The Flesh and the Devil (3 page)

         
'If I am not to meet His Grace your nephew yet, senor, I
should be glad to rest.'

         
She glanced from him to the last of the courtiers who were
leaving the room; they were too well-mannered to look at her directly, but she
could sense their curiosity. None of them, however, betrayed any extraordinary
interest, and she felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment; she had
been sure that no husband-to-be, however indifferent, would forbear corning to
inspect his bride.

         
'He is not here?'

         
De Castaneda gave a brief, snorting laugh. 'No, he is not!
I promise you you shall see him soon enough, but not today - tomorrow, perhaps,
when he is calmer. The news of your coming will have put him into a heat. The
boy is delicate, as I told your father, and too great excitement fevers him -
left to his own will, no doubt, he would have come tumbling upon you the moment
you quitted your carriage, and I cannot think that that would advance him in
your favour.'

         
'Does he seek my favour? I thought he only required my
hand.'

         
'We must pray that you can give him both. You must not
dwell too long on romantic dreams, must she, Luisa? Such things are for fools,
and you, I am assured, are no such thing.'

         
'You flatter me, senor.' Juana lowered her eyes stonily.
'Senor de Castaneda,' Dona Beatriz intervened hastily, 'my niece is tired, as
you have said. You must allow for -' 'It is no matter, senora, she and I
understand each other, mmn? It is a rare lady who speaks her mind so boldly,
and I like that. Pray you, do not try to curb her tongue for my sake.'

         
He was regarding Juana's resentful face with evident
enjoyment as he spoke, and for an instant the atmosphere in the now almost
deserted room seethed; then Juana's shoulders sagged a little. Defiance, even
outright rudeness would avail her nothing with this ever-smiling man, she
thought. If the Duque de Valenzuela chose to deny himself to her through his
uncle's mouth, she could hardly roam the castillo seeking him. She would not
know him if they were to meet face to face.

         
For the first time, the realization struck her as strange.
In the turmoil caused by her abortive attempt at escape, in her heartbroken
despair over Jaime, she had not given a thought to the practical details of the
match that her father was compelling her to. It was sufficient that she was to
be wedded with terrifying haste to a man she had never seen and did not love;
to a man who was not Jaime de Nueva. Now it struck her as strange that Miguel
had never shown her a likeness of the Duque to try and catch her interest, for
before her disastrous attempt he had tried all the gentle arts of persuasion to
win her consent to the wedding. Her own portrait, she knew, had gone ahead of
her to Andalusia I as a gift for her mighty suitor, yet his looks had never
been mentioned - even de Castaneda, in his powerful advocacy, had talked only
of his nephew's power and greatness, and the honours that his name would
bestow.

         
Dona Luisa was saying, 'Perhaps you and your aunt wish to
retire to your apartments and rest there. If you desire it, food can be brought
to you there and you need not come down to supper.'

         
De Castaneda chuckled. 'Well thought on, Luisa! We must
deal gently with our guests, mmn? They must not be troubled with any business
tonight. They - and Bartolomé - will be the readier to meet tomorrow.'

         
Juana felt the urge to protest, but a wave of
bone-weariness swept over her. She had been resisting so long in mind and body
that this absolute defeat held a kind of relief, and she could only nod; all at
once the strain of the long journey, the fatigue, and all the pain that she had
cried to convert into anger rose to engulf her. She all but swayed where she
stood.

         
'You are very kind,' she heard herself murmur, and noticed
dully that de Castaneda's voice was oily with triumph.

         
'Excellent! Go and rest, then. My wife—' his tone made an
order of the civility –

         
"will be your escort, will you not, Luisa?

         
The Castillo Benaventes, Dona Luisa explained in her
colourless thread of a voice, was in fact quite small. Much of its bulk was
taken up by the central chapel - almost a small cathedral — and the lodgings
for its clergy and their servants built by the order of King Carlos V. The
Castillo had been intended as a royal palace and had briefly been used as such
by the King's son and grandson; but the present monarch had bestowed it on the
first Duque de Valenzuela, who had died so tragically soon after the birth of
his son Bartolomé. 'My husband is his steward until he comes of age,' she added
on an odd note.

         
'Does the King come here?' Tia Beatrix's eyes were shining
eagerly. 'I never dreamed that your family were so favoured - I thought, when
Senor de Castaneda told my brother that you did not visit Madrid-'

         
Dona Luisa shook her head. 'There has been no disgrace,
senora. We have had many bounties from His Majesty. But he does not come here
now, not since - since my brother died; this place is too remote, and we all
grow older, and there is nothing to draw him here. Though I perhaps -' her
sunken eyes flickered sideways to Juana's; face and then away - 'the news of
your intended marriage may bring him, who knows?'

         
Juana paid no attention; some lurking instinct told her
that the words were a warning and not a gibe, hut she was too drugged with
weariness to disentangle their meaning. Instead she walked in silence, hardly
hearing, while her aunt extolled the Castillo's grandeurs. Dona Luisa nodded,
rather lifelessly.

         
'It is no easy matter to supervise the running of it, she
returned in her worn thread of a voice, 'but the Church must be served. Later,
perhaps, your niece may wish to learn what it all entails, but for the present
my husband has bidden me continue with my duties.'

         
Her husband, Juana thought suddenly, always her husband.
Eugenio de Castaneda seemed to crowd his nephew's presence from the castillo,
directing its daily affairs, overseeing and ordering more absolutely than any
steward; Dona Luisa had scarcely mentioned the Duque himself. Did the young man
care so little for what he owned, she wondered, or was he a weak-willed puppet,
commanded by his uncle?

         
They had reached the well of a hall that seemed toweringly
high. A great staircase, with a balustrade of wrought iron so fine that it
looked like lace, seemed to wind its way upwards into infinity: lining it were
panels of fresco so vivid that they might have been life, depicting the
martyrdom and death of countless saints for the edification of anyone who
ascended or descended. They were so graphic that Juana felt nauseated. All the
old tales had been painted with unsparing realism, ignoring any spiritual
transfiguration. Santa Caterina, San Lorenzo, Sant'

         
Iago. . . .

         
'My grandfather had them painted,‘ Dona Luisa remarked, and
Juana started. 'They are very. . . compelling.'

         
'You are wise not to call them beautiful,' was the low
answer. 'They horrify me, though Bartolomé likes them.'

         
Juana gave a little shiver, but before she could comment
her aunt broke in, having blinked at the pictures with short-sighted eyes and
then ignored them.

         
'Did you say your grandfather, Dona Luisa? I thought that
the Benaventes were your husband's kinsmen, although now I come to think of it,
he never said so. But I know that my brother believed . . . .' Her voice faded
as the other woman s thin lips tightened, as if in pain.

         
‘Eugenio prefers it to be thought so, I know, and I . . . I
no longer care what people believe. In fact, Bartolomé' s father was my younger
brother — there were no other relatives who would care for the child after
Esteban died, so Eugenio and I came here.' The tired note in her voice was
suddenly accentuated as she said,

         
'His mother . . . retired to a convent, to do penance.'

         
Juana wondered briefly for what sin, but she knew that
noblewomen often retired from the world when they felt that they had done their
worldly duty; perhaps the Duquesa de Valenzuela bad been exceptionally pious.
The thought was lost as she followed Dona Luisa up the staircase and found her
eyes drawn unwillingly back to the frescoes; Dona. Luisa's reference mingled in
her mind with the images of flayed bodies, of maltreated flesh and blazing hair
and eyes dilated in agony, while the saintly mouths remained closed as befitted
suffering holiness. A sudden heat pricked the palms of her hands and she tugged
impatiently at her gloves, trying to drag them from hands that felt
uncomfortably clammy. Her fingers stilled as Dona Luisa spoke again.

         
'My husband sent word when he wrote to me that you were to
have the Duquesa's apartments from the outset, Senorita de Arrelanos. He said
that you would be betrothed for so short a time that it was not worth -'

         
Juana's abrupt stiffening stopped her words.

         
'I knew nothing of such haste. Did you, Tia?'

         
'I - well - no, I did not, but what difference does that
make, child? You are pledged to marry the Duque either sooner or later, and
your father —'

         
'Senor de Castaneda has a good advocate in you, Tia,' Juana
whispered savagely. ‗I can hear his voice when you speak.'

         
'Juana!'

         
'No matter.' The dark eyes were smouldering now, a fresh
tide of anger sweeping away ail Juana's previous weariness. Scornfully, over
her shoulder, she added, 'What is my gracious husband' s full name? It is one
of those petty things that no one has deigned to tell me.'