Free Circles of Fate by Anne Saunders

her mind remained active. It had been such a surprise-sprung day. How enjoyable it had been to talk with Pilar and gain a clearer insight of her family. She yawned, too sleepy even to feel the chill of foreboding that usually accompanied such thoughts.
    Cathy was nice. Edward thought so, too. Would anything develop between them? she wondered.
    Her eyes began to close, her fingers slackened their grip on the coarse white sheet.
    Too bad of them ... to like ... bullfighting.
    Matadors weren’t sportsmen, she thought on a last vicious revival of breath. They were bloodthirsty creatures, lacking in finer feelings, who killed for unscrupulous gain.

FOUR
    Cathy sat beside Edward, very conscious of his presence. They had managed to obtain excellent seats, in the shade and near the president of the bull-ring’s box.
    Usually Cathy was fully taken up with the procession, heralded by a fanfare of trumpets, but this time even the magnificent matadors had to fight to gain her attention. She knew it all off by heart, of course. The officers of the ring came first, mounted and dressed in rich velvets. Behind them walked the beautifully caped matadors, who were the actual killers of the bulls, followed by the banderilleros, and last of all came the picadors, who were also mounted.
    The crowd rose to its feet, cheering and clapping in wild elation as the key to the bulls’ stall was thrown down.
    Now it was the man beside her who melted into insignificance as the ring was cleared of all but the first matador and his team of assistants.
    There was a breathless, fear-building moment of waiting, then in rushed the bull in a blur of feet and tail as he pawed up the dust and snorted in suppressed fury. No actor could have made a better entrance. It was magnificent. Frightening. Wonderful.
    The assistants made the first passes, fluttering their capes to attract the bull and make him charge, while the matador observed the bull’s movements and planned his own stratagem accordingly. Chance must be completely eliminated.
    The matador stepped forward and there was a tremendous Ole from the crowd. He started off with a right-hand pass and the others, the Veronica, the Mariposa followed in rapid succession. He’d done his preliminary summing-up well, and each pass was flawlessly executed. Man and beast were perfectly matched in technique and bravery.
    Unconsciously Cathy sighed an expressive: “Oooh!” as the deadly horns shaved his hip, but his expression registered only scorn because the bull had blundered and missed, and this drew delighted screams from the crowd. He was matador, showman, victor, all rolled into one!
    The trumpets blew and the screams heightened to delirium as the matador left the ring and the picadors trotted in on their horses, carrying long lances.
    â€œI always hate this part,” said Cathy, thrusting her hand into Edward’s. “I once saw a horse fall and the helpers failed to distract the bull and the horse was badly gored. The picador ran for the barrier, but he was weighted down with his heavy leg armour and didn’t make it. It was gruesome.”
    Another loud cheer went up from the crowd and she turned back in time to see the picador’s lance plunge into the bull’s shoulder, brilliantly on target in the thick muscle at the base of the neck. The enraged bull rammed into the horse, but his horns weren’t able to penetrate the protective armour. The second picador cantered in to complete the job of weakening the beast’s powerful neck muscles. It could be said that the bull’s courage had been truly tested, and the second stage of the fight could now commence.
    In danced the first banderillero to plunge the darts, gaily decorated with fluttering strips of coloured paper, into the bull’s shoulders, executing neat little side-steps so that the bull’s lunging horns missed his body. The idea was to further weaken the bull’s shoulder muscles and force