The Spaniard's Innocent Maiden. Greta Gilbert

Carlos stumbled. ‘Ah...’

      ‘Ah... Amadís de Gaula,’ Benicio finished.

      ‘Amadís de Gaula!’ Luisa exclaimed. ‘Which scene?’

      Now Benicio was in a tangle, for in truth he had laboured most of his life in order to avoid reading the ever-popular Amadís de Gaula. ‘It was the scene in which Amadís the Brave battles the terrible...’ Benicio paused, for he had forgotten the name of the monster.

      ‘The terrible monster Endriago?’ said Luisa, her green eyes glinting.

      ‘Indeed!’ cried Benicio. ‘I was playing Amadís, of course, and Armando was playing...’

      ‘His assistant Gandolin?’

      ‘Yes, yes! And Carlos was playing...’

      ‘The beautiful Oriana?’

      ‘Exactamente!’ Benicio exclaimed. ‘And that is why we were laughing, for Carlos—I mean, Oriana—was pronouncing her undying love for Amadís with the conviction of a practised thespian.’

      Carlos was now smiling at Benicio with something like a monstrous rage beneath his grin.

      Luisa smoothed her voluminous dress. ‘My dear Benicio, in all the years we have known each other, you continue to surprise me. I had no idea you were such an avid student of our beloved Castilian literature.’

      Her admiring smile had produced two perfect dimples at the edges of her round cheeks, causing Benicio’s insides to rollick unbidden. ‘Indeed, I am very fond of Amadís,’ lied Benicio. ‘The chivalric romances have been an integral part of my university studies.’

      ‘Ah, the university,’ Luisa said and her dimples disappeared. ‘You are still at the university?’

      ‘I am.’

      Why had she asked that question? He had told her as much the evening he had presented his suit. He had also explained the professorship he planned to seek and the life he would be able to provide her as an academic—a humble life, but one full of love and wonder.

      ‘Remind me when we part,’ she said, ‘I have a gift for you.’

      ‘A gift?’ Benicio sputtered. If joy were made of water, then he was surely drowning. ‘I will most certainly remind you, mi bella dama,’ he said. He slipped her a devilish grin and watched with satisfaction as she swallowed hard.

      Then, with the practised diplomacy of the most sought-after young lady in all of Seville, Luisa turned her attention back to Benicio’s brothers. ‘Of course, we will not soon be parting, not if my dearest childhood friends will walk with me a while?’

      She nodded at her wary driver, then wove her hands beneath Carlos’s and Armando’s arms. ‘Tell me, when was the last time we were all together?’ And with that, the three began to stroll.

      ‘We came to your family’s latifundia for the Feast of the Epiphany two months past,’ noted Armando.

      ‘Ah! I remember! What a wonderful celebration, was it not?’

      She stole another glance at Benicio. ‘And since then, caballeros, what news of your lives?’

      Carlos spoke first. ‘I have been accepted into the Order of Santiago. I am apprenticed to become a knight.’

      Benicio smiled to himself. After the Reconquista of Spain by the Christians, Queen Isabella had fleeced the Orders of their dominion. The world had changed and knighthood was no longer anything to brag about.

      Still, Luisa was staring up at Carlos as if he had just hung the moon. ‘Is it not very dangerous? To command a horse in battle?’ she asked.

      ‘Any equestrian pursuit carries some measure of danger, my lady. But it is worth it to serve in Christ’s army.’

      ‘Though the bloody Crusades are indeed a thing of the past,’ Benicio pointed out, feeling a twinge of jealousy. ‘Was it not Aristotle who wrote that the best men behave moderately?’

      ‘Easily said by a man who rides atop a wooden desk instead of a horse,’ countered Carlos.

      Thankfully, Luisa had become distracted by the shimmer of a fine fabric being displayed at a nearby stall.

      ‘What have we here?’ she asked. A Moorish man was unfurling a bolt of red silk. Luisa touched the fabric to her cheek. ‘My father can no longer indulge me such extravagances. He has lately lost much land to the Ponce de Leon clan in court. Have you not heard of it?’

      ‘A terrible injustice,’ said Armando, getting Luisa’s attention.

      ‘But do tell me of your life, Armando,’ urged Luisa, sauntering on. ‘I assume you are training with your father to take over your family’s estate?’

      ‘No, I have enlisted in the Tercios Regiment.’

      Now Luisa halted her stroll. ‘But you are your father’s first son. Why would you risk your life in battle?’

      ‘To bring glory to my family and to Spain.’

      If Carlos had hung the moon with his news of a future knighthood, then surely Armando had lit the sun. ‘You do your country proud,’ Luisa said, staring at Armando as if he were Amadís himself.

      ‘Would you look at that strange fruit over there?’ Benicio cried suddenly. Across the plaza, a young man was describing a misshapen melon to a crowd of onlookers.

      ‘We must examine it immediately!’ Carlos seconded.

      Benicio and Carlos hurried Luisa and Armando across the plaza.

      ‘The papaya is not what it appears to be,’ the young man was saying.

      ‘How much?’ Benicio interrupted, desperate for anything to help him regain Luisa’s attention.

      ‘Ah...half a real.’

      Benicio slapped his half-real into the young man’s hand, pulled a papaya from the bin and sliced his pocket knife through it to produce a bite-sized cube. ‘Sweet fruit for a sweet woman,’ he said, holding the cube to Luisa’s lips.

      Luisa opened her mouth and the four young men watched reverently as she chewed. She gave a lusty swallow, then her review: ‘Absolutely delicious. Thank you, Señor.’

      ‘I am Rogelio,’ the young man said, bowing low.

      ‘Rogelio, it is your job to sell, not to woo young women!’ A grizzled old man appeared and, noticing Luisa, he stepped towards her. ‘Well, hello, my dear.’

      Benicio jumped protectively in front of Luisa and the old man was left to survey Benicio instead. ‘You have a commanding stature, young man,’ he said with surprise. ‘Tall but strong, and with a long reach.’

      ‘And you have an aggressive manner, Señor,’ Benicio growled.

      The man snarled, then cheered. ‘But coming from one so well made, I shall take it as a compliment!’ He held out his hand. ‘I am Vicente Yáñez Pinzón, former captain of the Niña.’

      ‘You sailed with Colón?’ asked Benicio incredulously.

      ‘I did, rest his soul.’ The old conquistador crossed himself mockingly. He studied Benicio’s arms. ‘I am in search of strong, able-bodied young men who would like to bring riches to the Kingdom of Spain,’ he said. ‘You, Señor, have the stature and reach of a fine rigger. Why not serve your country and get rich? There is more to be had in the New World than simply fruits.’

      ‘Thank you, Capitan Pinzón, but I serve Spain with the fruits of my mind.’ Benicio caught Luisa’s hand and they started back across the plaza with Armando and Carlos following behind.

      As they walked, Benicio reminded himself that he was happy. Luisa’s hand was in his, after all, and she had not yet refused him. Still, a pall seemed to have been cast upon the day—an