Free Spanish Serenade by Jennifer Blake Page B

wondering in amazement tinged with respect at his attire, and also at the rough thatch he had made of his hair and the look of a dullard in his eyes.
    It was early morning of the third day, a market day, before they made their attempt to enter the city. They joined a stream of carts, barrows, and donkeys headed toward the gates, all of them loaded with something to sell, from cured leather to jars of olive oil, fresh cabbage to trussed and squawking geese. Behind them, at some distance, trailed Baltasar, Enrique, and Charro amidst a herd of goats.
    Pilar and Refugio, with the other three, had lain for what was left of the second night at the farmer's house, sharing its one room with the man and his wife, their nine children, five dogs, a black hen, and a liberal supply of fleas. After such a night, Pilar thought, they surely looked as slovenly and unlike themselves as anyone could wish. Refugio still wasn't satisfied, however. He insisted she carry the latest addition to the farmer's family in her arms, a fine boy of seven weeks who had protested at the top of his lungs at being removed from his mother's arms. The child had not ceased to scream since they left the farm, and had made three wet spots on Pilar's lap in spite of several changes of the rags that served for diapers. His mother, trailing with her husband behind the herd of goats, had come forward once to nurse the baby. He had quieted only a few minutes, beginning to cry again the instant he was given back to Pilar. He sensed her inexperience with him, she thought, and her fear of what was going to happen.
    Ahead of them lay the Guadalquivir River. The water flowed greenish-brown and placid around its islands that were dotted with oleanders, before gliding through the great arches of the old Roman bridge that gave access to the city. The cart trundled past the tower fortress of Calahorra and began to cross the bridge. Before them Pilar could see the stone-pillared, Romanesque puerta del puente . There were two guards at the gate. One was talking with an attractive and vivacious young girl with a goose under each arm. The other stood watching their approach with his hands clasped behind his back and a look of dyspeptic gloom on his face.
    The cart drew closer, its wheels shrieking as if in alarm. The guard stirred and released his hands to place them on his hips. A frown drew his brows together. Nearer the cart came, and nearer still. The guard took a step forward. Pilar sent Refugio a swift glance. The brigand leader seemed oblivious of their danger, only plodding onward with his gaze straight ahead.
    “Stop!”
    Refugio gave no sign he heard. Pilar ran her tongue over her lips, at the same time joggling the crying baby in the hope that he would be quieted.
    The guard moved in front of them with his hand upheld. “I mean you, oaf! Stop!”
    A species of panic ran over Refugio's blank features. He hauled on the lead he held, nearly jerking the donkey off its feet. As the animal halted, Refugio snatched off his hat and stood with bowed head, almost visibly trembling.
    “That's better,” the guard said, thrusting his chest out. “You're making a racket fit to wake the nobles in their beds. For the love of God, get some grease for your wheels. And you, woman, put that child to the breast!”
    “Yes, your honor, but yes. Instantly, your honor,” Refugio replied in servile tones. He bent himself almost double bowing, at the same time making frantic motions toward Pilar. The actions flapped the lead in his hand and caused the donkey to start forward again. The guard stepped back out of the way, though he stared so hard at Pilar that she flushed and lowered her gaze, fumbling at the front of her dress under the ends of her rebozo. Mercifully, the baby found the action and the way he was being held familiar, and lowered the volume of his cries.
    They rolled onward, mingling with the crowd. Pilar sat stiff and straight, expecting at any minute to be called back, or else