Chapter 5

Juan looked at his pack . Someone had started with a leather sack. Then they had sewed a strap across it . With twine they had tied a woollen blanket under the sack. With the pack prepared his benefactors had filled it few days worth of bread The bread was baked and baked again. Dried beef and some weak beer made up the rest of his provisions. The canteen was his. Surely His parents had brought half way across the world. So that could find a finer station in life, then chasing after people. Who wanted to kill him? To do this pleasant duty demanded being burdened like mules. He may has well have a Castliano to drive him.

He sighed. He cursed the son of a whore. The whole brothel and their large shower of bastards Whom had brought him down this road. He should be at home. Not checking his pack

He had shot, and powder. Don Neil’s people had even sharpened his sword. He was well provisioned, and well supplied. That was good. Whatever else happened the enterprise had started well

He would run, out of tobacco soon though. Maybe they might capture, the damn cut throat ship, and find it was carrying tobacco from the Isles or the cursed English colonies. One could always hope. He always hope the King of Spain, would give him, his fairest daughter.

He had least his horse. It could be worse. He could be dragging a musket on his back, or a pike. It was not his weary legs that had to make each step. He could even dose off a bit, now and then. It was hot. There was still so much to go. He would have been on his way, home by now. A few days worth of hunting stories, to tell the maids. How he had chased this beautiful deer, and he had saved a good shank of venison for her. Or this pretty flower that he found on the plains. Which he kept by his heart, to win hers. Watching the girls eyes grow wide, and them giggle. As he smoked the finest bacco in the land. The Master’ s good beer and wine to drunk.

Instead he was chasing heretics. Actually he wasn’t he, was making his way, to the coast. Where, they would wait to see. They might wait and wait. Then, they would have to march back. It might be better, if they could just settle it now. Then he could ride back, to the house. Catch that pretty maid. The new one, Paola and steal a kiss, when the cook was not watching. Anything else he could get away with.

He would only be holding his musket tightly. It was the only thing, he would be squeezing come to think of it. At least it was dry

He opened his pack. He drew out, some dried beef At least here it was always beef. God knows what he ate before. Cat, or rat. He chewed it. When they came closer to the sea. He could pick up some fish, and maybe the odd partridge. He preferred a good piece of fish. Everyone else here ate beef They sometimes, seemed to talk about nothing else but cattle.

The beef was good

His chief nodded to him.

The Men heard Juan shout, It was time to move on. As he was not going to kiss any maids till Sunday Juan climbed back on his mount.

Don Neil, cantered past on his hunter

``You know when, we first came to this land. We never used saddles. Don Neil, informed. Our ancestors, fought the indios and killed the heretic king riding bareback. ‘’

The Don flicked his hat, and grinned.

Juan, kept his thoughts about riding bareback to himself. The Don was a gentleman after all

`` There are a score of pikes. Five of my men have muskets. There are ten mounted gentlemen’’

Hugh wondered if Juan, would match the criteria for a Gentleman. Perhaps then the true and perfect form of Juan. The Juan that exists in the mind of philosophers. The Juan that existed in the heart of his mother. In those Judges courts Juan was a gentleman. Someone who is very different to the man, he had to chase away from the maids, and tear the tobacco out of his mouth before he entered a chapel.

Still, he had seen a street rat with a stone, kill a man of the blood. A fine horse, a good name, did not save that poor man. That his kinsmen, and retainers had avenged him. Did not feed his widow. Nor did it restore him to his marital bed. Not just the Indios, when they stole guns and horses. Indios who had guns and horses, kept the governor and the council, awake at night. Kept the armourers in good bread

If the Heretics and the Moor could smash pious armies, lead by princes. Then one had to admit Blood and breeding were sometimes found wanting. Like a debt, it was not something he would admit in public. His confessor and God, were the only one who needed to know

Hugh stroked Rosc. It could be the last time, he rode a horse. He could have ridden, home. He could still ride home. Shout to his men, and turn off. No. He was who he was. His ancestors had been Kings, and had killed a King. His was not the lot, of a rancher Or a merchant. Living a quiet life. Worrying about his daughters marriage prospects or the price of corn He was not. It might not save him, in the end. Yet he was of the blood. He was a man who shaped the world. He was riding with his kin, and sworn men.

If he had to die, it was better to die after hunting. If there was a fight, it was better to fight with Juan

After all he wanted to win

They kept on riding, the sun behind them the sea before them. Moments became minutes, and minutes became an hour. The men started up a song. Then they stopped. Juan pointed towards the horizon

A shroud of black smoke, gloated over the horizion

The spur struck his horse...