain Largo Azaña to take 75 men and go off to the left.

"You want me to march through the fields?"

"No," García answered. "Go quietly and in single file. If there is a garrison at Limerick it is certain to be alerted. If they welcome us have your men quietly appear on their right flank. We will impress the English with our numbers and our position."

"I see," the captain said, "but is that a gentleman's way to fight, sneaking through the fields?"

"If we fight, we fight to win. By showing strength, we hope there will be no fight."

Azaña nodded. "I will see you in Limerick and we will share Irish ale."

It was evening when they approached the city with their drums, trumpets and banners. García led his troops through a small woods and in the clearing ahead, in grim array, stood the British rank. A thin line of regulars backed by what appeared to be irregulars probably recruited from the town on the spur of the moment.

García asked Don Diego de Beauvais to accompany him as he walked forward to meet the mounted officer. She was eager to share in every event.

The officer trotted his horse forward and stopped not 15 feet from García.

"I am Captain Pedro García, an officer of the King of Spain and we come in peace."

"And I am Major Courtney Wellston, an officer of the Queen of England. What mission brings you here, captain?"

"We both serve our monarchs, major. We seek to enter the city of Limerick and find a suitable vessel to carry us back to Spain. We have gold for payment."

"And why should I let you pass? You are enemies of our crown."

"Perhaps yes and perhaps no. Surely you haven't had recent word from London in this isolated place."

"I will consider you enemies until I do receive word to the contrary. You may offer your sword in surrender. No harm will come to you or your men."

García stifled a laugh. He well knew what had happened to many prisoners of England. "You have heard about burning your bridges, major. Well, we have scuttled and burned our vessel. We have no retreat. We outnumber you maybe three to one. My men are disciplined, rested and battle ready. Not one of them will surrender. We have heard stories about how you treat prisoners. So, stand aside and we will enter the city, find a vessel and be gone."

"I am a soldier and it is not in my makeup to give way to a handful of Spanish." At that point Captain Azaña's men appeared over a small hillock. García motioned in that direction and Wellston gazed at the band of well-armed men for half a minute.

García broke the silence. "These men are also under my command."

"I see. It is a sly trick."

"Not a trick, major. I'm trying hard to convince you that we come in peace and you should let us return to Spain. Your regular troops will doubtless fight to the finish, but that rabble you have dragooned from the streets of Limerick are already showing signs of panic. If I ordered an attack at this minute, from the front and from the flank, they would run like scalded hound dogs."

"You speak good English, Captain García, but you have an odd accent for a Spaniard. May I ask where you learned the language?"

The major was obviously stalling for time while he considered his next move. "I picked it up here and there. Why don't you dismount so we can talk man to man?"

Wellston stared at García for a long moment, then got down from his horse, passing the reins to a trooper at his rear. "Now that's more like equality," García said. "Up on your high horse you might have done something impulsive."

If they started anything, Wellston was well aware that he and his troops would die, and what honor was there to a dismal death in this dismal end of the world. He wished he had never seen his first Irishman. "I believe there is room for negotiations," he finally said.

"Fine," García agreed. "We would like a campsite within the city walls, or a large building, possibly a church or public hall. We have rations for our men. Just this morning we purchased a cart and horse to carry our supplies. We have gold for other necessities."

"I cannot permit you all to leave. I might be derelict in my duty. A few hostages, yourself included." Wellston was playing poker, attempting to salvage something from a forlorn situation.

García rubbed his brow as if in deep thought. "What you ask is quite possible. I could remain behind along with my three cadets, my sergeant and my sergeant's wife, who is with us. Would that please you?"

The major was both shocked and pleased and allowed himself a grim smile. He had expected García to offer up some worthless officer and a handful of non-coms and troopers. "In that case, we have an agreement. There are several merchant ships available and with your gold and my persuasion, I believe we can end this situation with alacrity."

"Shall we proceed into the city, then?" García asked.

"Definitely. Give me a moment to dismiss this local rabble as you call them. They are an ill-armed lot and lack incentive for the day's work."

The major riding ahead, his small garrison following, and García's troops following after with drums and trumpets, they entered the city. Captain Azaña, El Toro and his small band fell in behind. Wellston led them to a series of covered stalls that were obviously used as the town's market on certain days. A heavy guard was posted and they settled in for the gathering night.

True to his word, Wellston and his adjutant, Lord Percy, showed up just after dawn the following day with a Captain Kennedy, who was both owner and master of a merchant ship now lying empty in the River Shannon just off Limerick. A deal was struck and Kennedy agreed to start loading water and supplies that day with the vessel to sail the following day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

García said those who would remain behind would like safe enclosed quarters with the ability to come and go as they pleased. "We might want to purchase a few things from the townspeople. We can feed ourselves."

Wellston seemed extremely pleased with the arrangement, knowing now that he would have to feed neither the troops nor those who remained as hostages. Not two hours later, Lord Percy returned and led García, the three cadets and Sergeant Jesus and Doria Queveda to a ruined castle with the keep intact.

It was an extremely strong stone structure with a sturdy oak door that could be barred from the inside and no windows on the first level. The higher windows were mere archer slits in the stonewalls.

Everything moved like clockwork with Major Wellston hurrying the loading along and Lord Percy hovering around the six hostages. By the afternoon of the following day the vessel was loaded and ready for the evening tide.

"Will that Irish vessel actually take our troops home to Iberia?" Don Diego asked García.

"It must. With over 300 of our troops on board and what officers of ours there are keeping 24-hour watch on the quarterdeck, Captain Kennedy has little choice."

"Captain, sir," Jesus said, "I think we should be with them. This hostage idea doesn't sit well with me. Even Poncho seems to be nervous, and that dog has the gift."

"And I have the gift," Jesus. "Nothing is 100 percent, but we have safeguarded the troops. Now we shall look out for ourselves, and there is my plan."

"If you have a plan to get us out of this," Francisco said, "you must be a dark sorcerer. But we are in agreement that the safety of the larger force is of greater importance than the fate of the six of us. We are in the hands of God."

"Well spoken, Francisco," Don Diego said. "We are truly in God's hands, but our trust is in Captain Don Pedro García, and he has proved an able leader."

"Enough talk," García said. "We will need at least two or more bottles of grape wine and we could use a few candles. Francisco, if you and Jose will go shopping in the village I will be obliged."

"You feel it's safe?" Jose questioned.

"While the ship is anchored in the Shannon, we are protected."

At that moment, Major Courtney Wellston watched the vessel from his spartan headquarters, anxious for Kennedy to sail down to the sea. "When they are gone," he told Lord Percy, "We shall hang that evil sergeant and two of the cadets, and then I will accompany that proud Captain García and the surviving cadet in chains to London."

"I'm shocked," Lord Percy mouthed, a hand on his hip.

"Don't be. It gets me out of Ireland."

"Well, I'll go too."

"You mustn't. You'll be in command."

"In command of what? This isn't even a corporal's guard. It's miserable. Bad food, only beer to drink. No wine. No decent servants. Now you want to hang two cadets. Well don't hang the one called Francisco. I've taken a liking to the boy."

"Percy, you flaming fag. Why do you have to be so obvious? That's what got you to Limerick in the first place."

"You're a great one to talk. A major in command of this rag-tag place. Not even a green lieutenant would consider it an honor. You're way out of favor at court."

"But I shall return to court."

"Then leave me Francisco. You can hang one of the other cadets and take one with you if you like, or just hang that sergeant. What about his wife? She's not so bad for a woman."

Wellston stared at the vessel, fully loaded now and awaiting only the tide. "I've thought of that. She'll simply be freed here in Limerick. The Irish gentlemen can look after her."

"If you've met an Irish gentleman here, I'd like to know his name and address. I've been in this hell hole for more than a year and all I've seen are Irish layabouts and a few greedy merchants."

"Don't forget the smugglers and other blackguards."

"Of course. But I will make a place for that Francisco. What a beautiful young man. Have you ever seen a boy that beautiful, Courtney?"

"Oh, shut up, Percy. You can have the boy."

Percy smiled sweetly and drew himself a half pint of Irish beer.

Late in the afternoon Francisco and Jose reported that there was no grape wine, or any kind of wine in the entire town.

García was upset. Without grape wine the formula, dicey at best, was certain to fail. Of that he was certain. He wondered if they still might board that ship. But it was daylight and the ship would sail at dusk. Wellston had guards everywhere and such an attempt would mean a fight.

Jesus, stretched out on a straw pallet nearby, said, "I can get you grape wine and candles, my Captain. Just say the word."

"You have the word, Jesus. Now which of us is a magician? Take Jose. He speaks English."

"Yes," Jose said. "There is more Gaelic than English spoken here, but I can get through a few thoughts."

"Together, we will do it. And it's good to go before that ship slips anchor. I have no trust in that English major."

The two of them were gone just under an hour, and Jose looked pale upon their return. "We have the wine," she said, hoisting a cloth sack. "Four bottles of the grape, plus half a dozen candles. But my God, at what expense!"

"Why? What happened?" García inquired. He noticed that Jesus was not disturbed in the least; in fact the tough old bad-eyed sergeant had a faint smile on his face.

"The old priest at the cathedral at first insisted that there was no wine. Jesus said that was nonsense and drew the knife from his boot. Then the padre said there was a little wine, but for the sacrament only. Jesus slashed his garment, what do they call them, cossacks?"

"Something like that," García agreed.

"Anyway a little blood was spilled."

"A slight scratch," Jesus tossed in.

"We were led to the wine cellar where there were ample supplies. We helped ourselves to wine and candles. Jesus thanked the priest and said he would pray for him."

"That was nice," García said, giving the sergeant a wink and a smile.

"But that's not all," Jose added. "On the way out of the cathedral we were stopped by a young priest who said he would come to our keep to confess us just before dawn."

These words did not sound good to García, who at this time was examining the wine bottles. "And for what purpose?" the captain asked.

"Because they will hang two, maybe three of us just after dawn. Gallows trees are being prepared. The handful of English troops and the townspeople will be turned out to watch."

"Why only two or three? Why not all of us?"

"You and the other survivors will be flogged and taken to London in chains. Captain Wellston himself will accompany you."

García nodded. "A good excuse for Wellston to get out of this foul situation. I wondered what he had in mind for us. But this in no way interrupts my plan now that the good Jesus has come through for us. In fact, the forewarning you bring may add a little spice to the pot. Now, if I can just pull off one more trick, we may even surprise the good English major."

With the ship out of sight down the Shannon and heavy night descending on Limerick, the English had posted a heavy guard outside the keep of the ruined castle. García guessed that they would no longer be able to come and go as they pleased, and he stepped outside to ask the corporal of the guard to ask Major Wellston to come to the keep.

There was no immediate response, but two hours later there was a heavy rap on the door and in walked the major, Lord Percy and a stoutly built trooper. Wellston and Percy had obviously been drinking and were in high spirits.

"I was delighted to get your invitation," Wellston said. "What comforts might we offer you on this pleasant night? Can we send for beer, or the local whisky? It's rotten stuff, but extremely strong."

As planned, Jesus slipped behind the three and barred the door. "We have heard your plan for us," García began, "and have decided to make you our prisoner in this strong stone keep. Sergeant Jesus will tie your hands."

Wellston sobered and instantly shouted at his trooper, "Taffy, open the door and call the guards."

García, who had palmed his belly gun, raised his arm and shot Taffy in the back of the head, killing him instantly.

"My God," Percy said, also suddenly sober. "What was that?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in," García said. "Jesus, tie up Percy. I'll take care of the major." He told Wellston if he wanted to live the two of them would climb to the second level and the major would call out to the guard and tell them he intended to remain in the keep for the night.

"If you kill me, you will lack your hostage," Wellston said, still arrogant.

"Not necessarily," García insisted. "I think an English lord might serve as a better hostage than an obviously disgraced major. A little long in grade, aren't you, Wellston?"

"Percy's an obvious faggot and not welcome at court," Wellston huffed.

"Faggotry is not unheard of in the English peerage." He eyed Percy and added, "Many of them might be a bit more discreet."

"I didn't want to kill anybody," Percy shouted. "I already insisted that Francisco not be killed and Courtney agreed."

García shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs. "It never ceases to amaze me how popular Francisco is among both the ladies and certain males." He laughed and added, "Maybe it's the uniform." Then he marched the major up the rough staircase where Wellston, with García's knife in his back, announced that the three of them would remain in the keep during the night. No one outside disputed Wellston's orders.

"Now we have work to do," García announced.

Major Wellston hissed, "You're a dead man, García. If you kill both me and Percy they'll cut you down like the insects you are. Your only chance is to surrender now, and I will let you go free."

García smiled. "We already know what plans you have for us, hanging for some, flogging and chains for others. Except, of course, Francisco, who would be under Lord Percy's protection. No, we have a journey to plan, a journey of the mind."

"You'll not journey far from this place."

"Haven't you heard? Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage." He turned to Jose. "What do you think, should we take the Brits with us?"

"Interesting thought. A 500-year-old English major and peer. They would both be gold mines of daily life. Also studies in banishment. But could we keep them under wraps?"

"We would have to debrief them. Certainly the same holds for our cadets, Jesus and spouse. We might as well give it a go. If it works for us, it should work for them."

"In for a penny, in for a pound."

The two Englishmen puzzled over the conversation, while the Spaniards were totally in the dark because the conversation was in English. García and Jose set about placing the candles and arranging crude seats in a circle. The prisoners were bound only by their feet so that their arms were free to clasp hands.

With all the candles lit, further illuminating the ancient keep, casting ghostly shadows on the rough stonewalls, García explained the program. "We will all drink a measure of wine. There is plenty, thanks to Jesus. We will then hold hands firmly. Now this is important. The circle must not be broken. So hold hands firmly. Wellston will be between me and Jesus. Percy will sit between Francisco and Jose. I'm counting on the rest of you to not break your grip."

"What nonsense is this?" Wellston questioned.

"A late night game," Jose replied.

"After the wine is down. We will all chant," García explained in English and Spanish. The chant was the simple sound of oohm-ko, oohm-ko. Then I will make a speech in Latin. Then the game will be over and we will all rest for the night and face the morning with renewed courage."

"Will you kill us?" Percy asked.

"Not if you cooperate. It's the last thing on my mind. I'm sorry I had to shoot Taffy. But what's done is done."

The wine was poured and drunk. They joined hands and the chant began.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The six, now eight, plus a small dog, were aware something had happened. But what? For one thing it was no longer cold and damp and they seemed to be seated on a warm wooden floor. Light filtered in through a large window.

García rose and peered out onto the street. Parking meters, a street light, deserted store fronts. "It must be the middle of the night," he announced, and then his eyes grew used to the dim light. "We're in a Starbucks. We're back in Chapel Hill! We made it!"

He pulled Jose from the floor, and the two hugged and improvised a jig. "But we're locked in and there could be trouble if anyone finds us here. We have a few illegals with us." He had been speaking in English and the others, still on the floor, had been muttering among themselves in hushed tones. They were obviously dazed by the transformation.

García told Jesus to check the major and Percy for weapons and then untie them. Both carried daggers in their boots, and García handled them with some pleasure. Any artifacts brought back would be more than welcome.

He got all but Jose, now restored to Mary McKay, seated against the wall. Pulling up a chair he addressed them first in Spanish, then English. He told them they were time travelers and had moved from 1588 to the year 2005. He said that would explain his accent and his belly gun, also his fore knowledge of what would befall the Armada.

There was a babble of doubtful English and Spanish when he had finished.

"I'm just giving you the facts," he reiterated. "You will see for yourself in the days ahead. But we must be careful. You are in the United States of America, and as such you are illegal aliens. You have no passports and no papers. So for the next few days you must remain undercover."

"What would happen to us if we were captured?" Percy asked.

"Well, normally, the government would jail you and then probably deport you. But to where? The date is also 2005 in Europe. You have no friends there."

"But we have money in Spain," Jesus said. The old soldier was the first to take García's words at face value and he was thinking ahead.

"That was 400 years ago."

"But it's still there. I hid it, carefully. I doubt if it has been found."

"Possibly we could go to Spain at some future date and seek out that money," Mary McKay tossed in. "Is it gold?"

"Of course. And some silver."

Mary kept the floor and told the group that all three cadets were women.

"Oh, God!" Percy whined. "You mean I went to all that trouble over a women? They are the root of all evil."

"Percy, you fag," Courtney said. "We're in a big mess and all you care about is your stupid degenerate life style. Something sinister has happened, but I don't understand it."

"Take my word for it. It's true," García said wearily. "Now we must figure out how to get out of here. We're not far from my apartment."

"I'm going to the bathroom," Mary said. "My God it'll be good to have a flush toilet again. And hot water with actual soap."

"Good," García said. "Take the girls with you and show them how the plumbing works. You can risk a light once you're inside. I'll take the men."

After they had all marveled at the modern conveniences, García found cookies and they sat at tables nibbling in the dim light. Presently there was the sound of a lock being turned and a young lady came in and switched on the lights.

"Don't be afraid," García said. "We were locked in here all night."

The girl stared at García, then saw the rest of them. "Who the hell are you?"

"Re-enactors," García said quickly. "We're dressed as characters in the late 1500s at the time of the Spanish Armada. I'm professor Guy King. I head the Spanish speech and history department at UNC. Sorry to startle you."

"How could you have gotten locked in here?" she asked in disbelief.

"I don't remember you being here at closing time," García said. If she wasn't, she wouldn't know.

"Of course not. I open, I don't close."

"Well, we were on the floor in the corner. We had been drinking earlier and it seems we dozed off."

"That's hard to believe."

"You bet it is. It sounds impossible, but the truth is often stranger than fiction."

"I've heard that. Anyway, the place looks OK. Are the rest of you with the school?"

"Not all," García said. "This is Mary McKay, a graduate assistant in my department. The rest are volunteers from different places."

"Very different," Percy said. García shot him an angry glance.

"Well, you better get out of here. I have work to do. Shoo." She made a motion with her hands.

"OK and thanks. We didn't mean to cause trouble." Mary led them through the door while García, once again Guy King, brought up the rear, a rapidly breathing Poncho in his arms.

"Nice dog," the Starbucks employee said as they left the building. It was not yet 6 a.m. and they saw only an occasional car during the walk to García's apartment. But the cars, the streetlights, the buildings, even the sidewalks were a cause of great wonder to the novitiate time travelers.

Major Wellston was the first to speak after they were safely inside Guy's condo. "It seems you've put one over on us, captain. But what happens next?"

"First off, my name is Guy King and Jose is Mary McKay and Don Diego de Beauvais is Doña María Botella and Francisco is Frenesi. And we are in a fairly small university town in the middle of North Carolina, one of the 50 states of a North American country. Both you and Percy should accept the idea that you are here to stay, I mean in this century. Certainly you're free to travel after you get oriented."

"And let's speak a little Spanish," Doña María broke in. "Most of us are still in shock. But your plan did work. We are safe from the Irish and English, but God only knows what sort of ogres may be crouched nearby."

"OK," Guy went back to Spanish. "I'll talk to the Spanish speakers and Mary can take the two Brits into the kitchen and field questions. Then later on we'll get some measurements and Mary can pick up a few duds at K-Mart."

"What? Shopping?" Frenesi asked. "I'd like to go with her."

"Not hardly," Guy said, "not in those clothes. Incidentally, your clothing and anything else you've brought with you is of great interest to me. This is a research project."

"What did he say?" Percy demanded.

"That you two are experimental animals," Mary said. Percy shrugged and said he was hungry. Mary led him and Courtney into the kitchen.

After an hour of long confusing conversations in both rooms, Guy sent out for pizzas. He had to think. The apartment was too small for them all. And how could he explain them? Who would believe him? At that moment Doña María whispered in his ear that she thought she might be pregnant.

"Holy shit," Guy said in English. No one understood him, so he fell back into Spanish and said, "First we eat. Then Mary buys everyone some clothing. Then she takes the girls aside and explains modern underwear and feminine hygiene." Back into English, he added, "then maybe I shoot myself."

Doña María whispered again, "We must marry soon."

Guy rolled his eyes upward and whispered back, "OK, very soon." He had time-traveled to Spain partly to seek feminine purity, and now he was stuck with something akin to a female sergeant major. But there was a romantic and physical bond between the two of them. Romantic? Guy thought. He had become convinced that most men were more romantic than most women. Women seemed to him to be the practical sex. A home, a baby, three squares a day, shopping and a TV set. The moonlight and roses stuff was a facade. His mind was unsettled.

The pizza puzzled them, but they ate it, chatting all the while as they stuffed mouths with pepperoni, molten cheese, peppers and black olives.

Guy found clothing for the two Brits, but Jesus had broad shoulders and short stature, so Mary headed for K-Mart in Guy's car to pick up blue jeans, underwear and so forth.

Later that evening Mary and Guy took turns rotating the crowd through the shower, then they grilled cheese sandwiches, drank almost a case of beer and sacked out. They were still short of sleeping space, but Mary said there was an empty apartment in her building and she would check on it the following day. She took Frenesi to her place. Doña María insisted that she and Guy would have his bed, Jesus and Doria got the fold-out couch in the living room and the Brits were on the floor.

So, what now? Guy said he was working on a plan. Percy pulled him aside to ask if there were homosexuals in Chapel Hill. Guy explained there were many and that the word was "gay." He said there were many openly gay men and women and there was even a bar, or pub where they regularly assembled. "It sounds like gay heaven," Percy exclaimed.

"But can be turned into hell," Guy retorted. He told him about AIDs and said they would get into safe sex a little later.

Assembling the group, pulling the Brits away from the TV screen, Guy said the greatest danger rested in the fact that they were illegals. Illegally in the U.S. and without a country elsewhere.

"But Courtney and I are Englishmen," Percy insisted. "I have a country estate."

"Perhaps you did a few hundred years ago, but this is 2005. Maybe you can go back sometime and find some genealogist to tell you about your family, your amazing disappearance from Limerick and so forth. But you'll play hell convincing anyone that you're Lord Percy. The same with the Spanish. There is the odd chance that the gold Jesus hid has not been found, but a slim one."

"It is there," Jesus said and Doria nodded agreement. "We hid it well."

"My baby will be an American and grow up with K-Mart and McDonalds," Doña María tossed in.

"We've got to find you a good doctor," Guy said

"Birth is a natural thing, I need no doctor."

"We'll see about that. In the meantime my plan to make you all legitimate will cost a little money. I know most of you have removed gold from your clothing and transferred it to your blue jeans, or done something with it. I propose we place it in a common pot. I will not let anyone go hungry, or without cash. But you must trust me."

Blank stares. "All right, Courtney. You first."

"I have a trifling amount."

"Anything helps. And you can't spend gold or silver coins. I will give you U.S. cash."

"What is the exchange rate?"

"The exchange rate," Guy said, "is that you will be thrown into jail by the immigration people if and when you are caught without a passport or other documents. You are a stateless person. I have no idea what they would do with you. Probably enroll you in an asylum if you told them you were born in the mid 1500s."

Courtney emptied his pockets, placing gold and silver coins on the coffee table. Percy followed suit. Guy spoke to the others in Spanish and Jesus was the first to come forward followed by Doria who carried a small heavy bag with the largest contribution.

"Surely you don't expect your intended to donate," Doña María said.

"Everyone's in, including myself. I hate to destroy all these coins. I think a dealer might pay dear for a few of them. So we should be able to save some for future study."

"You wish to study coins?" Jesus asked.

"Yes, as antiquities. It's part and parcel to the entire experiment."

"We are then experimental animals," Percy said.

"I suppose," Guy answered. "But you Brits are much better off than in Ireland, and the Spanish have improved themselves. We have TV and Mickey Mouse."

"Who is Mickey Mouse?" Courtney inquired.

"A large rodent. In the fullness of time all things will be revealed." Guy took the gold and silver from Doña María and then turned to Frenesi who said she had no funds.

"With your charms you won't need any. Every man on campus will be at our door."

Mary McKay felt slightly jealous, but she did feel an attraction for Courtney who was older and seemed to show signs of interest in her. Of course he was English so she couldn't really tell.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"And what is your costly plan?" Courtney asked, eyeing the stack of money on the table. It reckoned at quite a few hundreds, or even thousands of U.S. dollars.

"Well," Guy didn't know how to begin. He tried describing airplanes in English and Spanish. Each of them had caught glimpses of them in that fascinating box known simply as TV. "I will charter an airplane and we, all of us except Mary, will board that plane and fly to the island of San Villafranca. This is a small independent nation. I will make certain arrangements in advance. Once there, I will turn over a sum of money to a certain party and you will all become citizens of Villafranca. You will have passports and free entry to the U.S. where we can then pay more money to a certain lawyer who will begin proceedings to make you American citizens.

"And after that," Doña María said, "we will marry."

"That's right," Guy agreed. "I have been too long single and need someone to share this load, which is becoming heavier and heavier." The words of a song from a musical flashed through his head: "I would rather a new edition of the Spanish Inquisition than to ever let a woman in my life."

"And you will become Catholic," Doña María added.

"That is open to discussion. As you know I made a great pretense in Spain, following in the footsteps of many other Europeans. The spirit must move me."

"I will see to that," she said.

Another thought crossed his brain: "I sought Caesar's wife and I have ended with a female version of Attila the Hun." And then, "Maybe we were made for each other! She is my lamb chop."

"So, nobody leave this room." Guy went into the kitchen and brought out grocery bags to triple bag the heavy load of cash. "This tempting bundle is going directly to the bank. I'll rent a deposit box, then keep a few of the coins for sale."

"You shouldn't jostle them around so," Mary said. "It takes away value."

"True, but the gold is gold."

The following day, Guy made the trip to Raleigh, the state capitol a few miles away, and came back with the astounding news that two pieces of Spanish gold had been enough to finance their trip to San Villafranca.

"And pay for the citizenship and passports?" Courtney asked.

"Yes. It was so easy that I suspect I was ripped off. I'm going to let Mary try to sell four doubloons on E-Bay."

"What's E-Bay?" Percy asked.

"What are you talking about?" María asked.

"Yes, speak Spanish," Doria chimed in.

He told them in Spanish and English that he was going to use the telephone, charter a plane, call San Villafranca and make arrangements for their trip. With luck they could depart the following morning. Meanwhile, Mary would explain E-Bay."

Everyone was still tired and suffering a type of time-travel shock, so it was no pleasure to have their evening meal disturbed by a knock on the door. Guy was apprehensive, but decided to answer. It was Ed Kellerman, a doctoral candidate in Guy's department and his chief rival at the university. He insisted on coming in, a bottle of wine in hand.

"I heard you were back," Kellerman said. "So I dropped by with a peace offering."

Guy was certain Kellerman was simply nosy about his early return. The man had no conscience and was certainly not a generous spirit. Guy accepted the wine and attempted to block Kellerman's view, but he had already seen the visitors. "And who might these be?"

A temptation to tell him it was none of his business was overcome and Guy said, "Visitors to campus. Actually re-enactors. They have studied the Armada era and I hope to get some sort of financial help for them to do a series of lectures."

"Well, welcome," Kellerman said over Guy's shoulder, then addressed them in Spanish. "I'd like to have a talk with you all."

"And they with you, but not tonight. We're all tired and there are many details to attend to. We'll get together soon." Guy almost pushed Kellerman out the door. He was certain this weasel of a man smelled a rat. When he was gone, he told the group that getting legal was of major importance. They would leave for the airport in his and Mary's cars at first light, even though the plane wouldn't be ready until 8:30 a.m.

Poncho bristled. He had met Kellerman more than once before and neither trusted nor liked the man. If he had good teeth he would be tempted to bite him. To calm himself the dog dwelled on the Zen thought that we are directly connected to, and dependent on, all living beings and everything that exists. Compassionate concern for the welfare of others and for the environment flow freely with this thought fixed in our mind.

"I could take care of that one for you," Jesus said, sensing Guy's mood.

"No, not that way, unless it becomes necessary. But thanks for the offer. Hang onto your dagger, but don't carry it. With the money I see coming from these coins we have, you and Doria can have your own apartment soon." He didn't add that Doria would have to find something other than her old occupation. She had a certain magnetic charm about her, as did Jesus. They would have no problem making a go of it. Possibly an authentic Spanish restaurant.

The flight to San Villafranca took only a few hours, and the process of fingerprinting, photographs, and selecting new birth dates went quickly by. Then they were told that a tattoo of San Villafranca's coat of arms could be had in the next building for $35. Both Jesus and Doria thought that would be grand, and the group adjourned to the tattoo parlor accompanied by a member of the country's foreign service who told them the history of the small island.

The story goes that the first foreigners came on a longboat with a tattered lateen sail. They were deserters from the second voyage of Columbus, upset because the great captain had hung not only a favorite shipmate, but also the ship's cook.

On the island, they could eat by picking fruit from trees and netting fish and shellfish from the sea. Through the years they were joined by an assortment of pirates, would-be pirates, misfits from all nations and degenerate blackguards. It was a rich history and one of which the San Villafrancans were justly proud. So Guy's people were welcomed warmly to the fold.

The coat of arms itself was a complicated design that included the skull and crossbones, a couple of naked (of course) mermaids, three flasks representing distilled spirits and a cross to remind islanders forevermore of the importance of the confession.

When the tattooing was done and Jesus and Doria sported large bandages over the wounds on their arms, which they had to keep sanitary for a couple of weeks, the group realized that Percy had vanished.

There followed a frantic search since they were due back to the chartered aircraft. Finally, in the bar down the street, it was learned that Percy had asked and been given directions to a gay bar known as the Jewel Box.

The afternoon sun was hot and the streets dusty and studded with palms, but the group plodded across the capitol city to that destination. But no Percy was to be seen either on a barstool or at a table. Upon inquiry, the bartender said, "You must mean that drunken man. He collapsed between the ATM and the men's room. To much booze. I called the police and they hauled him off to the station. He'll sleep it off."

Back on the dusty streets the group made their way to the police station where they found a multilingual sergeant on duty. San Villafrancans spoke a mixture of Spanish, French, English and Creole. Percy, they were told, was slumbering in the lockup.

"It's $500 a head for tourists to get out of jail," the sergeant said with a twinkle.

"How about citizens?" Guy asked.

"Oh, we let them out free for just being drunk. It's something of an island tradition. But I've never seen that man before. He was picked out of that gay bar and I'm familiar with most of the fags on the island. Definitely a tourista."

Guy had their documents, pulled out Percy's passport and placed it in front of the sergeant. There was his picture, fingerprints, date of birth, a native and citizen of San Villafranca."

The sergeant gave Guy the fisheye, then rose wearily to his feet. "OK. You can have him if you can carry him."

In the cell, Jesus picked up Percy like a sack of flour and draped him across his broad shoulder.

"We better get a couple of cabs and head for the airport," Guy said, checking his watch. "I know you're all going to miss your homeland, but there's no avoiding it."

Percy woke up as they reached the U.S. coast. His head was splitting and he asked, "What was that stuff I was drinking?"

Guy laughed. "They've made considerable progress in the distillation process since the 1500s. You better stick to malt beverages."

Back in the States, there was cash to get Courtney and Percy settled in an apartment in Mary's building. Frenesi remained with Mary, and Jesus and Doria were pleased with the fold-out couch in Guy's condo. Mary had work to do at UNC, and Guy was technically still on sabbatical. During odd hours they washed away culture shock with tours to the mall and Long John Silver's. And there was a new world of confusing messages on TV.

The newcomers were drilled as a team of re-enactors, veterans of the Armada era with rich details of everyday life and court life in the warring kingdoms. This was a historian's dream come true.

At one point Guy visited the UNC president to lay out his plan. He found that Ed Kellerman had been there before him.

"Kellerman tells me you have a bunch of illegals in your apartment," Dr. Falkner said before Guy had even begun his pitch.

"I think Kellerman would like to chair my department," Guy replied.

"That's obvious. He's your standard sneak. But we can't be keeping illegals who even appear to be sponsored by the university."

"They aren't illegal. They're citizens of San Villafranca and they are all experts on the Spanish Armada era. There are six of them, and they've worked up quite a routine that would amaze any university history department even slightly interested in that era."

"Check their papers, Guy. Kellerman's out for blood. He said he was going to alert the immigration people just in case."

"Just in case," Guy scoffed. "Just in case he wants my job, or just in case he's a good citizen, or just in case he's a weasel scumbag."

"Let's just leave it at just in case. I'd sooner see Mary McKay head the department than Kellerman."

"Both are equally qualified," Guy said. "Neither has a doctorate."

"Kellerman's close. But if you assure me these folks are in the country legally, let's talk about the dog-and-pony show."

"They are legal because there's never been a visa agreement between the U.S. and San Villafranca. Citizens from both countries can come and go as they like."

"For limited periods of time."

"True. That could be a problem. They came over by private charter and there's no record of their being here. But that doesn't make them illegal."

"True. Go ahead with some sort of seminar for your department. We'll put the word out faculty wide. I for one would like to sit in. As you know, history was my first love, and the story of the Armada is fascinating. It was an incredible adventure."

"You don't know the half of it," Guy said, rising to leave.

"I'm ready to be educated," Dr. Falkner said with a grin.

For the next few days Guy was busy punching up the Armada routine and trying to clean the uniforms as best he could. Doña María would wear a period costume and appear as a Spanish noblewoman, a role she relished. Doria would dress as a common soldier's wife. She thought it beneath her station, but would make the most of it. Of that, Guy was certain.

Frenesi would play the role of Francisco, a male cadet, then surprise the audience at the end of the show by revealing her true sex. Guy was well pleased with the production and was confident the important question-and-answer session following the presentation would succeed.

Then another cloud appeared on the horizon. Mary called to say the North Carolina attorney general's office had contacted her about the four doubloons for sale on E-Bay. They were museum quality, and the bidding had reached an almost fantastic $40,000 each. A collector had alerted the authorities to the possibility that they might have been stolen.

Guy was staggered by the offered price. "You must mean $40,000 for the lot."

"No," Mary insisted. "I have good photos of the coins on the web, both sides. I offered them individually with the high bidder having the option to take one, two, three or all. The money's there, Guy. That's the way E-Bay works."

"That's wonderful news. But proving ownership is something else. I suppose there should be some sort of invoice, sales receipt, whatever."

"Why not have an assistant attorney general come over, assemble the Armada crew, and let them explain."

Guy pondered how that might come out, but had to agree. He could think of no other solution. Mary said she would call and schedule a meeting either in Guy's apartment, or if necessary in Raleigh, it was only a few miles away. It was agreed.

About the same time Guy got a call from U.S. Immigration stating they had an anonymous report that he was harboring a flock of illegals.

"That mysterious report comes from a UNC instructor named Ed Kellerman," Guy said. "And the illegals are actually citizens of San Villafranca."

"I'm familiar with that corrupt little island," the immigration agent said. "How long have they been in the States?"

"Only a few days."

"The date's stamped on their passports?"

"No. They came over by private charter to a small private airport."

"That in itself is illegal if they failed to contact immigration."

"I don't think they were aware of that."

"That doesn't matter. We can deport them."

"But then they can return legally," Guy said.

"Not if their passports are stamped deported. It would take some doing to get around that."

"What's the procedure?"

"There will be a hearing. They must show up, or we'll come looking for them."

"These are honest people. All scholastics. You name the date. I'll be there with them. They have an important role to play in this country."

"I'll be in touch."

Guy's head was swimming. Stolen coins and illegal aliens. Damn Kellerman and damn coin collectors. But the money! What a windfall. That night, Guy slipped away alone with Poncho under one arm. With the canine's approval he had decided to discard the old name of Pierre forever.

They found a cozy corner in a shadowy bar and Guy opened his heart to the dog. Poncho listened with interest. The dog thought the charge of stolen coins was capricious. If coins were stolen they would have to be stolen from someplace. So bring forward the true owner with his or her proof! The immigration mess was something else, but not beyond Poncho's agile brain. He jumped to the chair across the table, placed his front paws on the table and stared at his master. Guy stared back, stopping now and then only for a sip of beer.

The waitress dropped by. "What are you two guys up to? You dating a dog, professor?"

Guy laughed. "No. It's an unusual dog and he's trying to convince me to buy him a drink. Would you bring him a saucer of red wine?"

"You kidding?"

"No. Merlot will do. But nothing too sweet."

"You got it. He's an adorable little fella."

A day later Guy sold a few of the English coins to a local dealer and booked a commercial flight for himself to San Villafranca. He would try to pull another rabbit out of the hat.

In the next few days the group seemed to come together. They expanded their shopping tours to Wall-Mart and the mall at nearby Durham. They hiked in a park owned by Duke University and strolled the campus area at NCU, stopping occasionally at campus hangout bars.

Guy, Mary and even Courtney were ever watchful to keep Lord Percy under control. Guy had more than one fatherly talk stressing the risk of death with AIDs and explaining safe sex. The eight plus Poncho would often have dinner together at Guy's place, sometimes cooking Spanish dishes, shying away from English suggestions and trying to eat before the Spanish preferred dinner hour of 10 p.m. to midnight.

Guy managed to drag Doña María to a doctor on the promise that the two of them would confer with an RC priest regarding their pending marriage.

Poncho had been right about the coins. The assistant attorney general, faced with four Spaniards and two Brits from San Villafranca who told them the coins had been in their families for generations, could only puzzle who the coins might have been stolen from. So he gave them a clean bill of health. He issued one caveat: The Internal Revenue Service would take a lively interest in their profits.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Then came the day of the immigration hearing. All eight appeared before a panel in a courtroom of the federal building in Raleigh, a solemn session. They had agreed to let Guy act as spokesperson.

He told the immigration court that the six were Armada scholars and had been drawn together to present a traveling re-enactor series on university campuses across the nation. Their service would be a considerable contribution to American culture, and the tour could be expanded to all of the Americas and Europe.

The presiding judge said that would be taken into consideration, but they were assembled there today on a deportation issue regarding illegal aliens.

"If the court please," Guy said, attempting to be politically correct, "these eight citizens of San Villafranca are political refugees and seek asylum on our friendly shores. That is how they came to leave their homeland in such haste. There was no time to visit the American Consulate or travel commercially. They fled to a small airport, pooled their resources and hired a gypsy plane."

The presiding judge rubbed the side of his head for a long moment. The sound of birds could be heard through an open window. A plane droned in the distance. The female member of the panel coughed and put a tissue to her nose.

"This is new information," the presiding judge began. "We have heard through a member of your faculty that these six San Villafrancans are simply illegal immigrants. Can you explain where this refugee thing comes from?"

"Your informant, who I think I know, may have had his own agenda in making such a charge. We were summoned before you, but we would have come in on our own in due time. You see, if any of these six refugees show their face again on that small island, they will be put to death. That is the instructions from the boss of that small nation, the one known as El Numero Uno."

The judge smiled. "An odd title."

The female member of the board spoke up. "I've heard it before. I've also heard that El Numero Uno is not an individual, but a group of businessmen who run the corrupt show over there."

"But you might agree," Guy said, "that regardless of being one person or a group, the word of El Numero Uno is law. What he says is gospel, and a death sentence is a death sentence."

"That's true," she agreed. "But how to get to the bottom of this. How do we know what you say is true?"

"There are telephones and there is what passes for a state department on San Villafranca. I don't think this ruling is a secret."

"But why?" the presiding judge questioned. "Why this harsh judgment on six people?"

"There's no secret there either. They were the backbone of a small organization, something akin to the ACLU. As I've said, they are scholastics and have that liberal bent."

"Yes," the judge pondered, "I'm familiar with those left wingers. Very close to communism if you ask me."

"But their activities don't rise to the level of capital crimes."

"Perhaps not. If the board agrees, our staff will look into this, and if there is a death edict in place, and if these six individuals are deemed useful citizens, perhaps by the UNC president, we can start the proceedings to give them the shelter of our shores. Do they all speak English?"

"Two of them speak a form of English, the other four are learning."

Lord Percy almost rose to take issue with Guy's words, but Courtney held him back.

There was general agreement among the board, and the hearing was adjourned.

And so the Chapel Hill six were adjudged political refugees and their academic act was honed to near perfection.

Prof. Guy King would lead off by explaining that the six had spent years in earnest study and would not step out of their roles.

Doña María would begin by detailing the life of a wealthy merchant family that had risen to the level of nobility in ancient Madrid. Following her was Doria Queveda who would characterize the frenzied nightlife of both commoners and nobility, getting down and dirty into prostitution and criminal activity. She did snatches of popular songs of the day.

Then followed Jesus who played the role of a trooper who rose through the ranks to sergeant and then made the unusual jump to lieutenant and captain. In tandem with Cadet Francisco, the two took them to the voyage of La Anunciada to the Azores and back to Lisbon and then their role in the Armada with every hardship from fireships to taking cannon ball "between wind and water" until the abortive sail around Scotland and Ireland and the scuttling and burning of the vessel in the River Shannon.

At that point Major Courtney Wellston and Lord Percy would take over, beginning their portions of the show at the Court of St. James in London. Courtney would document his rise to major as a professional soldier and then an unfortunate fight where he mortally wounded a cousin of the Duke of York and was exiled by Queen Elizabeth herself to a drab garrison in Ireland.

Percy would then tell his story. He had the misfortune of being born gay and the good fortune of being born to nobility. In truth he enjoyed both realities. Following a classic education and a series of consensual affairs, he blundered into a seduction of the sixth heir to the throne, a lad who just turned teen. Assigned to Wellston's garrison, as a peer he was second in command.

The two would then tell their side of the story of meeting with the remnants of La Anunciada. There the story would end, and Mary McKay would follow up with an often lengthy question-and-answer session.

The show was an instant success. Grants came in as well as financing from various colleges and universities where bookings were made. An agent was signed on and bookings were secured at public theaters. Under the title "The Spanish Armada," the show was touted as high entertainment with serious, but not fatal, cultural overtones.

During the initial hoopla, there were wedding bells. And always the insistence by Jesus and Doria that the group must return to Spain to find the ancient gold and then face the difficulties of converting it to a modern fortune.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

On the road there was more than adequate time to discuss the present situation and debate, sometimes heatedly, the worth of modern America as opposed to ancient Iberia and Europe.

Guy always insisted, "America means something!"

The talk went back and forth, the Spanish with their homogeneous population, the Brits with Normans, Saxons, French, a few Germans, plus Scots, Welsh and Irish.

Mary mentioned America as a melting pot, an unfinished nation, a land of regeneration and renewal for recent immigrants. "There is a national destiny," she insisted.

Guy said the melting pot was more like a stew with each nationality clinging to certain features of their identity while the general flavor spreads throughout. He hit on what he thought was an even better explanation. America was an orchestra, a symphony made up of many elements offering infinite possibilities for composition and expression. Colors, textures, volume, tones with no boundaries! Small or large, chamber orchestras or philharmonics.

Then he found to his sorrow that he had to define "orchestra" because they didn't come into their own until the 19th Century, long after these ancients were born. So the talk of strings, woodwinds, brass, percussion and special instruments such as pianos, organs, harps and celestas consumed hours of explanation.

Then there was the entire new field of modern orchestras moving into rock, jazz, disco, tango, música ranchera, bossa nova, world music and so forth.

And the ancients had discovered the atomic bomb laden with its ethics: Invent first, then decide what to do with the invention.

The English seemed more in tune with the dynamics, life on the edge in the modern world. The Spanish seemed to hearken to a slow gaited life of quiet enjoyment.

"We Americans," Guy explained, "ponder the existence of God and continually fret over what is good and what is evil, often falling back on the Shakespearian line, 'Nothing is good or bad, but thinking makes it so.'"

"And some believe," he added, "as the Enlightenment thinkers did, that once every aspect of life is gathered to science, all things in this world will come crystal clear."

Doña María gave birth during the road show. She took a week off, and then found a student sitter for the infant, Roberto María Botella King. Guy was happy, but harbored nagging doubts about what might ultimately become of them all. He was particularly concerned with Jesus and Doria's insistence on returning to Spain to find their considerable stash of gold and silver, tucked away in both Madrid and Lisbon. It would be worth a fortune, if it hadn't already been discovered.

Then there would be the task of obtaining passports or other travel documents for the flight to Spain. And the reverse cultural shock of Spanish citizens from the 16th Century returning to 2005 Spain.

They returned to Chapel Hill after the first set of bookings, now with an agent clamoring for another road trip. Their success had been widely heralded. Then another shock. UNC President Falkner had passed away suddenly during their absence and had been replaced by a Dr. Shaft. Dutifully, Guy presented himself to the office of the new president.

Oddly enough, he wasn't offered a handshake, or a seat. "I've heard stories about this Spanish Armada thing, King. A road show, a vaudeville type thing. It doesn't sit well with the academic community."

Guy frowned. "I'm totally taken by surprise. It's a type of academic seminar. Everyone in the Spanish Armada is an expert in his or her field. It's totally authentic and has been well received."

"Not what I heard. A very responsible member of our faculty has told me that some outlandish lies have been told during that bizarre show, things that any historian would know are false."

A light came on. "That person would not have been Ed Kellerman by any chance?"

"What if it was? He's just completed his doctorate. A thoroughgoing historian."

"He's also been after my job. Are you an historian, Dr. Shaft?"

"Mathematics is my field. No room for dreamers there, a precise science. Anyway, King, I'm sorry about this, but I'm naming Kellerman to chair the history department. You'll still have a job, but you won't be involved in graduate work. Kellerman will assign you your tasks. Now I'm a busy man, cleaning up some of the mess Falkner left me."

"Dr. Falkner was a good man," Guy said grimly. He was tempted to walk around the desk and slap Shaft two or three times, but he calmed himself. "Of course my resignation is effective as of this moment. So goodbye." He turned and started out of the office.

"Not so fast, King. You have a contract with UNC. If you don't honor it, you'll never work again as an academic." Shaft's face was red and he was on his feet. Again Guy was tempted to slap the pudgy mathematician around a few times, but again he resisted. At least he had gotten a rise out of him.

"My contract is for my chairing the history department. It is not to conduct orientation classes for freshmen. So I'm through here. Your style isn't to my liking."

"I'm president of UNC and you better know it. I'll give you, uh, a week to change your mind. I'm not cutting your salary, King. Even though I should. You'll never get a deal like this again."

"Nor will I want one." Guy was smiling now. Shaft was edgy. He worried about faculty reaction over his decision. Kellerman had conned him and maybe he was beginning to doubt that slimeball's integrity. Anyway, he felt a wave of freedom sweep over him. This was not an end to his career, this was a new beginning."

The full group had a high old time that night. They were up to ten now with the baby sitter and Roberto María Botella King. Wine flowed, and there was a huge roast beef with potatoes, carrots and onions. Somehow they had all jammed into Guy and María's condo.

At one point Guy asked the Brits if they had any desire to return to England.

"Not me," Lord Percy said. "I'm the toast of the gay bar scene. Everyone loves my accent and my slant on life. They marvel at my knowledge of Greek and Latin. I've been offered two or three jobs. And I can walk around free as a gay bird. I'm accepted."

"Tell them about your trip," Courtney tossed in.

"Quite right. A group of us have chartered a bus. We're going to march in a gay parade in New York City. Costumes, floats, what do they say, the whole nine yards."

"I hope our sessions on AIDs have been heeded," Guy said.

"Jolly Oh! I'm a poster boy for safe sex." He glanced at Courtney. "I'm afraid my countryman has been reduced from major to a private in cupid's army. Love is a great leveler."

Courtney scowled. He was seated next to Mary McKay and they were obviously holding hands under the table. "I'm settled here in Chapel Hill." He paused and raised his wine glass. "I'd like to toast this lovely lady at my side and announce that she has agreed to become my bride." Mary grinned like a Cheshire cat and raised her glass. Everyone stood and performed a bottom's-up toast. Then more wine was poured. It was a night to remember.

"And I couldn't be happier that our own Lord Percy has hit the depths of depravity here in this marvelous country and frequently rubs shoulders and other body parts with his tight little phalanx of perverts," Courtney said, then added, "degenerates all."

It was Percy's time to grin. He lifted his glass to toast the group.

The following day Guy got together with Jesus and Doria. Doña María was also present. "We have a substantial amount of money from the sale of coins and have actually shown a slight profit from the road show. If we go to Spain, and there's a problem getting travel papers, we might find your cache gone."

"Not likely," Doria said.

"But possible. Entire neighborhoods may have been razed since the 16th Century. One question is whether we can change history. This has troubled me from the beginning and I never really tried."

"I don't understand," Jesus said.

"Well, obviously, I knew what was going to happen to the Armada. I did warn Captain Alavares that there would be fire ships. I did pay careful attention to stocking La Anunciada with food, water and wine. But I knew no one would believe if I let slip the entire story."

"So you can't change history, even though we are here and we should be long dead in Spain. Is that your point?"

"Not exactly. That you are here was likely meant to be, if we think in terms of an Eternal Father, or fate, whatever. Here's my suggestion. We've had experience with the time travel formula. It's a risky business, I allow. But what if you and I, Jesus, went back to Spain in 1589 and retrieved the gold and brought it back here?"

The thought pleased Jesus according to the happy look on his face. "You and Jesus and me," Doña María insisted.

"But, darling," Guy said. "We must think of the baby, Roberto. And why endanger yourself for no reason?"

"My reason is to accompany my husband. And you must remember I have property in Spain. My family controls land, houses, a winery, gold, silver and other possessions. We even have grants to land in the New World."

"I assume you mean South America," Guy said. "But the risk is too great. I think Jesus would be willing to accompany me."

"You got that right," Jesus chimed in. "The sooner the better."

"You can control the time and location?" Doria asked.

"Yes, it's part of the procedure. The wine and chant are standard, but the Latin ritual is tailored to location and time."

"If this thing works that easily," Doria added, "You could go back a few days and pick sure things at the race track."

"I suppose. But we might jinx ourselves. From all my readings and research, and they are considerable, this procedure was stumbled upon by cloistered monks and is not meant to be used for profit or self aggrandizement."

"But we seek gold," Doria asserted.

"Yes, but not stolen gold. Gold obtained in a semi-legitimate manner, if you catch my meaning."

"Your meaning is crystal clear, Guy. And at the time this gold was achieved the method was well inside the law, and even nobles of the church involved themselves now and then."

"Whatever. But let us make plans and let me get the wording straight for the time and location. If we go, we will go as who we were before. I as captain, Jesus as my sergeant and Doña María, if you insist, as a cadet."

"For entry I will be a cadet and then I will reveal myself as heir to the Botella fortune and a woman married to the good Captain Don Pedro García."

"Well said," Guy grinned. "And I suppose there will be suitable celebration, dinners, feasts and so forth."

"Yes, and additional consecrations by the true church as opposed to this modern one that has discarded Latin and has the priest facing the congregation. What blasphemies I have endured for the sake of love."

"Oh, yes," Guy chided. "How you have suffered. Forced to take showers, wear clean undergarments and use modern plumbing facilities. Not to mention giving painless birth in a modern hospital with trained doctors."

"There are certain advantages," Doña María agreed. "And we shall return after our visit and we will save dramatically by not having to pay airfare and eat that horrid airline food."

"If I might add a personal note," Guy said, "and I have not fully digested this facet of the plan, but while I harbor no bitterness against the moronic Dr. Shaft, there is something to be said for punishing Ed Kellerman for his perfidy."

"I offered to kill him for you," Jesus said.

"Yes. And I appreciate that. But since coming to America you've become acquainted with our laws. Pulling off such an escapade has its pitfalls. And, in my mind, death would be too good for such a lying scoundrel. My proposal is that we take him with us and leave him in Spain."

Silence for a moment, and then Doña María burst out laughing. "Holy Christ, what a delicious fate. I can't wait to see this story unfold. How do we lure him into our trap?"

"Very simple." Turning to Doria, he said, "Sister Frenesi is taking English at the university. Kellerman, lecher that he is, has shown great interest in the beautiful young lady whose Spanish is perfect. Also, President Shaft is taking heat from the academic community over my forced resignation. So we have Frenesi invite Kellerman over for dinner to make peace and possibly discuss my rejoining the department. He'll come running."

"Son of a bitch," Jesus said, slapping Doria on the back. "Is my captain a genius, or what?"

Poncho, who had been listening intently, was afraid Guy might leave him out of this caper. The small canine would be watchful and ensure that he wasn't left behind with Roberto's sitter.

He remembered a past life as a page, when he had gotten into a drinking contest and slept like the dead for twelve hours, only to awaken to see his master and the last of the vessels disappear into the channel fog on their way to conquer France. There he was, cold, wet and hung over, standing on the Dover beach. That was another short and not too happy life. By the time he foot slogged back to London he was dying of the grippe.

The flashback depressed him. To rid his mind of the thought he turned to metaphysics, a discipline Aristotle had described as a general study of existence or reality. Some moments in his checkered lives left him in a maze of confusion, but Zen meditation or a deep plunge into philosophy would generally bring him face to face with the reality that carrying water and chopping wood are the activities of the Buddha. Or, another common way of expressing it, "The everyday mind is Buddha."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

There was no need to wait, so Frenesi managed to bump into Kellerman by chance and drop the books she was carrying. The two laughed as they stooped to retrieve them, and Kellerman took in her ample bosom.

"I'm so clumsy," she said in Spanish.

"What a delightful accent you have," Kellerman responded. "We should get together sometime."

"Guy and Doña María were talking about having you over just last night. I'm not certain, but I think he might want to return to the faculty. He's out of work, you know. And with the baby and all."

Kellerman beamed. A chance to play the hero and please the new president. If he could hook Guy King back on the staff with a straight faculty contract, there would be no more grumbling from those bleeding-heart faculty malcontents. But how to reply? "I don't know if President Shaft would approve," Kellerman finally said. "But I'd go to the mat for Guy. I know we've had our misunderstandings. But I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Why not? If an opportunity like that comes along, I'll be glad to drop over."

"You're so gracious, Ed. Do you mind if I call you Ed?"

"Certainly, Frenesi." He gave her his best sincere smile.

"I'll see what I can do and I'll give you a call."

"Anytime. And, incidentally, we, you and I, can get together and I'll assist you with your English, although your Spanish is beautiful."

She was tempted to say, yours is about third grade level, but she left with a simple, "Adios."

Guy had been working and reworking his Latin to get them to a spot in Madrid near the entertainment section and at a time frame just after the return of the battered Armada. Battered vessels, troops straggling in from Lisbon and every part of the coast, men returning via Scotland, which had remained neutral, and France, ransomed men with horror stories of the less fortunate who had been summarily dispatched by the axe or the hangman's knot. It was at this time that Guy wanted to return with his sergeant and one cadet.

Kellerman was invited. He would arrive at eight and they would have dinner much later, in the Spanish style. The Brits were excused, and the sitter had taken Roberto to Mary McKay's apartment for the night.

"If this works out," Guy told Mary. "I don't want Kellerman's car sitting outside our condo. So after we leave please drive it to that gay bar near the campus and leave it in the parking lot. Put the keys under the seat and don't leave fingerprints."

"What keys?"

"I'll get the keys."

"OK. Now what about dinner? Can I help with the cooking?"

A short pause while Guy smiled to himself. Yes, dinner, he thought. "When we are gone, you, Doria and Frenesi might think of going out for a bite. Wendy's is open late."

"I see."

Kellerman arrived on time and commented on their outfits. Guy, Doña María and Jesus were dressed as Spanish soldiers, each with a dagger in his or her boot. "Just a bit of atmosphere," Guy said pleasantly. Kellerman smiled and shook hands warmly all around. Corks came out of red wine bottles. Longhorn cheese, chips and salsa were on the table. Candles were lit. The talk was general, mostly campus gossip.

When the second glass of wine was almost gone, Guy carefully refilled all the glasses and proposed a bottom's up toast to the new president. Kellerman was happy to comply and raised his glass to Dr. Shaft.

"Now I'd like to try and experiment." Guy said. "You've all heard of séances and items being levitated mysteriously in the air. Well, I found an old book with a sure fire method. It takes four people. We sit around the table, chant for a minute or two in a rhythmic manner, then I mutter some incantations and the table should rise. Are we all game?"

Fueled by the wine, everyone agreed. Guy said he and Jesus and Doña María and Kellerman would do it. Men would be better. Testosterone might do the trick.

"Ed, metal items such as keys might interfere. So let's give ours to Mary to hold."

"What about Jesus?" Kellerman said.

"Oh, sure. He only has a house key. No car yet, hey Jesus." Jesus smiled and they all handed over their keys.

"Now the last thing. We want no interference from bad vibes. So everyone else must leave the room and close the door. Just the four of us." At that point Poncho sprang from the couch and hurled himself at Guy's knee. He was too small to make the climb to the lap, but he jumped and barked. Well, maybe I meant just the five of us." He picked up the small dog and Poncho placed his paw on Guy's bare wrist. He wanted contact.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When the others had gone, the four around the table gripped hands firmly and the chant began. Then came the Latin incantation. It wasn't like turning off a light, it was more like dimming a light, fading away gradually, losing the warmth of the room, and then the four figures and a Yorkie with eyes like dark marbles finding themselves on gritty, damp cobblestones.

"My God," Ed exclaimed. "What happened?"

"Time travel," Guy said. He was pleased. But where were they?

They struggled to their feet and Guy picked up Poncho.

What appeared to be tavern lights were just down the street. Guy led the group as they walked in that direction.

"What kind of trick is this?" Kellerman demanded.

"No trick, Ed. We are reliving history. This is 16th Century Spain. Madrid if my calculations are correct."

"That's humbug." He looked from person to person in confusion, but followed along.

"I know this street," Doña María said. "Those lights are from a famous brothel and bar."

Jesus agreed. "I believe Doria was familiar with this place." They all spoke Spanish now, further confusing Ed.

The time was late, but the door was still open. Upon entering they were approached by an older woman dressed to the nines, obviously the madam. "It's late, boys, but maybe we can take care of you. What's your pleasure?"

"How about a glass of wine, mother," Doña María said.

"Fine. Help yourself to a table. I'll bring a bottle."

"What is this place?" Ed asked.

"A whorehouse," Jesus replied.

"I've had too much to drink. This is a bad dream."

"The evening's young," Doña María said. "This is Spain and the air and the wine and the food and the people, it's so wonderful to be back."

The woman returned with a bottle of red wine and four glasses. A few others were in the room – two men at a corner table, a man and a woman twisted into an embrace in a window seat, a lone woman at the bar.

"Do you know Doria Queveda?" Jesus asked the madam.

"Who doesn't? But she vanished sometime ago."

"She's OK. I'm her husband, Jesus."

"Oh," the woman lit up. "I heard she got married. I'm so pleased to meet you, Jesus. Please accept the wine and more, if you like, as my wedding present."

"There is a favor we want to ask, but we can pay. We do thank you for the wine, but our friend here is not feeling well." He gestured to Kellerman. "Melancholy and disorientation. If you could keep him for the night. We'd pick him up sometime tomorrow."

The madam eyed Kellerman. "He looks healthy enough, but what odd clothing. Is he French?"

"No, English. But he speaks Spanish."

Kellerman knocked back a glass of wine. "I don't know what you three are up to, but I'm getting out of here. I may call the police." He rose as if to leave, but Jesus restrained him.

"You have someone to take care of rowdy drunks?"

"Of course," the madam said and signaled a big man seated in the shadows across the room. He came like a shot and the madam said, "Jose take this person in back and bed him down with one of the girls. He's blind drunk and needs a keeper."

Jose nodded and led Ed away mumbling to himself and walking stiffly.

"He'll keep till morning," Guy said. "Now to find an inn and get some rest. I'm feeling a little tipsy myself."

"We can take a cab to my home," Doña María said. "It's a half-hour ride."

"I'm in no mood to be greeted like the long lost wanderer. Let's save the shock until we're all feeling a bit better. And maybe you should get a change of attire." He eyed her cadet's uniform.

"No, I think I'll surprise what's left of my family in this. It will make for a better story. Doña María, Heroine of the Armada, Mistress of the Grand Crusade! We are entitled to fifteen minutes of fame, are we not?"

The three found an inn a few blocks away and managed to wake up a sleepy and disgruntled landlord. Grudgingly, they were given two rooms. "Ah, the beauty of the night jar," Guy remarked as he disrobed.

Just after noon the next day they trouped back to the bordello. Jesus had suggested that no decent bordello wants anyone nosing around before noontime. The madam was seated at a table sipping cocoa. She rose and embraced Jesus. "I've been thinking about your marriage to Doria and her disappearance. Did you murder her? Was it a crime of immense passion?" Her words were said with great sympathy.

"You women, always trying to fit any situation with a romantic twist. No we simply moved to the New World. A small island kingdom called San Villafranca." Jesus rolled up his sleeve to reveal his tattoo.

"What a thing of beauty," the madam exclaimed. "What is it?"

"This, mother, is the San Villafranca coat of arms. Each of the devices included is significant to the rich history of the island. Doria has one exactly like it."

"I've never seen such a lovely tattoo. Most of the work is crude, but this is art. You should be housed in a museum."

"Perhaps someday I will. But where is the Englishman?" Guy and Doña María had been standing by taking in the entire conversation with some amusement.

"The girl managed to settle him down for the night. But this morning he wandered off vowing to find what he called the American Embassy. I have no idea where he was going, but I know where he will end up. In a police dungeon. He is a crazy man."

"How long has he been gone?" Guy questioned.

"At least two hours. Plenty of time to attract the police, or the inquisition. He has heretic written all over him."

"Of course the English are heretics," Doña María cut in. "But we deal with them. My family sells them wine."

The madam eyed her suspicious. "And who might you be?"

"I am Don Diego de Beauvais," she said haughtily.

The madam smiled. "I don't mean to be offensive, but some of your features are quite feminine. Am I the first to notice?"

Doña María had not bound up her breasts on this morning and they clearly jutted in a provocative manner. "I am in costume. You have found me out. I am Doña María Botella. Perhaps you know my family."

"I know your father. I have not had the pleasure of meeting your mother for obvious reasons. I welcome you to my place of business. If you wish to keep up this facade, perhaps I can help you improve your disguise."

"I'd be pleased."

The madam ordered a waitress to bring cocoa and rolls for the men and led Doña María into the shadowy bowels of the building.

When they had gone and the cocoa was served, Guy asked Jesus if they should begin their search for Kellerman with the police.

"My advice is to leave him to whoever has him. We are well rid of him."

"We can't do that," Guy said. "I don't mind leaving him in Spain in this age, but I would like to see him in a safe haven. Then he can spend the rest of his life stewing over his evil disposition."

"You have a point, my captain. We also should report to the Presidio. It's the duty of all Armada survivors to check in with headquarters."

The madam was all smiles when she led Doña María back to the table. "She makes a proper young soldier doesn't she? Proud chest, beautiful uniform, dagger in her boot. If she could have been put ashore in England she would have raised hell with the heretics!"

"Agreed," Guy said. "She raises enough hell with me. You can be the first to know that Doña María is my wife. We were married in the New World."

"A proper Catholic wedding, I hope."

"Very definitely."

"Not so," Doña María disagreed. "The priest was an odd one and the service not traditional. We shall have a grand wedding at the cathedral here in Madrid."

There was nothing Guy could do; she was determined. "As grand as it can be, as quickly as it can be handled."

She looked aloof. "There is no need for haste. The minutes are a full 60 seconds here in Spain and we are not plagued with fast food, nor are we deserted by tradition. We shall do what we shall do."

"I couldn't agree more," Guy said. "So we will deliver you to the warm embrace of your family then Sergeant Jesus and I will report to the Presidio as proper soldiers must, then we will ferret out the Englishman."

"And do what with that wretch?" Doña María inquired.

"Place him in some job somewhere where he can while away his days in the slow-gaited Spanish way that you suggest."

She brightened. "I have just the spot for such a lackey and peasant slave. My family has vineyards quite far removed from here. We can place him there. There is always a need for workers. He can teach a few of the men English. It is always advantageous to know the language of your enemy and your trading partner."

"And they are both," Jesus laughed. "Those bastard English love our wine."

They hired a cab and dropped Doña María off at a considerable estate. She would make her entry, and then at nightfall Guy would join her and be introduced as her spouse. Whether they would mention the baby was left floating in the air.

Captain Don Pedro and Sergeant Jesus then reported to the Presidio where they were given a warm welcome. They learned that the transport ship from Limerick had reached Lisbon safely with all men aboard, and that they had been given up as dead, knowing the English treatment of Spanish prisoners.

Don Pedro simply explained that he and the other hostages had made their escape with considerable difficulty, and a report would be filed at some future date. He didn't know how to explain his marriage to Doña María, so he skipped owning up to that affair.

Then they went off to search for Kellerman. He hadn't gotten far. He was lodged in a cell at the police barracks nearest the bordello.

"The man is unbalanced," Don Pedro explained to the police constable. "We will take him off your hands."

"But he has been detained by the civil government of Madrid," the constable asserted.

"For what purpose?" Jesus asked. "Did he commit a great crime?"

"No. But he was acting oddly and wearing peculiar garments. Perhaps he would interest the inquisition."

"But he is English," Don Pedro said. "All Englishmen act in an unusual fashion. Now I am a captain in the King's service and Jesus here is a sergeant, and a very good one who has served with the Armada. This Englishman may have information of value to the military."

"As you wish," the constable said wearily. "He has given us nothing but trouble, an excellent candidate for the stake and the flame. But you may have him."

CHAPTER THIRTY

"You!" Kellerman shouted when he was led from his cell. "How dare you do this to me. Dr. Shaft will not want you back after this. You'll inhabit a jail cell for your crimes. And you too, Jesus! I suppose the authorities have come to their senses."

"Yes," Don Pedro said. "They are turning you over to us. Keep quiet and cooperate, or I'll have Jesus knock you in the head."

Kellerman glanced at Jesus, then back at Don Pedro, and calmed down, being content with a hate stare for both of them.

Outside they found a cab that dropped them off a few hundred yards from the Botella estate. The three of them sat on a bench and Don Pedro explained the situation to Kellerman, who at first refused to believe it.

"Come, come now, man. You've just spent the night in an early Spanish whorehouse. You've been thrown in a decrepit Spanish cell. Have you seen any electric lights, flush toilets, airplanes, cars, anything modern?"

"Maybe it's a movie set."

"A real huge one. We've just had a very long horse-drawn cab ride. You see, Jesus and I and the others are really members of the Spanish military. We actually sailed with the Armada and almost lost our lives in Ireland where we picked up Courtney and Lord Percy. Percy is in truth an English lord and Courtney a major in the Queen's service. That's why our little show was so well received. It is authentic despite your ravings to Dr. Shaft."

"OK. OK." Kellerman appeared pale. "I believe everything. You've convinced me. I'll tell Shaft. You'll be exonerated."

"Come off it, Kellerman. No one believes in time travel. If you would try, and I think you're too smart for that, Shaft would think you were nuts. You know that."

"OK, then I'll keep quiet. You can have the department chair. I promise."

"Cross your heart?"

"Yes, yes. Cross my heart." He made a frantic gesture toward his chest. "And honor bright. Spit in the ocean."

"You know, I can't believe you, Kellerman. You're such a stupid liar. Shaft must be as dumb as you are to be taken in."

"Well, what's to become of me? You can't just leave me here."

"And we won't. You'll be taken care of."

Kellerman looked from one to the other and repeated the words, "Taken care of? Like what does that mean?"

"I mean we have a job lined up for you in a rustic vineyard. You'll have a good life with the peasants, healthy outdoor work. And you can teach a few of them English. They trade with the English. Sell wine."

"You mean you'd strand me in 16th Century Spain? That's a life sentence."

"Make the most of it. Make friends. Find a wife. You might even cultivate the English buyers and get to London someday."

"Also in the 16th Century?"

"Of course. You can't escape that. We all live in our times."

"And you and Jesus will live in this time?" He was suspicious.

"No. No. We'll return to Chapel Hill. Remember, I have a son there. And Frenesi and Doria are waiting our return."

"My car. What did you say about my car? I was drunk, but you said something."

"They'll find it parked at that gay bar near the campus, the keys on the floor. I thought it best not to leave it by my condo."

"That's why you wanted the keys, isn't it? You planned this whole thing. I could kill you."

"No, you can't kill me, Kellerman. That's a no-no. I could kill you, but I won't. A good, long peasant life is best for you. Remember this: You get me once, I get you twice."

Kellerman studied his hands. "I don't believe in time travel. How could people still be alive in the 16th Century? This is insane. This is trickery."

"We are all shadows, Ed. Life is a dream, ambition is a dream within a dream. There is much we don't understand. Now it's time to go up to the villa and deliver you to your handlers who will take you to the vineyard. They will have your interest at heart. But if you are rough with them, they will be rough with you. That you will spend the remainder of your days in the 16th Century is a melancholy truth. Make the best of it."

Kellerman let out a primal scream and Jesus batted him down. Both men helped him up and the three of them walked to the villa.

Guy remained with Kellerman while Jesus went ahead to tell Doña María they had the villain in hand. Soon a pair of men appeared with Jesus and said they would lock the prisoner up in a shed for the night and he would be taken to the vineyard next day. Kellerman said nothing as he was led away.

When Guy and Jesus started for the villa they were met by Doña María a few steps from the door. "My family is ecstatic to see me. The servants actually shed tears of joy. Here, I am like royalty. In America I am one of a herd of sheep." She gripped Guy's arm. "Don Pedro, we must stay here."

Her words came like a thunderclap or a lightning strike from a clear sky. "But our child, darling. What of him?"

"He will grow up as an American. His has a good bloodline. I have no fears for him. And you, Don Pedro, are a captain of the King, a hero of the Armada, you managed to return your troops in safety while placing yourself in grim peril. You are destined to become a grandee."

"I'm a professor of Spanish history, my darling. And I will return to America. You are my wife and must accompany me."

"That marriage, that shadow of the true church. It was nothing. But your future is here. We will marry in style and have more children. Maybe four. Then you will preside over a grand household." She kissed his cheek and hugged him.

"You know I love you, darling. But you ask too much. How could you respect me if I gave up my life to become a sort of gigolo husband."

"Nonsense. You have killed men in duels, you have battled the English. You have outsmarted your enemies. You are the grandest man alive." She plead with her dark, now tear-stained eyes.

"What have you told your family?" He needed time to think.

"That I was with the Armada as a cadet. That a brave captain was my leader and that he would be along shortly to meet them all." She glanced at the villa behind her to see if anyone was watching. Thinking they might be, she straightened and loosened her grip on Guy. She was not to be taken for a spineless clinging vine.

"All right. Let us not discuss this further at this moment. I hold to my position and you may hold to yours. But introduce me as your captain and Jesus as your sergeant. We will celebrate this occasion with your family and servants as good friends."

She cocked her head and took a good look at him. Doña María was used to getting her own way, even with Guy. "That will do for now. If I could hold you here by force, I would do so."

"I know that, Doña María. We have been through much together and you have measured up with the best of my troops."

"I am not a man, Don Pedro. My heart is a woman's and I have a woman's pride. But come, we will enter the villa. But remember this, everyone in Spain knows who they are and knows their place. We do not have ozone depletion, killer bees, nuclear war, mind altering chemicals, other than alcohol, elevators, cell phones, computers, stress."

Guy smiled. "No electricity, plus the joys of the Inquisition. It's a give-and-take world."

"I could make a list," Doña María said. "I could write a book. But parting would not be sweet sorrow. It would tear my heart."

Guy and Jesus were each given a room where they rested until late night. Then the feasting and toasting began in earnest. Such elegance, such display of disposable wealth, such abundance of servants, Guy had never seen. To think he had been given an open invitation to this lifestyle. And Doña María, both the intellectual and physical attraction was almost overwhelming. Yet his duty was also to Roberto, Doria and Frenesi back in Chapel Hill. And what of Jesus? He must recover the gold and return to Chapel Hill.

When he and Doña María were wed, he had promised the priest that any offspring would be brought up in the faith, and he had agreed to attend mass as much as any Catholic father would. It had been a halfhearted agreement, but on this night he slipped away from the party and sought out the Botella's private chapel and prayed for guidance.

Then he lit candles for himself, Doña María, Jesus, Doria, Frenesi, Mary McKay, the two Brits and finally Ed Kellerman. He wondered if he had done right by Kellerman, now locked in a rude shed at the back of the villa.

Finally, he returned to the party and was immediately confronted by his bride who demanded to know where he had been.

"Praying. Praying for guidance in the chapel."

"I am touched, Don Pedro."

"You mean a lot to me, Doña María. More than you know, more than I thought, now that I might lose you."

"Then stay, Don Pedro."

"It's the money, the great wealth. It's embarrassing. A Spanish captain is not much. It would seem that I was marrying you for the vast estate. That's what some would think."

"I've seen America. We've traveled with our little show. I understand English. I've watched hours of television, some of it quite stupid, some not. I see how people care for one another, how the rich help the poor."

"I'm certain that is true to an extent in Spain at this time."

"In the countryside, perhaps. But not always. In the city it's dog-eat-dog and denounce your neighbor to the Inquisition if you are angry. But, consider this. Think of the good you could do, that we could do using only a fraction of our money to help the poor. We could finance schools, grant scholarships, lobby the government for types of welfare. You and I, Don Pedro, we could be agents for change."

"You've given me much to think about, Doña María. I shall drink my last measure and retire to my solitary, silent room for the night."

She smiled slyly. "You won't be alone for long, my darling. Or should I say lamb chop?"

"Heavenly flan. The night wears thin. Time for dessert."

After a final drink and dance, he retrieved Poncho, who had been in the arms of Jesus, and went to his room. He explained what had happened to the pooch and asked him whether he would like to spend the remainder of his dog years in the 16th Century. The dog blinked once.

Guy wondered if he had been swayed by the opulence, great food and the multitudes fawning over him. "If I were a hermit on a mountaintop, what would you say, you little savage?" Poncho growled. "I'll take that for what it's worth."

"If we did stay, you might have spent time in some of your past lives before they happened. It's curious. Would you have to do them again? And is everyone reincarnated, or just an unlucky few?"

Poncho growled again and Guy dropped the topic.

By candlelight, Guy examined the room. He became aware that he was in a grand bedchamber, doubtless reserved for honored guests. A large oil painting near the door startled him. He expected depictions of the crucifixion, the Last Supper, or at least Madonna and Child in 16th Century Spain. But here was something one might equate with modern art, a ruined coach. The wheels lay flat on rough soil, deteriorating parts flung here and there. It was the case of a useful worldly item reborn as art. He held Poncho so the small dog could take in the painting. "What do you think of that reincarnation?" he asked the pooch.

Poncho wagged his tail and his body. He was not without a taste for art. In a previous life in ancient China, not so very long ago considering the present situation, he had been known as Qiu Ying and had grown wealthy (before his tragic demise) specializing in garden art. One of his most famous was a large scroll depicting young immortals picking peaches in the gardens of Xi Wang Mu. These peaches were said to ripen only once every three thousand years.

How he would like to tell Guy about that era, and the blue-and-green fantasy style he originated. But Guy simply put the little fellow on the floor, disrobed and blew the candle out.

It wasn't long until Doña María slipped through the door, quiet as a shadow. Poncho took his normal position under the bed and would stay there until he heard steady breathing and maybe a slight snore. Then he would bundle under the covers between the pair.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Morning came and Doña María was gone, but a servant appeared with a pot of cocoa and a sweet roll. Guy bolted both down, dressed quickly and rushed through the big house and out the back to see if he could catch Kellerman before his departure. They were just loading the surly American into a farm wagon.

"Ed, I'm glad I caught you. Best wishes for a good trip."

"Good, my ass," Kellerman spat.

"You'll like the country, really."

"Kiss my ass."

"No thanks. Too early. I may stay in this century. There are advantages."

"You kidding?"

"No. I haven't decided, but Doña María wants to remain." They spoke in English to the bewilderment of the two farm hands waiting to set the wagon in motion. "If so, you know, I'll be the boss. I'll look in on you occasionally. Maybe I can help."

"You can help me by putting a bullet in my head."

"Don't be a sore head. You know you were after my job and got it in a rather underhanded way. So you really can't complain. You'll be sitting pretty out there, the only intellectual, the English teacher, the great predictor of things to come."

Kellerman almost smiled. "If you do stay, maybe you can open a toilet paper factory. That would be a hit."

"You know, I was thinking about that last night. I'm certain I could install plumbing and flush toilets in this villa. There's a lot of stuff I could do."

"While I'm stuck in the sticks."

"Cheer up. You'll find a buxom country lass who'll look after you night and day. That is, until the novelty wears thin."

"About two weeks."

"Bon voyage." Then he shouted to the farm boys in Spanish to get moving.

Guy returned to his room and washed up with the pitcher of warm water and bowl that a servant had brought. He then dressed and went down for breakfast, which was laid out on a sideboard. A variety of food was available: sausage, chicken, steak, boiled eggs, three types of bread , fruit and steaming pots of cocoa.

He was soon joined by Doña María, one of her aunts and a couple of cousins. He asked where Kellerman would be working and learned it was just south of a village called Avila, about 20 kilometers or 13 miles distant. He also learned there was a substantial church at Avila dedicated to Santa María.

After breakfast he asked Doña María to show him around the estate. He showed particular interest in the family burial plot with its elaborate carved stones.

Turning to Doña María, he said, "I've decided that remaining here isn't such a nasty idea. There are things I could do, things that we could do together."

A huge smile crossed her face. "Don Pedro, my lover, we shall drift through life on the wings of angels."

"Oh, by the way, would you mind if I had a mistress?"

"Oh, by the way, would you mind if I had you gelded?"

Both were smiling, both felt buoyed up by the pleasant day and their anticipated future. "There is something I must do. Something quite serious." He hesitated, she waited, and then he continued. "I feel I must return to Chapel Hill to clean matters up and retrieve Roberto. How we will explain him, I don't know."

"Of course we would reveal our marriage, but still have another, this one genuine. But what if you decide not to return?" The smile was gone and the day seemed not so bright.

"I'll give you my word, Doña María. We've been through a lot together, and I can't remember speaking about a serious matter in jest, or taking my word lightly. If I don't come back it's because I'm either dead or in prison. And, as you know, with a little help, I can escape prison. Anyway, if I broke my word and failed to return, you wouldn't want that sort of man for a husband."

She brightened. "How long will you be gone?"

"As short a time as possible. If my life is here, I'd enjoy living it to the fullest. My life will be on hold until I return."

"A pretty speech, and my feeling toward you is the same. When will you leave?"

"Again, as soon as possible. I'll talk with Jesus in a few minutes and together we will find his gold. I don't know what to do about his stash in Lisbon. But we can work that out."

"If you need help, I'll send a guard."

"Thanks, but Jesus likes privacy and security where his fortune is involved. I will get with Jesus, and after we get the gold I'll see you once more to say goodbye."

"Not goodbye, but hasta luego. And in bed tonight. Give me the dog, I will keep him here with me as a token, a small hostage."

Guy handed him over. "Poncho has a taste for luxury. Don't overfeed him and no more than a saucer of wine a day." The canine growled again.

"Poncho and I will decide what's best for him."

Later, Guy told Jesus of his decision and was surprised to find Jesus had come to the same conclusion. "In America I am nothing, but here, with my gold, I could own a tavern. I would be my own master."

Guy wondered what his sergeant planned for Doria and found he was content to leave her in America. "But she's your wife," he protested. "You have an obligation."

"There is nothing I can do, my captain. I am not your time traveler. With Doria and Frenesi, the situation is different. They have their youth, their looks, the modern world was made for them. I am past 40 and my home is in Spain."

"There's something I can do," Guy said, edging on anger. "I plan to return to Chapel Hill and retrieve Roberto and settle my affairs. Doria will have the option of returning to Madrid with me."

Jesus was clearly startled, but did not lose his composure. "I would welcome her back, my captain. In fact, I will return with you on this mission if you like. I am no coward and no blackguard."

"You please me, Jesus. But I shall go alone. But I will take a few of your coins with me, enough for expenses and possibly to make a gift to Doria and her sister if they wish to remain in the States. When can we retrieve this treasure?"

Jesus smiled. "I have it now. While you slept. It's hidden in my room. Come on, I'll show you."

The coins, mostly gold and fairly heavy, were in four leather bags. Several of them in near mint condition. Guy picked four of the best. "It's a good thing you didn't bring these along with the Armada. I don't think we could have brought them safely through." He hefted the bags. "Do you want me to have Doña María secure these in a family vault?"

Trusting as he was of Doña María, Jesus had the suspicion of a peasant. Hadn't the ruling class had its heel on the peasants since time began? Could any of them be trusted to safeguard gold? "If you think it's best, my captain. There are four bags. I would have her store three away. The fourth I can distribute through my clothing."

"I understand." And indeed Guy did. In more than one instance nobles with the Armada had drowned making their way ashore because of heavy gold pieces sewn into their clothing. "Tonight I will spend with Doña María and tomorrow I will travel across the miles and across the centuries." With his short sturdy frame and awesome appearance, capped by that one bad eye, Guy was certain Jesus could store and safeguard large quantities of gold on his person.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

On the first return to Chapel Hill the arrival had been just after midnight in the main room of a Starbucks coffee shop. This time, Guy hoped the timing would be the same, but he varied his chant slightly and tried for the university campus. His effort met with success. He materialized on the 50-yard line of the stadium just before dawn.

He saw hardly a car as he made his way through deserted streets and entered his apartment. It was as he left it. A hot shower and a change of clothing, then a pot of coffee before he called Mary McKay.

"The police are looking for you," came the frightened words.

"Why?"

"Suspicion of murder in Kellerman's disappearance. The motive. He took your job, forced your resignation, and ruined your life."

"Oh, well. One trouble after another. How's Roberto?"

"Fine. Plump and sassy. Eating like a small horse."

"Can you come over?"

"Sure. I'll tell the sitter to take charge of Roberto. Be there in fifteen minutes."

When she arrived, Guy explained the situation, asked her to talk with Doria and Frenesi about returning to Madrid. Then he gave her the coins. Her buyer had said he could handle any quantity she produced.

Guy had wrapped each carefully in parchment. "These are in great shape," she said. "They almost look counterfeit."

"But they aren't."

"No problem. The method and the gold content used back then can't be duplicated. It's been tried. I can get the money almost immediately."

Guy laughed. "I may need it for bail. Should I report to the local police?"

"Yeah. Lieutenant Bliss has been by to see me more than once. He also asked about Doña María."

"But not about Jesus?"

"I don't think he knows about Jesus. You want to be a mass murderer?"

"I don't have a chain saw."

"There's a sale at Home Depot."

"I'll call Bliss and tell him I'm coming down to see him." He glanced at his watch, almost nine. "He should be in."

Minutes later in Bliss's office, Guy was asked, "Where's Kellerman?"

"I believe he said he was going to Spain."

"For what purpose?"

"He's a Spanish scholar, the head of the department."

"You two are on the outs."

"We kissed and made up."

"Oh, yeah. He took your job. You quit in a huff."

"Not exactly a huff. I had other plans."

"Like what?"

"I thought I'd go to Spain."

"And why would that be?"

"I'm a Spanish scholar."

"Everyone in Spain, eh. Very convenient. Where's your wife, that Doña whatsherface?"

"She's in Spain."

"Are you a wise ass, or what? You can push me too far."

"I'm sorry, lieutenant, but these are the facts as I know them. Of course with Kellerman, who knows. But I think I know right where he is in Spain. He mentioned a certain area. I'll go find him if you like. I was planning to go there anyway."

Bliss gave him a hard look. "You may think you're funny, but I'm booking you on suspicion of murder."

"Your evidence?"

"Strong motive plus opportunity."

"You're wrong. I'm no murderer."

"We'll give you time to think about that. Meanwhile the prosecuting attorney may want to chat with you."

At least Guy was afforded a private cell. When an assistant prosecutor arrived, it seemed that President Shaft had put the police onto Guy's trail. "Where were you on the night Kellerman disappeared?" was the initial question.

"I don't know. I don't know what night Kellerman disappeared. I probably shouldn't talk to you without an attorney."

"You have something to hide?"

"Nothing at all, but it seems you've already built a case against me. How was Kellerman killed?"

"I thought I'd ask you that question."

"Why would you do that? I know nothing about it."

"Where's Kellerman's body."

"As I told Lieutenant Bliss, I think it's in Spain. That's where Kellerman said he planned to go."

The conversation was much like the one with Bliss, traveling in circles. Two days later, Mary McKay was permitted to visit Guy and said she had the cash.

"Good, give some of it to Doria and Frenesi. Did you explain the situation?"

"Yes. Doria wants to return to Madrid to be with Jesus. Frenesi will stay here. She has a boyfriend."

"Only one?"

"There's a line, but she favors one. She's a nice girl too. Not like her sister. Doria's a great person, but a bit of a bawd."

"I want you to get me a lawyer. I should have gotten one right away. There's one I know, a Bob Crawford. He's young, but aggressive."

"And they've got nothing on you."

When Crawford met with Guy, he agreed. "They've got nothing on you. Just this grudge thing promoted by Shaft. He's a pompous fool. People like you don't go around killing people like Kellerman because of a job conflict. You might hit him or something, but not kill him. Anyway, there's no body. And you say he's in Spain."

"That's where he told me he was going. My wife is there too. And I'd like to go over."

"Well, tell me where Kellerman is and I'll call him."

"That's it, Bob. I'm not certain. It's a remote area, and I don't know how you'd locate him by phone. Maybe if he has a girlfriend, she would know."

"Apparently there's no girl. His car was found parked by a gay bar."

"Then maybe a boyfriend."

"As far as Bliss can determine, Kellerman was never in that bar."

"We're back to square one. I repeat my offer to go to Spain accompanied by whoever and locate Mr. Kellerman."

"I'll talk to the prosecutor. I don't know about this Spain trip, but they've got nothing on you. There's no case. But I must admit that having both Kellerman and your wife drop out of sight is suspicious."

"I'll go to Spain."

Guy was released with the caveat that he stay in town. He had time now to settle what affairs he had, talk with Doria and spend time with Roberto. He signed his condo over to Mary McKay with the provision that she would share with Frenesi until that young lady sought her freedom, or refuge with a partner. Mary was still keeping company with Courtney, who had been signed up by a troupe of Shakespearean actors. He was the star of the cast and could move easily from Henry V, to Bottom, to Hamlet, but resisted doing Puck.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The trio, Guy, Roberto and Doria, were set to depart when Bob Crawford showed up and said the prosecutor had offered him a contract to accompany Guy to Spain and locate Ed Kellerman.

"Isn't that a conflict of interest?" Guy questioned. "You represent me."

"Shaft pushed for a resolution. He's minus a department head and can't fill the spot while this thing is hanging. Kellerman's still on the payroll. If he's in Spain and wants to remain there, I think Shaft will offer you the job. Meanwhile the prosecutor wants someone who's on good terms with you to find the missing man. It's not just to clear your name."

"OK. We'll go. But Doria Queveda and my son, Roberto, will go with us. It will take a day or two to get their papers in order. They lack passports, but there are special travel papers that can be issued."

This was the chance Guy wanted. There was something he wanted to check out, although it had given him a few sleepless hours. Just how far could this time travel go? He knew his life and Kellerman's life would be as long and happy, or unhappy, in ancient Spain as in modern America, barring some vengeful illness, such as the plague, but just how far could he tempt fate?

The weather was glorious when the four of them reached Madrid and checked into a downtown hotel, blue Spanish skies, and a caressing breeze. Outside tables, well-dressed men ordering strong coffee laced with brandy. Guy insisted they visit the Prado, that best of all Spanish art museums. They lazed away a full day after their flight, easing through jet lag into the haze of a Spanish evening, then a late night dinner with Roberto cared for by a hired sitter at the hotel.

Then came the day. Guy showed up at breakfast wearing his captain's uniform, Doria in 16th Century attire carrying Roberto.

"Why the outfit?" Bob asked.

"I am Captain Don Pedro Gracia, a soldier of King Felipe II and a veteran of the Spanish Armada."

Crawford noted the hilt of the dagger sticking out of his boot. "You seem to be authentic. I heard your little show drew high praise."

"It seemed authentic because it was authentic," Don Pedro said. "Please call me Don Pedro on this day."

Bob shrugged. "If you like. You seem to be drawing a bit of attention to yourself. And you, Doria, also in costume."

"In the garb of my era," Mr. Crawford. "Be patient and all things will be revealed."

After breakfast the foursome found a cab to take them to the nearby town of Avila and Don Pedro asked the driver to locate Santa María Church."

"I know it well," the driver replied. "But it is more of a museum, not used for many years, supplanted by a much larger, modern structure."

The church was a picture with its ivied stone, aged brick, wrought iron fencing, and a huge oak door with spider-like black hinges. A lay brother was tending the garden.

"May we see the cemetery?" Don Pedro inquired. "A friend of mine is buried there."

"You may," the brother smiled. "But the cemetery has been totally occupied for at least two hundred years. I doubt if you will find your friend."

"Perhaps not, but we shall have a look." Bob Crawford was truly puzzled. The four, Roberto in Doria's arms, wandered through the stone orchard for more than half an hour until Don Pedro stopped before a stone and beckoned Bob.

The inscription: Ed Kellerman, then in Spanish, beloved husband and father, Died December 1626 at the Age of 66.

"There's your Ed Kellerman," Don Pedro said.

"Really, Guy."

"Call me Don Pedro."

"OK, Don Pedro, but what sort of a joke is this." Crawford's patience was wearing thin.

"Patience," Doria counseled. "There is more to come."

When they were back in the cab and Don Pedro had directed it to the Botella Villa, which was well known, he told Crawford, "My wife's name is Doña María Botella García. My son's name is Roberto María Botella García. Keep those names in mind."

"Well do tell me what some of these people are saying in Spanish," Bob said. "I'm no linguist." The rest of the trip was made in silence, except for Doria humming to the slumbering Roberto.

To Don Pedro's delight the old villa remained, but it was the core of a revitalized splendid dwelling. They stepped down from the cab and told the driver to wait. Don Pedro rapped on the large door made of wormy chestnut and brought to a high shine. A youngish man answered and eyed his uniform with wonder.

"Pardon the way I'm dressed, but I'm a historian from the United States. If you don't mind I and my companions would like a quick look at the family burial grounds here."

"I see no harm in that," the young man said. "My wife and I live here and are descended from those sleeping out back."

"And what might your name be?"

"Andrew. Andrew García. And you?"

"I am dressed as Don Pedro García, one of your forebears."

The younger man smiled. "Yes, you will find yourself buried with a very ornate headstone. You were in fact a grandee."

"That makes me proud. Don Pedro introduced the others, and his direct descendent led them around the large villa to the family plot. "Here is where you are buried, Don Pedro." He pointed to a grave marked by a pylon, guarded by two angels. "And your wife Doña María Botella García is at your side."

"And my son, Roberto Doña María García? Where might he be?"

"Across the way there, with his wife and children. You had a very large family. There are other children."

Don Pedro held up his hand. "I have seen enough. I would like to have a few surprises. But he had noted that he had lived to be 73 and that his wife achieved her 80th year. That was a blessing to have Doña María survive him.

Don Pedro shook hands with his descendent and gave him a quick hug "Now we go. Thankful for your help."

"You are in some sort of drama?" Andrew asked. "For an American your Spanish is excellent, though a trifle old fashioned."

Don Pedro gave him a close, knowing look. "You may not believe this, Andrew, but I am Don Pedro García. I and Doria Queveda and little Roberto Doña María García, we are time travelers. If you tell someone this they will think you crazy, or they will think you have taken up with lunatics. But it is a fact. Now we must go."

Andrew García said nothing, but watched the four disappear around the side of the villa.

"I don't understand any of this," Crawford said when they were heading back to the hotel."

"It is difficult to grasp in such a short space of time. Do you have a family, Bob?"

"I am engaged."

"Too bad. If you were free we could take you with us to the 16th Century. There you would meet the living Ed Kellerman and my wife, Doña María. But very likely you prefer Chapel Hill."

"Extremely likely. But I would like to get to the bottom of this."

"If you will give us one hour, you will know for certain."

Crawford shrugged. "One hour. Why not? One hour to be convinced that I have come to Spain and seen the grave of an old man named Ed Kellerman who a few days ago was a professor at UNC. One fruitful hour. Of course."

"The concept of time travel is difficult to grasp, but there is a way. It can be compared to philosophy, or Zen. You must think of the infinite, of infinity. You must consider how large or small infinity might be. When you have that in your mind, and it will take some time, you must think of the where and the when. Then if your thinking is not disturbed by exterior conflicts, you will have it."

At his hotel room, Don Pedro showed Crawford around. The tenth floor, the windows sealed. No exit except the door to the hall. He carried the straight chair into the hall, set it across from the door and asked Crawford to be seated. Then he brought him a drinking glass full of red wine.

"You may sip if you wish while you observe the hands of your watch ticking off sixty minutes. Doria, Roberto and myself will be in the room."

"And how should this convince me?"

"Patience. Patience. You will see. And while you are sitting with your wine, think on the infinite."

In the room, candles were lit, more wine opened. The two of them drank and managed to give Roberto a small portion. Don Pedro stuffed his pockets with envelops of aspirin, antibiotics, a diagram for a flush toilet and other sundry items. Inside his shirt he placed a series of maps of the world and an Old Farmer's Almanac. Doria had several high quality wind-up watches on her arm and a Barbie doll stuffed in her bosom.

Fifteen minutes passed and Bob Crawford, seated in the hall on his straight chair, had noticed people coming and going from their rooms down the corridor who had given him odd glances. He began to feel uncomfortable. At the half hour mark a hotel employee he recognized as one who delivered room service approached and asked in broken English if he could be of assistance.

Crawford said no and the man departed. A few minutes later a police officer arrived with the same question. Crawford was aware his conduct was unusual, but the police officer had only a few words of English. The officer departed and returned minutes later with a man Crawford recognized as the hotel concierge who spoke perfect English.

"Can I be of service, sir?"

"I'm delighted to see you. The man in this room, Guy King, or Don Pedro as he likes to be called, asked me to sit out here for one hour. He and I are friends. Fellow Americans."

"I've seen both of you," the concierge said. "Is Mr. King in that room?"

"Yes. He and a woman and a baby. The three of them are in there doing some kind of an experiment."

The concierge turned to the policeman and said something in rapid Spanish. The officer hustled off down the hall. Then he asked Crawford if they might enter the room, or at least knock.

Crawford glanced at his watch. "I promised them one hour. It will soon be up." He smiled, happy for the company of the concierge. The hotel man lingered and they chatted about the fine weather and the Prado and various tourist attractions. Presently the police officer returned in the company of another man, this one balding, possibly in his late fifties, tall and with a hawk like nose.

The new man introduced himself as Police Detective Lopez. He spoke perfect English. "There seems to be some question about what is happening here, he explained.

Crawford reiterated his story, going over the names of the three parties in the room and why he was waiting outside.

"And we can enter soon?" the detective asked with a glance at his watch.

"Five minutes," Crawford said, then turned to the concierge, "Did you see Don Pedro's uniform?"

The concierge shook his head no and the detective seemed puzzled. "Who is this Don Pedro," he questioned.

"Oh, that's Guy King. He's dressed up like a Spanish soldier, an ancient soldier. He said it fits the time of the Spanish Armada. Beautiful uniform, with a dagger in his boot! We had quite a tour today. He claimed to show me his tomb and that of his son."

"His son," the detective said. "The infant in that room?"

"Yes, that's the one. And Doria is also there."

"This Doria," the detective questioned, she is the wife of one of the two men?"

Crawford smiled. "There is only one man. But Doria is not the wife. She is married to Jesus."

"I see," the detective countered. "She is a nun."

"Oh, no. She is simply married to Jesus. He's a good guy."

"I've always heard that. Tell me, when can we enter this room and meet this array of individuals?"

"I know it sounds strange, but he promised a total answer if I would wait out here for one hour."

The detective glanced at the concierge and then at his watch. "It seems the hour is up, shall we knock?"

"Oh, no," Crawford said, "he gave me the key." He produced the small card and slipped it into the door lock, then opened the door.

Inside were empty wine glasses and three guttering candles.

This is a surprise," the detective asserted.

Crawford was wide eyed. "I was outside all the time. Where could they be?"

"Not in this room," the concierge said. He had checked the bath and the closet. The police officer was peering under the bed.

"Mr. Crawford," the detective began, "you may think our Spanish police system is primitive. And possibly it is compared to New York or Los Angeles, but we even have access to psychiatric help. I'll have to ask you to accompany me to what you might call a safe facility, and then you can tell your story to certain professional individuals." He patted Crawford's shoulder. "You will be protected at all times."

The realization of what might have happened and the difficulty in the explanation finally struck home. "I am a lawyer in the United States," he said. "but not in Spain, nor do I speak Spanish. I would like to stand mute until I can contact a Spanish lawyer and possibly the United States Embassy. It seems my friends have played some sort of trick on me."

"Certainly, Mr. Crawford," the detective said. "Now if you will accompany me I'll ask the concierge to have your bags sent along. I'm certain when Don Pedro, Guy King, the wife of Jesus and small infant appear all will be explained. And this Don Pedro, I am eager to see him in his fine uniform, complete with dagger."

***

As Don Pedro walked up the lane to the Botella Villa he saw a smiling Doña María come to greet him. Beside her was a small Yorkie, yapping its head off and jumping in delirious circles.

###

About the Author

Doug Walker is an Ohio University, Athens, Ohio, journalism graduate. He served on metropolitan newspapers, mostly in Ohio, for twenty years, as political reporter, both local and statehouse, along with stints as city editor and Washington correspondent. Teaching English in Japan, China and Eastern Europe were retirement activities.

His first novel was "Murder on the French Broad," available only in a print edition published in 2010.

Now occupying an old house in Asheville, NC, with his wife, he enjoys reading, tennis, short walks, TV and writing.

Connect with Me Online

At Smashwords: <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Larchmont>

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