“Jennifer Blake is thequeen of historicalromance. Rich in plot,supremely sexy, a joy toread, Notorious Angel ispureJenniferBlake!”“Fabulous taleof loveandlust, passion andcompassion, danger andpathosthatmoves from New Orleansto revolution-torn

Nicaraguaandbackagain.Ilovedit!”~ThePenMovesOn“(Theauthor)haswrittenaminor footnote to historyandafull-fledgedromancethat’sassuperchargedandsexyasanysweet/savagereadercouldwant.”~PublishersWeekly

This is a work of fiction.The characters, incidents,anddialoguesareproductsof theauthor’s imaginationand are not to beconstrued as real. Anyresemblance to actualeventsorpersons,livingordead, is entirelycoincidental.

No part of this book maybe reproduced or

transmitted in any form orby any means, electronicor mechanical, includingphotocopying, recordingorbyany informationstorageand retrieval system —exceptinthecaseofbriefquotations embodied incritical articles or reviews — without the writtenpermission of publisher orauthor, except wherepermittedbylaw.

Cover Design by LFDDesignsForAuthors.

Copyright©1977and2012byPatriciaMaxwell

FirstFawcettGoldMedalEdition:July1977

FirstBallantineBooksEdition:August1983

FourthPrinting:November1986

FirstE-ReadsPublication:1999

FirstSteelMagnoliaPressPublication:2012

~~~

ForSueLynnAnderson—

andforallotherwomenwhohavewished,even

halfheartedly,thatsomethingwould

happen.

~~~

1The noise echoing underthe colonnade of theFrench Market wasdeafening. Vendors criedtheir wares, childrenchased by harried nursesran up and down the longlength, horses andcarriages clattered past

along the cobbled streetoutside, women followedby basket-carryingservants called andlaughed and bargained,parrots squawked frombamboo-cane cages,monkeys chattered;trussed geese hissed,ducks quacked andchickens cacklednervously, not withoutreason. New Orleans wasin fine form, preparing for

one of its greatestpleasures, the eveningmeal.

The chill wind of lateNovemberswirling throughthe arcade seemed not tobother the men andwomen who poked at thefishmonger’sandbutcher’sstocks, smelled the pearsfor ripeness, or heftedpumpkinsandpotatoesforweight. But EleanoraColette Villars shivered

into her threadbare cloak,wishing for the warmth ofthepaddingofahorsehaircrinoline beneath herunfashionably narrowskirts. Standing was notwarmwork; still she coulddonothingelse.Shecouldnot afford to set herboardinghouse table withthebest. Itwasnecessarytowaituntileverythinghadbeen picked over and themerchants were tired of

haggling. Then a piteousexpression in her gold-flecked green eyes mightbring her not only morevalueforherpicayunesbutan extra generouslagniappe.

“Mademoiselle!MademoiselleEleanora!”

At the sound of hername Eleanora turned tosee a young man comingtowardher.Heheldhissilktop hat clapped firmly on

his head, his black silkcravatwasaskew,andthefull tails of his frockcoatflapped as he dodgedaround an Indian womanstolidlyweavingbasketstosell. He kicked a potterybowl, bowed, apologized,thencameon,hisfacered.

The delicately moldedlines of Eleanora’s mouthtightened.Herchin liftedafraction. The man was afriend of her younger

brother’s,thoughshecouldnot for the moment recallhis name. Jean-Paul’sfriends came andwent onthe way to cock fights,gaming halls, and bear-baitings. Embarrassed byher unmarried state, theconditiontowhichshehadlowered the once-proudname of Villars, and theirinability to help her, theyseldom lingered in herbedraggledsalon.Shehad

learnedtoavoidthefurtiveadmiration and hurtful pityhidden behind their air ofdashingnonchalance.

As she realized howunusual it was for any ofthese young blades toallow themselves a showof agitation, pain closedaroundherheart. “What isit?” she called sharply. “Isanythingwrong?”

“Forgiveme if Istartledyou, mademoiselle,” the

dark-haired young bladesaid, snatchingoff his hat,thrusting his malaccaunder his arm, andinclining his upper body ina swift gesture of respect.“I’ve been looking for youeverywhere.ItisJean-Paul— no, not hurt. He is atBank’s Arcade talking toone of Walker’s agents. Ifsomeonedoesn’t stophimthe addle-pated halfwit —beg pardon— is going to

commit himself as afilibuster!”

Eleanora’s relief thatJean-Paul was not lyingdead in the sawdust of abarroom floor or on thedueling field beneath themoss-hung oaks outsidethecity,wasshort-lived.Afilibuster. At eighteen, twoyears her junior, herbrother was too young tobe a soldier. It was theenthusiasm in the city for

the exploits of WilliamWalkerinCentralAmerica,the fervent sympathy forthe oppressed people ofthose countries, and theblazing advertisements inthe news sheets forsoldier-colonists that hadturnedhiminthatdirection.How she despised thesemen who played on theemotionsofsensitiveboys,promising them fortuneand adventure for their

owngain.“I’ve got to stop him,”

shesaid,almosttoherself.“My thought exactly.

He’lllistentoyou.Butwe’llhave to hurry before heputshisnametoanything.”Theyoungmanreachedtotake her shopping basketfrom her unresistingfingers. “Where is yourmaid?”

Despite herselfEleanora felt a faint flush

rise to her cheekbones.“Sheislaiddownuponherbedwitharheum.Ihadtoslip out of the housewithout her. This windwould have given herpneumonia.”

He looked nonplussed,then with a movement ofhis shoulders, he set thebasket down among theshallots in a nearby bin.“Nevermind.Letusgo.”

Zébe, that was his

given name, though shecould not call him by that,ofcourse.“Itisgoodofyoutobeconcerned,m’sieur.”

He waited until acarriagerattledpastbeforetaking her elbow to helpher across the street.“Must help old Jean-Paul.Mon père says the menwhoflocktoNicaraguajustbecauseWalkertookacitylike Granada are mostlikely to wind up before a

firing squad. Jean-Pauldon’t have a father to sethimstraight.”

No, nor amother.Untiltwoyearsbeforetherehadbeen their grand-mèreVillars. Pampering Jean-Paul, indulging him as theperfect embodiment of aCreole gentleman such ashersonhadbeen,shehadnot been the best personto tell him how to go on.Still, they had been

comfortable, she andJean-Paul, entertaining allthe usual expectations ofyoungpeopleoftheirclassand family distinction inNewOrleans.ThenGrand-mère had died. It wasdiscovered that they hadbeenlivingforyearsontherentsbroughtinbyasmallproperty adjoining theirhouse on Royal Street.Other relatives, inparticular an uncle by

marriageandhis son, haddemanded their rightfulshare of the succession,andthepropertyhadtobesold. The portion of thesalewhich fell toEleanoraandherbrotherwashardlyenough to keep them sixmonths.

Eleanora, with amarriage arranged by hergrandmother before her,had thought a home forJean-Paul securely in her

grasp. Then, discoveringtherewouldbenodot,herfiancé had found itconvenient to rememberthe mésalliance of herfatherwith thedaughterofa Scotch-Irish laborer. Hemadedisparaging remarksabout her family and herperson,inparticularthe,tohim, embarrassingly fierybrilliance of her red hair.He deplored hergrandmother’s lack of

businessacumenoneveryoccasion,andhinted therewas somethingunbalancedinherfather,agentleman, becoming adoctorandworkingamongthe degenerate anddiseased immigrants fromErielivinginshacksontheoutskirts of the city. Fromsomewhere he conceivedthe idea that her father’sandmother’searlydemisefrom cholera, contracted

during their work, was ajudgment upon them fordeserting their class. Longbefore the period ofmourning for hergrandmother was over,Eleanora had broken theengagement.

Shehadhad reason toregret her temper since. Itwas not easy seeingboarders in the salon andthe halls where once onlyfamily and invited guests

entered. A brother-in-lawmight have been able topoint out the error of histhinkingtoJean-Paul.Nowthere was only herself todo so, and how could hebe expected to listen to asister who had become adrudgeandanill-temperedshrew?

Eleanora and Zébepassed a vendeuse inwhite apron and tignoncrying hot, parched

peanuts. Their rich smelllingeredintheair,minglingwith the smells of coffeecoming from the opendoorsof thecoffeehouses,and horse dung andsewage from open guttersthat lined the streets. Thissewage stench was morepervasive this afternoonsince the gutters werebeingcleanedbyacrewofconvicts. Moving aroundthe detail ofmen, chained

wrist to ankle, and theirarmed guards, Eleanoraavertedhereyes. Itwasagesturemadenot to avoidtheir degradation but toavoid adding to it by herrecognitionoftheirplight.

Bank’s Arcade waslocated on MagazineStreet near Gravier. Ameetingplaceforbusinessand professional men aswell as filibusters, itboasted three stories, one

of the longest bars in thecity in its barroom, themostpopularauctionmart,and the only glass-roofedcourtyard. Much of theplotting for the War forTexas Independence, theMexicanWar,andLopez’sabortive filibusterexpeditions intoCubawasdone in itsupstairsrooms.Massmeetingsheld in theauction room usuallyspilled over into the patio.

Many a bargain had beenstruck and secret passedoverthebeerandwhiskey-soaked tables in thebarroom. Now, with thisnew revolutionary spirit inthe city, there was aconstant streamofmen inandout.

Eleanora could notenter.Onlya certain classofwomancoulddosowithimpunityandtheywerenotwelcome in this

establishment devotedprimarilytobusiness.

“I won’t be long.” Theyoung man known to hisfriends by the nicknameZébe frowned, pausingwith one hand on thebarroom door. “It’sawkward for youwithout amaid,butyoushouldbeallright. If I might make asuggestion— your hair, itwouldbebettertocoverit.”

In their hasty progress

the hood of Eleanora’scloakhad fallenback.Thewind had disturbed thesmoothnessofhersevere,center-parted style. Gold-red wisps had escapedfrom the plaited chignonlow on her nape to curlabout her temples.With anod she accepted theadvice, drawing her hoodup and stepping backagainst theplasteredbrickwall.

The light was growingdimmer. Across the streetthe uppermost fronds of abanana tree, just visibleover a courtyard wall,thrashed in the increasingwind. Dirt blew along thewooden banquette, orsidewalk, on which shestood, stinging her anklesasherskirtsbillowedabouther. It looked like rainmightsetin,inwhichcasemore of her boarders

would stay in to dinner.Shewould have to add tothericepot.

Through the door as itopened and closed shecaught snatches ofconversation. Slavery,states’ rights, secession.Men talked of little elsethesedays.Thereseemedto be something in the airthatencouragedstrife.Shedid not understand theundercurrent of anger she

heard everywhere,possibly because she hadno time to concern herselfwith it. If slavery wereabolishedshewouldsufferno great loss. The Villarsslaves had been sold tosatisfythesuccessionlawsand reimburse their otherrelatives so that she andJean-Paul could keep thehouse on Royal Street.Their sole remainingslavewas the woman who had

nursed both their fatherand themselves. Theyloved her dearly, but heronlyvaluewasasadueñafor Eleanora.Shewas tooancient, too weak to domore. In truth,shewasanadded responsibility onEleanora’s shoulders,another person to lookafter, another mouth tofeed.

She straightened asZébe left the barroomand

strodetowardher.“I’m sorry,

mademoiselle. I seem tohave disturbed you fornothing.Jean-Paulrefusestoseeyou.”

“Refuses?”“Ittouchesonhispride,

Ithink.TherewasnowayIcould speak privately tohim, and he would nothave those around himthink he is at your beckandcall.”

“Tellhim—tellhimthematterisurgent.Ineedhisadvice.”

“Your pardon,mademoiselle. It’s morethanmy life’sworth.Jean-Paul—heisnothimself.”

“Youmean he is in hiscups?”

“No, no. Only a triflepiqué.”

Herdark,wingedbrowsdrew together in a frown,then she gave a nod. “I

see.Hethreatenedyou.”“Jean-Paul has a good

eye. I’d have no desire tofacehimonaduelingfieldeven if he wasn’t myfriend.”

“A churlish return foryour efforts to help him,was it not?” She pushedher arms through the slitsin her cloak and claspedher hands together. “Idoubt he will offer me achallenge.”

“You can’t mean to gointhere?”

“Can’t I?” she asked,steppingpasthim.

“Itmight be best if youwent home, as Jean-Paulsaid.”

“Oh?Youseemtohavelost your zeal for savingmy brother from himselfveryquickly.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Nor do you,” Eleanora

said, anger coloring hertone. “My brothermay notbeatmybeckandcall,butneitheramIathis!”

Thebluesmokeof finecigars draped the ceilingbeams. It swirled andeddied about her as shemadeherway through thetables to a long trestle inthe corner. Papers werespread out upon themahogany surface.Scattered among them

was an assortment ofpewter steins, and shotglasses with a singledrunken fly buzzing theircontents.

Five men were at thetable. One had beenpointed out to her beforeasWalker’s agent in NewOrleans, Thomas Fisher.One was her brother. Theothers wore uniforms,blood-red jackets trimmedin gold, white doeskin

breeches, and blackcavalryboots.

Eleanora expectedthem to rise at herapproach. The lack of thistoken of respect, coupledwith their cool appraisal,wasdisconcerting.

Jean-Paul made amovement, then was stillas no one followed suit.His wavy brown hair wasruffled into soft curls, as ifhe had been running his

hands through it.Annoyance increased thenaturally high color on hischeeks and darkened hisbrown eyes to black.UnderEleanora’saccusingstaredefiancecompressedhismouthintoathinline.

Fisher was anondescript man madenoticeable only by thefanatic light burning in thedepthsofhiseyes.Besidehim lounged one of

Walker’s men, a battle-scarred veteran with hisleft arm in a sling. In hisright he held a glass ofbeer, which he used topush his campaign hat tothe back of his head, thebettertosee.Onhisleft,atthe end, sat a sandy-haired, broad-shoulderedman,hischair tippedbackon two legs against thewall and a panatelaglowing red-tipped

between his fingers. Thethird soldier stood at theopposite end of the tablewith the flat of one handresting upon it. Like theothers, he was tall andwideofshoulder,buttherewas a different stamp tohis features. With hiscopper-bronzed skin andstraight black hair,Eleanoraput himdownasa mercenary of someforeign nationality. Her

summation was hasty, butitseemedtheywereyoungto be carrying theepaulettes of such highrankontheirshoulders.

“Forgive this intrusion— gentlemen,” Eleanorasaid tightly, “but I crave aword with my brotheroutside.”

“Ihavenothing tosay,”Jean-Paulmuttered.

“I have a great deal,and I do not intend to go

away until I have beenheard,Jean-Paul.”

When her brotherlooked away withoutanswering, Fisher clearedhis throat. “We werediscussing a matter ofbusiness—”

“I know what businessyou were discussing.” Itwas warm in the room.She threw back the hoodof her cloak with animpatientmovementofher

head.Thelamp,litagainstthe gathering gloom, slidoverherhairwith theglintof bright flame asunexpected as a sulfurmatch struck in thedarkness.

“Then it looks asthoughyoumustholdyourbrother excused until it iscompleted.”

“Ithinknot,”sherepliedevenly, though her eyesflashed emerald green at

theattempttodismissher.“Jean-Paul,” she said,turning to her brother.“This is no way to repairourfortunes.Youarenotasoldier.”

“I have faced themuzzles of guns on thefieldofhonor!”

“Yes,boysofyourownageandstationwhoknowthe rules, who know thereistobea littlepain,a littleblood, but not much

chance of killing or beingkilled. This will bedifferent.”

“I’m not a fool,Eleanora,” he said withdignity.

“Then don’t act likeone! Think.What is it youhopetogain?”

“There is land to behad.Recruitsarepromisedtwohundredandfiftyacresjust for entering thecountry as a colonist.

There will be more, muchmore, to be had onceWalker has consolidatedhisposition.Wholeestateswillchangehands—”

“Andtheywillbefoughtover by all the rest of thepaid killers. What chancedo you think youwill haveagainst the rogues,thieves, and murderers,thescumof theworld thatisflockingtoNicaragua?”

“Take care, Eleanora,”

herbrotherwarned.She flicked a glance

around the table, scarcelyseeing the stiff facesbefore her. “Why? Itcannot matter to themwhatIthink.”

“It matters to me,”Jean-Paul said quietly.“They are Falangistas,three of the fifty-six‘Immortals’whosailedwithWalkerinMayofthisyear.They risked their lives to

free the oppressed peonsof Nicaragua in the nameof democracy. I will nothavetheminsulted.”

“Democracy? For glorymore likely, glory forthemselves and WilliamWalker!”

The man standing atthe end of the tablestraightened to attention,his startlingly blue eyeshardinthedarknessofhisface. “Are your motives

any less selfish?” hedemanded. There was anedge in his voice, but thecadence, the accent, wasindisputably American.“Tell us why you are sodetermined to keep yourbrother tied toyou.Maybeyou see your securityslipping away from you?Maybe you’re afraid he’lldiscover he can do verywellwithoutyou?”

Eleanora stared at the

hard-bronzed soldier. “Sir—” she began, at a loss.His estimation was far offthetruth,butshecouldnotset him right withoutembarrassingherbrother.

“Colonel — ColonelFarrell,” he supplied, thename definitely not aforeignone.

“Colonel, you have nopersonal knowledge ofmybrother.Heisnotasoldier,his nature is far too

sensitive.”“Soldiers are not born,

they are made,” heanswered curtly, “as aremen.”

“Forged in the crucibleofwar?”Shequotedthebitofrhetoricwithirony.“Firstyou must have the rightmetal.”

Jean-Paul came to hisfeet, pushing his chairbacksoharditbouncedoffthewall.“Enough.Giveme

thepenandpaper.WewillseeifIaminferiormetal!”

“I did not say inferior,Jean-Paul!” Eleanoraprotested, “Only too fine.”He was not listening. Heslashed his signatureacross the enlistmentagreement in a splatter ofink and took up his beerstein.

Fisher picked up thepage,wavingitintheairtodry it. “Drinks around,” he

called, his smile as itrested on Eleanoraunpleasant.“Drinksaroundforeverybody!”

The impulse was toostrong to deny. Eleanorareached out and snatchedthepaperfromhishand.

Quickly as a strikingsnake her wrist wascaught, imprisoned in astrong grip. Her breathtrapped ina startledgasp,she stared into the blue

eyesofthecolonel,vibrantwith anger, as he leanedacrossthetable.

“The paper you holdbelongs to the AmericanPhalanx in Nicaragua.Dropit!”

The fingers biting intoherarmweredarkagainstthe paleness of her skin.Their strength was crueland utterly unrelenting.FromthecornerofhereyeEleanora saw her brother

move uneasily, as thoughhe would come to her aiddespite his irritation withher. A glance at the setbronze mask of the manwhowouldbehis superiordeterredhim.

Eleanora would notwillingly capitulate, but itwasnot a questionofwill.Her hand grew numb,feeling left her fingertips.The foolscap slipped fromher grasp, settling to the

table, where Fisherpounceduponit.

“Someoneshouldteachyou not to meddle in theaffairs of men,” he saidtestily.

The moment shereleased the paper, thecolonel dropped her wristand stepped back, hisgaze resting inagrimandderisiveamusementonherwhiteface.

Herwrist throbbed, her

hand tingled,butEleanorarefused to allow them toseeherdiscomfort.Withasupreme effort shesteadiedhervoice.“Ihaveno interest in yourwarmongering or yoursearch for glory. I wasconcerned only for mybrother’s welfare,something I consideredvery much my affair. Itseems I was mistaken. Iwillbidyougoodday.”

Blindly she turnedaway, making her waythroughthetablesmorebyinstinct than sight. Sheheard behind her the thudof chair legs hitting thefloorbutthesoundheldnomeaning. A man with asillygrinonhis faceandawhiskeyglassinhisfistputoutahandtostopher.Shebrushed past him, hermindrefusingtoassimilatethe crude suggestion he

mouthed.Thedoorwashergoal.

Just as she reached it, itswung open and a manentered in a rush of wind-drivenrain.

They collided, and foran instant shewas swungoffherfeet,heldtightlytoared uniform jacket. At theflash of that hated color,she pushed violentlyagainst the embrace,which automatically

tightened.“Ah, what have we

here? A small, flame-haired puta, one of thedevil’s favoritehandmaidens, of acertainty.”

The lilt of the Spanishwas softly Castilian. Theface, dark andmustachioed, was alightwithexultantlaughter.

“No—”Eleanorabegan.Avoice,cuttingdespite

itsdrawl,camefirmbehindher.

“I hate to blight yourhopes, Luis, but thewoman in your arms is,despite appearances, alady.”

“Es verdad?” theSpaniard asked, one browliftedashegazeddownather.

Eleanora nodded.Instantlyshewasreleased.

“My most humble

apologies— and regrets.”His bow was a model ofgrace despite the guitarslungacrosshisback.“Anintroductionispermitted?”

Ashespokehe lookedbeyondEleanora. Turning,she recognized thesandy-hairedgiantwhohadbeensittingagainstthewall.HisinsigniawasnotlikethatofColonelFarrell.

“There is no need toapplytome,”themansaid.

“Ihavenotthepleasureofthelady’sacquaintance.”

“I find your attitudebewildering then, Major.Who appointed you thelady’sprotector?”

The undercurrent offriction did not escapeEleanora’s notice. Thesemen might both wear thesame uniform but theywerenotfriends.

“I find myself insympathywith all who run

afoul of the temper ofColonelFarrell.”

“Especially if they arefemale,eh?”

“Please,” Eleanorasaid.“Letmepass.”

“You will be soaked ifyou go out there,” themajor objected. “Perhapsyou would care to wait inthe courtyard. The glassroofleakslikeasievebutitshouldbean improvementoverthestreets.”

“Thankyou,no.”“Then permit me to

offeryoumyescort.”“I—couldn’t—”“Because I am a

stranger? Major NevilleCrawford, at your service,mademoiselle.”

“And I, LieutenantColonel Luis AndresCharles Emmanuel deLaredoyPacquero.”

“You are most kind,”Eleanora said, her hands

clasped tightly before her,“however—”

“You cannot go alone,”theSpaniardinsisted.

From vaguenessEleanora’s sensessharpened to a painfulperception. There werespatters of rain like darkblood on the red jacket ofthe lieutenantcolonel.Thelamp nearest them flaredin the wind from the opendoor. In the humid

atmosphere the reek ofspirits was strong. At thetrestle table in the cornertherewasashiftofmenasthe colonel started towardthem.

Panic scouredEleanora’s mind. “You —youmustexcuseme,”shesaid in a parody of goodmanners,andslippedpasttheSpaniardoutthedoor.

Coldraindirectly inherface took her breath. She

could not go back,however. Ducking herhead, she hurried alongthebanquettealreadyslickand shining with wet. Shecould hear someonecalling after her, but shepaid no heed. Only thedark form of a carriagelooming up beside hercaughtherattention.

“MademoiselleEleanora!”

ItwasZébe,holdingthe

door of a hired hackneywide. “Get in. Get in,quickly.”

The carriage lurchedaway down the street,sending geysers spoutingasitswheelsspunthroughthe gathering puddles.Eleanora leaned back onthe dingy upholstery.Talkingadeepbreath,sheforced herself to calm. Itwasgoodtobeaway.Shedid not care if she never

saw that place where shehad been so humiliatedandinsultedagain.Herlifeinthepastyearshadbeenfar from easy. Still, neverhad she been treated insuch a manner. And, asbad as it had been, whydid she have the feelingthat she had escapedlightly, that it could havebeenfarworse?

“You were too late?”Zébesaidatlast.

“I — yes. Jean-Paulhas signed.” How couldshe explain what hadhappened when shewished above all to stopthinkingofit?

“Nodoubthe—wishedtocelebrate?”

Eleanora inclined herheadinawearynod.

“Under nocircumstances would Ihave let you enter thatplace alone if I had not

been certain that Jean-Paul would feel himselfobliged to escort you fromthe premises himself atonce. I feel I have failedyou.”

“Jean-Paul was notpleased to see me. Thereis no harm done. Let usforgetit.”

“But your good name?Whatofthat?”

“It scarcely matters,though it isgoodofyou to

beconcerned.”“If I may be allowed to

makereparation—”“You are not going to

doanythingfoolishsuchasmake me an offer, areyou?” Eleanora asked,striving for a light note torelievethegloom.

“I would be mosthonored—”

“No,no, really,m’sieur.I spoke in jest only.Forgive me if I sounded

facetious,Ididnotmeantobe. All I want is to returnhomeandtrytothinkwhatI am to do. Believe me,youowemenothing.”

Nor, it seemed, didJean-Paul; not evenloyalty.

It was a great pity thatshecouldnot thinkwell ofthe dead, but Eleanoraplaced her brother’sdefection squarely at hergrandmother’s door. The

three years they had livedwith her had been morethan enough to spoil hischaracter. Their father’smother — she hadcosseted Jean-Paul,indulging his every whim.He was her husband andher son comeback to life,especially the latter, andthere was no red-hairedIrish woman sprung fromthe world of work gangs,shanties, filth,anddisease

to wrest his love from herthis time.At thirteenJean-Paul was impressionable.He had accepted hisgrand-mère’sevaluationofhis own worth and theoverweeningimportanceofhis desires. Sometimes ittroubled him to see hissister pushed into thebackground, ignoredbecausesheremindedtheold woman of thedaughter-in-law she had

despised, and becauseshedidnotfittheimageofraven-haired beauty theninvogue.Tohavethetaintof Irish blood, only a littlemore acceptable than atouch of café au lait, wasbadenough;to lookitwasadisgrace.Jean-Paulwastooyoung,atfirst,tomakehis displeasure felt, andwithtimethediscriminationceasedtoberemarkable.

Not that Eleanora was

mistreated;farfromit.Shewas fed and clothed and,at the proper time,introduced to society withdue ceremony at the St.Charles theatre. Grand-mère would have scornedto allow New Orleans tosee that she consideredher granddaughter in thelight of a penance uponheroldage.Still,Eleanorafelt it,and learnedearly todepend upon her own

devices.It was natural for her

brothertobemoreaffectedby the death of the oldwoman. There was notonly a vast change in hisstyleofliving,therewasnolonger anyone to bolsterhis ego or approve hiseveryaction.He couldnotquite reconcile himself togiving up the image ofhimselfgiventohimbyhisgrandmother, that of a

fêtedyoungrake,welcomewherever he chose to gobecause of his birth andposition. He loved hissister, but her warningsand strictures carried noweight with him. Heobeyed no will other thanhisown.

Dinner was late.Because the rouxwas notsimmeredlongenoughthegumbo was thin. Therehad been no time to heat

thebread,andthecustarddidnotsetproperly.Thesedefectswerepointedoutinminutedetailbythepairofmaiden aunts who hiredthe bed-chamber whichhad been used by hermother and father inhappier years. The retiredarmy captain fromKentucky,aveteranof theSeminole Indian War,madenocomplaint,eatingeverything set before him.

He slept downstairs in theroom which had been herfather’ssurgerybecauseofdifficulty negotiating thestairswithhiswooden leg.He never complained of iteither.

Inorder toheadoff therecitation of the unfailingsuccess of the aunt’svarious methods withcustards, Eleanora turnedtheconversationtoWilliamWalker.

“Knew the man well,”the captain said, leaningback in his chair. “One ofthose damned — forgiveme, ladies — liberals.Never quite came outantislavery in his paper,theNewOrleansCrescent,but had some hard wordsto say about it. ‘Twas amuchbetterdoctorthanhewasanewspapereditor,inmyopinion.Lookedat thisleg — forgive me, ladies,

appendage — of mineonce,sevenoreightyearsago. Gaveme a salve forthe — ahem, well, wewon’t go into that, not atthe dinner table. Odd littleman. Remember he wentaroundsummerandwinterin a black hat andovercoat. Constantmourning for hissweetheart, some said, aNew Orleans beauty whodied of yellow fever. You

remember him, don’t you,MissEleanora?Heusedtodropinonyourfatherrightthereinthatroomofmine.TheybothstudiedatsomeuniversityinGermany,hada lot incommon. Iused tosee you in there helpingyourfatherbeforehedied.Justalittlethingyouwere,but not afraid of blood orhardwork, no, sir, not likea lot of these fine ladiesyou see today.Why, I bet

you teethed on a mortarandpestle!”

The captain’sconversation had atendencytobecolorfulandrambling,buthehadspentmost of the last twentyyearssincehe losthis legsitting about the city,watchingpeoplegoby.Hehad a son with politicalambitions back East whohad married into theTidewater gentry in

Virginia.The son sent hima monthly stipend to liveon but never a steamboatticket. In the last years ofher grandmother’s life thecaptain had been anadmirer of hers in agallant, unassumingfashion.

“I seem to rememberaman like that, though hecouldn’t have been mucholderthanIamnow.”

“Twenty-three, twenty-

four.”“That would make him

barelyoverthirtynow.”“It takes a young man

to have the nerve to setouttoconquertheworld—andoldmentostophim.”

“What do you think ofhis campaign in CentralAmerica?”

“All this big talk aboutrelieving the downtroddenand establishingdemocracy? I’ve been

around long enough to besuspicious as H-Hades—beg pardon, ladies —whenmen start such talk.There’s always moneyinvolved somewhere, youmark my word. War andmoneygotogether.”

If Jean-Paul had beenpresentat thedinner tablethat statement would,doubtless, not have goneunchallenged.Hewasnot.It was long after their

elderly boarders hadstraggledofftobedthatheputinanappearance.

Eleanora sat in thesalon,tryingtoconcentrateon a piece of Berlin workby the light of a singlecandle,whenhelethimselfinto thehouse.Hestrolledinto the room where shewas,sailedhistophatontothe settee, and droppeddown into thechairacrossthetablefromher.

Eleanora did not greethim. A long silencedescended, punctuated bythesoftraspofherneedlemoving in and out of hercanvas.

Heventured,“Iseeyoureturnedsafely.”

“Yes.”“If youhadnot itwould

have been your own fault.You should never havecome.”

Eleanora did not

answer.Jean-Paul picked at a

spot of mud on hisbreeches with histhumbnail.“Oh,verywell.IknowIshouldhavelookedafter you. I’m sorry. Butyou know it was a stupidthingtohavedone,comingintotheArcadebarroom—let alone without achaperone. You mustadmitthat?”

“Freely.”

“Ihopeyoudon’tintendto goon in thatwaywhileI’mgone.”

“I see little likelihoodofit,” she said, looking up tomeet his gaze squarely.They both knew she haddone so only out ofconcernforhim.

“Yes. Well, I’m sureCousinBernardandUncleNarciso will take bettercareofyou.”

Eleanora’s needle was

still.“CousinBernard?”“You must have

realized you couldn’t stayon here alone. CousinBernard has kindlyrepeated the offer to haveyoumake your homewithhim that he made whenGrand-mère died. And soyouneednot feel thatyouimpose. You can makeyourself useful in thenursery he and his richwifewill be setting up any

daynow.”“You — must have

been busy since I left youto have made thesearrangementsforme.”

“Idohavesomesenseof responsibility,” he said,his deep brown eyes notquitemeetinghers.

“I fear you have putyourself to a deal ofneedlesstrouble.Ihavenointention of leaving thishouse.”

“No, and you won’thaveto.CousinBernard—and everyone — will becominghere.”

Eleanoragottoherfeetabruptly, the Berlin workfalling unheeded to thefloor. “What have youdone?”

“Don’t upset yourself,Eleanora. There was nootherway.Icouldnotpassupsuchanopportunity.”

In his harassment he

ranhishandoverhishair,a gesture that remindedEleanora poignantly oftheir father.Lookingaway,shedemanded,“Tellme.”

“The estates of thehidalgos are beingconfiscated. Some havebeen given to theImmortals. Others areavailable forpurchase,butat much less than theirworth since Walker needsmoney. For the price of

this house I can buy afinca of more than athousandacres.Wewillbelandowners again, andfrom the land comeswealth!”

“Yousoldthehouse?”“You know Cousin

Bernard has alwayswantedit.”

“You sold it, withoutdiscussing it, withoutaskingmewhatmywisheswere—”

“I am a man. It is myplace to make thesedecisions.”

“Butitismylifeyouaredeciding too. Doesn’t thatmatter?”

“You will be muchbetter off with Bernard.You will have a place insociety again. You won’thave to work so hard. Hehasservants—”

“And I will be one ofthem!Youareafool,Jean-

Paul, if you think it is thateasy to regain the groundlost when we decided totakeinborders.”

“Then if you feel likethat, why did you ever doit?Why didn’t you just goto Uncle Narciso andBernardinthebeginning?”

“Ifyouwill recall, ithadsomething to do with yourdislike for the prospect ofbecoming a scribe on astoolintheofficeofCousin

Bernard’s shippingcompany.”

Thesuddensilencetoldher Jean-Paulremembered.Carefullyshewent on. “I’m not saying Iregret not going toBernard.WhatIamsayingis, I don’twant togonow.Itwouldmakeallthework,the— the sacrifice, if youwill,worthless.”

Turning away, shewalked to the table at the

end of the settee.Automatically her handswent out to straighten thebouquet of ribbon-trimmedpalmettofansstandinginavase upon it. Jean-Paul,leaving his chair, came tostand beside her. “It won’tbe for long, just until thegovernment has stabilizedinNicaragua.ThenIwillbeabletoleavethearmyandconcentrateonmakingtheestate pay. When it is

ready I will send for you.We’ll be a family again.Please, Eleanora. Thiswasn’t an easy decision.Don’tmakeitmoredifficultforme.”

A brittle laugh wasforcedfromherthroat.“No,of course not. Your peaceof mind is the firstconsideration. Never mindmy comfort, myconvenience.”

“Sarcasm will not help,

letmetellyou,”hetoldher,hisowntemperflashinguplike powder in a pan. “Ihave the money here, inmy pocket. It is allarranged. I have only toturnthemoneyovertothelandagent in themorning.He sails next day, thetwenty-sixth, on thePrometheus. By the time Iarrivethreeweekslaterhewillbereadytopresentthedeed on the property he

haspurchased.”“Where did you meet

this land agent? Whatguarantee have you thathe is who and what hesaysheis?”

“Must you questioneverything? Don’t youhave any respect for myjudgment?”

Atruthfulanswerwouldnotdo.Orwouldit?

“Trust?”shesaidsoftly.“Shall I prove my trust,

Jean-Paul?”Awarylookinvadedhis

features with theirvulnerable look of youth.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“This money, youmeanttouseaportionofittoreachNicaragua?”

“The fare has beenlowered substantially bythe steamship line forWalker’s colonist — butyes, I suppose myexpenses will have to

comefromtheproceedsofthesale.”

“And, as your sister,half of it ismine sinceweinheritedjointly?”

“Legally, yes, but asheadofthehousehold—”

“Nevermind.Ibelieveitonly fair that my fare bepaidfromitalso.”

“Your fare? Where areyougoing?”

“To Nicaragua. Whereelse?”

2TheoceansteamerDanielWebster left New Orleanson December 11, 1855.Under a fitful sun shesteamed slowly down theMississippiandoutintotheGulf.

Eleanora stood at therail,watchingas thewater

turned from a muddybrowntoadeep,saltwaterblue. The wind was fresh,only slightly tainted withthe smell of coal smokefrom thehugesmokestackforward. She faced into it,consciously putting NewOrleans and everythingknown and familiar behindher. She had not watchedthecityoutofsight,thoughnot out of any sense ofpain. It was just that she

had no time for regret orself-pity. She had spentthehoursputtingawayherthings in her cabin andmakingherselffamiliarwithhercabinandtheship.

As a “colonist” forNicaraguaJean-Paulcouldhave traveled steerage foronly twenty dollars, whileher fare would have beenno more than fifty. First-classcabinpassagewasahundred and seventy-five

dollars, second class ahundred and twenty-five.After due consideration ithad seemed best to payfor better accommodation.Insteeragetherewouldbeno outside light or air, noprivacy, no segregation ofthe sexes. For over twohundred people, sleeping,eating, relaxing would allhave to be accomplishedin one large room. Theberths, built in tiers of

three, three berths wide,were without curtains,without bedding.Passengers provided theirown. They also providedtheireatingutensils.Tobeserved, they wereexpected to line up at thegalley door, after the first-and second-classpassengers had finished,naturally.

Second class wasbetter. Cabins in this

section held nomore thanfifty, the sleeping cubicleswere curtained, andpassengers had theprivilege of the diningsaloon. Jean-Paulreservedspace forhimselfin this section, but such athing was not possible forEleanora. Ordinarilysecond-class cabins weredividedalongsexlines,butat this time they weregivenoverentirelytomen.

Because of the recentfighting in Nicaragua fewwomen were willing totraveleithertothatcountryor across it, along thetransit route to California.Those who decided tobrave itwere, for themostpart, traveling first classwith their husbands sothey need not beseparated. A first-classtickethadtobepurchasedforEleanora.

In this class thestateroom doors openeddirectly out of the diningsaloon, providing crossventilation with theporthole, an importantpoint as they steamedsouthward into warmerweather. The floors werecarpeted, a mirror andwashstand, water bottleand glasses wereprovided. In Eleanora’scabin there were two

curtained berths withspace beneath for storingluggage.She hadmet hercabin-mate briefly thoughthey had exchangednothing beyond civilgreeting. Theymight havemanagedmore ifEleanorahad not been so takenaback by the woman’straveling costume of goldvelvet the exact shade ofher elaborately dressedhair. The skirt had been

supported by a hoop solarge it seemed to fill thecabin. Epaulettes drippinggoldfringehaddeckedtheshoulders, and militarybuttons had fastened hercorsage—uptoapoint.Adeep vee had been leftopen, exposing the soft,white curves of herbreasts. On her head sheworeamilliner’sversionofacampaignhatingoldfeltwithonesidepinnedtothe

crown by a diamond-studded hatpin and thebrim edged with goldfringe.Hernameshegaveas Mazie Brentwood. Itseemed,inawayEleanoracould not quitecomprehend,tofither.

“Hello!”At the hail Eleanora

turned to see her cabin-mate making her waytoward her against thewind. Her skirts were

fluttering like sheets on aclothesline, exposingwithout hindrance agenerous froth of lace-edgedpetticoatsandapairof nicely turned ankles ashighasthecalf.

With one hand thewoman clung to her hatwhile she grabbed for therailwith theother. “Ibeginto see why most of thepassengers arecongregated in the dining

saloon,”shesaidbywayofagreeting.

“The breeze is a bitstiff,” Eleanora agreed,firmly suppressing a smileat the sight of thedestruction of suchexpensive elegance. Shehadnocausetoworry.Hergown,farfromnew,wasaserviceable broadcloth infawnwith blue piping. Herbonnet was of straw withblue ribbons which she

had tied together andloopedoverherarmratherthan have thewind take itoffherhead.

“You seem to havefound thebestspoton theship.Thestarboardsideiswet with spray from thepaddlewheel, and at thebow in front of thedeckhouse the ship’sofficers are constantlytrippingoveryou.”

“Join me then, by all

means,”Eleanorainvited.Mazie Brentwood

directed a shrewd look ather from tip-tilted hazeleyes. “You are sure youdon’tmind?”

“Not at all.Why shouldI?”

The smile that movedacross her wide mouthwas wry. “You don’t looklikeacompleteinnocent.”

“I—begyourpardon?”“You are obliged to

share a cabin with mebecause we are the onlytwounattachedwomenonthe ship. You are notobliged to be seen inpublicwithme.And if thatisnotasufficienthint Iwilltell you, before someoneelse does, that womenwhodressintherestrainedfashion you representseldom associate withwomen of my —profession.”

Therewasnoanger,nobelligerence in MazieBrentwood’s voice, only adispassionatestatementoffact. That, more thananything else, helped tosubdueEleanora’s flushofembarrassment. Therewaslittledoubtinhermindof Mazie’s meaning. Thetwo old maids who hadlived upstairs had had apassion for scandal andwere often forgetful of her

comparative inexperience.In addition, sight of thewomenknownas“ladiesofthe night” was not toouncommon along thepoorly lightedthoroughfares of NewOrleans after dark. Theyhadnot appeared to be inquite the same style asMazie; still by all the rulesshe had been taught, sheshouldhave turnedonherheelless kid slipper and

walked away. That shedidn’thadsomethingtodowith the upheaval of herlife. Nothing seemed tomatterasmuchas it oncehad.

Lifting her chin shesaid,“Why,Iwonder?”

“We are thought tospread corruption andimmorality.”

“For the sake of mycharacter then? I don’tbelieve I am so easily

influenced. And if for thesake of my good name, Ihavelittletoprotect.”

“That soundsinteresting. I warn you, Iaminsatiablycurious.”

Aslowsmilelitthegoldflecks in the depths ofEleanora’sgreeneyes.“SoamI,”shereplied.

Theywatchedawhirlofseagullsgiveup followingthe ship and head backtoward land. The green

and brown shorelinereceded at a slow butsteady pace. The bluesmoke hovering aboveBalize at themouth of theriverbecamenomorethana smudge on the horizon.Beneath their feet themovementofthedeckwasa novel sensation. Fromtheir place at the rail theycould see the spreadingfoam of their progress,heartherushofthewaves

as they cut through thewater. The churningwaterfall sound of thepaddlewheel came frombehind them, a pervasivenoise that, after a time,they ceased to notice.Theycarriednosailonthemasts that towered foreand aft, but the windhummed through therigging and snapped thebanners that flew from thetop-mast spars, and the

starsandstripesdisplayedatthestern.

Mazie, tiring of holdingher hat, unpinned it andtucked it under her arm.The wind immediatelybegan to tear at herelaborate mass of goldwaves and curls, but sheignored it. “So,” she said,turning to Eleanora. “Whyare you on the DanielWebster?”

“My brother signed on

as a colonist with WilliamWalker.Wehavearrangedtopurchaseanestatealso,andIamgoingtoseeafterit until Jean-Paul hashonoredhiscommitment.”

The other womanwaited a fraction too longtocomment.

“What is it?” Eleanoraasked, all her misgivingsreviving to sharpen hervoice.

Mazie shook her head.

“I wish you luck. Thearistocráticos aroundGranadahaven’theldontotheir estates nearly threehundredyearsbygivingupeasily.”

“You sound as if youhave some knowledge ofthesituation.”

“This will be my thirdcrossing along the transitline. Iwent toCalifornia in‘53 and only returned tosettleamatterofbusiness

last spring. There isn’tmuch to do on these tripsexcept talk. You can learna lot, if you have a knackforlisteningtomen.”

“You have seenNicaragua? This ismarvelous.Youcantellmeallaboutit.”

“What do you want toknow?”

“Everything!” Eleanorasaid,smiling.

“To beginwith, it’s hot,

tropical in fact. A big partofthecountryiscoveredinjungle. There are alsomountains, however, andvolcanoes, and a pair oflargelakes.”

“What is this, ageographylesson?”

The voice was lazy,and tantalizingly familiar.Even before she turned,Eleanora remembered thetallblondmanwhostrolleduptothem,and,takinghis

welcome for granted,stopped to lean with oneelbowontherailing.

“Neville!”Maziegreetedhim.“NevilleCrawford,youscoundrel, I didn’t knowyouwereaboard.”

“A man would have tobe blind to miss you,Mazie,” he answered, hissmilequizzical.

“Flatterer.Letmemakeyou known to my cabin-mate, Eleanora Villars.

Eleanora—”“Wehavemet.Ialmost

didn’t recognizeyououtofuniform,MajorCrawford.”

“I am crushed,mademoiselle. I knew youat once. One remembersladieswhoremainelusive.”

“I resent theimplication,” Mazie said inmockaffront,buthereyes,assheglancedfromonetotheother,heldaquestion.

“My apologies. Your

charm, of course, is youropenness,Mazie.”

“Not, I hope, my onlyone?”

“Stop angling forcompliments you don’tneed,andtellmewhyyouarehere.”

“Ihadanotiontoseeifsome of the moneychanging hands inNicaragua could not bediverted tomine.Butwhatis this about a uniform?

Surely you haven’tsuccumbed to thetrappingsofwar?”

“My reasons, my dear,areeverybitasmercenaryas yours. In addition I findthe uniform has abeneficial effect onfemales.”

“A hired killer, Neville?That doesn’t sound likeyoueither.”

“Thank you,Mazie. I’mgladIhavesomecharacter

left in your eyes. Tell me,mademoiselle,howisyourbrother?”

“Well enough. He isaboardalso.”

The major heaved asigh.“Iwasafraidofthat.”

“Eleanora was askingabout Nicaragua. Perhapsyou would like to instructher?”

“Very much,” heagreed, a light glowingbrightlyforaninstantinhis

eyes the pale blue of arobin’segg.

“Imeantconcerningthecountryside,” Mazieadmonished.

An expression ofsuitablegravitydescendedover his face. “Oh, thecountryside.Well.WelandatSanJuandelNorte,thefirst stop on the Atlanticsideofthetransitline.”

“You will think meignorant, but I don’t fully

understand what you aretalking about when youmention the transit,”Eleanorainterrupted.

“No? The AccessoryTransit Company wasbegun five years ago bythe millionaire, CorneliusVanderbilt. The idea wasto take advantage of theCalifornia gold rush; halfthe world was anxious toget to California by thequickest route possible.

There was already apassage through Panama,but Vanderbilt figured toput it out of business bysaving prospectivepassengers better thanseven hundred miles oftravel using the naturalwaterwaysofNicaraguatocut across to the Pacific.The route laid out byVanderbilt begins at PointArenas,wherepassengersbegin their journey up the

San Juan River to SanCarlos at the entrance toLake Nicaragua. TheretheytakealakesteamertoVirginBay.Thena twelve-mile carriage ride bringsthem to San Juan del SuronthePacificcoast,wherethey connect with a shipboundforSanFrancisco.”

“Thisrouteisstillopen,despitethewar?”Eleanorainquired.

“It was when I left for

NewOrleans.”“When I first went over

the route, transportoverland fromVirgin’sBayto San Juan del Sur wasby mule,” Mazie said. “Itwas the rainy season andthe mud was belly deep.How I made it I’ll neverknow.NorwillIeverforgetit!”

“You probably had towalk around the riverrapidsatMachuca,Castillo

Viejo, and El Toro, too.The new steamers makethe trip over the rapidsduring the wet. If we’relucky we can arrive incomfortatGranada.”

“I believe that isWalker’sheadquarters.”

“That’sright.”“Is it a large town?”

Eleanorapersevered.“Not large, about ten

thousand people, butimportant. Until we

capturedittwomonthsagoitwasthestrongholdofthelanded gentry, theLegitimistas, as theconservative party isknown.”

“The rich are alwaysconservative,” Maziecommented. “The havesarealwaysanxioustokeepthings as they are, topreventthehave-notsfromcrowding in. I take itWilliam Walker is allied

with the have-nots in thisinstance?”

“The Democráticos,yes.Sofarhe’sdoneafairjob of parceling out thewealth, though not asthorough as some wouldlike.”

“Then there is someleft,that’swhatIwantedtohear.” Mazie’s tone wasenthusiastic.

“If you were half asgreedy as you pretend,”

Major Crawford teased,“you would be a richwomaninyourownright.”

“WhosaysI’mnot?”“Youwouldn’tbehereif

youwere.”“Don’t you know there

isnosuchthingasenoughmoney?”

“You and Vanderbiltwouldmakeagoodpair.”

Mazie touched abeautifully shaped nail toher lips. “You think so?

Thatideawillrequiresomethought. I understood,however, thatCommodoreVanderbilt resigned ashead of the AccessoryTransit Company. That,because of stockmanipulation and in-fighting among thedirectors, he has sethimself up in competitionbyestablishinganewline,the IndependentOpposition Line using the

Panamaroute.”Slowly themajorshook

his head. “You alwaysleavemewonderingaboutyour sources ofinformation,Mazie.”

“Solongasthatisn’tallyouwonderabout.”

The provocativeanswer. Watching her,Eleanora thought theresponse was automatic,havinglittletodowithwhatthe other woman was

actually thinking. Clearingherthroatalittle,shesaid,“Walker must considerhimself securely incommand at Granada tosend so many of hisofficersoutrecruiting.”

“Recruiting — youmean at the Arcade? Itwas Fisher doing therecruiting. Colonel Farrellwas there to arrange forthe cost of transportingthem. Colonel Henry was

recuperating from battlewounds and had nothingbetter to do. Luis —Lieutenant Colonel Laredo—andIwerealongforthespree. Farrell and HenryreturnedtwoweeksagoonthePrometheus.”

“And the lieutenantcolonel?”

“I hoped you wouldn’task. He’s below in hisberthasdrunkasaconde.Every so often he tries to

pickle the past in alcohol.He succeeds to a point,likepreservingacorpse inbrandy,orsohesays.Butthen, like the corpse, hemustcarry itwithhimuntilhe finds the proper placeofburial.”

Mazie shuddered.“What a charming fellowthisLuismustbe.”

“Most of the time,” themajor agreed. “At othersheishopelesslySpanish.”

“His right, surely,”Eleanora protested.“Nicaragua is a Spanishcountry.”

“Spanish speaking.OfficiallyitistheRepúblicade Nicaragua, and thosewho live there are, ofcourse, Nicaraguan —includingyourbrothernow,and Luis also, though hewas born in theGuadalquivir Valley ofAndalusia, near Córdoba,

Spain. If you will take myadvice though, you won’task him about it unlesshe’sdrunk.”

Major Crawford brokeoff, his attention goingbeyond Mazie’s shoulder.Following his gazeEleanora saw Jean-Paulrounding the corner of thedeckhouse from the stern.A frown drew his thickbrows together and hiseyes were narrowed,

though that might havebeen theeffectof thecoalsmokeswirlingaroundhiminasuddendowndraft.

“Could I speak to you,Eleanora?” he said as heapproached.

“Certainly, but first letmepresentmyfriends.”

His bow wasperfunctory, his face didnot relax into the slightestvestige of a smile as heacknowledged the

introductions. TakingEleanora’s elbow he said,“I’m sure you will excusemysister?”

“By all means,” Maziereplied, her eyes bright.“Don’tletuskeepyoufromwhat is obviously a gravematter.”

Color stained Jean-Paul’s cheeks but heinclined his head. Withoutanother word he ledEleanoraaway,movingso

swiftly that she had tolengthen her stride toprevent it appearing thatshewasbeingdragged.

The long length of thedining saloon held only apairofdominoplayersanda man reading one of thepile of newspapers beforehim. The smell of cookingwafted from the galley,thoughthedinnerbellwasnot due to ring for sometime. In a deserted corner

ofthediningsaloon,Jean-Paul pulled out a chair forher. Holding her full skirtswith both hands so shecould slip into it, Eleanorademanded, “What is it?Whatiswrong?”

Her brother seatedhimself across from her.“Have you any idea whatkind of woman you werechortling with out there asif you were bosomcompanions?”

Eleanora, smoothingher hair, went still. “I feelsure you are going to tellme.”

“She is not a suitableacquaintanceforyou.”

“No? I found heramusing.”

“Did you indeed,” hesaid grimly. “Mon Dieu,Eleanora.Igaveyoucreditformorediscernment.Sheis little better than astreetwalker. Let me tell

you—”“No! Let me tell you,

youngerbrother. I amwellaware of who and whatMazie Brentwood is; shetoldmeherself.Butat thisparticular juncture Iscarcely see that itmatters.Moreover,noone,Jean-Paul, gave you theright to choosemy friendsortoembarrassmeinfrontofthem.”

“It is my responsibility

asthemanofthefamily.”“It has taken you long

enough to come to it,then.”

Itwasdiminthediningsaloon. The onlyillumination came fromskylights set into thedeckhouse above. Evenso, she could see theblood receding from herbrother’s face. It was amoment before he couldspeak, then his voice was

quieter,morereasonable.“Don’t you realize

where friends like thatwomancan lead?Rightorwrong, we are judged bythe company we keep.NicaraguamaynotbeNewOrleans,butitisacivilizedcountry and theconventionsstillstand.”

“I ammore thana littlewearyoftheconventions.”

“Nevertheless—”“Besides, who am I to

talk to? The few otherwomen on this ship arepreoccupied with theirhusbands, their fears, andwith how they will livewhentheygettoCalifornia— those who are not tooseasick already to care.I’m sure you wouldn’tapprove of me talking tostrangemen—”

“Youcantalktome.”“Yes. Where have you

beenforthelasthours?In

the deckhouse having adrinkandagameofcardswith the officers in theirquarters, and spying outthe windows! You see, Iamnotquiteasignorantasyouimagine!”

Quarreling. Again. Itseemed that was all theyhad done since thatafternoon at Bank’sArcade. When Jean-Paulhad been convinced, afterbitter disagreement, that

she intended to come hehadarguedthatsheoughtto wait at least a monthuntil he had looked overthe situation and madearrangements for her. Amonth with thecondescension of CousinBernard was not to beborne.Too,shewasafraidthere would be excuseafter excuse to delay heruntil she gave up herdetermination to go. They

had quarreled over thenecessity of asking theirlodgers to move. Jean-Paulwasfortheclean-cut,she for a more gradualtransition after she hadfound other places forthemwheresheknewtheywould be comfortable.Sinceall the troublewouldbehers,shehadwon thatset-to. She had not faredso well over the baggagethey would carry. Two

trunks plus a Gladstonebag for Jean-Paulcontained all theirbelongings. Many smallthings, heirlooms,mementos, had to be leftbehindinthedubiouscareof Uncle Narciso andCousin Bernard and thesupercilious creature whowashiswife.

Onthetablebeforeherwasamuch-thumbedcopyofElNicarguense.Several

weeks old, the lead storytold of the death by firingsquad of one MateoMayorga on the orders ofWilliamWalker. An elderlyman, his only crimeseemed tohavebeen thathe was an aristocrat.Looking away, Eleanorafelt thevibrationof tensionalong her nerves. Whatwere they getting into?What were they doing? Itwas this uncertaintywhich

causedhertempertoflare.Perhaps it was the samewithJean-Paul.

Her brother reachedout, touching her handwhereitlayonthetable.“Idon’t think you areignorant, onlyinexperienced,which isasit shouldbe, ordinarily. It’sjustthatIworryaboutyou.If anything unpleasant —happens to you it will bemyfault.”

“I would never blameyou,” she answered,touched by the concern inhissoftbrowneyes.

“But I would blamemyself.”

They reached the darkgreencoastlinethatcurvedinto the Bay of San Juande Nicaragua in astreaming rain. The groupof transit companybuildings huddled beneaththrashing palm trees at

Point Arenas looked farfrom prepossessing in thegloomy light. Across thebaytherubbleofwhathadbeen Greytown before thebombardmentinJulyoftheyearbeforehadaforsakenlook,asifatanymomentitwould melt into the brownsand of the beachfront orthe dark green vegetationof the encroaching junglewould reclaim it. Somerebuildingwasinprogress,

atwo-storyframestructurelabeling itself a hotel andwhat looked likeadockingpier.Asignproclaimedittobethesiteofanewcitytobe known henceforth asSanJuandelNorte.

The destruction ofGreytown by the UnitedStatessloop-of-warCyane,though instigated by thetransit company after adispute over port dues,hadhadnothingtodowith

William Walker. It was,however, an indication ofthe temper of the times,the political importance ofthe transit route acrossNicaragua,andthelicenseclaimed by somerepresentatives of theUnitedStates.

The riverboatColoradowaited with steam up totake the passengersaboard. There seemed noreason to linger in that

drenchedportatthemouthoftheSanJuanRiver.Thetransfer was made, thegangplank pulled in, andchurning the cocoa-brownwater into a froth, theyproceeded upstream ontheninety twistingmiles tothe head of the Rio SanJuan.

Theriverranhighin itsbanks joined by athousand trickling runnelspouring out of the

steaming jungle. Therewas the musty reek ofdecaying vegetation,overladenbythepervasiveperfume of flowers. Treesmade a bower over theriver, their branchesfestooned with hangingcreepers flowering orangeandyellow,whiteand red.Thick-leaved vines, theirjuicy stems as large as aman’s wrist, strangled thetrunks of mahogany and

avocado trees. Thickclusters of plants withhanging aerial rootsnestled in the crotches oftheir limbs. Palm treeswavedsplitfrondsandtreeferns pushed their lushgreenery toward the wetgraysky.

Here and there theysaw the brilliant flash ofcolor as parrots andmacaws took wing. Once,as the boat passed under

an overhanging branch, asnake colored a brightyellow-green thudded tothedeck. Itwasdealtwithswiftly, unemotionally, bytheIndiandeckhands,asifit were an everydayoccurrence.

The stone bastion ofCastillo Viejo, rising highon its steep, cliff-like hill,was nearly obscured byrain as they passed it inthe afternoon. Gray,

deserted, it had an air ofancient, crumblingmystery. The pole-and-thatch houses hunchedheadtoheadatthefootofthe hill had a mildewedlook after the long rainyseason. The CastilloRapides were crossedwithout slowing. A fewmiles further upstream,however, the Coloradodeveloped a steeringproblem. The boat sidled

intotheportofSanCarlosathalfspeed.

Therewere supplies tobe unloaded for the dingylittle town on the shore ofLake Nicaragua. With therepairs there would be adelayofseveralhours.

For the convenience ofthe passengers whowanted to go ashore,dinner was served early.The rain stopped halfwaythroughthefirstsittingand

the clouds cleared in thewest. Resting low on thehorizon, the sun burnedorange, sending longwavering shafts throughthewhitestreamersoflakemists. Its light touched thewaves of the “Gran Lago”with gold, and on theopposite shore, tipped thedistant blue cones of thevolcanoes Orosi, Madeira,andOmetepewithcopper.

Themistlentaspurious

enchantment to thescabrous thatch-roofedhouses of the town,reaching as high as thegates of Fort San Carlos,whichguardedthemeetingof the river with the lake.The streets, however, ranwithwater in which refusefloated.Therewasnothingto be seen but mud andsqualor. Returning to theship from a shortexploration, Eleanora and

Mazie, escorted by Jean-Paul and the major, werehalted by the sound ofgunfire.Itcamefromdownthe lake. Major Crawforddropped his air of relaxedcompanionship like thedevil shedding a cassock.Bearing alert, he herdedthe women back to thesteamer. Wading backthrough the cluster ofvendors at the foot of thegangplank, the major set

off in the direction of thesound.

The alarm wasunnecessary. The shotshadbeen firedbya groupof men from the steamerwho had taken advantageof the halt and the lull inthe rain to practice theirmarksmanshiponsomeofthe alligators they hadbeenseeingoff andonallday. To make amends totheladiesforrushingthem,

Major Crawford boughtsmall, red finger bananas,coconuts and pineapplesfrom the Indian vendors intheir costumes dyed indeep primary colors, andpresented them. Theywere welcome tokens oftheirfirstdayinthetropics.

After being cooped upso long, Eleanora wouldhavelikedtostayondeck.Despite the effluvia of thejungle and primitive

sanitation, there was aheadyqualityintheair,theexotic essence of astrange and new country.She was denied thepleasure by the cloud ofmosquitoes,enormousandblack,whichdescendedasnight fell. As she wentbelow, the deck vibratedintolifeoncemorebeneathher feet. Theywere underwayagain.

In their stateroom,

designed on this smallerriver steamer to hold fourwomen, Eleanora foundMazie stripped to staysand petticoat. She wasbrushing her hair with afurious impatience, herfaceshiningwiththegoosegrease she had appliedagainstwrinkles.

As Eleanora camethrough the door, shetossed the silver-backbrush onto the berth she

had chosen and put herhands on her hips. “Badnews, honey. The best Ican tell, your trunks aremissing.” She nodded atthe baggage that litteredthe floor, her own trunks,bagsandboxesplusthoseof the two other womenwhomustsharewith themwhile their husbandsrepaired to the one largemen’s cabin. “I’ve beenthrough these things a

dozentimesbutIcan’tfindhide nor hair of them —norof thehatboxwithmythree best hats in it Ibought from MadameHeleneinNewOrleansfortendollarsapiece!”

“You must bemistaken,” Eleanora said,startingforward.

Mazie gave a shake ofher head, hermouth grim.“Gone.”

“But—how?”

“Stolen during thetransfer from the DanielWebster to the Colorado,mostlikely.Whatofficial inthis God-forsaken countryisgoingtostandaroundintheraintowatchthateverypieceisputaboard?It’sanold story on this run. I’veheard in the early days,when therewere somanytransfersplusthemuletrip,it was a lucky group thatgot through in either

direction with more thanhalf the luggage they hadwhentheystartedout.”

“Can’titberecovered?”“I’ve already lodged a

complaint with the captainfor both of us, but there’snot much chance. It’sprobably well on its wayintothejunglebynow,andback in there are stillplaces no white man haseverseen.No,beforelongsomeIndian’swifeisgoing

to be picking beans in ahat worth more than herwholevillage!”

Eleanorasankdownontheedgeofaberth. “Theywon’t have much whenthey open my trunks, buteverything I had to wearwas in there. All I carriedofftheoceansteamerwithmewasanextrachemise,a handkerchief, and a fewtoiletries. What am I todo?”

“Granada isn’t the endof the world. It does haveseamstresses.”

“EvenifImakeitmyselfI can’t afford a newwardrobe.”

“Youstillhavewhatyouhave on. Surely you canaffordjustoneortwomoregowns,somethingcooler.”

Doubtfully Eleanorasurveyed the gown ofbrown velvet she haddonned that morning. She

had made it over from ariding habit worn by hermother. It was rathermasculine in appearancewith long, tight-fittingsleeves and a high neck.The day had been coolduetotherain,butalreadyshe had regretted herchoice. What would it belike when the sun cameout? Moreover, after theirexcursion about SanCarlosthehemwascaked

with mud. Knowing it wasunlikely that she wouldever be able to wear itagain in this tropicalclimate, she had beencareless about soiling. Itwasdoubtfultheskirtcouldeverbecleaned.

Eleanora raised bleakeyes to the other woman.Mazie chewed on her fulllower lip. “Well, Idon’t likethatgownonyouanyway.It’s too drab, too old-

womanish.And the rest ofyour clothes were thesame. I think it’s just aswell you have to startover.”

“ButItellyouIcan’t.”“Nonsense. There are

always ways and means.Let me see, somethinglightandairy,somethingingreen—orpink—”

“I’ve always tried towear subdued colors. Myhair—”

“Yourhairisglorious!”“Mygrandmother—”“Yourgrandmothermay

havebeena lady,but shesounds like a jealous oldwitch to me, jealous ofyour mother, jealous ofyou. You are a beautifulwoman, face a perfectoval, fascinating greeneyes, those dark lashesand brows and ivory skininherited from the CreoleFrenchside—allcrowned

bythatflamingIrishhead.Icall it a terrible waste tosee you try to deny theway you look, subdueyourselfintoinvisibility.”

“I don’t want to attractunwelcome attention,”Eleanoratriedtoexplain.

“Something else yourgrandmother warned youagainst,Idon’tdoubt.Oh,Iknow you don’t want todress quite like me, and Idon’t mean that you

should,but there’snothingwrong with making themost of what you have.You’ll never find a manotherwise.”

Eleanora tilted herhead, amilitant look risingin her eyes. “It maysurpriseyoutolearnIdon’twantaman.”

“You may think youdon’t, but unfortunately aman is a woman’s onlysecurity.”

“I had a fiancé once. Iseemed to lose myattractiveness for himwhenIlostmydowry.”

“Hewasafool.Youarebetteroffwithouthim.”

“That may be, but Iprefer to placemy trust inJean-Paul — and myself—fromnowon.”

“Wonderful!Except thatbrothers have a way ofmarrying and putting theirwivesfirst.Thenwherewill

you be? You needhusband, a life of yourown.”

“You seem to havedone well enough withoutone.”

Mazie stiffened, thenrelaxed slowly. “I had ahusbandonce,andachild—ason.”

“I’msorry—”“No,letmetellyou.We

had a place in the hills ofGeorgia. One winter night

the house caught fire, asparkfromthechimneyonthewoodenshingles.Iwasoutintheseparatekitchen-cabin setting bread, myhusband was dozingbefore the fireplace. Halftheroofwasablazebeforeit was discovered. I raninto the smoke-filledbedroom where my sonslept. He was small, notquite two years old. Sinceit was cold I rolled him in

the bedclothes and pickedhim up. My husband toldme to carry him outsideandstayoutwhilehetriedto savea few things. I didas he said, though Icouldn’thelp lookingback,thinkingofeverythingIwaslosing.AndthenIbegantounwrap the bundle in myarms. I had picked up notmyson,butastuffed toy Ihad made for him. Iscreamed to my husband

and he went back afterhim. A moment later, theroof-treefellin.”

Her voicediedaway inahuskywhisper.“Mazie...”Eleanorastretchedoutherhand to the other woman,unabletofindthewordstoexpresshersympathy.

“I am thirty-three,”Maziewenton. “I’vespentover ten years trying toforget, trying to find someway of relieving the

torment of self-blame.Nothing ever works —quite.And yet I’ve learneda few things. I’ve learnedthatmenandwomenneedeach other. That thecloseness of men andwomen, the fusing of theirbodies in a passion ofcaring, is one of the fewthings that makes lifebearable.”

“And yet,” Eleanorasaid, looking away, “you

speakof—whatyoudoasyourprofession.”

“So it is, except that Iam more selective.” Shesmiled. “A conceit, Iexpect, but I prefer to callmyself a courtesan. Thedifference is, I restrictmyself to one man at thetime. But come, I haveshocked you enough forone night. We werespeakingofclothes.Ihaveoneortwothingscluttering

mytrunksyoucantakeoffmy hands. I let adressmaker in Saratogalast summer convince methatapretensetodelicacywould be beneficial. I’vedecided since that it justisn’t my style. I’m a bitrounderinplacesthanyou,butIstillhaveasewingkitsomewhere among mythings, and that can beremedied.”

“I appreciate the

gesture,butIcouldn’t takethem,youknow,”Eleanorasaid.

“Whynot?Youareoneofthemostsensibleyoungwomen I’ve seen in sometime. Surely you can seethe necessity. I think youcanunderstand, too, that Iwillbehurt,andinsulted,ifyourefuse.”

“Youmakeitimpossibleto hold out against you,”Eleanorasaidwryly.

“Good,” Mazieanswered, turning to hertrunks. “That was exactlywhatIintended.

The dock at Granadaswarmedwithpeople.Menwithhandcartspushedandshoved, raising a cloud ofdust in their efforts tosecureaplacenearwherethegangplankwouldbeletdown. “Carreton demano!Carreton de mano!” theycried, using sign language

toshowtheirwillingnesstocarry baggage. Womenwith dark curling hairhanging down their backsadjusted trays of fruit andpork, older women andboys gathered up theirofferings of conch shellsandwovenpalm-fiberhats,leather goods andcuriosities made of cowhorns.

Soldiers, Falangistas inred shirts, their wide-

brimmed, red-banded hatspulled low against thebright afternoon sun,leaned against thedeckside buildings. Mostwere American orEuropeaninappearance,afew were Spanish. Allshared a lean, hard-bittenlook that contrastedsharply with the mencrowding the rail of thesteamer.

It had been an

uneventful trip across thelake.TheyhadgonefirsttoVirgin Bay, where thepassengers for Californiahad disembarked. Thecarriages to take them toSan Juan del Sur hadbeen waiting, their sidepanelspaintedwithscenesof California andNicaragua,theirwideblue-and-white and red-and-white stripes glistening inthe sun. At the sight of

them a cheer had beenraised, a spontaneousreaction to reaching thisnext-to-last stage in thelongtransitcrossing.

Theonlyothereventofnotewas the sighting of ashark in the lake. “Butyes,” one of the steamer’sofficers had explainedwhen some of thepassengers scoffed. “Theshark,hehasalwaysbeenin the “Gran Lago,” and

verytastyheis,too.”The first priority was a

hotel. There were, notsurprisingly, a number tochoose fromnear the lakeshore, the best of whichappeared to be theAlhambra. Following theirhandcart,takenbecauseofthe elaborateness of thedesign painted in green,red,yellow,white,pinkandblack on its solid wheels,they created quite a stir.

Mazie, in honor of theoccasion, had chosen agown of heavenly bluetarlatantrimmedwithmilesof grosgrain ribbon. Herhat, which she wore tiltedforward upon her piledgoldencurls,wasa ribbonconfection topped by anenormous Democráticocockade. In her glovedhandshecarriedaparasolofwhitelace.Eleanorahadnoneedofsuchprotection.

Herhatwasacartwheelinthe leghorn style made ofseveral layers of whitemuslin through which thesuncastpleasingshadowsupon her face. The pinkribbon that circled thecrown was echoed in thepinkcabbagerosesstrewnacross the white foulardsilkofthegownMaziehadpresseduponher.Thoughthe twowomenwere nearthe same height, in their

alterations they hadforgotten the extra lengthintheskirtallowedtocoverMazie’s fashionably largehoop. At the last momentMazie had pressed herextra crinoline, alightweight collapsibleThompson hoop, uponEleanora. As a result thegown stood out like thepetals around the heart ofa flower. The round,scooped-out décolletage

was cool compared to herbrown velvet, but itslownessbroughtmorethana little warmth to hercheeks. Jean-Paul’s air ofsmoldering disapprovalshe found excessive,however, and to spite himshe took the major’s arm,entering into a spiritedconversation whichconsisted largely ofparryinghisgallantriesandnodding as he pointed out

thefeaturesofGranada.The town was a vast

improvement over theothers they had seen. Itwas built in the Spanishstyle around a series ofsquares or plazas. Thebuildings were of warmgolden stone orwhitewashed plasterroofed with red tiles. Coolcourtyards,knownhereaspatios, were incorporatedwithin the walls of the

houses.Fromthemwavedthe shining green oforange treesandmagentamasses of bougainvillea.The bell towers ofchurchesrearedabovetherooftops,andthefiguresofsandaledpriests incowledrobes moved among thethrong crowding thestreets.

The major left them atthe hotel steps. Jean-Paultook a room for only one

night since hemust reportto his barracks the firstthing in the morning. ForconvenienceEleanoraandMazie took a roomtogether next door. Thatshe would not have beenable to afford so fine ahotel, or choice a room, ifshehadbeenalonewasasore point with Eleanora,butshe insistedonpayinghershare.

Anxious to remove his

sister from her presentcompany as soon aspossible, Jean-Paul wentoff atonce todiscover thewhereabouts of the land-purchasing agent’s officeas given on a card left inhis possession. Afterlookingover the roomandridding themselves of thedustofthestreets,thetwowomen waited some timefor Eleanora’s brother toreturn. When it grew too

dark in the room to seeeachother’s features, theydescended to the diningroomalone.

In the doorway theyencountered a man justleaving.Hedrewbackwitha muttered apology and astiff inclination of his darkhead to give their wideskirts room through theopening. The lamplightglitteredon thegold fringeof his epaulettes.

Eleanora, flinging him aglancethroughher lashes,recognizedColonelFarrell,the man at whose handsshe had sufferedhumiliation and defeat inNewOrleans.

She looked away atonce,movingpasthimwithher faceaverted.Still, shecould not forget thesapphire-hard indifferenceof his eyes as they rakedover her, or the sardonic

quirk of lips as he inhaledthe violence of Mazie’samberscent.

They ate slowly,savoring the strange,highly spiced dishes setbefore them; Jean-Paulhad still not joined themwhen they were done. Itdid not seem prudent toremain downstairs. Takinguponeof thebedcandlesleftconvenientlyatthefootof thestairs, they returned

totheirroom.The night grew later,

the streets quieted. Oncethey heard the distantclangingofchurchbellsfora fire. That providedconversation for a time,though nothing came of itthat they could see fromtheir window. After a timethey dressed for bed andblewoutthecandle.

Mazie, lying in thedarkness, tried to console

her. “Heprobablyrodeoutof town to see this estate;youknowhowenthusiasticheis.Orhemayhavehadto report tonight and gostraight to the barrackswithoutbeingable tosenda message. I’ve heardWalker insists on a strictregimenforhismen.”

“Yes,” Eleanoraanswered. It was alsopossiblehehaddecidedtocelebrate his last night of

freedom with some of therecruits of a similar mind.Shehadwaitedforhimtoomany nights to beseriously concerned.However, despite thecomfort of a bed widerthanhershouldersthatdidnotrock,shecouldnotdriftinto sleep. She was lying,staring wide-eyed into thedark, when she heard theshuffle of footsteps in thehall.

Plainly through the thinwalls she could hear therattling of a key and amuffledcurseassomeonetriedtofitakeyintoalock.Atthefamiliartimbreofthevoice,Eleanorathrewbackthecovers.

Barefooted, shecrossed the gritty floor tothe door and turning thekey, drew it open a crack.“Jean-Paul?” shewhispered.

Mazie, waking, sat upinbed.“Eleanora,whatareyou doing?” she asked inwhatwas, forher,asharptone.

“It’s Jean-Paul,”Eleanora explained overhershoulder.

The voices attractedherbrother’sattention,andhe stumbled into view,puttingoutonehandtothedoor to catch himself. Hehalfstaggered,halffellinto

the room. Eleanoraclutchedathisarmtokeephimfromlandingflatonhisface.

“Eleanora,”hesaid,thetoneinwhichhespokehisslurredwordsborderingondesperation.“I’vegottotellyousomething.”

“Yes, but come and sitdownfirst.”

“No,” he said with theobstinate will of the trulydrunken. “I’ve got to tell

younow.”Mazie, her ripe charms

more revealed thanconcealed by hernightgown, slid from thebed and touched a sulfurmatch to what was left ofthecandlebesidethebed.

“All right,” Eleanoraagreed, her gaze going tothe other woman as shemoved to stand on Jean-Paul’sotherside.

“I couldn’t find the land

agent. No such street —no such house as on thecard. Nobody ever heardof him. I saw ColonelFarrell.Hesaiditwasallacheat. The man was acrook.Therewasneveranestate, no house, no land.Hesaidwe’llneverseethemoney again. Never. It’sgone, Eleanora. It’s gone,andwehavenothing.”

Shock loosenedEleanora’s grip on her

brother’sarm.ItwasMaziewho lowered him to thefloor and rolled him to hisbackwithakindofefficientpity.

In grim silence theystoodstaringdownathim,staring at the splotches offoodanddrinkthatstainedhis shirt front andwaistcoat, at the rip in hiswaistcoat pocket wheresomeone had stolen hiswatchandfobs—andthe

tracks of tears in the dustand perspiration grime ofhisnear-beardlessface.

3Money. Everythingseemed to come to thatessential. Eleanora couldnotreturnhome,therewasno money. She could notstayatthehotel,therewasno money. She could nothireahouseorengagethecompanion who would

convey respectability uponher singular existencewithout funds. She couldnot, in good conscience,acceptMazie’scharityandremain in the hotel at herexpense. The otherwoman refused tounderstand her scruples,taking Eleanora’s refusalas a personal affront. Therift between them had notbeen bridged whenEleanora packed her few

belongings into a bundleand moved out. Mazie’ssole acknowledgment wastosendthethingsshehadgiven her after her with acurt note saying if she didnot feel comfortablewearing them she couldconsign them to thenearest trash heap — orsell them for what shecouldgetoutofthem.

There had not beenmuch time to look for

lodgings. Jean-Paul couldnot really spare themorning he spent at thetask.Itwould,nodoubt,beheld against him that hehad not reported at theearliest possible moment.He supposed, with thetypical Creole attitudetoward the importance offamily,thatthewelfareofasisterwouldbeunderstoodto take precedence.Eleanora was not so

confident. If Walker, thecivilian who had madehimself chief commanderof the Nicaraguan army,was a disciplinarian, thatfacet must necessarily bereflectedinhisofficers.

The roomtaken forherwasonasidestreetofftheCentral Plaza, behind theCathedral of SanFrancisco. It was,appropriately enough, inthe home of a widow, an

ancient crone of awomanwith a bent back and anendless supply ofshapeless black dresses,all justalike—herewouldbe no sympathy, nocompanionship, and littleprotection from thatquarter. The old womanwas almost completelydeaf, and from her silentvoid, she looked out upontheworldwithasuspiciousand bitter scorn. She had

taken the centavo shedemandedinpaymentandclamped toothless gumsupon it, more as an insultthan a precaution. Thatdone, she had gone intoher portion of the houseandslammedthedoor.

Afurtherdrawbackwasthesituationofthewidow’shouse. It shared acommon wall with acantina enormouslypopular with the soldiers

and the youngmen in thevicinity. Eleanora’s roomwas, of course, next to it.Every night theirrepressibledinofguitars,zithers, and concertinascompeting with raisedmale voices disturbed herslumbers. To pass theplace after noon was toinvite insult, shediscovered,andmorethanonce she was followed tothedoorofher room.One

gallant even campedoutside her door forseveral hours, until thewidow, coming out to doher marketing, stumbledover him and sent him onhis way in a barrage ofshrill and extremelyidiomaticSpanish.

In self-defense,Eleanora began to wakeearly, with the silver voiceofthecathedralbellcallingthe early risers to mass,

and make her way to thewellattheendofthestreetfor water, and to themarket for the little foodshe could afford. Shediscovered an intenseenjoyment of that time ofmorning. It was cooler,with fewerpeopleabout tointerfere as she took herexercise, staring at thewalls of the central plazawith their pockmarkscaused by bullets during

the taking of the town byWalker and theFalangistas, the toweringfront, arched doors andseries of rose windows ofthe cathedral, and thearabesque portal flankedby guards of theGovernment House whereGeneralWalkerhadmadehis headquarters. Sheenjoyed the flamingbrillianceofthepoinsettias,the waxy whiteness and

fragrance of the wildgardenias, and the smallsunflowers and ferns thatseemed to grow in everycrack and cranny. Therewere fewer people at thathourtobargainwithIndianandmeztizo—Indianwitha Spanish admixture —women for their eggs andstone-baked cakes, theirtropicalfruitsandsliversofmeat, which they soldeverymorningintheopen-

air market on one side oftheplaza.

Daybydaytheaimlessroutine she was followinggrew less endurable.There was a limit to howlong the few dollars shepossessed would last,even inacountrywhereafilling, if frugal, breakfastcould be had for threecents. She must findsomething to do, away tokeepherself.

The possibilities werefew. Shemight be able toteach English. Surely in acountry dominated atpresent by English-speaking foreigners theremustbepeopleanxioustolearn the language? Shewas not proficient inSpanish, but there hadbeen enough spoken inNew Orleans, a city thathadoncebeenanoutpostof the Spanish empire, to

enablehertomakeherselfunderstood. If the parentswere not interestedperhaps theywould like tolooktothefutureandhavetheir children taught.Failing that,shemightusesome of the skills with aneedleshehad learnedatconvent school to makearticlesofclothingtosellinthe market. If she weresuccessful she might setherselfupasamodiste.Or

as a last resort shemightbecome a laundress,joining the other womenpounding clothes on theshoreof the lake.Soldierswere always in need oflaundresses, having littletimeandlessinclinationtokeep their clothing fresh.Never mind that thepositionwas looked on asonlyalittlehigherthanthatofacampfollower.

She had been in

isolationwiththewidowsixdays.Shewaslyingonherbed, trying to do sums inher head despite aSpanish arrangement of“O’ Susannah” comingthrough the wall, when aknockfellonthedoor.Shewaitedbeforemovingtobecertain it wasn’t comingfrom the cantina or fromthedoorofthewidow.

“Eleanora?”At the sound of her

brother’svoice,sheswungfrom the bed to lift theheavy bar and draw thepanelinward.

“Jean-Paul, where—”she began, then stoppedas Mazie sailed into theroom in a gown of muslinprinted with improbableblue poppies. A bunch ofscarletpoinsettiasfilledherdécolletage for an effectthatwas,atthevery least,eye-catching.

“Merry Christmas,”Mazie exclaimed,sweepingEleanora intoanamber-scented embracethat was as forgiving as itwasencompassing.

It was Christmas Eve.Somehow Eleanora hadmanaged to forget thedate. That Mazie hadremembered, and chosento remember her, broughtatightnesstoherthroat.

The other woman,

pulling off her lace mitts,fanned herself with them.“It’s as hot as an oven inhere. Ithas tobegoing tostorm again. People whoare saying the rainyseason is over are out oftheir heads. How you canstand—butnevermind. Ihavecomewithawarning,Eleanora, my pet, as wellas the greetings of theholiday. Single women, Ifear, are not wanted in

Granada.”Jean-Paul, after only a

weekasasoldier,seemedleaner than he had been,Eleanora thought as shegreeted him with a swifthug. The change was notanimprovement.

“Not wanted?” sheasked distractedly lookingaroundforaplaceforthemto sit. Therewasonly onechairinthesmallroom,anarticlewhichlookedlikean

unsuccessfulexperimentintheartof furnituremaking.Its rawhide seat hadstretched, sinking deep inthe middle, its frame hadwarpedsoonelegoneachside was shorter, and thetop two rungs of the backweremissing.

Mazie solved theproblem in the samemanner Eleanora usuallydid, by sitting on the bed.“Single, unattached

women,thatis.Ihadavisitfrom your Colonel Farrell.He is everything you saidhe was, arrogant,dictatorial, unreasonable—andmore.Heexplainedthat he is provostmarshalfor the town, and in thatcapacity, advised me toleaveassoonaspossible!”

Outrage throbbed inMazie’s voice. Staring ather, Eleanora frowned.“Canhedothat?”

“As the town is undermilitaryruleandheisheadof the military police, Isuppose he can. But youwillneverbelievewhyheisdoingit.GeneralWalker,ifyouplease,hassethimselfupasthemoral,aswellasmilitary, leader of thecountry. He refuses tohave his men consortingwith camp followersor thelowwomen of the town. Itencourages vice, disease,

and disorder. ColonelFarrellactuallysaidthat—tome!”

“Ifyouthinkthatisbad,you should hear thegeneral’sstricturesagainstdrinking,” Jean-Paul said,propping his shouldersclad in the red shirt of theDemocráticos against thewall. “A soldier caughtunder the influence getstendaysintheguardhouseto sober up. The second

timearoundheisforcedtodrink an emetic, thenjailed, and the third timeit’s the emetic, twenty-fourhours lashed to acartwheel, and jail. Acivilian selling liquor to amember of La FalangeAmericana must pay anarbitrary fine of twohundred dollars,American.”

Mazie ignored Jean-Paul.“Itriedtoexplainthat

Iamnotacommonwhore,but itmade no impressionon Colonel Farrell. Heseemed to think a womanwho saved her favors forone man was, somehow,moredangerous,sinceshecontributes directly to thepractice of dueling amongthe men while she ismaking up her mind. Hecontends that women likeme grow odious withconceit, having so many

men vying for them, andactually encourage themen to compete amongthemselves out of vanity.Walker is determined notto lose his men to suchsenseless killing. NeverhaveIbeensoinsulted!”

“Now, he’s right aboutthedueling, thoughmaybenot the cause,” Jean-Paulsaid. “Yesterday two menmet, a Frenchman and aPrussian, because they

could not agree onwhether the Seine or theRhine River was theprettiest.Theywerebored.They came to fight, towinhonors and booty, and alltheyget isregulationsanddrills, a constant harpingon duty and discipline. Itseemsthewarwasoverintwobattles,wonbyfifty-sixmen.”

“Tired already of beingasoldadoforNicaragua?”

He looked awaywith ashrug from Mazie’s too-knowing hazel eyes.Eleanora,with a glance ather brother’s drawn face,stepped into the breach.“Whatareyougoingtodo,Mazie?”

“The question is whatarewegoing todo? Iwastold in no uncertain termstoinformanyofmyfriendsof a similarmode of livingof the new regulations. I

very nearly asked him ifWalker considered himselfabove other men, since itis well known that he hastaken one of thearistocratic Nicaraguanwomenintohisbed,anditwas her influence thatbroughtabout thecoalitiongovernment with theLegitimistas. They evensay President Rivas, theman named as head ofgovernment, is a distant

cousinofhers.”“An interesting form of

nepotism,” Jean-Paulcommented.

Eleanora shook herhead impatiently. “Are youleaving Granada?” sheinsisted.

“I don’t know. I’mtemptedtostayherejusttosee what the colonel willdo about it. Or perhapsPresident Rivas has aweakness for blondes? I

wouldgiveagreat deal toprove to Colonel Farrellthat I have absolutely nointerestincausingquarrelsamongenlistedmen.”

“You don’t, by chance,supposehisreactionwouldbe to put you on a boatbacktoNewOrleans?”

“Not if he suspectedthat is where I had rathergo,I’msure.”

“I’djoinyouintweakingthelion’sbeardifIthought

hewould.”“Eleanora,” Jean-Paul

began, then subsided assheshookherheadathimwithasmile.

“There is alwaysCalifornia,” Maziereminded her. “I’d be gladto pay your way for thesakeofthecompany.”

“And then?” Eleanoraaskedsoftly.

“I don’t know,” Mazieadmitted. “I just don’t

know.”Mazie insisted on

sending Jean-Paul nextdoor to the cantina for acrude meal of chili concarne and meat-filledmaizecakeswasheddownwith sour red wine.Afterward, they sat talkingwell into the night. WithJean-Paultoactasescort,Eleanora attended themidnight mass incelebrationofChristmasin

the cathedral. Mazieaccompanied her out ofcuriosity. When theyreturned Jean-Paulinsisted on carrying thecelebration further byordering two more bottlesof wine, the majority ofwhichhedrankhimself.Bythe timeMazie was readytoleave,hewaspleasantlyrelaxed, but by no meansas drunk as he wascapableofbecoming.

Eleanora saw them tothe door. Mazie turnedback, letting Jean-Paul goahead. After a longsearching look, shereached out to tapEleanora on the cheek.“You are too pale, andyour eyes have suchlavender shadows underthem—youlookpositivelydissipated.Youcan’tgoonlike this. Something mustbedone,evenifJean-Paul

has to go to the colonelandexplain.”

“I want no favors fromthat man. If it weren’t forhimwewouldn’t be in thismess.”

Mazie’s face took on agrim cast. “That’s easy tosay.”

“It’strue!”“Evenso.Thereissuch

a thing, honey, as toomuchpride.”

Because of her late

night, and the long hoursbefore dawn lying wide-eyed wondering what shewas to do, Eleanoraoverslept. When sheawoke the heat wasalready overpowering inthe small, windowlessroom. She dressedhurriedly in the lightweightgown of white with pinkroses. She was notparticularly hungry at themoment,butherwaterolla

ofredclaywasemptyandshe had contributed theslim supply of food thatwas to have been hermidday meal to the feastthenightbefore.

In the market shebought tortillaswrapped incornhusksandabunchoffinger bananas. Comingback through the squarewith her purchases in astring bag, she spared nomorethanaglanceforthe

serenityofthecathedralorthe Government Housewith Walker’s flag, avibrant red star of fivepoints on a white ground,hanging limp above it. Inan effort to save time shedovedownasidestreet,awide, quiet thoroughfarewhich had impressed herbefore as having a privateair. Many of the moreimpressive homes of theGranadan aristocrats

fronteduponit.She was passing a

palacio of small size butbeautiful proportions, withRoman columns of stoneand a soft gold coloringapplied to its plaster overadobe bricks, when amovementcaughthereye.Amanwalkedoutontotheuppergaleríaandstoodatthe railing with a cup ofcoffee in his hand, staringoutovertherooftopsinthe

direction of the lake andthedistantvolcanicpeaks.It took her a moment torecognize him without hisuniformcoat,butthebleakeyes, the uncompromisingchinwerethesame.ItwasColonelFarrell.

The sound of herfootsteps alerted him toher presence. Thebrightness of derisionuntempered byamusementleapedintohis

face. It was as if hesuspected her of justwending her wayhomeward after a night ofdebauchery.

Eleanora knew aperverse impulse to put aprovocative swing into herwalk, to make the bell ofher skirts sway to aseductive tempo. It waswhat he expected of her,wasn’t it? But why shouldhe always get what he

expected?Withthecoolliftof a dark eyebrow, shemoved on, treating him asthe insensitive boor heundoubtedly was. It wasobvious,fromthethingshehadsaidtoMazie,thatthecolonel had anexaggerated sense ofimportance. How nice itwould be if someonedeflatedit!

Depositing herpurchases in her room,

Eleanora took up her ollaand walked to the well atthe end of the street. Thewaterwasclearandfresh,fed by an undergroundspring.Aswasthecustom,shedrew,handoverhand,afullbucketforherselfandone for the stone animaltroughs that abutted thewell curb. When she hadfilledherolla,shecarrieditback balanced on her hip,her thumb in one of its

earlikehandles.Infrontofthecantinaa

trioofmenloungedagainstthe wall. She saw themfrom a distance but kepther eyes downcast,pretending to be watchingherstepinthedried,ruttedmud and animal dung ofthestreet.

Asshedrewnearersheheard a softly murmuredphrase.“Muybrujarojo.”

The red witch. The

bewitching redhead?Eitherway,shedidnotseeit as a great compliment.Feigning deafness, shestartedpastthem.

Her way was blockedby a young Nicaraguanwith the self-assurance ofa conquistador and thesoulful eyes of a poet. Hewas, she thought, theyoungmanwho had beensentawayfromoutsideherdoorearlierintheweek.

“Señorita,” he said,taking her arm, moving inclose against her. “I amcrazy with love for you.You drive me wild. Say Imayhope, sayyouwill bemine.”

“Please let me pass,”Eleanorasaid,keepinghervoice level with an effort.She, as a child of NewOrleans, had some inklingof the mind of the Latinmale. Observation in the

last few days had taughther more. He was muchconcerned with hisdignidaddelapersonaandhis masculinity, themachismo. Both must beguarded and treated withdue respect. A directrefusal from her would beseenasachallengetohismanhood, a curt dismissalasanaffronttohisdignity.

“No!No,cara.Youmaypass only into my heart’s

keeping.”There was about him

thecloyingsmellofvanillascent on a hot day. Thethreemenhadbeenjoinedby others attracted by thecommotion, a number inuniform. They exchangedglances, laughing andtalking under their breath.The drift of their remarkwas vulgar. Withdetermination she closedherearstothem.

“I am sorry,” she saidlifting her chin, slippinginsensiblyintohisdramaticmanner of speaking. “Myheartisdead.Onceamanbetrayed me and I havesworn never to trustanother.”

“Suchamanshouldbeshot before the wall,señorita. But you arewrong to withhold yourtrust.Allmenarenotsuchashe.Youonlyneedtobe

broughtback to lifeby thecaress of one who lovesyou.”

“Forgive me, but Iprefer my heartunawakened. It is lesspainfulthatway.”

“For you, but what ofme?” he cried. His handtightened, drawing hernearer. His arm sweptaround her waist,dislodging her water ollaso that it crashed to the

ground, breaking into adozen pieces. The waterwetherslippersandmiredthehemofherskirtasshestruggled to keep theNicaraguan gallant frompossessinghermouth.Hisbreath on her cheek washot, smelling faintly ofgarlic, and she draggedher head back frantically,pushingagainsthischest.

“Enough!Lethergo!”The command cut

sharply across theconfused babble ofencouragementandadvicefrom the onlookers. Thearms about Eleanora fellaway. Her assailantstepped back, making thesmallest of bows to ahigher authority. With asense of shock, Eleanorawas left to face ColonelFarrell under the barrageof stares from thegrowingcrowd.

“So, it’s you,” thecolonel grated. “I mighthave guessed. You cango. I will deal with youlater.”

Eleanora stood herground. “What — are yougoingtodo?”

“Thatneednotconcernyou.”

The heat, the worries,her precarious position,her moment of fright,combined with the threat

the colonel had impliedand the contempt in hisvoice,rushedtoEleanora’shead. She lashed out, “Ofcourse it concerns me,much more than it doesyou!”

“Maybe Imisunderstood.Maybeyouweren’t objecting to theattention you weregetting?”

“NaturallyIwas,but—”“Then,” he interrupted,

“it is my duty to come toyour defense, no morethan that.” He lookedaway, letting his hardsapphire eyes roam overthe onlookers, restingfinally on the youngNicaraguan. “It is also myduty to inform these menthat thepenalty for forcingawomanagainstherwillisdeath from now on inGranada—forciviliansaswell as the military. Be

warned. You must eitherpay or use cajolery to getwhatyouwant.”

The youngman shifteduneasily. “This one, shehas no dueña, no man toprotect her. I offer myself.My family is a rich one,and ancient. My word ismy bond. I will keep herwell.”

“And you turned downsuch a proposition?” thecolonel asked, turning a

sardonic gaze uponEleanora.

“I have no need of aprotector,” she said,temper scalding hercheeks, touching sparksfrom thegold flecks inhereyes.“I’mnotachildoranimbecile that I needsomeone to lead meabout.”

“Nor are you a man.You are likely to be foundinanalleywithyourthroat

cut if you go on as youhavebeen.”

“That need not troubleyou.”

“Unfortunately, asprovost marshal, I wouldbe put to theinconvenience of findingyour killer for the sake oforder.”

“I will try to save youthatchore.”

There was a ripple ofamusement through the

crowd, which the colonelignored. “Thank you,” hesaid with cool sarcasm.“Now ifyouwillallowme Iwill take this man to theGovernment House forquestioning.”

“No! You can’t do that.Hehadnorealintentionofassaultingme,notinbroaddaylight.”

In the crowd a manspoke. “Thees colonel, ifhe can’t bring thees one

small red-hairedwomantoorder, how can we expectheem to keeporder in thetown,hein? Tellme that?”The ripple of laughter thatfollowed was louder thanbefore.

Colonel Farrell’s facehardened. “Mademoiselle,you will stand aside oraccepttheconsequences.”

She did not move.What could he do to her?Shewas the injuredparty,

he could not arrest herwithout making himselfridiculous. She did notthink, given the mood ofthose gathered around,thatsheneedfearphysicalviolence. It was good tofeel for a change that sheheld the advantage overthis man who was thecause of her presentsituation. It would not hurthimtosufferalittle.

His next move was so

unexpected she had notime to avoid it. Hereached out, catching herforearm in a bruising grip,and dragged her againsthim. His mouth, cruel andgrim, descended uponhers. Lips parted insurprise, she could notwithstand his suddeninvasion,couldnotmoveinthe steel bands of hisembrace. A torrent ofanger, buoyed by an odd

exhilaration, rushed alongher nerves, and for aninstantshewasawareofared haze of disbeliefbehindhereyelids.

Aroarofapprovalwentup from the onlookers.This they understood. Itmade some sense of thequarrel over theunchaperoned red-hairedwoman who lived with thewidow. Now all would bewell, the unpleasantness

done with. In the futureCarlos must be morecareful of whose womanhe honored with hisattention.

As she was releasedEleanora stumbled back.Beforeshecouldcatchherbreath she was lifted,swept high against amuscularchestinafrothofskirts and lace-edgedpetticoats.

“No!” she cried, but

strugglingonly causedherhoop to billow, exposingher knee-lengthpantaloons to thelasciviousgazeofthemenwho crowded close. It didnot affect her captor. Hisgrip tightened until shecould hardly move orbreathe.

Whenshesubsidedthecolonel swung to theyoungmantheyhadcalledCarlos. “The lady has

spoken on your behalf. Aswift end will be made ofthis if you will give yourword to present yourselffor a report at theGovernment House thisafternoon.”

“Verywell,youhaveit,”the young man agreed,bowing.

AcurtnodandColonelFarrellstrodeawaybackinthedirectionhehadcome.

When theywere out of

sight Eleanora swallowedthe tears of helplessfrustration that rose in herthroat. “You can put medownnow.”

He did not answer, nordid he slow his firm, evenpace. Slanting a quickglanceathisface,sonear,Eleanora saw that his jawwas rigid with anger. Afrown of fierceconcentrationchiseledtwinlines between his dark

brows, and behind thethick screen of his lashes,his eyes glittered deepindigo.

The beginnings of anebulousfearstirredinsideher. Perhaps he hadsomething more in mindthanmerelydemonstratinghis authority? What?Wherewashe takingher?Was there some unknownlawshehadtrespassedbydisobeying his requests?

Unconsciously she hadconsideredWalkerandhistakeover of Nicaragua asanopéra bouffe lacking inforce. At the moment, asshe realized the ability ofthe colonel to dispose ofher as he pleased, theforcewasalltooapparent.

The Calle Santa Celia,the streetwhich led to thecentral plaza, and onwhich the palacio of thecolonel stood, stretched

quiet and empty beforethem. The sound of hisboots was loud on thestone banquette frontingthe houses. A few trees,oaks and mahoganies,shadedthisavenueandastheypassedunderthecooldimness, Eleanora grewaware of the perspirationthat sheened the colonel’sface and the dampness ofher clothing where theirbodiestouched.

And then it was nolonger necessary towonder where he wastakingher.Theheavy,nail-studded wooden door ofthe palacio loomed beforethem. It swung open attheir approach, and a tall,thin woman dressed inrusty, unrelieved blackheld it while the colonelshouldered through withhisburden.

He did not stop, but

continued along anentrance hall floored withcool, dark-green tileswhichterminatedinalargeinterior patio. An uppergallery, its railing painteddark green, a foil to wallsof soft ocher, ran aroundthe patio like the boxes ata theater. From theexposed crossbeams ofthe lower gallery hungollasofwaterinropeslingscooling by condensation.

Terra-cotta pots stoodeverywhere, filled withvinesandspinycactusandbright flowering plants. Inthe still air the smell oforangeblossoms,fromthetrees which shaded oneend,wasoverpowering.

Eleanora was allowedno more than a glance.Withtheblack-cladwomantrailing blankly behind,Colonel Farrell turnedtoward a raised staircase

that rose to the right.Mounting it, he strodealong the upper gallery tothedoorwhichstoodopenhalfwaydownthewall.

Inside was a smallbedroom. The walls werewhitewashed, the polishedfloor strewn with Indianrugs in vivid colors, red,blue, and yellow, and alsomoresomberblack,beige,terracotta,andwhite.Thefurnishings were few, a

four-poster bed of darkcarved wood with plainwhite bedclothes andhangings, a tall armoire, awashstand with utilitarianpitcher and bowl, and inone corner the inevitablecuadro, the painting of asaint, in this case LaVirgen del PerpetuoSocorro, with beneath it anarrow shelf holding slimyellow-whitecandlesandawilting bouquet of some

strangelavenderflowers.Eleanorawas set upon

her feet. The colonelturned away as if somegalling task had beensatisfactorilycompleted.Atthedoorheheldthepanelopenwhilethethinwomanpassed back out, then heshutitwithadecisiveclick.Amomentlatertherecamethesoundofakey turninginthelock.

The bed was directly

behind her. Eleanora satdownuponitsuddenly,herbreathleavingher lungsina slow, shaky sound ofmingled wrath and relief.Before she could calledherwitsanoisecamefrombehind her. Through thinwhitecurtainsoverasetofFrench doors she couldsee the colonel on thegaleria that fronted thepalacio. He was fitting agrille of wrought iron into

place over the doors andlockingitintoplace.

Locked in. As quietdescendedtheenormityofwhathadhappened tohersettled upon her like acrushing weight. Shejumped up, shivering inspite of the heat, handsclaspingherforearms.Thehem of her skirts leftmuddy streaks on thepolished floor as shepaced. There was a

weaknessinherlimbsthatcame from emptiness,thoughshecouldnothaveeatenabite.

He could not do this.He could not. But wait.What, precisely, had hedone? Kissed her, takenher against her will to hishome, locked her in abedroom. All that. Yet, hisattitude held nothingcarnal. It could be that heonlyintendedafinalendto

the disagreement she hadprovoked plus, possibly, amild punishment fordefying him. Thisafternoon, when histemper had cooled, if shecould bring herself toappear chastened, hemightlethergo.

And if he did not?Theremustbesomeonetowhomshecouldappeal. Itwas not possible that hecould keep her here, his

personalprisoner.As the hours went by

heat began to build in theclosed room. She couldhave opened the doors tothe front gallery, letting inair through the grille, butanyonepassingcould lookin upon her. It was toomuchlikebeingcaged.

For a similar reasonshe kept her gown on.Without it she would havebeen too vulnerable. It

would, in addition, havebeen too much like givingup, resigning herself towhatevercametoher.Thissherefusedtodo.

She did wet a linencloth in the water in thepitcher on the washstandand bathe her face andneck.Whenthehemofherskirts dried in the hot stillair,shelaydownuponthecoverlet of the bed. Thehouse was still. The air

insidetheroomwasfaintlymusty, as if, despite theflowers upon the smallaltar,itwasnotoftenused.Whohadownedthehousebefore Walker came andColonel Farrell took it?Who was the woman inblack? One of the formerowners? A housekeeper?A relative of the colonel’sperhaps. No, not that.Colonel Farrell had asolitary look, as if he had

never had relatives, neverneeded them. Neverneededanyone.

She did not intend tosleep. It was bewilderingthen to come abruptlyawake to a loud knockingin a darkened room thatwas unfamiliar. Her lipswere dry. She moistenedthem with her tonguebeforesheanswered.

“Yes?”Thevoicewhichreplied

was thin and reedy, a faircopy of the woman whoowned it. “Thecolonelhasreturned.Heasksthatyoumake yourself ready tohavedinnerwithhim.”

Dinner?Wasitsolate?Ifthecolonelhadreturned,wherehadhebeen?AttheGovernment Housedealing with the weightyproblem of Carlos, nodoubt.

Herfirstimpulsewasto

refuse,tosayshewasnothungry. That would befoolish, however, as wellas a lie. Her position wastoo precarious to riskantagonizing this man. Itwould also be too easy tostarveherintosubmission,ifhewished.No,farbetterto go with head high andsomesemblanceofgrace.

“Yes, thank you,”Eleanora replied. Therewas one other thing. If

escape should provenecessary,shewouldhavea much better chance ofeffecting it from anotherroom.

Make herself ready?Charming. She had nohairbrush, no comb, nochange of clothing. Hergown was soiled andcrumpled, and it was, inany case, too dark in theroom to see in the tinymirror of distorted glass

which hung above thewashstand. She couldwash her hands andsmooth her hair by touch,no more. The colonelwouldhavetobesatisfied.

At a tap on the doorshe moved toward it,expecting to be freed.Instead it swung open toadmit a small procession.Two men, Nicaraguansoldiersinredshirts,camefirst, bearing a small but

heavy table. The colonelcame next with a pair ofchairs, while following himwas theblack-cladwomanand a plump, apronedfemale,bothcarryingtraysoffoodanddrink.Lastwasa small girl, of seven oreight, the daughter, fromherscolding,ofthewomanwho appeared to be thecook. The child held awooden candelabra ofupright design with three

lighted candles. Withglassy eyes and a painfulcare, she set thecandelabrainthecenterofthe table, then dropped abobbing curtsy before,smiling her relief, sheskippedoutthedoor.

Pushed to one side,Eleanora watched as thechairs were placed, thetablelaid,thefoodsetout.The final ritual was thepouring of the wine in

delicate Venetian gobletsbefore the thin womanfollowed the others fromthe room. Eleanora wasleft alone with ColonelFarrell.

Disappointment thatshe was not to leave herroom gathered in a hardknot at the base ofEleanora’s throat. With aneffort of will she kept itfrom her face as she metthe intent, considering

gaze of the colonel. Hehadshavedinhonoroftheoccasion but had notdonned full uniform. Withhisbreechesheworeonlyawhite lawn shirt open atthe neck against the heat.The copper-bronze of hisskinwas in sharp contrasttothewhite,animpressionintensifiedby thewaveringcandlelight. The flamescast odd angles andplanes across his face,

making a curving beak ofhis nose and cliffs of hischeekbonessothat,foraninstant, Eleanora caughtthe impression ofsomething savage,ancient,inhisfeatures.Hemovedand the impressionwas gone. Still she stoodstrainingaftertheimageashe stepped to the Frenchdoors and threw themwide.

The coolness of the

night crept into the roomwiththewarmfragranceoforange blossoms andwildgardenia. The man at thewindowput a handon theiron grille with its curlingarabesque design andgaveitasmallshake.Thechain and padlocks held itfirm, clanking with a coldmetallicsound.

AthisairofsatisfactionEleanora felt her fingersclench. With an abrupt

movement she thrust thebetraying hand among thefolds of her skirts. Heturned, instantly alert, butseeing her standing stillwhere she had beenbefore, he relaxed andmoved to draw her chairout. A mirthless smileindentedone corner of hisstronglymoldedmouth.Asshe took her place,Eleanora flicked a glanceat him under her lashes.

How old was he? Thirty?Thirty-five? There werefinelinesradiatingfromhiseyes,andadeepgashoneach side of his mouth.Combined with the harshaspectofhisfeatures,theydenied him theconventional idea ofhandsomeness. And yet itwas an infinitelymemorable face — and acompellingone.

The foodwas plain but

well cooked, a variation ofthe omnipresent beans,spiced meat, andcorncakes. The wine wasred with the warm, drytaste of Spain. Dessertwas a salad of choppedfresh fruit served withcream and followed by acheesetray.

Once or twice duringthe silent meal Eleanoraknew an impulse tointroduce some topic of

conversation. She quelledit firmly. The colonel washost. The responsibilitywas his. Why should shehelp? But if he felt anysuch constraint, any needto fill the void betweenthemwithtalk,hegavenosign.Onceshecaughthimwatching her, his eyesnarrowed in speculation.He held her regard forlong, tense moments, hiseyes dark, measuring;

unreadable.Shefoundshecould not look away until,withabrupt decisionhe lethis eyelids fall, and liftingthe glass in his hand,drained thewine it held tothedregs.

Hesettheglassonthetable and leaned back. “Ibelieve you will be happyto know that the man,Carlos, who accosted youthis morning has beenreleased with a

reprimand.”“I—yes,thankyou.”“Why are you thanking

me?Iassureyou,ifhehaddeserved to be shot hewouldhavebeen.”

“Probably. But I havebeen given no reason tobelieve in your sense ofjustice,” Eleanora replied,carefully refraining fromindicating the room that,fornomorethanhiswhim,hadbecomeherprison.

Amazingly, a smilecurved his mouth, thenwas gone. He let thecommentpass.

Emboldenedbyhislackof censure, Eleanoraasked, “Then, if you aresatisfiedwith theoutcome,may I return to my ownlodging?”

“No.”“But — why? I don’t

understand.”“Don’t— or won’t?” he

asked coldly. “This is yourroom. I have sent for yourthings and left word withyour landlady that youwillnotbereturning.”

“You can’t do that,”Eleanora protested, herfaceasblankashermind.

“Ican.Ihave.”No. No. No. The

negative screamed insideherbrain,butwithaneffortofwillshehelditback.Shecould not decide,

somehow, whether thecolonel was acting as theprovost marshal or as aman. If the first, she hadfew resources with whichto defend herself. If thelast,thensheneedfeelnocompunction about themethods she used todefeathim.

“I understand,” he saidslowly, as if feeling hisway, “that you have abrother.”

Sheagreedtentatively.“His commanding

officertellsmethatyouarestranded here, penniless,becauseofalanddealthatfellthrough.”

Eleanora stared at himdoubtfully. “That iscorrect.”

“I have beenempowered to offer you,Eleanora Villars, passageto New Orleans andGeneral Walker’s regrets

foryourmisfortune.Thatisthe reason I followed youthismorning.”

“Oh,” Eleanora said, ataloss.Itwasthelastthingshehadexpectedtohear.

He went on withoutpause.“Ihavedecided,onsecond thought, towithdrawtheoffer.”

“You—” Eleanora’sthoughts were tooconfused, too heated toput intowords.Her fingers

were trembling. She laiddown her spoon with careand dropped her handsintoher lap,claspingthemtogether until the knuckleswhitened.

“Don’t you want toknowwhy?”

“Of course,” sheanswered briefly, resistingtheurgetosarcasm.

“Because Uncle Billyhas taken unto himself amistress.”

Her incomprehensionwasobvious.

“Uncle Billy — WilliamWalker. It isanamegivento him by hismen.We allhave our nicknames, asign of the bond amongthe men who came herewithhim.”

“The Immortals,” shesaid.

“That bit of mythologybegan inRivas, startedbythe Costa Ricans — or

maybe itbegan inSonora.It’shardtotellnow.”

The reflective tone ofhis voice was anencouragement. “And you,Colonel? Do you have anickname?”

He stood up, hismanner abrupt as hecrossed to the window tolean his arm upon thegrille, staring out into thenight. “None that wouldinterest you. My name is

Grant. You had better getusedtocallingmethat.”

“HadI?”Drynessedgedher tone.Quietself-controlhad its purposes, but itwas beginning to appearthat it would avail hernothing.“Youwere,Ithink,goingtoexplain.”

“The woman thegeneral has taken underhis protection is anaristocrat,acriolla,bornofwealthyparentsofSpanish

descenthereinNicaragua.Her parents, now dead,were Legitimistas, as washer husband, an elderlyman who wasted herinheritance trying to returntoSpainasagrandee.Hedied there without eversendingforhisNicaraguanwife, Niña Maria. Despitethe present cooperativegovernment with theLegitimistapresidentatthehead, the aristocrats have

no love for Walker. Theyresent Niña Maria’sassociation with him, andthey have mostsuccessfully ostracizedher.” He turned to faceEleanora.“Doyoubegintosee?”

Shehadnointentionofhelping him. She shookherhead.

“Walkerhasarrangedareception tonight for theAmerican minister, John

Wheeler. The men of thetown will come; theexecution of Mayorga hadthat much influence. Buttheir stiff-necked wiveshavesenttheirexcuses.Aplague of indispositionsseems to have struck thewomen of Granada.Walker has sent out anS.O.S.tohisofficers.Bringwomen. He does notintendforhisNiñaMariatobe more uncomfortable

than he can help. Thereare not that many womenwho, even under thecircumstances,willmakearespectableaddition to thecompany. Somethingabout you reminds me ofNiña Maria Irisarri, a lookasthoughiflifehadtreatedyou differently you mighthavebeenalady.Youwillattend the general’sreceptionwithme—asmymistress.”

TheblooddrainedfromEleanora’s face, thenrushed back with asuffocatingheat. “No,”shesaid. Rising to her feet,sherepeatedlouder,“No,Iwill not!Youmustbemadto suggest such a thing. Iwould rather die than beparaded before the worldasyourwoman.Ihateyou!BecauseofyouIhavelostmycountry,myhome,andsecurity, my clothes, the

mementos and keepsakesof my family. Because ofyou I have been reducedtopovertyandsqualorinacountry Ihadhardlyheardof amonth ago, a countrythat is breaking mybrother’s heart and spirit.Inspiteofallthat,Colonel,Iamalady.Youcaninsultme, but you cannot takethat from me, I won’t letyou. And I advise you tothink twice before using

forcetogetwhatyouwant.I have nothing to lose inmaking you thelaughingstock of Granadaatthisreception!”

That reminder of theevents of the morningtouched him on the raw.He moved closer as hespoke. “It’s easy to seeyouknownothingof force.I could make you muchsorrier than you realize. Itwill not be necessary to

demonstrate,Ithink.Thereisadetailyoudonotknow.Have you any idea whereyourbrotheris,now,atthismoment?”

“What do you mean?”she asked, anxietysharpeninghervoice.

“I thought not. There isa Jean-Paul Villars atpresent in the guardhouseonchargesofdrunkennessand resisting the militarypolice. And there he will

stayuntil I freehim. Imaybe wrong, cara,” he said,injecting a sarcasticamusement into theendearment, “but I believeyourbrotherwillserveasahostage for your goodconduct. He will serve histen-day sentence, butwhetherhegetsoutat theend of it will depend onyou, and how you —please—me.”

4Eleanora stared at him.Shewanted to defend herbrother, to deny theaccusation, but it seemedalltooprobablethecolonelwas telling the truth. “You— you wouldn’t take suchabaseadvantage?”

“No?Whowillstopme?

You asked for the namegiven to me by the men.I’m called — and it’s nocompliment — the IronWarrior because I alwaysdo what must be done. Iam the man whocommands the firingsquad, the man whoorders the whippings andbrandings of the men intheranks.Ihavebeentoldto bring a woman tonight,and I will, whatever the

cost.”“It’sverywellforyouto

talk of cost,” she told himbitterly. “You won’t bepayingit.”

“That is a matter ofopinion.” His mouth grim,he strode to the door andflung it open. “Señora!” heshouted, and stood in thedoorwaywithhishandsonhis hips until the thinSpanish woman arrived,her wrinkled-crepe cheeks

flushedwithhurrying.“Señora Paredes, the

young ladyhasdecided toattend the reception. Youwillhelpherdress.”

“I do not need help,”Eleanoradeclared.Neitherof the other two paid theleastattentiontoher.

“Her thingshavecome.She hasn’t a great manygownstochoosefrom,”theseñorasaid.

“There must be

something else besideswhat she has on,” thecolonel answeredimpatiently.

“Oneother.”“Thenbringit.”Her lips tight, the

womandidasshewasbid,returning with Eleanora’sbelongingspacked tidily inapalm-fiberbasket.

“Ihavetakenthelibertyof ordering a bath,” shesaid.

Eleanora found herselfwatchingColonelFarrellasanxiously as the señora.On the ship the onlyfacilities for bathing hadutilized seawater, and atthe Hotel Alhambra, sheandMaziehad indulged ina long, leisurely soak toremove the salt from theirpores. There had,however,beennofacilitieswhatever at the widow’shouse.

Lookingfromonetotheother, the colonel gave anabrupt nod. “Keep inmindthatthereceptionbeginsinless than an hour and ahalf.Thegeneraldoesnotlike tobekeptwaiting,nordoI.”

Whenthefootstepshadrecededtheshortdistancedown the inner galería tohis bedchamber, Eleanoraturnedtotheolderwoman.“You need not stay,” she

said. “I can manage quitewellbymyself.”

The señora lookedaway. “I have myinstructions.”

“I see. You mean youhave been set to guardme. Doesn’t it bother youthat I am being kept hereagainstmywill?”

“I know nothing of thecircumstances, and I don’twant toknow,” thewomananswered in a colorless

tone. “I do not interferewiththecolonel.”

“Are you so afraid ofhim,then?”

“He has been good tome, allowing me to stayhereinmyhome.”

“Allowing you to be hisservant?” Eleanorasuggested.

“I serve as hishousekeeper, yes, inreturn for my food. It isbetter than begging in the

streets, the fate whichcouldhavebeenmine,thatwill still be mine if Idispleasehim.”

“Themanisdespicable,a barbarian,” Eleanoraraged, turning with aviolent switch of her skirtsto walk to the open floor-to-ceilingwindow.

“Heisalwaysjust.”“How can you defend

him?”The older woman

moved past her to closethepairofFrenchdoors.“Itis easy. First of all, it istrue, and second, I haveno wish to offend him bydiscussing him behind hisback, especially when hemay hear from hisbedchamber next door.”The look thewoman flungheroverhershouldersenta tremor of apprehensionthrough Eleanora. Thenshe straightened her

shoulders. What did shecarewhat he felt?Hehadnot troubled to hide hisopinionofher.

Lyingbackinthewarm,violet-scented, soapywater,Eleanoraclosedhereyes. The tin tub wassmall, she sat with herkneespracticallyunderherchin,butitwasdeep.Bestof all, there was no onewaiting to use it. Odd thatshe could enjoy anything

so much with such anordeal loomingbeforeher,andthisterribleuncertaintyinhermind.

When the receptionwas over, what then?Would her usefulness beover also? Would she beallowed to leave,steamship ticket in hand?Shehadnoreasontothinkotherwise,andyether lipswere tender from the kissColonel Farrell had taken,

and there were faint blueshadowswherehis fingershaddugintoherarms.Shecould not delude herselfthat she held no attractionfor him; sheobviously did.Theweakness,then,ofherposition brought a sickfeeling to the pit of herstomach.

Shestood instaysandpetticoats before themirror, her arms, raised tosecure her coronet of

braids, when the colonelentered the room oncemore. Swinging around,she dropped her arms,crossing them over herbreasts covered only bythe thin lawn of herchemise.“I’mnotdressed,”sheprotested.

Hedidnotretreat.“SoIsee,” he replied. “Youshouldhavebeenquicker.”

His uniform wasimmaculate, the crimson

jacket adorned by anumber of ribbonedmedals, the white doeskinbreeches neatly fastenedunder his boots. Noticinghergownlaidoutuponthebed, he placed his hatunder his arm and movedtoinvestigateit.

Señora Paredes stoodaside. “I have pressed itwithawarmflatiron.”

“You have mysympathy,”hereplied.

The task had indeedbeen a formidable one.The gown of pale-greenmuslin was made of tierupontierofflouncesedgedwith delicate whiteembroidery.Eventhewideneckline, designed todisplay white shoulders,was encircled by a berthaflouncewhich,fallingtotheelbows,formedthegown’sonlypretensetoasleeve.

“It is satisfactory?” the

señoraasked.He nodded slowly. “I

trustyourtaste.”“Thank you,” the

womanreturnedwithgravecourtesy, and catching upher limp black skirts,hurriedfromtheroom.

Colonel Farrell turnedhis attention to Eleanora,ignoring the sparkle oftemper in her eyes. “Doyoualwayswear your hairlikethat?”

“Always,” she saidbriefly, tossing her long,thick braid back over hershoulder.

“Idon’tlikeit.”A scathing retort

hovered on her lips, thenshesawtheexpectantlookhidden behind his lashes.“Howwouldyoulikemetowear it?” she asked withdulcetsweetness.

“Something softer, withafewcurls.”

“I’m sorry. I have noidea how to go about it.”Her gaze was limpid, hersmilesmooth.

Tossinghishatontothebed,hemovedtowardher.“You begin by looseningtheplait.”

Eleanorabackedaway,but not quickly enough.With a quick grip on herelbow,hespunheraroundand catching her braid,began to undo it. Freed,

herhairspread likea fierymantleoverhershoulders,fallingwellbelowherhips.Behind her the colonelwent still, his hands laxuponherwarmtresses.

With a suddenmovement, Eleanoratwisted away, aware of anoverwhelming need to putherself out of his reach.His reflexes were likelightning.Oneofhishandsfastened in her hair, the

othercaughtthewide,ecruribbon strap of herchemise. There was arendingsoundas theage-fragile lawn parted fromthe ribbon. Slowly,inexorably,shewasdrawnbackagainsthim.Bendinghis head, he pressed firm,warmlipstothesoftcurveofherneck.

“Don’t,”shesaidwithacatchinhervoice.

“Please?” he

suggested.“Please.”“Grant?”She hesitated a long

moment,thenwithtearsofpainandchagrinstartinginher eyes, she repeatedobediently, “Please,Grant.”Still, itwasnot thepressure he exerted thatforced the words from herlips; it was the peculiartension that stretched tautand vibrating between

them.Theseñoraappearedin

the doorway, a cluster ofmilk-white flowers in herhand. “Twoof these in thehair, the others at thebodice…”Shetrailedoffinconfusion as she beheldthetableaubeforeher.

Without haste, GrantFarrell released Eleanora.Stepping to the bed, hepickeduphishat.“Good.Iwill wait downstairs.

Eleanorawill tell youwhatistobedonewithherhair.”

The easy assurancethat rode his shoulders ashemoved toward thedoorset Eleanora’s teeth onedge. Without consciousthoughtherhandwentoutto her pin-box, a smallpainted tinwhichhadheldalmonddragées. In a rainof steel pins, she sent ithurtlingathishead.

Her aim was not true,

the box sailed over thegaleríarailing, landingwitha tinkling crash on thestones of the patio below.Señora Paredes gasped,her cheeks as waxen asthe wild gardenias sheheld. The colonel halted.He turned with slow,deliberate restraint, hiseyes blank and cold. Andthen the familiar derisionsprang mocking into hiseyes. “Next time,” he said

softly, “aim for the heart,and choose a more lethalweapon.”

Eleanora did notanswer, neither did shedrophergaze.Hiswasthelastword,butshehadhadthe satisfaction of seeingtheIronWarriorflinch.

The fragrant, still air ofthepatio rose likeawarmbreath togreetherasshepaused at the head of thestair. Seeing the colonel

waiting among the lamp-litshadows of the orangetrees below, she lifted thefrontedgeofherhoopanddescended with consciousgrace and the gentlefluttering of gossamer thinflounces.

“Bella — a dream ofradiance.”

The low voice camefrom the tiled patioentrance. A man steppedfromthedarkdoorwayand

moved to the foot of thestairs where he stoodwaiting in the flickeringglow of a lamp on an ironbracket.Dark,softlycurlinghair, audaciouseyes,neatSpanish mustache,Nicaraguan dress uniform,it was Lieutenant ColonelLuis de Laredo, the manshe had met in Bank’sArcadeinNewOrleans.

Asshereachedthelaststep, hemadeher a deep

obeisance. “I know nowwhy themoon has hiddenherfacebehindthecloudstonight. She is jealous ofyou.”

To smile and give himherhandinappreciationofthe compliment seemed anatural thing. “Thankyou,”shesaidsoftly, thoughhernerves tingled with theawareness of ColonelFarrell’ssilentapproach.

“Why,itistheladyfrom

New Orleans who wouldnot give her name,” theofficercontinued. “Ishouldhave known there couldnot be two such. I think,perhaps, it is destiny thatweshouldmeetagain.”

“We might have metsooner,”Eleanoratoldhim,gently withdrawing herhand, “if you had not kepttoyourcabinfortheentirevoyagetoGranada.”

“Youwereontheship?

My accursed sickness ofthesea!AhorseIcanridefor days without end, butthe very sight of a ship—”Heshrugged.“Youappearto have survived in goodframe, except I think youarethinnerthanwhenIlast—heldyouinmyarms.”

Ifhemeanttomakeherblush, he succeeded, anditdidnothelptorecognizethecynicismwithwhichthecolonel surveyed her

heated condition. Had hemissed, then, thatmomentwhenshehadcollidedwiththe lieutenant colonel inthebarroom?

“Good evening, Luis. Isee you are alreadyacquainted withMademoiselle EleanoraVillars.”

“In a manner ofspeaking,amigo.”

The colonel did notrespond to the teasingly

significant tone. Reachingout, he placed a handbeneath Eleanora’s elbowin a gesture that in anyother man might havebeen called possessive.“Thenlet’sgo.”

Luis stood still, makingno attempt to follow them.Looking back, Eleanorathoughttherewasasallowhue to his features.Sensingherhesitation,thecolonel looked back.

“Coming?” he askedimpatiently.

“I — just thought ofsomethingImustdo,”Luisreplied, his faceunreadable as he movedout of the circle oflamplight.“Iwillseeyouatthereception.”

“Don’t be long,” thecolonel said dryly. “You’llmissthegrandentrance.”

“Now that would be ashame—”Luisagreed,but

hismoodwasdistracted.NiñaMaria Irisarri.She

swept into the long,mahogany-paneledreceptionroomonthearmof William Walker, amagnificent creature instiff, gold brocade. Herraven hair, drawn backfrom a center part, wasworn in massed ringletsoverherearsandcoveredby a starched blackmantilla. Despite the heat,

black velvet had beenused to construct thebodice of her gown whichnarrowed to a point at thewaist and over eachshoulder. From beneaththe shoulder points fellcascades of deep laceruffles which served assleeves. Behind thewoman walked a pair ofidentical Indian boyswearing their nativecostumes of unbleached

cotton, full-sleeved shirt,and multihued trousersreaching just past theknee. Upon the shouldersof each boy perched abrilliant green-and-yellowparrot. Following the boyscamea tiny girl carryingafan of yellow feathers solarge she was nearlyhiddenbyit.

As Niña Maria passednearwhereEleanorastoodbeside Colonel Farrell,

Eleanorasawthatshewasnot as young as she hadfirst thought.Her facewasnot lined, but she had theself-assurance and lack offreshness that indicated awoman nearing herthirtiethyear.

Walker, surveying thepredominantly malegathering with displeasurehe did not trouble to hide,caught the colonel’s eye.He gave a slight nod

beforemoving on to settlehis mistress into a high-backedchairatthefarendof the narrow room. Thechair was not canopied,butwithherhonorguardofparrot-boys and her fan-bearer, Niña Maria gavethe appearance ofsomething perilously neara queen. General Walkerleaned to speak to her,then straightened andbegan to make his way

backtowardthecolonel.He was not a large

man, standing nearly ahead shorter than GrantFarrell. Built on slenderlines, he had small handsand feet. Hair the color ofunbleached flax lay softand flat across his skull,andfrecklesfromexposuretoatoo-hotsunmeshedinanear-solidcoveroverhisskin. His mouth was widewith an unexpected quirk

of humor at one corner.The nose was straight,patrician, but it was hiseyes, deep-set behindprominent cheekbones,that snared the attention.From beneath heavybrows they burned a clearand determined gray thatwas hypnotic in itsintensity.

“Colonel,” GeneralWalker said in greeting,then turned to Eleanora,

patiently waiting to beintroduced.

“May I presentEleanora Villars, recentlycome to Nicaragua,General Walker?” Thecolonel actually smiled ashespoke,hisvoiceholdinga nice blend of pride andaffection. More disturbing,he moved nearer, puttinghisarmaroundher,restinga hand lightly at thesmallnessofherwaist.

Did one curtsy to ageneral? It might, underthe circumstances, be inherbestinterests.Thelightofthehundredsofcandlesin theoverheadchandeliershimmering on the curlsmassedatthecrownofherhead, Eleanora gave thegeneral her hand,murmuring, “How do youdo?”

GeneralWalkersmiled,his gaze minutely

appraising,butheskippedthe social banalities,swinging back to thecolonel. “There is a manwaitinginmyofficewhomIwould like you tointerrogate.Hewascaughtclimbing the stairs to myprivate apartments thisevening. Fellow claims tobe a nephew of NiñaMaria’smaid,butthemaidisold,withfailingeyesight.She has a relative of that

name, but she can’t besure this is the man. Itstrikes me as odd that anephew would comevisiting with a gun hiddenunderhisshirt.”

“An assassinationattempt?”

“That’s one of thethings I want you to findout.”

“There are others whoare better at pryinginformation out of

unexpectedvisitors.”Thegeneralnoddedhis

comprehension. “I wouldprefernot to turnhimoverto theNicaraguans unlessI have to. I will abide byyourdecision.”

“Verywell.”Walker smiled. “I

understand yourreluctance to leavesuchacharming lady. However, Iwill try to keep thewolvesat bay for you until you

return.”Grimly amused,

Eleanora watched thecolonel’s departure. If hewas reluctant to leave herit was more likely to bebecause Walker wasbeside her. He could notknow how she wouldbehave without histhreatening supervision.Perhaps Grant Farrell didnot quite realize what apotent weapon he held in

herbrother?“Tellme,General,” she

said in a brittle voice, “doyou really fear for yourlife?”

“LetussayinsteadthatI fear betrayal of somekind.”

“Youmean—spying?”“Such a thing is not

without precedent. I’mbeginning to think there isno loyalty or honor in thiscountry. Betrayal seems

almostawayof life—butthat can’t interest you. SoyouhaverecentlycometoNicaragua? That, Isuppose, is true of all ofus. How do you like whatyouhaveseensofar?”

“It’sabeautifulcountry.I could, I think, learn toloveit.”

“You say that as if youmean it. I find that mostwomen think of it asoverhot, pestilential, and

infested with sinister andfrighteningcreatures.”

A laugh lit Eleanora’sgreen eyes at his drolltone. “How veryunappreciative of them,after you took so muchtroubletowinit.ButIcomefrom Louisiana. I love hotcountries.”

“Ah, I thought so. Yourvoice, theway you speak,remindsmeofagirlIknewonce, a Creole girl from

NewOrleans.”The gray of his eyes

had darkened with thedistant remembrance ofpain.Wasittrue,then,thathe had loved a girl whodiedoffever?

“I believe, General,”Eleanora said diffidently,“thatyoumayhaveknownmy father, Doctor EtienneVillars?”

“Villars?Dr.Villarswhotreated patients from his

houseontheRueRoyale?Yes,hewasagood friendtoayoungmanjustarrivedinyourcity.”

“Friend — andcolleague?”

Walker grimaced. “AtthetimeI fanciedmyselfadoctor.ThenIdiscoveredIcould do absolutelynothingtosavethepeopleIlovedmostfrompainanddeath. I watched mymother, for one, die by

crippling degrees ofrheumatism.Allmyfather’sprayersandmyexpensiveskillcouldnotsaveher.”

“I’m sorry,” Eleanorasaid.

“Sowasyourfather.Hethought reading law andscribbling with a pen forthe Crescent a terriblewaste of my time — andhewasright.Itwasnearly,though not quite, aswasteful as studying for

theministry at my father’sknee.”

The ministry. Thatmade excellent sense asapplied to this man’s banonwomenanddrinkforhismen. “You have beenmany things in manyplaces,General,butsurelythey all helped to prepareyou for your presentposition?”

“Asapolitician?”Eleanora smiled, as

she was meant to. “As aleader.”

“You flatter me,Eleanora, and I have hadenough, lately, to feedmyconceit. You heard of thevisitfromtheIndians?”

“No,Idon’tthinkso.”“Theycamenearly four

weeksago,adelegationofToacas and CookraIndians from theunexplored regionsnortheastofhere.Theyare

extremelyprimitivepeople,almost never seen near atown. According to one oftheirancientlegends,therewould come to Nicaraguaa gray-eyed man whowould deliver them fromthe oppression of theSpanish.Theystoodaboutin the plaza outside forthree days watching mecome and go, then theyasked for an audience.They had decided I was

the gray-eyed mandestined to fulfill theirlegend.Inrecognition,theypresented me withofferings of fruits andvegetables.”

“Itmusthavebeen—”“—Embarrassing? Yes,

itwas.”“I was going to say

moving.”“It was that too, Imust

admit. The editor of ElNicaraguense hasgone to

excessive lengths to givethestorycirculation,which—lessensitseffect,tomyway of thinking. And yet,what happened hasreinforcedmyownfeelingsabout why I am here.Manifest destiny, or myown personalpredestination, there is, tome, a fine rightness inbeingwhereIam.”

It was only as thegeneral finished speaking

that Eleanora realizedsomeone was standing ather elbow, waiting toattract her attention Sheturned reluctantly, andthen her polite smilewidened. “Mazie! AndMajor Crawford. How nicetoseesomeoneIknow.”

William Walkeracknowledged the major’sbow, but he did not seemparticularly pleased to bepresented to Mazie. He

barely touched her handbeforeturningtoEleanora.“Ifyouwillexcuseme,Iwillleave you to your friendsthen, mademoiselle. Ibelieve the Americanminister is finally arrivingand the reception linebeginningtoform.”

“Certainly.”“Perhaps we can

reminisce about NewOrleansanothertime.”

Her reply, if she could

have found one, wouldhave been made to hisretreatingback.

“I think,” Mazie saidquizzically, “that itwasnotMinister Wheeler, but thebeauteousNiñaMariawhorequiredhispresence.Shehas been casting Spanishdaggers at you with hereyesthispasttenminutes,dear Eleanora. What canyou possibly have beentalking about with the

general to fascinate himso?”

“Don’tberidiculous.Hewasonlybeingattentivetoaguest.”

“Yes, well, you willforgive me, won’t you,”Mazie said archly, “if Ipoint out that I was notsingled out for such asignalhonor?”

Though she could notsay so, EleanorasuspectedMazie’sgownof

a blatantly Democráticored was a part of thereason. Its skirt wasloopedandpoufedoveritsenormous girth withclutches of scarletrosebudsnestledinblondelace.Thelownecklinewasedged in the same lace ina style known in NewOrleans as the tatez-y,meaning “touch here.” Itwas not precisely thetoilettetoappealtotheson

ofaProtestantclergyman.His eyes on the new,

softerlinesofherhairstyle,themajorsaid, “Youmakea welcome and charmingaddition to our companytonight, Eleanora. Isupposesomeonetoldyouof Walker’s decree to hisofficerstobringwomen?”

“Now, Neville,” Mazieprotested, unfolding a fanof red silk and ivory andplying it against the heat

directly beneath thechandelier. “That isn’tveryflatteringtoeitherofus.”

“It’s true,nevertheless,”Eleanora said, a trace ofbravadoinherliftedchin.“IcamewithColonelFarrell.”

Mazie stared at her, afrown beginning in herhazel eyes. “Farrell? Butwhy?Youhatetheman.”

“Ihadnochoice.Jean-Paul—”

“Jean-Paul wanted his

sister to plead his casewith the general. He’s intheguardhouse,yousee.Itried to convince EleanorathatWalkerwouldn’tlisten,butshewilldoanythingforherbrother.”

At the sound of GrantFarrell’s voice, hard andeven,soclosebehindher,Eleanoracontrolledastart,a frisson of something likepanic running along thesurfaceofherskin.Hehad

not reentered the roombythe samedoor fromwhichhehadleftit.Tobeforcedto endure his fingers onher arm, pressing into herskin,andhissubtle threat,nearly destroyed hercomposure.

The remainder of theevening passed in astrained haze of stiltedconversationandrestrictedmovement under thewatchful eye of Colonel

Farrell. She rememberedmoving in the line pastPresident and MadameRivas, the Americanminister, John Wheeler,and her host. She couldrecall when MajorCrawford and Mazie leftthem for more congenialcompany. Still, hergreatest awareness wasconcentrated on theincreasingly proprietorialattitude the colonel

adopted toward her. Hewasted no opportunity totouch her, guiding her,directing her attention,helping her with hervoluminous skirts.Standing before therefreshment table he tookher glass from her hand,and turning it, deliberatelydrankfromthesideherlipshad touched, a look ofsuch obvious anticipationinhiseyesthatshelonged

eithertoslaphimortorun.That is, she did until sherealizedhisactwasforthesole purpose of annoyingher.

“You look besotted,”she told him in a fierceundertone.

“Maybe I am,” hereplied.

“Yes,andmaybemulesfly like Pegasus,” shescoffed.

“You underestimate

yourattractiveness.”“And you my

intelligence. You have nouse for me or the kind ofwoman you think I am.Whypretend?”

“No use?” he queriedwiththeliftofadarkbrow.“Ican thinkofat leastone— other than distractingnoticefromUncleBillyandhisparamour.”

Eleanora followed hissardonicgazetotheendof

the room where WilliamWalker leaned attentivelyover NiñaMaria. “You arehypocrites,bothofyou.”

“Explain.”Hisvoicewastersehiseyeshard.

“You do rememberinviting Mazie Brentwoodto leave Granada, don’tyou? That’s hardly just,since apparently neitheryou nor the general leadsthe life of amonk.” It wasirritation that carried her

through that difficultspeech. Why had sheembarked on such anawkward subject?She didnot know, but pride wouldnotletherabandonit.

“The general objects,first of all, to campfollowers in the line ofmarchbecause theymakethe column unwieldy, takethe minds of the men offtheir job, and increase thepossibility of the enemy

being informed of ourmovements. Herecognizes that during thelull in fighting they havetheir uses, and though thelastobjectionstillholds,heiswilling tooverlookthem.YourfriendMazienow,”hewenton,noddingtowherethe woman, changingpartners, was taking thefloor in a waltz withColonel Thomas Henry,another of the officers

Eleanora had seen atBank’s Arcade in NewOrleans— though he haddiscardedtheslinghehadworn then. “She is adifferentbreed.Sheishereto sell her favors to thehighest bidder, and itmakesnodifferencetoherhow the price is settled.The phalanx has too fewgoodofficerstoloseanyofthem on the dueling fieldover the disposition of a

hundred-dollarwhore.”“You—”“And if you see a

warningforyourselfinthat,youcantakeitexactlyasitsounds.”

“Mazie is an Americancitizen.Youcan’torderheraround.”

“This is Nicaragua, notthe United States, and amilitarygovernment. Ican,and I will do whatever isnecessarytokeepthemen

of the phalanx from killingeachother.”

“The Iron Warrior,”Eleanora said, in driestaccents, lifting her head.“Takecare.Atthismomentyoulookmoreasifyouarethreatening than seducingme.”

“We are makingprogress then,” he replied,his smile without warmthashe set down thepunchcup and drew her to his

side, “for that is exactlywhatIamdoing.”

Itwas,perhaps,unwiseto provoke him, but shecouldnotbesilent.Shelether hand lie flaccid in thecrookofhisarm,askinginaboreddrawl,“Again?”

His grip as he coveredherfingerswithhiswasnotgentle. He was preventedfromansweringonlybytheappearance of LieutenantColonel de Laredo at his

side.“You see before you a

desolate, a ruined, man,”the Spaniard said with atragicgesture.

A wary look came intoColonel Farrell’s eyes.“Howisthat?”

“I have searched highand low through thecallesofGranada and could findno woman who held theleast attraction. Only fairwomen can now arouse

my ardor, and here I findColonel Henry, he of thehundred battle scars, inpossession of one of thetwo such women in thecity, and you, amigo, inpossessionoftheother!”

“You do have aproblem.”

“Yes, and it is this, thegunortheknife?”

“Am I supposed to askyou why?” the colonelinquired with a lift of his

brow.“But yes, amigo. This

problem, he concerns yougreatly. Colonel Henry isone formidable hombre,the most immortal of theImmortals! He would behard to kill even with hisarm in a sling, and theplumpblondewoman, thisMazie, it would not be sorewarding to fight for heras for thewoman on yourarm, the woman they are

calling in the plazas thered-hairedwitch.”

HowmuchofwhatLuissaid was banter, howmuch serious, Eleanoracould not tell. She onlyknew that his words,coming so close uponGrantFarrell’sexplanation,gave her a feelingcuriously like guilt. Shecouldnothelp thecolorofherhairorthefactthatherfairness was a rarity here

in this country of dark-skinned, dark-hairedpeople. She only knewwithafearfulsurenessthatshe should never havecome.

“You think,” ColonelFarrellasked,“thatIwouldbeeasiertokill?”

“No,no,myfriend,onlya little less willing to killme.”

“Forgive me,gentlemen,”Eleanorasaid,

“butI thinkIoughttowarnyou that I do notautomatically go to thevictor.”

“No, Eleanora, don’tsay so. You take thechallenge from life,” Luissaidmournfully.

“Good,” was herheartless reply. “I believe— Grant, the general istrying to get yourattention.”

PresidentRivashadleft

the receptionearly,almostimmediately following theordealofthereceivingline.The next to go wasMinisterWheeler.Finally itwas Walker’s turn, thesignal that the receptionwas over and all couldretireinorder.

Taking his leave of thecolonel and Eleanora, thegeneral had been a mostgracious host, presentingNiña Maria and insisting

that Eleanora and ColonelFarrell join them in theirprivate apartment fordinner some evening.What could Eleanora dobut express her delight attheprospect?At thesametime, she was aware of agrowingsenseofunreality.Theeventsofthisday,thisnight, could not behappeningtoher.Shewasdesperately tired, hersensibilities bludgeoned

into apathy, and yet hernerves felt flayed,quivering with theanticipation of yet anotherblow. What she would dowhen it came she did notknow.

5There were no streetlamps in Granada. Theopen expanse of thecentral plaza was darkexceptforthefaintglimmerof a lighted window hereand there and the fireflyflicker of linkboys lightingthe way of the guests

homewiththeir lanternsofpierced tin. The colonelthrewa coin to oneof thewaiting boys, and with asoftlymurmuredgraciashestarted off, silent in hisbare feet, looking backoften to be certain theywerefollowing.

It was slightly cooleroutside than in,but theairwas heavy, with asulfurous smell. Low onthe horizon to the

southeast there was theshimmer of heat lightning,a steady pulsation thatseemed to intensify thedarknessaround them.Astheypassedtherearofthecathedral they heard thedisturbed murmur ofpigeonsfromthecotekeptbytheholyfathersandthecroak of a tree frog, amonotonous sound fromatreeinthegarden.

A torch burned brightly

on either side of thepalacio doorway,illuminating the street forsomedistanceandpickingout the intricate irongrillesthat covered all thewindowsalong the frontofthehouse.Thesightwasareminder of Eleanora’sclose confinement in theupstairs bedroom. Settingher lips, she preceded thecolonel into the entrancecorridor. She could not,

shewouldnot,belockedinagain.

A single lantern,hangingfromacrossbeamat the foot of the stairs,illuminated the patio.Eleanora stopped beneathit and turned. “ColonelFarrell—”

The commanding lift ofhisheadstoppedher,andthen she grew angry withherself for beingintimidated. “Why must I

call you Grant? Themasquerade is done,over.”

“Isit?”“Of course it is. I have

done what you wanted.Nowyoumustletmego.”

“Go? Where? Towhat?”

The sneer in his voicewas all too apparent.Eleanorastiffened. “I don’tsee that it concerns you. Ihaveresources—”

“I’m sure. You can justas easily put them to usehere.”

As the probablemeaning of his wordspenetrated, Eleanoraflushed. “You don’tunderstand. I can’t stayherewithyou,Ican’t.”

“Because you don’tparticularly like me? Youshould have consideredthat before you madeyourselfsopleasant to the

general, and before youtried to promote a feudbetween Luis and me.Both maneuvers onlyserved to make itnecessary to keep youclose to me. Uncle Billywants to see you again.That is, in effect, a royalcommand, since whetheryou realize it or not, he ishead of the governmenthere. Add to that Luis isone of my best officers. I

will not have you playinghimoffagainstallcomers.”

“I did no such thing”Eleanora exclaimed inindignationwhenshecouldcatch her breath.“Lieutenant Colonel deLaredospokeonlyinjest.”

“Not a healthy thing todoinGranada.Whywouldhespeakatallunlessyouencouragedhim?”

“IfyouhavesuchalowopinionofmeI’msurprised

you can tolerate mypresence!”

His smile was grim ashe moved in closer. “Youdo very well, as long asyourmouthisshut.”

She stepped backwardbut the newel of the stairwas behind her and shewas brought up shortagainst it. The metals onhis chest cut into hershoulder as she wasdragged against his long

length. His fingers sankinto the soft curls at theback of her head,tightening, holding hermotionless for the warmdescent of his lips, firm,consuming, destroyingthoughtor resistance.Shecould not move under thecontrolled savagery of hispassion, and for herinvoluntaryquiescenceshewas rewarded by a lethaltenderness. His grip

loosened, his mouthmoved to the quiveringcorner of hers. A bellpealed, and startled intoawareness by itsreverberations, she toreher mouth away, twistingoutofhisarms,half-fallingas his boot trod upon theedge of her dipping hoopskirt. He caught her arm,but in the instant ofbalance she wrenchedfree, plunging for the dark

tunneloftheentranceway.Once more the bell

clanged.Itwasthepull-bellhanging beside the greatfront door.That portal hadnot been barred.Eleanoragrasped the handle andpulled it open, thenchecked, panting, as shesaw the uniformed manwhostoodbeforeher.Thatinstant of hesitation wasenough. The colonel wasbeside her, his fingers

closing like a vise aboutherwrist.

“Yes?”herapped.With an obvious effort,

thesoldieronthethresholdconquered his curiosity,schooling his face toimpassivity. “Beg pardon,sir. The general requestsyour presence at theGovernment House atonce.Urgentbusiness.”

“Urgent?”“It’s the prisoner,

Colonel, the man caughtsneaking into GeneralWalker’s quarters. He’sdead.”

“Under questioning?”the colonel asked, hisvoicesharp.

“No, sir. TheNicaraguans never got athingoutofhim.Lookslikehe was killed to keep himfromtalking.”

“Inform the general Iwillbewithhimshortly.”

Without waiting for areply, Colonel Farrellclosed the door in theman’s face. His voicerasped across the darkspace between them witha harsh impatience. “Youcanwalk to your room, oryou can go over myshoulder like a sack ofhorse rations. Take yourpick.”

Principle shouldprevent her from

cooperating even to thatextent, but what didprinciple matter comparedto the prospect ofindignity? There wasalways the hope, howeverfrail, that he would besatisfied with baiting her,with presenting theoutward appearance ofpossession.

“Well?”“I prefer to walk,” she

repliedinastifledtonethat

turnedabruptlyvicious,“ifImustgo.”

“You must,” he said,and it was not only thehollow echo of the stonepassageway that gave hiswords the timbre of grimdisappointment.

The heat was a fiercepresence in the closedroom,anenemy thatdrewthe smell of dust andancient mildew from thedryandcreakingwallsand

scorched the breath inEleanora’snostrils.A slowdewofperspirationformeduponherface,tricklingintoher hair. Stripped tochemiseandonepetticoat,discardingevenherankle-length pantalettes, she layupon the bed, listlesslyfanning with herhandkerchief, thinkingwithlonging of hergrandmother’sevening fanof pleated lace with

mother-of-pearl stickswhich had been in hertrunk. Gone. Irretrievable,likesomuchelse.

She would not think ofthat.Tryasshemight,shecould change nothing.Explain? Plead? How?How was she to find thewords to make theessential truth plain? Andhaving found them, howcouldshehopetohavethecolonelbelieveheragainst

the evidence of his owneyes? And yet, she musttry. She was not a fool.She knew it wasimperativethatshetry.

In agitation she swungher feet off the bed andstoodup.Therewaswaterin the pitcher on thewashstandbesidethebed.Bytouchinthenight-blackroom she wet herhandkerchiefandheldit toher flushed face.With her

handtrailinguponthehighmattressforguidance,shemoved about the room.NowandthenfrombeyondthecurtainedFrenchdoorscame the glimmer ofdistant lightning. PerhapsMazie had been right,perhaps the rainy seasonwasnotover.

Liftingtheheavyweightof her loosened hair, shepressed the damp cloth tothe back of her neck. The

beginning of a headachewas forming between hertemples. It was theoppressive atmosphere inthe tightly shut room. Sheneeded air. It wasridiculous tocowerhere inmisery. There was nosafety behind those shutdoorswhen thekey to thegrille beyond was not inher possession. And whatgood did it do to protecteven her modesty when

Grant Farrell could comestriding into her room atanytimehechose?

The table had beenshoved out of the wayagainst the wall. Pushingaside the thin muslincurtain, she released thelatchandthrewthedoubleframeswide. The night aircrept around her, notperceptibly cooler butcharged with an ozonefreshnessthatwasagreat

improvement. She stoodfor a time clinging to thecool metal of the grille,watching the heat flasheslight the loweredgeof theblack night sky to gray-blue. Tiredness trembledalong her nerves, but shecould not compose hermindtosleep.WhenwouldColonel Farrell return, andinwhatmood?

After a time thetrembling communicated

itself to her fingers.Relaxing their crampedhold,sheturnedaway.Herpetticoat dragged at herwaist,aconstrictingweightthat flopped limply aroundher ankles as shewalked.In sudden annoyance shejerkedthebowinthetapesundoneandsteppedoutofit,flingingitatthebed.

It was much cooler inher thigh-length chemise.The torn ribbon strap

allowed the neckline togape, showing the softfullness of one breastnearly to the pink aureole,but it couldnotbehelped.She had nothing withwhichtomakerepairs,andnothing else to use for anightgown.

If only the bed was infront of the window. Shemight be able to sleep inthatslightdraft.Thewholeroom might have been

pleasant enough if shecould have opened thedoortotheinnergaleríaforcrossventilation.Thatwasdenied to her, of course.The next best thing thenwas to place a pallet onthe floor, something shehad often done as a childin New Orleans. It wascooler at that lower level,cooler without thesmothering softness of amattress. A sheet spread

over one of the rugsstrewnoverthefloorwouldmake an acceptablesubstitute.

She had not beenstretched out upon thefloor long before the silentcurrent of a breeze stirredher hair. Sighing, sheturnedonherside,movingher hair from under herface, spreading it outaroundherwithasweepofher arm. She closed her

eyes.Alarm, insistent,

jangling, woke her. Wind,chilling in its rush, swirledover her. It had torn thecurtains from where shehaddrapedthem,billowingthe gauzy material towardthe ceiling. Outside, itscoured the stone face ofthe palacio with a whiningrush, rattling the grillesbeneath the overhang ofthe galerías, and, in the

distance, setting thecathedral bell to swingingso that it announced thestormwith amournful anddiscordantchime.

Eleanora sat up,hugging her arms, hergaze going automaticallyto the window opening.Lightning streaked moltensilver across the blue-velvet night sky. It wasfollowed by the rumblingroarofthunder,butshedid

not hear it. Herconcentrationwas focusedon themanwho stood onthe galería outside, herwindow. The wind tore athis dark hair but had noother visible effect on thebare-chested figureplantedwithhisbacktotherailing,thebronzemusclesof his shoulders andforearms etched in silverfireagainsttheskyline.

ItwasGrantFarrell,his

eyes unreadable and histeeth bared in a ferocioussmile as he stared at her.How long had he beenthere, how long had hewatched,gloating,overhernear-nakedness?

Scrambling to her feet,Eleanoraduckedundertheblowing curtain, reachingfor the leaves of theFrench doors. With analmost casual movement,the colonel reached out

and stripped the chain,alreadyunlocked, fromthegrille. The wrought-ironbarrier creaked open, heshouldered through, andwith upraised palmsblocked the closing doors.Eleanorabraced,straining,against them,butshewasno match for either thecolonel or his batteringally,thewind.

The doors gave way,crashing against the wall.

Eleanora stumbled back,then kept retreating,watchingwithexaggeratedcare the lithe and sureadvance of the mansilhouetted now indarkness.

“Wait,” she saidbreathlessly, one handgoing out in anunconsciously supplicatinggesture.

“Wait for what? Youknewitwouldcometothis

in theend.”His voicewassoft, not gloating, notcoaxing, just quietlyunrelenting.

“No,” she denied, hervoice strained. “If you dothis— I will never forgiveyou.”

“I have no use forforgiveness.”

It was useless. Wordscould not reach him, stillshe had to try. “You willregretthis.Iamnot—”

“Regret it?” he cutacross her falteringattempt at an explanation.“Are you threatening me?Fair enough. I nevermindpayingforwhatIwant.”

The shock of angerrippled through Eleanora.In a flash of blue-whitelightning she saw thecynicaltwistofhislipsand,without conscious intentstruckoutathim.Herwristwas captured, twisted,

pinned behind her back.She was dragged againsthim, her breasts pressedto the board hardness ofhis naked chest. Eleanoragasped as the breath lefther lungs,butshebroughther free hand up, clawinginstinctively for his eyes.He snapped his headback, letting her rake hisneck before he wrenchedthat armdownandbehindher also. Her hands were

numb, her shouldersstrainingintheirsocketsashe lifted her, still shejerked her head forward.With satisfaction she felthis lip split against histeeth, heard his muffledoath. And then she wasswung violently, dizzily sothat for a panic-strickeninstant she was still,accepting the iron-boundcircleofhisarms.

Theylandedonthebed

with a force that jarred itagainst the wall and setthe rope supports tojouncing. Her knee cameup, and in burningdetermination, she thrustherself away from him,arching her back. With asurge of triumph she feltthe grip of his fingersloosen and break on herleft wrist, and setting herteeth, she redoubled herefforts. But using his free

hand he gripped the lawnof her chemise betweenher heaving breasts andpulled, rending it fromnecklinetohem.ThebloodrushedtoEleanora’shead.Shestiffened.Andthenasshefelthiswarmhandcupthe soft ripeness of herbreast, she brought theheelofherhandup,flailingathimwithfranticstrength,wriggling, sliding, lettingher weight drag her over

the side of the bed.Whatwas left of the chemiserode up about hershouldersbaringher lowerbody,butshedidnotcare.Nothing mattered exceptescaping Grant Farrell’smercilessembrace.

She could not. Theends of her hair werecaught under his elbow.The bones of her rightwrist ground together ashe retained that hold. He

reached for her, his handsliding over her bare hipbeforecatchingthebackofherthighsandheavingherupward. He rolled uponher, clamping her arms toher sides, pushing hisknee between her legs.Lightning crackled.Panting, they stared intoeachother’seyes,shewitha wild despair, he withbaffled ardor. Slowly helowered his blood-stained

mouthtohertremblinglips.Long and deep he kissedher, taking full advantageofherexhaustion.Tearsofpain and frustration rose,overflowing in wet tracksacross her temples,running into her hair.Outside the first shafts ofrain struck the house,blowing onto the floor ofthe galería with the wetsplutter of ridiculinglaughter.

He explored the moistcorners of her eyelids, thecurve of her cheek, andthelineofherjawwhereitmerged with the tendercurve of her neck. Hisquickening breath searedher skin, touching off aprickling reaction ofgoosefleshthatbecameanuncontrollable shudder ashis lips trailed fiery kissesto the valley between thewhite globes of her

breasts. As he chose oneofthemforcloserattentionshe felt an explosion ofsuch helpless wrath thatshe lunged under him,hands spread, braced onthemattress,everymusclestraining to throw him off.The effort served only towhethisdesire.Heshifted,divesting himself of hisbreeches in a few swiftmovements before shecould renew the attack.

Andthenhewasuponheronce more, his hardness,the ridged muscles of hislegs, pressing into herthighs. He possessed hermouth,hishands ravagingher flesh with an intimacyshe could not prevent.From deep inside she feltthe acid spread of agrowing weakness, aprimitive impulse towardsurrender thathadnothingto do with her will. She

fought it,movingher headina faintnegation,but theheatofhisbody,hiseverytouch added to thedestruction of herdefenses.Thevulnerabilityof her loins became anache needful ofassuagement. Still sheresistedthatfinalpillage—resisted, and her writhinghelped his implacable,burningentry.Her indrawnbreath was trapped,

bursting,inherchestwhileher every muscle andnerve tensed in rejection.He released her hands ashe changed position, andimmediately she clutchedhis shoulders, digging hernails into the skin in amindless effort tocommunicateherextremityto him. His lips caressedthe taut skin of her neckbelowherear.Hiswhisperwas a soft rustle of

reassurance. Slowly,insidiously, her distresswassoothed;shebegantorelax. Then came thetumultofhispleasure.Shecould only cling to him,accommodating him in hispassion as he wishedbecauseitwaslesshurtful,untilitwasover.

He withdrew from herabruptly to lie, raised onone elbow, staring in herdirection through the dark.

Gradually her breathingslowed.Shecouldheartherain,drummingontheroof.Turning her head, shecould just make out themuslin curtain flappingwetly in the mist-ladenwind.

The bed creaked asGrantFarrellswungofftheside. There was thescratch of a sulfur match,andlightbloomedatopthecandle on the washstand.

She made a swift attemptto cover her nakedness,pulling at the rag of herchemise, her eyes wideand deep, dark green.Shakingout thematch,hetossedittothewashstand,then like the release of atightly wound spring hereached for her, draggingher from the bed to standbeside him. Together theystared at the red stainsmeared on the sheets.

His hands tightening onherarms,heswunghertofacehim.

“Why?” he demanded,a shadow thatmight havebeen bewildermentcloudinghiseyes.

The coldness of angrypride invaded her face,smoothing her features toa bitter contempt. Slowly,almost gently, sheremoved herself from hisgrasp. Shrugging out of

hertorngarment,sheletitfall to the floor, then tookup her petticoat that hadfallen over the foot of thebed. Its wide widthwrapped about her like acloak, she moved to thewindow, and steppingaround the wet floor andsodden curtain, stoodleaning against the frame,staring out over the redroofs of the town,glistening under the last

fitful flares of lightning,toward thecloud-shroudedconesofOmetepe.

“You sound,” she saidatlast,“asifIamtobetheaccused.”

He stepped to the footofthebed,hishandrestingon one of the uprightposts.“Idon’trapevirgins,”hesaidgrimly.

“Don’t you? Well, no,perhaps not, not the oneswhoareproperlyguarded.

Thosewho aren’tmust, ofcourse,befairgame.”

“You have a tongue inyourhead,youcouldhavetoldme.”

“Yes, and Imight haveif I had realized it wouldmake a difference. Youcould have made certainbefore mistaking me for a—awomanofthestreets.”

“There was amplereason to take that forgranted,”hegrated.

“Indeed? But then, itdoesn’t matter, does it? Ihaveyourwordforitthatawoman, any woman, maynot be forced, inNicaragua, that she mustbepaidorcajoled.”Slowlyshe turned to face him.“For what you have done,Colonel Grant Farrell, thepenaltyisdeath.”

Noflickerofexpressioncrossedhisfaceforalongmoment, then a wolfish

lightblazedinhiseyes.Headvanced upon her, andbending,scoopedherhighinto his arms. His gazerakedherstifffaceandthesoft swell of her breastswhere she held thematerialacrossthem.

“Then,” he said, hisvoiceholdingaroughedgein its softness, “Iwill havesomethingmoretomakeitworth presenting my backtoafiringsquad.”

Fists, pounding on adoor, jerkedEleanorafromthe deep sleep ofexhaustion. She wasinstantly aware of manythings,thefloodofsunlightin the room, hernakedness under a thinsheet, the warmabrasiveness of a man’sbody against her,soreness, the wild tangleof her hair, and a deepmentalmalaise.

The knocking wascoming from the door toherroomwhichoverlookedthepatio.Above thenoisecame the sound ofwomen’s voices raised inaltercation.Thecolonellaystillbesideher,buthewasnot asleep.She could feelthe tension of alertness inhis muscles. The knob ofthe door was shakenviciously, and then thevoicesbegantofade.

Throwing back thesheet, Colonel Farrell satup and, from the sound,began to pull on hisbreeches.Eleanoraclosedher eyes, a slow flushmoving painfully to herhairline.Perhapshewouldleave without speaking.She had nothing to say tohim, no wish to look intohis face ever again. Hiseasy mastery of theresponsesofherbodywas

like a canker hidden deepinside her. She thoughtshe had kept the fullknowledge of it from himunder the mantle ofdarkness,butshewasnotcertain her powers ofdissembling would beproof against the brightglareofmorning.

Inthenextroomadooropened.Footstepscrossedthe board floor andclattered nearer along the

galería. They could hearthe voice of SeñoraParedes in unusualagitation, coming nearer.“Wait, Juanita! No! This isstupid,amadness.”

Suddenly the muslincurtain, dried in themorning breeze from thelake, was swept aside. Awoman, dark, Spanish,steppedintotheroom.Herface was aristocratic withthin,archingbrowsandan

imperious nose, the thinnostrils flaring with anger.Her sherry-colored eyesnarrowedasshesurveyedEleanora in her tangle ofsheets, and she tossedbackthemaneofdarkhairthat hung between hershoulder blades. Beneaththe low neck of the thinwhite blouse, such as thepeasant women wore, herhoney-colored breastsrose and fell with the

swiftnessof herbreathing.Her feet were bare andspattered with mud fromthe street. She wore nopetticoat under her tieredskirt of red and blue andgreen, for the sun shonethrough it, outlining hersturdylimbs.

“Yourpardon,Colonel,”SeñoraParedes said fromthe doorway. “I could notstopher.”

“That’s all right. You

can go.” His voice wascurt. He did not take hiseyes from the womancalledJuanita.

The señora effacedherself at once. Juanitatook a step forward, herhands on her hips. “So. Iheard it in theplaza, but Ididnotbelieve it.The ironsoledad has taken awoman,anorteamericana,intohishouse towarmhisbed. Why, amor mio? Did

yougrowtiredofcomingtome?Iwouldhavecometoyou.Youhadonlytoask.”

“But I did not ask, didI?”

His distaste for thescene she was enactingwas plain in the deadlyquiet comment. InJuanita’s place, Eleanorathought, she would havebeen too mortified tocontinue,evenifshecouldhave brought herself to

descend to such self-abasement in the firstplace. Feeling at adisadvantage, shestruggled to a sittingposition,huggingthesheetto her chest, her gaze onJuanita.

The Spanish girlflushed a dusky carmine.Her eyes began to glitter.“Do you think I am someside-streetputa to be castasidewhenyouaredone?

I am Juanita! Half theFalangistas are wild forme.”

“Thengotothem.”“You—youareadevil,

Grant,” the girl said,changing her tacticsabruptly. “Why? Why doyou do this to me? Whyhaveyoureplacedmewiththis pasty-faced weaklingwithnobloodinherveins?Sheisafrailreed,shewillbreak in your arms. You

will have to take yourpleasure, for she can giveyounone.”

Eleanora stirredrestively. Glancing at her,Grant smiled for the firsttime. “You’re wrong,” hetoldtheothergirl.

Juanita controlled hertemper with an effort. Herhands dropped to hersides, the fingers curlinginto claws. “Then I am tobenothing toyou, tohave

nothing.”An added hardness

crept into Grant’s face atthat last mercenarysuggestion. “What did youexpect?”

“Something more thantobeleftforsuchaoneasthis — this shadow of awoman. See her sittingthere?Shecaresnotwhatyou do. She has nofeelings for you or shewouldcurseme,shewould

fightmeforyou.”“Maybe she knows

thereisnoneed.”That remark struck

Eleanora as exquisitelyhumorous under thecircumstances.Shetriedtokeepfromsmiling,butshecouldnot.

“Hah!Youdaretolaughat me,” Juanita screamed.“I’ll scratch your grinningface to ribbons, youthieving she-dog!” Her

teeth bared, she threwherself across the bed atEleanora, tearing at thesheet,reachingforherhairwith talonlike fingers.Eleanora evaded her byreflex alone, flinging out awarding hand that caughtJuanita full across thebridge of her nose. Theother girl’s nails rakeddown the inside of herforearm in long, bloodystripes while shemouthed

curses through tears ofpain.

An instant later, it wasover. Grant draggedJuanita shrieking from thebedwithanarmaboutherwaist. His clasp none toogentle, he carried her outonto the galería. As hehoisted the girl over therailing, Juanita’s screamsofangerturnedtopleasformercy and she twistedagainst him, clinging with

botharmsaroundhisneck.Alarmed, Eleanora left thebedintimetoseehimdropthe woman’s legs, andreachingup,pryherhandsloose. Holding her wrists,he let her hang, danglingat arm’s length, for a longmoment, then he let hergo.

She fell with an ear-splittingcry, landingwithathud in the muddy streetbelow. A flood of shrill

invective proclaimed herunhurt.Withinsecondssheappeared in the middle ofthe street, her skirtplastered with mud, andher dirt-streaked facecontorted with rage. “Youwill pay for this, ColonelFarrell, you and your red-hairedbitch!Youwillpay!”

Without answeringGrant turned and steppedback into the room. Hepaused as he saw

Eleanora standing justinside,hergreen-goldeyeswide in her pale face,sheet gripped in her handasifforprotection,thenhepushedpasther.Movingtothearmoire,heopenedthedoor and took from it herthree dresses, herpetticoats and pantalettes,and the collapsed cage ofthe hoopMazie had givenher. With these under hisarm, he stepped from the

room, clanged the irongrille shut, and locked it.He stared at her throughthe arabesque intricaciesof its design, as if waitingfor her protest. When shemade none, he swung onhisheelandwalkedaway.

Breakfastofhotcoffee,fruit, and a pastry muchlike a French beignetthoughmadeofcornmealwas brought to her with abath and a change of

linens. With each tripSeñora Paredes carefullyunlocked the door andlocked itagainbehindher.Since the woman didnothing without consultingthe colonel, Eleanorasupposed she had him tothank for the attention toher comfort. The thoughtdid not incline her tocharity toward him.Nothingcoulddothat.

The hot meal cakes

were fried light and crisp,the coffee, diluted withwarm milk, was fragrant.Eleanora had littleappetite, but it would beridiculous to starve herselffor the sake of hervanished chastity. Whowould know, or care?Later,asshe lay in the tintub with her hair drapedoverthesidetokeepitdry,she had to admit to acertain sense of well-

being.Ifshewasnotbeingkept a prisoner, shethought, idly squeezingwater from her bathclothover her knees, shemighthavefeltwellindeed.

The sound of a key inthe lock roused her. Sheturnedherhead,expectingto see the señora oncemore. ItwasGrantFarrell,militarily correct in hisuniform, who entered. Inhishandhecarriedasmall

box of polished wood,which he opened andplaced upon the bed. Theinterior was lined withmaroonvelvetanddividedinto compartments. Fromone of these he took asmall glass bottle and asquare of cloth. Holdingthese in his hand hestraightened and issued aone-wordcommand.“Out.”

“What is it?”sheaskedwithout troubling to hide

hersuspicion.“Carbolic for your

scratches,” he answered,movingcloser.

“Leave it and I’ll attendtothem.”

He stared at her aconsidering momentbeforeshakinghishead.“Iwant to know it’s done.Scratches can lead toblood poisoning in thisclimate. Are you comingout, orwill thishave tobe

thehardwaytoo?”“If you try it,” Eleanora

said, tilting her head, “youaregoingtogetwet.”

Hedidnotsmile,but insomepeculiarwayhisfacelightened.“IfIdoyouwon’tenjoyit.I’llhavetotakeoffmy uniform, and while itdriesIwillbeinneedof—entertainment.”

Eleanora was the firstto look away. “How canyou — when you know

how much I dislike this,andyou?”

“Dislike? That’s animprovement. Yesterdayyouhatedme.Whoknowshow you will feel a weekfromnow?”

She glared at himbefore asking, “Will youhandmethetowel?”

“With pleasure,” hereplied, and tucking thecarbolic and cloth underhis arm, picked up the

linencloth from theendofthe bed and held it wide,inviting her to bewrappedinitssoftness.

Holding out her handforitdidnogood;Eleanoraletitfall.Shesatbitingtheinside of her lip, thenwiththe dignity of an ancientprincess passing into thehands of hermenials, sheroseandsteppedfromthetub. He enfolded her, hishands moving over the

curves of her body. Shetriedtomoveaway,buthewouldnotreleaseheruntilshe stood still within thecircleofhisarms.

“My scratches?” shereminded him, her colorhigh and a trace ofsarcasminhertoneasshegained possession of thetowel.

“Scratches.Yes.”He removed the

stopper from the glass

bottle and poured thepungent solution on thecloth. Taking her arm, heswabbed the long, rawstripeswithswiftefficiency,paying no heed to herinvoluntary wince ofstinging pain. From underher lashes, Eleanorawatched his frown ofconcentration. She couldsee the bluish bruise onhis bottom lip and thesmall cut where she had

struck him. The sight wasmost satisfactory, yet atthesametime,itmadeherfeel a little ill. Her fingerscurling, she rememberedthe feel of her own nailstearing his flesh. Therewas,abovethecollarofhistunic, an abrasion of theskin. Was that her doing?Hadheput anythingon it,she wondered, but wouldnotask.

He put the disinfectant

away and fastened thebox. Flicking a glance upat her, he said, “Youhaven’t asked why I tookyourclothes.”

“I doubt I will like theanswer. I am moreinterested in when youintendtobringthemback.”

“You’ll get them backwhen I’m ready to let yougo.”

“I am to be your —guest — indefinitely,

then?”“Exactly.” Inclining his

head, he picked up themedicinechestandstartedtowardthedoor.

“You can’t leave mehere againwith nothing todo,” Eleanora said. “I’ll —I’llgomad.”

He paused, lookingback at the appealingpicture she made clothedin the satin mantle of herrusset tresses and the

linen cloth that barelycame to the tops of herthighs.“Whatdidyouhaveinmind?”

“I don’t know. Sewing.Books,newspapers.”

“Don’ttellmeyoumeantoacceptyourprison?”

“WhatchoicehaveI?”His blue gaze turned

disconcertingly intent.“None,”hesaidshortly.

She let him get as faras the door before she

spokeagain.“Grant?”He swung back,

waiting.“Ismybrotherall right?

Does he need anything?Food?Clothing?”

“Nothing you can givehim,”heanswered,andlethimself out the door,lockingitbehindhim.

The smell of carboliclingered on the air, apotent reminder of theirexchange. To escape it,

Eleanora picked up herhairbrush from thewashstand and moved tostand in the shadows toone side of the window,staringout.

Men with pushcartscried their wares up anddownthestreets.Servantscarrying market basketsmoved toward the plaza.From the direction of thecathedral came a widowfrom early mass, her

mantilladrippingwithblackjet tears of mourning.Behind her moved twogovernment clerks inyellowing white jackets. Anun, shepherding severalpigtailed girls with goldearrings flashing in theirears, passed. Thereligieuselookedincrediblyhotinherblackhabiteventhough she, like the rest,kept to the shady side ofthestreetopposite.

Eleanora’sthroatachedwiththeneedtocallouttothepeoplemovingpastforhelp. But what was theuse?Theywould not daredefy the authority of theheadof themilitarypolice.Andiftheydid,thenwhat?Even ifshehadaplacetogo and work to sustainherself, she could notleave Jean-Paul to thedubious mercy of ColonelFarrell.

Ruined. Her mindrejected both the thoughtand her position. Still, inthebright light ofmorning,she realized how uselesswas her implied threat tosee Grant Farrell pay forwhat he had done. Whowouldbelieveit,andiftheydid,whowouldarresthim?General Walker? Hardly,when she had allowedherself to be presented tohim in the role, if not in

fact, of the colonel’smistress.

Beneath her window adoor slammed. GrantFarrell moved from underthe overhang of thegalería. He stood for aninstant placing his hat onhis head, then strodepurposefully away,heading up the street totheplaza.

Eleanora watched hisrecedingbackoutofsight.

Her hand on the doorframetrembledfaintly,anddoubling it into a fist, shepressed it to her mouth.Thenumbnessof disbelieflingeredat thebackofhermind. This could not behappening.Itcouldnot.

Swinging from thewindow, she stared aboutthe small room that washer prison. In the cornerbetween the bed and theFrench doors was the

cuadro. The sunilluminated the dark colorsof the painting. Crudelydone, there was still afeeling of compassion inthe bowed head andtearstainedcheekdepictedon the canvas. Eleanorawould not cry, but movingcarefullyinhertowelwrap,she struck a match andheld it to one of thecandles beneath thelikeness of Our Lady of

PerpetualSorrow.

6Themorning crept bywithinfiniteslowness.Only twoevents provided diversion.Shortly after the colonelleft Juanita returned andwas admitted. Eleanoraexpected the woman tocometoherroom,perhapstoresumehertauntsorher

attack, but she did not.Oncesheheardthesoundof breathing outside herdoor and the rustle ofclothing as someonestoopedtothekeyhole,butthey went away when ahandkerchief was stuffedinto theslot.Thebell rangagain later. The secondvisitor was not allowed toenter, however, andEleanora moved to thewindow in time to see

Mazieretreating,herskirtsheld high as she crossedthe muddy thoroughfarebelow on pattens. Shecalled after her, but amule-drawn cart with afuriously screeching wheelintervened and Mazie didnothear.

ColonelFarrell failed toreturn for themiddaymealas Eleanora had halfexpected. A bowl of chilicon carne, corncakes

coveredwithmeltedgoat’scheese, and fruit wasserved to her through thegrille. When she hadfinished, she pushed thedishes back out onto thegalería for the señora tocollect, but they sat therethrough the afternoon,attracting a buzzing hordeofflies.Heat-drugged,theyflew into the room,bumbling about betweenthewallsandceilingwitha

maddening sound thatdestroyed sleep. For atime Eleanora closed theFrench doors againstthem, but the airless heatwas worse than the flies.She was forced to openthemagain.

Sometime after threeo’clocktheclangofthebellresounded through thehouse once more.Eleanora lay still.Shehadrealized finally that the

señora had orders to turnaway visitors. Onconsideration it was notsurprising. Even if thecolonel did not fearreprisal,itcouldnotaddtohiscredit tohave it knownthathehadtouseforcetokeepawoman.

She had nearlyforgottenthevisitorwhenathumpingnoisecamefromthe far end of the galería.Aboardcreakedunderthe

weight of a tread. Beyondthe iron grille loomed ashadow form, and then asEleanora raised on oneelbow, a man peered intotheroom.

“Ah, Eleanora, I havefound you in spite of thatdragon’s handmaidenbelow.”

“Luis — Lieutenant deLaredo; how — what areyoudoinghere?”

“I wanted to see you.

Therewas a bougainvilleagrowing at the end of thehouse.The thingarrangesitself. I have only to bravethe thorns.” He lookedruefully at his palmscovered with bleedinglacerations.

“Well, you will have tobrave them again. Youcan’tstay.”

“Eleanora, you couldnot be so cruel. I havecome to entertain you.

See?”She barely glanced at

the guitar he brought fromwhere it was slung on hisback by a cord. “Toentertainme?”

“But yes, querida.” Hisvoice was softly beguiling,his smile, below the darkline of his mustache,caressing.

“Has it occurred to youthat you are bravingmorethanthorns?”

“Youmeanthecolonel?He is a busy man, busycounting the new arrivals,issuing weapons, planningthis, planning thatwith thegeneral. And this morningthe man who killed thetraitor was discovered. Noonewillbeallowedtogivetohimthemercyofabulletto prevent him from tellingallheknows.Todayhewillbe — encouraged — toexplain his actions and

those of his compatriot,and tomorrow they willshoothim.”

“Thefiringsquad?”“Thefateoftraitors.”Eleanora resisted the

impulse to question himfurther. “It doesn’t matterwhy you came. You can’tstay.”

“Tellmewhy,querida,”he said, resting hisshoulder against the grillethebettertoseein.

“Because — Grant willnotlikeit,and—andIamnotdressed.”

“My amigo knows wehave the same taste inwomen,” he said, his eyeson the length of her legsandherbareshouldersnotcovered by the towel shestill wore wrapped abouther.“Asfordressing,I likeyou as you are, but if youinsistonit,Iwillwait.”

“Youdon’tunderstand.”

“No?” He lifted a drollbrow,makinga jokeofhisdesire.“Revealalltome.”

“Ihavenoclothes.Yourfriendtookthem.”

His face went blank,and then a delighted grinspreadacrosshisfaceinaflash of white teeth. “Ineversuspectedmyamigoofsuchimpatience.”

“Itwasnot impatience,”Eleanora snapped, heranger and sense of ill-

usagegetting thebetterofher discretion. “He tookthemtokeepmehere.”

Stillness sat upon hisfeatures.“Youwishtogo?”

“Whyelsedoyou thinkIamlockedinwithaguardoverme?”

He straightened,frowning.“Thisisbad.Thathe holds few tenderfeelings toward women Iknew, but I have neverknown him to use them

withcruelty.”“Then you should have

been here this morningwhen he threw Juanitafromthegalería.”

“Yes? I would like tohaveseenthis.Juanita—”

“Yes, I remember, youhave the same taste inwomen,” she said as hepaused, searching for away to indicate hisknowledge of the Spanishgirl.

“There are somewomen, querida, that it isunwise to treat with toomuchkindness.”

“Perhaps I am one ofthem?” she suggestedtartly.

“No, no. There is nocomparison, believe me. Idon’tunderstandmyfriendGrant. I don’t understandatall. Toseducea lady isone thing, to hold heragainst herwill is another.

I think—yes, I think Iwillhavetotalktohim.”

Eleanora’s brows drewtogether. “That might bedangerous.”

“You begin tounderstand this man then,my Eleanora. But I, too,am dangerous.” Withoutlooking at her, he unslunghis guitar, and proppingagainst the door oncemore,began toplayasoftandmelancholytune.

She stared at nothing,hergreeneyesunfocused.How nice it would be tohave someone fight herbattlesforher,removeherfrom the colonel’s sphereof influence, and yet, itwouldnotwork.Therewasalways Jean-Paul. Sheknewalsothatshehadnotbeen strictly honest, andshecouldnotallowLuistobecome embroiled in heraffairs for the sake of a

false premise. She liftedher gaze to that slenderfigure, narrow-hipped inbreeches of cordobánbrown leather, his wideshoulderscoveredbyaredshirt with full sleeves, theglint of agold chainat hisneck.Grace,gallantry,andhumor — Luis waseverything Grant was not.Itwasathousandpitieshewas not the provostmarshal.

“Luis?”“Yes, querida?” he

answered, his fingersmovingonthestrings.

“You may understandGrant better if tell you hedidnotrealize Iwas—aninnocent.HethoughtIwassomething very different,as you did in NewOrleans.”

“And now he knowsbetter?” he asked withoutlookingather.

Sheagreed.“Then you are most

generous.”“No,” she refused the

compliment. “I am onlytryingtobefair.”

“For whose sake,mineor his?”When shedid notanswerat once, he turnedhishead.“WhatImeanis,are you sure you want toleave?”

Eleanora shook herheadunhappily.“Iwantto,

yes,butIcan’t.”“Lockscanbebroken.”“But not the ties of the

heart.”“Isee.”“No, you don’t. I didn’t

mean it like that,” shebegan,butalreadyhewasmoving away. Slinging hisguitar over his back, hestepped over the railing,hung for moment by hishands,thendroppedoutofsight. In a moment he

reappeared down thestreet, following a dark-haired feminine figurewitha seductive swing to herskirt of redandgreenandblue. It was Juanita,moving away from thehouse as if she had onlyjust left it. From hervantage point beside thewindow Eleanora watchedasLuiscaughtupwithher,and gripping her arm,swunghertofacehim.The

Spanishgirl laughedupathim with a quick greetingthat included a kiss oneach cheek. Winding herhand inside his arm, shepressed herself againsthim.Luis, leaning to catchwhat Juanita was saying,walked away with herwithoutlookingback.

Thesunwentdowninarust-red haze that put asoftedgeonobjectsintheambient light. Colors were

muted, the gold of thestone buildings in thestreet outside blendingwith the blue eveningshadows. Eleanoraseemed powerless to stopherself from watchingdown that darkening callefor the colonel’s return. Inself-defense she toldherself it was better to beforewarned. What goodwas a pretense toindifference if it left you

vulnerable to surprise?Shewasreadytoadmit,inanycase,thatshewasnotindifferent. Rancor, fueledby a long night ofapprehension and a longday of close confinement,burned with a cold fire inthebackof hermind.Shewanted to make him feelsome degree of herhelpless humiliation at hishands. She wanted thesatisfaction of seeing him

called to the account thatshe had been forced todeny herself earlier in theafternoon. Inshort,andasfar as she was able toaccomplish it withoutendangering her brother,she wanted revenge. Forthis his presence wasnecessary.

Itwaspossiblethatshewas not the only one withideas of revenge. Juanitahadbeenenragedwithher

dismissal, enraged andhurt, if she was to bebelieved. It would not beastonishing if, after herdegrading expulsion fromthe house, she felt somedesire toward vengeance.Did that, perhaps, explainher visit to SeñoraParedes?Was the señoraherally?WearilyEleanorashook back the warm redmaneofherhair.IfJuanitawas plotting to regain the

colonel’s affection, thenshe wished her goodfortune. It was a shamethey could not schemetogetherforhisdownfall.

Night had long fallenand Eleanora wasbeginning to fear a designto starve her when sheheardtherattleofakeyinthe lock. She lay indarkness upon the bed,completely, and wryly,conscious of the forlorn

pictureshepresented.Thecolonel’sformwasoutlinedfor an instant by the graylight of the courtyard, thenhe stepped into the room,closing the door behindhim.She knewhemoved,but his footstepsmade nosound.Hersearchingeyescould not penetrate blackspace around her. He islookingfora light,shetoldherself. Still her scalpprickled. Abruptly the bed

sagged beside her, andlong arms reached,dragging her to a hardchest. She felt the imprintof metal buttons and theraspofbeardstubble,andthen his lips captured herincarelessplunder.Foraninstantsheallowedherselfto respond, pressing theopen palm of her hand tothe muscles of his back.His arms tightened. Withan in-drawn breath that

verged on alarm shewentstiff.

He raised his headwithout releasing her. “Didyouthink,”heaskedsoftly,“that it was Luis, returnedtosaveyou?”

Itwasaninstantbeforeshe could find breath toanswer. “If Idid, Imustbedisappointed.”

“Youhaveatonguelikeaviper.”

“It is the last form of

protection left tome,one Imaystandinneedofifyouare going to set informersaroundme.”

Without warning he lether go. She fell backagainst the pillows, thenreached for her toweldrawing it more securelyaboutherassheheardthestrikingofmatch.

His face had ashutteredlookintheyellowglowofthecandle.Though

he did not glance in herdirection, Eleanora wasundernoillusion;sheknewhewasawareofhereverymovement. “SeñoraParedes,” he begandeliberately, “is not aninformer. She knows,however, that I aminterestedinyourvisitors.”

“Andwhatofhers?Didshe tell you Juanita washereforthebestpartoftheday?”

“Didshetroubleyou?”Eleanora shook her

head, her gaze going foran instant to the key stillthe door. “I had a certainamountofprotection.”

“Too bad the samething kept Luis at bay.When can I expect toreceive a challenge fromhim?”

“I — don’t believe youhavetoworryaboutthat.”

“You mean you were

able to keep yourself frompouring out your sadstory?”

The sarcasm in hisvoice was an unbearableirritant. “Imean Iwasabletokeepyoufromsoundingthe beast you really are. Ihave no more desire tohave blood spilled for mysakethanyouhavetospillit!”

He surveyed her frombehind the screen of his

lashes, the blue glitter ofhis eyes grimly assessing.“Nobleofyou.”

“I thought so,considering thepossibilities.”

This was not what shehad intended. Animosity,however much provoked,would get her nowhere.Still, there was no poweron earth that could makeher take back what shehadsaid. Itmightevenbe

a good thing, this quarrel.Too much compliance tooquickly might make himsuspicious.

“Possibilities?” hequeried.

She lifted her chin.“You might have beenkilled.”

“I might,” he agreed,“then again, Imight not. Itwas smart of you toconsider that lastpossibilitythelongest.”

After that exchange,dinner was a silent meal.The moment it was over,the señora cleared thetable, retrieved the dishesfromtheoutergalería,andbade them good night.From his room next door,thecolonelbroughtasheafof papers, spreading themout over the table in thelight of a candle coveredagainst moths by ahurricaneglobe.

The moths cameanyway, of course,attractedbythelight.Theyswooped about the room,huge winged creatures ingray and soft yellow andgreen. They seemed tohave nearly as great anaffinity for Eleanora’s hairas for the candle. One, alunamoth, crawled fromarusset strand to her bareshoulder where it sat,gently fluttering, a living

ornament, for ten longminutes.Whenittookwingagain she followed itsflight, watching in concernas it swung in deliriouscircles about the openingofthehurricaneglobe.Shegot to her feet when itperched on the rim, onewingdirectlyovertherisingheat.Movingstealthily,shecupped her two handsabout it, and carrying it tothe grille, pushed her

hands through andwafteditup,free,intothenight.

She turned back intothe room to find Grantwatching her, an oddexpressionhoveringat theback of his eyes.Nervously, she adjustedhertowel,tuckingtheendsin place between herbreasts for the thousandthtime.

Grant’smouthfirmedina thin line. Pushing back

hischair,he left the room,returning in a fewminuteswithwhatappearedtobeadressing gown swingingfromhishand.Hetossedittoherwithoutaword,thenresumedhisseat,bendingoverhiswork.

Eleanorashookout thegarment. Glancing fromthe man’s dressing gown,or robe, of blue brocadedsatin to Grant Farrell, shecouldnot featurehimever

wearing it. Where had itcome from? The state ofwarfare between thempreventedherfromasking.It didnotpreventher fromaccepting it, or fromthanking him in subduedsincerity. If he heard hegavenoindication.

Before the candle hadsunk an inch she wasgiven an opportunity toshow her gratitude,however. Looking up,

Grantasked,“Youwrite—andread?”

“Yes.”He indicated the chair

across from him. Whenshe had seated herself init,hepushedaboundbookin frontofherandhandedherapen.“Copythenameand particulars of thesenew recruits in the roster,”he said, touching a stackof enlistment papers infrontofhim.

Eleanora flicked hereyes down the page ofthose already entered. Itlooked straightforwardenough. She nodded anddipped her pen in the inkstandbetweenthem.

Theonlysoundwasthescratchofpennibsacrosspaperandthesoftrustleofblotting. Now and then asshe reached for anotherpaper, Eleanora sawGrant’shandslashingover

the page, listing whatappearedtobehorsesandmules and shipments ofsupplies; food, canvastents, blankets, saddles,horseblankets, feedbags,grain; and kegs, barrels,and boxes of items withthe soundofmunitions.Athis elbow was a journalidentifiedonthecoverasaguardbook.

A hundred, a hundredandfifty,twohundredmen

were recorded as soldiersfor William Walker’sAmerican Phalanx, withstillmore togo.Granthadfinished the table ofsupplies and guard book,and was working with amapandseveralsheetsofclosely written notes.Flexing cramped fingers,Eleanoraasked,“Don’tyouhave a clerk to handlesomeofthis?”

Healmostsmiled. “The

menwhocamedownherewith Uncle Billy came tofight,nottocounthorses.”

“You must have comeforthesamereason.”

“Yes, but as militarysecond-in-commandthis ismy responsibility. I don’tdelegate it because I liketo keep the information—closetohand.”

Odd. She had thoughthe was going to say heliked to keep the

informationtohimself.Shesupposed an interestedperson could tell a greatdeal about the strength ofthe phalanx by looking atthe papers scatteredaround them. And whatwas itLuishadsaid?ThatGrant and Walker werealways plotting? Theremightalsobesomehinttobe found of the general’splans for the future. Yet,what did it matter? As far

as she knew Walker wassecure in Nicaragua, thetwo political factions wereno longer at war. No, shemust have imagined thehesitation. If therewastheleastdangerofthecolonelrevealing anything ofimportance, he wouldnever have allowed hernearthepapers.

The call to filibusteringmustbeastrongone,shethoughtasshetookupher

penoncemore.Iftheinfluxof “soldier-colonists”continued at the samepace for the month ofJanuary as for December,there would be more thantwelvehundredmenunderWalker by the end of it. Ifhe had taken Nicaraguawith only fifty-eight men,he should be ready toconquertherestofCentralAmerica with that forcebehindhim.Shelookedup

tocommunicatethehumorof that observation to thecolonel, but his face wasclosed,uncompromising.

The night drew in. Themoon rose, a pale, cool-looking disk, above theroofsofthetown.Thesatindressing gown grewoverwarm and Eleanorapushed the sleeves aboveher elbows and eased theheavy shawl collar awayfrom her neck, sweeping

the weight of her hair toone side. The action drewthe colonel’s attention.With her head bent, shewas aware of his gaze onthe moist skin of hertemples, moving lower towhere the dressing gownclosed in a deep vee.Tossing his pen down, heleaned back, stretching,then with a shake of hishead, he reached for itagain. The pen skittered

acrossthetableandrolledover the edge, falling witha clatter to the floor. Hegrabbed for it, missed,then dived after it. Thethingseemedtoeludehimwith a life of its own. Hewassolonginreturningtoan upright position, thatEleanora moved restively,consciousofherbare legsbeneath the table and theway she had let thedressing gown fall apart

overthemforcoolness.The pen had fallen on

its point, ruining the nib.The colonel threw it downin disgust and beganpicking up the books andpapers,pilingthemoneontopof theotherwitha finedisregard for order. Hestrode from the room withthem in his arms,slamming the door behindhim. Eleanora could hearmoving about in the next

room. After a time shedared to hope that heintended to leave her tosleep alone, and began toreadyherselfforbed.

Her hopes were rudelydeflated when GrantFarrell entered the roomoncemore. Inhisarmshecarried his guns, a pair ofpearl-handled revolvers,his shaving kit, two silver-backed military brushes,three red shirts with the

insignia of his rank on thecollars, an extra pair ofbreeches, and anassortment of other oddsand ends. The toiletriesand guns he dropped onthewashstand,theclotheshe threw into the armoire,slamming the door uponthemand resting his handuponit,watchingherfrownwithsardonicamusement.

His purpose wasobvious. Still Eleanora

could not prevent herselffromasking,“Whatareyoudoing?”

“I am tired of traipsingback and forth. It seemedmore — convenient — tomoveinwithyou.”

“I suppose I should beflattered,”shesaidtartly.

Moving to the bed, helay down, stretching outwith his hands behind hishead, staring up at thedrawnmuslinthatlinedthe

half-tester. “Why?” heasked.

“You prefer to — tohave me at arm’s lengthinstead of keeping me insomecheaplodgingontheothersideofthecity.”

His voice when hespoke was deliberate. “Idon’t know that I preferarm’slength.AndJuanita’slodging,cheapornot,washer own affair. I didn’tprovideit.”

“But you tookadvantageofit,andher?”

He lowered his gaze.“There are some womenwho ask to be takenadvantage of, and somewhoresist.Thosewhoaskusuallywantsomething.”

“Something you don’thave to give?” she asked,her face flaming.“Shouldn’t you be careful?If you showme too muchpartiality I might begin to

cling.”Evenharkeningbackto

their first crossing ofswordsfailedtoangerhim,ortomovehim.“I’llchanceit,”hereplied,histonedry.“Right now I need you tocling to the heel of thisboot.”

Heliftedhisleg,waitingpatiently to see if shewouldhelphimremovehisboots. Eleanora tilted herhead. “Did you forget to

bring your bootjack?Whata shame if you had tosleepinthem.”

“I’ve done it before, Icandoitagain,”herepliedcarelessly. “It was you Iwas thinking of. I’m arestlesssleeper.”

She could not resist. “Iwouldn’t know. I don’tremember you sleeping atalllastnight.”

“That,” he said gently,“wasyourfault.”

“Myfault?”“You shouldn’t tempt

me.Well,isittobewith,orwithout?”

It was a task she hadperformed for Jean-Paulmany times when he hadcomehomesodeepinhiscups he could notmake itupthestairs.Fumingathissuggestion, she moved tothe foot of the bed. Shewas so incensed shehardly realized she was

complyingwithhis requestin a manner that showedacceptance of hispresence. It struck her asshe held the boot in herhand,andsheweighedtheheavy cavalry footwear, aspeculative gleam in hereye.

“Iwouldn’t”hedrawled,divininghertemptation.

After a brief strugglewith herself, she nodded,dropping it, reaching for

the other. “No, it’s notnearlylethalenough.”

He smiled andstretched hugely, raisedhis arms above his head.Lowering them, he begantounbuttonhistunic.

Eleanora set the otherboot on the floor, lining itup beside the first withcare. On the floor, half-hidden beneath the bed,she found a gardenia.Brown,crushed,itwasone

of those which she hadtaken from her hair thenight before. Her fingerscurled around it as shestraightened and turnedblindly away. With herback tohim, shebegan toshred the flower, filling theroom with its decayingfragrance.

His tunic fell to thefloor, followed by hisbreeches. The bed ropescreakedaprotest, thenhe

wasbehindher,hishandson her shoulders, drawingher back against him.Under his fingers the knotofthedressinggown’sbeltslipped away, the edgesfell open. His touch wasfirm, yet gentle, on herwarmflesh.

Her inarticulatemurmurof protest was smotheredby his lips as he easilyquelled her abortiveattempt to free herself,

turning her to face him.The dressing gown fellaway as his arms crossedbehind her back.Shewaspressed to him along theentire length of her body,her breasts flattenedagainst his chest, everysensitiveplaneandhollowcrushed to the mahoganyhardnessofhisframe.

His kiss deepened. Ajoltingquiverranalonghernerves. Her lips softened,

parting beneath his withconfiding sweetness. Thetorn gardenia fell from herfingers unnoticed as sheslid her hands along hisshoulders, clasping thembehind his neck. Thelingering, spiced-winefreshness of bay ruminvaded her senses.Unconsciously she movedcloser. Awarenessreceded. She felt that shewas being consumed,

losing herself in theoverwhelming heat of hisneed.

Abruptly she tensed. Itwould not work, thattenuous plan tomake himdesirehersothathewouldbe bereft when shedisappeared the instantJean-Paulwasreleased.Apitfall she had notperceivedwhilethecolonelwas absent was madeplaintoher.Respondingto

him could be a majormistake.Ifsheloweredthebarrierofherresistanceatall,hemightenterandtakewhat he pleased. He hadthe use of her body. Hemusthavenothingmore.

Stiff, silent, she lay ashe placed her on the bed.She clenched her teeth,straining away as she felthis lips at the base of herthroat, half-expecting thetantalizing slide to the

moundsofherbreastswiththeir nipples contracted inwhat must surely berevulsion.

Suddenly he raised hishead.“Ifthat’sthewayyouwant it,” hesaid,his voicerasping harsh withfrustrated disappointmentinthedarkness.

Graspingherwrists,hewrenched them above herhead, holding both in thegrip of one strong hand.

His mouth forced her lipsopen in a savageexploration that tasted ofblood as he reopened hisold cut. His freehandsearched her body with athoroughness that madehergaspandwritheunderit. He pushed her thighsapart, turning her to him,fitting theirbodies togetherinaninescapablebond.

In a suffocatingupheaval of the senses,

Eleanora endured hisdomination. And when hewasdonewithhisruthlessuse of her, she twistedaway from his slackenedhold and lay on her side,chest bursting as shefought the tears thatgathered like acid behindhereyes.

She might have wonhad he left her alone.Instead,hereachedacrossthe width between them,

andtwininghishandinherhair, drew her inexorablycloser to lie with her backtohimandhisbodycurledabout her. This finalimposition of his willdestroyed her straineddefenses. The silent,difficult tears streamed ashishandsmovedoverher,caressingthesoft,resilientskinofherwaistandbelly.Slowlysherecognizedthatthebrushofhisfingershad

grown more questing, hisbreath on her neckwarmer, quicker. With thesuddenness of shock hercrying ended as sherealized that his cure forhersorrowingself-pitywasgoing to be the same asthecause.

Eleanora awoke to asoundless dawn. No windstirred, themuslin curtainshung limp and straight.The growing light was

clear, heralding anotherfairday,andyettherewasagraythreatintheairthatseemed to stem from thequiet.

Lyingstill, she listened.There was no noise ofpeople on the streets, nocarts or wagons moving.The house, the roomaround her was deathlystill. No one breathedbesideher.

Turning, spreading her

arm over the bed, shefound what she expected.Grant was gone, as washisuniform.Wherehehadlain was cold. All thatremained was theindentation of his head inthepillow.

She sat up. Somethingnagged at the back of hermind, something infinitelydisturbing. She should beable toremember,butshecould not, quite. It was

somethingtoldtoher.Luis—

In that instant ofremembrance, the heavyairofthemorningwastornbytheroaringexplosionofa rifle volley. Immediatelyafterwardcamethewhirofpigeon’s wings in startledflight, then a single shot,dullwithfinality.

The firing squad. Theman who had murderedthe traitor was to die with

the dawn. The bed besideher was empty. It was noaccident. The man whohadheldherinhisarmsinthenightwasalsothemanwhocommanded the firingsquad.

7“They brought the traitor-killeroutfromthesidedoorof theGovernmentHouse,through a double rank ofFalangistas, the escortparty, into theplaza.Eightmen waited at attention,weapons at their sides,onecontainingthesquib.”

“Squib?” Eleanoraquestioned Luis. TheSpaniardperchedupontherailing, his fingers drawinga wandering tune in aminor key from his guitarashedescribed thepublicexecution in the centralplaza only a few hoursearlier.

“The blank, theconscience round,sometimes loaded so thateachmanmay tell himself

hiswas not the fatal shot.A useless device. Therecoil is different. A goodriflemanalwaysknows.”

Eleanora nodded incomprehension. Luiscontinued, his eyes darkandunseeing.

“Attenpacestheescortstopped. The priest cameforward. The old womenbegan to tell their beads.When the holy cross waskissed, the priest stepped

back,theblindfoldwastiedin place. The man wasturnedwithhisbacktotherifles and forced to hisknees in the dust. Thecolonel drew his sword,gave the order to presentarms — aim — fire. Theswordfell.Eightshotsrangoutasone justas the firstrays of the sun struckacrosstheplaza.”

“Anditwasover.”“Not quite. The seven

shotsdidnotkill.Myamigomust needs examine thefallenman,andfindinghimliving still, administer thecoup de grace, a bulletfrom his revolver in theear.”

“Dear God,” Eleanorabreathed.

“It is a terribleresponsibility, butsomeonemustdoit.Still,ifthe colonel is silent thisevening, you will know

whatpreysuponhismind.”“I—can’tbelieveitwill

troublehimovermuch.”Luis looked up, his

gaze keen. “Then you donotknowGrant.”

It was a subjectEleanora had no wish topursue. She let it pass.After a moment ofwatching Luis’s nimblefingers upon the guitarstrings, she observed, “Itseems a groveling way to

die.”“ItistheSpanishway.It

is not intended to be aprouddeath.”

Was there a rebuke inhis grave tone? She didnot think so, and yet, shecouldnotbesure.Hewasnot an easy man tounderstand. His moodschangedsoeasilyfromthegay to the somber, frompassion to remotefriendship. Yesterday he

had left her in what shehad thought to be theanger of disillusion. Todayhe had returned withoutexplanation, disarming thebougainvilleaat theendofthe galería with anincongruously large bowieknife, and herself withmusicandareportofwhatwashappeningbeyondthepalacio.

Looking up, he caughthergazeuponhim,andhis

lipsmoved inaslowsmilethatgaveaglimpseof thewhiteness of his teethagainst his teak-dark skin.“Don’t be sad, pequeña.Todie isnogreat thing, Itis living that requirescourage.”

“That’s easy for you tosay,” she replied, with aliftedbrow.“YouareoneoftheImmortals.”

His smile fading, heinclined his head in

acknowledgment of theshot.

“The name fascinatesme.Grant did not want todiscuss it — and MajorNeville Crawford, when Iasked him on the shipcoming here, treated thewholeideaasajoke.

“Grant has not the gift— as I have — ofexplainingthebeginningofalegendinwhichheplaysan heroic part without

embarrassment,andsohewill say nothing. MajorCrawford makes light ofthe Immortals because hehasnoclaim to the title. Itbegan in Sonora nearlythree years ago with thegeneral’s attempt to takeLower California. MajorCrawford joinedus inNewOrleans just before wesailed for Nicaragua thispastMay.”

“TellmeaboutSonora.”

“That was a madness,an act of chivalry, a noblecrusade. The general wasplain WilliamWalker then,doctor,journalist,butnotasoldier. In thenameof the“manifest destiny” of theUnited States of Americato extend democracy toother lands, he marchedinto Baja California withforty-four men behind himand proclaimed it a freerepublic with himself as

president.” He shook hishead.“Madnessindeed.”

“Hefailed?”“Nobly. When

reinforcement arrived, hemoved to annex Sonora.He wanted to free thepeopleof thecountry fromthe oppressive yoke ofSpain, and make thefrontier settlementsbetween it and the UnitedStates safe fromattackbymarauding bands of

Apache Indians. Thisambitious and idealisticplan had only one flaw.The Mexican governmenthad no wish to give upthese lands rich in goldand silver. Walkerexpected support from theAmerican government forhisaction,andwhenitwasnot forthcoming he wasforcedtoretreat.”

He paused a moment,his eyes narrowing. When

he spoke again his voicewas low. “Have you everbeen to Baja? There isnothing there thatwelcomesman.Intheheatand sand, rocks andcactus, even the snakesand lizards must scrabbletostayalive.FromLaPazwe marched over fivehundred desert miles tothe Colorado River. Thehorses died and wereeaten.Ourshoesworeout

and we marched barefootover the scorching rocksand cactus like needles.The yellow sand grew redwith our blood. We ateprairie dogs andrattlesnakes and gilalizardsand thepulpof theorgancactus.Weevenatebuzzards. Our lipsparched,ourbrainsbaked,and our skins burned andcracked open like meatoozing fat on a spit. The

wounded, the weak, thestupid,and thesqueamishdied first. Fever, moredeadly than any enemy,attacked us when we hadnostrengthtofightit.Evennow the trail from La Pazto the border below TiaJuanacanbetracedbythesun-bleachedbonesof themenweleftbehind.”

His face was so bleak,his voice so softlyportentous that Eleanora

stood unmoving, waitingfor him to go on. Thewords of sympathy thathoveredonthebackofhertongue were useless, sheknew. They remainedunspoken.

Luis’s fingers upon thestrings of the guitar stilledtheir melody. He stareddown at their slenderlength and the signet ringonhissmallest fingeras ifhe had never seen them

before. “There was amountainpass threemilesfrom theCalifornia border.From that heightwe couldsee the flag of the UnitedStates waving above themilitary post north of thedirty little town of TiaJuana. It representedsafety, food, medicine, allthe things we so sorelyneeded.Andthenwewerestopped. The pass was inthepossessionofbandido-

soldiers in the pay ofMexico, and their Indianallies. The man incommand, ColonelMelendrez, sent hisIndians under a flag oftruce with an offer of hiskind permission to leavehiscountry ifwewould laydownourweapons. Itwasabasetrick,ofcourse.Weweretosurrenderourarmssotheycouldmurderusattheirleisure.Wesentback

this reply: If ColonelMelendrez wanted ourguns he would have tocome and get them! Andhe came, oh, yes, hecame,ridinghardandfast.The men who met hischarge ran before him inwhat looked like a panic-strickenretreat,butledhimstraight into our ambush.Our first volley emptied adozen saddles, and thenwe waded into them,

revolversblazing,withhatein our hearts and thedesperation of men whohave counted themselvesdead in the sunsets ofcountless days. Thebandidos and their Indianfriendsfled in terror.Thirtyminutes later we reachedthe American post andsurrendered ourselves tothe officer on duty. Thedate, we discovered, wasMay 8, 1854, General

Walker’s birthday. He wasthirtyyearsold.”

“But you survived —you,andGrant.”

“Yes, and ColonelHenry, and thirty others.We had looked into thegrinning faceof deathandsmiled back.Wewere the“Immortals.” People loveheroes, and even indefeat, that is what wewere to the hero-hungrypress.Withoutthat,without

Sonora, Walker wouldnever have raised themoney for this venture inNicaragua, and withoutGrant and his Apacheblood, death would havewon in the desert. That iswhy your amante sits onUncleBilly’srighthand.”

“His—Apacheblood?”“Butyes,Eleanora.You

areshocked,appalled?Nomatter. This is somethingyou must know if you are

tounderstandGrant.”It would be foolish to

pretend disinterest. Shewould even admit to acertain amount of shock,thoughsherefusedtoownherself appalled. Withstartled clarity sherecognizedtheoriginoftheblue-black straightness ofGrant’s hair, the coppertinge of his skin;recognized, and in thesame instant, accepted

them.Theblueofhiseyeswas unaccounted for,however.

She gave a shake ofher head, frowning. “He isnotfull-blooded.”

“No.Half.”“Youknowhowitcame

about?”“I know,” Luis agreed.

“On long marches mendraw close together, and,sometimes,theytalk.”

A challenging light in

her green eyes, Eleanoraasked, “Do you intend totellmewhatwassaid?”

“I think yes,” he said,hissmileflashing.

“Why?”Heshrugged.“Whocan

say? Not I. Perhaps foryou, perhaps for him,perhapsonlytomeddle.”

“Ortomaketrouble?”“Ortomaketrouble,”he

repeated, his gaze level,though a trace of rich red

lay beneath the surface ofhisskin.

“You have theadvantageofhonesty,”shesaid, smiling to take thestingfromherwords.

“And audacity,” headded, tilting his head tocatch thesoft tunehehadbegun to pluck from theguitar once more. Hebecame absorbed in thesound, his fingers movingwithblindingprecision, the

tempo quickening,hovering on the edge offrenzy.

Watchinghim,Eleanorafelt an odd constriction inher throat. She should bethankful that he took thetimetovisither.Hedidnothave to. Certainly he hadnothingtogainbyit.Itwasungratefulofhertoaccusehim of treachery to Grant.It might be that she, too,wasbeginningtolosefaith

inintegrity.“I’m sorry, Luis,” she

said when the music hadslowedoncemore.

He did notacknowledge the apologyor give any sign he hadheard,butafteramoment,he began to speak.“Grant’s mother was fromVirginia, a lady of angeliccharm, golden hair, andeyes bluer than the sky.Shewasgentle,soft,used

to comfort, even luxury.She met Thomas Farrellwhen he came to buyhorses from her father forthe land he had bought inwhatwas then the sectionof northern Mexico calledTexas. The attraction wasstrong. This horse-buyingtripstretchedintoavisitofa month. The pair weremarried. For a few daysthey were happy. Thenthey quarreled. There had

been a greatmisunderstanding. Farrellhadtakenitforgrantedhisnew wife would return toTexas with him; she hadbeen just as certain hewould stay and help runher father’s holdings. If helovedher, she thought, hewould not ask her toendure such hardships asthis new land promised. Ifshelovedhim,heinsisted,she would be eager to

share his future. Neitherwouldtrytounderstandtheother.Bothwerestubborn.Thomas Farrell was agood man, but hard. Hethreatened to ride away,leaving his bride behind.As is always the way, thebridegavein.Still,ThomasFarrell did not get offwithout payment. HisAmelia complained andfound fault over everybump of the whole weary

journey, waxing tearful atevery opportunity. Texas,whentheyarrived,washotand dusty and windy. Thehousehebuilt forherwaslittle more than a sty forpigs. Her husband left heralone with only a Spanishmaid and a crippledvaquero far too often andfortoolongatime.Hearingthis day after day, it wasnatural for Farrell to leaveher alone more often still,

and for longer.That is thewayofit,no?”

Tiring of standing,Eleanora had settledherself to the floor.Leaning against thedoorjamb, she curled herfeetunderher,drawingtheblue brocade of thedressing gown over herknees. “I suppose,” sheagreed.

Nodding, he went on.“Raiding parties of

Apaches were known toentertheareafromtimetotime. They were a nomadtribe. They thought it theirancient right to plunderwhatever fell in their path.One day, while ThomasFarrell was absent, it wasthe Farrell ranch. Theytook horses, food,blankets, and AmeliaFarrell. A golden-hairedsquaw, a great prize, oneto be savored. The band

moved too slowly. At theend of the fourth day,Farrellandahalf-dozenofhis neighbors caught upwith them. The leader, atall, straight Indian withlongblackhaircalledBlackEagle, offered either toreturn the horses if hecould keep the woman—amagnificentofferfromanApache — or to fight forher in mortal combat.Thomas Farrell shot him

where he stood, then theygunned down the others.Afterthat,theyhadnousefor the white flag theycarried.Theythrewitdownamongthebodies.”

“And what of Grant’smother?” Eleanora askedwhenhefellsilent.

“They took her home.For a week she lay indelirium, rambling, herwords half-crazed, thoughthe name of Black Eagle

wasoftenonher lips.Shegrewbetter finally,butsheneverleftherbed.Shelaythere, pale and silent,growingthinner inthefaceas her belly grew larger.Her husband would notleave her now, but whenshe looked at him therewas nothing in her holloweyes except accusation.Ninemonthslaterherchildwas born. He waschristenedGrantFarrell.”

“The son of theApache,BlackEagle?”

“Withoutdoubt.”“Of what was she

accusing her husband, ofleaving her, or killing theApache?”

“She never said, andthat was his punishment.But,ontheotherhand,shecouldnotbear thesightofher son. When he wasbrought to her, she wentinto hysteria. Grant was

given into the care of aMexican nurse. His firstwordswere in her tongue.Thomas saw that Grantwas fed and clothed, butmostofall,heattended tohis discipline. He wasdetermined to crush anyappearance of wildnessbefore it began. WhenGrantwaseightyearsold,they sent him away to anEasternmilitaryschool,butwith so many people able

to guess at his origins, itwas inevitable that hisstory would catch up withhim.Atsixteenhereturnedto Texas looking much ashedoesnow, tall,straight,with Indian-black hair andhard blue eyes. He hadbeen suspended fromschool for trying to kill aboywhocalledhimahalf-breed. Thomas Farrelldecided the punishmenthad not been severe

enough.Hetookawhiptohim. His mistake wasgetting half-drunk first.Grant jerked the whip outof his hand, flung it in hisface, and rode away. Hismother had grown old, awhite-haired, gray-facedinvalid. She had made nomove to protect him, hadnot even said good-bye.Grant, abandoning her inhis heart as she hadturned from him at his

birth, went to join thepeopleofhisfather.”

“He found them?”Eleanoraasked.

“Theyallowedhimtodoso, when they wanted tobefound.”

“Then?”“Then why didn’t he

stay? He did, for fouryears. Long enough tolearn how to survive in abarren land, long enoughto earn his Indian name,

Warrior of Iron, and takeprideinit,andlongenoughto discover that bloodalone was not enough tomake him an Indian. Toocivilized to be a savage,toosavagetobeacivilian,allthatwaslefttohimwassoldiering, the craft forwhich he was trained. Hewas lucky. Mexicodeclared war. He joinedthe army of the UnitedStates.”

“A curious way to lookatawar,asluckychance,”shecommented.

“Nonetheless, themilitary became hisvocation.”

“No doubt it wasfortunate William Walkercame along then, whenpeacewaswoninMexico.”

“For those of us whoneededawartofight,yes.”

“You — count yourselfamongsuchmen?Why?”

“That is another tale,one that cannot interestyou.”

“Why not?” sheinquired.Butherefusedtobe drawn into it or to turnhis eyes in her direction.“Listen,” he said, andbegan to sing a soft andlilting madrigal, a song oflovewith a hauntingly sadcounterpoint.

When the lastentrancing note had died

away Eleanora was notcertain whether he hadwanted merely to distracther, or to make somemessage known that hewouldnotspeak.

Theshadowof theroofslowly pushed the sunback over the edge of thegalería floor. The blue oftheskyfadedintheheatofnoon; still Luis did notleave. He talked, ramblingentertainingly from one

subject to the next, fromthe problem of the campcook supplied by theNicaraguan Indians whohad peculiar ideas aboutwhat was edible, toWalker’s growingpreoccupation with NiñaMaria and its interferencewithhiscommand.

They fell silent, staring,onlyattherattleofakeyinthedoor.Thepanelswungopen. Grant stepped

through, then stopped, hishead up as if the scent ofdangerwasinhisnostrils.

His uniform wascorrect, his brass buttonsand his boots highlypolished,hisbreecheswellcreased. The line wasruined, however, by thepearl-handled revolverstrapped about his waist.For a moment Eleanoracould not drag her eyesfrom it, thinking of that

final, echoing shot in theplaza, then she lifted hergaze to his gray-tingedface.Hismouthwassetina straight line, and hiseyesweredarkandemptybeneaththejuttingboneofhis brow. The impressionlasted no more than aninstant before the swiftlight of anger lit his face.He shut the door behindhim and sauntered slowlyintotheroom.

Eleanora resisted theimpulsetoscrambletoherfeet. It was unpleasant tohave him towering aboveher,buttherewasnoneedfor panic. She was doingnothingwrong by her ownstandards; she refused tobeboundby thecolonel’s.It would have been morereasonable, of course, ifshe could have managednottofeeljustalittleguilty.

Here again, Luis?”

Grant said with controlledsarcasm. “I didn’t knowyou were so bored. I’llhave to see if the generalcan’t find a little action foryou.”

“That is most kind ofyou, my friend. Still, Icouldn’t let you putyourself to the trouble fornothing. It is not boredomwhich bringsme here, butfascination. Captivemaidens, you know,

alwaysattractrescuers.”“Chivalry, Luis? I

thought you wereforsworn.”

“You doubt my word?But of course you do. Sowould I, in your place. Icould, I suppose, baremybreast for yourexamination,butIgiveyoumy word you will not findthe imprint of this verypretty iron grille upon it.Neitherwillyoufinditupon

Eleanora, though I wouldbemosthappytohelpyoulook—”

Flushing, Eleanorawatched as the two menexchanged a long lookcharged with somethingmore in unansweredquestionsthantheobviousone.Luishadcomeslowlyto his feet, his guitarrestingonendonthefloorbesidehim,hisfingersjusttouchingtheneck.Hisface

was set in proud Castilianlines,but inhiseyes layaruefulacceptance.

Abruptly Grant smiled.Brushing aside his tunic,he fished the key to thelock and chain thatsecured the grille from hiswatch pocket and handeditthroughtoLuis.“Here,letyourself in. SeñoraParedes is a good cook.You may as well eat withus.”

“I accept your graciousinvitation.” Steppingforward,Luis fitted thekeyinplace.

Grantturned,extendinga hard brown hand toEleanora.Thelastvestigesof humor lingered abouthis eyes. His grip waswarm, a firm support thatdrewhereffortlesslytoherfeet and held her closeagainsthisside.

Withtwomentosatisfy,

the señora put her besteffort into the meal.Thoughunimaginative,shewas, asGrant had said, agoodcook.Thedishesshepresented were wellseasoned, the meattender, the sauces thickand rich. Fresh fruit wasthe invariable dessert. Onthis day it was oranges,thegolden-redglobespiledhighinawoodenbowlwitha fruit knife thrust among

them.Takingtheknifeandan

orange, Grant leanedback.“WhenIreachedthepalacio just now I had toidentifymyself to a pair ofguardsatthedoorbeforeIcould get into my ownhouse. Your bodyguards,Luis?”

Luis stared at thewineglass in his hand beforelookingup.“Yours,amigo.”

“Mine?Why?”

“There are those whoare jealousofyou, jealousof the trust the generalgives you, those who findthe authority you holdinconvenient to theirschemes. If an assassincan reach the stairs ofWalker’s apartments, whynotyours?”

“In the past I havealways been judged ableto take care of myselfwithout nursemaiding,”

Grantobservedmildly.“Youwill forgiveme if I

point out that you are nolongeralone?”

“I see,” Grant said. “Inother words, your concernisnotentirelyforme.”

Luis inclined his head.“As you say, you can lookout for yourself; Eleanoraobviouslycannot.”

Studyingtheorangehewaspeeling,Grantdidnotreply at once. Halving the

fruit, he laid a portion onEleanora’s plate, retainingpossession of the knifewith an unsmilingdeliberateness that was,nevertheless, provocative.He held her irritated starewhile he tore his own halfapart,thenglancedatLuis.“All right. Leave them, ifyouarequitesuretheycanbetrusted.”

“They are my men,from my own regiment,”

Luisansweredsharply.“I’msure theyare loyal

to you, but they will beguardingme—andmine.”

When the meal wasover,GrantreturnedtotheGovernmentHouse, takingLuis with him. Eleanorastacked the dishes andpushed them onto thegalería, discovering in theprocess that the grille hadbeen left unlocked. It didnotmatter, of course.She

was not going anywhereaslongasJean-Paul’sfaterested in Grant’s hands,and she certainly had nodesire to parade thegalería, much less thestreet, inaman’sdressinggown.

She napped throughthe heat of the afternoon,waking feeling druggedandheavy,herskinveiledin perspiration, to thetapping of the señora on

the door. She sat up,pushing her damp hair tothe side off her neck.“Yes?”

“A note, señorita, fromColonelFarrell.”

At the scrape of thekey, Eleanora sat up,drawing the dressinggown, which she hadallowed to slip forcoolness, about her. Theolder woman entered,extending a folded square

of paper. While Eleanoraread it she pretendeddisinterest, fastening thedoor key to her chatelainebeforelookingup.

“It’s General Walker.He has planned a privatedinner party and hascommanded thecolonel tobringme.”

“Ihavehadamessagealso. I am to assist you inwhatever way pleasesyou,”theseñorasaid.

“Myclothes?”“They are in the

colonel’s room. I will bringwhichever gown youchoose.”

“You are too kind,”Eleanora said, exactlymatching her formal tone.“Iwouldlikewater,then,towashmyhair.”

“It would be easierunder the pump in thepatio—”

Therewasanoddtone

in Señora Paredes’ voice.Was the suggestion shehad made as helpful as itappeared? It might be anattempt to avoid the laborof climbing the stairs withheavy cans of water, or itmightbeinthenatureofatest. Thewoman could begiving her the opportunitytoventureoutofher roomunder the cloak of thecolonel’spermission. If theprisoner used the

extended freedom toescape, the señora couldnot be blamed entirely,could she? Eleanora hadnot forgotten Juanita’slengthy visit. It might suitthe Nicaraguan girl forEleanora to be gone. Itwas difficult, however, topass up the chance to befree of both her room andGrant’s supervision at thesametime.

Eleanora bathed inside

andsoapedherhair inthetub,but for the rinsingshedescended to the patio.Afterward she sat undertheorangetrees,watchingan iridescent greenhummingbird, letting thefaintbreezethatstirredtheheady fragrance of theirblossoms dry her long,flowingtresses.Shedidnomore than glance towardthe entranceway, evenwhen Señora Paredes

went out into the street tobuy a string of peppersfromavendor,andleftthefront door standing widebehindher.

Between the rose printand the green gown, shechose to wear the greenagain.Itseemedoddtobeconfined once more instays and a crinoline aftertwo days of going withoutthem. With silk stockingsand kid slippers she felt

overdressed, and at thesame time, armored towell-nighinvincibility.

Fromacenterpart shedrew her hair back into alow chignon in the shapeofa figureeight.Then, forno reason she cared toexamine,shetookitdown.Thesecondtime,sheletitfall in deep, loose wavesoneachtemple,thendrewithighandsecuredittothecrown of her head. It

draped down her back insoft, curls that gleamedwith the look of burnishedcopperinthecandlelight.

The señora offered tobring fresh wild gardeniasto dress it with again, butEleanora refused. Theirsmell had become faintlysickening to her. Instead,sheacceptedtheofferofalong length of jade-greenribbonwhichshedividedintwo pieces. One section

she tied about her waist,fastening it to the side sothat the ends streamedfrom a spray of vividmagenta bougainvilleabroken from the woodyvine at the end of thegalería. The other wasreservedforherhairwhereit fell from another clusterof papery bougainvillea totwineamonghercurls.

Halfway through hertoilette she heard Grant

return. A little later theseñoracameandwrestledthe empty tin bathtub outof her room and into theonenextdoor.

Ready, Eleanora sat inone of the straight-backchairs, waiting. A coolbreathof air from the lakefound its way across therooftops and through theunlocked grille. It was sofreshafterthestiflingroomthat she got up and

stepped outside onto thegalería,pursuingit.

Night was creeping inpurple stealthiness amongthe cube-shape houses.Aflight of pigeons circled,then inclined toward thecathedral,where thenotesof the angelus bell weredying away. The paleghostofamoonwasridingthree-quarters’ full. Darkspecks of high-flying batsswooped, their eerie

screeching a lonely soundabove the soft notes ofdistantmusicand laughterfrom a cantina in the nextplaza.

Eleanora breatheddeeply of the flower- anddust-scentedair.Astrangepeace enveloped her.Some of the resentmentwhich lay like a twistedknot in the pit of herstomach began todissolve. She let her

thoughtswandertothetaleLuis had unfolded for her.How beguilingly innocentand easy her life seemedin contrast to that Granthad led. Thinking of hismother,shecouldbegintosee how he had come tohave so little regard forwomen. It was not everywoman who had thestrength and will to bravethedangersofthefrontier,and certainly what had

happened to his mothermusthavebeenaterrifyingexperience,butthatdidnotexcuseheraversiontoherchild or her callousnesstoward him. He was, afterall, of her blood also, andfreeofguilt.

In the roombehind herthe door opened. Sheglanced up to see Grantenter, a linen towel slungabout his neck. His chestwas bare above his

breeches,andhisdarkhairshone wet and tousledfromwashing.

He paused on thethreshold, searching theroomwith his eyes beforestaring fixedly at the opengrille. His face grew rigid,the muscles tight. Heexhaled slowly, andmoving to the bed,reached out to touch thedressing gown Eleanorahad thrown across the

footboard. His fingersclosed upon the brocade,then loosened. A smiletwisting the corner of hismouth, he separated fromthe embroidery of thebrocade a single russethair, the long length ofwhich he curled with careabout the end of hisforefinger.

A frown flicked acrossEleanora’s brow. Then,without conscious thought

she moved, sighing,allowing the wide width ofherskirttoentertherangeof the light floodingacrossthe galería floor. The irongrille squeaked as shepassed through it. Whenshe looked up as sheentered the room, Grantwasstandingwithhisbackto her before thewashstand, searching hiskitforhisrazor.

8“The mind is a powerfulinstrument.Wehaven’tyetbegun to understand itsstrengthsandhowtheyarebroughttobear,andyet, itis true that somemen arecapableofcontrollingotherpeople, that they caninspire them, lead them to

anger or to tears. InEurope I studiedmesmerism,thescienceofanimal magnetismdiscoveredbytheAustrianphysician, Franz Mesmer.He was undoubtedlysomething of a mystic,perhaps even a charlatan,but hewas also aman ofvision. He sought to usewhat he felt to be trueabout the power of themindforgood,andhewas

successful in the field ofmedicine. There aredocumentedcasehistoriesof remarkable cures usingnothing more than thenatural ability of the bodyto heal itself — plusMesmer’s psychic controlof his patient. He madegreatstridesinthereliefofpainwithout—”

“William,ifyouplease?”WilliamWalker,holding

forthwith animation at the

head of the table, pausedin mid-sentence. NiñaMaria’s lips curved into asmiling pout. “Asinteresting as this subjectis to you, I’m sureEleanora finds it asfatiguingasI.”

“Not at all,” Eleanoradisclaimed politely. “Myfather was an admirer ofMesmer also. He usedsome form of hypnotismadvocated by him to

relieve my mother’s birthpainswhenmybrotherandIwereborn.”

“Indeed?” Niña Mariasaid in chill tones, theyellow-green moiré-silk ofher gown shimmering asshe drew in her breath indistaste. The low, squareneck revealed the curvesof her breasts and thehugetopazwhichhungona fine gold chain betweenthem. Earrings of topaz

flashed inherearsandonthebroochmadeofplaitedhair which held herheaddress of yellow-greenegret tips in place.Behindher,atthefootofthetable,stood the bright-eyedIndian girl holding thesame fan of canaryfeathersshehadcarriedatthe reception. She hadslowed in plying it, hereyes shielded by thicklashes, watching as her

mistress reached for oneof the pastel-coloredbonbonspiledincompotesateitherendofthetable.

Eleanora, ignoring thedispleasure of Walker’smistress as she hadlearnedtoignorehergibesandpettishcuriosityduringthe interminable meal, feltsorryforthechildhavingtostand waving the heavyfan for so long a time. Insudden compassion, she

reached forapinkbonbonandhandedtoher.

The girl’s face lit up.She snatched the candyand without pausing forappreciation,poppeditintohermouth.

“Señorita Villars,” theSpanish woman said, “Imust ask you not to feedmy fan girl. She must notbespoiledintobeggingforscrapsfromthetable.”

“She looked tired, and

hungry.”“She will be fed at the

proper time, when she isthroughwithherduties.”

“But she’s only a child!You mean she hasn’teatenatall?”

“You needn’t disturbyoursympathies.SheisanIndian, an animal with aname. They are used tomaking dowithmuch lessthan I give this creature, Iassureyou.”

She spoke with thedisdainofthearistocratforthe lower orders, and yetshe was supposed to bededicated to thedemocratic cause whichespoused the freedom ofthe common people. As aguest,bothinthegeneral’squartersand inNicaragua,Eleanorafeltitwasnotherplacetopointouttheerrorof thewoman’s thinking toher, but her expression

wascensoriousbeforesheturnedbacktothemen.

“You approve of mychoice of Fayssoux ascommander of theGranada, then?” Walkerwassaying.

“He’s a good officer,”Grant agreed. “Arrogant,butthat’snotabadthinginamanwho has to protectthe waters of Nicaraguawith a single schooner-of-war.”

“People can laugh ifthey like at our one-shipnavy, but we’ll see wholaughslast.”

“I don’t like themlaughing,” Niña Mariainterrupted,hervoiceclearand cutting. “What was itthat American newspapercalled you, the DonQuixote of CentralAmerica? This I do notunderstand.”

Walker’smouth twisted

in a smile. “Who can saywhattheymean?Itmaybetheyseemeasan idealisttilting at the windmills ofoppression. The only onewhocantrulyfreeapeopleis the people themselves,or so the conservatives oftheworldinsist.Theydon’tbelieve in the efficacy ofthe helping hand. But IhavebeencountedamongtheliberalssinceItookmystand in theCrescent and

later in the Daily Heraldagainst slavery, and forfree trade, women’ssuffrage, and the right ofdivorce.”

“Most young men areliberals,” Niña Maria saidwith a fond, if superior,smile. “When they growolder they learn the hardlessonsofresponsibility—andexpediency.”

Walker turned his graygazetohismistress.“Such

acoldphilosophy,asmostare when they areformulated to serve apurpose.”

“Really, William,” shebegan, uneasinesscreepingoverherface.

“Yes?” His voice wasgentle, though a clear fireseemed to flare in thedepthsofhiseyes.

As the woman let hereyelids fall, retreating intoasullensilence,he turned

toGrant. “NiñaMaria, yousee, despite the fact thatslavery was abolished in1824 by theConfederatedCongress of CentralAmerica, proposes torevivetheinstitution.”

Grant asked after along moment, “You meanreinstate slavery inNicaragua?”

“Precisely.”“Why?”“Why?” Niña Maria

demanded, flinging herhead up. “We are anagricultural country. Togrow we must exportfoodstuffs, to export wemust utilize the land, andthattakesorganizationandcheaplabor—orslaves.”

“Youwouldruntheriskof alienating both thegovernment of the UnitedStates and our otherpossible ally, GreatBritain,”Granttoldher.

“What guarantee haveyou the Americangovernment will everrecognize us, much lesshelp us?We fête MinisterWheeler and he doesnothing. On the otherhand, theSouthernStateswill surely be in sympathywith us. If they secedeover thisquestion,as theyhavebeenthreatening,wewill most assuredly havetheirsupportaswell.”

“If—” Grant saidsuccinctly.

Niña Maria leanedback, the flush of angerstaining her cheeks. “Verywell. Counsel prudencethen. But strength is whatisneeded,andquickly.Wemust consolidate ourposition before theLegitimistashaveachanceto recover. If we do not,Nicaragua will haveanother change of

government, the sixteenthin less than six years.Eventswillnotmoveinourdirection withoutencouragement. It isnecessarytoact.”

“Notjustforthesakeofacting, not without carefulconsideration.”

The woman made noanswer. A small silencedescended. Walker turnedto Eleanora. “And you,mademoiselle, have you

no opinion to offer on thisweightyproblem?”

“I haven’t been herelong enough to form one.In any case, I somehowdoubt it would influenceyou.”

From the sudden glintin his eyes she thoughtGeneral Walkerappreciated the diplomacyof her answer, though hemadenodirect reply.Witha gesture of one slim,

freckled hand, he said,“Grant is right. A move torevive slavery would bepremature at this time,though I, personally, findthe attitude of the UnitedStates governmenthypocritical, since slaveryis at present still legal inthe District of Columbia.Thereis,however,asNiñaMaria has indicated, anurgent need to fill thetreasury. I have been

studyingtherecordsoftheTransit Line. It appearsthatthecompanyisindebtto the government ofNicaragua for aconsiderable sum due bycontract for the charterwhich allows them totransport passengersacross the country. Theamount agreed upon was$10,000 per year plus tenper cent of the net profitsfor the operation. The

$10,000 was paid for theyears from 1849 to 1852,but despite annual reportspublished in New York ofprofits in excess of twomillion dollars over thisperiod, Nicaragua hasnever received more thanthe base amount, and thishas not been paid for thepastthreeyears.”

“What of the $20,000advanced by Garrison?”Grant asked. “Iwas under

the impression that it waspledged against moniesduethegovernment.”

Walkershookhishead.“Thatwas a personal loanmade to me last fall inorder to help meconsolidate my positionhere. Garrison learnedVanderbiltandhisrelativeswere buying up stock inthe line once more. Hewasafraidthat,shouldIbeousted, the Legitimista

party would favorVanderbilt in any futurenegotiations over thecharter. It was, you mightsay, in the nature ofinsuranceforGarrisonandMorgan. In any case, theamountwasonlyafractionofwhatisowed.”

“It was a bribe,” NiñaMaria said scornfully. “Ifthey are fools enough tooffer their money, theydeserve to have it, and

everything else they own,takenfromthem.”

“Meaning?” Grantasked, his eyes narrowingas he stared at Walkerratherthanthewoman.

The corner of Walker’smouth twitched in amovement that was notquite a smile. “I think youare beginning to see. It ismore than likely thatVanderbilt will be able tohave Morgan removed as

president of the board ofthe Transit Company andhimself reinstated asmanager. Vanderbilt,maybe because he isreluctanttoseealeaderofstrength who cannot beignored or manipulatedemerge in CentralAmerica, is against me. Itis much easier to takeadvantage of a country oranationthatisinastateofconstant chaos. He would

see me shot if he could.For this reason I cannotallow the Transit Line tobecomehistoolagain.”

“What do you proposetodoaboutit?”

“Annul the presentcharter,” Walker saidquietly.

Grant leaned back.“The government hasn’tthe means to run the linealone.”

“But Garrison and

Morgan, rich men in theirown right, do. If they arepushed out of the presentcompanyIbelievetheywilljumpatthechancetoformanewline.TheirfeudwithVanderbilt goes too deeptopassuptheopportunity,in addition to the profitmotive.”

“You propose to usethe nonpayment of pastrevenues as a reason toannul the present charter

and award a new one toGarrisonandMorgan?”

“The reason is entirelyvalid, but yes, that is thegist of it. We will, ofcourse, charge the newline a premium. Wemustn’t forget the emptycoffers.”

“YourealizeitwillmakeVanderbilt your bitterenemy?”Grantwarned.

“He is thatalready.Hisgray eyes hooded,Walker

picked up his water glass.It was a clear indicationthatthedebatewasended.

Since Walker neithersmokednordrankthemendid not linger behind thewomen at the table butmoved with them to thesala for coffee in theContinental fashion. Theeffect was not markedlydifferent even so, for inthat room, heavy withpaneling and red damask,

they withdrew into acorner, leaving the twowomen to makeconversation betweenthemselves. It was noteasy. When complimentshad been exchanged overthedinner,thedecoroftheapartments, and theirrespective toilettes, andthe weather and theclimate thoroughlyexamined, Eleanorasearched her brain for

some further meetingground. In the ensuingquiet she caught a snatchof the men’s topic ofdiscussion andimmediately made use ofit.

“It must have beenfrightening, having yourrooms invaded by theLegitimista. I expect youwerehappytoseethemanbroughttojustice?”

Niña Maria looked at

Eleanora, her gaze sharpand yet unfocused, as ifshe were looking throughher. “Yes, naturally,” shesaid.Insuddenannoyanceshe turned on her fanbearer. Snatching the fanfromthelittlegirl,shesenther to the kitchen. Whenshe had closed the doorbehindher,thewomansatfanning herself with thequickmovementsof eitherirritation or agitation. Then

without a word shesnapped the fan shut andtossedit fromherontothespindle-legged table thatsat beside the damask-coveredsettee.Shestaredfor several seconds atWalker, but when he didnot glance in her directionthe Spanish womansprangupandwalkedtoaPleyel piano with itsyellowed ivory keys.Seatingherself,shebegan

to play a Strauss waltz.Thoughtechnicallycorrect,her touch was heavy,lacking in delicacy offeeling. She was, in fact,cow-handed with nerves.Mulling over this fact,EleanoradidnotseeGrantapproaching until he wasatherside.

“I believe this waltz ismine,” he said, bowing asgracefully as a revolverworn at his belt would

allow.With Walker watching

as fatuously as a fatherfrom the windowembrasure, she could notrefuse.ShegaveGrantherhand, letting him drawherto her feet. The actionreminded her of theafternoonandofthefeelofhis hand upon hers, andshewentintohisarmswithan awkward stiffness,determined to limit her

responsetohistouch.Gently they whirled. At

some time Grant had hadexperttutoringintheartofthe waltz. His steps weresure,thehandatherwaistcorrectly placed, thedistance between themwell judged andcircumspectenoughforthemost straitlaced gatheringof sour-faced chaperones.Without being aware of it,Eleanorarelaxed,following

his lead, growingunmindful of anythingexcept the music and thefirm strength of his arms.Shefelthisgazeuponhercheeks and slowly raisedherdark lashes tomeet it.The expression she sawhidden in the blue depthsof his eyes brought thebloodtoherhead,whereitpulsed with a featheryflutter against hereardrums.Shewascertain

themusichadcome toanendonlywhenthegeneralbegan to walk towardthem,applaudingsoftly.

“Verynice,”hesaid. “Afine show, one I findmostsatisfactory, MademoiselleEleanora. I hadavisit thisafternoon from a MissMazie Brentwood. Sheinsisted that you werebeing held prisoner byGrantinhisquarters.FromwhatIhavejustseen,Iam

moreinclinedtobelieveheis all too willing to beyours.”

Therewasaninstantoftimewhenshemighthaveblurted out herpredicament, might haveenlisted the general’s aid.It was gone before shecouldbringherselftograspit. She had smiled andturned away as at somelight compliment, but shewas left feeling confused

andfoolish,hauntedbythethoughtthatshehadfailedJean-Paul.Itdidnotclarifyher thinking to haveGrantfollow her into the roomtheysharedatthepalacio,throwhis hat downon thetable, and with his handson his hips demand,“Why?”

“Why what?” shefenced. She was tired. Itdid not take much to turnher pretense of a sleepy

yawnintoarealone.“Whydidn’tyouexplain

toUncleBilly?”“It — it would have

beenuseless.”“Maybe, maybe not.

You couldn’t know unlessyoutried.”

Eleanorastaredathim.“Did you want me to tellhim?”

“Uncle Billy is notunreasonable; I wouldhave had the chance to

presentmyside.That isn’tthepoint.”

“You mean — youwouldn’t have had to facedisciplinaryaction?”

“I doubt it. It would bemuch toodisruptiveat thistime, even if I deserved it.Are you trying to say thethought weighed with youenoughtoholdyousilent?”

“Ihavenowishtohaveaman’sdeathor dishonoronmyhands.”

His eyes narrowed. Hedrew a deep breath, thenletitoutslowly.“IthoughtIunderstood you, but Idon’t.”

“That isn’t surprising,”she replied, her voicemuffled as she bent herhead to disentangle theflowers and ribbon at herwaist.“Anyway,Idon’tseethat it’snecessary foryourpurpose.”

“Andjustwhatisthat?”

Attheangerinhistoneshe looked up. His browswere drawn together in afrown thatwasnotentirelydirected at her. Hisquestionvibratedintheair,but the answer was soobvious Eleanora saw noneed to put it intocomfortless words, even ifshe could have foundthem.

The bougainvilleaunder her fingers

shattered,cascadingtothefloor. Turning away, sheplucked at the knot oncemore, and as it yielded,jerked the ribbon free andtossedittothewashstand.It hung on the edge, thenslithered to the floor like agreensnake.

“Is it because of yourbrother? Uncle Billy couldhave ordered him freed ifhe thought it the bestcourse.”

“I — suspected hemight,” Eleanora said.“Still, I never supposedthat you put Jean-Paul inthe guardhouse simply tosuityourconvenience.”

“No?” he asked indisbelief.

“No. You said he hadbeen drinking, and Ibelievedyou.AsmuchasIwould like to see himreleased, it is right thatheshould pay the price for

breakingtherules.”“Generousofyou.”“Onlyjust,”shesaid.“Butunexpected,allthe

same.”“Fair play is not

restrictedtomen.”“Apparently not,” he

answered in such athoughtful tone sheglanced at him in themirror before her. “Tellme,”hecontinued,“doyouplan to even your own

scores, or do you prefercoalsoffire?”

Eleanora drew in herbreath. “Must it be one ortheother?”

“Inmyexperience,yes.You see,” he said with agrim smile, “I have reasontoabsolveyouofenjoyingmycompany.”

Shewouldlikedtohavethrownhisconclusionbackinhisteeth,butshewasbyno means certain he was

mistaken. “It would bewrong,” she replied, “towarnyou,eitherway.”

Itwasgalling,afterthattrading of hostilities, tohavetostandandletGranthelp her out of her gownand petticoats. She mighthave managed the row ofminute buttons down herback, but Señora Paredeshad tied the laces of herstays into hard knots thatdefeated her most

determined efforts. Grant,for once, did not takeadvantageof thesituation.He left her alone to finishundressing while hedisrobed in a broodingsilence.

Removing her lastpetticoat, Eleanora slidquickly beneath thecovers.Grantblewout thecandle and lay downbeside her, leaving acareful distance between

them.For a long time

Eleanora lay rigid, staringwide-eyed into thedarkness.Thetensionthatstretched taut over themconvinced Eleanora thatGrantwasnotasleep.Still,he made no move towardher. She was glad, ofcourse, but she did notpretend to understand it.Shecouldnotimaginethathis strange reaction toher

reluctance to expose theirrelationship to the generalwould prevent him fromtakingherifhesodesired.No, certainly not.Hemustnot want her then — notthat itmattered. Itwasnotvery flattering, that hisinterest had waned in soshortatime,butshewouldnot let it affect her. Withthisvow,sheturnedonhersidewith her back to him.He appeared not to notice

the movement.Indifference was a gametwocouldplay.Closinghereyes,shebreatheddeeply,then settled into an even,regularrhythm. In timethefeigned sleep slidunrecognized into reality.Grant did not move, nordid he give any sign heknewshewasthere.

Such an unnaturalestrangement could notendure between a man

and a woman living inclose quarters. On themorning of the fourth dayGrant sat over hisbreakfast coffee, watchingwithout seeming toas shestood in the early-morningsunlight pouring throughthe grille, trying to bringsome kind of order to herwayward hair withoutresorting to the despisedbraids. The sleeves of thedressing gown fell away,

revealing the softroundness of her arms,their transparent ivoryskintintedpinkwiththewarmthof her coursing blood.Herneck curved as sheworked with the heavyhair, and her movementscaused the too-largeneckline to gape with aninnocent, unknowingenticement.As if impelled,he set down his cup andgottohisfeet.

Eleanoralookedaroundin startled inquiry as heneared her. She flinchedslightly as he reached outand picked up a strand ofher hair, letting it driftslowly from his fingers,watching the iridescentslide of sunlight along theindividual hairs like ultra-fine copper wires. Hereyes darkened to emeraldas his fingers touched thesilken softness of her

cheek, then slid, lingering,to the tender curve of hermouth. There was abouthim the fresh smell ofshaving soap and thearoma of warm linen andcottoncloth.Therichtasteof coffee was on his lips,and then as she wasdrawn close against him,awareness grew dim,washed away by the swiftrace of the blood throughherveins.

They were still in bedwhen an orderly was sentto inquire after him hourslater.

Laughter bubbling inher throat, Eleanorawatched Grant’s hurriedeffortstofindenoughofhisuniform to make himselfpresentablewhilereceivingthe man. When he hadgonethesmilehoveredforthelengthoftimeittookforher to stretch, smothering

a yawn. Slowly, itdisappeared. The roomgrewquietandhollowwithemptiness.With an abruptmovement, Eleanora flungher forearm up over hereyes. Tearless she lay,feeling the monotonousrise and fall of herbreathing, refusing toremember, refusing tohope, hiding from herself.Itwasa futileexercise,asfutile as denying her

unaccountable attractionforColonelGrantFarrell.

9

The new year cameand went. The days ran,moltenwithheat,intoeachother.Therewasapassivesameness about them, adeadlydullness,thatmadean event, by comparison,of Grant’s twice-dailyreturn. At least, that was

the way Eleanora tried toexplain her anticipation ofhishomecomingtoherself.

It was unbelievable toher how quickly theysettledintoaroutine.Theymight have been themoststolid of wedded couples,eating together, bathing,sleeping, poring over hispaperwork together. Hefound forherasewingkit,andshespentanumberofhours during the day

tightening the buttons onhis shirts, mending a fewtears and parted seams.Once, in an idle hour, shecarefullysewedthefrontofthe dressing gown shewore together, using blindstitching, with herselfinside it. She had no realthoughtofthwartingGrant;sheonlywantedtoseetheexpression on his facewhen he found himselfbalked, and see what he

would do. It was comical.Shelaybitingherlowerlip,her eyes shining withbarely suppressedmerriment—untilhedrewout a pocket knife andflickeditopen.Therushofpanic was momentary,though it did make itharder to restrain thesomewhat hazardouslaughter that shookher aswith owl-solemnconcentration he leaned

over her, cutting each tinystitchfrombottomtotop.

The only other relieffrommonotony was Luis’svisits. They continued asbefore, though at irregularintervals.Hewasprone tomaking her small gifts,flowers, delicacies of fruitand candy from themarket, soap scentedwithattar of roses, a smallbasket of nuts gleanedfromheavenknowswhere,

aFrenchnovelfallingapartwithdampandmildewandold age, but still readable.His most impressive gifts,however,wereablouseofunbleached cotton with adrawstring neck and wide,puffedsleeves,andaskirtof several widths ofgathers in Democráticored. Itwas thecostumeofthe peasant women, cool,practical, and morewelcome than the finest

silk gown, primarilybecause Grant made noobjectiontoherwearing it.Why, she could not quitedecide, unless he felt itwas unlikely she wouldwish toappear inpublic insuch an ensemble. If so,hemisjudgedher.Afterthecostume she had beenwearing, she feltmarvelously well dressedintheskirtandblouse;shewouldhavethoughtlittleof

movingaboutthestreetsinthem.Inanyevent,shedidnot get the chance.Grant,despite her gradualacceptance of herconfinement, alwayslocked the door behindhim.

The morning of thefourth of January dawnedcloudyandmercifullycool.Grantroseearly,removingthewarmweightofhisarmfrom across her waist,

leaving the bed with anabrupt roll.Heslipped intohis breeches and went tostand, staringout over therooftops. His fingertipswhere they gripped thefacing were colorless, buttherewasadeterminedsettohisshoulders.

Eleanorastirredandsatup.Sensitivetothesound,Grant spoke over hisshoulder.“Yourbrotherwillbe released this morning.

Hewillhavetoreturntohisbarracks, but he will befree this evening, if youwanttoseehim.”

“Yes. Certainly,” sheanswered.

Itwasamomentbeforehe spoke again, then hisvoicewashard. “Whatwillyoudonow?”

Was this her dismissalthen? Her mind wascuriouslyblank.Afrownofpain flickeredbetweenher

brows tobe replacedbyasavingangerasheswungtofaceher.

“I asked what you aregoing to do, where youintendtogo?”

“I’m not sure. Maziementioned California.MaybeI’llgowithher.”

“The ticket to NewOrleansisstillavailable.”

“That’s very kind ofyou,” she said steadily,“but I feel a craving for

independencenow.”“Independence isn’t an

easy thing for a womanwithoutmoney.”

“I will manage, nodoubt. You needn’t let meweigh on yourconscience.”

“Don’tthinkyouwill,”hesaid too definitely. “Youbroughtwhathappenedonyourself.”

“Did I indeed?”Shesatup straighter, unaware of

the soft, alluring gleam ofher unclothed body in thedimroom.

“Your clothes, yourcompany, led me tobelieve you were notinexperienced.”

“Icouldnothelpthat—not that it matters. Youdon’t have to makeexcusestome!”

“I’m not makingexcuses,”hesaid,loweringhis voice as she raised

hers.“No,ofcoursenot,and

you’re not blaming me forthe pass your arroganceand conceit have broughtustoeither,Isuppose?”

Hestaredathera longmoment before lookingaway.“Allright,”heagreedwearily. “The fault ismine.What more do you want?Apologies?”

“No — no,” she said,unable to take her gaze

from thegray shadow thatlay beneath the bronzesurface of his skin. “Wecan agree, if youwill, thatwewerebothatfault.”

“Eleanora—” Hestepped to the end of thebed, bracing his arms onthefootboard.

Shewaited,hernervescoiled as tightly as acarriagespring.Thetimbreof his voice sounded lowand strained to her ears.

He seemed, for the firsttime in her knowledge ofhim,vulnerable.

The impression was afleeting one. As a knocksounded on the door, hestraightened, the mask ofhardness descending overhisface.

“Yes?”hesnapped.“Pardon, Señor

Colonel.” The quaveringtones belonged to SeñoraParedes. “I thought I —

that is — I heard voices.Aslongasyouareawake,I thought you might bereadyforbreakfast.”

Had the woman beenlistening? She could nothave chosen a moreinopportune moment tointerrupt. Grant appearedto find nothing unusual init. Without looking atEleanora he replied,“Breakfast for the señoritaonly.Justcoffeeforme—

onthepatio.”“Si,SeñorColonel,”the

woman said, and herfootsteps faded along theinsidegalería.

His movements swiftand economical, Grantdressed without botheringto shave.Strappingonhisrevolver, he took up hiscampaign hat and stoodturning it in his hand aninstantbeforeplacing itonhis head. He crossed to

the door and pulled itopen. Face shaded by hishat brim, he looked back.His eyes rested on thesoftness of her mouth,then fell to the smoothcurve of her neck and thegentle fullness of herbreasts veiled by thegossamer curtains of herhair, moving slightly withherbreathing.Amuscle inhisjawcorded,thenwithadecisive step he passed

through the door and shutitfirmlybehindhim.

Eleanora strained,listening for the sound ofthe key in the lock. It didnotcome.

Standing before thehouse pointed out to herasbelongingtotheEnglishactor John Barclay,Eleanora frowned. It wasan odd structure, wide,high, and almostfeatureless. It was not at

all impossible that it hadserved as a barn at onetime, for the front boasteda pass door set into aheavy panel large enoughto admit a carriage.Plastered clay color, it didnot,despitetheinformationshehadbeengivenat theHotel Alhambra, bear anyresemblance to an abodewhich she thought MazieBrentwood might consideroccupying. Nevertheless,

sheshiftedthebundleshecarried onto her hip andraised her hand to thewrought-ironknocker.

“Eleanora!”Maziecried,swinging the pass doorwide. “What a surprise.Come in this minute. Ihavebeensoworried,youcan’timagine.”

“How are you, Mazie?”Eleanoraasked,smiling.

“Never better, but wecan’t talk out here. Come

in,do.”“I don’t want to

impose,”Eleanorasaid.“Nonsense,” Mazie

declared, nearly draggingheroverthethreshold,hereyes, sharp for all theirguileless hazel color,taking in the bundlewhichrepresented Eleanora’stotal possessions. “Onemore won’t matter a whit.John will be glad to haveyou. Tell me, how do you

likeourplace?”Therewasnoentrance

hall,nororderlyplacementofrooms,onlyavast,openareasupportedby square,woodencolumnswithasetof utilitarian stairs leadingup on one side to anunpartitionedloft.Afloorofpolished wood had beenlaidover thebeatenearth,and the loft had beencurtained off into cubicles,but there the

improvements towhathadmostcertainlyoncebeenastable, if not a barn,ended.

“It’s — nice,” Eleanorasaid, thebackofhernosestingingfromthefreshlimesmell of the whitewashusedonthewalls.

Mazie gave her richlaugh. “Yes — well, it’snice for a makeshifttheater, I must say. Johnand I are living here now,

along with the rest of thetroupe,whilewegetitfixedup. But it won’t bepermanent.”

“The troupe? A troupeofactors?”

“That’s right — comefrom England by way ofBoston,St.Louis,andSanFrancisco to bringentertainment and cultureto the masses ofNicaragua and the boredsoldieryofWilliamWalker.

Ifyouarewonderingatthequiet, they are out nowscouring the countrysidefor props for our openingproduction. They are agrand lot, you’ll enjoymeetingthem.”

“IknowIwill,”Eleanorareplied, “but tell me howyou came to bemixed upwiththem?”

“Iwill,”Maziepromised,leading the way up thestairsand throughasetof

rust-red muslin curtainsinto a comfortable areafurnishedwithanumberoflow,couchlikesettees.Thecouches, covered withfringed India shawls, piledhigh with jewel-coloredcushions in brocade andvelvethungwithcordsandtassels, were obviouslyusedasbeds.A low tableheld a steaming coffeepotand a tray of paper-thinchina cups and saucers.

Dropping down behind it,Mazie went on, “First Iwant to hear how theterrible colonel persuadedyoutolivewithhim.Comenow. Don’t spare myblushes. Tell meeverything.”

Mazie was nothing ifnot understanding. Still, itwas not easy to tell herwhat had taken place. Itwas necessary tobacktrack, to explain in

detail, without becomingtoopersonal,inordertobesureshegraspedtheexactnature of what hadoccurred and the reasonsbehindit.Whyitshouldbeso important that Mazieunderstand the reasonsshe did not consider, nordidshewantto.

“I was right then, youwere a prisoner. I think,under the circumstances,that you must be a most

forgiving woman,” Maziecommented.

“No.” Eleanora’sresponsewasimmediate.

“No? You haven’tforgivenhimthen?”

“It isn’t a question offorgiveness.”

“What then? Revenge?I think that would be myreaction — to have hishide, no matter what thecost.”

Looking beyond her,

Eleanora smiled. “Youwould have no use forcoalsoffirethen?”

“A dangerousbusiness,” the otherwoman answered. “Youcan get badly burnedyourself.”

Eleanora’ssmile faded.“Youweregoingtotellmeabout thisactingbusiness.Have you taken to thestage?”

“Not really. Iwasgiven

my warning, if you willremember? I saw at thereceptionwebothattendedthat Walker was one ofthose men who neverretract an order. Thecountry is small, the partyin power hasmore controlof the people, and littleconcept of laws as weknow them. I was afraid Imight find myself kickingmy heels in theguardhouse too if I didn’t

findanicheformyselffast.I’ve never fancied workingthe cribs — too far downthe ladder for comfort —and I’m too lazy to start acat house — brothel toyou,honey—onmyown.My only coursewas someform of respectablealliance.Settingupwithanactor was as close as Icaredtocometothat.Therest of the troupe, thistheater, came with John

Barclay.”“Youdon’tfeelanything

forhim?”“Did you feel anything

for the colonel?” shereturned,thenasEleanoraloweredherlasheswithoutreplying, she said, “Yousee? There are somequestionsit isbetternottoask. The answer is toodistressing,eitherway.”

“If you think I’m in lovewithGrantFarrell—”

“DidIsaythat?Tohatea man is more upsettingthan loving him, if youmust live with himregardless.” With perfectnonchalance she passedon to another subject. “Ihaven’taskedaboutJean-Paul. How is he? I wasnever more shocked thanwhenIheardhewasintheguardhouse.Hemusthavebeen arrested not longafter he left me at the

hotel.”“He will be released

today.”“Asyouwere. Iwonder

if such a coincidence willescape General Walker’snotice?”

“Ihopeso.”Mazie looked at her

oddly, but made nocomment. “You left amessage telling yourbrother where you wouldbe, Isuppose?No?Never

mind.We’llsendoneoftheboys with a note to thebarracks after a while.Therearethreeboysinthetroupe — young men,really. One of them issemi-betrothed to one ofthethreegirls.Wenumbereight in all, counting Johnandmyself.”

She prattled on abouttheir arrangement ofduties, the play, TheSchool for Scandal, they

were to present in twoweeks’ time, and the roleseachwouldplay.Eleanora,involved with her ownthoughts, was glad to bespared the necessity ofanswering too often. AssheconsideredJean-Paul,his hot temper, andMazie’s ability to piecetogether the facts of thecase, fear like a numbingpoison began a slowinvasion of hermind.With

plentyoftimetothinkand,she was sure, plenty ofpeople to keep himinformed of what washappening to his sister,Jean-Paul might alsoexercise his mind bysearchingoutthefacts.

Withchilled fingerssheset her cup and saucerupon the table. The halfinchofcoldcoffeeslosheddangerously and the cuprockedbeforesettling.

“Are you all right?”Mazieasked.“Whatisit?”

“Nothing,” Eleanoraanswered, producing avaliant smile. “It may benothing.”

Thedayworeonwithasullen andmurky light likethe effect of smokepassing before the sun.The troupe returned, aboisterous crowd,affectionate amongthemselves, casual; they

accepted Eleanora in herpeasant blouse and skirtaseasilyastheyexpectedher toaccept them.Of thethreemen,onewaselderlywith a mane of white hairand a habit of sprinklinghis conversation withShakespearian allusions,one was a hulking giantwithfewmentalpowersbutgreatgoodnature,andthelast was a young Adonisonly too obviously smitten

by the youngest andfreshest of the femalemembers, a blonde andsweetly perfect ingénue.Theothertwowomenwereattractiveinahardfashion,though theircynicalsmilesseemed to hint at moreexperiencethantheycouldhave attained on theboardsofastage.Meetingthem, Eleanora wonderedfor an instant if she, too,had that air of bitter

assent. She thought not,on consideration. It was,more than anything else,anattitudeofmind.

John Barclay was asurprise.Hehadnosingleoutstanding feature, anasset, he explained, in anactor. He was of averageheight, with nondescript-colored hair somewherebetweensandyandbrown,a neatly trimmed beardand mustache, and a

personalitythatcamealiveonly when he assumed apart.

Amealwascookedandservedfinally,eventhoughit was more toward themiddle of the afternoonthan at luncheon time.While the others clearedaway the dishes, the twoyoungest troupemembers,the betrothed pair, weresent with themessage forJean-Paul. Scripts were

brokenoutalongwithhalf-made costumes andunfinished scenery. Soonthe place was strewn withpins and snippets ofmaterial, and reeking withthe fumes of linseed oilandturpentine.

Eleanora satindustriously basting aseam on a gown to bewornbyLadyTeazleinthesecond act. While sheworked, she watched with

enjoymentwhileoneoftheactresses declaimed herlines wearing a sheetdraped over a set ofmakeshift panniers. Shehad almost finished thecostume before the youngcouple returned from thebarracks.

“Ah,methinksyouhavebeen dawdling by thewayside, sighing andseeking the remedy,” theShakespeariangibed.

Mazie was less subtle.“Where have you been?”shedemanded.

“Trying to findoutwhatall theexcitement is aboutintheplaza.Weweresureyou’d want to know,” theyoung Adonis said,clearing off a couch bypushing the materials itheldtothefloor.

“Excitement? Whatexcitement? We haven’theardanything.”

“It all started at theGovernment House.Seems Jean-Paul Villars,this gent you sent us tofind, marched into theoffice of Adjutant ColonelFarrell this morning andgave him the glove, so tospeak.”

“He — challengedhim?”Eleanorasaidfaintly.

“That’s the story. Theysay at first the colonelrefused, superior rankand

all that, but this LouisianaCreole made him a longspeech about some stainon the family honor. IguessheconvincedFarrellhe had reason, becauseheagreedtomeethim.”

Mazie reached out andcaught Eleanora’s arm asshe started to her feet.“Waitaminute,honey.”

“I’ve got to see Jean-Paul. I’ve got to stop him.He’llbemurdered.”

The young man shookhis head. “Too late. Theymet this afternoon at fiveo’clock in the gardenbehindthecathedral.”

“You mean — it’sover?”

“Yep.”“Yes, that’s right,” the

ingénueaddedsoftly.“And Jean-Paul?”

Eleanora breathed, goingstill.Mazie’sgriptightened,as if in anticipation of the

worst.“Fit as a fiddle. The

colonel’s the one whocaughtit.Yourbrothershothim just below thecollarbone,MissVillars.It’smy opinion he intended aheart shot, but whenFarrell deloped it shookhim,spoiledhisaim.”

“Deloped, did he?” theShakespearian asked withan air of professionalinterest.

“Shotstraightupat thesky.Gavethepigeonsafit,Icantellyou.”

“Why? Why would hedo that?” Mazie queried,voicing the bewildermentEleanorafelt.

“Two thoughts on that,as far as I could tell. Firstsays he was followingGeneralWalker’sexample.Thegeneralmakesahabitof deloping since he’sagainst the practice of

dueling but refuses to becalled a coward.” Theyoung man cocked acurious glance inEleanora’s direction. “Theother says it was thecolonel’s way of admittinghewasinthewrong.”

“Are you saying hestood there and let mybrother shoot him?”Eleanorawhispered.

“That’saboutit.”Sheshookherhead. “I

can’tbelieveit.”“God’struth,”“Butwhy?”“Who knowswhatmen

take into their heads?”Mazie said, getting brisklyto her feet. “It makes nodifference. The colonel isnolongeryourproblem.”

“No,” Eleanora agreed,“unless — there wasnothing said aboutdisciplinary action againstJean-Paul,wasthere?”

The youngman lookedatthegirlbesidehim,whoshook her head. “Nothingweheard,”hesaid.

“John?” Mazie said,applyingtotheactor.

“So far as I knowthere’s no law againstduelinginNicaragua,justageneralfeelingthatWalkerdisapproves, mainly onpracticalgrounds.Hecan’tbe toospecific.Therewashis famous duel in San

Francisco with a mannamed Hicks, friend of adistrict judge Walker hadrakedoverintheHerald.Itputsmeinmindofthisonewe’ve been talking about.Walker deloped as usual.The proper thing to havedone was follow suit,delope also, but Hicksleveled his pistol and shothiminthearm,justmissedthe bone. That madeWalker mad. He ignored

hiswoundandcalledforasecondshotwithmurderinhis eyes, and he’d havekilled him, too, if theseconds hadn’t intervenedand stopped the fight.”Slanting a glance atEleanora’s blank face, heshook his head. “Butyou’re not interested inthat. Like I said, I don’texpectmuch in thewayofrepercussions. There maybe an inquiry, seeing who

was involved. Still, if theyput everybody in jail whofought in a duel they’dhave half the army in theguardhouse.”

Despite the actor’sattempt to reassure her,Eleanora could not besatisfieduntilshehadseenher brother for herself.That indulgence wasaccorded to her thatevening. It was late, nearten o’clock, when he

presented himself. Theinconvenience was slight.The troupe, after a coupleofhoursofrehearsal,werejust beginning to think oftheirdinner.

Relieffloodingoverher,Eleanora embraced Jean-Paulwherehestooduponthe doorstep. He wasthinner, and pale, exceptfor spots of color high onhischeekbones.Theredofhisuniformdidnotbecome

him. In some manner itemphasized his youthrather than his manliness.He returned her quick,affectionate hug withoutenthusiasm, averting hiseyes from the sight of heruncorseted figure in herinformal peasant’scostume.

“Hello, Eleanora,” hesaidawkwardly,thenstoodstaring past her until shedrewhimintotheroom.

Introductions to theothers were noisy andexuberantlyconfusing.Shecould not entirely blameJean-Paul for the stiffnessof his bow. Heremembered Mazie,naturally, but his greetingwas so brief, soungracious, that his sisterflushed, though more inirritation for his lack ofmanners than inembarrassment.

“Could I—would it bepossible to speak to youprivately?” Jean-Paulasked.

“I’m sure it can bemanaged,” Eleanorareplied with emphasis, “ifmyfriendswillexcuseus.”

Assoonassheledhiminto the curtained cubicleshewas to sharewith theblonde ingénue,Jean-Paulswungonher. “Whathaveyou gotten yourself into

this time? These peoplelooklikegypsies.”

“Keep your voicedown,” Eleanora told himin a fierce undertone.“Theyareactors,andtheyhave been most helpfulandkindtome.”

“Actors? Halfwits,whores, and pimps wouldbemorelikeit.”

“Jean-Paul!” sheexclaimedinvoluntarily.

“Don’t be coy,

Eleanora. After the wayyou have spent the pastten days, you needn’tpretend you aren’t familiarwiththeterms.”

“Ineverthoughttohearyouusethem.”

“And Inever thought tosee you in a situationwhere it would bewarranted. You were alady,Eleanora.”

Eleanora’s face wentsmooth with shock. “I still

am.“Don’t try to cozenme.

You were the colonel’smistress.”

“So I was. And youmust have had someinklingof the reason for it,since you challenged him.Or did you do that, Jean-Paul,notformyhonor,butforyourown?”

“For the family name,”he grated, the light in hiscinnamon brown eyes

burning with a feverishbrightness.

“You will forgive me,but I don’t believe evenUncle Narciso, libertinethat he is, would approveof avenging the familyhonorbycallouslyshootingamanwhohasdeloped.”

“Ididn’t—thatis,Iwasso astounded I couldn’tholdmy fire, and I hadnotimetopullupcompletely.”

“You should not have

issuedacartelwithoutfirstspeakingtome.”

“Why? Every loafer inthe city knows the colonelpicked you up in thestreetsandcarriedyouintohisquarterslikeacommontrull.”

“He had some reasonto believe that was what Iwas,” she said with awearygesture.

“Because of thatwoman in there, that

Mazie.”“I suppose, though she

meantonlythebest.”He stared at her, then

looked away, running onehand over the rough curlsof his hair. “I’m sorry. Ishouldn’t have spoken toyou like that. It’s just that I—Ifeelsuchguilt.Aslongas you are beingforbearing, perhaps youwill forgive me, Eleanora,for bringing you here, to

thisGod-forsakencountry.”Reaching out, she

placedahandonhisarm.“Don’t torture yourself,Jean-Paul. I didn’t have tocome. Some things justhappen;theyareaccidentsofnatureforwhichnoguiltcan, or should, beassigned.”

“Youcan’tignorecauseandeffect.”

“No,nordoIhavetobecrippledbythem.”

“That’snotacomfortingphilosophy. It does awaywithGodasacrutch.”

“And leaves Him formoreimportantthings.”

It was not possible topersuade Jean-Paul tostayforthelatesupper.Hecouldnotbeeasywith thegroup of actors andactresses, and would notpretend otherwise. Hemade no suggestion,however, that Eleanora

leave them. He was toowell aware she had noplacesafertogo.

Marketing,housekeeping, sewing,wereherskills.With theseshebegantotrytopayforher keep in the followingdays. With the amiablegiant, or John Barclay, ather side to carry herbasket and act asprotectiveescort, she tookover the buying of the

food, and eventually, itsregular preparation. Shewas often in the centralplaza then, since therewere few facilities at themade-over theater for thestoring of food. Mornings,andagainintheafternoon,she would stroll past thepalacio. When the largeman was at her side, shewould send him to inquireof the guards still postedbefore the doors how the

colonel fared. Never didshespeakofhimasGrant.It was a polite fiction, thispretense of distantacquaintance,oneinwhichtheyallparticipated.

Bit bybit shewasabletopiece together apictureof what was occurringwithin the palacio,regardlessofhowlittlesheliked it. Grant was not indanger,buthiswoundwasfevered. The field surgeon

with Walker, Dr. Jones,hadremovedtheleadslugand left him in the careofan orderly, a Nicaraguanas broad as he was tall.The man was deathlyafraid of the colonel, andirritatedhimby showing it.Señor Paredes alsoexacerbated his temperwith her fluttering waysand her dependence onthe orders of the surgeon,rather than his personal

wishes.Herefusedtostayin bed, preferring tomoveduringthedaytoachairatthetablewhereheworkedashardashewouldathisdesk at the GovernmentHouse. His visitors withproblems were as many,his hours as long. Thoughhe never complained, heused his left arm nomorethanwasnecessary;intheopinionoftheorderly—asgiven to the guards— he

useditlesseveryday.Some of her

information on Grant’sprogress came from Luis.He was coming from theGovernmentHouseasshecrossed the plaza on hersecond shoppingexcursionforthetroupe.

“Chiquita! How I havemissedseeingyou. Ihavepromised myself eachmorning that today I willcome to visit you. Grant

would not tell me whereyou had gone, but I havemy ways of finding outthese things. I know nowwhere you stay. Still, thisbusiness of Grant hasmeworking like a hundredhorses.IamWalker’srighthand while Grant is notable,andIamtellingyouIamamazedatmyamigo’sstrengthofbodyandwill. Isay to myself a dozentimesalreadythismorning,

I will work myself into thegrave for this man, mygeneral—orelseIwillcuthisthroat!”

He walked with her asfarasthecathedral,whereshe was to take a crossstreetaway from theCalleCelia. There they stoppedbeneath a mass of whitejasmine hanging over apatio wall. The petalslitteredthegroundasthickas snow, as if trying to

cover the refuse lying inthe open gutter beneaththeir feet. Looking upabruptly, Luis said, “I amworried about Grant. Thismedico, Jones, is goodenoughofhis kind,buthehasseenmanywounds inthe last months. If a holedoes not spout blood andshow bone, he feels nochallengetohisskill;itisasmall thing which anyFalangista can heal by

himself, alone. He forgetsthedangersoftheclimate,makesnoallowancesforamanwhowill not lie downand let his body do itswork.”

There was nothingEleanora could do, a factheaccepted,finally,beforehe let her go. Even so,Luis’smisgivingscouldnothelp but affect her. Shestaredlongandhardatthepalacio the next morning

asshemovedslowlypast.Itwasquiet,stillsomnolentin the early-morning sun.That did not allay heranxiety. What if Grantdied? The general mighthave Jean-Paul shot if helost his second-in-command. Walker, ineffect,wasjudge,jury,andexecutioner for Nicaragua.He did very much as hepleased.

The door leading out

onto the galería from thebedroom she and Granthadsharedstoodopen.Asshe watched through herlashes she thought shesaw a flash of movementin the dimness beyond,though the shadowbeneath the overhangingroof was too deep to beeasilypenetrated,andshewould not stare. Headhigh, she moved on; sheevenmanagedasmileand

a comment for JohnBarclay strolling besideher.

They were returningacross the sun-burnedearth of the market placeonthefarsideoftheplazawhen they saw Grant’sorderly running toward theGovernment House. Hisround face ashen, hecalledouttotheguardsashe neared them, “Hola!Sendatonce—pronto!—

for the médico. ColonelFarrell has fell himselfdown — and he will notwakeup!”

Hismessagegiven,theman spun around andpanted back toward thepalacio. Eleanora pickedup her skirts withoutthinking and hurried afterhim. From a distance shecouldsee theblackshapeof Señora Paredescrouched on the galería.

She hovered over Grant,trying to shade his headfrom the hot sun creepinginward over the floortowardthewall.

The guards passedEleanorawithout question.JohnBarclaywasdetainedthelengthoftimeittookforhertoturnbackandvouchforhim.Thatdone,thetwoof them followed theorderlyup thestairs to theroom she had left in such

furioushastesoshort,andyetsolong,atimebefore.

The orderly, realizinghe had been followedinside, looked disturbed,but his relief at being nolonger alone with theresponsibility for thecolonel’s lifeovercamehisscruples.Thefourofthem,with a sheet for amakeshift litter, managedto get Grant back insideand on the bed. He lay

unmoving, the blueshadow of his beardmakinghimlookgauntandunkempt.

Bending, the orderlyremoved his boots.Fightingagainstawaveofsickness mingled with thesalt ache of unshed tears,Eleanorareachedtoadjusthis arm, which seemed tobe lying too high upon hischest in its sling. Themovement dislodged the

triangle of black cotton,exposing the bulkybandaging beneath hisshirt. Then, as she tracedtheoutlineof thebandagewith her eyes, the red ofhis shirt over the shoulderbegantodarken.

John Barclay drew inhis breath. “He’s bleeding.His fall must havereopenedhiswound.”

10Dr. Jones was brisk andefficient, a man nearingmiddle age with center-parted, pomaded, grayhair, steel-framedspectacles, andwearing along surgeon’s coat ofwhite cotton shadowed insplotches by ancient,

irremovable blood-stains.He cut the bandage awayfrom the still-unconsciousman, viewing thesuppuratingwoundwith itsswollen proud flesh withdetachment. At theunmistakable stench ofputrescence, he did frownslightly,wavingforwardtheorderlyholdingthebottleofdilutedcarbolicacid.

Eleanorawincedasshewatched his thorough

cleaning of the mangledhole.Inherconcernfortheneglected state of Grant’sinjury,thewellingbloodnolonger affected her. Herfingers tingled with theneed to take thepad fromthe surgeon and finish thetaskwithmorecare.

The reek of carboliccleansed the air, and thenthe doctor began tobandagethewoundagain.At a barked order, the

orderly, panting still fromhis search for the doctor,leaped to lift and turn theinertman, and to hold thethick padof cloth over thewound while it was boundinplace.

As the flat knot wastied, the surgeon steppedback.“NowIwanttoknowhow Colonel Farrell cametofallwhilehewasinyourcare?” he said to theperspiringNicaraguan.

“I do not know, sir. Hecomplained of a fever. Ibrought the cool water tobathe him with as I wasshown, but he would notlet me. He said to take itaway.Hewasnothimself,Icouldtellbyhiseyes,butwhatelsecouldIdo?Heisthe colonel. I took it. Iheard him cry out, as tosomeoneinthestreet,andwhenIenteredtheroom,Isawhimonthefloor.Ishe

in extremity, sir? Will hedie?”

“Not that bad,” thesurgeon said. “He’s got alump the size of a gooseeggonhishead.Withthat,and being as weak as heis,itmaybeawhilebeforehecomesaround.Youcancount yourself lucky hedidn’t take a fall over therailing in his state. If youcan’t take care of yourpatient you’ll have to go

backtothefieldhospital.”“I will do better, Señor

Médico, sir, I promise.Butyoumusttellthecoloneltoallowmetotendhim.”

“It’s your job topersuadehim.”

“I know, sir, but whopersuadestheIronWarriorto do what is against hiswill, even if it is best forhim?” The man shrugged,ahopelessgesture.

Eleanora raised her

eyes from the hollowsbeneath Grant’s highcheekbones.“Icouldtry.”

The doctor swung onherasifseeingherforthefirst time. “And who areyou?”

“I— I am the colonel’smistress,”shesaid.

“I see,” he told her,nodding his head withnarrowed eyes. “Thewoman who caused allthis?”

Eleanora did not reply.The surgeon studied herproudchin,thefirmmouth,and steady gaze of hergreen eyes. Abruptly henodded. “All right. He’syoursifyouwanthim.Theorderlywill come in handyfor the heavy work, but ifyou’d rather not have himaroundjustsayso.”

“I’m sure I will needhim.”

“Good.ThenIwillleave

Colonel Farrell in yourhands. God knows youhave to be better thanPedrohere.”

His instructions werebrief and concise. Thesegiven,hedidnotlinger,butpickeduphis leathercaseand strode out the door,his white coat flappingabouthisknees.

John Barclay touchedEleanora’s shoulder.“You’re sure you want to

dothis?”“Ihaveto,”shereplied.

“Butyouneedn’tstay.Thetroupe will want theirbreakfast.”

“Yes,”heagreedwitharuefulglanceatthebaskethehadsetdownoutoftheway in thecornernear thedoor.“Ihatetoleaveyou.”

“I’llbefine.It’snotasifIwerealone.”

“No, but I have toanswer to Mazie, you

know,” he said, his mouthcurving beneath hismustache with gentlehumor. “She will probablybe around to talk you outofthis.”

“You can tell her shewon’t succeed,” shewarned.

“With Mazie, I don’tthink that will make anydifference. She’s a lot likeyou that way; she has totry.”Puttinga finger under

her chin, John Barclayleaned tobrushhercheekwith a kiss. Turning, hepicked up the wovenbasket and let himself outoftheroom.

The click of the doorlatch was loud in thesilence. Eleanora took adeepbreath,givingherselfa mental shake. Theorderly was watching herwith patient eyes. Shesmiled at him. “I think,

Pedro, that firstwewill trybathing him with that coolwateragain”

Though it lowered hisfever, the spongebathdidnot revive Grant, nor didshaving him, though it didmakehim lookmorealive.When smelling salts heldbeneath his nose had noeffect, Eleanoraabandoned the effort.Sending the orderly fromthe room, she drew a

straightchairtothesideofthebedandsatdown.Shewas still there whenSeñora Paredes broughthernoonmeal toheronatray.

The woman set herburden upon the tablebefore she looked directlyat Eleanora, and then herglance was veiled.Claspingherhandsinfrontof her, she said, “I madethe colonel some broth,

good broth with thestrengthofbeef.”

“I will see he eats it ifhe regainsconsciousness.”

“Ishebad?”“The doctor doesn’t

seem to think so, but hisidea of bad may bedifferentfromours.”

“ThatPedroisfillinghisbellyinmykitchen.Doyouneedhim?”

“Notjustnow.”

“Iwillnot lethim leave.Ifyouwillstepoutsideandcall from the galería I willsendhimtoyou.”

“Thank you,” Eleanorasaidinsomesurprise.

Thewoman leftwithoutanswering.

As the afternoon woreon Grant’s fever began toclimbagain.Bynightfallhewas growing restless,plucking at the sheet andpressing his hand to his

shoulder. Loosening thebandage seemed to helpfor a while, but he wassoon turning his head onthe pillow and pushing atthesheetsasiffightingtherestraints, like trailingropes, that held him tounconsciousness.

Beyond bathing himagain, there was little thatcould be done. Eleanoracould only sit, watchinghim, thinking. What had

shedone?Itwasstupidtocome back here, a foolishsentimentality to indulge insimply because shesuspected that Grant hadbeencallingafterherwhenhe fell. Perhaps it wasmore of a wish than asuspicion? Ridiculous. Orwas it? She had nothesitated when a chancearose to return.Was duty,then, only an excuse?Certainly not. She felt a

very real obligation. Grantwouldbeunharmedexceptfor her. Anyone could bemoved to compassion bythe sight of a strong manreduced to suchhelplessness. Justbecause shewas affectedtothepointoftearsdidnotmean she loved him, didit? It would be differentwhen he was himselfagain, awake, rational, onhisfeet.Hewouldhaveno

need of her then. Shewould like to be gonebeforethattimecame.

On four separateoccasions a courier fromthe Government Housecametothedooraskingtoseeherpatient.Each timeEleanora told him thecolonel could not bedisturbed.The fourth time,when the knocking rousedGrant from what hadappeared to be the

beginningofnaturalsleep,Eleanora lost her temper.“Inform General Walkerthat Colonel Farrell isunconscious, that he isunable to answerquestions or preparereports, or to be useful tohim inanycapacity,and ifhe ever expects him toreturn todutyhewoulddowelltoleavehimalone!”

“And who am Isupposed to say the

message is from?” thesoldier had asked,grinning.

“Eleanora Villars, hismistress!”

Once again she hadproclaimed it. When theman had gone and shehad resumed her postbeside the bed, Eleanorasatwithherhandoverhermouth,staringattheharshface of the man who laythere.Withinherchesther

heart beat with the painfulheaviness of a leadenweight. Slowly, then withgrowingviolence,herheadthrobbed in time with itsbeat. For someone of herupbringing, the desire toownherselfthemistressofany man came perilouslyclose to love. When thatman had taken her byforce, kept her prisoner,and, tiringof her, sent herfrom him, and she still

could not deny him, mustthat love not be a provenfact?

Grant stirred.Reachingout,shesmoothedhisdarkhair back, laying her coolhand across his burningforehead. He mutteredsomething under hisbreath,awhisperofsound.Eleanora leaned to catchit, but, lying quiet, a longshapeunder thesheet,hedidnotspeakagain.When

she moved her hand,however, he grew restlessonce more, and so shestayed with her armoutstretched until themuscles of her backbecame hard with crampandtheorderlyenteredthedarkened room bearing alighted candle to relieveher while she ate hereveningmeal.

The night passed withaching slowness. Hourly

Grantgrewworse.Tossingin delirium, he seemed tobe reliving themarch fromSonora. The thought ofwater preyed upon hismind,but thoughEleanoraand the orderly moistenedhis lips and allowed dropsto trickle down his throattime after time, he wasnever satisfied.At first hertouchservedtosoothehismovements, but towarddawn that failed and he

had to be restrained fromleavingthebedandreelingacross the room. Thebandages they hadloosened earlier hadtightenedoncemoreashisshoulder swelled. Redstreaks ran down his armand in radiating linesacrosshischest.

Drawing the nightshirtback to look at them,Eleanora bit her lip.Somethinghadtobedone,

and quickly, or he woulddie. Despite Luis’s words,or perhaps because ofthem, she placed littleconfidence in Dr. Jones’sreadiness to recognize thenecessity.Hisattitudewasmuch toocasual to inspirefaith Her father had notbeen casual. A slow andmeticulous attention to hiswork had been hishallmark — that, and afanatical addiction to

cleanliness.As memory shifted

inside her brain, Eleanoralooked up at the orderlylollinghalf-asleepinachairby the open windows.“Pedro,” she called, “putsomewaterontoboil.Findthe colonel’s razor anddropitinthepot,thenaddsalt, a double handful.When the water starts toroll,bringitalluphere.”

“Señorita, I — I could

not touch the colonel, ifthat is what you arethinkingof.”

“Idon’tintendforyoutodoit.”

“Then you — but,señorita, you have not theskill.Youwillkillhim.”

“IpromiseyouIwillnot,but if I should, I alsopromiseIwillexplaintoDr.Jones,andeventoWilliamWalker, himself, if needbe.”

He would have liked,shethought,torunstraighttoDr. Jones.Eleanoradidnot try to prevent him, afact that seemed to causehimworry.Hewas caughtsquarely on the horns,afraid to stay and assisther,afraidto leaveandbeaccused of deserting hispatient again. In spite ofherreassurances,only thethreat of making her ownpreparationsandattending

Grant alone caused theorderly to cease hisobjectionsandobeyher.

With the scissors thathad been a part of thesewingkitGranthadfoundfor her, she cut thebandage away. Theragged hole gaped morepurpleandyellowthantheday before, and just assmelly, despite thesurgeon’sswabbing.Usingthe blade of her scissors,

Eleanora picked up acompress of cream-colored linenanddipped itinto the steaming saltwater. She pressed itagainst thesideof thepotto remove some of theexcess water, held it amoment to cool slightly,then laid the steamingclothuponthewound.

Grant’sarm twitched,ashudder ran over hisframe, but he lay still.

Slowly the orderly relaxedhis hold on his other arm.Again and again sherepeated the operation,each time discarding thelinen as her father hadshown her. The processwas his. In his travels,including his tour of thegreat hospitals of Europeasayoungman,herfatherhad noticed that woundshealed faster with fewerproblems on board ships.

Sea air was noted for thepromotion of good health,regardless of thegeographical location oftheseaport.Theonefactorincommonwassalt.Brinewas used for thepreservation of meat. Itmust, then, have someproperty that helped toprevent decay. Why notapplytheprincipletolivingflesh,hereasoned.Boilingthe water helped to

dissolve the salt and toremove the tracesof soapfrom the razor. Her fatherhad maintained that ithelpedinotherwaysinthehealing process, thoughhis theory was laughed atbyhiscolleagues,sincehecould not explain how itworked.

The moribund flesh atthe mouth of the woundturned white under hertreatment. Clenching her

teeth, Eleanora put downher scissors and took upthe razor. With her lefthand she stretched theskin of his shoulder taut,and carefully lowered theblade. Suddenly Grantmoved, his right handcoming up to fasten withparalyzing force about herwrist.

Hehadbeeninsensibleso long Eleanora hadcome to think of him as

immune to pain, uncaringof what was done to him.Now she stared into hiseyes, bright blue andheavywith fever, inakindofnumbdisbelief.Hisgazemoved from the razor inher hand, traveling up herarmtoherfaceabovehim.A frown of intenseconcentrationpuckeredtheskin under his eyes. Byslow degrees his grip lostitsstrength,grewslack,fell

away. His face smoothed.Hiseyelidsfluttereddown.

Eleanora stood still,watchingtheredmarksonherwristfade.Therazorinherhandtrembledwiththejerking of her nerves. Hadhe lost consciousnessagain?Hadhe,inthatbriefmoment,beentryingtotellhernottotouchhim?

Her doubts wereansweredashespoke,hisvoice a soft rustle in the

strained quiet. “What areyouwaitingfor?”

An instant longer shestood, weighing the razorin her hand. Then, with asilent prayer, she blankedout what had happened,concentrating on the jobbeforeher,decidinghowitmust look when she wasdone. With quick, surestrokes she trimmed awaythe whitened, nervelessskin, clearing the opening

with asmuch precision asshe had ever used oneyelet-lace cut-work. Thatdone, she laid the razoraside and placed herfingersfirmlyoneithersideof the wound, exerting agentle, but steadilyincreasing pressure.Bloodstained pus welled,butinitwassomethingshehad more than half-expected to see, tatteredbitsofredcloth.Itwastiny

piecesofGrant’sredshirt,driven into the wound byher brother’s bullet. Thelargersectionsthesurgeonhad removed, no doubt,but these smaller bits hadbeen so nearly invisible inthe fresh, bleeding woundtheycouldnotbefound.

“Pedro,” Eleanora said,noddingatthelinensquarelaid ready. Carefully, hewiped the accumulatedmatteraway.Twice, three,

fourtimestheyflushedthebullethole,continuinguntilEleanora was satisfiednothing remained insidethatshouldnotbethere.Afinalapplicationofcarbolic,the dressing, and theywere done. Grant waspale, with a white lineabout his mouth, but hispulse was firm and even.Withtheorderlyholdinghishead up, he was able todrink a little water colored

with a few drops of thetincture of opium she hadfound inasmallvial inhismedicalkit.

Waving Pedro out withthesoiledclothandthepotof water, in a silent orderthat would not disturbGrant, Eleanora picked upthe carbolic and the razorandstartedtomoveaway.Shehadtakenonlyastepor two when she realizedshe was caught. She

stopped, glancing down.Grant’s left hand, lying ontheedgeofthebedwhereshe had leaned over him,had become entwined inher skirts. She was heldfast.

Her fingers turningnumb on the things sheheld, she stood barelybreathing. This gesturehurt her as nothing hadever done. The acheburgeoned within her,

pushingpastherdefenses,liquefying them, assaultingher heart with the flow ofacid tears. She did notmove until the opium hadtakeneffectandhisfingersgrewlaxwithsleep.

It was late afternoon,the breeze from the lakewasbeginningtoblowcoolacross the water and theblue shadows, when Dr.Jones visited the palaciooncemore. He stopped in

thedoorway,hiseyebrowsarching above the rims ofhis spectacles. “What isthis?” he growled withoutheat, his gaze going fromEleanora, sitting on theedge of the bed with abowl of the señora’s beefbrothinherhand,toGrant,propped high upon amoundofpillows.

It was Luis whoanswered from his perchon the table. “It is a

demonstration of rawcourage. My amigo is asout of temper as arattlesnake with two tails,bothsore,andEleanora isattempting to feed him. Itwould be dangerousindeed, except he is tooweak to do more thanshakehisrattles.”

“I can well believe it,”the surgeon said,advancing to the bed.“Evening, Colonel, I didn’t

expect to see you so fit.You restore my faith inmiracles.”

Grant looked at him,then at the merrimentdancing in Luis’s browneyes. “‘Evening,” he saidwith a marked lack ofgrace.

“Youwillhavetoforgivethecolonel,”Luissaidonalaugh. “We were justdiscussing the angelicnature of Eleanora’s

healing power, but sinceshe spent the morningcutting on Grant, he is innomoodtoappreciateit.”

“Cutting?” the surgeondemanded. “Let’s have alookatthis.”

Eleanoraspokequickly.“I would prefer that hefinishes this broth beforeheisdisturbed.It’sthefirstthing he has eaten in twodays.”

Dr. Jones stopped, his

bristlinggazeclashingwiththe clear, green reason inEleanora’s eyes. He gaveanabruptnod,andlookingaround, found a chair forhimself and sat down towait.

“A remarkable job ofdebridement,” he said alittle later as he fastenedthe bandaging back intoplace.Hehadnottroubledto completely removeEleanora’shandiworkafter

one swift glance at thewound.

In answer to theexpectant tone in thesurgeon’s voice, Eleanoratoldhimofherfather.

“I’ll repeat what I saidyesterday. Colonel Farrellis a lucky man. I shouldhave done what you didyesterday morning, but Ihadtwoamputationsandabroken leg waiting on meatthehospital.Then,there

wasa report of a skirmishontheCostaRicanborder.The casualties got in latelastnight,eightmen inall,fiveofthembad.”

“I thought we were atpeace,” Eleanoraexclaimed.

“We are,” Dr. Jonesrepliedwith irony, “but thepatrolsalongbothborders,HonduranaswellasCostaRican, can’t resist takingpotshots at each other.

Now and then a patrol isdiscovered across the lineand all hell breaks out.That’s when we get ourwounded.Godknowswhatthe casualties would belike if there was anothermajor battle.Do you knowthese so-called Immortalsaveraged sixtywounds forthe fifty-six of them in thislast little set-to? Theresults ofWalker’s tactics,the charge with revolvers

blazing, that he’s so fondof. Brave and romantic,and in its place, effective—butitcanbedangerouswhen the enemy doesn’tget too rattled to shootstraight.”

“You dare to criticizethe military genius of ourgeneral?” Luis asked inmockferocity.

Dr. Jones shrugged. “Ican’tquarrelwithsuccess,butI’dbebettersatisfiedif

he had more care for hismen.”

“It isn’t that he doesn’tcare,”Grant said, enteringthe conversation. “It’s justthat he rates some thingshigherthanhumanlife.”

“Idealists are fine intheir place,” the surgeongranted.“Theirplaceisjustnot in a position wherethey control the lives ofhumanbeings.”

“I think you must be

something of an idealistyourself,Dr.Jones,oryouwould not be here inNicaragua,”Eleanorasaid.

“What I am is a damnfool,”heanswered.

Whenthesurgeontookhis leave, Eleanora sawhim to thedoor, and then,obedient to his signal,walkedwith him along thegalería to the head of thestairs.

“Keeping the colonel

quiet is the right thing,certainly it’s more than Iever managed. Fluids, heneeds those. Solid, foodwhenheasks for it,whichwill be soon, if I’m anyjudge.” Hewent on in thisvein, though Eleanorathought his mind was notonwhathewassaying.Atthe stairs he came to ahalt.

“I meant what I saidabout coming to the

hospital Our orderlies arelike Pedro, recruited fromthenativeshere.Theyarefine, but they’re untrainedfor the most part, andlanguageisstillaproblem.I’m worried about theincrease in casualtieslately. I see a trend, abuild-up in the resistanceto Walker and theDemocráticos, and in thefighting. I’m not sure it’saccidentalanymore,these

border clashes— not thatWalker listens to me. Hewants thepeace to lastsohe can entrench himselfhere. He won’t listen toanything he doesn’t wantto hear. Never mind that.Thepointis,I’dbegratefulforyourhelpifyoucanseeyour way to giving it.Yours, and any otherwoman who can speakEnglish.Anybodycanpointout the hospital to you.

Justaskforme.”Eleanoracouldpromise

to do no more than thinkabout it. Dr. Jones had tobe satisfied with that.Watchinghimclumpdownthestairsafteralastroundof compliments, she didnot think he would let itend there, however. Theidea had its appeal, butshe had other duties toattend to first. Dismissingthedoctor andhis request

in an instant, she turnedbacktowardthesickroom.

Grant’s improvementwassteady.Hesleptmuchof the time at first. Whenhe was awake his moodvariedfromtemperamentalto a docility that wasinfinitely more distressing.Hewould lie,watchingherevery movement until shegrew clumsy withembarrassment.Sometimes at night she

wouldleaveherbedintheroom next door, his oldroom,andpadthroughthedarknessalongthegaleríato assure herself he wasallright.Sheoftenthought,standing beside his bed,that quiet as she tried tobe,herpresencewakenedhim. She could never becertain; she had no moredesire to call his attentionto her vigil than shethought he had to

acknowledgeit.Luiswastheonlyvisitor

admitted. Gradually theemissaries from theGovernment Housestopped coming, sendingtheirmost urgent requeststhrough the lieutenantcolonel. In time, Eleanoralearned to trust hisjudgment of how much orhow little to ask of Granton a given occasion. TheSpaniard had an innate

courtesy,basedonawell-hidden sensitivity, thatprevented him fromovertiring his friend. Bydegrees the two menmoved theirwork from thebed to the table oncemore.AslongasLuiswaswithGrant,Eleanoracouldrelax, seeing to the smallthings she had neglected,such as keeping up herscanty wardrobe, washingherhair,andmarketingfor

special foods she wantedprepared.

Meeting Mazie in theplaza on one suchshopping excursion, shebrought her back to thehouse for coffee. As theysettled down in the patiowith their cups, Eleanorainquiredafterthetroupe.

“Doing fine,” Mazienodded. “Excited just nowabout the new play. Itopens the day after

tomorrow, you know. IfGrant is well enough thetwo of you will have tocomeandseeitbeforetherunisover.Andifyouseethegeneral, youmight putinagoodwordforus.Therestofthebunchwouldbethrilled if he came, and Idon’t imagine it could hurttheboxoffice,either.

“I’ll try,” Eleanora saidruefully. “I don’t think thegeneralistoopleasedwith

meat themoment,since Idenied him access to hisfavoriteofficer.”

“How you dared I can’timagine. The manfrightensmetodeath.”

“Idoubt Icouldhave inperson, but then, I don’timagine it would havebeen necessary. Thegeneral may be self-centered, but he isn’tunreasonable. If he hadrealized how ill Grant was

hewouldnothavetroubledhimanyway.”

“You sound as if youlikehim.”

“Ido.”“Suchacoldfish?”“How can you say that

of a man whom the menunder him call “UncleBilly”?Amanwhokeepsamistress — and such apretentious shrew of awoman—againsthisownprinciples?”

“Men follow othermen,andmenhavebeenknownto take mistresses, for anumber of other reasonsbesidesawarmnature.”

“I suppose,” Eleanoraagreed, running her fingeraround the rim of hercoffee cup. “But I still likehim. He’s charming andaudacious; he hascharacter and courage.You can’t say as muchaboutmostmen.”

“Dear Eleanora, don’tturn cynical on me at thisstage. Believe me, it’sfatal. Women withoutexpectations attract menthey can expect nothingfrom.”

“Marvelous,” Eleanorateased, “and what do youexpect from JohnBarclay?”

“A ring,” Mazie said,and leaned back, waitingforthereaction.

“You mean —marriage?”

“Whynot?”“No reason — I’m just

surprised. He doesn’tseem the type of man Iwould—youwould—”

“Because he isn’t rich?Money matters only whensomethingelseismissing.”

“Suchas—”“Respect, affection,

commoninterests.”Theyhadbothcarefully

avoided the word love.Eleanora left it unspoken.“You think you will behappy?”

“As happy as I haveany right to expect to be.Whynot?IwillhaveJohn,thetroupeforafamily,anda quasi-respectability. Imayevenhaveacareerasanactress.”

“Here,inNicaragua?”“Or in New Orleans,

San Francisco, Mobile,

Charleston, even Bostonor New York. All that’sneeded is a little push toturn the troupe from acollection of players into asuccessful theatercompany.”

“I’msureyoucando it,ifanybodycan.”

Mazielaughedandtheywere quiet a moment,looking out into the sun-soaked center of the patiowhere a cloud of sulfur-

yellow butterflies movedfrom pot to terra-cotta potof the señora’s flowers.When they rose from themauve blossoms of acreeping plant up and outoftheconfiningwallslikeayellow cloud, Eleanoraspokeagain.

“Ihadtheofferofanewpastimeseveraldaysago.”

“Whatwasthat?”Maziestretched, narrowing hereyes to slits like a large

tigercat.“Hospitalwork.”Theotherwomanfroze.

“Youdidn’taccept?”“I couldn’t, not just

now.”“You realize what it

means?”“It means they need

help, I would imagine,”Eleanora said, nettled byMazie’sportentousair.

“No, my pet. Doctorsonly ask women of a

certain class to work inhospitals. It is assumedthat we, having seen theseamiersideoflife,willnotbeshockedatanythingwemay encounter — and, ofcourse, the sight of nakedmales is presumed to benonovelty.”

“Mymotherworkedwiththesick—”sheprotested.

“Women and children,I’m sure, and with herhusband close to hand.

Whatyouarebeingofferedis dark, dirty rooms full ofsick and maimed men,lousy, bedbug ridden, fly-blown, wallowing in theirownfilth.”

“You have seen theinside of the hospital?”Eleanoraasked,theskinofher scalp tight with horrorat the picture Mazieevoked.“Youhaveseenit,anddidn’ttrytohelp?”

“Help? Have you any

idea of the back-breakinglabor involved? Oneperson couldn’t make adent in it, even if theycould stand the horriblesightsandsmells.”

“That’s not true. Thepaperswere full of tales afew months ago of anEnglishwoman who wentintothemilitaryhospitalsinthe Crimea to nurse thesoldiers. I’ve forgotten hername,butshewasalady,

certainlynotaprostitute.”“Nightingale was her

name, so theatrical, Iremember thinking. The‘Lady with the Lamp.’Touching, but that was inRussia.Thewomanwouldfaint dead away at thesightofamilitary infirmaryinthistropicalclimate.Thewounds have maggots,Eleanora. Arms and legsswell in the heat. Open,running sores, fevers that

rage so high they can killovernight. It is trulyunbelievable.”

“And yet, sickmen aresupposed to live and getwellundersuchconditions.Nowonderthosewhocan,stay away from thehospital.”

“Hospitals are alwayslikethatinwarmplaces.”

“Not my father’s; andsummer in New Orleanshas been likened to

Hades.”“Thatwasfortheupper

class, Iwould imagine, forpatients who could affordthe best — and who hadtheir own servants to waitonthem.”

Eleanora frowned.WhatMaziesaidwastrue,butinsteadofdiscouragingher, it served to increaseher interest. She had notdreamed, despite thewordsDr.Joneshadused

to couch his request, thattheneedwassogreat.

Theircupswereempty.Leaning forward, Eleanorarefilled them, then settledback. “You haven’t seenanything of Jean-Paul,haveyou?”sheaskedwitha casual air that, shewassure, fooled Mazie not atall.

Mazie’s lashes, tippedwith gold dust, fell. “I washopingyouwouldn’task.”

“He — isn’t in troubleagain?”

“Notofficially, forwhichyou can thank yourSpanish friend upstairs.I’ve seen men from theLaredo regiment leadinghim to his lodgings a half-dozentimes.”

“Lodgings?” Eleanorainquired without lookingdirectly at the womanacrossfromher.

“He’s left the barracks

to make way for newrecruits. As long as heperforms his duties itdoesn’t matter where hebunks—orwithwhom.”

“Meaning?”“I thought you couldn’t

know,”Maziesaid,sighing.“Ihatebearingtales.”

“Please don’t feel thatway. I have no othermeans of knowing, ifsomeonedoesn’ttellme.Itwas too much, I suppose,

to expect Jean-Paul tounderstand why I had tocome back here, but Ihaven’t seen him sincethatnightatthetheater.”

The other womannodded. “Your brotherfoundhimselfsomethingofa celebrity after hismeeting with the colonel.Every man in commandmakes enemies, peoplewhoarehappy toseehimhurt, broughtdown.These

people fastened on Jean-Paul,makingoverhimuntilhe’s got to the point he’sproud ofwhat he did. Themost influential of them isa woman, a dark-hairedNicaraguan vixen — whoseems tohateWalker, thecolonel — everybodyexcept Jean-Paul. Hername—”

“—Hername,”Eleanorasaid, speaking with slowand absolute certainty, “is

Juanita.”

11Juanita, the woman whohad aspired to be Grant’smistress, the woman whohad given Eleanora thescratchmarksfinallyfadingfromherwrist, thewomanGrant had dropped fromthe galería: it was notsurprising that she held a

grudge. It was unusual,however, for someone ofher volatile temper to takesuch an indirectmeans ofrevenge. Still, what elsecoulditbe?Thechanceofher pairing with Jean-Paulby coincidence was muchtooslim.

After Mazie had gone,Eleanora made a slowcircuit of thepatio,mullingover the problem. Herconclusion was no

different. Juanita had tohaveareasonforwhatshewasdoing.Thetilesofthepatiowere litteredwith thespentbloomsofanorangetrumpet-shaped flower.She had stooped to pickthem up when she heardthe slamming of a doorabove.Shestraightenedtosee Luis moving quicklyalong the galería. It tookonlyastepor two tomeethimatthefootofthestairs.

“Going so soon?” sheasked, placing her handson the newel. “I thoughtyou would stay forluncheon.”

“Duty waits —impatiently,” he answered,smiling, making as thoughtoslippasther.

“Luis?”“Yes, Eleanora?” He

paused, alert to theseriousnessofhertone.

“Whydidn’t you tellme

aboutJean-Paul?”“I — judged that you

had enough to worry you.WasIwrong?”

A frown between hereyes,sheshookherhead.“I might have donesomething, gone to him,explained.”

“Ittroublesyouthatyouand your brother are farapart in your hearts andminds? This is a naturalthing, a necessary thing.

Youcannotstayforeveraswhenyouwerechildren.”

“No, but I am all hehas.”

“Thishasbeenso,untilnow. Now he has Juanita—ah, Ibegin tosee.Thisiswhatworriesyou?”

“Shewillusehim.”“And he, her. It is the

wayofthings.”Eleanora raised her

lashes. “I don’t need alesson in Worldliness.

There must be somethingwecando.”

Gently he reached outto take her hands in his.“ForgivemeifIfailyou,butthere is nothing. He mustmakehismistakes, justasyou, pequeña, must makeyours.” Lifting her hands,he pressed them to thewarm smoothness of hislips,thenreleasedher.Hissmile held a tinge ofsadness before he

sketchedabowandstrodeeasily away. The silverrowelsofhisspursmadeamusical jangle long afterhe had disappeared fromsight.

Picking up her skirts,Eleanora began to climbthe stairs. Near the top,she glanced up. Grantstoodinthedoorwayofhisroom, one arm braced onthe frame. There was ablack scowl between his

browsthat,againstherwill,sent a shaft ofapprehension through her,until she realized he wasstaringpast her, staringatthe place where she andLuis had been standing.Aninstant’shesitation,andshestartedtomoveagain.Grant shifted his gaze towatch her approach.Letting her slide past him,he turned into the roombehindher.

The table was piledhigh with papers and thevariousbookswhichitwasGrant’s responsibility tokeep. He sat down oncemoretothepaperworkthathad accumulated duringhis absence. The sling ofblackmuslinhunguselessaroundhisneck;heuseditless and less as the dayswentby.Asheleanedoverhis work, his hair, grownlong, fell in a black wing

over his forehead.Eleanora, stooping to pickup a sheaf of papers thathad slid to the floor,removing the emptyglasses from among thepiles, resisted the impulseto reach out and push itback.

The scratching ofGrant’s pen slowed,stopped. He looked up.“Eleanora?”

His voice was soft,

tentative, as if he weretasting the flavor of hername. “Yes,” sheanswered, turningwith theglasses, sticky withlemonade,inherhands.

“Why? Why did youcomeback?”

“You must know,” sheansweredcarefully.

Hethrewthependownand swung around in hischair.“No.Tellme.”

“Ifelt—bound.”

“Inwhatway?”“You were injured

becauseofme.”“I would have thought

thatwouldbea reason forgloating,notpity,”

“Pity?” Eleanora said,her chin lifting. “I’ve neverpitiedyou.”

“No?Then ifyou’renotLadyBountifulonacharitycase,whatthehellareyoudoinghere?”

Eleanora opened her

lipstospeak,butnowordscame. What could sheanswer? Certainly not thetruth.

“Well?”The blazing blue of his

eyes was impossible tosustain. Staring past hisshoulder, she said,“Perhaps for the samereason you stood andallowed my brother to puthisbulletinyou.”

“You won’t mind if I

takeleavetodoubtit?”“Thinkwhatyouplease.

It makes no difference,”she replied, stung by theironyofhistone.

The suspicion of abreeze stirred the muslincurtains that had been letdown over the window tohelp keep out the flies. Itsmelledofthedustandthestreet refuse of theadvancingdryseason,anddid little to alleviate the

heat building in the smallroom.

“You’ll be happy tolearn,” he said, the well-molded lines of his mouthdrawingtaut,“thatIexpectto return to theGovernment Housetomorrow.”

Her eyes widened.“Your shoulder is tootender. You’ll open itagain.”

“Concerned,

Eleanora?’”“Naturally,” she said,

her cheeks flooding withwarmth. “I’m notunfeeling.”

“I wonder,” hemuttered, his gaze slidingoverthesmoothwhiteskinof her shoulders revealedby the low neck of herblouse where herdrawstring had loosened.Following the direction hewas looking, she hastily

tightenedthestring,tyingitinabow.

His movements wereunnaturally stiff as hetransferred his regard tothe hazy view beyond theFrench door. “All thatremains is for me toexpress my gratitude forthe part you played insavingmylife.”

“Itwasnothing.”“Iwon’targuewithyou,

beyondsaying that Ivalue

italittlemorehighly.”“I didn’t mean—” she

began, then stopped,seeingtheshadowofadryhumor at the back of hiseyes. “I meant to say mypartinitwassmall.”

“That isn’t the wayPedro tells it,” he said,dismissingthesubjectwithacasualgesturethatheld,once again, that subtle airof command. “I supposeyouwillnowconsideryour

duty completed?” he wenton.

“I — expect so,”Eleanoraagreedquietly.

He pushed back hischair and moved aroundthe bed to thewashstand.Fromoneofitsdrawershetook out a leather pursesuch as the Spaniardscarried,andturning,helditouttoEleanora.

She made no move totake it. “Are you offering

memoney?”“Iwantyoutohaveit.”“To salve your

conscience?” shedemanded,hergreeneyesglittering in her pale face.“My services require nopayment.Theyhaveneverbeenforsale!”

“Ihaveneverofferedtobuy yours or any otherwoman’s, and I’m notdoing itnow.All right.Callit conscience money, but

take it, so you will neverhavetosellyourself!”

Eleanoradidnotstaytolisten. She whirled, andwith tears blinding hereyes, groped for the doorhandle. Finding it, sheflung the panel wide andran,seeking thesanctuaryoftheroomshehadmadeher own. Locking the doorbehind her, she threwherselfon thebedand laytense, listening.

Unconsciously, sheexpected fury, a violentassault on the door. Thesilence without seemed toflow endlessly, topenetrate the room,crowdinginwhereshelay,restinguponherchestwithagreatweight that, finally,forced the scalding tearsfromhereyes.

Thenightsof sleeplessnursing, the days ofanxious waiting, the

emotional turmoil of thepastweeks,swept inuponher. Exhausted from herboutofweeping,sheslept,her wet, tangled lasheslying still as death uponhercheeks.

She opened throbbingeyes to darkness.Heaviness pressed herinto the softness of thebed. It was difficult tomove.Lying there,comingslowly awake, she knew

she should be hungry, buther throat felt too swollento eat. By degrees, shelevered herself into asittingposition.Thiswouldnot do. She had to gatherher things together, tosend amessage toMazie—no, itwas too late.Shemusthavebeenasleepforhours. Moonlight alreadysilvered the rooftopsbeyond the Frenchwindow. Tomorrow. It

would have to wait untilthen. Perhaps she couldkeep still until morning,until Grant had gone. Sheneed not see him again,nor he, her. It would bebetterthatway.

Standing, lighting acandle, moving about,helpedtoclearhermindofthe bitter dregs of sleep.Splashing water into thebasin to wash her facemade her feel more alert.

On impulse, she removedherclothes,andsettingthebasinonthefloor,steppedinto it, then sluiced herentire body, letting thecool, soap-scented waterrun over her with asensuous pleasure.Refreshed, she brushedher hair, standing nakedbefore the mirror. Whenshe had dried in the air,sheslippedonthebrocadedressing gown and set

about clearing away themessshehadmade.Inthemidst of mopping up thefloor with a towel, shehalted, her attentioncaught by a sound fromthe next room. It was thesqueak of bed ropes asGrant turned in his bed.Had she disturbed him?Shemustbequieter.

For a time she sat onthesideofthebedwithherhands folded in her lap.

The wail of a concertina,themonotonousbarkingofa dog came to her on thenight air. It was no usereturningtobed;shecouldnotsleepnow.Findingherclothes, making a bundleof them, except for thedress she would wear thenextday,consumeda fewmore minutes. Placing itbeside the door, shewentback to the bed to sit andlisten to Grant’s restless

tossing.Washiswoundpaining

him? Perhaps he hadturned feverish again? Itwas foolish to troubleherself so over a grownman,butshehadacquiredthe habit. She could nothelp it,anymore thanshecould prevent herself fromloving him. Of the two,whichwasmorefoolish?

The thudding sound ofsomething falling on the

othersideofthewallmadeher jump An instant latershe sprang up and letherself out the door. Herbare feet made no soundon the galería. Thepositionofthedooranditsknob were so well knownto her she could havefound them without thecapturedglowofmoonlightin thewellof thepatio.Bycontrast, Grant’s roomappeared black-dark, alive

with unseen dangers. Herskin prickled as she stoodinside the door, then shebegan tomove toward thebed.

Her foot touched aglass tumbler trailingwater, no doubt this waswhat had fallen. It rolledwith a deafening clatteracrossthefloor.Still,therewas no sound from thebed.

Thesheetsfeltrumpled

to her touch, and dampwith night air. The pillowwas easily located — thecoarse silk of his hair —hisforehead—

Suddenlyherhandwascaught and tugged. Offbalance, she fell acrossthe bed. An arm oftempered steel lifted her,gatheringhercloseagainstthehardlengthofthemaninthebed.

“Youhadyourchance,”

Grant said, his breathwarm upon her neck, hisvoice husky with desire.“Youshouldhave taken it.You’ll never get anotheronefromme.”

“Grant—” she saidweaklyasshefelthishandcaress her shoulder,brushingasidethe lapelofthe dressing gown. Thebelt gave to his quick tug,leaving her easy prey tohispossessivetouch.

“I’ll never let you goagain,” he whispered,pushing the brocade robefromthebed,lettingitslideto the floor. His mouthdescended on hers,searching for, and finding,the sweetness of willingsurrender. He drew hersoft nakedness to his litheform, holding her close,evercloser,untilherchestachedwith theconstrictionof her breathing and the

muscles of his armstrembled with the need tomakeherapartofhim.Heexploredthecornersofhermouth and the delicatecurves of her ears,breathing deep of thewarm, fresh fragrance ofher hair. His hands,cherishing, sure upon thecurves and hollows of herbody, stirred theslumbering dragon-fire ofyearning in her loins, and

she clung to him with afierce and sacrificialgentleness.Heguidedherbeneath him, a tendershadow, guiding her alsoto the onslaught that filledher with such a shock ofpleasure that she roseagainst him, his name asoft sound on her lips.Wide and far their ardorstretched, encompassinggreat reaches of mindlessspace,black,echoingwith

the pounding of theirhearts, overflowing thenarrow limits of world andtime. Rapture and painintermingled, subsidingslowly. It was severalmoments before Eleanorarecognized thesoftnessofapillowbeneathherhead,or the sensation of Grantbrushing her damp hairaway from her face withhis fingers, releasing thetangled strands from

where they were pulledtaut underneath him, andbehind her shoulders. Heframed her face with hishandsandkissedhersoft,faintly tremulous mouth,then with a sigh, settledback, turning her to him,pressingherheadontohisuninjuredshoulder.

Eleanora lay as heplacedher for a time.Thecombined heat of theirbodies burned along her

hipandthigh.Still,shedidnot move until his chestbegan an even rise andfall.Sheinchedawaythen,a fraction at a time,stoppingonlywhenabodywidth of cool linen sheetlaybetweenthem.

Shewasdepraved.Shemust be, to find joy suchas she had not knownexisted in the physicalunion with a man whooffered her nothing but a

whore’s portion: moneyandpassion.

Besideherhesleptwiththe stillness of contentwhile she lay wakeful. Itwas not a fair exchange,shethoughtwithaseepingresentment. His shouldermust be more nearlyhealed than she hadsuspected to sustain thetreatment it had receivedwithout paining him. Why,then, had he been so

restless? Could she dareto hope it was forwant ofher beside him? But whatdid thatcount for, if itwasnomore than the result ofhis manhood’s need? Hehadtriedtosendherawayfor the sake of honor, butfinding her near him still,hadweakened.Iwillneverlet you go again, he hadsaid.Spokenintheflushofdesire,thewordswerenotbinding,butshemust take

what comfort from themshecould.

A cock crowed in thedistance. The same dogshe had heard earlierbegan to bark again. Hereyesburned,therewasanaching pressure behindthem, but she had notears. They had vanished,leaving her with the brittledrynessofself-scorn.

She awoke to theconfinement of a hard-

muscled thigh across herlegs,thedazzleofsunlightinhereyes,andaraveninghunger.

Breakfast was anomelette seasoned withcayenne, corn cakesdusted with panocha,brownMexicansugar,plushot coffee, and oranges.Grant peeled one of thegolden-red globes for her,andwhenshehadeatenit,leaned across to take a

tart-sweet kiss from herlips.Atthelookinhiseyeswhen he raised his headshe said quickly, “It’sgetting late. They will bewaiting for you at theGovernmentHouse.”

“Yesterday you thoughtit was too soon for me togoback,”hetoldher,risingto stalk her as she gothastily to her feet. “I thinkyou may be right. Wouldyou suggest a few more

daysofbedrest?”“Rest? I doubt you

wouldgetany!”“Isthatathreat?ThenI

know I’m staying, at leastas long as my strengthlasts.”

His smile was lacedwith a free andunrestrained humor. Hislaughing eyes had losttheir hard, feverish gleam.Within her, Eleanora felther heart contract on

seeing the difference itmade to the paganangularity of his features.His profile was notclassically handsome— itwas too strong, evenpredatory — and yet, itstirred her like no other.She would not have himdifferent,evenifshecould.

His advance slowed,came to a halt. “Are youafraidofme,Eleanora?”

She shook her head.

“Ofcoursenot.”“You watch me like a

mousewatchesacat.Youstay as much as possibleoutofreach,exceptwhenItake you by surprise andpush inside yourdefenses.”

“That may be —becauseIdon’tknowwhatyou intend — how youfeel.”

Frowning, he said, “Itold you I want you with

me,always.Whatmoredoyouwant?”

“Nothing you can’t givefreely,”sheanswered,andfoundthatitwastrue.

“But a set of marriagelines would satisfy you,wouldn’t it? You may notgive yourself the airs of abelle or a coquette, butyou’re like all the rest.You’ll use any wile, anytrick to tie a man down.And when he’s shackled

you’llmakehis lifea livinghell.”

“Not all marriages arelike that,” she said, pridestrengthening her voice,“but if that’s the way youfeel I should think youwould make a badhusband.Thenthereisthequestion of security andyour ability to provide acomfortable home—no, Idon’tbelieveyoumeetmyrequirements.”

“Thatsettlesthat,then,”hesaidgrimly.

“Not quite. I would likeyour promise to releaseme if I receive a better,and more honorable,proposal.”Whenhedidnotanswer,shewenton.“Yousee? The knife cuts bothways. If you cannot bebound, neither can I,unlessyouintendtoresorttolockingmeinagain?”

“If you go,” he said at

last, “the choice will beyours.”

It was a magnificentconcession. Without thegoad of anger it mightnever have been made,Eleanora knew. Sheaccepted it with a quickinclination of her headbeforehecouldchangehismind, and chided herselffor wishing for somethingmore.

“Arewequitsnow?”he

inquired,comingcloser.“In a manner of

speaking,”shereplied,herface calmer than she feltinside.

“Then—”Heheldouthishand,a

command backed by apromise in his eyes.Whatelse could she do but gointo his arms? It was, inany case, where shelonged to be, held tight,uncaring of pride or the

future.Pedro was no longer

needed.Dr.Joneswashisimmediate superior, butsincehehadnotput inanappearance for severaldays, there had not beenanopportunity tohave theorderly dismissed. Pedrowasinnohurry.Hisdutieswere light and he had afine appreciation for theseñora’s efforts in thekitchen. The señora,

however, did notappreciatePedro,andshewas not backward inmaking her displeasureknown, once it becameobvious that the coloneldid not require hisservices.Thebestsolutionseemed to be to seek outthe surgeon so that hemight relieve both theorderly and the householdatthesametime.

Accordingly, laterinthe

morning Grant returned toduty,Eleanoraputtogethera basket containing acrock of the señora’sstrengthening beef broth,severaldozensmallcakes,and a number of backcopiesofElNicaraguense,which had been sent toGrant by the general.Commandeering Pedro asher escort, she made herway through the streets totheenfermería.

The building selectedbyDr. Joneswas situatednear the Church ofGuadalupe, a long, lowstructureusedoriginallyasa hospital by the nuns. Itwas built of handmadeadobe bricks which hadthe melted look of ageassociated with thebuildings dating backnearly three hundredyears, to the founding ofthecity. It hadnoglass in

the casements of the longwindows which lined bothsides, using only battenblindstokeepoutthewindand rain. Inside the dimroom, the floor was ofhard-beaten earth, thewallswereplasteredadirtybrown, and the hewedbeams of the ceiling wereexposed. From the beamshung huge water ollassuspended in slingsmadeof coarse traveling ropes.

They lined the aislebetweenthedoublerowofbeds, turning slowly withtheirowndampweightandthe warm air movingthroughtheopenblinds.

Thefreeventilationwasnecessary. Without it thesmell of sickness, hot,unwashedbodies,and thedeath stench ofgangrenouswoundswouldhave been overpowering.Butwiththefreshaircame

blue-bottle flies, bees,moths, and spiders. Thefloor crawled with ants,and each leg of the steelbedframeswassittinginapan of rusty water, full ofwiggle-tails, to keep thered, stinging insects fromthepatients.

“Miss Villars! So youcame,”Dr. Jones said, hisvoice cutting across thesoundofbuzzingflies, lowvoices, and the ceaseless

moaning of the man hehadbeenbendingover.

“Don’t let me take youfrom your patient,” shesaid as he made his wayaround the end of thenarrow bed and cametowardher.

“It doesn’t matter.There’snotmuchIcando,poor lad. He needsmorphia and that’s onethingIcan’tgivehim.”

“Ihavealittleopium—

that is, Colonel Farrelldoes.”

“A drop in the bucket.Unless you have morethan I’ve seen, it wouldn’tprovideanhour’ssleepforhalfthecasesthatneedit.”

“I’m sure youwould bewelcome to it, all thesame.”

“So I imagine, but weare used to doingwithout.Wecouldn’tgetthestuffatallwhenwe first got here,

now they send us a fewvials a month.We save itfor the most desperatecases, those going underthe knife. The rest makedowith rot-gut whiskey—when they can get theirfriendstobringittothem.”

Such an attitude wasrealistic under thecircumstances. Still,Eleanora could not helpbutfeelitwasmorethanalittle callous. She

wondered ifDr.Joneshadever been in the place ofthemenwho rolledon thesingle gray sheet and thinmattress allotted them, ifhe had ever had to guardan open wound againstflies or try to sleep with aman muttering in deliriumbeside him. Perhaps hehad become too familiarwith such sights andsounds for them to excitehiscompassion.

Eleanoraglanceddownatthebasketweightingherarm. “I brought a fewthings,”shesaid,hercolorrising at the pitifulinadequacyofheroffering.

“I’m sure they will bemost welcome.” Dr. Jonestook the basket from her,directing Pedro to carry ittothekitchen.

Watching the orderlydepart, she said, “Pedrohas been a great help. I

don’t know what I wouldhavedonewithouthim.I’msure you have a greaterneed for him here,however,thanwedoatthepalacio since Grant hasreturned to theGovernmentHouse.”

“Hashe?Ididn’tknow,”the surgeon replied,inquiring into theparticulars of the colonel’sconvalescence andlistening closely to the

answers.Astheytalkedhestoodwithonehandthrustintothepocketofhiswhitecoat, the other slapping asheafofpapersagainsthisleg. Thinking the actionmight stem fromimpatience at being keptfrom his duties, Eleanorafinished her report andbegan to make herexcuses.

“Before you go, MissVillars,IhaveacaseIwish

youwouldlookat—ifyoudon’tmind?”

She would not havebeenhumanifshehadnotbeen susceptible to suchflattery.Sheagreed,anditwasherundoing.Shewascajoledfromonepatienttothe next, up one row anddowntheother.Shevisitedthe surgery, a bare roomcontaining a narrow tableandabatteryofoil lamps.Fromtheretheyproceeded

totheisolationwardwherethefevercaseswerekept.Looking at so muchmisery, staring into theeyes of men glazed withpain, and with self-disgustandembarrassmentforthestate in which she foundthem, proved more thanshecouldbear.Beforethemorningwasovershehadorganized the orderlies,and, using a combinationof French,CreoleSpanish

culled from the Catalandray-drivers around theFrench Market in NewOrleans and from Grant,and also a bastardizedEnglish, had driven themto a frenzy of laborheretofore unknown. Shesaw to it that every sloppail under every bed wasemptied and scoured, thatevery sheet was changedand thesoiledonesboiledwith lye, every mattress

beaten and turned, andevery man who couldstand it bathed andshaved.Intheprocesssheused words she did notknow she knew, anddiscovered the full weightof the position she heldwith Walker’s forces inNicaragua. There was notamanintheinfirmarywhodidnotknowwhoandwhatshe was, and yet, therewasnotonewhospoketo

herwithanythinglessthanthe fullest measure ofrespect.Asshemovedupand down the aisle theyfollowed her with theireyes,andshethoughttheytalked of her behind herback, but to her face theywereunfailinglypolite.Andas the smell of lye soapbegantoreplacethesmellofdeath,theywatchedherprogress with somethingakintowonder.

In the afternoonEleanorasentPedrowithanote to Mazie. Bypromising without fail toproduceWilliamWalker attheiropeningperformance,she inveigled her friendinto donating the servicesof the troupe. She did notknowhowshewastokeepherpartofthebargain,butshe could not stand toleave the job before herhalf was done, and she

couldnotseehowitwastobe accomplished withoutmorehelp.

With the exception ofJohnBarclay,whowasoutselling advance tickets,she set theactors toworkwashing down the wallswith a solution of chlorideof lime which she hadfoundstacked inbarrels inthe storage room. Theyalso added lime to thewatertheyusedtoreplace

that in the pans in whichthe bedsteads werestanding. The women shesent to ransack the shopsof the town for thecheapest muslin curtainmaterial they could find.Onlyenoughforonepanelper window could be had.Lacking the time to makethemfancy,ortherodsonwhich to hang them, theysimplytackedthesepanelsover the windows. They

were so light, blowing intothe room withoutdiscouragingtheinsectsatall, that they tacked thesides also. The openweaveofthecheapmuslinlet the air through whilekeepingthefliesout.Afewrounds with a piece ofstiffened leather attachedtoastick,andtheinfernal,nerve-shattering buzzing,the crawling and tickling,stopped.

Theseñora’sbeefbrothprovided the base for anourishing soup for theeveningmeal.Usingeverymeans of persuasion andthe last of her store ofpatience, Eleanoramanaged to prevent thecookfromaddingsomuchpepper it was unpalatablefor the weak stomachs ofsick men. She was still inthe kitchen when sheheardafamiliarvoice.

“Mazie!” the mancalled, obviously speakingto the actress down thelengthof themainward. “Iswore the yahoo who toldme he saw you come inhere was drunk. What inthenameofSatandoyouthinkyou’redoing?”

“Imitating MissNightingale’s exploit in theCrimea.Don’tyoureadthejournals? Nursing hasbecomerespectable.”

The major laughed.“That still leaves you insomething of a quandary,doesn’tit?”

“You can be an ass attimes,Neville,”Mazie saidcaustically. “What do youwant?”

“No offense intended,”Major Neville Crawfordsaid. “Where’s your senseof humor? All right, allright. I just thought I’d seehow you were doing. I

haven’t seenmuch of youlately.”

“I’ve been busy, thetheaterandall.”

“Andgoodworks?”“And good works,”

Mazieagreedgrimly,tothesound of a cloth beingviciously wrung out. Shewaswashingdownthelastof the bed frames and,tired from theunaccustomed labor andtheirritationofkeepingthe

other actresses working,wasinnogoodtemper.

“Whogotyouintothis,”the major asked. “NotJones? He has about asmuch persuasivepersonality as a grizzlybear.”

From the level of theirvoices Eleanora thoughtMajor Crawford hadsauntered down the aisle.Still, therenewedmoaningof a man who had been

quietforseveralhourstoldher he was disturbing thepatient. She steppedthrough the freshly hungcurtaindividingthekitchenfrom the ward. “Ipersuaded her,” she saidcheerfully, “and I’m sure Icanfindajobforyoutoo,ifyouintendtostay.”

Thehintwasnotlostonthe major. His bow ofgreeting was brief, hissmile twisted, as he

answered. “Eleanora. Imight have guessed,considering the barracks-roomgossip IhearofhowyoupulledFarrell from thejaws of death. I’m afraid Imust disappoint you,though. I’m on my way todinner at the GovernmentHouse.”

“You are dining thereoften these days, they tellme,”Maziesaidwiththeliftofathinbrow.

“My charm ofmanner,”he murmureddeprecatingly.

“Take care you don’tget in the general’s badbooks. He is a jealousman, and a dangerousenemy.”

“I assure you myinterestattheGovernmentHouse is strictly of abusinessnature.”

“Yes, but are you sureNiñaMariarealizesit?Her

vanityiscolossal.”“You take care of your

affairsandletmetakecareof mine,” the tall, blondman told her, his smileperfectlypleasant.

Eleanora glanced fromonetotheother.Shecouldsense an undercurrent ofwarning in their tones thatshe did not comprehend.The impression dissipatedas Mazie turned to her.“Did you know it’s getting

dark? John has called afinal dress rehearsal fornineo’clock thisevening. Isent the others off a halfhourago. I’llhave tohurryif I’m to get a bite to eatbefore we start, and I’llwager you’d like to getbackbeforeGrantdoes.”

Eleanora had notrealized it was so late.Whipping off the burlapbagshehadfashionedintoan apron, she went to tell

Dr.Jonesshewasleaving,then joined Mazie andMajor Crawford in thestreet outside. Theywalkedalongquicklyinthegathering dusk. Eleanora,lost in her own thought,paid little attention to theother two until the majorturnedtoher.

“Your brother wasasking just yesterday if Ihadseenyou.”

“Oh?Howwashe?”

“That’s just what hewaswondering about you.Itwouldbeatragedyifyoulet Walker’s little sortiehere in Nicaragua comebetweenthetwoofyou.”

Eleanora smiled. “Idon’t think ourestrangement can beblamed on GeneralWalker.”

“Don’tyou?Maybenot.Nonetheless, Jean-Paulseems to have soured on

our little general. A lot ofpeoplehave.”

Seeing he was waitingforhercomment,Eleanorasaid noncommittally, “Isupposeso.”

Youhaven’t?It’snotasif this were the UnitedStates and we owed ourloyalty to the man chosentoleadus.”

“Rivas is the presidentof Nicaragua,” sheremindedhim.

“Yes, but we all knowwho holds the power,” themajorsaid,shrugging.

That was too true fordenial. “The men whosigned as soldier-coloniststook a loyalty oath,” shesaid.

“That doesn’t makethemNicaraguans.”

“Doesn’tit?I’mnotsureof the legality of thequestion,butIthoughtthatwas certainly the idea, to

own land here, to build anewandricherlife.”

“Central America, thenew frontier? To beannexed to the UnitedStates eventually likeTexasandCalifornia?Isn’tthatthegoaloftheconceptof manifest destiny?Shouldn’t our loyaltybelong still to the countrythat will finally claim thisone?”

“I somehow doubt the

true citizens of Nicaraguawould see it that way,”Eleanora replied, stoppingjust beyond the guardsoutside the door of thepalacio and turning with asmile that included Mazie,waiting quiet, almostpassive,behindhim.

“Oh,well,”Neville said,taking her hand, a glint ofwry amusement in hispale, blue eyes, “fidelity isa fine thing — in a

woman.”

12Grant had not returnedfrom the GovernmentHouse, had not even,according to the señora,appearedatmiddayforthecold collation prepared forhim.Itwasgratifyingnews.Eleanora could not thinkhe would approve of her

action, and it was a relief,in her weariness, to knowshe need not explain it tohim tonight. Despite theheat,sheboiledwaterforascalding hot bath. Shelingeredinthecrampedtintub, soaping again andagain, even washing herhair in aneffort to removethesmellofthehospital.Inthe process she washedaway some of hertiredness. When she was

done and Grant still hadnotcome,shesatdownatthe table with her hairdryinguponhershoulders,and drawing a sheet offoolscap toward her,picked up a pen. It wasnecessary forher to frameher request to the generalfor his presence at theopening night of theSchool for Scandal assoon as possible. Whatcouldshesay?

Frowning, she tappedthe pen on her chin.Phrase it as an invitationand hope he would bemoved to attend? Shedoubted he would beinfluencedtoaccedeifshesimply told him she hadpledged his presence,withouttellinghimwhyshehad done so. A fullexplanationwouldbebest,but it would serve nopurpose to dwell on the

horrorsoftheconditionsatthe hospital. It was nodifferentfromothermilitaryinfirmaries, and was,perhaps, better, since Dr.Jones was not tooimmured in tradition andhis own importance torecognize the need forchange. No, it would notdo to cast a slur upon thesurgeon, even byinference. To speak toGeneral Walker in person

might be the best course,but she placed noconfidence in hiswillingness to see her onthe morrow. To judge bythenumberofhoursGrantwasspendingwithhim,hewas unlikely to appreciatebeing disturbed for such asmall matter. Sighing, shebegantowrite.

Grant advertised hisarrival in themiddleof thenight by splashing noisily

in the cold bathwater shehad left. Eleanora eyedhim with sleepyannoyance. He had thealert look of a man whohad dined well instimulating company andanticipates furtherentertainment beforeretiring. Setting her lips,she pulled the sheet upover her head to shut outthe orange-yellow glow ofthecandle.

Smelling delectably ofattar-of-roses soap, hesoughtherthere,underthesheet. “Oh, Grant,” sheprotested as he rolled hertoward him, but diligentand tender patiencerequired its reward, one itproved impossible not toshare.

Finding Grant goneonce more when sheawoke at dawn, Eleanorasent one of Luis’s guards

to the Government Housewith her message to thegeneral. His reply wasmade in person. Hewalked into the hospitalwith his quick, nervousstride while she washelping the surgeon on amorning round of thepatients who neededattentiontotheirdressings.

Dr. Jones stood longseconds in frozenimmobility before he

movedtogreetWalkerandexpress his not unnaturalsatisfaction that thegeneralhadseenfittopayavisittothemeninjuredinhis cause. Eleanorahesitated to put herselfforward, especially whenshesawthetallformofthecolonel making his waydown the center aislewithahalf-dozen juniorofficersbehind him. As he rakedherwithafrowningglance,

she was made unhappilyaware of his displeasure.Dropping her gaze, shewentonwithwhatshewasdoing.

The surgeon took hiscommanding officer on aslowandexhaustivecircuitof the infirmary. Walker,withthethoroughnessofaman on familiarprofessional ground, pliedthe doctor withinnumerable questions

concerning supplies,procedures, techniques,numbersofpatients, typesof wounds and their sites,and the rate of injuredcertifiedfittoreturntotheirduties. By the time theyweredone,Dr. Joneswasmopping perspiration fromhis brow with a soddenhandkerchief, no longercertainhewantedWalker’sinterestinhisprovince.Hewas still holding his own,

however, as they passedintotheisolationward.

“Yes, I realizewehavefewer mosquitoes herethan near the coast,” Dr.Jones’svoicefloatedback.“But that doesn’t meanthere is a connectionbetween them and yellowfever, General. We alsoare farther away from themiasma of theswamplands, consideredtobe theprimarycauseof

infection by most modern,scientific thought on theproblem—”

Deserting Walker’sentourage, Grant foundEleanora where she wastipping water into a glassfromoneof theollas foraman who had lost onehand and torn the otherapart when his revolverexplodedonafaultyshell.

“Whydidn’t you tellmeyou were coming here,

risking your life?” hedemanded.

“I would have if I hadthoughtitmatteredtoyou,”she said, watching therising level of tricklingwater with exaggeratedcaution.

With easy strength hetookholdofthebigpotteryjarandtippedit.“Ofcourseitdoes.”

“Thank you,” shemurmured, indicating

enough water with anupraised hand. Revertingto his comment, she said,“I’mflattered.”

He was quiet for thelength of time it took forthemtoholdthetumblertotheinjuredman’slips.

“Butyoudon’t intendtostop. You may as welladmitit,IreadyournotetoWalker.”

“No, I don’t,” she saidevenly.

“NotevenifIaskit?”Sheraisedherhead.“If

you really ask fromconcern for my safety, Iwould regret having torefuse you. Still, you haveno right toaskanythingofme.”

As her meaning sankhome his jaw hardenedand his eyes went darker.“And if Imade it anorder,andstood ready toback itup?”

“Say, Colonel, youwouldn’t do that, wouldyou?” theman in the nextbed asked, a beardlessboy with a shock ofcornsilk hair falling overthe bandage wrappedabout his head, and thesoft soundof the southernbackcountryinhisvoice.“IhadthefirstdecentsupperinamonthofSundayslastnight, and this morning Ifeel like a human being

instead of a piece ofbuzzard bait. The goodLordknowsIain’tnosaint,so I reckon this lady hereis about as close as I’mever gonna get to anangel. You go taking heraway,andIguessmeandhalf the rest of the menhere will just have to giveuptheghost.”

Grant’s brows drewtogetherasheallowedhismeasuring gaze to sweep

over the young man andbeyond him to the otherinterested faces turned ontheir white, fluffed pillows.Before he could answerthere came the clatter ofthe general’s partyreturning. Walker’s voice,quietly incisive, cut acrossthestillness.

“A moving tribute,wouldn’t you say, ColonelFarrell? They also servewho repair the ravages of

war.”Therewasnoonethere

who did not recognize theimplication of GeneralWalker’s partisanship.Granthadnorecoursebuttosignifyhisacquiescenceandstepaside.

The familiar twistedsmile curving his mouth,WalkerbowedtoEleanora.“The American Phalanx isin your debt,mademoiselle,howgreatly

onlytimewilltell.I—havetickets to the openingperformance in a theaternewly organized here inGranada.Iwoulddeemitaprivilege if you, andColonel Farrell, of course,would consent to be myguestsfortheevening.”

Eleanoraacceptedwitha dazzling smile and asuitable acknowledgmentof the honor. She did notquitedaretolooktowhere

Grant waited on one side.It was to the highestdegree improbable thathewould wish her to declinethe invitation, but she didnot care to take thechance.

If General Walkerconsidereditapleasuretohaveher as aguest,NiñaMaria did not. This wasmadeplainattheoutsetofthe evening when thewoman barely extended a

civil greeting, then nearlyturned Eleanoracompletely around as shedragged her heavy skirtsoverEleanora’slightweightmuslin, sweeping past heron theway to thecarriagewithout bothering tocompress her enormoushoop. In the vehicle, ashiny black Victoria withsagging springs due totravel over bad roads butelegant gray upholstery,

she insisted that Eleanoraride with her back to thehorses between the twomen,while she sat on theforward seat in solitarygrandeur. In this mannershe arrived at the theaterwithbothher faceandhergown unruffled. It becameevident as the eveningwore on that she bitterlyresented attending theperformanceatanybehestother than her own, but

especially at Eleanora’s.Tositthroughtheplaywiththe Nicaraguan womanbecame an act ofendurance as Niña Mariacomplained in a perfectlyaudible voice of thehardness of her seat, theheat, the shoddy materialof the costumes and thetedium of the intervalsbetweenscenerychanges.Herpoint-by-point criticismof the acting effectively

dampened the enjoymentof all but the mostenthusiastic of thosearound her, while theglances of irritation castherwayleftherunmoved.

In retaliation for theslight to her friends,Eleanora left her sitting inthe carriage quite half anhour while she wentbackstage to congratulateMazie and the rest of thetroupe. This

insubordinationdidnothingto endear her to NiñaMaria, though Eleanorathoughtthegeneralhidthetwinkle inhisgrayeyesashe saw her coming halfguiltilytowardthem.

Herworkatthehospitalcontinued. Grant did notattempt to interfere again.Insofar as it was possible,he ignored it, though sheoftenthoughtthatwhenheheld her close with his

cheek against her templehe was more intent onbeing certain she was notsickeningforsomething,orlosing too much weight,than he was on beingaffectionate. They hadceased to take the noonmeal together, but atdinner he took an addedinterest in what she ate,placing an extra portion ofmeat, or another piece offruit,onherplate.

It was true that sheusually ate standing upwhile away from thepalacio.Thehourswentsoquickly, and she seemedtoaccomplishsolittle.Sheknew a frantic compulsionto make every moment ofeveryhourproductive.

Occasionally Dr. Joneswas called on to attend amaternity case. It was notunusual for the midwife incharge, jealous of her

prerogatives and reluctantto surrender her femalepatienttothecoarsehandsofamanandanAmericanat that, towait until it wastoo late to save themother. In this manner,Eleanora was introducedto the orphanage run bythe sisters of Guadalupe.Through lackof fundsandacertain insular ignorancein the area of hygiene, itwasinlittlebettercondition

than the hospital. Bringingorder to it was moredifficult, however, becauseof the obstruction of themother superior, wholooked on Eleanora’sattempts to help asimpertinentmeddling.Onlythe hard but inescapablefact that the orphanagecouldlookforasubstantialincrease in its numberswithina fewshortmonths,Walker’smenhavingbeen

inNicaragua sinceMay of1855, and in the city ofGranada since October,reconciled her to theinterference.Theresultsofa group of virile fightingmen coming together withthewarm-bloodedladiesofa hot country, andwithoutthetiesofofficialsanction,was inescapable. Thejustice of the Americansproviding for their ownoffspringstruckthemother

superior forcefully whenEleanora pointed it out toher.Afurtherbreachinthereligious’ defenses wasMazie. She showed suchhonest delight in beingallowed to care for thechildren and provide forthem, such an intimateknowledge of their mostbasic needs such ascuddling and loving, thatshe had not the heart todeny the actress. After a

time Eleanora found shecould leave the project inMazie’scapablehands.

One morning as sheenteredthemainwardshewas greeted by a doublerowof grinning faces.Shehad gradually taken theway the men waited eachday for her to put in anappearance in stride, butforthemostparttheyweremore subtle than this.Feeling acutely self-

conscious, she starteddown the aisle, putting onthelong,bibbedapronshehad made herself from asheet, tying it behind herasshewent.

When she reached theboywhohadcalledheranangel—stilltherebecausein addition to concussionthey had discovered ablister on his heel so faradvancedingangrenetheyhad had to amputate his

foot — the mystery wassolved. Holding up a copyof El Nicaraguense, hepointed to the headline, asuspicious sparkle in hiseyes.

Angel of Phalanx —Eleanora read, and in herdisbelief, could go nofarther.

Turningthenewssheetaround,theboyreadaloudthe two columns of closeprint. There were no

interruptions, nodisturbance until his voicetrailed away on the lastlaudatoryparagraph.

It was ridiculous hownear to tears she hadstayed these few days,especially ridiculous nowwhen she had a strongnotiontherewasapoliticalreason behind this tributeto her work with thewounded.Wasit,perhaps,an underhanded way of

pointingupthenumbersofcasualties stemming fromthe border disputes withCosta Rica, a way ofshowing that country’sdisregard of the proposalsfor peace sent out by theRepublicofNicaragua?Ifitbecamenecessarytogotowar with the CentralAmerican republics, itcould be shown that theconflict was none of thegeneral’schoosing.

It was not, consideringEleanora’s history, a longleap from the title theAngelofthePhalanxtotheshorter and more pithynickname the Colonel’sAngel.Giventheidlehoursof the men in the narrowbeds, with nothing to dobut speculate on herrelationshipwiththeofficerwho either came eachevening or sent an escortto walk with her through

the dim streets, it was nodistanceatall.

The single benefitEleanora could say shederived from thenewspaper storyconcerned Jean-Paul. Theday after it appeared hepresented himself at thepalacio.His arrivalwas soprompt upon Grant’sdeparture that she couldonly suppose he hadwaited for him to leave

before coming in. She didnotcomment;shewastoohappy he had come at allto question his manner.Gladnesslightingherface,she rose from where shewas having coffee on thepatioandrantomeethim.

He caught her close,then held her at arm’slength with his campaignhat clamped in his hand.Since she had last seenhim,hehadbeguntogrow

a beard. It gave him araffish look that was notbecoming to her eyes.There were other, lesseasily recognizablechanges.Hishairwasdulland badly in need oftrimming, his eyes weremorerecessedinhisheadand his cheeks morehollow.Theroundnessandhigh color of youth weregone,but thehard linesofmanhood still had not

takentheirplace.“I saw the piece in the

paper,” he said, his browneyesearnest.“AtfirstIwasangry that they had theinsolence to write aboutyou—yourememberhowGrand-mére used to saythat a lady’s nameappeared in print onlythree times in her lifetime— at birth, on hermarriage, and at death? Ireconsidered when I

thought about it longenough. I think our fatherwould have been proud ofyou for trying to help. It’sbetter than sitting andwhiningoverwhatcan’tbehelped.Isaidsomefoolishthings before, Eleanora,because I didn’tunderstand.IhopeyouwillbelievemewhenIsayhowsorryIam.”

“Jean-Paul, there is noneed.”

“I misjudged you,” hewentondoggedly,ignoringthe appeal in her voice. “Ihope I have a betterunderstanding of yourfeelingsnow.”

“Youmean—”“I mean my own

situation isnotsodifferentfromyours.I’vediscoveredit’s not always possible tochoose the right kind ofpersontofallinlovewith.”

“You have come

because—”“Because of Juanita,”

heagreedsimply.He had made it

impossible for her tocondemn the woman hespokeofwithsuchfeeling.Inanycase,itwasnotherplace to approve ordisapprove of his choice.As Luis had said, theywere no longer dependentsolelyoneachother.Theywere twoseparatepeople,

each with the right to findhis own happiness, makehisownmistakes.

“Come,” she said,takinghisarmand leadinghimtowhereshehadbeensitting in the shade of theorangetrees.“Letmepouryou some coffee, and youcan tell me what you’vebeendoing,whathasbeenhappeningtoyou.”

It was not a surprisingrecital. In response to a

certain reserve onEleanora’spart,hedidnotmention Juanita again.Hetold her of his lodgingsnear the barracks of apatrol or two he had beenon, and an anecdote ortwo of army life,misunderstandingsstemming, for the mostpart, from the polyglotnature of the mengathering to Walker’s redstar, and their language

difficulties.Speaking of a

commendation he hadreceived formarksmanship, Jean-Paulsaid suddenly, “I’m glad I—my aimwas offwhen Ishot Colonel Farrell. I —think I know what he —what you both wentthrough.IhopeI’vegaineda littlemore sense, a littlemorematuritysincethen.”

Therewasinhistonea

hint of patronizing thatEleanora could not like.She could not fault hisintention, however. “I’msure Grant would bedelighted to hear it,” shesaid.“Perhapsyouwill liketo come to dinner onenight?”

“I don’t think so,” heanswered,risingtohisfeetand setting down hisemptycup.“Understandingis one thing, facing him

acrossthetableisanother.I expect it will be best if Iremain just anotherenlisted man. But I wouldlike toseeyouwhenever Iget the chance, that is,unlessyouobject—”

“AsifIwould!”shesaidwarmly.

“The situation isawkward, I know that. Iwouldn’t blame you if youdecided the less you sawofme,thebetter.”

Such humility wasuncomfortable,inparticularcoming from Jean-Paul,who had always had suchafierypride.Eleanoraonlyshook her head. Therewere shattered petals oforange blossoms from thetrees above them in hishair. She brushed themaway with fingers thattrembledalittle.

Hissmilegrewstrained.Settlinghishatonhishead

at an angle, he said, “Aurevoir, chéri,” and turning,strodequicklyaway.

It was the first visit ofmany. It became his habitto arrive for morningcoffee. If Eleanora hadfinished already, he wouldcome upstairs and loungein a chair at the table,talking to her while shepinned up her hair andfound her apron.Sometimeshewouldpush

aside Grant’s papers andhave breakfast, since herosetoolatefortheregulararmy mess and Juanita’stalentsdidnot,apparently,include cooking. Moreoftenthannottheinsideofhis mouth was thick withfur from the drink he hadconsumed the nightbefore, and the most hecould face was thetraditional petit noir,literally“smallcupofblack

coffee,” of the aristocraticCreole gentleman.Afterward, he would walkwith Eleanora to thehospital before continuingabouthisduties.

By the end of January,Vanderbilt, as Walker hadpredicted, was electedpresident of the TransitCompany. On the twenty-third of February ElNicaraguense reported theofficial seizure of the

propertyandrecordsoftheline by a decree signed,with undisguised pleasure,by President Rivas fivedaysearlier.Inlessthanaweek President JuanRafaelMoraofCostaRica,fearful of the strengthNicaraguamightgain fromcontrol of the route, andalso thedirectionWalker’sambition might take him ifleft unchecked, declaredwar on the filibuster

government. Rumorsabounded that Moraintended to assumecommandofhisarmy,thenrestingatSanJosé,foraninvasion. Along theborders the clashesreached a new high. Thestream of casualtiesincreased hourly. By theeleventh of March therumors were confirmed,Nicaragua was underattack. President Rivas,

bowing to the inevitable,retaliated with his owndeclarationofwar.

The city buzzed withactivity, with peoplebesieging theGovernmentHouse for news, withmerchants closing theirshops, and much of theGranadan populaceclosing up their housespreparing to take refugewith relatives outside thecapital, which was certain

to be a target for capture.They placed little faith inMora’s protests that hehad nothing against thecitizens of Nicaragua;artillery fire recognized nodifferencebetweencitizensand filibusters. The latter,according to reliablereports,Morahadsworntofinish to the last man. Hewould take no prisoners,all would be killed. Someof the newest recruits, not

yet signed up, discoveredpressing businesselsewhere,now that ithadtocometoatest.Women,especially wives withchildrenwhohadcomeoutin the last few weeks,swelled the list of thosewaiting for the nextoutbound steamer. ThePrometheus had gone themorning of the eleventh,the day Rivas had madetheir involvement in the

war official. There wouldnot be another leaving fortwoweeks.

Thefurorcouldnot lastindefinitely.Inafewdaysitbegan to die away as thecountryside remainedquiet.TheIndiansreturnedtothemarketplace,thoughinsmallnumbers.Cantinasopened their doors, theblack habits of the nunswere seen on the streetsonce more. The angelus

bell from the cathedralrang with a note thatseemed to Eleanora,hurrying homeward withthe escort Grant had sentfor her, to be less doleful,lesssharpwithforeboding.

She entered thebedroom in a rush,meaning to wash herhands and face and tidyherhairbeforeGrantcamehome. She halted inmomentary confusion at

findinghimalreadythere.Straightening from

where he leaned over thebed,heswung to faceherwith a shirt wadded in hishand. Her gaze moved tothe pair of saddlebagslying open on the bed.Withoutmeeting her eyes,Grant turned back to stuffthe shirt inside, stow thewaiting medical kit on topofit,andbegintoclosetheflapsandtiethemdown.

“Whatisit?”sheasked,her voice emerging in awhisper as she came tostand beside him. Shethought thatunconsciouslyshe had been waiting forthis day, this moment,waitingeversinceshehadheard of Costa Rica’smovements that madeconflict between themandWilliamWalkeracertainty.

“We are taking to thefield,aforcednightmarch,

the general’s preferredway of maneuveringtroops. Schlessinger andhismenmetadetachmentof Costa Ricans at SantaRosa.Theywereobviouslyexpected. It was a rout.WhenMora came up withthemain army he orderedall prisoners, even thewoundedleftbehindastoobadlyhurt to travel,beforeadummycourt-martialandsentenced them to be

shot.”“No—”Theprotestwas

soundless as horror tookherbreath.

Grantmadenoanswer.He checked his revolver,and that done, beganloading ammunition into acartridgebelt.

“When do you leave?”shesaidfinally.

“Within the hour, assoonasit’sgooddark.”

“Is thereanything Ican

do?Food—wouldyou—”“There’s no time. You

candoonethingthough—”He stopped, his handsgrowing still on the metalshells.

“What is it?”sheaskedwhenhedidnotgoon.

“If anything shouldhappen — if things gowrong — I want you totakethemoneyIleftinthearmoire and get out ofNicaragua whenever you

can,howeveryoucan.”“Grant—”“I mean it. This isn’t

war, it’s annihilation. IfGranada should fall youwill be a prime target ofButcher Mora’s men as afilibuster’s woman, theAngel of the Phalanx.Whattheywilldotoyou—itdoesn’tbearthinking.”

“You will win, you willcome back. You have to,”she whispered, her face

pale.“ButifIdon’t—”The deep blue of his

eyes mirrored the sameanticipation of unbearablepain as the men beingplacedupon thesurgeon’stable. Gripping her arms,he entreated, “Promiseme!”

She managed to nod,though she thought shewouldstrangleon theknotof tears dissolving in her

throat. Abruptly he pulledher against him, kissingher throat, the softness ofher cheek, her eyes,searching with apassionate prayerfulnessfor the sweetness of herlips.

“Dear God,” he said,and lifted her across thebed, takingher ina tangleof skirts and petticoats,and loosenedcoilsofhair.And when it was done he

dressed quickly, bucklinghis belt with a savagefinality. He returned for alast, snatched kiss on lipsandbreasts,andthenwasgonewithout lookingback,leaving her with dry eyesandtheanguishingcomfortof his husky groan, “Ishould have loved youmore—”

The wounded fromSanta Rosa began toarrive bymorning,walking

wounded, riding wounded,white with the narrownessof their escape. Someburned with rage and thelust for revenge, railing onof friends who had beenslaughtered by Mora.Others were quieter, theirenmity a cold and bitterthing, but there was littledoubt that for theFalangistas the war hadbecome a blood feudovernight.

As Eleanora workedwiththesurgeon,removinglead, cleaning andrepairingthedamagedonebyswordandbayonet,herthoughts were with Grantonthemarchsouthasshetried to picture what hewasdoing,whetherrestingbesidesomedusty trail,oreating some hastilyconcoctedmealscroungedfrom the pole-and-thatchhouseofanIndianfarmer.

Late in the morning itbegan to rain, a sullendownpour that sluiced thedust from the houses andran in rivers along streetsthatcouldnotabsorbitintotheir hard-baked surfaces.Inside the hospital thelampshadtobelitagainstthegloomasbattenblindswere closed to keep outthe wind-driven rain. Stillthe moisture penetrated,combining with themuggy

heat of the low-ceilingrooms to turn them intosteam baths. It would notmakemarchingeasier.

Opening a blind tothrow a basin of red-stained water out into therushing, open gutter,Eleanorastoodamoment,breathing in the fresh air.She watched the rainstreamfromtheredtilesoftheroof,wonderingfor thedozenth time if Grant had

thoughttocarryhisslicker,wondering if the wetnesswould aggravate hisshoulder. The bullet holehad healed to a reddishpurple scar, but therewasstillsomedeepstiffness.

With the sound of thefallingraininherears,shedid not hear Luisapproaching until he wasdirectly behind her. Sheswungaround,startled,ashetookthebasinfromher

andhandedittoapassingorderly.

“You didn’t go withthem,” she said stupidly,aftershehadgreetedhim.

“I am left to defendGranada,” he said with agrimace, “and to performall the more unpleasanttasks.”

“Oh?” She stopped inthe process of wiping herhands, her fingersclenching involuntarily on

herapron.“Suchas—tellingyou,

Eleanora,thatyourbrotherwas arrested at dawn thismorning on charges ofsupplying information totheenemy.”

She stared at him, thecolor draining from herface. Such an offensemeantthefiringsquad.

“Why?How?”“Information has been

placed against him. He is

accused of securinginformation from thepalacio, of going throughGrant’s papers and sellingwhat he found toVanderbiltagents,whoaresupporting Costa Ricamonetarily in an effort tooustthegeneral.”

“But — who accusedhim?Was it—” She couldnot go on. All too clearlyshe remembered Grantsaying that Colonel

Schlessinger and his menhad been expected by theCosta Ricans. Had heknown when he left herthat Jean-Paul was to bearrested?

“It was not Grant, Ipromise you. The ordercame from the general’soffice, based on acomplaint lodged by thewoman your brother waslivingwith,Juanita.”

“It can’t be true,” she

said, staring into theconcerned brown eyes ofthe Spaniard. “Jean-Paulwouldn’t — couldn’t havedone such a thing. Henever once looked at thepapers Grant left at thepalacio. I was with himeverymoment.”

“I knew you would sayas much,mi alma, that iswhat worries me. Thisthing, it has the smell ofbetrayal tome.Iamafraid

foryou.”“What?”“Consider.Thewoman,

Juanita, hates you. Shebecomes involved withyour brother, who hasaccess to the colonel’squarters. She informs onhim.Why?Ifearaplot—”

He broke off as acommotionbegannearthefront entrance. MajorNeville Crawford entered,followedbyadetailofeight

men with bayonets fixed,at the ready.He searchedtheroomwithhiseyesuntilhe spotted Eleanora. Witha wave of his hand, heindicated that the menshould follow him as hemade his way downbetweenthebedstowhereshewasstanding.Hisfacesober, he came toattention.

“It ismy duty to informyou,MissEleanoraColette

Villars, that you are underarrest. You will come withme.”

“What is the charge?”Luisrapped.

“Treason. Giving aidand comfort to theenemiesoftheRepublicofNicaragua.”

“Who signed theorders?”

“ThesignatureisthatofGeneral Walker, if youmustknow.”

“When? He has leftGranada,”Luispointedoutthroughclenchedteeth.

“I’m only followingorders,” Major Crawfordsaid,theheatofanuneasyangerrisinginhisface.

“With quite a back-upforce,” Luis grated,glancingsignificantlyatthemen standing rigid behindhim. “What did youexpecthertodo,attackyou?”

MajorCrawford had no

ready answer. He flung alook around the hospitalward grown suddenly stillas the men in the bedsbecame aware of whatwas happening. The boywiththecornsilkhair,threebeds along the line, threwback the sheet and madeas if to get up. Themajorswallowed.“Iamsorry,butif you will, Eleanora —MissVillars?”

Anothermanwrenched

over in bed, searching forhis makeshift crutch thatleaned against the wall.She could not allow aconfrontation betweensick,weaponlessmenandthe soldiers standing withgunsintheirhandsandtheblanksheenofdeterminedobedience in theireyes. Inthe dim light the bayonetshadadeadlygleam.

“Very well,” she saidthroughthestiffnessofher

throat,“I’llgo.”“Try not to worry,

pequeña,” Luis said,touching her arm inreassurance. “There mustbe something that can bedone—andwhateveritis,Iwilldoit.”

She had time to do nomore than smile ingratitude. The detail fellintoplaceabout her.Theybegan tomove at a smartpacetowardthedoorwhile

the muttering ofdisapprovalbrokeoutfromthe four corners of theroom.

Beyondtheopeningtherain came down like thesilver lances of an ancienttilt-at-arms, smashing intothe mud of the street.Without pausing, theysteppedoutintoit.

13Thecelldoorclosedwithaclank and the rattling ofkeys. Eleanora took ahesitant step into thenoisome dimness. As hereyes adjusted to the lackof light, she saw thescabrous walls withdesigns, messages, and

doggerel scratched intotheir whitewash, thesuffocatingly low ceiling,andrustysleepingshelveswithonlyatangledragofablanket to add comfort totheir hard planks. The airwas dank with the rainfallingpastthesmall,high,barred window, and thickwith thestenchof thesloppail sitting in one corner.The one advantage wasthe fact that the barred

cubiclewasemptyofotheroccupants.

“Eleanora—”Stark, vibrant with

horror, the whisper camefrom the next cell.Eleanora turned slowly,her skirts dragging wetaroundherankles, to faceher brother. He got to hisfeet like an old man,holding to the chain thatsupported the sleepingshelfonwhichhesat.

“Why?” he asked, afrown of bewildered angerbetweenhiseyes.“Why?”

“They — didn’t tellyou?”sheventuredafteramoment.

He looked away. “Ican’t believe it. After all,Juanita and I — I can’tbelieveit.”

“Then why else?”Despite herself, her voicehadtheflattimbreofwearydefeat.

“I don’t know. I don’tknow! That’s what isdriving me mad.Everything has gonewrong, everything, fromthe instant we left NewOrleans. You were right,Eleanora. Does it pleaseyou to know you wereright?”

“Hardly.” To cry at thismoment might relieve herfeelingsbut itwoulddonoreal good. Looking away

she began a cautiouscircuit of the tiny room.Fourshelves,twoperside,hintedatacapacityoffourinthecellwheretherewasbarely room for two tostand with ease. It was acage, nomore, no less, acageattheendofarowofcages. There were threesuch cells. Beyond herbrother’s cubicle wasanother occupied by afigure rolled in a blanket

and snoring with thesodden monotony of thedrunkard. The men whohad locked her in hadretreated out of sight. Shecouldstillhearthemintheouter room,however,hearthe bark of orders, andthen the good-naturedmurmurofmenrelievedofthe presence of authority.Presently there came theslapofcardsandthesmellofcoffeebrewing.

‘The rain continuedwithout letup, blowing inupontheunprotectedsillofthe high window andrunning in a thick, darkstream down the wall. Asshe paced, Eleanora hadto avoid the growingpuddle in the far cornernearthesloppail.

“I didn’t spy on thecolonel, Eleanora. I don’tcare what they say. Iwouldn’t do a thing like

that,onmysacredhonor.”“I believe you,” she

answered in soft tones,fully alive to theundercurrent ofdesperation in herbrother’svoice.

“I—don’tsupposeyou—”

Anger swept over her,then died away. “No,” shereplied as steadily as shecould.“WhatscruplesIstillpossess prevent me from

stoopingtothatlevelalso.”“Forgive me. I don’t

knowwhatIamsaying.It’sjust that—” He sank backdown upon the shelf,burying his face in hishands.

The feeling of unbeliefhe was trying to conveywas not lost on Eleanora.She would have liked tohave believed Luis’sassurancesthatGrantwasnot responsible for the

imprisonmentofJean-Paulandherself.Shecouldnotquite. It was tooconvenient, his suddendeparture followedby theirarrest. Had he been soreluctant to face her, tolistentoherpleasforJean-Paul? Could it be that hedidnottrusthimselftoseehisordersputinforceifhehad to watch her beingcarried away? The logicwas inescapable — as

inescapable as the factthatitwasnearimpossiblefor such a momentousmatterasthearrestof twospies to have beenplanned and carried outwithout the knowledge ofthe provost marshal,ColonelGrantFarrell.

Tiring, Eleanora satdownatlast.Afleahoppedfrom the dingy blanket toher skirt and she brushedat it in quick disgust,

pushing the excuse for acoverlet to the floorbeforesettling back. She pulledherkneesup, leaningwithher back to the wall. Thedrumming of the rain, thevoices of the men, herbrother’s occasionaloutbursts provided abackground for herthoughts.

Onethingwasobvious.Someone had betrayedLieutenant Colonel Louis

Schlessingerandhismen,arranging for them towalkinto a trap at SantaRosa.If it was not Jean-Paul orherself, then who?Someone with access tothe information concerningtroop disbursements.Someone either at theGovernment House or thepalacio,then.Thegeneral,Grant, Luis; none of themseemed remotely capableof treason. But at the

palacio was SeñoraParedes, and through her,Juanita. Eleanora couldnot feature the señoraexecuting such a planherself. It was alwayspossible she had helpedJuanita only by her failureto report the otherwoman’s actions, but shecould not be entirelyinnocent. The youngerwoman had both reasonand opportunity, and she

alone was responsible forthe arrest which providedher own best protection.Anything she and Jean-Paul might say againstJuanita would beweakened by theirposition, whereas she, bytaking Jean-Paul as hernew lover, had providedexcellent camouflage forherownmotives.

If William Walker hadbeen there, Eleanora

thought, he might havelistened to herexplanations despite hissignature on the order forher arrest. It was possiblea message might stillreach him in time, if shecould persuade someoneto take it. For that sheneeded money. A deadend. Luis would go if sheasked him. Perhaps hewasalreadygone.

Failing that scheme,

therewasNiñaMaria.Shewas certain to have somemeans of contacting thegeneral. Surely she wouldnot allow her personaldislike of Eleanora toweigh in the balanceagainst two human lives,wouldshe?

Eleanora clenched herhands together in her lap.Shecouldnotsitandwait,doing nothing until theycame for Jean-Paul and

herself. There had to besome way to escape thisterrible coil. Against herwill she thought of thedeserted corner of theplaza where theexecutions wereperformed. Did they shootwomen?Shedidnotknow.Andif theydid,whowouldgive the order to fire withGrant gone? Who wouldperform the coup degrace?

She gave herself ashake, shivering a little inher wet clothes. Her hairfelt plastered to her headand she loosened it withher fingers, taking a deepbreath to steady hernerves. She had to think.Daydreams wherein Grantreturned to release her, toholdher closeand tell herit was all a mistake, wereofnousetoher.Shemustput such thoughts behind

her.Forever.Evening descended

imperceptibly behind thedarkcurtainofrain.Abowlof watery chili con carnewas brought with a toughflourtortilla.Thesmellofitwas not appetizing eventhough Eleanora’sstomach cramped withhunger.Shehadnoteatenanything for breakfast norat the early luncheonserved to the patients.

Apparently she and Jean-Paularrivedtoolateforthenoon meal at theguardhouse. Nothing hadbeen offered to them untilnow.

The man who broughttheir supper woresuspenders over his redshirt, suspenders ofrattlesnake skin. His eyeswere small and set closetogether,andhisunshavencheek bulged with an

enormous cud of chewingtobacco.WhenhehandedthewarmbowltoEleanorathrough the door hisfingerstouchedhers.Theywere dry and scaly andcoveredon thebackswithblack curly hairs. Longafter she had retreated tothesleepingshelfhestoodwatching her, tossing thekeytohercell inhishand.Only the sound of hisnamecalledfromtheouter

room drew him away. Hewentwithreluctanceandalast backward glance thatmadeherfleshcrawl.

Lamplightblossomedinthefrontroom,sheddingafaint glow into the backcell.Eleanorasatstaringatthe flickering shadows itcast as the men movedbackandforth.Afteratimeherclothingceasedtodrip.The rain slackened. Ahorse trotted past outside,

slowingtoawalk.Thecardgame broke up, leavingtwo men to stand themidnight watch. Theirvoices and the acridsmoke of their brownMexican cigarillos driftedback to where Eleanoracrouched against the wall.She would have liked tocall out to them, to askthem to send for Luis orpossiblytakeamessagetoNiña Maria at the

GovernmentHouse.Someinstinct that went as deepas the desire for self-protection prevented herfrom drawing that muchattention to her presence.Setting her teeth into herlipsheremainedsilent.

In the next cell Jean-Paul stirred, calling hername.

Itwasamomentbeforeshe could force herself toanswer him, and then her

voice was a whisper ofsound.“Yes?”

“What about yourfriend, the Spaniard? Doyou think hewill testify forusatthetrial?”

“I’m sure he will if itcomes to that.” She wasnot at all certain, but itwould not hurt to allowJean-Paulthissmallhope.

“HehasinfluenceattheGovernment House. Hemightdousalotofgood.”

Eleanora agreed. Luisalso knew more than hehadeversaidofJuanita.Itwas just possible that hecould discredit her storyenough to win for themtheir freedom. She wouldnotdependonit,however.The officers who servedunderWilliamWalkerwerenot known for theirmercy.Arrest usually meantcertainexecution.

In her mind she

pictured Grant and thegeneral slogging throughthe mud and misting rain,uncaring of what washappening to her or herbrother.A suffocatingpainmovedinherchestandforan instant she could notbreathe. Her teeth begantochatterasshe liftedherchin. Rubbing the chill,goosefleshed skin of herarms and shouldersbeneath her damp

clothing, she struggled toher feet. Moving mightbring warmth to her body;nothing could thaw thefrozencoreofherheart.

As she passed theopen side of Jean-Paul’scell, he loomed out of theshadows, his handsfastening on the bars.“What have I done?” hecried in a voice of self-loathing. “What have Idone todeserve this?All I

ever wanted was a newstart, a place to begin tobuild back what we hadlost.Isthatsoterrible?”

She couldnot bear thesight of his face contortedwiththeefforttoholdbackhis tears. She movedcloser, curling her fingersabout his tight fists uponthe bars. “Don’t, shewhispered.“Oh,don’t.”

“I can’t stand it. NotJuanita, not my Juanita.

God, but she was sweet.She—shedancedforme,laughing, daring me to —dearGod!”

He leanedhis foreheadonhisclenchedhands,hiseyes squeezed shut.Helplessly, Eleanoratouched his hair,smoothing the curls tightwiththedampness.

“I don’t believe — Ican’t make myself believeshe did this to me, used

me, planned all the time,evenwhen—when—”

He flung himself awayacross the cell landing onthe sleeping shelf with aforce that set the chain tocreaking. He left Eleanorawithafresh,newpain.HadGrant, holding her in thatfarewell embrace, knownwhat was to happen toher? I should have lovedyou more — She hadhoarded those last words,

seeing in them a promise.Nowtheyhadtheringofadeathknell.

Quiet descended. Therain stoppedexcept for anoccasional drip from theeaves. In the front roomachair scraped and thelamplight swung in an arcandflowedtowardthecellsasoneoftheguardsmadea late round. He walkedslowly down the narrowcorridor, the lamp held

high. Stopping, he peeredat Jean-Paul, rolled in hisblanketwithhisbacktothedoor. The man was thinand tall with a grayingwalrus mustache, not theman with the rattlesnakesuspenders. When hemoved toward herEleanora transferred hergaze to thedark corner ofthe far wall and kept ittherethelongmomentshestoodstaringinather.

Theair lefther lungsina long sigh when he hadgone,andsheletherheadfallbacktorestonthewallbehind her. Her eyesburned and her headthrobbed, but she couldnot bringherself to stretchoutonthehardboard.Thehours were too preciousforsleeping.

It could not have beenmuchlaterwhensheheardthe horses. From the

soundthereweresevenoreight at least, traveling atan unhurried walk. Theyhalted outside theguardhouse, and throughthe open bars of the highwindow Eleanora caughtthecreakofsaddleleatherand jangle of bits as themen dismounted. A horsesnorted through hisnostrils,stamping.Thesofttinkle of a spur had amusical sound in the

humidquietofthenight.Achallengewasissued

andanswered in theouterroom,followedbytheentryof a small group of men.Words were exchanged,followedbythesoundofascuffle. Voices rose in aconfused babble that diedaway as quickly as it hadbegun. One voice alonestood out clear, andrecognizingitEleanoragotslowly to her feet. That

faint Spanish inflectionbroughtmingled hope anddread. What was Luisthinkingof?

“Back against the wall,you sons of Satan,” sheheard him shout. “Move,and I will give you apersonal introduction toyourfather!”

Lightslidalongthewall.Luis appeared, stridingalong the corridor with aguninonefistandthering

of jingling keys in theother. Another manfollowed, holding the lamphigh, and in its lightEleanora could see thereckless smile that curledthe Spaniard’s lips, theexcitement blazing in hiseyes.

“What is this?” Jean-Paulaskedindazedtones,rollingtohisfeet.

“Deliverance,” Luisreplied, thrusting the key

intothelockandopeningitwithagratingtwist.

Eleanoramoved to thedoorofhercell. “Luis,youcan’tdothis.Ican’tletyou—notforme.”

“Toolate,pequeña,”hesaid with an infinitesimalmovement of hisshoulders.“Itisdone.”

“Don’tyourealize—”Hethrewthedoorwide.

“Betterthanyou,cara.Itistheonlyway.”

Was he right? In thatmoment she could notsummon the strength orimpartiality to judge, norcould she afford toendanger them all furtherby hesitating. With abruptdecision she stepped overthe threshold and allowedherself tobehurriedalongbehind Jean-Paul. In themain room she turned hereyes from the sight of theguards being trussed up

likechickensinthemarketand she headed for theblackrectangleoftheopendoor.

Thenightairwasfresh,scented only by the smellofwarmhorseflesh.Once,as a young girl, she hadhadriding lessons.Asshemoved instinctively towardthe horse bearing thecumbersome, unbalancedweightofasidesaddle,sheprayed she would

remember those lessonsforthismoment.

Luis gave her a leg upand handed her the reins.Around her the men,numbering six withoutcounting Luis or herbrother, were mounting.Eleanora pulled at herskirts, trying to settle herkneearoundthehornwhilestaying on a horse evenless used to carrying asidesaddlethanshewasto

sittingone.Thesoundofadistant shout sent such ajolt of apprehension alongher nerves that she wasnearlyunseated.Flingingaglance down the street,Eleanora sawa uniformedofficer running towardthem, tugging at therevolverathiswaistashecame.

Besideheramandrew,leveled his gun, and fired.The officer ducked behind

the corner of the buildingbeyond the guardhouse,andfromitsprotectingwallbegan throwing shots atthemillinggroupaboutthehitchingrail.

Amancursed,spinningout of the saddle andscrabblingoverthegroundto avoid the prancinghoovesallabouthim.Luis,just mounting, checked,hung for a moment fromthepommel, thendragged

himself upward.Before hehad settled on leather hehadkickedhishorseintoarun, slashing out atEleanora’s mount to carryitwithhim.

Bending low over theirhorse’s necks, theystreamed along the street,trying to get beyond therangeoftheboomingnavyrevolver. That wasaccomplished in a fewhundred yards of hard

riding. As soon as theguardhouse was lost tosight they left the mainstreetfortheweavingbackalleys haunted by huddledfigures sleeping indoorways and by fleeingcats.

To the south ofGranada lay Rivas, thetransit line,andthearmiesof Walker and Mora. Thedirection Luis took whenthey left the town behind

them at last was north.North towardHonduras, tothe uncharted stretches offorest and jungle beyondLake Managua, theprovince of the ancientCookra and ToacasIndians, and to thebeckoning heights of theNuevaSegoviaMountains.

From time to timeEleanora, rememberingthesoundofashotstrikingso close beside her,

glancedatLuis.Shecouldseenomore thanhisdarkoutline,buthesaterect inthe saddle. If his quietdirections lacked hisformer insouciance, theywerestillstrong.

The pursuit,disorganized, seeminglyhalf-hearted at best, wassoon outdistanced, thoughfor good measure one ofthemen,aNicaraguan,ledthem along a maze of

twistingtrailstoofainttobecalled roads. They rodepast silent fields of sugarcane and corn, pasthouses — haciendas —closed and tenantless,surrounded by bananasand breadfruits andavocados.Theforestgrewthicker, losing some of itsjungle aspect in favor oflarge stands of oaks andan occasional pine tree.Still they did not stop,

riding on and on throughthepredawnhoursuntilthepounding of the horses’hooves became a rhythmin the blood, an endlessthunder.

Daylight, graywith fog,caughttheminagrooveofceibatrees.Throwingupahand, Luis called a halt,They drew well off thetrack they were followingand began to dismount. Itwasonlyas theygathered

in a tight group beneaththe trees that Eleanoratook closer notice of theunwieldy bundle thrownacross one of the horses.In the dark she hadthought it provisions ofsome kind; now as it wasunstrappedanddraggedtothegroundshesaw itwasa woman. Gagged andbound, her hair stragglingin her flushed face, shewas still recognizable as

Juanita, still formidable inhervenom.

Jean-Paul, reaching tohelpEleanoradown,madea strangled sound in histhroat. His grip lost itsstrength so that she fellagainst him beforeregainingherfeet.

Her eyes questioning,Eleanora swung toconfront Luis. At thatmoment his right foottouched the ground as he

leftthesaddle.Heswayed,clingingtothepommelandcantle, his hat held on hisback by a thong shieldinghis face. Blood, alreadyturning black, overflowedthetopofhisboot,runningin rivulets down the sides.His pant’s leg glistened,crusting dark in thecreasesofthesoft,smoothleatherbreeches.

The others, threeNicaraguans, a tall, thin

sandy-hairedmanwith thesun-dried look she hadcometoexpectinasoldierfrom the Great Plains ofthe United States, and ablond man with saberscars on his face and aguttural sound to hisspeech, were gatheredaround Juanita. EleanorawasthefirsttoreachLuis’sside.

Athertouchonhisarm,he turned his head. The

smile that curved hismouth did not quite erasethe pain in his eyes. “Somuch for the heroicrescue,” he said on abreathless, regretful laughand slid intounconsciousness.

They stretched himoutonapileofhorseblanketsbeneath a tree. The blondPrussian showed atendency to take chargeand Eleanora did not

object, except when hetried to keep her awayfrom Luis. At first shestood back while theystripped Luis of hisbreeches andwiped awaythe blood, but when thePrussian called for a knifeto probe the wound shecould contain herself nolonger.Shebrushedunderthe arm thrust out to holdher back and dropped toher knees beside theman

whohadriskedsomuchtohelpher.

It was an ugly gash.Thebullet had tornacrossthetopofhishard-muscledthigh at an angle to lodgein thegroin.The injurydidnotappeardangerous.Thefact that he was still aliveseemedtoarguethatnoneof themain arteries in thearea had been severed.Still, hehad lost toomuchblood during the long ride

and it appeared likely hewouldlosemorebeforethebulletwasout.Aknifewasa clumsy instrument; shewouldhavegivenmuchforDr. Jones’s silver-handledforceps. In the end shehad to introduce a secondknifepoint into the woundbefore she could extractthe lead slug nestledagainst his pelvic bone.Rye whiskey from thesaddlebag of the

plainsman was handed toher for the final cleansing.It was not carbolic but itwasstrongenoughtohavesomeofitsproperties.Sheuseditbeforefashioningabandagefromstripsofherapron and tying it intoplacewithstrings.

Luis regainedconsciousness within thehour, long before the sunhadburnedawaythemist.Hecameawake ina rush,

pushing himself into asitting position against thetree trunk, his dark eyesalert.With a sweep of hisarmhethrewthecornerofthe blanket over hisnakedness,thenturnedhisgazetoEleanorasittingonherheelsbesidehim.

She was aware of thesuddensilencebehindherwhere the men stoodabout a small, smokelessfire that cradled a

blackened coffeepot. Thetension of their waitingfilled the leaf-carpetedclearingunderthetreessothat the clattering of theleaves of the ceiba wasloudabovethem.Eleanorathought, though with littlefoundation, that if Luisshouldfaltertoobadlyherethey would leave him totake his chances whilethey rode on. What herown fatewouldbe insuch

acaseshedidnotdaretoimagine.

Rising,shefilledablueenamelware cup withsteaming coffee, stirred ina generous splash of ryeand several lumps ofpanocha with a twig, andbroughtittoLuis.

Hethankedher,addingan endearment that madeof his soft tone a caressinstead of a weakness.Thehandthatgraspedthe

cupwassteady,conveyingthe hot liquid to his lipswithout spilling a drop.Eleanora relaxed, lettingoutherbreathinsoundlessrelief. Ignoring thequirkofhumorat the corner of hismouth,shesatbesidehimuntil he had drained thecup.

“My breeches?” heaskedwhenhewasdone.Therewasafaintsardonicinflection in his voice that

seemed to reach beyondEleanora toward the menbehind her. As she tooktheemptycupheprofferedand handed him the pieceof clothing he had askedfor, she was annoyed tofind herself blushing. Tocover it she turned on herheel and walked to whereher horse was tied. Shestood stroking it until Luishadpulledhimselfbackonhis horse and Jean-Paul

approached to give her alegupintoherownsaddle.

The noon meal cameout of the saddlebags. Noinducement to hunger, itwas a collection ofsquashed tamales, tortillasrolled around slices ofgreasy pork, and bruisedfruit. The heavy fare waslightened only by theaddition of a dessert oforanges they had foundgrowingwildastheyrode.

Luiswouldnotsitdown.He leaned against a treewith one foot propped onthe trunk behind him.Eleanora sat beside himonalogpeelinganorangewith a bowie knife andtryingtokeepthefliesfromcrawling over her handsafter the sticky juice. Afrown between her eyes,she watched her brother.She did not like thebrooding silence he had

maintained during themorning. Jean-Paul hadfilledacupwithwaterfromthe canteen on his saddleand started across with itto where Juanita satagainstarottedstumpwithher hands tied before her.One of the Nicaraguansstepped in front of him ashepassedtheirgroupnearthe horses and snatchedthecupfromhishand.Herbrotherprotestedbut itdid

no good. The soldierpouredthewateroutathiscountrywoman’s feet sothat it spattered wet gritover her ankles. With alaugh he handed the cupback to Jean-Paul, buttherewasnohumor inhiseyesandnorelenting.Theyounger man retreated tosit staring into space,neither eating nor drinkinghimself.

Eleanora glanced at

Luis. His eyes, before helookedaway,mirroredthatsame uncompromisinghardness.

Carefully she finishedpeeling theorange,halvedit, and passed the manbeside her a portion.Stabbingherknife into thelog, she asked quietly,“Whoarethesemen?”

“Friends of mine, menfrommyregiment.”

“Theirnames?”

“The Americano isJasperQuitman,otherwiseknownas “Slim.”ThemanwiththescarsisKurt—hislast name I findunpronounceable. Theothers are Sanchez,Molina, and Gonzalez.These last have, I think, apreviousacquaintancewithJuanita.”

“I — doubt, somehow,that they are here for mysake.”

“You mean you hopethey are not,” he said,smiling briefly. “No, theyare here formine, and forreasons of their own I didnot question when theyvolunteered.Their fatewillnotbeonyourhead.”

Her acknowledgmentwas wry. “Since yourinsight is so accurate Imust now wonder if whatyousayisthetruthoronlywhatyouthinkIwouldlike

tohear.”“You need not worry

about suchmen as these.For Sanchez, Molina, andGonzalez it is theDemocrático ideal thatexacts their loyalty, notWalker or the Falangistas.They recognize no wrongin saving a pair ofinnocents from the firingsquadifIaskit.Asfortheothers,thegringos,dangeris breath to them and

treasononly aword.Theirloyalty is to themselvesfirstandthentoamultitudeof other things thatincludes the red star ofWilliamWalker only to theextent that it can benefitthem. They see that starasonthewane.Leavingitwasonlyamatteroftime.”

“Do you think it is onthewane?”

His eyes narrowedslightly. “You are thinking

that is why I came foryou?”

“No,” she answered,meetinghisgazesquarely.“I believe I know why youdid that.” When he madeno reply, she went on.“What I don’t know iswherewearegoing.”

“To the mountains,” hesaid with a gesture to thefoothillsrollingawaytothenortheast. “Hiding. It wasnot what I intended in the

beginning.Ithoughttousemy authority ascommanding officer in theabsence of Grant and thegeneral to secure yourrelease into my custody. Iwouldthenholdyouundernominal house arrest untilthey returned to straightenout the situation. I wasoutmaneuvered. Theguards had been giveninstructions to disregardmy orders concerning

prisoners,anotherofthoseorders signed by thegeneral. It was necessarytouseforce.”

“You must havesuspected it would benecessary,”shesaidwithanodattheothermen.

“I could not be certainofthingsgoingasIwished.NiñaMariawasevenmorethoroughthanIexpected.”

“NiñaMaria?You thinkshewasresponsible?”

“Who else? She hadeasy access to the officialdocuments and excellentopportunities to learn tocopy the general’ssignature. She resentedyouandthepopularityyouweregainingbothwith themenandinthepress.Youmade an excellentscapegoat.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Itwasamomentbefore

he answered. “Someone

was feeding information tothe Legitimista forces inCosta Rica. Juanita? NiñaMaria herself? I’m notsure. In order for thedamaging leaks to theother Central Americancountries to continuesomeone had to beblamed with the crime.Whynot kill twobirdswithone stone?They could berid of you and divertsuspicion from themselves

atthesametime.Withyouout of the way there wasan even chance Juanitacould be reinstalled at thepalacioand theirsabotageof theDemocrático regimecould go on as originallyplanned — if Walker waslucky enough to returnfromRivas.”

“How do you knowthis?”

“I don’t. I have onlysuspicions. It is possible,

however, that our prisonerover there can bepersuaded to corroboratethem.With thatknowledgein hand we can return toGranada,andallwillbeasbefore.”

Would it? Eleanorafound it hard to believe,found all of it hard tobelieve. “How could NiñaMaria hope to justify mydeath, and Jean-Paul’s, toWalker?”

“Ifhereturnedbysomemisfortune there wasJuanita’s evidence, addedto which would be theproofyouandyourbrothercould be expected to give—undertorture.”

Feeling more than alittle ill, Eleanora lookedaway. “It seems I havemuch to thank you for. Iam grateful, more gratefulthan I can tell you. I don’tknowhowIcaneverrepay

—”He cut across her

words with a fiercegesture. “Let there be notalk of payment betweenus.Whatwasdonewasformyself, none other. HowcouldIliveifmysoulweredead?”

14In the scorching sun ofmidafternoon they crossedthe narrow neck of waterwhich ran between LakeManagua and LakeNicaragua. They swamtheir horses, as much forcoolness as to avoid theferry further upstream.

Soon afterward the landbegantorise.Themassedvegetationofthelowlands,thegrassysavannas,wereleft behind for the starkgreen and brown andsandstone red of the pineandhardwoodforest.

Eleanora rode with herteeth set in the effort ofendurance. Her backached as though a knifewas stuck between hershoulder blades, and she

saw the bobbing ridersahead of her through thewavering, dancing light ofaheatshimmer.Thesinglebearable moment of thepast few hours had beenthe sighting of a Flame oftheForesttree,atall,darkevergreen with huge,orange, tulip-shapedblossoms springing fromamong its leathery leaves.Always at the back of hermind lay the knowledgeof

what Luis had sacrificedfor her. She would haveliked to have had his faithin Walker; she could notquite find it within herself.Sheswungbackand forthfromhopetodespair, fromthe joy of being free andalive to the depression ofguilt. Endlessly on theyrode, circling smallvillages, now and thenpassing the stick-and-mudhouses of isolated Indian

farmers who stared afterthem with flat, incuriousfaces. The inside of herkneeaboutthehornofhersaddle was bruised andtherewasnofeelinginherfoot or calf. The glare ofthe sun spread into hereyes. Beneath the squareof a neckerchief she hadtiedoverherhairherskullfelt on fire. Her face andarms, every inch ofexposed skin was

sunburned. Towardsundown she ceased tothink or to notice hersurroundings. She was apart of her horse. Wasthereawordforacreaturehalf-woman, half-horse?Themale counterpart wasa centaur. Surely therewasafemale—

The sudden scream ofa puma grated across hersenses. Her horse shied,rearing.Onlythequickgrip

of a strong hand on herbridle prevented her frombeing unseated. As thehorsequietedshesawthecougar, a reddish-tawnystreakdisappearingoverarise ahead of them.Straightening, she turnedto smile her gratitude andfound herself staring intothe eyes of the Prussiansoldier-of-fortune. Thicklidshoodedhisexpression,but she was aware of an

intense, measuring qualityin the stillness of his facethat made heruncomfortable. Her nodwas short and lacking ingraciousness. Releasingher bridle, he fell back atonce, but she was awareofhimbehindherfromthatmoment until they madecampforthenight.

Jean-Paul helped herfrom the saddle. Leavinghim to tend to her horse

and hobble it to keep itfrom wandering too far,she limped away into thetrees, following the twistsof the small, free-runningstreamtheyhadelectedtostopbeside.

When she returned, afire had been started andJuanita, watched carefullybythethin,long-facedmanknown as Sanchez, wasmaking preparations forsupper.

The meal promised nosurprises. Having no realprovisions for such aprotracted journey, theyhadstoppedtobuybeans,meat, and ground corn, acouple of pans and a fewother utensils, from thewife of a farmer. Thewoman had been no fool.Theyhadpaiddearly.

As Eleanora paused,wondering if she shouldoffer her help, the black-

haired woman looked upfrom the fire. Hate rose inher eyes and she rakedEleanora with a scathingstare before deliberatelyspitting on the ground.With the smallest lift of aneyebrow Eleanora turnedand walked to where Luissatagainstarockwithonefoot stretched out beforehim. It was only as shetook her place beside thelieutenant colonel that she

recognized her uppermostfeeling. It was reliefborderingongratitude thatshe did not have to forceher aching muscles toperform the chores of thecampfire.

Whether Juanitawas abetter cook than anyonehad expected, was tryingto placate them, orwhether they were allsimply starving, the mealwas amazingly good. The

menwolfedthebeansandtortillasdownwithzestandlooked around them formore. There was plenty.Juanitaladleditoutwithanexpression of indifference,butonceEleanorasawhersmileintothebeanpot.

A vague fear theywould all be ill did notmaterialize. The fire wasextinguished as soon aspossible; still, they layaround it, nursing the

glowing coals while themen smoked a lastcigarillo.Theaircooledasthe dusk deepened. Theirclothinggrewwetwithdewinstead of perspiration. Anight bird called, a lonelysound. Juanita stirred,pickedup thedirty dishes,andstartedinthedirectionofthestream.

Sanchez, loosening hisrevolver in its holster,saunteredafterher.Aftera

moment, Eleanorafollowed.

The woman walkedfast.WhenEleanoracameupon her beside thebrownish-green water shewas already scrubbing apot with sand. Eleanoraknelt and picked up aplate.Sanchezsquattedata distance with his backagainst a tree, his cigarillodangling between twofingers. Flicking a glance

at them from thecornerofher eyes, Juanita made asnortingsoundthroughhernose,andsidledafewfeetfartherdownstream.

The dishes were few;they did not take long.Juanitagavethepotinherhanda last sloshing rinse,then rose to her feet withconscious grace. Shedropped the rag she hadbeen using and, with asidelong glance and a

defianttossofhermaneofdark hair, moved slowlytoward a thick clump ofscrub oaks and gumsaplings.

Eyes narrowed,Eleanora looked after her.Something in theNicaraguan woman’sattitude struck her aspeculiar. She was toofearless, too unwary for aprisoner. She exuded asense of suppressed

anticipation that putEleanorainthemindofthemoodshehadseeninLuisas he dared to help herescape.

Sanchez, she thought,would not have hesitatedtogowithJuanitasaveforher presence. There wasin the mind of Luis’s mensomedoubtastoherexactposition with their leader.For the time being theyweretreadingwarily.

Pushing to her feet,Eleanora started after theotherwoman.

Thesharpsmellofgumleaves lingered whereJuanita had passed.Eleanoraduckedunderthebranches, stepping overrotting logs crawling withtermites. Ahead of her abird whirred away instartled flight. Shequickened her pace,jerking impatiently at her

skirt as it caught on smallthorn bushes and vinescovered with briars alongthe stems. Rounding thetrunk of a toweringrosewood, she glancedahead for some sign ofJuanita. There wasnothing, no flash of color,no unnatural movement.Allwasquiet,tooquiet.

The whisper of anindrawnbreathalertedher.Shewhirled,butnotintime

to avoid the swingingshadowofapinelimb.Theblowcrashedintoherheadjust above her ear. Shesagged,andfelttheabrupthardness of musty leaf-mold beneath hercheekbone.

She could not havebeen unconscious morethanamoment.Thenoiseof shots, three insuccession in a signal foraid, penetrated the

dimness of her mind.Sittingup,shewasabletopoint out to Sanchez thedirection she thought shehad seen Juanita take asshewasfalling.

Hedidnotwait.Beforehisfootstepshadgoneoutofhearingtheotherscameinto view to be directedafter him. Only Luis wasnotamongthem.

Eleanora touched thelump on the side of her

head with careful fingers.That the skin was notbroken was due more tothe thickness of her hairthan to Juanita’s lack ofstrength.Bitsofbarksiftedto her shoulders as shebrushed at the deepwavethat covered the lump.Dusting them to theground, she leveredherself up, then stood stilluntil her senses steadiedand the throbbing behind

her eyes had slowed to agentle pound.Movingwithcaution, she turned in thedirectionofthecamp.

Intentonkeepingtothepath that had beentrampled in the grass androcky earth, she flung herhead up, startled, at anoiseinthetreesofftoherleft. The impulse to rungripped her, not whollysubsiding when thePrussian known as Kurt

steppedfromtheoaksandcametowardher.

“I circled back to seeabout you,” he said,touching a hand to thebrim of his hat. “I hope Idid not give you a fright?You were so pale, soweak,sittingwherewe leftyou. I amglad to see youhave made such a swiftrecovery.”

“I—thankyou.”He stepped closer,

moving in front of her. “Iam not certain you arerecovered, after all. Awomanof your sort needsa man to care for her.Permitmetogoaheadandholdhebranchesforyou.”

“I am sure I canmanage ifyouareneededinthesearch.”

He smiled, amechanical movement oftoo-firm lips. “I heard thewoman running before

themlikeaharebeforethehounds. It isonlyamatterof time, and theNicaraguans have moreenthusiasm for the huntthan I — at least for thatquarry.

Sherefusedtoaskhimforhismeaning.Slantingaglance from under herlashesattheheavyhumorin his face, she picked upher skirts and walked on.He made no attempt to

stop her, falling in at herside.

“You were lucky tohave so faithful a cavalieras the lieutenant colonel,wereyounot? It isagreatpityhewaswounded.”

Eleanora agreedsoberly.

In the pretense ofpushing aside a limb withhis outstretched arm, Kurtbarred the way. “Yourealizethishurtmakeshim

of littleuse toyou—asaman?”

“I don’t think Iunderstandyou,”shesaid,grimly certain she did butunwilling to have the manseeit.

“In thiskindofsituationstrength is needed,” heexplained, tightening themuscles in his forearmuntil they bulged. “Aweakman, a man who is notwhole,isaliability.”

“I will trust Luis to betwice the man most are,whether he is injured ornot.” Her back stiff, shetriedtoslippasthim.

Reaching out to gripher arm at the elbow, heheldherjusttightlyenoughto make her aware of thepower in his hard, sturdyframe without hurting her.“Injured men cannotalways protect what theyhold,” he told her, a

suggestion of thickness inhisvoiceashiseyesrakedover the thin material ofherblouseandtheflareofherredskirtoverherhips.Hisfingersbegantokneadher skin as he waited forher reply. There was adraggingtensioninhisgripand she knew that if sherelaxed her resistance forsomuchasaninstantshewould be pulled againstthatburlychest.

“Sometimes,” shereplied with slowemphasis, her green eyessteady,“itisnotnecessaryto hold something to keepit.”

“Thatisonlyifthereareno thieves around.”Satisfaction with his owncleverness gleamed in hisgray-blue eyes so that thescar near one crinkled lidwas pulled like a badseam.

Therewas no need forEleanora to answer.Before she could findwords Luis stepped intoview before them, hisrevolver swinging from hishand. “I think it might behelpful,”hesaidsoftly,“if Imake it known that in mycommand the penalty fortheftisdeath.”

The eyes of the twomen locked. For all thegentle quietness of Luis’s

tone, it was Kurt whoshifted uneasily, droppinghisgazetothegunheldsocasually against theSpaniard’sleg.

Whenthefingersabouther arm loosened,Eleanora twisted free.Shecrossed to Luis, andsending him a small,flickeringsmile,slippedherhand inside his free arm.He pressed it to his sidebeforeinclininghisheadin

the most ironical of half-bows and moving off withher toward theencampment.

By the time theyreached the blankets Luishad indicated, placed wellbeyond those of theothers, he was leaning onEleanora for support. Shewas too involved withhelping him to lie downcomfortablyandwonderingwhere Kurt had gone,

since he had not followedthem in, to more thanregister that her ownsaddleblankets laybesidethose of the lieutenantcolonel. Noticing at last,shetookastepbackward.

Hoisting himself up torest his forearm on hissaddleinplaceofapillow,Luis reached out to drawher down beside him. Hisface was serious; therewasnothing inhismanner

to alarm her. She did notresist, curling her feetunder her and tucking herskirtoverthem.

When he was certainshewasatease,heturnedfrom her to unbuckle asaddlepouchandtakeoutwhat appeared to be atwo-foot length of chainwith a ring at each end.Shaking it out, he pickedup her left wrist, andbefore she realized his

intention, snapped one ofthe steel bracelets aroundit. With deliberatemovements,heclosed theother ring about the wristof his own right arm.Onlythendidhemeethereyes.

“Forgive me,” he said.“It is theonlyway Isee tokeep you safe beside meuntil we can return toGranada. Grant gavethese manacles to me.They are like those used

by the military marshals.The key to open them Ihavesafelyhidden—”

“Youdon’tmean forustowear theseall the time,night and day?” She cutacross his plea in strickentones, the heat ofmortification rising in herface as the implications ofsuch enforced intimacystruckher.

“Itmustbethisway.”“Why? I can fend for

myself.”“As you did just now?

What was to keep Kurtfrom taking you then andthereamongtheleaves?”

“Hewouldn’thave—”“Wouldn’t he? Maybe

not — yet. But there arelongmilesanddaysbeforeus. We go deep into thejungle where the heat ofthe sun melts away thecool manners of thegentleman, and the strong

prey on the weak as theychoose.Thenatureofmenlike these who go with usismorenearlysuitedtothejungle.”

“Mustwego?”“It is possible the

general will relent. If hedoes not, we will have towork our way over themountains and across anarea where white menhave never gone in orderto reach the Mosquito

Coast on the Atlanticshore. The British arepatrolling that coast, sincetheyclaimtheregionoftheMosquito Indians as aprotectorate of the Crownand are loath to relinquishtheareatoWilliamWalker.We may be able to get ashiptopickusup.”

Eleanora mulled thisinformation in silence. Anant crawled across thehand on which she was

leaning. Without thinkingshe reached to pick it off,only to be stopped by theshort chain. Abruptly sheclenched her fist, bringingitdownonherknee.

“No!”shecried.“Ican’t,I won’t put up with this.You don’t know whatyou’reasking.”

Without replying, Luislayback,foldinghishandsbehind his head. Theaction of the chain

unbalanced her so that ifshehadnotcaughtherselfon one elbow she wouldhave fallen against hischest.

“I’m afraid,” he saidsmiling,“thatyoumust.”

“Please,” she began inalowvoice.

“Areyougoingto try topersuademe?”hequeried.“AsmuchasIwouldenjoyit, I have to tell you in allhonor that it will do no

good.”She stared at his face

so close to hers.Was theredness beneath his skinthe effect of the sun, orwasheflushedwithfever?Was he less well than hewished her to know? Didthat explain thesedesperatemeasures?

“This will beunbearable, you mustknowit.”

His lips moved with a

suggestionofbitterness. “Iknow it will not be easy,yes. But you, pequeña,have worked busily overmy nakedness. WhyshouldIcavilatrevealingitagain?As foryou,nothingcould lessen my feelingsfor you. Moreover, youhave nothing to fear. Iwillnot say I can stand yournearness unmoved, but Iam incapable at themoment of taking full

advantage of theopportunities you are soafraidwilloccur.”

She heard him outwithout speaking.Searching his face, sheasked at last, “And wouldyou,ifyoucould?”

“A thousand times yes,mi alma,” he answeredwryly. “Don’t you know aman judges other men byhimself?”

Night moved in, the

moon rose, and still themen did not return withJuanita. Eleanora was tootiredandoverwrought,andaboveall,tooconsciousofthe limit on her freemovementforsoundsleep.She dozed fitfully, wakingat every rustle and nightcry. Even in slumber shewas aware of minordiscomforts,ofeachbruiseand blister and strainedmuscle, of every twig and

pebble on the groundunder her blanket. Whenshe had been still for atime she grew cool, andreaching down pulled thecorner of the blanket overthelowerpartofherbody.

The growl of voicesrousedher.Alonghersidethewarmthwasexcessive.Had Luis moved closer inthenightorhadshe?Shedid not know, but sheeased away, being careful

not to waken him. Onlythendidsheturnherhead.

Shewentstill.Twomenwere helping her brotheracross the small clearingtoward his bedroll. Jean-Paul stumbled alongbetweenthemwithhischinresting on his chest like aman who has had toomuchtodrink.Theylethimfall on his blanketfacedown, and he rolledover,throwinghisarmover

hiseyes.Eleanorapushedat the

blanket, trying to get up.Beside her, Luis reachedacrosswithhisarm,stillingher movements. Sheflicked a look at him, thenfollowedthedirectionofhisintensegazetothewood’sedgewheretherestof themenwereemerging.

Sanchez, Molina, andGonzalez stepped into theopen, carrying with them

the unclothed form ofJuanita. Her flesh shoneivory in the moon’s palelight, but though her eyesweretightlyclosed,shedidnothavethebonelesslookofdeath.

As Eleanora watched,Gonzalez, paunchy, withdrooping mustaches,pointed at Jean-Paul’sblanket with an obscenelaughrumblinginhisbelly.They threw the woman

downbesidehimandflunga handful of clothes overher. She lay sprawled asshehadfallen,unmoving.

Gonzalez fished withdifficulty in the pocket ofhis breeches and broughtout a coin. Molina, theyoungest of theNicaraguans, a broad-facedyoungmanofIndianblood who had been theirguide during the day, lostthe toss. With a resigned

shrug, he took his seat ashort distance from theblanket on which thewomanlay.

Jean-Paulgavenosignheknewthenakedwomanwas beside him. After atime Juanita’s eyelidsmovedandshestaredwithdark and baleful eyes intothe dark about her. Whenshesawthatallhadsettledfor the night, she sat upand slowly drew on her

blouse and skirt. Movingstiffly, she lay back downagain.

Washerbrotherdrunk,or hurt, Eleanorawondered?Hadhetriedtoprevent the rape of hisformer mistress and metviolence,or retreated fromit intoabottleof rye?Shecould not tell. Watching,she saw the steady riseand fall of his chest. If hewas hurt there was little

shecoulddo,andifdrunk,there was nothing. In anycase, there were timeswhen the only thing thatserved was to be leftalone.

Dawn met them ridingonce more. They were asilent cavalcade, sunk inwearinessandresignation.Fever burned bright inLuis’s eyes, making histemper uncertain with allexcept Eleanora. Clean-

shaven despite thedifficultiesofusingasharpbowie knife and no soap,he did not look asvillainous as the rest.Jean-Paul, with a purplewelt spreading over thepointofhisjawbeneathhisscanty beard, lookedparticularly bad. He waswithdrawn, tailing thecolumnformileuponmile,not speaking unless hewas spoken to. Often,

when he thought no onewaswatching,hisbroodinggaze would fasten onSanchez and the womanriding behind himwith herbound hands gripping thecantle of the Nicaraguan’ssaddle. She too worebruises, especially aboutthemouth and throat. Hereyes were dark-shadowedandsullen,butshedidnotlower them when onelookedherway.

They climbed everhigher,windingamong therugged, blue-hazed hills,seekingalwaysthepassesand the downward slopeleading northeast.Vultures, black grace in ahardbluesky,circledthemwith a worryingpersistence, and flocks ofducks and geese passed,croaking,highoverhead.Ahalf-grown jaguar doggedtheirtrailforseveralhours,

though more in curiositythan with any intent ofharm. They saw deer innumbers and anoccasional peccary, thelarge wild animal withtusks like a boar used inCentral America as pork.Slim brought down one ofthese with his rifle towarddusk.Taking thebestcutsandleavingtherestforthevultures might have beenwasteful,butitwasallthey

coulddo.Theyhadtohavemeat.

Of humans they sawlittle. The Indiansettlements they cameacross now were usuallydeserted. Not as civilizedor domesticated as theirlowland relatives, fromlong experience they hadlearned to avoidforeigners. The wovenbaskets of corn they leftbehind provided an

agreeable addition to thelarder, and the blanketswoven to fit like a closedcape with an opening forthe head were mostwelcome against thepromised coolness of thenight.Luis,hismovementsdeliberate to disguise thetremblingofhishands,hadleftMexicandollarsbehindto pay for what they hadtaken. Looking back,Eleanora saw Gonzalez

pocket the money but,pressing her lips tightlytogether,saidnothing.Thiswas not the time to pointLuistowardaconfrontationhe might not be able todominate. Just behind herKurt was also aware ofwhathadtakenplace.Theexpressioninhiseyeswasunpleasant, and far tooknowing.

Thelastraysofthesunwerestillbrightonthetops

of the mountains whenthey followed Molina intothe twilight sanctuary of along, narrow valley. Thestillness of a small lakemirrored the surroundingpeaks and provided waterfor the horses. Tracks ofanimals laced its muddyverge, but there were nohuman footprints amongthem despite the thatchedadobe house that backedagainst the side of a

sandstonecragas if tryingto blend into it. A fencesagged across the smallyard in front, held up onlyby the Spanish daggerplantedbehindit.Thedoorwasmissing from thedarkrectangle of the frontopening beneath theshadowy overhang of aporchsupportedby rough;unpeeled poles. In placesthe thatch had harboredthe windblown seeds of

weedsandwild flowerssothat they bloomed in themildewedstraw.

Molina, his young faceanxious, looked toLuis forapproval. Slowly theSpaniardnodded.“Weresthere,” he said, and theweakness of his voiceseemed to confirm thenecessity.

Juanita was not freed.They forced her downupontheground, tyingher

to one of the posts of thefront porch She sat up asstraight as a ramrod,spittingdefianceaslongasthey toweredoverher,butwhen they were gone sheslumped back, her eyesclosed.

It was Eleanora,restricted to the point ofmadness by the chain onher wrist, who cooked thecorn cakes, mixing theground meal with water,

slapping it thin andbrowningitonanironplateat the edge of the fire.Gonzalez took over theroasting of the chunks ofpeccary over the coals,there being no insideaccommodation forcooking.

Seeing it killed,Eleanora had thought shecould not eat the meat ofthepeccary.Still,watchingas Gonzalez turned it on

sticks with lip-smackinggusto, smelling the savoryodor as it curled in smokeabout theporch, shegrewas hungry as any and satwaiting for the succulent,well-browned meat to bedonewithhertortillainherhand.

The long ride had notonly made her ravenous.As thestarscameoutshefound her eyes, raw withsun-glare and the sting of

woodsmoke, closingagainst her will. Luis,mindfulofhercomfort,hadsentMolinatocutamoundofsweetgrassforherbed.The blankets they hadacquired during the daysmelled lessofhorse thanthose they had used thenight before. There wasbefore her the cool, clearwaters of the lake for abathing place. She could,in fact, have looked

forwardtoanightofsweetslumber, had it not beenfor the chain about herwrist.

Eleanora sighed. Luisglancedatherand,seeingthe dissatisfaction in hereyes, his face lightenedthough he could not besaidtosmile.Hegottohisfeet.Waiting until she hadrisen also, he picked upthe blanket on which theyhad been seated, shook

out the dirt, and turnedfromthefire.

Hanging back,Eleanora asked, “Wherearewegoing?”

“Youwillsee.”Heflungthe blanket over hisshoulder in the manner ofa serape and stepped outintothedarkness.

The night was madepleasantly cool by a softwind blowing from themountain tops. It lifted the

tendrils of hair that hadescaped from Eleanora’sknot, brushing her senseswith the soft pungence ofpineandsage.Nightbirdscalled in melodicmelancholy.Thewavingofthegrassthatcarpetedthefloor of the valley had ahypnotic quality that wassoothinglysensuous.

The perfect stillness ofthe pool was disturbedonly by a patch of reeds

weaving in thewind. Theystoppedontheverge.Luisdragged the blanket fromhisshoulderandhelditoutto her. “Your dressingroom and bathingmachine,milady.”

Eleanora made nomove to take it. “What doyoumean?”sheasked.

“Youwished tobathe?”He indicated the pool withaflickofhisfingers.

She stared at him.

“Howdidyouknow?”“I know much of your

habits. I am an observantman.Astomymeaning,inEurope they have thewagonspulledout into thewater by horses whichoffer a place ofconcealment for a ladyfrom vulgar, prying eyeswhilesheenjoysthesea.”

“I will get the blanketwet,”shewarned,intriguedinspiteofherself.

“Nomatter.”“Butwhatofyou?”“What have I to hide

fromyou?Ah,youblush,Ithink. It is cruel of me totease you in this wayagain. Let us say, then,that I trust you to keepyour eyes forward,regardless of how much Imight prefer it otherwise.And I promise that on thisoccasion your trust alsowillberewarded.”

She stared at him,more concerned with theweaknessofhisvoicethanwith what he was sayingwith such a laboredattempt at lightness. Butwhy should she object?Had they not shared therest stops of the day,searching the most denseundergrowth to strain theirchain between them? No,she had no reason todoubthim.

“Don’tyoubelieveme?”he demanded with thatshade of hauteur thatindicated damage to hisfierce pride, that samepride that had kept herfrominquiringmorecloselynowintohiswell-being.

“Yes, of course,” shemurmured.

“Then?” He profferedtheblanketoncemore.

The acrobatics ofdisrobing beneath the

blanketwithonehandwassoondone.AwareofLuis’sstruggles beside her,Eleanora realized howmuch more handicappedhe was by the chainarrangement. It was hisright hand that wasinconvenienced. As sheheard his soft curse sheknew that it was irksomenotonlytoheralone.

Thewaterhad thecoldbite of a mountain spring,

especially without thewarmthof thesun towardoff its chill. They wadedout,testingthebottomanddepth with careful steps.After only a few feetEleanorastoppedabruptly.“What of your bandage?”she asked without turningherhead.

“Stuck, and in need ofloosening,”hereplied.

“Not this way,” sheprotested, but he paid no

attention, moving on sothat the chain tugged herforward.

“Suppose — supposethere are sharks, andalligators, as in LakeNicaragua?”

“Notatthisaltitude,”heassuredher.

“Areyoucertain?”“No,”heanswered,“but

neither am I certain thatthe sunwill rise tomorrow.Will you be ruled by your

fears?”Wadingon,shedidnot

bothertoreply.To be clean when you

have been dirty for a longtime is one of life’s chiefpleasures, ranking witheating your fill after a fastand growing warm afterfreezing. Eleanora,splashing water over herlimbs one final timebeneath the blanket,acknowledged this truth

without question, evenwhenthebathconsistedofcold water and the cornerofablanket.Itwasonlyasthe sound of her ablutiondiedawaythatshenoticedthe sound beside her. Itwas the rattling of thechainthatconnectedhertoLuis. Its links jangledtogetherunceasingly.

Eleanora swung herhead. Luis, with water tohis waist, was shivering

uncontrollably. A gust ofwind blew across theexpanse of the lake,fanning about his chest.Heshudderedinthegripofconvulsion, his eyesclosed. Reaching out, shetouched him. His skinburnedwith fever, and thefeelofhercoldfingerssentanother racking shudderoverhim.Hisbreathcamefast through parted lips,and she knew without

being told that his teethwere clenched to keepthemfromchattering.

“Dear God, Luis. Whydidn’t you tell me?” shesaid.Shewhirled, takingafew steps toward theshore. When he did notimmediately follow shegrasped his arm, pullinghimalong.

“What have I done?”sheaskedherself,ignoringhis feeble attempts to

persuade her that heralarmwasfornothing.

By the time they wereoutofthewaterherbreathwas rasping harsh in herthroat. She whipped theblanket off over her head,and swinging it wide,pressed it down over thebrownwavesofhishair. Itwas not wet about thechest and shoulders; thatshouldhelpalittle.

Turning away, she

stepped into her slippersand scooped up herpetticoat.Pullingitonoverher head, she tied thetapeswithquick, impatientjerks, thenreachedforherblouse. As she searchedforthearmholes,sheflunga lookatLuis.Hehadnotmoved from where shehadlefthim.Hiseyesdarkshadowsinthepalenessofhis face, he stared at heras she stood so close, at

the soft sheen of starlightupon her shoulders andthe fair, firm globes of herbreasts with their tip-tiltednipples; so inviting, andwithinreach.Hemovedsoslowly, winding the chainabouthishand, that if shecould have discoveredsome shred of indignationwithin herself, she mighthave avoided him. Shecould not. The sense ofgratitude and helpless pity

penetratedtoodeeply.Shedid not resist as he drewher to him, cupping hershoulders, smoothing hishands down her nakedback. The sigh that shookhimseemed to come fromsome empty depth within.His mouth was warm andgentle, tastingofpanocha-sweetened coffee. It didnot seek to consume herbut merely to taste, butonce, a forbidden

pleasure. It was foolish,perhaps,but foran instantEleanora responded,unable to deny that whichcost her so little andseemedtomeansomuch.For a brief second heseemed warmed by hercloseness, and then thetrembling began oncemore.

Lifting a hand, shetouched his face, thenslowly, firmly, drew away.

Little by little he releasedher. While she finisheddressing he stared outacross the lake with theunresponsive face of ablindman.

“Let us go,” Eleanorasaid, picking up his shirtand breeches from wheretheylay.Hestartedoff,butin theendshehadto leadhim in the right direction,back toward the adobehouse and the fire

flickering like a beaconbeforeit.

For all the submersionin water, the bandage stillclung to the jagged andtorn edges of the wound.Staring at her bent headwith eyes brilliant andheavy with fever, Luisendured her picking andgentle prizing until hecould stand it no longer.Rising up, he ripped awaythe bandage, flooding the

gash with blood oncemore.

It was Slim, watchingover her shoulder as heheldatorchofpitch-pinetosupplement the light fromthe fire, who put her grimthoughts into words.“Cauterizeit,”hesaid.

Eleanora drew a deepbreath. “It’s such a longtear—theshock.”

“Better than letting thepoisongettoit.”

Eleanora had come tolike the soft-spokenplainsman. In someindefinable way hereminded her of Grant.She trusted him as muchas she was capable oftrusting anyone in herpresent circumstances.Without further argumentshenodded.

It was Slim who foundthe bowie knife that hadcarved their supper. He

cleaned it as well as shecouldhavedone, scouringit with sand and rinsing it,much to thedisgustof theothers, in thewaterboilingfor coffee over the fire.Thrusting itamongtheredembers with blue firedancing above them, heleft it to takeon their heatwhile he poured out agenerous measure of ryeforbothLuisandhimself.

If she had been alone,

if it had been necessity,Eleanoramighthavefoundthe strength to press thatwhite-hotbladetothefleshofthemanwhohadriskedsomuchtosaveher.As itwas, she delegated thattask, gratefully, to Slimalso,while sheheldLuis’shand and they enduredtogether the sound andsmellofsearingmeat.Thegripofhisfingerstightenedcruelly, his body stiffened,

but the expression in hiseyesastheyclungtohersdid not change. He hadplaced himself in herkeeping— his own wordswhen she had asked hispermission to seal thewound. It was frighteningin a way she could notexplain,eventoherself,asifhelivedonlythroughherandwouldhaveitnootherway.

Andwhenthethingwas

doneandLuis’sspareshirthad been sacrificed tocover Slim’s handiwork,theycarriedhiminsideandlifted him upon the piledgrass in the corner. Theycoveredhimwithblankets,tucking them around him.Still, he was swept atintervals by bouts ofshakingthatlefthimspent.They did not go awayentirely until Eleanora hadslid beneath the blankets

beside him and pressedclose.Foratimehehardlyseemed to recognize thatshe was there, and thenhis arm tightened aroundherwaisttodrawhermorefirmly back against hischest. He kissed her hair,andslept.

Eleanora had thoughttostayawake,and indeedshe had not realized shehad not done so until thethudofhorses’hoovesand

shouts ofwarning invadedher dreams. She shookfreeof themwith difficulty,staring bemused at thealien face of the manbeside her, lying whereGrant should have been.The memory of thepossessive fire in hiscobalt-blue eyes, theunrelenting enchantmentof his mouth upon herslingered, thoughshecouldnot remember how they

hadbeenreunited.Outside the clamor

rose, waking Luis. Heraisedhishead,shifting tohis elbow in order to seeoverEleanora to the opendoor. The lone rider haddismounted. Themen hadgatheredaroundhim, theirvoices falling to a lowtimbre that in its gravitysent a tremor ofapprehension alongEleanora’sspine.

Drawing in his breath,Luis called, “What is it?Whatgoes?”

A man in the loosegarments of a peondetached himself from thegroupandcamewithhatinhand to thedarkdoorway.“I beg pardon, LieutenantColonel,” he said, his tonequietlyrespectful.

“Pablo!” Luisexclaimed. “Yougotaway.I gave you up when you

wereunseatedoutside theguardhouse. I have beenworried, my friend. It isgoodtoseeyou.”

“And you, Conde. Butyou need not havetroubled yourmind. It wasagreed that every manwouldlooktohimself.”

“Still,itwasahardthingto leave you. How do youcometobehere?”

Thesoldiershruggedinhis peon’s costume. “My

injuries were nothing,though I thought I wasdead at the time. I wasstruck a glancing blowonly, a ricochet off mysaddle horn which struckthe butt of the gun I hadpushedintomywaistband.Myair,itgopoufandIfell,butIwaslucky,wasInot?”He seemed to take theiragreement for granted, forhewenton.“Iranveryfastto the house of a friend

and I stay there, hiding,afraid I would berecognized. And then Iheard news I thoughtwould be of greatimportance for you. I rodealldayandallthenight,forMolina ismycousin,and Iguessed where he wouldbringyou.Twohorses,finehorses, I had when Istarted, and now I haveonlyone.Theother,sheiswinded and falls to break

bothknees.”“You will be repaid,”

Luisassuredhim.“Onlytellmewhatisthisnews.”

“It concerns the littlegeneral,Conde.Hedidnotattack Rivas. Word ofarmies ready to strike athim from Honduras cametohimjustoutsidethecity.Since he is afraid hiscapitalwillbecaptured,heturnedhismenaroundandbegan the march back to

Granada.Perhapshe is inthe city already, sendinghis orders from theGovernment House oncemore. Perhaps he alreadywonderswhathasbecomeof the woman of thecolonel, and would beinterested in words in herfavor. In a few days hisaristocrática whore mayhave poisoned his mind,and thedutiesofwarmaymake him forget. Now is

the time to gain hisattention.”

“You are right,” Luissaid, a grim note enteringhis voice. “But first theinformation, the proof,mustbesecured.”

“I — understand,Lieutenant Colonel. Youmayleaveittous.”

ItwasamomentbeforeLuis spoke, and thenfinalityweightedhiswords.“Itiswell.”

Outlined in the dyingfirebeyondhim,themaninthe doorway nodded onceand swung away,disappearing into thedark.Luissankbackdownupontheircouch, themovementwafting the sweet smell ofcut grass up through theblanket onwhich they lay.Eleanora turned on herback.

“Luis?” she saidtentatively. “What did you

mean,theproof?”The man lying so

quietly at her side did notreply.

15In the back of her mind,beyond the reach ofconscious thought,Eleanora knew. Juanitahadnotbeenhauledalongwith them over the longmiles for the sake of herconvenience as a campdrudge, or even for her

obvious usefulness inother areas important tomen without their women.Therehadtobeapurpose,and from thecontemptuous and evenbrutal way in which theyusedthewoman,Eleanoracould not delude herselfthat their purpose bodedanygoodforJuanita.

Shewouldnotallowherthoughtstogobeyondthisadmission. With an effort

sheemptiedhermindofallconjecture, straining aftersleep. It was useless.Lyingstill,sheenduredthetormentofachingmuscles,needing to turn, but afraidof disturbing Luis. Indisobedience to her will,her memory drifted back,curling with a passion oflonging about the imagesof Grant as sherememberedhimbest—inhis scarlet uniformwith its

gold braiding and theepaulettes emphasizingthe breadth of hisshoulders which he hadwornon theday theymet;his vivid nearness, whichmagnified every brow andlash and seam of his skinas he carried her in hisarms to the palacio; hisbronzed form outlined inlightning like an ancient,haunted god on the nighthe had made her his; his

pale face and bruisedeyelidsasheclutchedherskirt in his handwhile shetended his shoulder. Somanymemories,cruelandtender, gentle and strong,comic and filled with pain.Would it be enough tobalance this terribleagonyof doubt that she mustcarryaslongasshelived?

As time passed andLuis did not move, shereachedtoputherhandto

his forehead, wishingdistractedly that therewassomethingshecoulddotorelieve the fever thatheated his blood. He didnot respond to her touch;stillshethoughthewasnotsleepingeither.

When thescream, faintwithdistance,cameonthenight wind, Eleanora’snerves leaped under herskin, but she couldacknowledge no surprise.

She swallowed, hermuscles tense, and whenthe sound, with the shrilltimbreofawoman’svoice,cameagain,herhandwentout to throw back theblanketthatcoveredher.

Luis touched her arm,his fingers hot but strong.“No,Eleanora, you cannothelp,norwillIallowyoutointerfere.”

“I can’t just lie here,”shesaidinatautvoice.

“Youmust.”“It’sbarbaric.”“Like the firing squad,

eh? No, mi alma, it isjustice. Shall we ask thiswoman please to tell uswhat she has done andwhy? Should we have lether schemes prosper?Should we have let you,Eleanora, present yourtender heart to the firingsquadyousodespise?No.This one will give up the

informationsheholds.Shewill confess her sins andput her name to a paperthat will make clear yourinnocenceandrestoreyoutoyourformerplaceinthesunofthegeneral’scourt.”

Bitterness laced histone, andwith some right,Eleanora thought. Themen were few who wouldrisk so much to clear thename of a woman theycared for, especially when

herexonerationmightleadto her reinstatement asanotherman’smistress.

Beside her Luis spokeasanothercryimpaledthenight. “In any case, anumber of the men outthere have a personalvendetta with SeñoritaJuanita. I doubt if youor Icouldstopthemevenifwetried.”

A sick feeling movedthrough Eleanora. She

clenched her hands.Despite the truth of hisstatement, despite whatJuanita had tried to do toJean-Paul and herself, itstill seemedcowardicenotto try to help anotherhuman being who wasbeing hurt. To do nothing,and possibly to benefitfrom that inflicted pain,was infinitely worse. If ithad been a man it wouldhave been bad enough,

but that it was a woman,one of her own kind,seemed a special horror.Why it should be worseshe could not tell, and yetitwas.

“How—” she began,faltered, and then rushedon, afraid that he wouldmisinterpret what sheasked, and taking herliterally, tell her exactlywhat he thought wasoccurring in the darkness.

“Howcan theydo it?Howcan they bring themselvesto commit acts of suchunspeakableevil?”

Hesighed,shiftingwiththe pain in his leg. “Aman,” he said slowly,“never knows the limits hecan reach in degradation— when he feels he hasjust cause. An instant oftimecanchangehimintoadevil for whom nothing istoovile.EvenI—”

He stopped, his breathcomingquicklyinthequiet.“You need not explain tome,” Eleanora said,masking her suddenapprehension with a toneof indifference, though herslim fingerspluckedat therough, homespun wool oftheblanket.

“EvenI”herepeatedasif she had not spoken. “Itold you once, did I not,that I had reason to seek

the forgetfulness anddangerofwar.Youaremysoul, why should you notknow the reason? It is atale that begins in Spain.The house ofmy father isanoldone,perchedonthehillside among the olivegroves above theGuadalquivir Valley. Pride,inmyhomeandmyfamilyand in the Moorish bloodthat runs inmyveins,wasdrilled into me in the

nursery. My life was setbefore Iwasborn; Iwouldbe educated as suitedmystation, I would be taughtto revere Mother-Church,towearalwaystheattireofa gentleman, to acquitmyselfwitharapier,andtowear one on dressoccasions without trippingover it. A marriage with asuitable parti would bearranged for me, I wouldbe presented at the court

of the young QueenIsabella II, where I wouldbe expected to take myplace among theconservatives. On thedeathofmyfatherIwould,of course, assume theresponsibilities of thepatron for the people wholived in the villages thatbelonged to me, peoplewho had worked for myfamily for generations. Iwould look after the land

and produce children tocarry on after me. Myportrait, with that of mywife, would be placed inthe long gallery of myhouse,andwiththemarchof the years my boneswould lie in the cathedralwith those of myancestors. I was notdissatisfied with such aprospect. It was mydestiny, and I don’t recallentertaining the thought

that it could be otherwise.ThenImetConsuelo.”

Eleanora glanced athim quickly through thedarkness. He caught themovement, for he gave ashortlaugh.“Youneednotbe jealous, my dove,” hesaid with irony, “althoughshe was very beautiful. Isaw her one day on thesteps of the cathedral asshecamefrommass,andIthought she was the

loveliest thing I had everseen. She wore a whitemantilla over her midnightblack hair, and her dueñahovered about her like abutterfly around anexquisiteflower.Icouldnothave been more awe-struck or more moved ifone of the images of thesweet saints had steppeddown from its niche. Shesmiledatme,thepictureofshy innocence, and I was

enraptured. I could notspeak to her, of course, itwas not allowed. Butnothing could prevent mefrom learning her nameorfrom conceiving for hersuchasacredpassionthatIwentatoncetomyfatherand demanded that hearrangeamarriage. Itwasdone.Therewasnobartotheunion;shewasofgoodfamily, the daughter of aneighbor of no more than

fifteen miles’ distance infact, and only just out ofconvent school.Her fatherwas a minor official atcourt, but a man ofinfluence, since his wifewasdistantlyrelatedtothequeen. She had also anuncle who was a generalanda leaderofoneof thepolitical factions. Thebetrothal was announcedwith much ceremony, andthen,asisthecustom,the

courtshipbegan.”His voice changed,

becoming abrupt. “It isnecessary for me to tellyou thatConsuelo, thoughshedidnotobjecttomeasa husband, was not warmto the idea. I was notdiscouraged. With all theoptimismofayouthbarelyof age, I felt that thewarmth of my ardor mustkindle an answering flameinherbreast.Isetsiegeto

her heart with every ruseknown to a lover, I wroteversestothebeautyofhereyes, arranged forserenades, escorted herwith her crone of adueñawherever she wished togo. I sent her giftswithoutnumber.Learning that sheloved to ride and was anaccomplishedhorsewoman,Isentmentothe horse auctions ofSpain, searching for a

mount suited to mybeloved. An Arabianmareofawhitenessandapurityof bloodline that couldhave been meant only forConsuelo was found. Onthe day that it wasdelivered I was thehappiest of men, certainthat at last I had found agift that could not fail toplease.Withthemareonalead-rein, I rode to thehouse of her father and

presented myself at thedoor. Imagine mydisappointmentwhenIwastold she was from home,ridingoutwithhergroominattendance.Sodeterminedwas I to seeherpleasure,however, that I decided toawait her return. Heatedfrom exercise the marecould not be left standing,and I wanted to have thedustbrushedfromhercoatbefore Consuelo saw her.

There was a servant ontheforecourtof thehouse,but I wished to see to itthat the mare was walkedand watered and rubbeddown with the care Ideemednecessary.

“Insideof thebarnwasdark and musty with thesmell of old hay. The hotsun had searched out thecracks and holes in thestructure, sending yellowshafts boring through the

darkness in which dustmotesturned,disturbedbymy footsteps. Istood foramoment just inside thedoor, waiting for my eyesto adjust, and in thatmoment I heard voicescoming from the tackroomthatopened tomy right.Awoman laughed and Irecognized Consuelo’svoice.My suspicionswerenot aroused, my singlethought was that my wait

to see my betrothed wasover.

“It is odd. For yearswhat I saw that afternoonhasbeenenough tomakeme feel that my eyes areburstingfrommyheadandmy heart exploding in mychest. Now it merelyseems laughable in abawdy kind of way.Consuelo, with her ridinghabit bunched about herwaist, was seated on a

saddle on a rest. Hergroom stood between herlegs with his breechesaroundhisankles,gruntingunder the whip she pliedon his backside. There isno way to describe myshock then. My singlecoherent thought was thatshe had profanedmy lovefor her. My pride, socarefully cultivated all mylife,roseupinrage.Idrewthedressswordatmyside

and cut the groom toribbons with no morecompunction than youwould feel on killing a rat.That I did not kill himoutright was due solely tohis cowering, abjectsubmission. If he had somuchas lookedabouthimfor a weapon or raised ahand in his defense, Iwould have run himthrough.And then I turnedto Consuelo. For her I

chose the punishment ofmy Moorish ancestors foran unfaithful woman. Icornered her among thebridles thickwith dust andspiderwebs,andgraspingher chin in my hand, slithernose.Withmysword’sedgeIslicedithalfoffandstood andwatched as herfacedissolvedinblood.”

“Oh, Luis,” Eleanorawhispered, her voice anache in her throat. She

could think of nothing tosay,nowordofcomfortorcondemnation.

Afteramomenthewenton. “A terrible waste; herbeauty, her life—andmyown. And beyond that,countlesshoursofremorseandself-disgustthatdidnoone any good, least of allmyself. To be cut off fromfriends and family, deniedmy country, may havebeen no more than I

deserved, but it has, thisdecade andmore, been atruepunishment.”

“I would have thoughtthe courts would havebeen lenient to a youngman who acted with theprovocation that you had,”Eleanorasaid.

“They might have ifConsuelo’s relatives hadnot been so firmlyentrenched at court. Herfatherandheruncleswore

to see me hanged, andthey might havesucceededifmyfatherhadnot also had his friendsaround the throne. As itwas,Iwasbanished.Theythought to have a hiredassassin complete theirdeath sentence for them,butafterIreturnedtothemin a box the head of thethird man they had sent,theystoppedtrying.Duringthis time Iwas reduced to

being always a guest inanother country,wandering fromLondon toParis to Rome in winter,andinsummerfromoneofthe watering places ofEurope to another,wagering nightly at thegamingtable,returningthemany entertainments Ireceived, planning othersin an attempt to findsurcease from thinking.Suchalifenotonlyplayed

havoc with the allowancepaid to my bankers by agrieving and thereforeindulgent father, butbecause it was not what Iwished tobedoing itgrewtedious. Pitting my witsagainst the hired killers ofConsuelo’s relatives, Ihadfeltmorealive,andgladofit, than inmonths. Such adiscovery, combined withsuch a talent for violentdeath, should not be

wasted, I thought. Ibecameapaidsoldier.”

“And had themisfortune to join WilliamWalker?” Eleanoracommented.

“There were othercauses, other countries,first. But yes, eventually Icame to California andWalker. A misfortune? Icannot agree with that,sincethegeneralledmetoyou.”

Eleanora laughed, ahusky sound. “That mayhave been the greatestmisfortuneofthemall.”

Reaching out, hetouched her face withgentle fingers, turning herface to his. “Never saythat, pequeña,” hemurmured against hermouth. “Never say that,ever.”

Hisfingerstraileddownthe curve of her neck to

the hollow of her throat,resting for a moment onthe pulse that beat sosteadily there. Then hemoved lower, his palmsmoothing over the softmoundofherbreast.

Eleanora layunmoving,neither accepting norrejectinghiscaressuntilhelay still, his chest risingand falling evenly. Hersenseof obligationwarredwith a feeling of disloyalty

insideher.Shehadhardlydared to think that Luismight be right, that theorder for her arrest hadbeenforgedbyNiñaMariawithout the knowledge ofthe general, or moreimportantly, of Grant. Tothink of him returning tothe palacio and finding itempty, learning that shewasgonewithLuis,sentafeeling of panic scurryingthrough her. What would

he do? Would he believeNiña Maria’s accusation?Would he think that riflinghis papers and selling theinformation had been herretribution? There was,from his point of view, acertain logic in thatexplanation. Drawing adeep breath, she sighed.What was the use oftorturingherselfwith thesequestions? Although itmattered desperately to

her now whether he hadleft her behind to bearrested or learned of itonly on his return, nodoubtifsheneversawhimagainitwould,intime,loseitsimportance.Ifsheneversawhimagain—

She was a fool. To letherself be drawn step bystep into such a trap ofloveandhate—therewasnootherwordfor it. Itwasuseless to blame Jean-

Paul. She did not have togo to back to the palaciowhenGrantwasshot.Shehad gone of her own freewill, driven by an impulseshehadnowishtoresist.

Where was herbrother? What was hedoingwhile the othermenpersuaded the woman hehad loved to incriminateherself?Hewould not jointhem surely? Hisconception of honor was

too nice to permit him tohurt any woman, muchless one he had held insomething more thanaffection. Would he, then,have felt obliged oncemore to come to herdefense? If so, he couldnot hope to prevail, ofcourse. Would he, couldhe,allowthattomakeanydifference?Andifnot,washe lying unconscioussomewhere, beaten,

bruised,growingchillinthecool night air of themountains?Hewasgettingso thin and haggard; itwould not be surprising ifhe succumbed topneumonia in suchconditions. Anotherthoughtgrippedher.Thesemen had little respect forhuman life. If he annoyedthem toomuch theymightkillhim.Shehadheardnogun shots, but they all

wore knives thrust intotheirboots.

Moving with care sheplaced her right hand onthemetalringuponherleftand pushed, trying for thehundredth time to slip itdown over her hand withthe fingers turned in tomake it as slim aspossible. She could notask the sick man besideher to get up so that shecould look for Jean-Paul,

andshecouldnotliethere,guessinghiswhereabouts,notknowing.

It was no use, the ringwas too snug, so snug, infact, that she was certainthe bracelet on the otherend of the chain must becutting into Luis’s largerwrist.

The key, where was ithidden? Was it, perhaps,in the clothes piled sounceremoniously beside

themoundof thebed?Bystretchingalittleshemightreachthem.

Luis stirred. His armsabout her tightened,drawinghernearer tohim.Themovement shifted theblanket from his shoulderand his hold grew rigid asheenduredaparoxysmofshivering.

“Cold,”hewhispered.Eleanora subsided. It

wascrueltodisturbhimfor

what might, after all, benothing.Turningherhead,shestaredout throughthedoor at the dark grayanonymity of the night, litfeeblybyalate-risingsliverof moon. Unmoving, shewatchedwithburningeyesas that moon waned,givingwaywithoutgracetoa cloudy dawn. Longbefore then the screaminghad stopped. There wasno other sound of life to

takeitsplace.At last Luis woke, and

releasing her, rolled tostretchoutflatonhisback.

“Luis?” she said, loudenoughforhimtohearbutlow enough not to wakehimifhewasstillasleep.

After a minute heturned his head towardher,listening.

“Doyou think—she isdead?”

“Theywouldnotgothat

far,” he answered,speaking slowly, as ifconcentration was aneffort. “She is toovaluableawitness.”

“Valuable to me, toJean-Paul, but not tothem.”

“But if you are lost,pequeña, so is their hopeofreinstatementlost.”

“I am not certain thatwillmattermuchtoanyoneelsebutyou.”

“Not so,” he insisted,buthemadenoattempttoconvinceher,andhisvoiceheldnoconviction.

Whether from thenecessity of an early startor simply because theothers had not gone tobed, the camp stirred notlongafterward.Thehorseswere rounded up with agreat deal of noise, andthe smell of smoke andcoffee and frying peccary

roseintotheairheavywithdamp.

Luis, drawing on somestore of inner strength,dragged himself from theirbed and moved outside,wherehesatdownwithhisbacktooneofthepolesofthe porch. Sitting on hishaunches before the fire,in a strain which causedconsiderabledangertotheseams of his tightly filledbreeches, Gonzalez had

taken over the making ofbreakfast. Mixingcornmeal, he slapped outtortillas to wrap aroundfried peccary with aquicknessandeconomyofmovement which putEleanora’s efforts toshame. Slim, Kurt, andtheir guide, Molina, werealready eating, standingabout with their breakfastin their hands, washing itdown with hot coffee.

Jean-Paulwasnowheretobe seen, but the sound ofvoices rang from thegrassy savanna wheretheyhadleftthehorses.

Beyond the radianceofthefire’swarmththevalleywas filled with a layer ofmist. It hovered closestoverthelake,madethickerby the sullen smoke of asecond fire near the edgeof the water. There wasmovementamongthemist,

and Eleanora went still,straining her eyes topenetrate the swirlingvapor. It was only deer, apair of does, and a fawn,comingtodrink.

The clop of horses’hooves moving at a slowwalkheraldedthearrivalofSanchez and Pablo. Theyled four horses, a packanimal and three mounts,on one of which rodeJuanita.Sheslumpedover

thehorse’sneck,apitiablefigure with her facebattered and swollenbeyond recognition.Someone had thrown ablanketoverher,butithadslipped down, exposingher blouse hanging intattersaboutherneckandsticking in shreds to thelaceratedandbloody fleshof her back. A rawhidelariat was tied about herwaist and then around the

horse with several hitchesto hold her in place. Hereyeswereclosed,shemayeven have beenunconscious.Ifshefeltthepain that was hers, shegavenooutwardsign.

Biting the inside of herlip, Eleanora averted hereyes.Slim,movingwithhisloping stride, approachedwith a plate and two cupsofcoffee.Shetookthecupofhotliquid,butshookher

head decisively at thefood. Luis, accepting hiscup,noddedatJuanita.

“She has signed theconfession?”

“She has,” theplainsmansaidgrimly.

“You had better giveher something to drink ifyou intend togetherbackdowntoGranada.”

“Coffee is all there is.”Slimgavea laconicshrug,glancing at Eleanora from

thecornerofhiseye.“That will have to do

then,”Luistoldhim.“Slim?” Eleanora said

as the man began to turnaway.“Yes,ma’am?”

“My brother. Have youseenhim?”

“You’ll find him aroundon the side of the house,ma’am, where he went topuke up his guts afterfinishing off the last bottleof my supply of rye. But I

wouldn’t advise you goingto look. He ain’t a prettysight.He fell downaroundthere, and we just let himlay until he gets throughsleeping it off. It seemedthe best thing, all thingsconsidered.”

Eleanora dropped hergaze from the man’s far-seeinggray-blueeyeswiththeir hidden contempt.“Yes,Isupposeitwas.”

Pablo, his sombrero

sittingata jauntyangleonhis head, led the smallprocession out of thevalley, pulling the pack-horse behind him. Nextcame Juanita, withSanchez, his hatchet facegrim, bringing up the rear.At some council she hadnot been aware of theyhad decided only twoshould return with thewoman to Granada.Though good strategy, no

doubt, the tactic did notspeak very highly of theirconfidence in the mission,Eleanora thought as shewatched them go. WouldWilliam Walker listen tothem,orwasNiñaMaria’sswayoverhimtoogreattoallowhimtoundowhatshehad done? There wasnothing they could doexcept wait and see.Staring down into themuddy grounds in the

bottom of her cup, shecould find no hope tosupportthewaiting.

The rising sun climbedtothelevelofthemountaintopsthatringedthevalley,peering over them with aredandblearyeye.Itsraysplumbed the mist, strikingcopper gleams across thesurface of the lake,catching a last glimpse ofthe figures on horsebackgrownsmallwithdistance.

The sun had turned thepale face of Kurt, as hesquatted on his saddlebeside the fire andwatched Eleanora throughnarrowed eyes, a brightand unbecoming shade ofcarmine.

EleanoraturnedtoLuis.“You may as well comeback in and lie down.There is nothing else todo.”

Hedidnotargue.

The first week passedquicklyandwithoutseriousincident.Itwaspleasant inthevalley,withwarmdaysand cool nights. In othercircumstances they mighthave been able to relax,even to losesomeof theirweariness.

Therewas little chanceof their starving. Slim,taking a pack-horse, wenthunting, returning withvenison for a welcome

change from the peccary.Molina introduced wildberriesand roots into theirdiet, though they drew thelineattheiguanalizardhesurprised nosing aroundthehutandwrestledtotheground. Muchdisappointed, he withdrewtothelakesidetocookandeathisprizealone.

Jean-Paulhadsurvivedthe night of Juanita’stortureinhisownway.The

liquor to continue in thatmannerwas not available,but it did not seemnecessary. He sat aroundwith his hands danglingbetween his legs, doingnothing, seeing nothing.He did not talk unlessaddresseddirectly,andhehardly ate. Sometimes alook of unleashed horrorwouldspringintohiseyes,and he would jump up towalk bareheaded out

across the valley, even inthe glare of the middaysun, striding,breaking intoarunasifpursued.

ItwasSlimwhousuallywent after him. Jean-Paulcamedocilelyenough,andeven looked shame-facedfor his behavior, but hewould never explain hisactions. More than onceEleanora tried to talk tohim,butwhenheattendedto her he would only look

atherasifshehadlosthersenses.

Gonzalez, the rumblingof his belly overcominganinherent laziness, tookover the cooking. It wasbetter than waiting for thefew times when Luis wasawakeandEleanoracouldprepare something to eat,for she refused to wakehim and she could not, ofcourse, manage suchtasks on a two-foot chain

from the inside of the hutwhileherested.

Luis did not improve.His fever continued,though not as high asbefore.Hewouldnotallowhertolookatthewound,amegrim he developed ashis convalescence provedslow, but she thought thewound was healingsatisfactorily on theoutside. Still, his lack ofvitality, his gray color, the

fever, worried her.Carrying his pallet outupontheporchinthefreshair and sunshine seemedto help, though he did notprogress, and as the firstweek ended and anotherbegan,shestoodoftenonthe porch, shading hereyes with her hand,prayingforgoodnewsthatwould allow Luis to obtainthe care of the militarysurgeon,Dr.Jones.

Kurtwasanotherworry.When she was out of theadobe hut he followed herwith his eyes, and whenshewasnot heoften tookup a position at an angleopposite the open doorwherehecouldsee insidetowhereshelaywithLuis.Asthedaysslippedbyshegrewmoreresignedtoherchain and inclined to lookupon it as the protectionLuis intended. Though

sometimes, when thePrussian’s gaze fell onLuis, she felt a throat-tightening tremor of fearthatwouldnotletherrest.

Thedaysofthesecondweek stretched longer,eons of time echoing withnothing but her thoughts.Her mind followedSanchez and Pablo toGranada, dwelling on thebenefits of civilization,baths, fine food, changes

of clothing, hair ribbonsand combs, scented soapand hairbrushes, all ofwhichthetwoNicaraguanswere most unlikely tounderstandasadvantages.Shethoughtofthembeingushered into Grant’spresence, of seeing him,speaking to him, of givinghiminformationofherifheshould ask. At times likethesejealousygrippedher,coupled with a vast

impatience that made herwanttosaddleahorseandride alone, if need be,through the countryside toGranada. Danger seemedto matter little against thedesperationofherneedtoknowwhatwashappening.

Intheefforttoshakeoffsuch disturbing thoughts,she let her thoughts roamfurther afield, across thelakeanddown the river toSan Juan del Norte and

beyond the gulf to NewOrleans. It would bebasking now in the warmsun and marvelousfecundity of the semi-tropics,yetwithadeliciouswine-coolness in the air.MardiGraswouldbeover.The flowers, the briarroses,winter jasmine, andChinese camellias throwndown upon the marching,masked young gallantswould have been long

sweptintothegutters.Theausterity of Lent would beupon the city, perhaps,with much fasting andwearing of somber colorsand visiting of thecemeteries. The ladies ofthe large houses alongRoyal Street, and in theGarden District where theAmericans were buildingtheir mansions, would bethinkingofshuttinguptheirhouses for the summer

and moving to theirplantations in the country,to the resort at WhiteSulphur Springs, or evenas far north as Saratoga.That life seemed souncomplicated, so free ofworry, that she wonderedthat she had ever been apart of it. It seemedimpossible at the momentthat she could ever be apartofitagain.

Sometimes, as she felt

the pressure of actingconfidentandcertainoftheoutcome of Pablo’s andSanchez’s mission, shewould think of Mazie andthe troupe of actors.Whatwere they doing? Werethey carrying on in theirmakeshift theater despitethe almost certain adventof war, or had they gone,takingthesteamerforNewOrleans?

What had Mazie

thoughtwhensheheardofher arrest? She could nothave believed in her guilt.Andhearingofherescape,did the actress everwonder how she was andwhathadbecomeofher?

How did the hospitalfare? This thought alsoexercised her mind. Hadthe young, tow-headedSoutherner beenreleased? Was thestandard of cleanliness

she had established beingmaintained, or if it werepossible for her to return,would what she hadaccomplished have to bedoneoveragain?Conceit,tothinkthattheycouldnotgo on aswell without her.Shewasnot irreplaceable.She had, doubtless,contributed a certainamount of good, but Dr.Jonescouldandwouldgoon healing the sick and

maimed without her,sending them back astools of greater or lesserstrength for Walker’spurpose.

Ambition, war,conquest. The importanceofthesethingseludedher.At this time peace, safety,and solitude were muchmore ardently to bedesired.

As the second weekdrewtoaclosewithoutthe

reappearance of the twomen,thesituationbegantolookgrave. Itwasdecidedthat someone must go toGranada to discover, if hecould,whathadhappenedto Sanchez and Pablo. Itwas possible thebureaucratic workings ofthe Nicaraguangovernment had delayedtheir return, but if therewas some otherexplanation it would be

betteriftheyknew.The obvious choice for

the journey was Molina.His passage would bemoreswiftandcertain,andwith his dark Indian face,he would be less apt tocatch theeyeofanofficeron the lookout fordeserters.

He made ready thatsame evening, using asaddle and horse strippeddown for hard and fast

riding. He saluted themwitha raisedhand, swunghis horse around, andgalloped from the valley.But despite such bravadothere lurkedat thebackofhiseyes thesameuneasyfear which threatenedthemall.

Four days and threenights he was gone. Hereturnedataclatteringrunin the twilight of the fourthday. Dismounting before

his horse had come to afullstop,hestrodeintotheadobe hut while Eleanorawasstillgettingtoherfeet.

Sweeping off hissombrero, he knelt besideLuis.Alayerofdustcakedhis face and shoulders,sifting in a fine powderfrom thebrimofhishat tothe floor. Itwascaughtonthetipsofhislashes,anditturned to mud on his lipsas he moistened them to

speak.“LieutenantColonel,we

must ride. The woman,Juanita, is dead. BeforetheyreachedGranadashetried to take the gun ofSanchez while he slept.They struggled and shewas shot. Walker and themain body of theFalangistas havemarchedoncemoreonRivaswhereagreatbattle ragesat thismoment. The puta of the

little general nowcommands in his place inthe city. This was whatPablo and Sanchez foundwhen they presentedthemselves, Conde. Theconfession of Juanita wasthrownintothefireunread,or so they say in thestreets, and the men whobrought it were put to thetorture so that they mightreveal the hiding place ofthe others who rode with

them.Idonotknowiftheydid so, but few canwithhold the knowledgethey possess whenpresented to the pincers,thewhip, the red-hot coal.Deathwouldbeallowedtorelease these men fromtheir pain only after theyhad given up theinformation sought. PabloandSanchezwere shot intheplazathreedaysago.”

In the sudden

breathless silence,EleanorastaredatMolina.Stern-faced Sanchez andlucky Pablo. Tortured.Shot.

LuisputouthishandsothatMolinacouldhelphimsit up, and then a soundjarred upon their ears,cuttingacrossthetenseairwith the jaggedpersistenceof adull knife.ItwasJean-Paul,standingin-the doorway, holding to

theframeforsupportashewasrackedbyaharshandhurtfullaughter.

16A month is a long time.Hours, days, weeks, itpasses with exquisiteslowness when spent inconstant movementcoupled with the effort ofconcealment. Tirednessand irritabilitydonotmakethe time go faster, nor do

thestrainofworryand themonotony of eating thesame things prepared inthe same manner. It wasnotapleasantgroupwhichMolina led from thevalley.Itwasevenlesssowhenamonth of days had comeandgone.

The smell ofwoodsmokehadceasedtobe appetizing, and theinevitablebitsof trash, thefeel of grit between the

teeth, had long ago losttheir novelty, becomingsubjects of endlessgrumbling.Thelossofoneof the horses to bloatbefore they left the valleyproved a majorinconvenience, especiallyto the lightest inweight oftheir number, Eleanora,who had to ride doublewith Luis on the strongestmount. Uncertainty as towhether or not they were

being pursued preyed ontheir nerves. Smallaccidentsloomedasmajordisasters, reasons forblame and recriminations,while disaster wasaccepted with a hopelesscalm. Minor indispositionswere used as an excusefor a halt by some, incontrast to Luis who,though seriously ill, wouldpermit nothing less thandeath to slow them. Both

attitudes, carping or stoic,couldnot fail to irritate thesensibilities of someamongthem.

They continued northand east, winding amongthe hills and valleys,crossing countless smallstreams, sometimesfollowingIndianandanimaltrails, at other timesstriking out to make theirown. The terrain becameless rugged, flowing into

series of rolling plateaus.They left the pine-scentedcoolness of themountainsbehind them, descendingonce more into heat andrain. The hardwoods gaveway to more tropicalvegetation, to rubber treesand palms flaunting theirgreennessagainstthebluesky,andthefragile-lookingtoughness of tree fernsstanding knee-deep in alushcarpetofsomesmall,

pinktrailerwithoutaname.Itwas in the rain forest

that a mysterious diseasestruck the rest of thehorses. It caused theirhooves to rot, fallingawaylayer by layer until theycouldnotwalkforthepain.Therewasnoremedy.Noteven Molina with hisanimal loreandhisfaith inthe curative powers ofrootsandIndianmedicinescould findanalternative to

shootingthem.TheIndian,however, could see novalid reason for notbenefiting by theirmisfortune to theextent ofadding horsemeat to theirlarder.But like the iguana,he was left to eat hissupper of horse’s haunchalone. Not even Gonzalezcouldbepersuadedtojoinhim.

“So what do we do?”Slim asked, voicing the

question that hoveredunspoken in the warm,humidair.Theysatarounda fire lit to take thedampness from theirclothesandholdatbaytheswarms of gnats andmosquitoesthatblackenedthe air. The sun had notyet gone down but it wasalready twilight beneaththe canopy of tree limbsoverhead. Shadows ofgiant moths moved

ghostlike in the dimness,andamongtheleavesnowand then there gleamedtwinspotsoflight,theeyesof small, shy monkeyscatching the light of thefire.

Luis, lying on theground on a blanket-stretcher they hadimprovised with polesduring the afternoon tocarry him, looked up. “Wego on, of course,” he said

sharply.“Even I am smart

enough to figure that out,”the plainsman said in amildtone.“We’renotgoingtobeabletogowanderingin this kind of a jungleforever, though.Soonerorlater we’re all going tocomedownwithsomekindof swamp fever, and thatwillbetheendofit.Itlooksto me like the sooner weget out of this, the sooner

we get to some kind oftown, the better off we’llbe.”

“A town is too risky,”Kurtsaid,turninghisbroadface toward Slim fromwhereheleanedagainstatree.

“And this isn’t?” Slimqueried with gesturetoward the dark forestaround them. “Tomorrowwe will be trampingthrough snakes and

scorpionsandspiders.Andif you think youhave ticksandchiggerbitesnow,justwait until you havewadedthrough some of thisgreeneryonfoot.Ontopofthat,most of these creekswe’vebeenwadingacrossare just swimming withblood-sucking leeches.Besides, ifWalker is in asmuch troubleas I thinkheiswith theHonduransandthe Costa Ricans, the

phalanxisgoingtohaveitshandsfullwithoutworryingaboutus,eh,Molina?”

“This may be true,señor,” the Indian agreed,nodding.Kurt threwuphishand. “Wait a minute. I’vebeen giving this somethoughttoo,anditlookstomelikethebestplanwouldbeforsomeofustogoonahead,get throughas fastaspossible,andsendhelpbackfortheothers.”

“You mean leave Luis— and Eleanora —behind?”

Flicking a glance atEleanora, the Prussianlicked his lips. “Notprecisely.”

“The idea has merit,”Luis intervened, his gazefocused somewherebeyond Slim’s leftshoulder.

“Foroneman, itdoes,”Slim said, “that one man

being Kurt. Forget it. Youknow splitting up is theworst thingwecoulddo. Itwould weaken bothparties.”

SeatedonthecornerofLuis’s blanket, Eleanorawas,perhaps,moreawareof the tension in hisslender frame than any ofthe others. It wascommunicated through thechain thatboundthemlikesome metallic lifeline, a

slight vibration perceptiblethrough the nerves of theskin but not to the nakedeye.

“Imayprovesomethingmore of an impedimentthan you envision,” thegaunt man, bearded nowlike the rest and who hadonce been their leader,pointedout.

“Wewillmanage.”“But yes,” Molina

added, his eyes

respectfully averted.Gonzalez, standing to oneside, nodded. Kurt’s faceremained stiff withimpassive disapproval.Looking to her brother,Eleanora saw he was notattending. With studiousattention he was cleaninghis fingernails with a knifepoint, removing the dirtfrom under them andaroundthecuticleswithallthecarehehadonceused

asaNewOrleansdandy.When no more

arguments werepresented, Slim looked atMolina. “Well, this is yourcountry. How do you saywego?”

The Indian dropped toone knee on the ground,and with the flat of hishand, cleared a space,pushing aside the leafmoldand loosedirt.A fewquick lines, and he had

drawn amap that showedthe funnel shape ofNicaragua with the doubleovalsof the twobig lakes,Managua and Nicaragua,in place low on the left,and thesnakingsaw-teethof themountains they hadcrossed on a diagonalabove them. Anothercrooked line representedthe San Juan River, andthen in the wide, openspace of the unexplored

territory between themountainsandthegulf,theNicaraguan drew anotherline, tapping it with hisfingernail. “The RioEscondido,” he said. “Sheflows fromfar in thenorth,two hundred,maybe threehundred miles, to thelagooncalledBluefieldsonthe gulf. If we follow it,sometimes on foot,sometimes on the raft wewill build, we too must

come to the gulf. It is notthe Mosquito Coast, butthe British ships patrolherealso.”

“And ifwedidn’tspotaship right off, we couldalwaysmove up the coasttoward Mosquito country,”Slimsaid.

“Thatistrue,señor.”“Luis?” the plainsman

asked, deferring to theotherman.

“It sounds well,” he

replied.It did indeed sound

well, but it was not thateasy. They had first toreachtheriver,amarchofseveral days attended byall the evils Slim had socarefully pointed out.Arriving, theyhadno toolsother than knives withwhich to build a raft, andfellingthetreesbyburningthem about the basesproved a laborious

process.Vinesasameansoflashingthelogstogetherwere much lesssatisfactory than thecheapest rope. And thegreen wood, heavy withsap, floated low andsluggishinthewater.

Eleanora, though shespelled Gonzalez as cookso that he might lend hisstrength to the project,could do little else. Luiswould not hear of her

foraging in the forestaround them, much lessrelease her to do so. Shewas forced to sit idle,watching the men work,though Luis would, onoccasion, allow her tosearchforgrubstouseforfish bait, hobbling to theriver towatch her fish.Hewasabletodonomoreasyet, and watching hisbrooding discontent withhis continuing weakness

was worse for Eleanorathan idleness. Or perhapsnot. In idleness she hadtoo much time to think ofthe phalanx engaging theCosta Ricans. That battlemustbeovernowatRivas.How had it gone? Moreimportantly, how had itgone for Colonel GrantFarrell?Itseemedthatshemust know, must feelinstinctively,ifhehadbeenkilled or injured, but she

placed no confidence insuchintuition.

Rapids, shallows,rocks, sand bars, brokenand lost poles; everythingseemed to have united toslow the progress of theraft. At one point itappearedbest toabandontheideainfavorofwalkingalong the riverbank, butthe sighting of a raft ofalligators and a black,yellow-speckled snake

longer than a manscotched that idea in ahurry.

Still,theydidnotstayinone place for long. In fitsandstarts,theydescendedthe long, treacherous,muddyEscondido.Day bydayitgrewevermorelushwith vines and flowers,more alive with theraucous calls of parrotsand the tiny trillings ofsmall birds with the

appearanceofchickadees.And then in the middle ofan afternoon wheneveryone dozed inexhaustion on the slimy,water-soaked logs, withthe exception of the twowhose turn it was to pole,the banks of the riverreceded and they floatedgentlyintothesalt-flavoredwaters of BluefieldsLagoon. They had clamsfor supper, small,

succulent mollusks,steamed in the yellow-brown sand of the beach.Lulled by the unceasingcaressoftheturquoisegulfupon the sand, they sleptand did notwake until thesunwashigh,andtheseagulls, looking for carrionalong the beach, foundthem.

The gulls could not beblamed for their mistake;they were not a

prepossessing sight. Theirhair was matted with dirtand perspiration. One byone Eleanora had lost herpins, and in an effort tocontrolherlongmane,haddragged it back to plait itinto one long braid. Thatbraid, not renewed inweeks, had taken on thepacked and fuzzyappearance of wool. Dirtwas ingrained in theirhands and faces, a

smudged,grayfilmthatdidnot quite cover the redwelts of mosquito bites orthe myriad cuts andscratches they all carriedin various stages ofinfection. Beneath thedinginess, their skin wasburned by the sun to thecolor of tanned leather,and with much the sametexture. Upon their bodiesthey had other peculiarpatches of reddened skin

where the sun hadreached through the tearsand rents in their clothing.Shirts, blouses, skirts, andbreeches, the colors werepractically unrecognizablefrom the fading effects ofthe sun, the soiling, andthe pervasive stenciling ofgray mildew. Theweakening effects of thelatter had also caused thematerials to tear moreeasily so that the hems of

the men’s breeches andEleanora’s skirt hung intatters. Her slippers hadlong fallen apart as thestitching rotted, and shehad constructed newfootwear using layers ofblanket tiedabout her feetand ankles with pieces ofvine. These makeshiftbootsprotectedthebottomof her feet, but they hadleft her toes comicallybare. The boots of the

men, made for roughusage, had faredsomewhat better, butthese, like every otherpiece of leather they hadwith them, cartridge belts,suspenderends,andevenLuis’s leather breeches,had grown a thick, fuzzylayerofgray-greenmildew.

The river trip had hadone positive effect,however. The time it hadtakenandtherelativeease

compared to ridinghorseback had allowedLuis to gain strength.When the time came tobreak camp, he was nowable to discard thestretcher and walk alongthebeachwiththerest,aslongashehadtheaidofalong, crotched stick. Asthey trudged, they staredout over the heaving bluewaves of the gulf, but theline of the horizon

stretched withouthindrance,meetingtheskycleanly, without the clutterofsailsor theblackplumeofasmokestack.

One other problemplagued them. It waswater.Theyhadwiththemthree filled canteens, andthe problem was notimmediate, but what littlewater they came acrosswas either muddy orbrackish. It was

disheartening to think thattheymightbeforcedinlandbeforeashipwassighted.As if every league theycovered increased thechances of their beingpickedup,Slim,stridingatthe point, quickened thepace.And seeingLuis stilldidnotfalter,hequickeneditagain.

As the second day ofwalking along thetreacherous sands that

dragged at their everyfootstep passed, Eleanorafelt a creeping futility. Inthe rain forest she hadbeen too frightened, tooworriedforapathy,butwithrescue near, with Luisimproving daily, she couldfeel her strength and herwill leaving her, drainingaway into the hot,blistering sand. The silverglare of the sun, reflectedfrom the dancingwavelets

of the gulf, pierced hereyes, shafting into herskull.Shehadtowatchhersteps with exaggeratedcare, compensating for anincreasing tendency tostagger. Nor did she wantto fall behind, becoming adrag on Luis. He hadenough to do just holdinghimself erect withoutadding her weight. Goodintentions were notenough, however, to keep

her on her feet. Towardevening her knees beganto sag, and sinking downupon the sand, she heldherheadinherhands.

“Eleanora,” Luis saidurgently.“Areyouill?”

“I don’t think so,” sheanswered, and wassurprised at theweaknessof her voice. “I just can’ttakeanotherstep.”

“Youaresurethatisall,you are certain?” he

insisted,scanningherfacewith an anxious gaze,noting the shadows likebruises beneath her eyes,the too-prominentcheekbones,andthepulsepounding in the golden-smooth fragility of herthroat.

“I will be fine when Ihaverested,”shesaid,andhearing the trace ofcoolness in her tone, hedidnotpressherfurther.

She lay with herforearm over her eyes,trying to blot out the all-too-familiar voices of themen around her. For aninstantshewasso tiredofthem, of their constantpresence, of the lack ofprivacy,andmostofall,ofthe jangling chain thatmarked her arm with analmost ineradicablereddish-brown stain fromits crusting of rust. When

Luishandedhersupperofbaked turtle eggs to her,she turned away, movingthe utmost length of thechain from him. Such arevulsion of feeling wouldnot last long, but for themoment she felt if hepressedher, if he touchedher,shewouldscream.

Afteratimethewashofthe waves soothed her,and scooping a hollow inthesandforherbody,she

slept.A whispering scuffle of

sound brought her awake.She lay still with her eyesclosed for a moment,waiting for it to berepeated,thenlittlebylittleshe lifted her lids, peeringthroughtheslits.

Thesurfhadfallentoasoft murmur. The blue-black waters spread asnearly still as they evercame. Upon their surface

layaphosphorescentpath,and at the far end of itstood the fleeing moon,looking over its shoulder.In that light, the brownsand of the beach hadtakenon theglitterofgolddust. It lay heaped andpiled, massed richeswaiting to be plundered.The quiet was tense,echoing with that carefulstealthiness which hadawakenedher.

Abruptly she openedhereyeswide.Amanwascrawling over the sandtoward her, his face lessthanayardfromhers.Thelightofthemoonturnedhishair to silver-gilt andwinked along the honededge of the knife heclutched in his hand,leaving the sockets of hiseyes in darkness. It wasKurt. In the instant of timein which they stared at

each other across thespace of golden sand,Eleanora realized hispurpose; to kill the mansleepingbehindher.

Without waiting for herreaction the Prussianlevered himself to hishands and knees withbared teeth, preparing tolunge across her. Shedrew in her breath toscream.

A shot exploded at her

shoulder. The knifeslithered fromKurt’sgraspaswithastrangledyellhegrabbed at the spoutinghole in his throat. Theimpact of the lead flunghim back. He collapsed,shuddered once, and wasstill.

Before Eleanora couldmove the night was alivewith gunfire, with shoutsand orders and the soundof running feet. From the

scrubby and twisted treesbeyond the line of dunesthat marked high tide,soldiers ran with bayonetsfixed on guns held at theready. There was no timeto decide whether to fighttheir way free or declarethemselvesnoncombatants.Theyweresurrounded, staring up attheircaptors.

When nothing moved,and quiet had fallen, an

officer, a zambo of mixedIndian and Negro blood,dressed in whitewith goldepaulettes, stepped fromamong the trees andwalkedgingerlyacross thesand with his breecheslegs held high. He flickedglance over theirdishevelment,smotheredayawn, and then said in aclipped British accent,“You are under arrest, inthenameoftherulerofthe

sovereign kingdom ofMosquito.”

“Thiswoman,”Luissaidwith a trace of Castilianarrogance in his tone, “ismy prisoner. She is themistress, and a much-belovedone,tothesecondin command — secondonly toGeneralWalker—ofthearmyofNicaragua.Itwas my intention to holdher for ransom. ColonelFarrell will reward

handsomely the man whocan return her to him —unharmed.” He shrugged.“Unfortunately, my menand I lostourway.That isthewayofit,isitnot?”

Thecommandantoftheoutpost to which they hadbeentaken leanedback inhis chair, the stare heturned in Eleanora’sdirection frankly skeptical.She could not blame him.After being marched at

bayonetpointforwhathadseemed like at least ahundred miles, they hadreached this slatterncollection of thatchedshackswhichhadthe lookof a barracoon, a placewhere slaves might havebeen held in other days,the slaves that hadeventually becomeabsorbed into thecommunity of the IndiankingdomofMosquito.They

hadbeenthrownintoahutwhichhadall thesizeandfetidsmellofaprivy.Insidewere no accommodationsfor sleeping, not evenspace for them all to liedown and barely room tosit.Theyhadnotbeen fedsincelunchthedaybefore,and before sunup theinterrogations had begun.One by one they weretaken away until only Luisand Eleanora were left.

Nowitwastheirturn.“The man you killed,”

the zambo commandantsaid, playing with the penonhisdesk, “attackedyoufor the sake of thisreward?”

“Hedid.”“Andwhatdoyousay?”

he asked Eleanora,rounding on herunexpectedly.

It would not do toupholdLuistoostrictly,she

thought, aware of thedoubt that still lingered inthecommandant’seyes. “Iam not certain,” she said,her tone soft. “He—mayhavehadotherplans.”

He nodded briefly,letting his eyes rundisparagingly down herslenderframe.Theyrestedfor a moment on theslimness of her waist andthe chain about her wristbefore he swung abruptly

back to Luis. “Youwere aFalangista,wereyounot?”

“Iwas.”“Butyoudecidedtaking

the colonel’s woman wasbetter than taking thegeneral’sshilling?”

Luis allowed himself asmile. “It seemed a morepromisingway ofmendingmyfortunes.”

Picking up a palm-leaffan, the commandantwaved it languidly. To

Eleanorahesaid,“What isyourname?”

“Eleanora ColetteVillars,” she told him,unconsciously raising herchin.

“Oh, yes. One hasheard of you. Thenewspapers, you know?Onemustkeepupwiththeenemy. It is possible,” hecontinuedreflectively, “thatyoumightmakeavaluablehostage. It just might be

possible.”“I do assure—” Luis

began.The commandant, his

voice suddenly brisk, cutacross his words. “YourealizethatthekingdomofMosquito does notrecognizetheDemocráticoregimeinNicaragua?”

“Yes,but—”“We are allied with the

Legitimistas. You will,therefore, consider

yourselves politicalprisoners.Thatisall.”

It would have beenunwise to argue with thebayonets of the guards.Luis stepped back, andwith a stiff, somewhatawkward bow, allowedhimself to be led away,with Eleanora, ofnecessity,athisside.

“Thank you for whatyou tried to do,” she saidasthedoorof thehutwas

closed upon them oncemore.

Though Luis did notlook at her, he caught herhand, gripping it tightly inhisown. “Letushope it isenoughtobuyforusalittletime,andletuspraythatitwasnottoomuch.”

They received anindication that his effortmight be bearing fruit thatevening.Twomen,bearingananvil,ahammer,anda

chisel,enteredtheirprison.Their intention was plain,and giving way to theinevitable, Luis took thekeyfromachainabouthisneck and unlocked therusty manacles. Watchinghis bent head as heworked over her wrist,Eleanora wondered at hisforesight.The keyhadnotbeen around his neckbefore. All the chain hadheld was a gold religious

medallion which she hadseen often. Where had itbeenhidden?—notthatitmattered.Itwasonlythatitwas less painful to worryaboutakeythanaboutthefuture.

A further hint of theimpression theyhadmadeon the commandant wasthe quality of the foodserved to them at dinnerthat evening. But thegreatest evidence was

manifested early the nextmorning. Toward dawnthere was a commotion inthe town. A ship haddropped anchor offshore,they learned from theguard, and a short whilelater they saw through thecracksofthehutthearrivalofadetachmentofmen inthe uniforms of the BritishNavy, including an officerof high rank. Thecommandant of the small

post greeted the visitorsbeneath the Mosquito flagin the center of theclearing, and escortedthemwithmuchdeferenceand ceremony into hisquarters.

TheBritishconclaveleftwithin the hour, none ofthemsomuchasglancingat the hut where Eleanoraand the men wereimprisoned. Whether as aresult of this meeting, as

they suspected, or simplybecause they had beenwith the Democráticoparty, a short time laterEleanora and the formerFalangistas were led fromtheir hut, loaded into abullock cart, and drivennorthunderamountedandarmed guard numberingtwentyormore toward theHonduranborder.

They were not toldwhere they were going.

They could speculate, ofcourse,butnomore.Eventhat did not serve for longtobeguilethetediumofthejoltingjourney.

After a time Eleanoraturned to Luis. “Why doyou suppose the Britishcame this morning? Whatistheirstakeinallthis?”

“Their reasoning isbased on distrust,” Luisreplied with a slight smile.“Like two strong men

facing a weakling with acake in his possession,neither trusts the other tokeep hands off. Britaindoesn’t want to see theUnited States add CentralAmericatoitsterritory,andthe United States has nostomach for seeing thisvaluable isthmus fall intoBritish control. Accordingto the treaty signed acouple of years ago,neither is supposed to

interfere with Nicaraguaand the workings of freeenterprise.Nothing iseverthatsimple.TheBritishseeanAmericangaining swayin a Central Americancountry, and as acounterbalance theysupport his enemies, inthis case, the Hondurans.Then, you can’t discountVanderbilt’s influence inEngland.HewantsWalkertoppled — and money

makesaverygoodleverifyouknowwheretoplaceit.Hehasspentagreatdealof time, and money, inEngland in the last fewyears. Then, moneymeans littlewhen revengedrivesamanofwealth.”

“And so the British, forpurely political reasons,haveadvisedtheMosquitocommandant to turn usover to the enemy,” shesaidbitterly.

“That’s only a guess,”he reminded her. “Andeven if it’s so, when weexplain who we are wemay find the Honduransmosthospitable.”

Eleanora sent him awan smile, but her fearswerebynomeansstilled.

The Honduran prisonhad once been a Spanishfortress with projectingconical lookout towers thatfaced the sea. Its thick

stonewallscrumblingnow,it was still impressive,dominating the small townbehindit.

They saw no officialbefore being admitted.Theyweremetbyadetailof Legitimista soldiers inblue tunics with redfacings. Despite the smellof stale aguardiente aboutthem, the Lebel rifles andcartridgebelts theycarriedwere most menacing. At

bayonet point, they weremarched through heavy,iron-studded woodendoors, and withoutstopping, pushed down adark corridor, musty withthe smell of old limestoneanduncleaneddrains,toacommonroom.

Though large, with ahigh ceiling rising todarknessunreachedbythelight from small windowsfar above the floor, the

room was overcrowded.People, men and womennumbering perhaps twohundred, lay everywhere,theirsharpfaces,avidwithcuriosity,turnedtowardthedoor. Seeing the numbersof healthymenamong thenew arrivals, they turnedaway with their talonlikefingers clenching andunclenching in feraldisappointment. Eleanoraglanced at Luis, seeing in

the flaring of his nostrilsandthetightnessofhislipsan echo of what shesuspected.Theywouldnotbe attacked now, whilethey presented a unitedfront with such smallprospect of reward, butwhat little of value theypossessed would bestripped from them bit bybit as soon as they couldbeseparated.

These were not

ordinary prisoners. Fromthe length of the men’sbeardsandthestateoftheclothes they wore, sheguessed that they hadbeen incarceratedhere formany years. Their facesmirrored only the mostprimitiveofemotions;hate,fear, jealousy, and in themen, something that waseven more disturbing,nakedlust.

As the door clanged

shut behind them, Slimleaned toward Luis. “Whatdo you say we takeourselves one of thoselittlerooms?”

Eleanora saw at oncewhathemeant.Alongonewall there were severaldoorless cubicles. Thoughsmall,theyrepresentedtheonly possible security. Forthe moment, they were acomparatively stronggroup. There could be no

better time than now forwhat Slim proposed. Thiswas not an occasion forsentiment or therecognition of rights. Suchemotions were a liabilityhere.Theymusttakewhatthey could while they hadthestrength.

With Luis limping infront, they moved in bodytoward the last cell on theend at the far side of thecommon room. The

skirmish with theoccupants, a pair offerociously bearded menand their paramours, wasbrief.

Nursinghishandwhereone of the women hadbitten him, Molina lookedaround. “Very nice,” hesaid. “Better than our last—”

“—Our lastaccommodation?” Luisfinished. “Yes, I must

agree. We will have toremember to thank themfortheir—hospitality.”

Though they could notallsleeponthebarestoneshelfacrosstheback,theycould at least all beseated. This proved adefinite advantage, sincetherewasnothingtodobutsit. By standing on thesleeping shelf they couldpeeroutofthetiny,barredwindow set high in the

wall,buttherewasnothingto be seen. The viewwasof a large, empty squareenclosed by a stone wall.The light from the windowwas welcome during theday, making a pleasantdimnesswithinthecell,butat night, because thetorches could not reachtheir closed-in space, itwas terrifyingly dark. Andby some odd quirk ofacoustics, the screams

and cries, the grunts andmoans and other bestialsounds of the natural andunnatural acts beingcommitted outside in thecommon room, werefunneled through their cellmultipliedtentimesover.

Beforetheyhadbeenintheprisonaweektheyhadlearned to live with othersounds and theirmeanings, such as theclatter that heralded the

coming of the two mealsthey were served a day.They knew when to standback out of range of theguard’s bayonets, andwhen to surge forward toget their fair share of thefood.Theydiscoveredwhowas considered to be theleader among the otherprisoners, and what therules, such as they were,consistedof.Theycametotheconclusionthataslong

as the four weakestmembers of their groupremained in or near thecubicle, letting the twostrongest, Slim andGonzalez,bring their food,they were safe. Thisarrangement was madewithsolittlediscussionthatitwas several daysbeforeEleanora, thepersonmostbenefited,wasawareof it.Itwasdonesoquietlyandmatter-of-factly that it was

difficultforhertocommenton it,much less voice hergratitude.

“Don’t try,” Luis said inone of their raremomentsof conversation while theytook theirexercisewalkingup and down outside theircell. “Not one of them willadmit why they are takingsuchcarenottoleaveyoualone. Oh, they know, ofcourse, but they will notadmitit.Molinawillsayitis

becauseyoudidnot laughwhen he ate the iguana,Gonzalez because youpraised his cooking, andSlimperhapsbecauseyouremind him of his sisterwho died long ago. Theywill say it is because youcookedforthem,smiledatthem without teasing, didnot scream at snakes andleeches, and took thesplinters and thorns fromtheir fingerswithyour long

nails. All that will not belies,andyetthereismore.It may be that which theyoung soldier felt in youwhocalledyouanangel—a thing enhanced by yourbeauty though it does notdepend upon it, a brightsteadfastness that in aman might be calledshiningcourage.”

“You flatter me, asalways,” she said huskily,tryingtosmile.

“That is not possible,”he replied, and taking herarm, turned her gentlyback toward the safety oftheircubicle.

Morethanallelse,theylearned to watch for thegray-haired priest, FatherSebastian, and to dreadhis arrival of an evening,for his prayers and hisblessingunerringlymarkedtheman he chose to givetothemfordeathatdawn.

For that, they discovered,was theuseof thesquarewhichtheircelloverlooked.It was there, in its hotemptiness, that thosewhom Father Sebastianblessedwereexecuted.

Time in that place ofconstant torchlight had nomeaning. After so manycalendarless days, theyhadlittleideawhetherAprilwas on the wane or Mayhadalreadybegun.Asking

theotherprisonersprovedfutile; they had even lessidea. Money might haveextracted the informationfromtheguards,butofthefew pesos they heldbetween them there wasnone to spare for suchluxurious knowledge. Itmayhavebeentwoweeksorthreethattheyhadbeenguests of the Hondurans,when a disturbance at themain door of the common

room caught theirattention. It was notmealtime, being onlymidafternoon, nor was ittime for Father Sebastian.Glancing at Luis and Slimwith a raised eyebrow,Molina sauntered to thedoorwaytotakealook,hishands on his hips.Suddenlyhewasstill.

“Whatisit?”Luiscalled.“Newarrivals?”

“You might say so,”

Molina answeredcryptically, swinging backintotheroomtostandwithhis back to the wall, armsakimbo.

Gonzalez, in a corner,wasmatchingJean-Paulinan endless gameof odds-and-evenswith theirshareof the food for stakes.Eleanorahadbeenplayinga formof tic-tac-toe in thegrittysandonthefloorwithLuis.Sheglancedathimto

see resignation come intohis face, and then sheturnedtowardthedoor.

Twomen, backedbyapair of armed guards,shouldered into the tinyroom.Oneworethewhite-corded epaulettes of anofficer in the Legitimistaarmy,anoldermanwhosegrizzled mutton-chopwhiskers grew tomeet hismustache. The other mantowered above him, a

broad-shouldered giant incivilian clothes with sandyblond hair and pale blueeyes.

“Major Crawford!”Eleanora exclaimed,gettingtoherfeet.

The other man did notanswer. He turned to theHonduran. “That is theVillars woman and herbrother, and one ofWalker’s officers. TheseothersIdon’tknow.”

“Very good,” the officerreplied. Without anotherword they turned and left,leaving the silence ofdismaybehindthem.

17Major Neville Crawford.Traitor,spy,andVanderbiltagent.Whyhadsheneverguessed? It seemed soobvious now. There hadbeen Mazie’s surpriseaboardtheDanielWebsterat his becoming a soldier,and his indiscreet

admissionofmoneyasthemotive. She must haverealizedthattoamanwhospoke as he did, the fewhundred acres of land hemightexpecttogainwouldnot mean wealth. Mazie’sguarded attitude shouldhave warned her. Theactress, a woman ofexperience,musthavehadhersuspicions,thoughshecould not have beencertain or she would have

mentioned them tosomeone. On secondthought, this was notnecessarily true. MaziehadlittlereasontolovetheWalker regime. Eleanorathought that she knewMazie well enough tosuppose that she wouldhavecomeforwardforhersake— if there had beentime. There had not, andso speculation wasuseless.

Dimly, Eleanoraremembered anotherconversation she hadoverheard between theactress and the major.Mazie had warned him totake care in his dealingswith Niña Maria. Had themeetingsbetweenhimandWalker’s mistress beensomething more thansocial occasions? Hadthey, perhaps, been trystsbetween fellow

conspirators? Who betterthan the aristocratic NiñaMaria to filch informationfrom the papers of theAmericanPhalanx?Suchavaluable position as hersmust be protected at allcost, of course. Juanita,Jean-Paul, herself, evenGrantandhiscareer,couldbesacrificedwithimpunity.There was a certainrightness in discovering amore valid reason than

petty jealousy for her ownimplication in this mess.What seemed suddenlymonstrous was the use towhich Juanita had beenput, and the lack ofprotection she hadreceivedforherservice.

The urge to prove hertheories was irresistible.“Slim?” Eleanora spoke ina voice she thought lowenough to escapeattention. “Juanita’s

confession. What did shesay?Howwasitworded?”

Slim,sittingsomesmalldistance along thesleeping shelf with hishead tilted back againstthe stone wall, turnedslowly in her direction.“Why?”

“It isn’t idle curiosity,”she said quickly, andoutlinedherreasons.

Slim shook his head.“There was nothing like

that. She confessed tobeingthesisterofayoungboy who was killed at thebattle of Virgin Bay. Shesaid that she first took upwith your brother becauseshe thought she couldpersuade him to bring herpapers and reports fromthe colonel’s desk. Sheurged him to get close toyou again for that reason.But she decided later thathehadtoomanyprinciples

to do what she wanted,and so she never askedhim;shejustdiditherself.”

“She didn’t mentionNiñaMariaatall?”

“Nope. She clearedyourname,made it soundlike she was working byherself, getting even onaccount of her brotherbeingkilledbythephalanx.Thatwasall.”

Niña Maria did notdeserve such loyalty, for

despite the lack ofevidence Eleanora couldsee no other explanationfor the facts as sheperceived them. Shelooked away, her gazefalling by accident uponher brother’s pale face.Something in his stillnessbegged further attention.Lookingcloser,shesawinthelightofafternoonfallingclear through the windowthetearsofsilentpain.

The day wore on. Themendropped their games,their banter and drawlinganecdotes. They satquietly talking, and whenbychancetheireyeswouldmeet, they would each lettheirgazeslipaway,afraidof what the other wouldsee hidden there.Occasionally Slim wouldget up and lounge to thedoor. Ignoring theobscenities hurled at him,

hewouldstand,quarteringthecommonroomwithhisfar-seeing eyes.Sometimes he would takea few steps beyond thedoor, standing with hishead up, like a deerscenting danger. But afterall his prowling he alwaysreturned to join the othersin their inescapable,interminablewaiting.

Father Sebastian, hisshoulders bent beneath

the black linen of hiscassock, came at sunset.His sandals made a softscuffingsoundonthefloorashemadehiswayacrossthe room. The prisonersgave way in the gladnessof reprieve before him ashis rheumyoldeyes failedto seek theirs. Louderandlouder the scuffing grewuntil it seemed toreverberate through thecell.Thepulseoftheroom

quickened. Slim, standingstraight, turned slowlytowardthedoor.Jean-Paulraised his head, whileMolina and Gonzalezsharedasearchingglance.Luis put aside Eleanora’shand, which he had beentoyingwith,andgotslowlytohisfeet.Astheoldmanappeared in the opening,hebowed. “Goodevening,Father,” he said quietly.“We have been expecting

you.”Confession, absolution,

their sins were heard withcompassion,andabsolvedwith a trembling dignitythat was much morecomfortingthanthehurriedand pompous grace of acathedralprelate.

“Notyou,mydaughter,”Father Sebastian saidwhenever Eleanorasteppedforward,butathersoftly murmured pleas he

acquiesced.Andwhenhewasdone

at last, Luis touched hisarm. “One thing more,Father, if I may trespassuponyourgoodness?”

“Yes,myson?”“I wish you to perform

the rites of marriagebetween myself and thislady.”

As he spoke, Luisreached for Eleanora’shand, drawing her close

against his side. Shestared at him with wideeyes, her mind curiouslyblank.

“The ladywishes to bewed?”theoldpriestasked.

Luis turned to her,catchingbothherhandsinhis.“Donotrefusemethis,Eleanora, I implore. It is asmall thing that will meanso much. Allow me toknow for this short timethatyoubelongtome,and

toofferyouwhatprotectiontheremaybe inmyname.I know I should havebroacheditearlier,butyoumight have refused mefromprideorfromreasonsoftheheartthatmeanlittleto me. But now I ask itwithout shameasmy finalrequest of you, my soul.Willyoubemywifeforthisnight?”

How could she denyhim? Even if she could

have found thewords, thewillwasnotthere.“Youdome great honor,” shewhispered, meeting thetenderness of his browneyes without subterfuge.“Yes,Iwillmarryyou.”

The ceremony was,perforce, a simple one.Their combined namesechoed around the stonechamber. Luis’s signet,bearingthecoat-of-armsofhis family, slid heavy and

warm from the heat of hisbodyoverherfinger.Theirresponses were low, andglazed with a seriousnessthat was unavoidable.Eleanora knelt to receivethe blessing of FatherSebastianwithher sensessteeped in unreality. Hermind refused to grapplewith what she was doingand the reasons for it.Tomorrow was a distanttime without meaning. For

now the present wasenough. The sand on thefloor grated beneath herknees, the feel of Luis’shandwasfirmonhers,thetorchlight through thedoorway flickered as itshoneon thewhitehairofthe priest, the shuffling oftheir audience both insidethe cell and beyond itmade a quiet backgroundto the solemnity of themoment.

And then it was over.There was a moment ofawkwardness after FatherSebastianhadgone.Jean-Paul stepped forward tobanish it with a gravesmile.“Happiness,”hesaidandembracedher,kissingherceremoniouslyoneachcheek.

“And you,” she said,clinging to his arm amoment longer than wasnecessary,hereyesonhis

face,knowingall thewhilethat he too had receivedFather Sebastian’sblessing.SlimshookLuis’shand and claimed a hugfrom Eleanora. Gonzalezand Molina contentedthemselves with a bow,and a salute upon herfingers. Then, as by someprearrangement, they filedwith exaggeratedcasualness from thecubicle.

Frowning, Eleanorastared after them. Aware,as always, of her feelings,Luis took her arm, leadingher toward the sleepingshelf. “Don’t worry,pequeña. They will guardthe door, and then,perhaps, if the women ofthecommonroomarekindand the omens arefavorable, they may seekfor themselves that whichcomes closer to

immortality than anythingfoundinwarbywarriors.”

Shehadgrownusedtolying beside Luis, used tothe feelofhishandsuponher body. For the sake ofthesafetyofsleepingnextto him, she had gladlyendured the bruising forceof his frustration at hisinability to possess her.This night was differentonly in that shesurrendered to his will,

withholding nothing ofherself from him. His kissdid not warm and exciteher,didnot,asGrant’sdid,command a response shewaspowerlesstowithhold,but it was so sweetlytender that she longed togive him surcease. Shefollowed his guiding,holding him, moving inaccommodation in anagonyof tension.Hedrewhercloser,evercloser,the

circle of his armstightening until the breathwas crushed from herlungs. Her face wasrasped and her mouthscorchedfromhisbeardedlips.His fingers, cruelwithdesperation, held her tohim, until she could nothelp the small moan ofpainthatescapedher.

He released her atonce. Burying his face inthehollowofher throathe

laystilluntiltheirbreathingquieted. At last hemurmured, “Iburn foryou,Eleanora. In my mind Itaste the rapture of yourgiving. I want you beyondmy dearest hope ofheaven.”

“Oh, Luis,” shewhispered, pressing herhand tohis bare shoulder.“Iwish—”

“No. Don’t.” He raisedhis head, his eyes

shadowed in the dimness.“It may be that it waswrongofme toexpect thegood Lord to grant all myprayers. It is sacrilege topress desire upon anangel.”

“Please, not that.”Eleanora forced thewordsthrough the constriction inherthroat.

“You are so beautiful,”hewenton,gentlydrawinghis fingers down across

hershouldertotheswellofherbreast. “Itmaybe thatit is best, for the good ofmy soul, that I do notprofanewhatIfeelforyou.Kiss me, then, sweetangel,andtellmethatyoucare forme,even if it isalie.”

She reached up to stillthatlastworduponhislips.“I do love you,” she said,her voice breaking a little.“Pleasebelieveme.”Andit

was not an untruth. Therewas a part of her that, inthe purity of hercompassion, responded tohim.Itwasgentleemotion,not that powerful, carnalpassion of belonging thatshe felt when she thoughtof Grant — still it was nolessreal.

SlowlyLuis loweredhislips to hers in a kiss thatcarriedwithinthedepthsofits gentle forbearance a

benediction. He held herfitted against his heart, along, unceasing caress,through the night. Andwhen the first fingers oflightbegantostealintotheroom,hehelpedhertodonher clothing and rebraidherhair.

Fastening the end ofher braid with a scrap ofcloth,he laid itgentlyoverher shoulder, smoothingthesilkof itwithhis rough

fingers. Without looking ather,hesaid,“IfearforyouwhenIamgone.”

“Please don’t worry,”she said, trying to smile,notsucceedingverywell.

“I may have made atrap for youwithmy fool’stongue.”

“There was nothingelse to be done. I amgratefulforthethoughtyoutookformysafety.”

Glancing toward the

common room where inthegray light themenandwomenlaylikelumpsuponthe floor, he said, “I mayhave done no more thanpostpone the ravishment.DearGod!HowcanIleaveyou?”Hecaughtherclose,pressing her against him.“How can I ever leaveyou?”

They stood for a longmoment, clinging to eachother,andthenbeyondthe

main door of the commonroom they heard the softthudofmarchingfeet.Luiswentrigidbeforeheslowlyrelaxed. Smoothing hishandsoverherbacktotheroundness of hershoulders,heputher fromhim.

“Listen carefully,” hesaid. “Your best hope isMajor Crawford. Trust tohis mercy. It can be noless than that of the

canaille in there.” Henoddedbeyondthedoor.

The door in the outerroom swung open. Therewas a general outcry ofthose disturbed by thefiring-squad detail. Ashadow appeared in thedoorway of the cell, ashadow that resolved intothe shape of theplainsman. Seeing them,he nodded and turnedaway, taking up a stance

facing into the commonroom.

Hastily, Luis reachedinside his shirt, and takingthe chain hewore, lifted itoff.Heslipped itwith careover her head, settling itintothevalleybetweenherbreasts, then raised hisbrown eyes, aching withsorrow, to hers. “St.Michael will protect younow, for I have failed you,Eleanora. Forgive me,” he

said.“No, no,” she tried to

tell him. “I’ll be all right.”But even those words,inadequate as they were,would not come from herthroat.

A last kiss, flavoredwith the salt of her tears,and then the others werewith them. She embracedJean-Paul, clinging to hisarm with icy fingers,searching the calm of his

features with somethinglike disbelief. She couldnot remember what shesaid to the others, whatgood-byes, what words ofappreciation. They kissedherhands,speakingtoherin voices deep withsincerity. They had amoment to speak amongthemselves,and then theyweremarchingaway, theirbacks straight, betweenthedoublefileofsoldiers.

Clutching the goldmedallion Luis had givenher, Eleanora stared afterthem until the great outerdoor had clanged shut.She stood a momentlonger,thensherantothesleepingshelfandclimbedupon it, standing on tiptoetoseefromthetinybarredwindowabove.Bygrippingwith her hands she couldpull herself a little higher,though the stone ledge of

the window cut into herwrists and the wall wascold and clammy againstherbreast.

The parade groundbelow was empty exceptfor the old padre and anofficerinhisuniformofredand blue and white,holding an open watch inhishand.Thepairstoodastheywereforlongminutes.Finally, as if alerted bysome sound, they turned

toward a wide gate set inonewall.

The gate swung opento admit the firing-squaddetail. They marchedacross the square towardwhere Eleanora stood.Luis was first, followed bySlim and Molina; withGonzalez, saggingbetweentwomen,hisfacetwisted with horror,bringinguptherear.Therewasnooneelse.

Eleanora ran her gazeover the men once more.She had been right. Jean-Paulwasnotamongthem.What had they done withhim? Her scalp crawledwithhorror as she thoughtof him being heldsomewhere, beingtortured, though for whatreason she could notimagine.

Now the soldiers weretying their hands behind

them. Father Sebastianmoved down the line withpainful slowness, his lowvoice intoning, his handmaking the sign of thecrossagainandagain,hisgnarled and quiveringfingers holding out thewooden crucifix to receivetheir kiss. Fromsomewhere Slim hadfoundacigarillo,andwhilethose of the faith receivedtheirrites,hedrewuponit,

lettingthesmokedriftfromhis lungs with a quiet,almostreflectivecourage.

The blindfolds weredirty white handkerchiefsfolded inexpertly to goabout their eyes. With adefiniteshakeofhishead,Luis refused his, the onlyone to do so. A heavyhand on their shouldersforced the men to theirknees with their backs tothe firing squad, lined at

thirtypacesbehindthem.Theofficersnappedthe

caseofhiswatchshutandput it away.Witha rattlingclatter,hedrewhissword.Imperceptibly, the daygrew brighter. A coolmorning breeze floatedacross the open square,stirring the soft, brownwaves of Luis’s hair andlifting small puffs of dustfromtheground.

A command rang out.

The soldiers raised theirrifles, steadied them. Theswordoftheofficerflashedasitbeganitsdescent.

Below her, not tenyards away, Luis lifted hishead. Seeing her faceoutlined in the window, aglad light sprang into hiseyes. His lips moved astheyformedhername.Butthe sound was lost in theroaring crash of the volleyofthefiringsquad.

The blue smoke ofgunpowder hazed thesquare. Strong, acrid, thesmell of it drifted into thecell. Still Eleanora did notmove. Her gaze fastenedon those four figuressprawled across the sand,she hardly breathed. TheLebel rifles had done theirjob. Not a single shot hadstruck thewall at her feet.There was no need for acoup de grace. And yet it

did seem callous for thedetail to stand in the firstrays of the rising sun,alive, reloading. It was arelief when, at a series ofbarked orders, theyshouldered their weaponsof death and left thesquaretoFatherSebastianandthefallen.

Even sounds behindherdidnotquitepenetrateEleanora’s concentration.It was as though as long

as she refused to accepttheknowledgeofhereyesit could not hurt her. Hermuscles were stiff fromcramp, but she could notrelease them, and morethanallelse,shecouldnotpermit the onslaught oftears that burned behindhereyes.Tocrywouldbeto admit a cause for grief,something to be held atbayatallcost.

The feel of hands

dragging at her skirts,ripping away the rottenmaterial, broke herperilous absorption. Shewasaware, suddenly, of afoul-smelling, pot-belliedmanatherside,tearingather hands upon the barswithdirty fingersending inlong,horny,yellownails.

Pain burst into hermind,bringinguncontrolledfury. Releasing the bars,she slashed out at the

grinning, snaggle-toothedface, so that three bloodystreaksscoredthedirtthatcoated it. More handsreached up for her,grabbingforthegoldchainat her neck. She caughtthe disk in her hand,cradling it protectively asshebackedalongtheshelftothecorner.Herstomachknotted with hate anddisgust, but she did notdare kick at the horde

around her for fear theywould catch her foot andpullherdownamongthem.

Her blouse was torn,hanginghalfwaydownoneshoulder.Herskirtdangledinshredsoverher tatteredpetticoat. She hadremoved her makeshiftslipper-boots for the night,so that she stood in herbarefeet,cornered,atbay.

“St. Michael protectyou.”Luishad invokedthe

aid of the archangel,patron saint ofwarriors, toher cause, and now,surrounded by the sea ofgrinning, brutal faces, shefoundaprayerheardoncein some distant, childhoodyear running through hermind. St. Michael theArchangel, defend us inthedayofbattle...anddothou, O Prince of theHeavenly Host, by thepower of God, cast into

hell Satan and all the evilspiritswhoprowltheworldseekingtheruinofsouls—

Theanswer,ifansweritwas, came with shockingunexpectedness. Thesound of a shot explodedin the room, hushing thebabble of obscenities andshouts of encouragementtosilence.Acrossthatseaof vacant, startled facesshe saw the broad-shouldered form of Major

Crawford. The smokingpistol in his hand stillpointed toward the ceilingas he searched the crowdfor any sign of aninclinationtoarguewithhisauthority.Therewasnone.Totally cowed, the menbacked away and let himcomeforward.

As he approached, heextended his hand, hisface grave and his paleblue eyes somber with

concern. Eleanora’s firstinclination was to drawback, to stand on herdignity, refusing to trafficwithamansheconsideredherenemy.Butshewasinno position to stand onpride. Moreover, theadvice Luis had givencame back to her, theremembrance of hishauntingly soft tonecarryingagreaterauthoritythananyordercouldhave

done.Moving like a

sleepwalker, she gave themajorherhand.Hisfingersclosed large, warm, andsupportive around it, asshesteppeddown.Feelingthe trembling that shookher, he reached to scoopher into his arms. Makingnothing of her weight, heboreheroutofthecubicle,through the darkness ofthecommonroomandthe

corridor, and into the hotandprecioussunlight.

Eleanoralayinthelongcopper tub, her facetightlippedandcold.MajorNevilleCrawfordhadbeenall concern, ordering adeep,hotbathforherwitha supply of linen towelsandpureCastile soap.Hehad even borrowed awrapperofwhitelawnlinedwith silk for her from thewardrobeofthewifeofthe

fort’s commandant, acircumstance Eleanoraviewed warily. Thesecourtesies, the luxury inwhich themajorwas livinghere in Honduras, theroom allotted him in onecorner of the officialpalacio, his ordering of itsservants, the tub fit for aroyalgovernor,thenicetieshe could command atwill,indicated that he wassomeone of importance. It

tended also to confirmwhat she suspected. Shefrowned. There had beenas yet no indication of hisintent towardher. If itwashis purpose to carry herback to stand trial inGranada there was nooccasion for this attentionto her comfort. She couldhavegoneback inherdirtand rags as easily as not.On the other hand, if hisinterestwaspersonalthere

hadbeennosuggestionofthateither.Hepuzzledher,but in her presentmalaiseshe had no energy toexpendonriddles.

Easing deeper into thewater, she soaped herselfwith precision. When thewater began to cool, shewashed her hair, latheringit again and again in theeffort toremovetheprisonstench. She rinsed onefinal time with the can of

clear water provided, andthen to avoid the grayscumformingasthewatergrewcold,shestruggledtoherfeetandsteppedout.

Despite the gatheringheat of the morning, shefelt chilled, so that shedried hurriedly, wound thetowel about her hair, andslipped into the wrapperwhich lay across the bed.Theonly comb in sight onthe heavy dark-oak

dressing tablebelonged tothemajor,andwitha faintflicker of a smile shepicked it up. If he had notintended that she shouldavail herself of it, heshould not have left itthere.

Lifting the tortoiseshellcomb to her hair, shepaused, stabbed by amemory of Luis, combingher tangled curls with hisfingers, braiding it, such a

short time before. For aninstant she could notbreathe, then, with aneffort, she pushed theimage from her, closinghermindagainstit.

When at last her hairhung wet and sleek downher back, she walked outonto the small, stone-balustrade balconyattached to the room. Thesun shining down upon itfelt good upon her face,

andcombinedwithatradewindfromthegulfwashingblue in the distance, itsoondriedherhair.

She was still standingthere when the majorreturned.Hearing thedoorclose behind him and hisquickfootsteps,sheswungslowly around, taking thetwo short steps to thedoorway.

He was not alone. Ayoungmaidwithshybrown

eyes, hair severelydressed,coveredbyacap,and wearing the finematerials of a superiorladies maid, enteredbehindhim.Shesetatraydown upon the dressingtable,andbobbingacurtsyin Eleanora’s direction,took from over her arm afull red skirt with deepruffles cascading from theknees, a petticoat andmatching camisole of

eyelet shot with blackribbons, and a whiteblouse with sleeves ofruffled eyelet. A blackmantilla and black kidslippers with satin tiescompleted the ensemble.Setting the slipperson thefloor, taking up Eleanora’sdiscarded rags, the maidcurtsied once more andmovedwithdelicatedignityfromtheroom.

The major had not

spoken. He stood with anarrested look on hisfeatures, staring atEleanora.Inthebrightraysofthesunshehadagildedlook.Herhair,bleachedbythe elements, riotedaround her with a look ofgold-tipped flames. Herskin, after the long weeksof imprisonment, hadfaded to a soft goldperfection that gave hereyes the look of emeralds

shining with inner fire inthe head of some ancientMayanidol.Afterweeksofprivation, her formwas soslender as to appearethereal, and there wasabout her the appearanceof such fine-honedsuffering that a look ofextreme doubt came intohiseyes.

A muscle in his facemoved as his jawtightened. “How are you?”

heasked.“Verywell,” she replied

in her coolest tones. “Imust thank you for seeingtomycomfort.”

“ItwastheleastIcoulddo,” he answered shortly.“Won’tyoucomeinandsitdown?”

Sheobeyed, taking theseatheindicated,oneofapairofbrocadedarmchairswithasmalltablebetweenthem. Relaxing was

impossible, however, andshe sat straight on theedgewithherhandsfoldedinherlap.

The major took theopposite chair. Seeminglyat a loss for words, hesearched in his frockcoatpocket for apanatela, andreceivingherpermissiontosmoke, lit it with a sulfurmatch. The scent of thesmoke invaded the room,gradually overcoming the

smell of soap. When theredcoalon theendof thecigar was glowing to hissatisfaction, he glanced ather through thick, sandylashes.

“The first thing Iexpectyouwillwant to know,” hesaid abruptly, “is that thecharges against you havebeen dropped. JuanitaSantamaria, the womanwho accused you, is, asyou may know, dead. Her

storyhasbeendiscredited.General Walker, on hisreturn last month fromRivas, made a thoroughinvestigationof thematter,and you have beenexonerated.”

Eleanora lifted herhead.“Thegeneral—andthe phalanx — havereturnedsafely?”

He gave a short nod.“Onemoretime.”

“Theywerevictorious?”

“After the general’speculiar fashion,” headmitted. “I don’t know ifyou are aware that heretreated from Rivaswithout directly engagingthe Costa Ricans on hisfirstattemptinearlyMarchbecause of rumors of aHonduran invasion. Whenthe rumors proved to bewithout foundation, hemarched on Rivas again.He forcedhisway through

the Costa Rican line tocapture the center of thetown,buttheCostaRicansfar outnumbered Walker’smen, and he wassurrounded. The positionwasuntenable,andhehadno recourse but to retreatunder cover of darkness,leaving his woundedbehind in a church neartheplaza.”

“That was a victory?”Eleanora said in

bewilderment.“It proved to be. The

fools of Costa Ricansentered the church andbutchered the wounded,thenthrewtheirbodiesoutwith the rest of the fallenon the edge of town.Afterward, they proceededto go on a week-longcelebration of their defeatof the Immortals. As wasentirely natural under thecircumstances, cholera

broke cut, and thepestilence did a far moreeffective job of eradicatingtheCostaRicanarmythanWalker could havedreamed.Thestupid idiotsdied like flies, and then,instead of quarantiningthemselvesandcontainingthe disease, they fled in arout back to Costa Rica,carrying itwith them.Theysay ten thousand havedieddownthere,withmore

tocome.Itwillbeamiracleif they are able to putanotherarmy into the fieldwithinthenexttwoyears.”

“You are very hard onthem,” she suggested, hereyesnarrowing.

Hebarelylookedather.“Ihatebungling.”

“You would havepreferred that the CostaRicans had showed morejudgment, even enough todefeatGeneralWalker?”

Asardoniclookenteredhis pale blue eyes.“Perceptive of you toguess,”hesaid.“However,I had every intention ofmaking you familiar withthe secret of mysympathies. It is, you see,necessaryformyplans.”

Eleanora regarded himwith care. She must notallow herself to beintimidated. She saidnothing, waiting for him to

continue.The major drew on his

panatela, letting the bluesmoke shield hisexpression. Then, as iffinding the cigardistasteful, he got to hisfeet,walkedtothewindow,andtosseditout.Withonearmproppedontheframe,he said over his shoulder,“From what I have toldyou, you should realizethat you are free to return

to Granada. It should notbe hard, once you arethere, to regain yourformer position withColonel Farrell — andeven your place in theaffections of Uncle Billy.They will be anxious tomake up to you for whatyouhavesuffered.”

“I don’t—” she began,but he cut across herwords.

“It isn’t a question of

what you want. What Ihave suggested is exactlywhat you will do. Onceentrenched again, you willkeep your eyes and earsopen, and every bit ofinformation you discoverconcerningtheplansoftheDemocrático governmentyou will report to mepersonally.”

“You are asking me to—spyforyou?”

“Not asking, telling

you.”“And what makes you

think I will agree?” shedemanded, her voicerising.

“You have excellentreason for a grudge. Youhavebeenfalselyaccused,hounded, subjected tohardship,imprisoned,seenyour friends killed. Andthen there is the questionofreimbursement.Youwillbe paid, paidwell, for this

service.”“No doubt. By

Vanderbilt.”“Indirectly, yes,” he

agreed, a wary lookappearing in his eyes asheturnedtofaceher.

“I am sorry todisappoint you, but I feelno malice against WilliamWalker. He, I amconvinced, had no part inwhathappenedtome.Itishis mistress who has

earnedmyhate.”“NiñaMaria?”heasked

withapretenseofdoubt.“The same. Tell me, if

youcan, that itwasn’tshewho arranged for you tocometoHonduras.”

He was silent, his facerevealing nothing as heheldher jewel-greengaze.In sudden decision, henodded.“Youareright.Wereceived an offer toexchange you and your

brother for a Honduranofficer, the son of a richplanter who was capturedinaraidacrosstheborderand is now being heldprisoner in Granada. Forsome reason the officialshere seemed to thinkWalkerwouldvalueyouatleast as highly as one oftheir officers. They wereright. The decision wasmade to agree to theirterms. Niña Maria

suggested at the lastmoment that I be sent toidentify you, and, if theofferwas legitimate, effecttheexchange.”

Eleanora’s eyelidsflicked down as shewonderedwhyGrantcouldnot have volunteered tocome — if he wasinterested in her return. “It— must have been anexcellent opportunity tomeet with Vanderbilt’s

representatives,” shemanagedtosay.

“Excellent,” he agreedwithcandor.

“It is too bad then thatthesecondarypartofyourmission is doomed tofailure.NiñaMariawillnot,I sincerely hope, bepleasedwithyou.”

“I understand yoursentiments,” he saidunexpectedly, hisexpression troubled. “But I

am afraid I cannot riskdispleasing any of myemployers. If you will notaccept my suggestionwillingly,youwillonlyforceme to find a way ofpersuadingyou.”

“Simper and flirt myway back into ColonelFarrell’s bed just so I canrifle his correspondenceand eavesdrop on hisconversations?” she saidtensely. “No amount of

money, nothing you canpossiblysay,willpersuademe.”

Pushing away from thedoor, he walked to theluncheontraysittingonthedressing table. Beneaththelinencloththatcoveredit he discovered breast ofchicken, yeasty whitebread, peaches, grapes,and a bottle of cool whitewine between a pair ofcrystal goblets. Uncorking

the wine, he filled thegobletsandbroughtonetoher, pushing it into herhands. Automatically sheraised it toher lips.A littlesour, but good enough,she thought abstractedly,and watched while NevilleCrawford drained hisglass.

Withhisbacktoher,hefilled it once more. “Youhaven’t asked about yourbrother,”hesaidquietly.

Eleanora went still.“You—knowwhereJean-Paul is? You know whattheyhavedonetohim?”

“They haven’t doneanything—yet.Heisherein this house in a roommuchlikethis.”

“You know it forcertain?”

“As I standhere. I giveyoumyword.”

Eleanora looked downinto her glass. The liquid

within it trembled,andshewas aware, suddenly, ofthe pounding of her heart.Carefully,shesetthewineglass on the table at herelbow. “It was kind of youto tell me,” she said in acolorlesstone.

“Notatall.Ihavetotellyou that when you returnto Granada your brotherwill not be leaving here.For all purposes, he willhavediedbefore the firing

squad. He will remainbehind, a prisoner, a —what is the phrase? —hostage to your goodconduct.”

“Meaning?”“Meaning that ifyoudo

not follow my instructionsto the letter your brotherwill be executed, like theothers, as an enemy ofHonduras.”

Eleanoracould feelherface going blank with

shock. Clenching herteeth, she raised aneyebrow. “Charmingpeople you have alignedyourself with, MajorCrawford. People who killthewoundedandprisonersofwar.”

“I find a most positivecharm in winning,” hereplied without rancor.“Makenomistakeabout it,eventually these peoplewillwin.”

She held his soberregard as the slow poisonof her plight sank into hermind. She must do thisthing; there was no otherchoice. Luis had fearedshe would be ravished —and so she would be,thoughnot,perhaps,intheway he had envisioned.Was it really so unusual?Hadn’ttheyall,Luis,Grant,Jean-Paul, Mazie, evenNeville Crawford, been

ravishedbylife?Andinanever-widening circle,Grant’s mother, Consuelo,andmany,somanyothers.They were born withconfidence, self-respect,idealism, a dream ofhappiness. And the veryact of living stripped thesethings away, leaving theirsouls naked and shiveringwithpain.

Taking a breath sodeep it struck like a knife

through her chest, shesighed, shaking back herhair. “All right,” she said,her voice dull withresignation. “First I wouldlike to see Jean-Paul.Then you can tell mewhen, and how, I mustreturntoNicaragua.”

18Eleanora stepped downfrom the pony cart. Theinstant her feet touchedthe ground she drew herhand from Major NevilleCrawford’ssupportingarm,and squaring hershoulders, stood waitinguntil her guard detail had

formed around her. Abarked order, and theybegantomove,keepingtothestatelypacetheofficerin charge consideredsuitedtotheoccasion.Theglare of the morning sunwas inhereyes,making ithard to see the group ofmenadvancingtowardher.A gulf breeze, warm,heavy with the smell ofsalt,caressedherfaceandtugged at her mantilla,

swirling it around her. Itlifted the ruffles of hertiered skirt, and catchingthe sand disturbed by herfootsteps, sent it flying.High in theblueskyapairof gulls swooped, theircries sounding in her earswith an underlying note ofdesperation. The soft wetroar of the incoming tidethrobbed on her left, whilefaroutonthepurple-greenwavesaship roseand fell

at anchor. It was theNicaraguan sloop-of-warGranada.

The Mosquito Coast,neutralgroundtoadegree,had been chosen as theplace to exchangeEleanorafor theHonduranofficer. To return alone tothat stretch of hot, brownsand where she and theothers had been capturedwasanordealforher.Shetried not to think, to

remember, but was onlypartially successful. Theheatwavesrisingfromtherumpled sand unreachedby the sea were peopledwith wavering figuresdrawn from herimagination, sunburned,tattered figures withanguishedeyes.

Blinking quickly,Eleanora stared hard atthe approaching men intheir red shirts.Therewas

atallmaninthetunicofanofficer in the lead. Herbreathcaught inherthroatfor a moment and herheart began to pound.Then she recognized thecraggy features of one ofGrant’s good friends andfellow officers, another ofthe Immortals, ColonelThomasHenry.Hewalkedwith a decided limp,leaning on a cane; amemento perhaps of the

victoryatRivas.Eleanora stumbled,

weak,suddenly,withrelief.Major Crawford reachedfor her arm to steady her,keeping his hand underher elbow. She did notresist.Herknees,afterherfright,feltlikejelly,andherfingers trembled so thatsheclaspedthemtogetherinfrontofher.Shewasnotready to face Grant. Theterrible necessity of

offeringherselftohimoncemore paralyzed everyfeeling of joy oranticipation at theprospect.Whatwasshetodo,whatwasshetosay,topersuade him to take herback into his bed? Shouldsheseducehim,orshouldshe appeal to hissympathies by a patheticrecital of what she hadsuffered? Either wasloathsome to contemplate,

either would demean thelove she had nurtured,holdingit tightlywithinher,in the months just past.Yet, somehow, someway,she must return to aposition of intimacy withColonel Grant Farrellinside the palacio. Jean-Paul’slifedependedonit.

She had not liked theway her brother hadlooked when she had lefthim. He had heard her

explanations throughwithout interruption. Thenstaring at her with dulleyes, he had said, “Ishould have died with theothers.” When she hadlooked at himspeechlessly, he hadcontinued. “That wouldhavebeenrightandfitting.Iwouldnothavetoendurethis living death, knowinghow little I deserve to live,knowing my existence

forces you to prostituteyourself, evenput yourselfindanger.”

“Don’t say that,” shebeggedhim,shakenbyhisdespair, but unable to findthewordstocombatit.

“Whynot?It’strue.Thethought of your dishonorfor my sake weighs moreheavily on my consciencethanmyown.”

“Nonsense. This is notour war,” she tried to tell

him.“We made it ours,” he

replied withuncompromisingexactitude, and Eleanoradid not argue. She couldnot, for she knew he wasright. Kissing him gently,she had left him standing,staringoutthegrille-barredwindow of his pleasantprison.

Colonel Thomas Henrydrewcloser.Shecouldsee

the seamsof old scars onhis faceandhisnarrowed,intent stare, caused onlypartially by the sun. Hewas a man who seemedparticularly prone tocollecting injuries; the firsttimeshehadseenhimhisarm was in a sling.Becauseofhismanyhurts,including everydayaccidents, he had been afrequent visitor to thehospital. Based, perhaps,

ontheirearliermeeting,anunlikely friendship hadgrown between them, andthe beginning of a smilebegan to show white nowinhisweather-beatenface.Nearer and nearer thedetail came. Behind them,the long boat which hadtransported them to shorewas drawn up upon thesand, and the sailors whohadmanned it tookaseatonitsgunwale,watching.

When the Falangistaswerenomorethantenfeetaway, Major Henry raisedhis hand and removed hishat in a salute that wascopiedby themenhe led.Stumpingtoahalt,heheldhis hat over his heart andleaned forward in a deepbow,supportinghimselfonhismalaccacane.

“Eleanora — begpardon — Señora deLaredo,Ican’tbegintotell

you how thankful I am toseeyou.Bearwithusandwe will soon have yousafelyhome.”

“Thank you,” Eleanorareplied, but there was awan quality in her smile.Forhertherewasnosuchplace.

Still, Major Henry wasas good as his word.Within minutes theformalities were over andthe long boat was

skimming the wavestoward the sloop. The rundown the coast to SanJuan del Norte wasaccomplished in a matterof hours — a cool, cleanpassage compared to thetrip by river steamer overthewindingSanJuanwithitsmuddy banks baking inthe sun of early summer.The burned-out transitoffices andwharf at VirginBay, only recently

completedata cost to thecompany of over ahundred thousand dollars,were a grim reminder ofwar.Ithadbeenacasualtyof the Costa Ricanoffensive. The office hadbeen ransacked and theworkmen killed, many ofthem slaughtered in coldbloodastheylaywoundedontheground.

Eleanora had beenentertained with all the

ceremony due a heroineduringthetrip,fêtedatthecaptain’s table, given thebest in the way ofaccommodations, escortedeverywhere by eitherColonel Henry, MajorCrawford, or one or moreof the men who hadcomprised the exchangeparty. She was grateful,since their constantpresence kept her fromthinking, but she assigned

such singular attention totheir sympatheticappreciation for herexperience, not to policy.She certainly did notexpect it to continue oncethey had reachedGranada.Hersurprisewasgenuinethen,when,asthelake steamer pulled intoGranada, she beheld alarge delegation on thewharf fenced around byFalangistas with rifles

casuallyheldattheready.Her searching gaze

picked out the figure ofWilliam Walker with hisdark frockcoat trimlytailored to his slight frameand his fine blond hairshining like cornsilk in thesun.Then,stridingthroughthe crowd that hadcollected,shesawanotherman in a red tunic. Shecould not see his face forhis hat was worn low on

his brow, but still sheknew. She could notmistake that hard-muscledframe and lithe, Indianstride. It was Grant. HejoinedGeneralWalkerandthey spoke quietly for amoment, then togetherthey raised their heads toscan the people lining therailofthesteamer.

Instantly Eleanorastarted back. Beside her,Major Crawford touched

herarm. “Don’t runaway,”he said softly. “Think ofthisasanopportunity,onethatcanmeanagreatdeal— to Jean-Paul. Smile.Wave.That’sit,gently.Wemust remember too thatyou are the bereavedwidow.”

Therewas little chanceof her forgetting, stillEleanora said nothing. Itwas necessary toconcentrate to keep her

smile from turning into agrimaceandherhandfromclutching the railing underthe onslaught of panic.Schoolingherselftoacalmshe was far from feeling,she looked away out overthe noisy, boisterouscrowd.

Granada, miles fromthe fighting, had changedlittle.Adustpallhungoverthe streets due to the hot,dryweather.Thesmellsof

animal dung and streetrefuse were stronger. Butthe pigeons still wheeledabove the tall palms andred-tiled roofs, thebuildings stuccoed whiteandcoralorbuiltofgoldenstone still shielded blueshadows against the glareof the late afternoon sun.The people still laughedand talked as if they hadneverheardofwar.

So peaceful. It was an

effort to drag her harriedsenses away as thegangplankwas lowered atlast and, on receiving asignal, Major Crawfordindicatedthatitwastimetodisembark. At the head ofthe shaky collection ofwooden planks shepaused. Taking a deepbreath, she put her footforward, in the first of thehalf dozen or more stepsthat would take her back

into the town of Granada,back to jurisdiction ofWilliam Walker and, shehoped,backtoGrant.

“On behalf of theRepublic of Nicaragua,President Rivas, andmyself, may I make youwelcome once more inGranada, Señora deLaredo. Accept also mysincere condolences onyour recent bereavement.The tragic loss of both

LieutenantColonelLuisdeLaredo and Private Jean-Paul Villars will be keenlyfelt. Accept also our mostabject apologies for themisunderstanding whichled to your unfortunateexperiences, and myhumble offer of renewed,andconstant,friendship.”

The general’s grayeyesweresteady,thetoneof his voice warmlysympathetic. Eleanora’s

mouthcurvedinahesitantsmile, and then, forgettingher suspicions, she gaveWilliamWalkerherhand.

“We realize nothingcouldpossiblycompensatefor the hardship you haveendured or the horror youhave had to face, but wewould deem it an honor ifyou would allow us topresent to you this medalof valor from the state ofNicaragua as a gesture of

our remorse and goodwill.”

A sick feeling movedthroughherasshethoughtof Luis, who had forfeitedhis life because of thepower wielded by thisman’s mistress; but at atouch of Major Crawford’shand on her elbow, sheinclined her head with asoft word of gratitude andstood still while the goldstaronaribbonofredand

blackwaspinned inplace.WilliamWalkerbowedoverher hand, the uniformedmen straightened in asalute,andtheceremonieswere over. There was agreeting and handshakefor Colonel Henry and themenoftheexchangedetailwho had disembarkedbehind her, jamming theend of the gangplank. Butthe people waiting to landafter them were growing

impatientatthedelay.“Mycarriageiswaiting,”

General Walker said toEleanora. “I would beproud to take youwherever you wish to go.Also, I believe ColonelFarrell has offered to seeyou settled into suitablequarters.”

ThroughtheritualofthereceptionEleanorahadnotbeen able to bring herselfto look at Grant, nor did

shedosonow.SheturnedtoMajorCrawford. “Imustthankyouforarrangingmyrelease,” she began, onlytohavehimcutacrossthespeech so carefullycommitted to memory onhisinstruction.

“There is no need. Iwasonlyfollowingorders.”

“You have been morethankind.Iwishtherewassome way I could repayyou.”

“Ifyouwillpledgenottodeny yourself if I shouldchancetocallonyou,Iwillconsider myself amplyrewarded,” he replied withmeaningfulgallantry.

“I — will always behappytoreceiveyou,”shesaid, though her smilefadedandsheturnedawayas soon as possible.Passively,sheallowed thegeneral to direct hertoward his carriage, the

same dilapidated victoriashehadriddeninbefore.

As theysettled into theseats, Walker said, “Onething more, señora. Youneed not feel under anyobligation to stay inNicaragua. We will allunderstandperfectly ifyoushould decide that youwould prefer to leave us,andwill gladly defray yourexpenses to thedestination of your choice.

Itistheleastwecando.”Was that a hint that

they — meaning he andNiñaMaria—wouldpreferher togo? Itwouldnotbesurprising. She could nothelp but be a reminder ofanepisodetheywouldliketo forget. No doubt NiñaMaria would thinkdifferently, however, aftershe had spoken toNevilleCrawford. She would notbe astonished, Eleanora

toldherselfwithashadeofcynicism, if she became aclose friend of thegeneral’s mistress beforeallwassaidanddone.

The general waswaiting for her answer. “Iappreciate your concern,sir,andyourkindoffer,butIhaveyettodecidewhatIwant to do. It may take alittletime.”

“I—quiteunderstand,”he answered, slanting a

glance at the set face ofColonel Farrell, seatedacross from them with hisbackto thehorses.“Thereis no hurry. In fact, if youfeel it is compatible withyourmourning,Iwouldlikeyou to come to a smalldinnerpartywearehavingin three days’ time, onThursday next.We are—asalways,anxioustohavethe beauteous elementamong us represented at

GovernmentHouse.”It seemed politic to

accept both thecompliment and theinvitation, regardless ofany other arrangementsshe might make. It was aformality, however, for thegeneral seemed to expectnothing less thancompliance.

“Someday,Eleanora—if I may revert to a morefamiliar title in private— I

would like to hear yourstory ofwhat happened toyou in the past threemonths. We had thebones,ofcourse, from themessage sent by theHondurans, still I am surethere ismore,muchmore,which we can’t begin toguess. I don’t mean topress you, or to suggestanything in the nature ofan interrogation, but Iwouldliketohearwhatyou

feel you can tellme, later,when time has had achancetodulltheedgesabit.”

Eleanora gripped herfingers in her lap, anagonizing ache beginningin her throat at the merethought. She swallowedhard,hergazemovingtoapoint just above thegeneral’s head. “With allduerespect,General,”shesaid in a voice that

trembled, “I’m not certainthat I will ever be able tospeakofit.”

Street noises, the callsofvendors, thecontinuousmurmur of soft voices, thesqueal of a family of pigsdisturbedinthemudofthegutter, invaded thecarriage as silencedescended. EleanoraflickedaglanceatGranttofind his hard blue stareresting on the signet ring

thatgleamedonherfinger,held in place by a thickwrapping of cloth throughits circle. Slowly he liftedhis eyes to her gold-fleckedgreengaze.

She could not tell whathewas thinkingor feeling.His emotions were undersuch tight rein that thebronzed lanes of his facewererigid.

The humid heat wasintense. Perspiration

trickled down her spinewhereitrestedagainstthevelvetsquabs.Thegeneralhad turnedhis attention toasheafofpaperswith thelook of a report whichColonel Thomas Henryhad thrust intohishandatthe moment of meeting.Frowning, he looked upfrom them to stare fixedlyintothemiddledistance.

Eleanora would havepreferred to remain silent.

It would not do, however,to appear sullen andungracious,or toadvertiseher disinclination formakingpoliteconversationwithColonelGrant Farrell.Clearing her throat, shesaid, “I must congratulateyou, General, on yourvictoryatRivas.”

“The plaudits belong tomy great ally, the cholera,my dear,” he replied,turningawintrysmileupon

her, “but I accept thesentiment.”

“Still, Iunderstandyourmen fought bravely foryou,andyouhavesecuredyourpositionhere.”

His chest expandedand fell beneath the blackbroadcloth of his coat inwhat would have been asighinanyotherman.“Forthetimebeing,”heagreed,then his light brows drewtogether as hewent on. “I

meant what I said earlieraboutyourbrother.Hehadthe makings of a goodsoldier and a fine,upstanding man. I don’tmean to distress you byremindingyouofyour lossand themannerof it,but Iwant you to know that thephalanxisneithersobigorso impersonal that it can’tregret the passing of apromising young member.You must not think we

value him the less — butno,Iwon’tsayanymoreonthathead.Wewillspeakofit another time, when youarerested.”

A conventional answerrose to Eleanora’s lips assherealizedwithbitternessthat nothing she had saidearlier had reallypenetrated WilliamWalker’s basic self-absorption. He wanted tobe informed and he

expected her to overcomeher scruples, howeverpainful. Recognizing thatdid not help her tounderstand why he hadsingled out Jean-Paul forspecial praise, and notLuis, surely the morevaluable, militarilyspeaking, of the two. Shehad no intention ofquestioning him. Sheaccepted that he had areason, just as she had

learnedtoacceptsomuchelse in these last fewmonths.

The carriage braked toa halt before theGovernment House. Theinstantthegeneralsteppedout,hewassurroundedbyhis guards, who had beenfollowingonhorseback.

“Until Thursday,” hesaid with his slow smile,andturnedaway.

As the carriage jerked

intomovementoncemore,Grant’svoice,coldlypolite,gratedinthequiet.“Wheredoyouwanttogo?”

“I — don’t know,” shesaid, distractedly aware ofthe necessity of returningto this man’s protection,and yet unable to makeherself say the wordswhichmightbring itabout.“Perhapsahotel?”

“You stayed at theAlhambra once before, I

think?”At her nod he put his

head out the window togive the necessary order.Shewatchedcloselyashesettled back, but heseemed to have no newbattle scars, no visiblewounds. To her eyesinside the dimness of thecarriage, he appeared asfit and as strong as whenthey had first met.Following the trend of her

own thoughts,shesaidonimpulse, “Your shoulderhealed?Itdoesn’tpainyouanymore?”

Turning to stare at herthrough thick, dark lashes,heansweredbrusquely. “Ithealed.”

“Were you with Walkeron the second march toRivas?”

“Iwas.”She managed a light

laugh. “I can’t believe you

were injured there. Youcertainly look healthyenough.”

“What the hell is this?”he demanded, his voicevibrating with somethingbetween scorn andpassion. “Coming fromsomeonewhospentweeksin the jungle with anotherman, and came backwearing his name and hisring, I find this pretendedconcernhardtostomach!”

“I don’t knowwhat youmean,” Eleanora saidunsteadily, thesuddenness of his attackthrowing her intoconfusion.

“I think you do,” hecountered, and waited,watching her with anintentness that wasunnerving.

Without compunction,Eleanora abandoned herfeeble attempt to return

theirrelationshiptoamorefamiliar footing. Herconcern had not beenspurious. It would not do,however,forhertotellhimso, and so she fell silent,studying with an interestcompletely assumed thescene unrolling past thecarriagewindows.

Grantsubsidedalso forthe remainder of the shortjourney, though Eleanorathought he glanced at her

once or twice with apuzzledfrownbetweenhisbrows.

The Alhambra wasmuch as she rememberedit fromthetimewhen,withMazie,shehadenjoyeditshospitality. It might havebeen a little quieter, withfewercomingsandgoings,but the atmosphere ofunostentatious comfortwas the same. There wasno difficulty in securing a

room, especially when itwasmadeknown thatshewould be the guest ofGeneralWilliamWalker.

Following on the heelsof the scurrying manager,Grantsawhertoherroom,thoughhecamenofurtherthan the door. Themanager hurried here andthere, throwing windowswide and pulling back thedrapes. He checked thewater in the pitcher and

carafe, and saw that thewashstand was suppliedwith towels and a smallcake of soap beforecoming to stand, awaitinganxiously the approval ofthe man in the uniform ofthe American Phalanx.Grantgavehimanod thatwas both the approval hesought and a dismissal,then stood with his hat inhis hand until the man’sfootsteps had ceased to

scuffuponthewornrunnerinthelongoutsidehallway.

“Thank you—”Eleanorabegan.

“You have everythingyou need?” Grant startedtosay.

They both stopped.Eleanora glanced up intime to catch an oddsoftnessalliedtoaquirkofhumor in Grant’s face ashe watched her. Itvanished so quickly that

she was not certain shehad not imagined it. Aninstantlaterhewassaying,“Iwillseetoyourbaggagewhen it comes off thesteamer.”

“There isn’tmuch, onlyasmallvalise.”

“I will see to it,” herepeated.

“I—mayneedsomeofthe things I left at thepalacio.”

He nodded. “They are

still there. Nothing hasbeen moved. I’ll haveSeñora Paredes packthem and send them toyou.”

The harsh tone wasbackinhisvoice.Eleanoragave him a small, self-possessed smile, andinclining her head in aregal gesture she hadlearned from hergrandmother,who claimedto be descended from

French aristocracy, sheclosedthedooruponhim.

She was kept busy inthedaysthatfollowed.Theeditor ofEl Nicaraguense,a young man with ink-stainedfingers,aharassedexpression,andboundlessenthusiasm, came. Hisinterest in her ordeal wasso artlessly genuine thatshe found herself tellinghimfarmorethanshehadintended.

She received also avisitor from the militarysurgeon, Dr. Jones. Citingorders fromsomeonehighin the command of thephalanx, he waved asideher objections andexamined her thoroughly.He gave her a salve tosoften the calluses on herhands, recommendedlemon juice and buttermilkfor what he persisted incalling the discoloration of

her skin due to the sun,and pronounced her fit,though too slim for histaste. To remedy this heprescribedadietrichinredmeatandfreshvegetables,and gave her leave to eatall the rich desserts hedenied himself. Theirconversation naturallyturned to the hospital andthe wounded from therecent conflict, scarcethough they were due to

the tactics of the enemy.Before he finally took hisleave, Eleanora foundherselfpromisingtolookinagain upon the infirmaryfor the purpose of viewingone or two improvementshe was anxious to haveher opinion upon. Anafternoon was devoted tofulfilling this promise. Thesituation there was vastlyimproved, allowing her torefrain from committing

herself to returning to herformer positionwith a freeheart, though shewas notsure how long she couldwithstand the sincereentreaties of the surgeonand the orderlies whorememberedher.

Grant was as good ashisword.Herbaggageandthe clothing from thepalacio arrived in duecourse. The latter was soneatly packed that she

suspectedGrantof boxingher gown and Thompsoncrinoline personally, andwas troubled for severalhours by the pleasure thethoughtgaveher.

Shaking them out,seeing that they werepressed and hung away,Eleanora could not makeup her mind which of thethree ensembles thatmade up her limitedwardrobe to wear for the

general’s fête. The skirtand blouse procured forher by Major Crawfordwere not in keeping withthe formality of theoccasion, and neither ofthe gowns — the onestrewn with pink cabbageroses or the green muslin— seemed to suit hermood or changedcircumstances. Itmight bepossible to take the blackribbonswoventhroughthe

eyeletofherpetticoat,plusherblackmantilla,andaddthem somehow to thegreen muslin to create acostume subdued enoughtopass,butshewasbynomeans satisfied with thecompromise.

Toopenthedoor,then,to a grinning soldierbearingadressboxontheafternoon of the third daywasmore in the nature ofhaving her innermost

wishes fulfilled than asurprise.

“The colonel’scompliments, ma’am, andhehopesyouwillwearthistonight,” the young mansaid,holdingtheboxouttoher.

Eleanora hesitated.Onlythereflectionthatthiswas probably anotherexampleoftheRepublicofNicaragua’s “defraying herexpenses” allowed her to

accepttheboxwithasmileand an expression of“gratitude worded asgraciously as she wasable. Itwouldbe less thangeneroustorefuseWilliamWalker this opportunity tomakeamends.

Thegownwasofblacklaceoverecrusatin,anditseemedonexamination tohavebeenmadeusingthegreenmuslinasapattern.The measurements were

the same as well as thestyle, with the layers offlounces falling from thepointedwaistandthewidelace bertha covering theshoulders. The fit, aftershehadstruggledwith therow of tiny jet buttonsdown the back for a goodhalf hour, was quite good;perhapsatriflelooseinthewaist, but so, no doubt,was the green just now. Itwas a good choice, she

thought, turning this wayand that before the mirrorin the wardrobe door.Somber without beingfalselydeepmourning, thecream-colored satin,glimpsed through the lace,was a foil for her hairwithout giving the gold ofher skin a sallow cast asdeep black alone mighthave done. There didseem to be the need ofsomething to break the

open expanse of the linefromherchintothelowdipof the neckline, and onimpulse, she stripped themedallion of St. Michaelfromitschainandstrungitonalengthofblackribbon,tying it so that it lay in thehollowofherthroat.

She was dressed andwaitingwhenthegeneral’scarriagecameforher,andif she felt disappointmentthatMajorNevilleCrawford

was to be her escort, shewas careful not to let himseeit.

He had no suchreticence about herfeelings, however. Theinstanttheywereseatedinthe carriage, he crossedhis legs, bending apleasant smile upon herstrained face. “No luck, sofar,eh?Ifhewon’tcometoyou, you’ll have to go tohim.”

“What do you mean?”sheaskedtightly.

“I mean that we nolonger have the time towait for the colonel to getoverhis jealousyand stiff-neckedpride.”

“Jealousy?”“Naturally. Think how

Farrellmusthavefeltwhenhe foundoutwhatLuisdeLaredo had done for yoursake.Now that theman isdead he will get over it

eventually, but as I said,we don’t have time towait.”

ItwasaninstantbeforeEleanora could bring hermind to bear on what themajor was saying. Whenshedidso,sherealizedhewas waiting for hercomment. “Why thissuddenurgency?”

“We hear rumors thatWalker intends to arrestPresident Rivas and his

cabinet as traitors to theRepublic because Rivashas been correspondingwith the leaders of SanSalvador and Guatemala.There have been somestreet disturbances in thecapital at León that areanti-American in feeling.To be perfectly frank, Isuspect Rivas of plantingthe rumors himself. ElPresidente got his noseput out of joint earlier this

month when Walker wasgiven a savior’s welcomein León, because of theretreat of the Costa RicanArmy. It’s my bet Rivaswantstotesthispopularityagainst Walker. Also, nowthat the little general hastaken careof the threat ofinvasionforthetimebeing,he would like to stir upenoughfeelingagainsthimto push the AmericanPhalanxoutof thecountry

beforeWalkergets toobigfor his britches — andmaybe casts his eye onthepresident’sjob.”

“Another betrayal,”Eleanoramurmured.

Neville Crawford shookhishead.“Thatmaybe,butit doesn’t make anydifference to uswhere therumors start.Wewant thesame thing as Rivas, theousterofWilliamWalker.”

“And what is it that —

we — are supposed todo?”

Overlooking thesarcasm, Nevilleexplained, “It is obviousthatWalker can’t afford toignorethesituation.Itmayturn out that he will beforcedtodoexactlyastherumors suggest, if he canarrange the support forsuch amove.We need toknowexactlywhathedoesintendtodo,andwhen.”

“Why must I beinvolved? Why can’t NiñaMaria discover this foryou?”

“Because,”hesaidaftera moment of deliberation,“GeneralWalkerno longerconfides in her since theincident with Juanita, andhehastakentoholdinghismostimportantmeetingsinhis officers’ quarters,usuallyFarrell’s.”

“I begin to see,” she

saidexpressionlessly.“Good. I think we can

be certain thatWalker willnot make this decisionwithout consulting Farrell— whether he follows hisadviceornot.”

“And what if thisconference has alreadytakenplace?”sheasked.

“My sources ofinformation are somewhatfaster than Walker’s. Itmaybe that hehas yet to

learnwhat I have just toldyou, but if he knows, hecanonlyhaveknownforafew hours at best. I thinkyou will be in time, if youact swiftly. Tonight, forinstance.”

“I am sure you have asuggestionastohowIamtogoaboutit.”Shelookedaway from him out thewindow.Theyhadenteredthe plaza. Within secondsthey would be arriving at

the door of theGovernmentHouse.

“Few men can resist adirectappeal,”hesaid,hisvoicequietinthedarknessbesideher.“Ifitcamefromyou, Eleanora, I am quitesureIcouldn’t.”

Neville Crawford’sdeclarationlefthershaken.She had thought him toointenton thepursuitofhisfortune to find herattractive.Therehadbeen

an odd kind of security intheknowledgethathewasimpervious to her charms.She had no reason tobelieve that he wouldcapitalize on the hold hehaduponher,andyet,shewasleftnewlyvulnerable.

The GovernmentHouse blazed with lightand hummed with thesound of confident voicesandlaughter,theindicatorsof prosperity. To Eleanora

there seemed to be morecandles burning in thechandeliersthanwhenshehad last danced beneaththem, more womenpresent in the longreception room wearingmoreglittering jewels.Thesupper tablewasprovidedwith more sumptuousviands, the wine glasseswere passed with greaterfrequency, the music waslouder, the waltzes faster.

It was possible that thiswas only her impressionbecause she had been solong isolated from suchaffairs, but she did notthink so. There was ahectic feeling in the air,and standing back,watching the men andwomen eating anddrinking,itappearedtoherthat their movements helda grasping greed for thismoment, coupled with a

pervasivefearofthenext.Despite Niña Maria

glowering beside him,William Walker madeEleanora a pleasantspeechofwelcome,butasshe went down thereceivingline,shewasnotsingledout foranygreaterattention on this occasion.She was not surprised.The general was muchbusier with foreigndignitaries and guests of

obvious importance,including a man with therichlysatisfiedappearanceand the accent of a NewYorkbusinesstycoon.

Despitetheliltingmusicof a waltz, Eleanora’sCreole conscience madeher reluctant to take thefloor while wearing blackfor Luis. Major Crawford,obligingly,strolledwithheraround the edges of thefloor until summoned as a

dance partner by NiñaMaria while the generalwas occupied. For a timeshewasentertainedbyDr.Jones. Later ColonelThomasHenrytooktheairwith her, teetering backandforthbesideheronhiscane. They were followedby first one and thenanother of Luis’s fellowofficers who rememberedher,untilshebegantofeelas if she were holding

audience. She was notsorry when they began todisperse. Answering themany expressions ofcondolence had not beenthe easiest of tasks, andavoiding the questionsprompted by their naturalcuriositywasevenharder.

Shewasstandingalonein a window embrasurewhenaslightsoundmadeher turn. Grant stoodbesideher,andasherchin

cameup in something likealarm, he pushed one ofthe two glasses ofchampagne he held intoherhand.

“Drink this,” he saidwithout preamble. “Youlookasifyoucoulduseit.”

Hurtthathadlittletodowith vanitymoved throughher. Her voice had acaustic edge as shemurmured, “So thoughtfulofyou.”

Hemadeno reply,andafter a moment, forsomething todo,Eleanoraraisedtheglasstoher lipsto takea sip.At the sameinstant, Grant reached outtopickupthemedalofSt.Michaelatherthroat.

Startled, Eleanoraswallowed the bubblingwine the wrong way. Itburned into her windpipeand she made a chokingsound, her hand going to

hermouth.Looking around, Grant

hastily tookherglass fromher, setting itwithhisownon a nearby table. Hepushedwide thehalf-openFrench window behindthem and swept her outonto one of the smallbalconies that jutted outfrom the back wall of theGovernment House. Heraised his hand to thumpher on the back, but by

then she was recoveredenough toshakeherheadvigorously, saying in ahusky tone, “I’m all right,thankyou.”

“Certain?”She nodded, the

ridiculousnessof itcurvingher mouth into a smilebefore she glanced down.“I hope I didn’t getchampagne on this gown.Itmightspoilit,andIwouldhate that. Will you

remember to thankGeneralWalker forme forsendingitthisafternoon?”

Something in thestillnessofthemanbesidehermadeherlookup.Shewas in time toglimpse theself-derision that flittedacrosshisfeatures.

“It — wasn’t thegeneral, was it?” she saidslowly. “It was you. Thesoldier said — But Ithought—”

“Don’t make a tragedyof it,” he said shortly. “Ithought you could use agownandIboughtoneforyou.Forgetit.”

There was more to itthan that, she knew.Before she could put herfeeling into words heswung on his booted heelandlefther.Movingalittleto one side, Eleanorawatched him go with atrembling feeling in her

heart, as if she had justlost an importantopportunity. Standingthere,shesawNiñaMariaglide forward with hersnakelike tread and placea predatory hand onGrant’sarm. Itwasat thatmomentthatthedesperategamble she must takeoccurredtoher.

19There was no difficulty inleaving the GovernmentHouseunnoticed.Eventhesoldiers on guard at thefrontdoorsappearednottoseeherasshedriftedpastthem.

It was not late bytropical standards. The

plaza was filled with themellow glow of thelamplight falling from theopen doors in the squarethatsurroundeditonthreesides. People — couples,families, and older menand women — sat andstood about, enjoying thecoolness of the night airandthemusiccomingfromthe windows of the houseshehad just left.ButeveninpitchdarknessEleanora

could have found her wayfrom the plaza down theCalle Santa Celia to thepalacio. She had trodthese gray cobblestonessomanytimes;itcouldnotbeheldsurprisingthattheyhad the feel of thehomeward path beneathherslippers.

She hesitated for amoment under theoverhang of the galería,hergazegoingtothethick,

woody trunk of thebougainvillea that grew attheendofthehouse.Witha slight shiver, she shookthe intrusion of memoryfromher,andturningtothebell,setittojanglingonitswrought-ironsupport.

It could not have beenmore than a moment ortwo before there was arattle of a key in the lockand Señora Paredes’ thinvisage appeared in the

crackof theopeningdoor,but toEleanora, itseemedlikeanhour.Nerves,alliedwithpurestfright,frozeherface into a mask as shepushed past the oldwoman.

“Good evening,” shesaid over her shoulder as,removing the blackmantillasheworeoverherhair, she continued alongthe cool tiles of theentranceway.

Behind her, the señorahurriedly fastened thedoor. “The señor colonel,he is expecting you?” shecalledafterEleanora.

Eleanoraturnedbackatthe foot of the stairs. “Ibelieve he will be glad toseeme,”shesaidgently.

Nothinghadchangedinthe bedchamber she hadonce shared with Grant.Eleanora did not need thelight of a candle to show

her that. The moonlightflooding in at the openFrench window wassufficient. The wardrobe,the washstand, the tabletheyhadtakentheirmealsupon, the cuadro in thecorner, the bed draped invirginal white; all were thesame. Even the rugsscatteredonthefloorwerein their same places. Theonly difference that shecould see was that the

grille was open, its halvesresting back against theoutside wall. Grant’sbelongings were just asthey had been before heleft for Rivas. His extrashirts and breeches werestacked in the wardrobe,hisshavingequipmentandsilver-back hairbrushesreposing on thewashstand. Dropping hermantilla beside them, shetouched the back of one

brush with a tentativefinger. It was purple withtarnish, sadly in need ofpolishing. After amoment,shewanderedawayagain.

Few men can resist adirect appeal, Neville hadsaid.What hemeantwas,few men will bother toresistawomanwhothrowsherself at them. The onlytrouble with that was, shehad good reason to knowthat Grant not only could,

butwould.He hadwastedno time in resistingJuanita’s appeal on thatmemorable morning. Hehad, in fact, dealt with itwith great directness.Supposeherejectedherinthesameway?Despitethebravado of her statementto the señora, it was notimpossible. She would dieofthehumiliationifhedid.

Taking a step out ontothe galería, she surveyed

thelongfallfromtherailingwithasinkingsensation inthe pit of her stomach.Grant had had amplereason for what he haddone, she told herself.Juanita had been wild,clawing,attackingbothherandGrant. It did not help.The prospect that shemightnotbewelcomehadtobefaced.

It might make it moredifficult for him if she was

not dressed for the street.It should make it harderstill, then, if she was notdressedatall.

She caught her lowerlip between her teeth,staringovertherailing,andthen slowly raising herhands to the back of herneck, she turned into theroom, freeing the tiny jetbuttonsfromtheirholesasfar as she could reach.She dropped her arms to

her sides to rest them,then twisted them behindher back trying to reachtherest.

Intentonwhatshewasdoing, shedidnot see theshadowymovement in thedoorway which led to theinner galería until Grantstepped into the room. Asshe froze, he tossed hishat at the top of thewardrobe, caught herelbow, and turned her

slowly around with herback tohim,encirclingherwaist with a strong,muscular forearm. Thetouch of the fingers of hisright hand tingled againstthe bare skin of her back,and his voice, warm anddeep, whispered at herear. “Letmehelpyou,”hesaid.

Relief sapped herstrength and she leanedagainst him. Her pulse

throbbed and her breastrose and fell with thequicknessofherbreathingintheaftermathoffearandtheforetasteofexcitement.A traceofguiltsurfaced inthe tumult of her mind,dyingawaybeforetherushof an uncontrollableyearning.

Grant’s hand movedfromthelastofthebuttonsto the nape of her neck.His probing fingers found

thefewpinswhichheldtheheavy chignon of her hair,andhedrewthemoutoneby one, letting it fall in arippling cascade down herback. When it hung free,he turned her in the circleof his arms, and slippinghishandsbeneaththered-goldwaves,tiltedherheadback, seeking the tendershape of her mouth. Hislipsmoved on herswith aslow insistence that grew

steadily more demanding.Her arms, freed, lifted tohis neck, and her fingersgrasped the tightenedbroadcloth of his tunicwhere it stretched acrosshis shoulders. She felt theburgeoning heat of hisdesire, and knew aquickening response deepinside thatspreadwith thesting of acid along herveins.Hislipsslidfromthecornerofhermouth,along

the softness of her cheek,to the curve of her neckjust below her ear. Shemade no protest as hepushed the lace from hershoulder, while his mouthburned its way to thehollow of her throat,displacing the cool disk ofthe medallion with asearingkiss.

Her eyes closed, shefelt herself lifted andswung dizzyingly onto the

bed. In a few swiftmovesshe was freed of therestricting folds of herclothing. The pores of herskin seemed to breathe inthe warm night air,expanding in a voluptuousnakedness that welcomedjoyously the slide of warmskin against her own, theroughness of the coverletbeneath her, and the feelofpressingcaresses.Withher lashes lowered, she

smoothed the open palmofherhandoverhischestwith its faint dew ofperspiration, trailing hernails down the leanhardness of his belly. Thefresh smells of sun-driedclothing, cornstarch, andbay rum was in hernostrils, mixed with thescent of heated bodiescloselyheld.Grant’shand,rough at the fingertips,cupped her breast, and

then, as his mouth closedon hers once more, sheknewthetart-sweetriseofpassiononhertongue.Hishands moved lower, overthe slim indention of herwaist to her hips, and sheacceptedinswift,mountingpleasure the full weight ofhisbodyashepressedhertoherback.

A certain knowledge,communicated by touchandtasteandintuition,that

this man would not leaveher aroused andunsatisfied, acted like anaphrodisiac to banishinhibition. Her ardorwelled, fed by the burningtouch of his lips. The faintquivering of his armsbetrayed the depths of hislonging and his need. Thebeat of her heartincreased, roaring in herears. His panting breathfannedhercheek,mingling

with her own, and hersides ached from the viseof his arms. There was apainfulfullnessinherloins,a fullness that grew,stretching beyondcontainment. Like a long-held dam the paroxysmfloodedoverherinawashofmoltensilver, spreadingliquid fire along the lengthof her body, invading herbrainwithpulsing,metallicglow.

She opened her eyes,andashervision,cleared,she smiled into the deep,dark ocean-blue eyes ofthe man above her. Hekissed her tremblingmouth, and she sighedsoftly, feeling the gentleebbofherbeingdissolvinginto the pure stillness oflove.

“Eleanora?”The urgency of his

voicedrewherbackfroma

darkness so deep it hadthe feel ofunconsciousness. She layfor a moment, collectingher senses before turningtoward the sound, and inthat instant shame, blackandblighting,struckather.

How much of theabandon she had shownhad been of her own freewill,howmuchforthesakeofthevilepurposeshehadbeen recruited for? To do

what she wished,pretendingshemust,or todo what she must,pretending it was herdesire — which was themore degrading? Behindher shoulder,where it hadbeen twistedon its ribbon,the medallion of St.Michael-burned into herskin like brand. The vowsshe had exchanged withLuis might not have beencompelling or binding, but

surelyhermourningforhisdeath could have beenmore closely and lengthilyobserved.Morehumiliatingthan these things,however, was therealizationthattheydidnotmatter beside the single,overriding question: WhatmustGrantthinkofher?

Her face flaming, shelevered herself on oneelbow and reached out,drawing her petticoat

toward her. Grant put hishand on her arm, but shepulled away, sliding fromthebed.

A swift lunge, and hestripped the petticoat fromher, dragging her backdown beside him, holdingher still until her strugglesceased.

“Where were yougoing?” he asked lazily,wipingat thestrandofherhairthattickledhislips.

Eleanora swallowed onthe hard knot growing inherthroat.“I—backtotheAlhambra.”

Her answer obviouslydisconcerted him. Whenhespokeat lasttherewasa tone in his voice thatsentaquakeof fearalongher nerves. “I think not—not until you tell me whatyoumeantbycominghereifyoudidn’t intend tostay,andwhileyou’reatit,what

in God’s name happenedto you to make you looklike a wide-eyed,breakablechinadoll!”

“Grant—”“From the beginning,”

he said, his toneimplacable for all itssoftness.

She caught her breath.“If you knewwhat youareasking—”

“Idoknow.But itwon’thelp to pretend it didn’t

happen. Or would yourather tell the general? Icanspareyouthat.”

“I don’t think I can findthe words,” she said. Thethoughtofcompressingsomany events, so manyfeelings, into short, coolsentences filled her withdespair. It would be sofatally easy to make amistake, to tell him morethan itwaswiseforhimtoknow.

“Try,” herecommended, and therewasnothingelsetodobutcomplyasbestshecould.

She began, haltingly,with her arrest at thehospital,thewordscomingwithlessdifficultythanshehad imagined. As shespoke of the escape andthe early days in themountain valley when shehad tended Luis and hehad been so attentive of

hercomfortandsafety,hervoice grew stronger. Sherecounted in vivid phrasestheir lack of hope onlearningof Juanita’sdeathand the execution of themen who had returned toGranada with her. Thejungle trek, the sighting ofthegulf, thedeathofKurt,their arrest and transfer toHonduras; these thingsweretoldwithcomparativeease. She faltered,

however, as she came tothe arrival of MajorCrawford, followed by theblessing of FatherSebastian, the eleventh-hourwedding.

“You are saying thatLuis and the others werestill alive when Crawfordreached you?” he said,breakingintohernarrative.

“That’s right. Why?”The sudden rigidity of hismuscles made her aware

that she had been indanger of succumbing tothe languor stealing overher from being held firmlyagainsthisside.

“The major wasempowered to negotiatethe release of all theprisoners,” he said grimly.“I will be interested inreading his report. Still,don’t stop now. I was justbeginningtobefascinated.Tell me about this

marriage.Alovematch,nodoubt, overcoming allobstacles, consummatedin the glorious filth of aprisoncell?”

“No—no,”shesaidonan indrawn breath, takingcare to keep the tearsrising in the back of herthroat from seeping intoher voice. “It was not likethat at all. It was — asplendid gesture, no morethanthat.Luisgavemethe

protectionofhisnameinachivalrous union that was— never consummated.Not, I assure you,” sheaddedhardly, “froma lackof willingness on my part,but because he wasunable to do so. And thenext morning I watchedhimwalktowarddeathwithmynameonhislips—andI think that, except forleavingmebehind,hewasgladtodie—”

Her voice broke with astrangledsoundonthelastword, and the bitter tears,so long restrained, welledinto her eyes, running inscalding tracks down herface and into her hair. Inaneffortatself-controlshetried to break away fromGrant’sarms,buthewouldnotreleaseher.Thesenseof sheltering protectionbreachedherlastdefense,and she no longer tried to

stop the aching, hopelessflow.

Grant was silent forlongminutes,andthenhissoft curse rent themoonlitdarkness.Asifwhathefeltdemanded the release ofaction,hethrusthimselfupin the bed, found hereyelet petticoat, andpressed it intoherhand touse to wipe away thetears. Then, sitting therewithhisarmsrestingonhis

knees, he stared throughthe bright dimness at theshape of the wardrobe inthecorner.

His concern was apotent force, both balmand salt to the lacerationsthat had been inflictedupon her spirit. It alsoreinforcedherguilt,sothatthe urge to confesseverything becameunbearable.

Drawingadeepbreath,

shebegan,“Jean-Paul—”“You don’t have to say

anymore.TherestIknow,”hetoldher,thestrengthofhis toneoverwhelmingherweak voice without effort.His next words effectivelybanished what she wastrying to say from hermind. “I know everything— except why you cameheretonight.”

“It must be obvious,”she countered after a

moment’ssilence.“Not to me.” He lay

down beside her again,resting on his elbow. Hedid not touch her, but shewasaware,abruptly,ofthetight leash he held on hisemotions.

“I came because — Iwas sorry that Imisunderstood about thegown—”

“Youweregoingtogiveitbacktome?”heaskedin

drydisbelief.Eleanora’scheeksgrew

hot. Tears persisted inoozing from her eyes andshe scrubbed at themabstractedly. “No,” sheanswered, determined tospeakthehalf-truththoughshe could not look at him.“I wanted to stay, and Ithought itwouldbeharderforyoutothrowmeoutifI—undressed.”

His breathing stopped,

then reaching out tosmooth the wet curve ofhercheekwiththebackofone finger, he said, “Verywise. I would like to showyou how wise once more,but I think it would bebetterforyouifyoutriedtosleep.”

He believed her. Hehad questioned nothingshe had told him. It wasmore than she hadexpected from amanwith

such a jaundiced view oflife, more than shedeserved. In the face ofthe kind of suspicions, thekind of questions, sheknewGrant to be capableof, she might haveweakened. His attitudemade her ashamed, but itcould not help but loosenalso the straining grip ofapprehension on hernerves. Her green eyesfaintly luminous in the

dark, she turned to him. “Imay look breakable,” shesaid softly, “but I amstronger than you know,muchstronger.”

The moon had setbefore they finally closedtheir eyes. Eleanora sleptdeep, more exhaustedthan shewould have likedtoadmit.Still,towarddawnshe woke herself cryingloud with anguished sobsin some nightmare she

could not remember.Grant,awakened,heldheruntil she was calm.Though she tried, lying inthe reassuring comfort ofhisarms,shecouldnottellhim what she haddreamed. The details hadslipped beyond her grasp,leaving only anincalculablesenseofloss.

“What did you thinkwhenyoucamebackfromRivas and found me

gone?”They were seated at

the breakfast table. Flieswere covering the orangepeelings and bacon rindsleft lying on their plates,and heat rose already likea wall beyond theoverhang of the galería.Grant’s coffee cup wasempty, and Eleanorarefilled it from the blueenamelware pot so shewould not have to look at

himwhileheanswered.“Atfirst,”hesaid,taking

up his cup, “I was angrythat thechargeshadbeenmade, though I thoughtLuishadactedlikeanidiot,riding off with you in thatmelodramatic way beforeWalker could come backandsettleeverything.Thatwasbefore I realizedwhatthey were trying to do toyou. I recognized, after awhile, that amajor part of

Juanita’s plan dependedonthefactthatIwasn’tonhand.Still, ithurt thatLuiswas there, and I wasn’t,when you needed me —that he knew where youwerewhenIdidn’t—-andwaswithyouatnightwhenIwasn’t.IfIhadfoundyouthen, in thatmood, Imighthave tried to kill him. Icooled off under housearrest.Ievenlearnedtobegrateful to him for taking

careofyou.”“Under house arrest?”

sheaskedquickly.Thecornerofhismouth

tugged in a smile withouthumor. “For my ownprotection. At least, that’swhat Walker called it. Itwasn’t long in actual time,lessthantwoweeks,butitwaslongenoughforyoutoget far beyond my reach,beyond my help. LongenoughforWalker tosave

an officer for the phalanx,a fighting tool he knewhewould need when hereturned, as he had to, toRivas.Andlongenoughforhim to lose a loyalfollower.”

Hadhecaredsomuch?The words she might useto draw from him howmuch he cared pressedhurtfullyagainstherthroat,but she had forfeited therighttoaskthem.Shesaid

instead,“Idon’tsuppose itwould have made anydifference if you hadcaughtupwithus,orevenif you could have come toHonduras insteadofMajorCrawford.”

“Honduras? I wasn’tinformed of that missionuntil after Crawford hadleft. I guess I gave UncleBilly good reason todoubtmy cooperation, even mygood faith, but that’s

anotherthingIholdagainsthim. That whole affairsmells ashighas theSanJuan in the dry season tome. The information thatyou had been captureddidn’t come throughregular channels. I’d stakemy epaulettes on it. Nordid it come through ourregular DemocráticocontactslikeWalkersays;Iwouldhaveknownaboutitif it had. No, there’s

somethingfunnyaboutthatsituation. I’m still not surethat the general has hisinformationleakplugged.”

It would be normal forher to take an interest insuch matters. “Luis and Italked of that possibility,”she said. “Wewondered ifSeñora Paredes wasn’tinvolved?”

“Maybe. She is acautious old woman,though,and too frightened

of losingwhat she has forit to have been anythingbutagainstherwill.”

“That makes adifference?” Eleanoraaskedwithcare.

It was a long momentbefore he answered. “Isupposenot.”

Swallowinghardonherdisappointment, waving ata fly which buzzedpersistently around herface, Eleanora made

herself question himfurther. “You havesomeone else in mindthen?”

Shaking his head, hedowned his warm coffeeand reached for his hat.“Only a feeling.” Comingaround the table, he drewher to her feet. “You hadbetter shut the doors. Itgets infernally hot in herethese days if they are leftopen— or even if they’re

not, for thatmatter. I don’tthink you will be able tostayinhereduringtheday,andasmuchas I like thatcostume you are wearing,he added, glancing downattheredshirtwhichhungupon her in the mostenticing fashion, “I don’tthink I want you receivingpatio visitors in it. Isuppose I had better dosomething about clothesforyouagain.”

“Do you mind?” sheaskedanxiously.

“I might even learn tolike it,” he answered. “Alittle knowledge ofwomen’sbuttonscomes inhandy,nowandagain.”

“Solongasyoumakeastudy of only mine,” shesaid with mock tartness.Acceptinghisfarewellkiss,she watched him stridefrom the room with anache in the region of her

heart.Her boxes arrived from

the Alhambra by handcartan hour before luncheon—amarvelousexampleoforganization and forcefulpersuasion in this countryofmañana, and a positiveindication of Grant’spersonal supervision.Eleanora was smiling toherself overhis commentsonthesubject,andgettinginto the skirt and blouse

she had come to think ofasherHondurancostume,when the bell clangedbelow.

Eleanora stepped outonto the galería in time toseetheseñoraescortingabuxom female with anunlikely bonnet on herhead, covered with freshmagenta hibiscus, into thepatio. At the sight of thebrassy curls fringing theforehead, Eleanora found

hertongue.“Mazie!” she cried,

hurrying down the stairs.The actress opened herarms wide, and Eleanoraflungherselfintothem.

“I’m welcome, am I?”Mazie asked when theydrewapart.

“You know you are,”Eleanorasaid,smilingwithan odd mistiness beforehereyes.

“I had my doubts.

You’ve been home fordays and I’ve not seenhidenorhairofyou.”

“I know,”Eleanorasaidcontritely. “I asked Dr.Jones about you. He saidyouweredoingwell,happywith your John and thetheater and your orphans.ItsoundedsoidyllicIdidn’twant to intrude with myproblems.”

“Don’t be silly. If youknowmeatall,youshould

know I’m dying to hearfrom your own lips howyou are and whathappenedtoyou.Ihadnoidea itwassuchanordealuntil I read the paper thismorning. I thought it wasjust a case of Laredotaking you away intohiding. Romantic, butscarcely the dangerousand trying time the ElNicaraguensehintedat.Allthe rest has been kept

quiet here in town, veryquiet.”

“Oh — the papers,”Eleanora said, wondering,suddenly, what Grantwouldmake of her havingtalked to the editor. Notthat it mattered. Still, shepreferred to avoid anystrain between them.“Come and sit down,” shewent on. “And I will seewhat Icandoaboutacupofcoffee.”

The orange blossomswere gone from the treesattheendofthepationow,leaving only a few fruithere and there and thecoolshadeof thepolishedgreen leaves. The sun’sglare was brilliant on thestones of the patio floor,and puddles of water,draining from the pots oftheseñora’s flowerswhichshe had just finishedwatering, evaporated

beforetheireyes.“I have a curious

message for you fromNeville,” Mazie said whenEleanora had set thecoffeetraybeforethemonthewrought-irontable.

“Oh?”EleanorahandedMazieacup, leaningbackwithherown.

“He said to tell you‘Congratulations,’ andwarn you he will callsometimetomorrow.”

Eleanora lifted a browin an attempt at wryamusement. “Doeseveryone know I’m withGrantagain?”

“You are something ofa celebrity. Naturallypeople are interested.Correct me if I’m wrong,but I believe Neville wasmoreinterestedthanmost.Itwashewhotoldmeyouwerehere.”

The thought of Neville

Crawford watching hermovements, perhaps evenwatching the palacioduring the night to see ifshe was sent away, filledherwithrepugnance.

Her hazel eyes onEleanora’s expressiveface, Mazie said, “If youfindhimsodistasteful,youdon’thavetoseehim—ordoyou?”

“I don’t knowwhat youmean,” Eleanora

answered,flickingaglanceat the other womanthroughherlashes.

“Mydear,IhaveknownNeville fora long time.Hehas his good points. Hehas the instincts andbreeding of a gentleman,and he can be good for awoman’s ego, but he hasfew principles when itcomes to money. I knowenough of his pastdealings to guess that he

isuptohisneckinthetug-of-war between Walkerand his backers, andVanderbilt and his money.And I have a shrewd ideawhich faction is mostattractive to Neville. Youcan pretend, if you like,thatyouhavenothingtodowith all that, but I’mwarning you, I won’tbelieveyou.”

To be relieved of herintolerable secret, to pour

out the whole story toMazie, including all thedetails she had not beenable to speak aloud toGrant, much less expecthim to understand, all thedifficulties andembarrassments onlyanother woman couldappreciate — what harmcouldtherebe?Maziewasnot likely to warn WilliamWalker, even if it had notmeant betraying both of

her friends, Neville andEleanora. In addition, theother woman hadgenuinely liked Jean-Paul.To lodge information thatwouldbringallthreebeforefiring squads was amalicious act EleanorajudgedMazie incapable ofcommitting. Neville,himself, with his crypticmessage,hadgivenMazieher first clue that all wasnot as it should be. If

Eleanora supplied themissing facts, he had onlyhimselftoblame.

Shecouldnotdoit.Theriskwastoogreat.Raisingher head, she said, “I’msorry, Mazie, really I am,but I just don’t understandwhat you are talkingabout.”

Mazie stared at her. Inthe pitiless daylight therewas a coating of ricepowder on the actress’s

face, and traces of lipsalveonhermouth.Itgaveheradissolute lookthat innowaydetracted fromherappearance of greater-than-average worldlywisdom. The petals of theflowers on her bonnetfluttered as she nodded.“It’s worse than I thoughtthen. All right. We won’ttalk about it. Justrememberthis:ifyouneeda place to go, you are

always welcome whereverIam.”

“Mazie,you—”“Don’t worry aboutme.

I can’t see much aheadexcept trouble for you,honey. I’d like tohelpwithitifIcan.IfIcan’t,thenthelast thing I want is to addtoit.”

As Mazie got to herfeet,Eleanora touchedherarm. “There is somethingyoucando,ifyouwill?”

“Whatisit?”“TellNevilleIdon’twant

him here. I’ll meet himanywhereelsebuthere.”

“That’sall?”“That isall.”Eleanora’s

voicewas firm. Itmightbeharder for her to meetNeville elsewhere, still itwould be worth it. Shecouldnotbear the thoughtof him penetrating to thefastness of this patio, ofhaving to make him

welcome here within thepalacio where she hadonce known a fleetinghappiness. It might beimpossible to bar theeffectsofhismachinations,but she could bar hispresence,andshewould.

Although Grantreturned to take the noonmeal with her, hismannerwas preoccupied and hedidnottarry.Whenhehadgone, and Señora

Paredes,afterclearing thetable,haddisappearedintothe lower regions of thehouse for her siesta,Eleanora wandered aboutthepatio.Hernerveswereas tight as stay strings.Under the circumstances,it was impossible for hernot to speculate on thereasons for Grant’sdistraction. Had the newsof thedisturbanceat Leónreached Granada? Was

Walker even now holdingcouncil to outline hisstrategy to counter themoveofPresidentRivas?

Doubtless she shouldbe doing something, butwhat? She could lookthrough the papers left inthebedchamber;therehadbeenastackoftheminthewardrobe. Not that shesupposed there wasanything of value amongthem. If Neville was

correct, there would havebeen little time for Grant,or anyone else, to putanythinginwriting.

The bedchamber wasstiflingwithafternoonheat.Eleanora pulled back thedrapes to let in lightenough to see, then asperspiration began totrickle along her hairline,she threw the windowwide. The sun hadmovedto the other side of the

housenow.Thestreet-sidegaleríawasintheshade;ithadtobecooler.Evenif itwas not, anything wasbetter than this closeairlessness.

Or was it? There wassomethingdisconcerting inriflingaman’spapersinanopenroom.Herheartbeathigher and her fingerstrembled as she turnedover the guard book, thehorse books, and the

registration book with itshundreds of recruits listedin her own painstakingcopperplate. The sheaf ofpapers underneath thesejournals seemed to beconcerned with suppliesand their storage andmovementduringthedaysof conflict just past. Therewasnothingelse.

Shehad looked. Itwasarelieftobedonewiththatdisagreeabletask,tostack

the books and papersneatlyawayandknowthatshe need not touch themagain.

Intent on puttingeverythingbackexactlyasshehadfound it,Eleanorafailedtonoticetheopeningand closing of the doorbelow. Her first warningwas the sound ofmasculine voices in thepatio,followedbythetreadoffootstepsonthestairs.

It could only be Grant.No one else would walkinto the palacio withoutringingthebell,orseekingouttheseñoratorouseherfromhernap.

With quiet haste,Eleanora replaced the lastof the papers in thewardrobe,closedthedoor,and stepped out onto thegalería.Ifshehadthetimeshe would whip out ofsight; if not, she could

pretend to be taking theair. It did not, in her guilt,occur toher tostaywhereshewasandbrazen it outwith the natural excuse ofthesiestahour.

In any case, she wasable to stroll along thegalería to the end withreasonable dignity. Takinga seat on the railingbeneath the waving,untrimmedbranchesofthebougainvillea, she waited

to see if she would bediscovered.

She was not. Grantappearedtohaveforgottenherpresenceinthehouse.Heusheredhisguestsintothe bedchamber withapologies for its heat, andamid thedisclaimers therecame the scrape of chairsas the men were seatedaboutthetable.

Eleanora recognizedthevoiceofWilliamWalker

without difficulty. One oftheothermenwasColonelThomas Henry, shethought, while the fourthman she could not quiteplace, though he soundedvaguelyfamiliar.

In the agitation of herdiscovery,itwasamomentbefore she realized theimplications of themeeting.Whatotherthananeed for secrecy wouldmakethesemenchoosea

hot, cramped bedchamberfor their conferenceinstead of the large, openrooms of the GovernmentHouse? And what otherthan the crisis at Leóncould make such aconference necessary atthistime?

From her presentvantage point she couldhear the rumble of themen’s voices, but shecould catch only a word

nowandthenofwhattheywere saying. Casually, forthe sake of anyone whomightbewatchingfromthestreet, she moved backagainst the wall of thehouse. Avoiding the irongrilles between thewindows of the otherrooms along the wall, shepickedherpostandleanedwith her shoulders to thewarm, golden stone of thebuilding. In her

concentration, sheshredded thepetals of thebougainvillea she hadplucked, dropping them tothe floor without noticingasshelistened.

“Seemstome,”ColonelHenry was saying in hisslowdrawl,“thatitwasjusta matter of time beforeRivas started acting up. Itcouldn’t help but goagainst the grain, being afigurehead president,what

with him being anaristocrat,andallthat.Thistrickofhisofstarting falserumors seems about whatwe ought to haveexpected. Wouldn’tsurprise me if you didn’thave some plan in mindalready for dealing withhim,General.”

That Walker waspleased could be heard inhis voice. “Maybe. I wantto hear what the rest of

youhavetosayfirst.”“I say get rid of him!”

the stranger in the groupsaid,his tonegrim.“Arresthimandhiscolleagues,trythem,andexecutethemastraitorsjustasthemanhasaccused you of planning.You can’t afford internaldisputes right now. Notonly would it look bad toany of the more powerfulcountries who might bedisposed to lend you their

support, it would be aninvitationforanattackfromSan Salvador orGuatemala. Costa Ricamay be crippled, but theothers aren’t. All of them,even the Hondurans withtheirpretenseofneutrality,are just waiting for you toturnyourback.”

“That may be,” Grantsaid slowly.But it looks tome like moving againstRivaswouldbemorelikely

to start a civil war insteadof quelling thedisturbance.”

Colonel Henry slappedthetable.“Grant’sright.Ontheotherhand,wecan’tletthis Rivas keep stirringthings up. We have to bepractical. Nobody takeskindly to having strangersmoveintotheircountryandset leaders up over them.Whatweoughttodoiscallanelectioninthegoodold

Americanway.Tentoone,you’d beat Rivas to astandstill, thewaymost ofthese people feel aboutyourightnow,General.”

“You have a point,”Walkeradmitted.

“Think of how muchmore convenient it wouldbe if you were president,”Colonel Henry went on,warmingtohissubject.

“First we have to dosomething about the riot

the current president hasstarted,” Walker remindedhimgently.

“Theeasiestthingtodowould be to assassinatehim,” the strangermuttered, an observationno one appeared to takeseriously.

Grant spoke next, hisvoice slow, as if he wereforminghisthoughtsaloud.“What would you think,General, of letting Rivas

understand that we intendtodoexactlyashisrumorssuggest,arresthimandhisassociates?Hisreaction,ifI’manyjudge,shouldbetoget out of the country asfast as he can, taking themain opposition in Leónwithhim.”

“Thatway,weareridofhimwithouttouchingahairon his head,” ColonelHenryexclaimed.

“Exactly,”Grantagreed.

“With him gone, you,General Walker, couldappoint a provisionalpresident, someone withfew political ambitions,and, after a suitableperiod, thismancould callanewelection.”

“Ferrer,” Walker saidthoughtfully.

“What was that?” thestrangemanqueried.

“Fermin Ferrer, a goodman and a fine

Democrático.Heshouldbean excellent choice asprovisionalpresident.”

“And the election?”ColonelHenryasked.

“Byallmeans, thoughIbelieve it should be calledassoonaspossible.”

“TheriotinginLeónwillneed time to quiet down,”Grantobjected.

“Leónisastrongholdofthe aristocráticos and theLegitimista party,” Walker

told himquietly. “They areused to electing one oftheir own topower. If theyare inanuproar itmaybedifficult for them toorganize the voting in thatdistrict — which would bemost unfortunate, wouldn’tit?”

Shehadheardenough.The longer she stoodthere, themoredangerousher position became.Waiting until one of the

men was speaking oncemore, she moved to theFrenchwindowof thenextbedroom, eased it open,and stepped inside. Shecrossed the room withexquisite care to its innerdoor which stood openuponthegalería.Movingalittle farther along it, sheturned and started backwith normal footsteps,lettingherhandslidealongthe railing. It would be

unnaturalforhernottoputin an appearance whilethere were guests in thehouse. She might pleadthatshehadstayedhiddenfrom embarrassment, ofcourse, but it was a littlelateforhertoevenpretendtoblushforherreputation.

Arranging a smile ofartless welcome on herface,shepushedopenthebedchamber door, comingto a stop holding to the

knob. “Grant,” she began,“I thought I heard yourvoice— I’m sorry! I didn’tmean to intrude. But, aslong as I’m here, could Iget something for yougentlemen? Coffee? Or Ibelieve there islemonade?”

An instant later hergazewasdrawnirresistiblyto the man who sat onWalker’s right, the manwhose voice she had not

been able to identify. Itwas theAmericanministerto Nicaragua, JohnWheeler.

20“How is Jean-Paul? Is heallright?”

“He’s doing fine.”NevilleCrawfordansweredEleanora’s anxiousquestions with somethingnear irritation, returning atonce to his foremostinterest “Are you sure

that’salltheysaid?”“I’m sure,” Eleanora

replied. That made thefourth time Neville hadrepeated his same query,and she was not immuneto annoyance herself. ItwasbadenoughtohavetoconnivewithMazietomeethimwithouthavinghimactas if he suspected her ofwithholding informationfrom him. Which, in pointof fact, she was. She had

kept to herself theknowledge that theplanned arrest of Rivaswas nomore than a ruse.It was unlikely that Nevillewould find out otherwise,and without that smallpiece of information therestbecamenomorethanwhat Grant and thegeneral wanted theLegitimista faction toknowanyway.Shehadalso toldNeville of the decision to

appoint a provisionalpresident, but she hadbeen deliberately vagueabout his name, distortingit in several ways. It wasthe best compromise shecould make with herconscience.

Now she said in hermost subdued manner,“I’m sorry I couldn’t bemorehelpful.”

“I’msorrytoo,forJean-Paul’ssake,”Nevillesaid.

Alarm coursed throughher veins, though herexpressiondidnotchange.“What do you mean? Yousaidhewasallright.”

“So he is, for now. Butwe are dealing withimpatient men. They wantsolid,accurateinformation;times, dates, the numberof men expected to be inthe arresting party, thissortofthing.”

“WhatamIsupposedto

do?AskGeneralWalkertosatisfy my curiosity? I didthebestIcould.”

“Believe me, Isympathize, Eleanora, butI have to answer to thesementoo.”

She wanted to throwhis falsenessback intohisbroad, handsome face.She held her tongueinstead. It would not bevery intelligent toantagonize this man.

Moreover,theremightbeagrain of truth in what hesaid.Inanycase,shewasgrateful to Mazie forchoosing that moment tocomeintotheroom.

“This is the mostunloverlike clandestinemeeting I have everwitnessed!” the actressteased. “A person wouldthink the two of you weremarried, to hear youbickering with each other.

Give it up and come giveme your advice, both ofyou, on the new set I’mdesigning. Imightevenbeabletofindadrinkforyou,Neville, to calm your liver.You are looking decidedlybilioustome.”

“I’m not one of yourorphans,” Neville growled,“so don’t try motheringme.”Still,hiswordslackedtheforceofrealangerandhe put his arm around

Mazie’s ample waist asshe half-led, half-cajoledhim from the theater loftwhere he and Eleanorahadbeentalking.

“You,too,comealong,”Mazie said, looking backover Neville’s shoulder atEleanora, and, seeing thegratitude shining in hergreen eyes, the actresswinkedreassuringly.

The news of PresidentRivas’s hurried departure

fromLeónwithhiscabinetwassoonbeingdiscussedon every street corner.Ferrer took office withinhours of officialconfirmation of thevacating of the capital.One of his first acts aspresident was to order anew election. The plandiscussed in Eleanora’sbedchamber had, so far,succeededadmirably.

At thatmoment in time

there were three men inCentral America callingthemselves the presidentof Nicaragua. There wasthe original leader of thecountry, a man namedEstrada, who had fledGranada on the dayWalker captured the townninemonthsbefore.Therewas Rivas, the moderatelegitimist who had beenappointed as provisionalpresidenttotakeEstrada’s

place in a joint action bythe defeated Legitimistaarmy and Walker’sFalangistas,andtherewasthenewappointee,Ferrer.Thereignof the latterwasshort. Within days,Nicaragua had its fourthpresident in less than ayear, the man accreditedwith the majority of thevotescast in thedulyheldelection. His name wasWilliamWalker.

The Granadanscelebrated the electionvictory of their delivererwithfervorandfiesta.Theyate, they drank, theydanced in the streets.Lanternswerelitearlyandhungfrombracketsoutsidethe houses, or from ropeslungoverpatiowalls,andfrom the limbs of trees.Particular attention wasgiven the plaza before theGovernmentHouse.Itwas

decked with dozens oflamps and torchesilluminating the red-and-white bunting whichdecorated the governmentbuilding, Walker’s red-starredflag,andthegroupof musicians which wouldlater move inside for theofficialfête.

ThemusicandlaughtercamefaintlytoEleanoraasshestoodatthewindowofthe bedchamber. The

warm evening breezebrought also the smells ofdust and smoke andlantern fuel, of spicy foodand the sweet, milkyfragrance of the candywhich was beingconsumed in rich, thickchunks, a part of everycelebration. From thecathedral came themelancholy toll of theangelus. As always itstirred the pigeons,

throwing them into flight.Theysweptacrosstheskyin formation, a wheel ofdarkgrace.

There was a chancethe festivities would bespoiled.Outover the lake,beyond the cones ofOmetepe, lightningflickered sullenly. It mightbe no more than heatlightning, but it gave thewine-darkskyaportentouslook as it arched over the

glowingtown.She should be getting

dressed, donning thethings laid out on the bedbehind her, her partyfinery. Somehow, shecould not summon theenergy. Depressionweighted her limbs,making it seem too muchof an effort to put up herhair and struggle into theheavy petticoat, crinoline,and gown for celebration

she had no desire toattend. She thought ofmaking an excuse, butstaying at the palacioalone while everyone elsemademerryhadevenlessappeal than going to theGovernmentHouse.

Shehadbeenalonesomuch in the last fewdays.Inways,thetimeremindedEleanora of her first weekwith Grant. When he waswith her he was

passionately possessive,buthewassoseldomwithher. Walker, as always,commanded his firstloyalty.

It had been a busytime,atimeofdecisionforUncle Billy, true enough.There had been days oftraveling during thecampaign for election.Also,fromafewthingsshehadheardatvarioustimes,she thought the plans for

the transfer of the transitline were still goingforward. Regardless, shefound herself resentingGrant’s duties more andmore. She would haveliked to have beencompletely alone with himsomewhere, free of duty,free of entanglement oroutside interference; asimple place where theyneedheednodesireotherthantheirown.

Sometimes, catchingan odd look in his deep-seaeyesastheyrestedonher, she was moved towonder if Grant regrettedtakingherback.Atothers,she questioned if shemeant anythingmore thanaconveniencetohim—awoman always near tomend his clothes, see tohis laundryandhismeals,to slake his lust and sendhim comfortable into

dreamless slumber. Wasshefoolish toexpectmorethan this superficialintimacy? Was thereanythingmore?

At a soundbehindher,she half-turned to seeGrantenterthedoorwayofthe dusk-filled room.Findingher inthedark,hepaused, then saunteredtoward her. Coming near,he reached above herhead to close the window

and pull the drapestogether. After dropping alightkissonhermouth,hemoved to the washstandwherethelampblossomedinto light under his hard,brownfingers.

“Whyaren’tyougettingdressed?” he asked withhisbacktoher.“Don’tyoufeelwell?”

Here was heropportunity.Sheletitpasswith nomore than a flash

of recognition. “I’m fine. Iwasjustwaitingforyou.”

“Good. You can dosomethingwith this pelt ofmine. I look as shaggy asabear.”

Swinging to thewardrobe, he took out thecase of medical supplies,picked the scissors fromamong the clutter, andthrewthemonthebed.

“Cut your hair?”Eleanora, watching him,

askeddoubtfully.“BeforeItakemybath,”

he answered, stripping hisshirtfromhisbreeches.

The faultwas her own.Shehadmadethemistakeof tellinghim that shehadcut Luis’s hair, and Slim’sand Jean-Paul’s, duringtheir days together. Thathadbeendifferent. In theirsituation, they hadexpected no more of herand the rusty knife she

wasforcedtousethanthatshegetthehairoutoftheireyes so they could see,and off their necks forcoolness.

“I couldn’t,” she toldGrantplainly.

“You have to. There’snooneelse.”

“Youwouldbebetteroffwearingyourhairlongthangoingbald-headed.”

Dropping onto the bed,lying back on his elbows,

andliftingabootedfootforassistance, he said, “Idon’t plan on doing eitherone.”

Automatically,shewentto his aid, dropping theboots one after the otheronto thefloor. “Youwill if Igetholdofyou.Imeanit.Ican’t. I’ve never doneanything more than trimaroundtheedges.”

“That’s all I want,” hesaid, putting the scissors

into her hand and slidingfromthebedtotakeaseatin one of the straight-backchairsatthetable.

His calm air of waitingfor her to do as he askedset her teeth on edge,coming, as it did, so soonafter her doubts. “Verywell,”shesaid.“Don’tsayIdidn’twarnyou.”

His thick black hairlookednearlystraight,hardto cut without leaving it

gapped or jagged. Whenshe began to clip it,however, she found that itcurved down the back ofhis head with a crispvitality of its own. Nomatter how she cut thestrands she picked up inher fingers, they sprangback to blend withoutdifficultywiththerestofhishair. Grant did not fidget,offer her advice, or try towatchwhatshewasdoing

as Jean-Paul, and evenLuis, had done. He satperfectly still, totallyrelaxed. After a fewminutes, it reached herthathisattitudewasoneoftrust, not arrogance. Herhands steadied and shewasabletodoacreditablejob, so creditable that itwas impossible to resisttaking his brushes andsmoothing it into place,whenshewasdone.

“Satisfied?” he asked,his hands closing abouther waist as she stoodbetween his legs, slippingunderthewornarmy-issueshirt which shewore as adressinggown.

“Yes,” she answeredwithout looking at him,givinghisthicksideburnsalasttouch,andbrushingatthe darkmantle of clippedhair that lay across hisnakedshoulders.

“I’m not,” he said, hisvoice muffled against thefront of her shirt as hisarms tightened, drawinghercloseragainsthim.

“Toobad,”shetoldhim,her hands gripping hisshoulders to hold herselfaway.“I’vealreadyhadmybath,andthehair—”

“We can take anotherone.”

“We will be late forUncle Billy’s levée.

Besides, you’ll get hair inthebed.”

Slippingthebuttonsoutof their holes so that hershirthungopen,heasked,“Who said anything aboutthebed?”

“Youdon’tmean—”“Don’t I? I seem to

recall one of these rugsmaking you a fine pallet.The big one by thewindow,wasn’tit?”

Scooping her into his

arms, he kicked the rugnearer and lowered herupon it. His breath warmagainst her neck, he said,“It’s one of my favoritememories.”

Thesoftstrummingofaguitar drifted over theassemblage. It grewgradually louder as theplayer,anattractiveyoungman with proud, laughingeyes and flashing teeth,strolled through the doors

andintothelongreceptionroom of the GovernmentHouse. In appreciation ofthe spattering of applauseand murmur of delightedcompliments, he inclinedhis head, then began tosingashecontinuedinhisslowcircuitoftheroom.

He was good, verygood. His guitar throbbedin perfect accompanimenttothelovesonghepouredforth in a deep, caressing

timbre. The fact that hewas aware of his ownexcellence did not in anywaydetractfromhisraffishcharm. The ladies lookedat each other with smallsmiles. The gentlemenassumed expressions ofboredom. Only Eleanorastood unmoved, as ifturnedtostone.

The young man, aSpaniard,wassolikeLuis.The song he was singing,

a lover’s serenade, wasthe same hauntingmadrigal that Luis hadplayed for her once inprivate concert upon thegalería. At least, she hadthoughtitwasprivate.

A sibilant hiss of silkskirts behind her putEleanora on her guard.Marshaling her defenseswaseffective, toadegree,inbanishingremembrance,and it was with tolerable

composurethatsheturnedas Niña Maria stoppedbesideher.

“How do you like ourtroubadour?” Walker’smistress inquiredarchly. “Iwas assured by MajorCrawford that you wouldfind him quite —devastating.”

“Major Crawford is tooobservant,” Eleanorareplied after a moment,“andyouaretookind.”The

falsity of it made the lastwordhardtoforcefromherthroat. Abandoningpretense, she raised hergreeneyes,darkwithpain,to Niña Maria’s coldlymalicious face. “Why doyou dislike me so? WhathaveIeverdonetoyou?”

Thewomanunfolded afan of flesh-colored silkdecorated with linedrawings of Rubensesquenudes.“Theanswertothat

is simple. You have donenothingbutcausedifficultyandembarrassmentformesince the day you arrived.You supplanted Juanita,spoiling plans that hadtaken months to bring tofruition. You wormed yourway into my William’saffectionssothathespokeof you with more genuinefondness in his voice thanhe has used with anywoman, no doubt since

that milk-and-watermademoiselle whocaptured his heart in NewOrleansdied.”

“That can’t be so,”Eleanora protested, herbrows knit in a frown ofdismay. “There has neverbeen the least indication—”

“Well, no, not in theway you are thinking. Butthe contrast between hisgenial, gentlemanly

attitudetowardyouandhismanner with me wasmarked — until theepisode with Luis. Thatserved to convince himyouwere not the innocentyou looked. Nonetheless,your mere presence hasmade my task moredifficult than it need havebeen.”

Eleanora glancedinvoluntarilyat thegeneralstanding some distance

away. There was nodanger of him, or anyoneelse, hearing theirconversation over themusic, especially in thealcove filled with pottedplantswhereEleanorahadstopped to rest. It wasridiculous of her to thinkthere might be, Eleanorarealized.NiñaMariawouldnevertakesuchachance.

“More than thesethings,” Niña Maria went

on, “you brought theinvincible Iron Warrior tohis knees so that hemooned after you like themostfatuousofsuitors.Myfriendshad,atthetimeyoucame on the scene, beenwaiting with someamusement for me topierce his armor as I hadpromised them I would.Youmademe look a fool.Under the circumstances,you can see that I have

littlereasontoloveyou.”“You mean you

intendedto—?”“Seduce is the word

youaresearchingfor,” thewoman supplied with abrittle laugh beforeEleanora could completeher sentence. “Certainly.Who better than theintriguingColonelFarrell?”

“What of you and thegeneral?”

Niña Maria shrugged,

anelaborategesturewhichdrew attention to thewhitenessofhershouldersbarely covered by hergownofmaroon-and-blackbrocade.“Thegeneral isaman of power, and I findthat exciting, but as youmust have guessed bynow, my association withhim is amatter of politics,not choice. I see nothingwrong in entertainingmyselfelsewherewhenhe

is not at hand, or is toobusy to notice.” As shespoke she had beenwatching the strollingsinger, her eyes narrowedand a smile playing at thecorner of her mouth. NowhersmilewidenedandsheturnedtoEleanora. “Nevermind that. A quarrel ismeaningless between usas we are presentlycircumstanced. We are, Isuppose, quits — as the

Falangistas would say —since the Hondurasepisode. Let mecongratulate you on yourdecision to join the partywhichwilleventuallyruleinNicaragua, and,incidentally,onyoureffortsinourbehalf.Itwillinterestyou,I’msure,toknowthatPresident Rivas escapedandisnowinChinandega,where he has set up anabsentee government. He

is in communication withthe heads of state of SanSalvador and Guatemalainanefforttogatheraidinexpelling the Americaninvaders.”

“So long as we arebeing honest,” Eleanorabroke in, “let me tell youthat I have no interestwhatever in PresidentRivas.”

“I see. You are happy,then, that the general has

beenelected?”Eleanora smiled.

“That’sright.”“With such sincerity in

yourfavor,itshouldnotbedifficult for you todiscoverthe date set for theinauguration.”

“Surely that can be noproblem?”Eleanoraasked,turning to stare at her. “Itshouldbepostedoneverywall, and half the treetrunks, in the city within a

dayortwo.”“You are mistaken,”

Niña Maria said coolly.“There has been a threatonthegeneral’slife.Itwasone of those silly notesthrown through a windowthat comes to most publicfigures,buthehaschosentotakeitseriously.”

“He wouldn’t includeyou in his suspicions, I’msure,” Eleanora said,lowering her lashes in a

gesture that did not somuch conceal the irony ofherquestionasrevealit.

Frowning, Niña Mariasaid, “Of course not! Thegeneral will trust no oneexceptcolonelsFarrellandHenrywiththeinformation.I would have beenincluded as a matter ofcourse but for this stupidthreat. William has notforgotten the cousin ofmymaid who entered our

apartments unannounced.Itwasnothingmorethanamisunderstanding, but herefuses to believe it or tochancearepetition.”

“Foolish of him,”Eleanoramurmured.

“We can defeat thisman without resorting tocold-blooded murder,” theother woman said in thecold tones of offendedpride. “My main concernwithdiscoveringthedateis

convenience; my own. Ihave a tremendousamount of work to do toget ready for theinauguration, and it wouldbe helpful to know howmanydaysIhaveinwhichto arrange for the ball. Itwouldbenicetobecertainthe pyrotechnics I orderedwill behere in time. If youarereluctanttofindthisoutforme, you can, naturally,apply toMajor Crawford. I

believeyouwillfindthathewill request— no, compel—youtodoasIask.”

“I am aware of thecollaboration between youand Neville,” Eleanorasaid, “andso I amsureofit.”

“Then, as you say,there can be no problem,”Niña Maria returned withfinality.

Eleanora ignored thedismissal. “Except that

Grant may not feelcompelled to tell me whatyouneedtoknow.”

“I’msureyouwill findaway around that difficulty,”the woman said, turningaway. Then, as if onimpulse, she swung back.“That is a charming gownyou are wearing. Mostbecoming,butthenitcouldbe nothing else. Myseamstress alwaysoutdoesherself.”

Her seamstress?Eleanora felt a smotheringsensation in her chest. IfNiñaMariahadhadahandin choosing the gown shewore, she would neverwear it again. She wouldliketotearittoshredsandthrow it in Grant’s face.How dare he reveal thedeficiencies of herwardrobetothatwitchofawoman? How dare heexposehertoNiñaMaria’s

pityandcondescension?Her hands clasped

tightly togetherbeforeher,she searched the roomwith her eyes for Grant’swide-shouldered figure.Her heart acheda little asshe saw him bending tocatch the words of someblond nonentity in palepink satin, the daughter,she thought, of anundersecretaryintheofficeof the American minister.

The lamplight gleamedblue-black on thesculptured cap of his hair,and was caughtshimmering in the goldfringe of his epaulettes.Despite her intimateknowledgeofhisbody,hewas,fromthisdistance,nomore than a barbaricallyhandsome stranger, andshe was struck anew byhowlittlesheknewofwhathethoughtorfelt.

Glancing up, he sawher and smiled inreassurance. His attentionwas diverted at thatmoment by the Spanishguitaristjustlettingthelastnotesofhissongdieaway.In the following burst ofapplause, he spoke whatwas apparently an excuseto thegirl besidehim,andbegan to make his waythrough the crowd towardher.

Wanting to have himnear her, Eleanora,perversely, did not wanthim to find her alone.When Major NevilleCrawfordpassednearher,she beckoned to him witha surreptitious movement.Neville moved to her sidewith easy, big-bonedgrace, though he toowatched Grant’s approachfromthecornerofhiseye.Leaning close, he said,

with more perspicacitythan she had credited tohim,“Whatareyouplayingat,dearEleanora?”

There was no time toanswer. Grant, noddingcoldly at Neville, stoppedbefore them. “Ready togo?” he asked, placing ahandunderherelbow.

“Yes,” she answeredwith a show of readiness.“As soon as I give MajorCrawford the waltz I

promisedhim.”His grip tightened.

“Another time,” he saidevenly. “I’m sure MajorCrawfordwillunderstand.”

Nevillesteppedbackatonce, though his gaze, asit moved from Grant toEleanora, held a tightlycontrolledenvy.

Theymadetheiradieuswith the utmost grace andharmony, Grant good-humoredly refusing the

offer from his fellowofficers to extend theevening by going on to acantina, accepting the slyinnuendos directed afterhimwithoutrancor.

As theypassedout thefrontdoors,Grantreturnedthe salute of the guardswith mechanical precision.His voice was just asmechanical, just asprecise,ashesaid toher,“You seem to have gotten

very friendly withCrawford.”

“He was kind to me inHonduraswhenIcameoutof prison, and we weretogether on the ship as Icame home,” sheansweredcoolly.

“But you knew himbeforethat?”

She did not at all carefor his manner. “Wearrived here on the boatfromNewOrleans,ifthatis

whatyoumean?”“You have been seen

walking with him in town,both before you left, andsince.”

“BeforeI—left,asyoucall it, he was goodenoughtoescortmetothehospitalonceor twice.Wewere usually in companywith Mazie, since he is afriendofhers.”

“Oh, yes, Mazie,” hesaidwithaslownod.

Eleanoracametoahaltat the turn into the CalleSanta Celia. “I must askyounot to speakofMaziein that tone,”she toldhim,her voice trembling withthe anger building insideher. “She has her faults,butshe isabetterperson,kinder, less immoral, thanmany of your so-calledfriends.”

“Such as?” he asked,hisvoicehard.

“Such as Niña Maria,”she declared, and turnedswiftly away, afraid shehadsaidtoomuch.

He caught up with herin a single stride. “Isuppose you meansomethingbythat.”

“Nothing Ineedexplaintoyou,”sheanswered.

“That’swhatyouthink,”he grated, thrusting openthe door of the palacio,slamming it behind them

when they had passedthrough.

Take care— a part ofEleanora’s mindwhispered,butshedidnotheedit.“YourNiñaMaria,”she said, her eyesglittering in thedimnessofthe patio, “was goodenough to tell me thisevening that until I arrivedin Granada you were allset to succumb to herSpanishcharms!”

Itwasapleasure,inherpresent frame of mind, toseehimtakenaback,butitseemed unwise to stayaround to enjoy thespectacle. She washalfway up the stairsbeforehefoundhisvoice.

“Thehell shedid! It’sabare-faced lie! But even ifit were so, what is it toyou?Youweren’there.”

There was no answerto that. She tried another

tack. “And I suppose I amto overlook the fact thatthat woman is responsiblefor the gown I amwearing?”

“That’snotso,”hesaid,following her into thebedchamber.

“Deny, then,” she said,swinging on him, “that itwas made by herseamstress! Hurriedthroughforthesakeofthepatronage of the mistress

ofWilliamWalker.”“I can’t deny that,” he

told her, a black scowldrawing his browstogether. “It was made byher seamstress because IhadbeentherebeforewithWalker, and she was theonly one I knew. But Ichosethegoods,andItoldthe woman the style Iwanted,anditwaspaidforwithmymoney. The extrapremiumthatgot the thing

rushed through so youcould wear it when youneeded it was paid for byme too. Niña Maria hadnothing to do with it. Howshe found out about it, Icouldn’t say, except shemakes a point of knowingeverybody’sbusiness.Sheis a Nicaraguan bitch Iwould like to see kickedout of the GovernmentHouse on her backside.She has led a fineman a

merry dance,maybe evenjeopardizedwhat we havebeentryingtodohere,butaslongassheholdsUncleBilly in the palm of herhand,Ihavetoputupwithher.”

Hisblueeyes,darkwithanger, raked her face leftpalebytherecedingofherrage. “Ofcourse,”hesaid,taking a step toward herthat had in its smoothstrength a touch of

menace, “if you don’t likethe gown, you don’t havetowear it. You don’t havetowearanythingatall!”

Reaching out, hehookedhis fingers into thelowneckline.

“No!” she cried, herhands closing over his asshe realized his intention.“I do like it,” she went oncontritely, her eyessearching his face as shefelt the tension leaving

him. “Really I do. It is themostbeautiful thingIhaveeverowned.”

For the space ofseveral heartbeats theystared at each other.Slowly, the grip of Grant’shandsslackened.Theyslidover her shoulders anddown her back, to claspbehindherwaist.Eleanoramade no attempt to drawaway.

“Would you like to

swear,” Grant queriedslowly, his gaze on thesensitive curves of hermouth, “that youweren’t alittlejealousjustnow?”

Though she tried,Eleanora could not raisehereyesabovethelevelofthe gold buttons on histunic. “I might,” sheanswered, “if you willswearthesame?”

“Never a straightanswer,”hesaidpensively.

“I wonder who you areafraid of — me, oryourself?”

Such insight could bedangerous. Throwing backher head, she asked,“Doesitmatter?”

“No.Nothingmattersaslongasyouarehere,inmyarms,” he said, andloweredhismouthtohers.

21Eleanorahurriedalongthestreets, her basketswinging empty on herarm.On theoutward trip ithad been filled withcarbolic and ointments,baby napkins and shirtscarefullyhemmedbyhand,plus candy and cakes

provided by SeñoraParedes.Mazie, inanswerto a note from Eleanora,had suggested that shemeet Neville on thisoccasionat theorphanageof the Church ofGuadeloupe, and, onconsideration, it hadseemed like a good idea.An extra measure of carehad appeared reasonablein view of the way herevery action was reported

to Grant. What could bemore innocuous thanvisiting the children of theorphanage? At the sametime she had had thepleasure of seeing to theirinevitable small injuries, ofadding to the supplies ofthe sisters in charge, andwatching the pleasure ofthe dark-eyed children asthey devoured the treatsshehadbrought.

There was, in her

opinion,littleothervaluetothe journey. She had hadabsolutely no difficulty inlearning the date of theinauguration. She hadmentioned it toGrant in acasual manner at thebreakfast table, and, justas casually, he hadinformed her it would beheld on the tenth day ofJuly, six days hence.WhyNiñaMariahadmadesuchan issue of it, Eleanora

could not imagine, thoughthere was a vaguesuspicion in her mind thatthewomanhadgivenherafool’s errand merely tocause her agitation.Neville’s attitude onreceiving the informationhad been noncommittal.She had not been able totell if he had expected oreven wanted it. He hadaskedforfurtherdetailsonwhen and where the

ceremonies would beheld,but when she had beenunable to tell him, he hadnotpressedher.

AsEleanoranearedthepalacio, her footstepsslowed.Therewasanoddequipage standing beforethe building. It had thelook, she thought inamazement, of a travelingcarriage. Beneath thecoating of dust, its bodywas painted a hard,

shining black. Its fittingswere of polished brasswhichgleamed likegold inthesun.Onthesidepanel,in red and blue and gold,was emblazoned a crest.Under the haze of dust,she could not see theinsignia with any clarityuntil shewas opposite thecarriage. Then shestopped, the flush of heatandhurryingdraining fromher face to leave it pale.

The design on the panelwas the same as that cutinto the signet ring shewore on her finger, thearmsofLuis’sfamily.

Señora Paredes waswaiting for her in theentrance hall. Her eyesglittered beneath her bestlace cap and there was ahint of color in the waxenpaleness of her cheeks.“You have a visitor,” sheinformed Eleanora in a

voice which trembled withhushedexcitement.“Igavehimcoffeeandsomeofmycakes in the sala. He hasbeenwaiting thishourandis growing impatient, I’msure.”

The sala? The manmust be a personageindeed. No one wasallowedinthisroomexceptthe most distinguished ofvisitorsonthemoststatelyof occasions. Of good

family herself, it tooksomeone extraordinary toimpresstheseñora.

“Thank you,” Eleanoramurmured. Smoothing herhair, she put her hand onthe handle of the tall,carved door leading fromthe hall with a distinctfeelingoftrepidation.

The man who rose tohis feet at her entry wastallandthinwithwhitehairandasilverbeardtrimmed

to a small point. His bowwas an exquisitemodel ofgrace, though he did notoffer to take her hand.Straightening to his fullheight, he stared down ather with cool and distantcourtesy. No expressioncrossed his aquiline face,butEleanoraknewhewasboth surprised anddispleased at herappearance.

“You are Señora de

Laredo, the wife of LuisAndresCharlesEmmanueldeLaredoyPacquero?”

“Hiswidow,yes.”“Of course, my

apologies,” he said,lowering his eyelids in agesturewhichdidnotquiteconcealthelashlikeflickofhiseyesoverherskirtandblouse.

Eleanora might havebeenexcusedforresentinghisattitude.Shedidnot.In

a quiet voice she said,“There is no need forapologies. If you know IwaswedtoLuis,youmustknow themarriage was ofonlya fewhours’duration.You cannot know,however, that I wassincerely attached to himand would be wearingblack if such a thing wereeconomicallypossible.”

He stared at her whileshereturnedhisgazewith

calm green eyes. After amoment, he inclined hishead once more in anobeisance that was fardeeper. “I must beg yourpardon, señora, forunderestimating the depthof your sensitivity. Permitmetopresentmyself.IamEsteban de Laredo, theuncle of the man youmarried.”

Acknowledging theintroduction, Eleanora

indicated that they shouldbe seated. “When I sawyour carriage outside Isuspected you might berelated to Luis,” she saidwith simplicity. Andremoving the signet, shehelditouttohim.

He took it with fingersthat trembled slightly,holdingittothelightwhichfiltered through thecurtainsandthegrilleoverthe windows. He wiped at

his eyes as if a film hadcovered them, andEleanora looked away,aware suddenly that theSpaniardwasanoldman,andgrieved.

Itwasstuffyintheroombut not uncomfortablywarm. White wallsstretching to the darkbeams of the high ceilinggave an impression ofcoolness. This was aidedby the stone floor which

was polished to a sheenand laid with a single rugof oriental designpositionedbeforetheplain-fronted fireplace. On eachside of the rug was asettee of carved walnutfittedwith velvet cushions,and walnut framed thepaintings, crude copies ofSpanish and Flemishmasters, which hung oneverywall.

“Therecanbenodoubt

that you had this of mynephew,” the Spaniardsaid, returning the ring toEleanora at last. “I waspresent when my brother,hisfather,gaveittohimonhistwenty-firstbirthday.Hewas very proud of it. Icannotimaginehimpartingwith it unless he cared foryouverymuch.”

Closingherhandtightlyover the ring, Eleanorareturned no answer. She

sat on the edge of herseat, unable to relax,consciousofthedirtonthehem of her skirts fromwalking through the filthystreets, and her generallygrubby appearance fromhandling and hugging thechildren at the orphanage.Lookingup,shesaid,“Wasthere something youwantedofme,somewayIcouldhelpyou?”

“I hope, señora, that I

will beable to helpyou. Itseems to the highestdegree likely. I have thehonor,yousee,toserveinthecapacityofabogado—you would say in Englishthe attorney — of theConde de Laredo and theestates belonging to himandhis family.Sixmonthsago my brother, DonCarlos, was killed in a fallfrom his horse. It wasclearly necessary for Luis

to return home for thepurpose of assuming thetitle and his duties as theConde. I made the properarrangements,includinganapplication to the court ofIsabella to intervene in aprivate matter, a disputebetweenLuis anda familyof our acquaintance,should the occasion arise.This done, I had only tofind Luis. Our lastcommunication with him

camefromCaliforniaintheUnited States of America.Receivingnoanswertomyletters sent to the lastaddressgiven, I setout tofind him. Unfamiliar withthe state of the roads inthis new world, I brought,among other things, thefamily carriage you saw intheexpectationthathavingit would expedite thesearch.Amistake, not thefirst on this endless quest

which, for the most part,has been by water.Arriving in California, Idiscovered that Luis hadinvolved himself with thisWilliam Walker. I will notbore you with a recital ofmy wanderings since thatday. Suffice it to say thatwhen I came to San Juandel Norte on the Atlanticcoast,itwastobemetwiththe intelligence that mynephew was a fugitive. I

am not without influence,even in this countryforsakenofGod. I learnedfinally that he wasimprisoned in Honduras.But when I landed at thatplace itwas to receive theterriblemessage thatLuis,mynephew,theheirtothetitle,wasdead.TheCondede Laredo had been shotbeforeafiringsquadlikeacommonfelon.”

Eleanora made an

involuntarymovementwithherhand,asiftostophim,but she could not speak.The Conde. TheFalangistashadcalledLuisby that name in jest. Howcould they have known?The answer was, theycould not. Such a storywouldhavebeengivenfullcirculation. Perhaps therewas something to be saidfor breeding andbloodlines?

That was certainly trueof the elderly man beforeher. Conquering thefeelings which threatenedto overcome him, he liftedhishead.

“Forgive me,” he saidquietly.“Beingremindedofthat time cannot but bepainfulforyou.Iwastellingyouwhy Iamhere,wasn’tI? You had been takenfromHondurasbythetimeI arrived. Your existence

wasrevealedtomebythepriest who heard mynephew’s last confession,one Father Sebastian. Ibelieve you, señora — orperhaps I should sayCondesa—havecausetoremember him? He toldmeofLuis’s lastdaysandof his marriage. Heshowed me the officialrecord of the bond, dulyentered in the register ofhis church, and he gave

mealsoadocumentwhichLuis had entrusted to him.It was a will, scrawled onthe flyleaf of the priest’sBible. Irregular, certainly,butentirely legal.Luishadinstructed the priest tosend it to me, as theabogado,andnodoubthewouldhavedonesowhenhe could be assured itwould arrive safely. Hewasquite relieved tohandittomeinperson.Thiswill

named you, EleanoraColette de Laredo neeVillars, as the beneficiary.Theestates,thecastleandland, the olive orchards,exporting firm, and anumber of otherenterprises, are allentailed. Luis was,however, thepossessorofa handsome fortune inunentailed property, aninheritance from hismaternal grandmother.

Thisisyours.”Allowme—toofferyou

what protection there maybe in my name —Eleanora shook her headdazedly, those wordsrunning like a soft refrainthroughhermind.

“It is quite true,” theolder man assured her inresponse to the negative.“The arrangements maytakealittletime,butthesemonieswillbepaidintothe

bank of your choice.” Hehesitated, then went on,“Naturally, if there is anyissue from the marriagethe situation will changedrastically. The son ofLuis, born posthumouslywithin nine months of hisdeath, would become thenew Conde, acceding tothehonorsofhisfather.Hewill,ofcourse,berearedinSpain, and you, as thedowagerCondesa and his

mother, would have aplacethere.”

Eleanora found shecould not bear to quenchthe hopefulness in theSpaniard’seyesentirely.Insuffocating tones shereplied, “There is littlechance of that coming topass,señor.”

Henoddedasifhehadexpected no less, sayingonly,“Youwillinformmeinsuch an event,” before

going on. “At the end ofnine months the title willrevert to the next maleheir, inthiscase,thoughitis painful forme to say it,myself.You,ofcourse,willbeentitledtobeknownasthe Condesa de Laredountil your death — orremarriage.”

When he paused,obviously waiting for hercomment, Eleanora saidslowly, “What if I were to

refusethislegacy?”“Refuse—Youcan’tbe

serious?”“But if I did?” she

persisted.A frown knitting his

silver brows, the Spaniardsaid,“Itwouldnotbeatallthe thing for a Laredo toleave a woman he caredfor without funds, muchless his wife. Even if Luishad not made provisionsfor you, I would have felt

bound to make you anallowance from the estateat thevery least.No,whatmy nephew intended foryoutohaveshallbeyours.What you do with itafterwardisyouraffair,butI would hope you woulduse it for your futuresecurity, as Luis wanted.The world is not alwayskindtowomenalone.”

It was plain that thisaristocratic old gentleman

knewmore of her than hehad said. The trace ofcensurehiddenbehindtheunderstanding in his eyesbrought her position hometo her as few other thingshad done since she hadcome to Nicaragua. Ableak feelingsettled inherchest and would not bedislodged. She was,despite the reasons for it,living with a man out ofwedlock,afallenwoman,a

Magdalene. Something intheaustere faceof theoldman seemed to hint thattheleastpenaltyshecouldexpect would be,eventually, to find herselfalone.

Therewaslittlemoretobe discussed. With gravegallantry, Don Esteban deLaredo gave her hisdirection and took hisleave, pausing only tocollect his hat and cane

from Señora Paredes andcast her into a dither bycomplimenting her on thecakes she had given him.Whenthedoorhadclosedbehind him, Eleanorastood almost as bemusedat the señora. It would,however, have been crueltoleavetheolderwoman’spalpitatingcuriosityentirelyunsatisfied. “Thegentleman,” Eleanora toldherasthewomanmadeto

pass her to tidy the sala,“was a relative ofLieutenant Colonel deLaredo.Heonlywantedtospeaktomeofhim.”

The glibness of thehalf-truth troubled her forsome time.Lying, treason,fornication— she seemedcapable of anything withtheproperjustification.

The preparations forthe inauguration continuedapace, despite the fact

that,contrarytoEleanora’sexpectations, no notice ofthedatehadbeenposted.From the plaza came theconstant ring of hammersas the grandstand wasnailed together. Here andthere bunting was beingdraped across thewindows of houses, indefiance of the lightningwhich still flickered nightlyabove the lake. Therewere reports of rain from

the south, but not a dropfellonGranada.

She had not toldGrantofthevisitofDonEstebanor of the legacy.Hemightnot go so far as to forbidher to accept it, but hewouldnot likehertouseitwhileshewaswithhim.Onthe other hand, he hadoffered her no lastingsecurity, and there mightcome a timewhen she—andJean-Paul—wouldbe

glad of the stability andfreedom from careembodied in Luis’s name.The Condesa. Did Grantknow she had the right tothat title? Could he beginto guess what a hollowsound the syllables had inherears?

Itwasnotatime,inanycase, for confidences of apersonal nature. Grantgrewmore withdrawn witheachpassingday,andhis

manner more irritable.Eleanoraascribed it to theheat and long hours hewas on duty with thegeneral.Shehadlittlerightto complain. Her owntemper was none toostable. Prey to a terribleuncertainty, her moodsvaried from snappish, topensive, to a forcedcheerfulness. During thenights she lay for longhours beside Grant,

watching with wide,sleepless eyes theintermittent glow oflightning as it lit the darkwallsoftheroom.

The morning of thetenth dawned sulfurousand breathlessly warm.Only the need of astimulanttoputlifeintoherleaden limbs made itpossible for Eleanora toendure the heat of hercoffee.Shecouldnotbear

the thought of eatinganything. She sat at thetable, watching Grant,tryingnottothinkofwhatitwould be like on thegrandstandinthefullglareof the sun with everyonedressedinfullregalia.

“What time does theinauguration begin?” sheaskedpresently.

Grant slid his plate toone side, leaving half thefooduponituntouched.He

wore only his breeches,and as he stretched themuscles rippled under theskin. Pushing back hischair, he moved to thewashstand and picked upthepitcher,bringingitbackto fillhisemptycoffeecupwith water. Watching him,Eleanora felt her stomachmuscles tighten. It was amoment before sherealized hewas taking histime about answering her,

but before she coulddecide whether it wasdeliberateor justslownesscaused by the hour andthetemperature,hespoke.

“It will be after thesiesta hour, when it’scooler and the grandstandis in the shade of thebuildings.Thechurchbellsare supposed to ring toannounce it. Don’t worryabout it. I’ll come for youwhenit’stime.”

She nodded, mentallychiding herself for hersuspicions. He had onlybeen thinking of how tomakeiteasierforhertobewithhim.

In contrition, her kiss,as later hemade ready toleaveher,mighthavebeenmore lingering than usual.He raised his head, hisarm tightening around herso that the tail of the shirtshewore rode up high on

her hips. Her breasts andthe lower part of her bodywerepressedagainst him.Twin flames of desireburnedinthedepthsofhiseyesashestareddownather, but they were nearlyobscured by an odd andinscrutable severity. Apulsethrobbedinhisthroatand his jaws were rigid.Abruptly he kissed herhardandputherfromhim.Settling his hat on his

head, he stepped throughthe door. He did not slamit,butEleanorathoughtheonlyjustpreventedhimselffromdoingso.

Alone, Eleanoradressed, cleared thebreakfast dishes, andmade the bed. With thatmuch concession to orderout of the way, she spentquitesometimebeforehermirrordressingherhairforthe inauguration. Doing it

now would pass themorning aswell as savingprecious time later whenGrantmight bewaiting forher tomakeherself ready.Shewaspattinga last pininto place when the belljangled through thepalacio. She stoodlistening, but had almostdecided it was nothing todo with her when theseñora, out of breath fromstruggling up the stairs,

tappedonthedoor.It was inquisitiveness,

Eleanora thought, whichbroughther.Thedressboxshecarriedwasheavyandbulky, and she could justaseasilyhaveeithersentitup with whoever hadbrought it or called toEleanora to come and getit. Instead, she stoodpanting in the doorway.“This came for you,” shesaid, her lashless eyes

hopeful,yetshadowedwithdoubt.

In the days since herreturn, Eleanora,dismissing her suspicions,had come to an unspokenunderstandingwith theoldwoman. They were bothlonely at times, both feltsome dependency onGrantand, therefore,wereconcernedwithhiscomfortand well-being. Thesewere powerful forces,

within the enclosing wallsof the palacio, to bringthem together. They hadfallen into the habit ofdiscussing the menus forthe day each morning, aritual which had come toinclude the drinking ofcoffee or lemonade in thepatio. Their discussionshadgraduallygonebeyondfood to a range of uneasycommunication whichcould be classified as

passingthetimeofday.Byno means a friend, theseñora was still a womanwithawoman’scravingforsomething new anddifferent to enliven thedullnessofherdays.

“Thankyou forbringingitup,”Eleanorasaid.“Let’sput it on the bed, andperhaps you will help meopenit.”

Removing layers oftissue paper from the top

of the box revealed a daygownofpaleyellowdimitysprigged with clusters ofcool green leaves. To beworn with it was a bonnetof white chip-straw linedunder thebrimwith yellowand decorated around thecrown with a wreath ofgreen leavesmadeofsilk.Under still more layers oftissue was a ball gownconstructed of layer uponlayer of white tulle edged

with rosepoint lace andfeaturing a bertha of laceheld in place over theshoulders by a breastcorsage of pink silk rosessurrounded by greenleaves.Includedwasapairof combs for the hairsupporting sprays of thesamepinkroses.

The señora exclaimed,clasping her hands beforeher,aseachnewitemwaslifted from the box and

spread out upon the bed,thoughtowardthelastsheceased to exclaim, onlystanding staring at thebeautiful things withravagedeyes.

“Once I had suchthings,” she saidunsteadily, when it wasplain there was no more.“It was before SeñorParedes, my husband,died;whenwewereyoungtogether, and he hoped to

find favor inmyeyes.Thecolonel—ifyouwillforgivemysayingso—mustloveyouexceedingly.”

The gowns, even thethoughtfulness behindthem, were not, toEleanora’s thinking, proofof love. Still, rememberingher ungraciousness andthe accusations she hadthrownatGrantconcerningtheothergownhehadhadmade for her, she could

nothelpbutfeelanechooftheseñora’swonderinherown heart. Recalling alsohisstricturesonthegreedyand grasping ways ofwomenwhentheyhadfirstmet, she was inclined tosuccumbtoahopethattheolderwomanwasright.

They were interruptedbytheclangingoncemoreof the bell. Before theseñora could get halfwaydownthestairs,theyheard

Mazie’s raised voice fromtheentrancehall.Steppingto the galería, Eleanoracalleddowntohertocomeup, then stood smiling asshewatchedherclimb thestairs, thinking that theheat had finally had itseffect on her friend, forMazie wore a man’s shirtopenat theneckandwiththe sleeves rolled highabove her plump elbows.She had left off her

crinoline, and an apronmade of sacking wasdrapedoverthefullnessofher skirt of worn purpletaffeta. Over her hair, shehad tied a discarded scarfwithfringedends.

Rallying words rose toEleanora’s lips,butasshesawthefaceoftheactressthey died unspoken. Shewas grateful then to theseñora, whose relentingdid not include Mazie, for

continuing on down thestairs after the nod ofgreeting, making her waybacktothekitchenregion.

When the door hadclosedbehindthem,Mazieswung around. “There issomething I have to tellyou.Whatyoudowithitisup to you, but I couldn’tjust do nothing, knowingyou might be going intodanger.”

“What do you mean?”

Eleanora asked, standingstill with her hand on thehandleofthedoor.

“I mean there is a plotto assassinate WilliamWalker, today, at theinauguration!”

Eleanora let her breathout slowly. “I know therewas a threat against him,but he is aware of it, andI’m sure he is takingpreventivemeasures.”

“This is no threat! This

issolid,stone-hardfact.”“Youhadbetter tellme

about it,” Eleanora said,moving into the room.There was a hard knotformingjustunderherribs,butshedisregarded it,hereyesneverleavingMazie’sface.

Looking around her,Mazie found one of thestraight-back chairs nearthe dining table and satdown upon it. Her elbow

resting on the table, sheput her hand to her head.“Two days ago Nevillecame to the theater. Hetalked to me awhile, thenhe asked to see John,alone. They went outside,andinalittlebit,IthoughtIheard raised voices.Before I could look out tosee, John came on backin. He was so quiet Ithought I had beenmistaken, that the noise

had come from down thestreet. I should tell you, Iguess, that before Johnturnedactor backhome inhisnativeEngland,hewasa miner. He worked withblack powder in the coalmines,using it toblast thecoal loose so it could bemined. He got thebeginningof lungsicknessandquitseveralyearsago.Acting seemed aprofession that would not

requiremuchinthewayofhard labor, so he took itup. At some time I musthave mentioned this toNeville and heremembered it. At anyrate, John woke me earlythismorningtotellmethatwhatNevillehadwantedofhimwastosetachargeofblack powder, get it allready — or at the veryleast tell himhow to get itready — so that it would

gooffafteracertainperiodoftime,sayaslongasfiveminutes.Nevillewantedanexplosionguaranteedlargeenoughtoblowscaffoldingto splinters, and he waswilling to pay whatamounted to a smallfortunetogetit.

“It wasn’t too hard,knowingNeville’sleanings,the amount of moneyinvolved, and the secretnature of the project, to

guesswhatwas in theair.John told Neville hewanted no part of it. Hetold him to get somebodyelse, but then he got tothinking about it, and hebegan to be afraid Nevillewould find somebody whocould do what he wanted.John has no liking forWalker — or any kind ofauthority, for that matter.Hasn’thadsincehewasinthe thick of the fight

between the mine ownersand theminers attemptingtoband together in unionsforbetterconditions.But itwent against the grain tostand by and see a manmurdered when he couldprevent it. He got tothinking too about whoelsebesideWilliamWalkermight be on thatgrandstand today, maybeeven you and Grant, andhe decided he had to tell

somebodywhatwasgoingtohappen.”

SlowlyEleanoramovedto take the chair acrossfrom Mazie. “Neville isgoing to — blow up thegrandstand this afternoon—with thegeneral on it?”The general and Grant,certainlyGrant.

“Is it to be thisafternoon?ThankGod I’mnot too late. I was afraidtheymighttrytogetitover

inthemorningcool,”Maziesaid.

“No, it will be towardevening. There is stilltime,” Eleanora answered,though she was hardlyaware of what she wassaying. What should shedo? Tell Grant, of course,buthowwasshetoconveythe warning without lettingit be known that she wasresponsible for theassassins knowing the

date scheduled for theceremony?

“Iamsorelieved.IwasafraidImightfindyougonealreadywhen I got here. Iswear I aged ten years,”Maziedeclared,inclinedtolaughnowthattheurgencywas passed and she hadshifted theresponsibility toothershoulders.

“I can’t tell you howgrateful I am,” Eleanora,recalled to her manners,

toldher.“IamsureWalkerwill wish to thank you,also.”

“No, no,” Mazie said,alarm sounding in hervoice.“Idon’twantthanks.In fact, I would rather nothave my name, or John’seither,mentionedinit.Theless I have to do with thehigh-ups, the better I likeit.”

Eleanora could notblame her. She felt much

the same way, but shecould see little chance ofkeeping aloof from it.There was a singlepossibility.

No dispatch riderskicked their heels outsidetheGovernmentHouse;nosutlers or tradesmenwaited, no petty municipalofficials strode about bigwith their complaints. Allwas quiet, a certain signthatthegeneralwasnotin.

In her gratitude for themercy, Eleanora did notstop to question hiswhereabouts. She askedat once for Niña Maria. Ajuniorofficer ina red tunicwithoutepaulettestookhername and asked her towait in an antechamber.She entered the room heindicatedwith the greatestreluctance, afraid Grantwould appear at anymoment and demand that

she account for herpresencethere.

A small mirror hungover a table on one wall.Eleanora, walking aboutthe room, caught sight ofherself in it. She hadthrown amantilla over herhair. Now she pushed thetriangleofblacklacedownupon her shoulders as afichu, smoothing thecarefully arranged wavesand curls, thinking with

distraction of how unlikelyitwasnow that shewouldhave need of such anelaborate coiffure. Hereyesweredarkgreenwithapprehension, andlavender shadowssmudged theskinbeneaththem, giving her a look offragility that was notunappealing, though shecould not appreciate it.Turning from the mirror,she began to pace the

small room. She had justforcedherselftobeseatedin an uncomfortablearmchair, striving for atleast the appearance ofcomposure, when theyoung officer returned toleadherupstairs.

The apartmentsoccupied by WilliamWalker and Niña Mariawere opulent, hung withbrocade and velvet in richcolors and furnished with

heavy, ornatelyembellished furniturewhich, Eleanorasuspected, had beenconfiscated from thehomes of some of thearistocrats who had quitGranada when Walkercaptured the town. Thebedchamber was done inblack and gold with analmostorientalattention tocomfort in theprofusionofcushions and pillows and

the velvet-like softness ofthe Persian rug that layupon the floor.NiñaMariasat before an enormousdressing table built withseveral levels, insetboxesfor jewelry and cosmetics,and a towering mirrorwhich reflected the entireroom, including thebrocade-and-satin-drapedfour-posterbed.

That bed was coveredwithgownsandpetticoats,

chemises, and pantaloonsand bonnets. Trunks andboxes sat about on thefloor, and tissue paper layin drifts over everything.With a hairbrush in herhand, Niña Maria wasscoldinghermaid,astolid,middle-age Nicaraguanwoman, instructing her inhowtofoldasilkpetticoat.She did not acknowledgeEleanora until she hadfinished her tirade. Then

she waved her to a smallslipper chair, sayingwithout ceremony, “I hopethis isn’t merely a socialcall.Asyoucansee, Iambusy. I must get thispacking done and out ofthewaybeforethegeneralreturns.”

“You are leaving?”Eleanora asked,momentarily diverted fromthereasonforhervisit.

“There is a possibility.

That can’t interest you,however. Tell me what Ican do — no, you stupidcow! Put the slippers in aboxby themselves,notonthatvelvetmantle.”

As Niña Maria turnedbacktoher,Eleanorasaid,“I would like to speak toyou alone. It is mosturgent.”

“There’s no need, I’msure, to be melodramatic.My woman has been with

me for years. Whateveryou have to say can besaidinfrontofher.”

“I would rather not,”Eleanorainsisted.

“I assure you, sheenters into my everysympathy;mythoughtsarehers. Furthermore, I havenointentionofdelayingmydeparture from here foryour sake. If you wish tospeak tome, speak. If not—”Sheshrugged.

Eleanora lifted a browatthetoneofthewoman’svoice, her face hardening.“Very well,” she said. “Ihave learned of a plot toassassinate WilliamWalker, and whoevermight be with him on thegrandstand, during theinauguration thisafternoon.”

“What do you mean?Whatisthisplot?”Walker’smistressdemanded.

“There is a possibilitythe grandstand will beblown upwith explosives,”Eleanora told her,explaining briefly how shehadgainedtheknowledge.

“Madre de Dios! Whywasn’t I warned? I mighthave been killed, theimbeciles!”

“Precisely,” Eleanorasaidinherdriesttone.

The maid had stoppedwhat she was doing to

stand listening. With anirritable gesture, NiñaMaria waved at her tocontinue with her work.“This may change myplans,” she said, half toherself.

“Wemustdosomethingto stop this thing,”Eleanora said, herpatiencegrowingthin.

“We?YoumeanImust,don’t you? But what? Tellmethat?”

“Warn the general. Tellhim what has beenplanned so he can be onhis guard, so he can sethismentowatchforthosewho will set the explosivechargeandstopthem.”

“Why?” Niña Mariaasked, turning cool blackeyesonEleanora.

“Why?” she repeatedblankly. “To save theman’s life, that’swhy!His,and that of all the others

who will be on thegrandstand.”

“It is a matter ofindifference to me,” theother woman said with acareless gesture. “I hadnothingtodowiththisplot,but if the arrangementshavebeenmadeIhavenofaulttofindwiththem.”

“I thoughtyousaidyoucould defeat the generalwithout resorting to cold-blooded murder?”

Eleanoraremindedher.“That is still my belief,

but if theothersarenot inagreement, what can Ido?”

Her helpless attitudegrated on Eleanora’snerves worse than herrefusal to act. “You couldgo to Neville if you objecttoexposingthepeopleyouareworkingwithtodanger.Go to him and threaten totell Walker if he doesn’t

calltheplanoff.”“Now there is a

thought,” Niña Maria saidas if much impressed. “Icongratulateyouonit,andrecommend that you acton it at once. Not that hewilllistentoyou.Hewillbehard to convince that youwould lay yourself open toachargeofconspiringwiththe enemy. The generalwillwant toknowhowyoucame by your information,

you understand, and whatare you going to tell him?Do you think you canexplain without implicatingMajorCrawford? Itwill notbe easy. Think of theconsequences, too. MajorCrawford, if he werearrested, would feel littlecompunction in revealingthe part you have playedsince returning fromHonduras. The people heis working for might not

look on his arrest withfavoreither.Thatcouldbetragic for your brother,coulditnot?”

“That is a chance Iwillhavetotake.Ican’tjustdonothing,” Eleanora saidwithdeadlyquiet. “Thoughperhaps itwould be betterif I went to Grant and thegeneraldirectly.”

“By all means, if youare determined to ruinyourself. I would hurry

about it, if I were you. Itmaybenearly time for theceremonybeforethosetworeturn. The generalreceived a message thismorning that GeneralRamon Belloso ofHonduras was marchingsouth within strikingdistance of León. It is toolate to put an army in thefield in time to save León,but William and ColonelFarrell are out now

inspecting the fortificationsof Granada with a viewtoward reinforcing them. Iwish you much luck inrunningthemtoearth.”

Undecided, Eleanorasatwithout speaking.NiñaMaria watched her withnarrowedeyes,herfingersgripping the hairbrushgoing white at theknuckles.Becomingawareof the other woman’stension, Eleanora

searched hermind for thereason. Niña Mariaseemedconfident thatshewould be ruled by self-preservation and the forceof circumstances, but wassheintruththatsanguine?If not, what could thewoman do about it? Shemight call the guard, haveher arrested on sometrumped-up charge. Therewouldberepercussions,ofcourse, but with any luck,

not until it was too late.She must take care,Eleanora thought, not tofall into that trap. “Thatsettles it then,” she saidaloud, adding for goodmeasure a movement ofher shoulderswhichmighthavepassedforashrug.“Isuppose General Walkerwill have to take hischances.”

“There,” Niña Mariaexclaimed, relaxingvisibly.

“I knew you could not besostupid.Wemustbothofushaveourexcusesreadyas to why we refuse tomount to the grandstand.Whatshall itbe?Modesty,for you, I think; you havethe face to get away withsuch a tale. I, perhaps,have sprained my ankleand cannot stir a stepmore than is necessary tohave a good view of theproceedings. It might be

wisest to postpone mydeparture until tomorrow.AndImusthavemourningclothes. It will beexpected.” Alreadyoblivious to Eleanora’spresence, the womanturned to her maid,instructing her to searchfor a gown of black lawn,describing it in minutedetail while abusing thewomanforherslownessinunearthing it. She did not

notice when Eleanora gotto her feet and slippedfromtheroom.

As she left theGovernment House andcrossed the plaza,Eleanora noticed that thework had stopped on thescaffolding of thegrandstand and thecarpenters were restingunder the dusty-leavedtrees near the marketplace. It was still

unfinished, and to heruntrained eye it looked asiftherewastoomuchtobedone before evening forlying in the shade,however hot it might be.Someone would have todrapebunting tocover thebare wooden railings thatsurrounded it also, but nodoubt a detail of soldiershad been assigned thatduty.ItwasnotlikeWilliamWalkertoleavethissortof

thing to the last minute.Still, perhaps he had hisreasons, even somethingto do with his fear of anattempt on his life. Thatfearhadproven tobewellgrounded.Hewas entitledto take whateverprecautionhepleased.

What was she to do?The question was pullingherapart.Shehadthoughtthat Niña Maria might liketo take full credit for

discovering the danger tothegeneral,allowinghertokeepoutofit.Thatwasnotto be. She must choose,then, between sacrificingJean-Paul, or watchingWilliam Walker and Grantand, perhaps, ColonelThomasHenryandascoreof other men, mount thestepsof thegrandstand totheir deaths. Her brother,or the man she loved? Itcould be put as simply as

that.Was there another

solution? There was stillher first impulse, to tellGrant. Surely if sheexplained everything tohim, he could prevent theassassination attempt anddoit insuchawaythatnoone could guess that shewas involved, therebypreserving Jean-Paul fromdanger. He had to. Therewas no other way she

couldtakeandstilllivewithherself.

First, she had to findGrant, no easy task. As abeginning, she retracedher footsteps to leave amessage for him with theriflemen on guard at thedoor of the GovernmentHouse, then she walkedaway with a quick, half-running stride. She wouldquarter the town.Someone, somewhere,

musthaveseenhim.She visited the

guardhouse, the barracks,and the hospital first, onthechancethatNiñaMariahad tried todirecther toafalse scent. She did notfindhim, but she leftwordwith everyone to whomshe spoke. Making herway down to the wharf,sheranintoColonelHenryon horseback, and whenshe explained,

mendaciously, that herurgent need to see Grantwas connected with someunsatisfactoryarrangements for theinauguration,heoffered tomake a circuit of suchfortifications around thecity as were in existence.Failing that, he told her,laughing,hewouldbegladtomake a round of a fewof the cantinas on herbehalf.Thatwaswherehe

would expect to find anysensibleman on a day ashot as the one they werehaving—

Eleanora, grateful tohim both for his help andfor lightening her mood,gavehimher leave tovisitasmanyashechose.Shestood for a time after hehad gone, enjoying thesuggestion of a breeze offthe lake on her heatedface, wishing she dared

submerge herself, clothesandall, into thecoolgray-green water. After a whilethe comments andimportuning of the loafersaround the pier grew toobold, and she made herwaytiredlybacktowardthepalacio.

As she turned into theCalleSantaCelia fromthestreet which ran along thelake, she saw a man onhorseback in an officer’s

tunicmaking hisway fromthe far end through thestreet vendors and thecrowd of other men andwomen who had decided,unanimously it seemed, tomake the quiet street athoroughfare. Eleanorabegan tohurry, taking thatuniformed figure with acampaign hat pulled lowonhisforeheadforColonelHenry coming already toreport to her. Then as the

man drew nearer, shepaled, her footstepsslowing oncemore. ItwasGrant,andashelookedupand saw her making herway toward him, shefancied she could seealready the condemnationinhisstern-lippedface.

Dismounting, he turnedto walk back toward thepalacio with her, leadinghis horse. “They told mewhen I reached the

Government House justnow that you wanted toseeme,”hesaid.“Whatinheaven’s name is soimportant you have towanderaboutthestreetsinthis kind of weather, andalone?”

“I — I have to talk toyou,”shesaid,glancingathim, then looking quicklyawayagain.

He studied her avertedface for a moment, then

said more quietly, “Allright.”

The distance to thepalacio seemed incrediblyshort. They tied Grant’smount to the hitching ringsetintooneofthepostsonthe lower galería andstepped inside. Eleanoraled theway into the patio,deliberately turning awayfrom the stairs to thebedchamber. She neededno reminders of past

ecstasy to weaken herresolve. Moreover, in theshade of the orange treeswas seclusion enough forher to say what neededsaying without it being soisolatedthatsheneedfearthe full release of hisanger.

These thoughtsskimming the surface ofher mind, Eleanora turnedto face him, and wasnearly demoralized by the

look of concern whichcloudedhiseyes.Withonehand, he gestured towardone of the wrought-ironchairs, waiting until shehad seated herself upon itbefore taking the onebeside it. “Tell me,” hecommanded.

Simple words, plain,fatal sentences that mustbe spoken. She draggedthemonebyone fromherunwilling tongue. “Please

don’taskmehow Iknow,”shebeggedwhenshewasdone. “Just accept that Ido, and do something tostop this terrible crimebeforeitistoolate!”

His concernwas gone,seepingslowlyaway tobereplaced by a broodinganger, edged with regret.Running his fingers backthrough his hair, he liftedhishat fromwherehehadplaced it on his knee, and

gottohisfeet.Theblueofhis eyes had the metallichardness of steel as helookeddownather.“I’lldothat, for now,” he saidslowly, “because I’ll haveto move fast if I want tocatchthesemenintheact,and put a stop to theirgame.ButI’llbeback,andI’m going towant to knowalotmorethanIdonow.Ifyou are going tomake upa story to tell me,” he

endedwith soft bitterness,“make sure it’s a goodone!”

22Ahotgustofwindbillowedthe curtain that had beenhanging so straight at thewindows. Fromwhere shelay on the bed with herhands behind her head,Eleanora looked in thedirectionof themovement.She had been lying for

hours without feeling theslightestdraft between theopen door onto the innergalería and thewindow.Arumble likedistant thundercametoherears,andshewent still. No, the soundwas too soft to havebeenan explosion. It must bethunder. Was the raincoming at last? Strainingher eyes, shewatched fortheflashof lightningintheevening sky. She saw

nothing, perhaps becauseit was still too early, thestorm too far away. Windswirled the curtains again,drawingtheminandoutofthe long opening of thewindow in a tired kind ofdance, a dance whichended abruptly as thebedchamber door wasclosed.

Eleanorafeltthenervestighten over her bodybeforesheturnedherhead

to see Grant. Her supineposture on the bed wasboth suggestive andvulnerable, and sherefused to shelter behindeitherattitudeagainstwhatwas to come.She pushedherself to a sittingpositionand slid from the highmattress,searchingforherslippers with her toes,ignoring the sardonic lookon Grant’s face as,watching her, he tossed

his hat to one side andbegan to unbutton histunic.

“Is — is it over?” sheasked, her head bent asshe retrieved a slipperfromunderthebed.

“It never began,” heanswered.

Shelookedupbriefly.“Iwas speaking of theinaugurationceremony.”

“SowasI.”“Youdon’tmean—”she

began, then stopped,unabletogoon.

A hard, almostimpatienttoneinhisvoice,he said, “No, I don’t. Thegeneralisinperfecthealth.Thewould-beassassins,acouple of unfortunateNicaraguan workmenlooking for a little extramoney, were picked upwith the keg of powderbefore they got halfwayacross the plaza. They

were persuaded todescribethemanwhohadhired them, and I have adetail searching for himnow.”

Shetookadeepbreathand let it out slowly. “I’mglad the general is safe,”shesaidquietly.“ThoughIwould feel better if theceremony was over anddone with. I suppose withthe excitement and thespectacle of having the

men caught beneath theirnoses the workmencouldn’t finish thegrandstandintime?”

“Notatall.Thedatesetfor the inauguration is thetwelfth, day aftertomorrow.”

“Butyousaid—”Hiseyesweredarkand

unreadable, and his voicebleak as he answered. “Idid, didn’t I? I said thetenth. And you, Eleanora,

weretheonlyoneItold.”It made sense of a

great deal she had notunderstood.Hiswithdrawnsilences, the look in hiseyes when they rested onher,thefeelingthathewasexertinggreater-than-usualcontrol over what he saidto her and howhe said it,indeed over his everyreaction toher. “Youknew— what I was doing,then?”shewhispered.

Reaching into thewardrobe, he tooksomething from a pair ofhis breeches. Holding it inhis fist,he reached forherhand and placed what heheld on her palm. It wasthe shredded magentapetals of a spray ofbougainvillea —bougainvillea exactly likethatwhichgrewattheendof the galería, exactly likethat which she had been

holdinginherhandasshelistened to Grant and theothers outside the windowthat day. “Let’s say Iguessed,” Grant told her,and dropped her hand,lettingthedriedpetalsfloattothefloor.

“Andtellingmethedateof the inauguration, thewrong date, was in thenature of a test?” shequeried on a sigh. “One Ifailed?”

“That’s right,” heanswered in abrupt tones,then took a step towardher,leaningoverherasherested one hand on thebedpost. “What I don’tunderstand is, why?Whatmadeyoudoit?Wasitthemoney?Or for thesakeofthat two-faced bastard,Crawford? Or was itbecause you hateme andwhatIdidtoyou?”

“No — nothing like

that!” she exclaimed,flinging him a startledglance. “It was for Jean-Paul.”

“For Jean-Paul?” herepeated withoutcomprehension.

“Yes. He — he wasn’texecuted with the othersbeforethefiringsquad.Heis being kept a prisoner inHondurasasahostageformyactions.If theyfindoutwhat I have done today,

theywillkillhim!”Grantdrewback,aflint

hardness coming into hiseyes. “Try again,” hegrated. “You know aswellas I do that your brotherhanged himself with hisdressing-gowncordonthedayyouleftHonduras.”

Eleanorastaredathim,the color slowly drainingfromher face. It could notbe true, it could not. Butthere was no relenting in

Grant’s face. His wordsand his manner wereinexorable. Jean-Paulwouldnotdosuchathing,she tried to tell herself.Still, she keptremembering his despair,remembering him cryingthat he should have diedwith the others. Sheseemed to be swaying alittle on her feet, and tohide it from Grant, sheturned away, catching her

lipbetweenherteeth.“So you didn’t know,”

Grant said, the harshnessgone, leaving his voicetired.

She shook her headnumbly.“Theyletmethinkhe was still alive, andwhen I askedabout him, Iwas told he — he wasfine.” All these weeks oftension and anxiety, ofworrying about Jean-Paulchafing inhisprisonroom,

for nothing. For no one.Her brother, cold andlifeless,unabletofeelpainor sorrow, couldno longercare what sacrifices shemadeforhissake.Hehadtried to make themunnecessarywithagreatersacrificeofhisown.Itwasnofaultofhisthatshehadbeen duped. The anguishof loss and self-blamemoved through her. Shethought of his grave,

unsanctified, unmarked,unmourned these manyweeks.Ifflowerstherehadbeen to make sweet hispassing, theirpetalswouldbe as dry and brittle asthoselyingaboutherfeet.

“They kept it from youso you would do as theyasked.” Itwasastatementwith the sound of relief aswellasregretinit.

Eleanora nodded herheadinamovementwhich

caused the tears to spillover her eyelids, thoughshequicklyraisedherchininanefforttostopthem.

“I should not havethrownthetruthatyoulikethat, but I had to seehowyouwouldtakeit,”hesaid.He made a gesture, asthoughhewouldtouchhershoulder,thendrewback.

Eleanora knew analmostoverwhelmingneedto seek the comforting

circle of his arms. Thatwas impossible now. Shewould meet no responseexcept, perhaps, aninsupportable pity. Sheneeded no suchweakness. She mustsummon strength, thestrength to learnwhat sheneededtoknow,andtotellhim what she felt it wasnecessary, for her peaceof mind, for him to hear.Her voice a thread of

sound, she asked, “Howdidyoulearnofit?”

“We have oursympathizers and oursourcesof informationtoo.Among them, in the areawhere youwere, is an oldpriest. He sent a dispatchto the leader of theexchange party, ColonelHenry. The news aboutyour brother — and yourfriendshipwithCrawford—wasinit.”

“I see,” she said. Untilthat moment she had notbeencertainGrantrealizedto whom she had beenreporting. Carefully, shewent on, “I promise youthat I toldNevillenothing Ithoughtwoulddamagethephalanx.IdidtellhimwhatI overheard the generalsay he intended to doabout President — ex-President — Rivas. Butonlyasmuchasyouwere

going to make knownanyway for the sake ofyour plan — or what itseemedNevillemust learnsoon himself. Later, Ithought there could be noharmintellinghimthedateof the inauguration, that itwould be postedeverywhere in a matter ofdays. I had no idea heplanned to harm thegeneral. I would neverhavetoldhimifIhad.That

isalltheinformationIgavehim,Igiveyoumyword.”

“I believe you,” Grantsaid,“sinceIwenttogreatlengths to make certainthat was all you knew totellhim.”

The satisfied sound ofhis voice, after her difficultconfession, stirred angeras well as shame inEleanora’s breast. “Was Ithattransparent?”

“Only to me,” he

admitted, acknowledgingthe stringency of her toneandtheflashinglightinhertear-drenchedeyeswithanodd smile. “Then, I havetheadvantageoflivingwithyou.”

She eyed himdoubtfully. It was not asatisfactory answer; shemightevensuspecthimofdeliberately trying tochangethedirectionofherthoughts.Shewasnotina

positiontoargue,however.“There is something else Imust tell you. You maydiscover that Imet Nevilleat Mazie’s arrangement. Itwas not because she hadanything to dowithwhat Iwasinvolvedin.Shehadagood idea of what it was,but no more than that.Knowing she and Nevillewere old friends, I askedherasaspecialfavortoletme see him at her place

because I didn’t want himto come here. I swear toyouthatisthetruth.Infact,it was Mazie who set offthe events this morning,”she continued, telling himof John’s part in exposingthe abortive plot againstthegeneral.

“That’s interesting toknow,” Grant said whenshehad finished, “butwhyare you so anxious to tellme?No,letmeguess.You

wanttobesureIdon’ttakeMazie and her John andstand them up before afiring squad and shootthem. That’s it, isn’t it?Without going into what Imight like to do, let meremind you that I couldhardly arrest them withoutincriminatingyou.”

“I don’t see that thatmatters,” she answeredwithout looking at him.“WhenNevilleiscaughthe

is certain to drawme intoit.”

“Strange though itmayseem,” Grant mused, “Iappear to have a betteropinion of MajorCrawford’s senseof honorthan you. I don’t think hewill mention your nameunless he has to. In anycase, we haven’t caughthimyet.”

Slowly Eleanora turnedto face him, a frown

between her brows. “Butyou said youwere lookingforhim.”

Helethisgazeslippasther shoulder. “The menarrested this afternoonwere in some doubt as tohis name. They describedhim well enough; tall,American, light hair, but itwas a description whichcould have applied to anynumber of the men in thephalanxiftheywereoutof

uniform.TheofficerIputinchargeofthesearchdetailwill do his best, I expect.Still, he doesn’t have mysources of information. IfCrawford is half as smartas I thinkhe is, hewill befar away from here bymorning.”

“It doesn’t makesense,” she said slowly. “Iwould have thought youwouldhavewantedto tearhimapart forwhathewas

tryingtodo.”“So I would, but that

doesn’t mean I want apublicinquiry.”

“But—why?”Her facemirroredherbewilderment,and yet she felt a waitingstillnesswithin.

“I think you can guess,Eleanora, but if you wantme to say it, I will. I don’twantyournamedrawnintoit.Nobody isgoing to takeyoufrommeagain.”

Lightning flashedbeyondthewindowwithanodd yellow light. In thestillness they heard theominousrumbleofthundercoming closer. Eleanoraswallowed hard on theconstriction in her throat.“Grant,I—”

She had not beencertainshecouldputwhatshe felt intowords.Hedidnot give her the chance.“Oh, I know you had your

reasonsforcomingbacktome after Honduras,reasonsthathadlittletodowith what you felt orwanted. It makes nodifference. You did come,and now you will stay,regardless, for myreasons. You are in myblood and my brain. Thescentandfeelandtasteofyou are with me always.You are as necessary tome as food and water. I

can’t sleepaway fromyouor work without knowingyou are somewherewaiting for my return.Resignyourself,ifIhavetokeep you under lock andkey the rest of your life,you will never leaveme. Iwon’tletyougo.”

Hisfacewasdrawn,asifthecoursehewastakinggavehimnojoy.Andashecaught her to him andlowered hismouth to hers

she thought she saw painvying with a muted self-disgust in the shadowedblueofhiseyes.

His kiss was savage,branding her his, takingherwithhimheadlong intowild rapture as the risingwind buffeted the buildingoutside. Freed of theconstraint of guilt,Eleanora gave herself tohim, matching his cravingfor her with her own pain-

driven ecstasy, moldingherself to him withbittersweet pleasure in adeep,intolerableneedthathe would not assuagebecausehecouldnot.Shewanted a gentle, endlesssurcease for her yearningandhegaveherthefuryofhis passion. She wantedhis love and he gave hernothing but desire. Shewanted, in the secretrecesses of her heart, to

be his wife, and he madeher his obsession. It wasnotenough.

The rain darkened thegray of the sky to thecharcoal dimness of earlynight. It fell from the rooftiles insteadystreams likethe silver tears of grief,washing away theaccumulateddustanddirt,just as grudges andresentment are dissolvedby the sorrow of parting.

Eleanora could find norelease for the hardpressure of tears closedaway within herself, butstill she must go. Grantmust not compromise hisstrong sense of duty orbetray his commandingofficer for her sake. If hedid, he would come todespise both her andhimself.Shecouldnotaskthat of him. Nor had sheanyrighttoaskhimtolove

her.Shehadusedherlovefor him, bartering it forvalue in the form ofinformation like the mostwantonofwhores.

More,shewouldnotbeheld in loveless bondageagainstherwill.Notagain.Not ever again. If he hadasked her to stay in thesoft words and tendermannerhewascapableofusing,shewouldnothavebeenabletoresist.Hehad

not. And because he hadnot, prideandanaversionto captivity in any form,coupled with the shamingcertaintythatifshedidnotget away shewouldmakea fool of herself byconfessing her own love,forcedleavinguponher.

Beside her Grantstirred,drawinghernearer.He pressed his lips to thetop of her shoulder,smoothing her hair back

away from her face.Eleanora closed her eyestight against the rush oftears, breathing in thewarmthofhisskin inslow,unevenbreaths.Still,evenin her nearness she wasapart from him, gatheringto herself the courage tomake the severance final,and to sustain herafterward.

The oars dipped andsplashed, the sound

echoing over the stillsurface of the lake,spreading like the ripplesmade by the boat’spassage. Eleanora, sittingin the stern of the smallnativecraft,littlemorethanacanoewithasail,wishedferventlythatshecouldtellthetwomenbendingtotheoars to be quieter. Thenight was dark and theirchances of beingdiscovered slight with the

attention of Granadacentered on theinauguration proceedings.Still,shehadnoinclinationto tempt Providence. Notthat she actually thoughtthesoldierswhohadbeenlining the wharf andguarding the ticket officefor the lake steamer thesepast two days werewatching specifically forher. At the same time, tobe caught in the net

spread for NevilleCrawford and brought upwithhimbeforetheprovostmarshal, Colonel GrantFarrell, could causenothing butembarrassment for bothGrantandherself.

Itwas strange, after allthathadhappened,forhertobe leavingNicaragua inthe company of NevilleCrawford. She recognizedthe strangeness, but

accepted its fatality. Shecould have refused toshare either his place ofrefuge with Mazie, or hisboat,butwherewouldthathavegother?Shehadnoone else to turn to exceptMazie,andnoideahowtogo about arrangingalternate transport thatwouldbehalfasswiftorasdiscreet.

Dear Mazie, she hadnot even looked surprised

to find Eleanora standingon her doorstep in theearly-morning light. Shehad pulled her inside,heard her out, and thenexclaiming about themeagerness of Eleanora’sbelongings for an oceanvoyage, set about findingsomething to wear.Eleanora had protestedthat it did not matter howshe looked, but Maziewould not listen.Watching

the vigor with which sheattacked the problem,listening to her stricturesonthecheese-paringwaysof the military, Eleanorahad not the heart to tellMazie of the two gownsshehadlefthanginginthewardrobe at the palacio.She had not been able tomake herself bring themaway with her. It hadseemed, in her keyed-upstate, too much like

accepting a bribe with nointention of carryingthrough on her part of thebargain. Itmayhavebeenridiculous,forGranthadnouseforthem,andherneedwas great. Still, an achingpride was all she had tosupporther,andshewoulddonothingtolessenit.

She had needed thatsupport when Grant lefther that morning. Takingher surrender the night

before for acquiescence,he had made no move tolock her in. She almostwished that he had, thatthere had been thatobstacle to overcome togainher freedom. Instead,he had kissed her, thenturned and walked away,like any other day.Standing at the window,Eleanorahadwatchedhimout of sight with her handtwisted in the curtain. She

had not lingered longbehindhim.

Thatwasnottheendofit. Grant had gone toMazie, pounding on herdoor in such a blazing,tight-lipped rage, that theactressreadilyadmittedhehad her in a positivequake. But by thenEleanora was not in thehouse.Mazie had found aplace for her with aNicaraguan woman, the

mother of one of thechildren they had helpedthe sisters of Guadalupenurse through typhoid.Mazie had not made themistake of telling Grantshe had not seenEleanora. With as muchforce as she couldsummon, she had rung apeal over him for histreatment of her friend,then told him with everyexpression of enjoyment

that Eleanora had alreadyleft Granada, goingoverland on horseback toreachthetransitroadforaconnection to California.Her acting experiencemust have stood her ingood stead, for Grant hadleft in a hurry withoutstopping to thank her fortheinformation.

Mazie, with an air ofgiving the devil his due,told Eleanora that Grant

had not so much asmentioned Neville’s name.She confessed she hadhalf expected the colonelto demand Eleanora onpain of being arrested asan accessory to theassassination attempt.Whether because in hisconcern for Eleanora’sdisappearance he hadforgotten the major,whether he believedMazie’s tale without

question, or whether inhonor of his pledge not todraw Mazie and John inthe assassination plot, hedid not so much asquestion Neville’swhereabouts. Not thatMazie would have beenintimidated if he had. Shehad Neville well hiddenalso, and though she wasnotabouttocondonewhathehadtriedtodo,shehadsome small understanding

of how Neville’s mindworked. She could notbring herself to turn himovertothefiringsquad,forfriendship’ssake,ifnothingelse.

ItwasMazie also,whoinsisted that Eleanora sitdowntopenanotetoDonEsteban de Laredo. Shewas as excited as a childatEleanora’sgood fortuneand went around callingher the Condesa at every

opportunity. She had nosympathy with Eleanora’sreluctance to put herselfforward or appear anxiousto receive her legacy.Searching out writingpaper and a pen with agood nib, she had pushedthem into Eleanora’shands with the dire threatofwritingthenoteherselfifEleanoradidnot feelable.Wincingalittleatthecolorof the ink, a bright Irish

green, Eleanora hadcomplied,writinghurriedly,sealing the missive withgreen wax and sending itaroundtotheaddressDonEsteban had given her byanother of the widow’schildren, before she couldchangehermind.

Theresult,deliveredbya messenger in the liveryofaprivateservant,wasabank draft described as asmall advance against her

inheritance which madeher open her eyes inshock, and a needlepointpurseofpinmoneyforthejourneythatinherdaysasakeeperoflodgingswouldhavefedherhouseholdforsixmonths.

Thoughthemoneywascomforting, Eleanora wasapprehensive abouttraveling with such anamountjinglingatherside.As they stood beside the

lake, ready to climb intothe boat drawn up onshore, she tried to makeMazieacceptsomeofitaspaymentforthegownsshehad altered for her for thejourney. The actress hadrefused, pushing hertoward the boat with alaughwhichhadacatchinit. “Vaya con Dios!” shecalled, the Spanishadmonition togowithGodas comical, coming from

herlips,asitwastouching.Safely out of hailing or

firingdistanceof the town,the boatmen shipped theiroars and began to raisethe sail of thin, flappingcanvas. Their progresswas faster after that asthey ran before a nicebreeze. The lights ofGranada,ringingtheshorelike a semicircle of fallenstars, receded. There wasnothing but the sound of

thesoftvoicesofthemen,the creaming of the wateragainst the hull, and thecreakingofrigging.

Abruptlyoneofthemengave an exclamation,pointing toward the town.Looking back, Eleanorasaw a ball of fire soartoward the heavens,showering downwardagain in orange sparks.Another followed, andanother, in bright burning

blue and red and green,fountains of fire splashinggoldenembers,lightingthenight, for an instant, withmagic.

Itwas the pyrotechnicsNiñaMariahadorderedforthe ceremony installingPresident William Walkerof Nicaragua. Was thatwoman there, or hadsomeone else found themand set them off? It didn’tmatter. The deed was

done, the inaugurationover.Thelittlegeneralhadtriumphed. His coup demain was crowned withsuccess. It was time tocelebrate the victory, toretire to the GovernmentHousetoeatanddrinkanddance, time for theFalangistas to laugh andslap each other on theback in congratulationsand an excess of highspirits.

None of it meantanything to her. She wasno longer a part of thatmadness. Resolutely, sheturned her back, staringstraight ahead. It was oddhow black the night andthe surface of the lakeappeared, stretchingendlessly before her, andhow blurred was theoutline of the loomingpeaks of the volcanicislandofOmetepe.

NewOrleansunder thesunoflateJulywasashotand as pestilential as thecountry from whichEleanora had come. Theairwasmoresluggishthanat Granada, the glare onthe rooftopswas hurtful tothe eyes, and black-banded placards on everypostproclaimedthevictimsof yellow fever. Still, therewere no red-shirtedsoldiers walking the

streets,nosoundofdrillingor marching, no rumblingof ammunition carts. Thelanguage in the streetswas not Spanish; and thepeople, the shopkeepersandstreetvendorsandtheservantswiththeirmastersandmistresses,allsmiled.

Eleanorasaidgood-byeto ex-Major NevilleCrawford at the dock onthe levee. If she werehonest,shewouldhave to

admit he had made thevoyage easier for her.Duringtheboattripacrossthe lake toSanCarlos,hehad kept to himself,unwilling, as he put it, tointrude on herpreoccupationandgriefforher brother, to risk thevicious snub he knew hedeserved. But at SanCarlos theyhad landedonthe bank of the lake.Seeing her hesitating as it

came her turn todisembark,tryingtodecideif she could jump thestretch of lapping waterand mud which laybetweenheranddry land,he had scooped her intohis arms and carried herashore. He had releasedher the instant her feettouched the ground,turning away afterreceiving her frigidexpressionofgratitude,but

theicehadbeenbroken.On the journeyby river

steamer down the SanJuantotheAtlantic, itwasnot surprising that theywere thrown into eachother’s company. Beingtogether was a defenseagainsttheattemptsoftheother passengers to strikeup a conversation. Theywere both traveling underfalse names, and had nowishtobeput to theeffort

of elaborating on abackground to go withthem. The situation wasmuchthesameaboardtheocean steamer out of SanJuan del Norte,complicatedby thegreaternumberofpassengersandthe necessity of takingmealsatthelongtables inthediningsaloon.Muchofthe problem Eleanorasolved by keeping to herprivatecabin,a luxuryshe

paidforgladlyfromherpinmoney.Onherfirstnightatseashesoughtherbunkinthemiddleoftheafternoonandslept theclockaroundwithout moving. Caused,nodoubt,bythereleaseofthe intolerable tensionwhichshehadbeenunderfor weeks, her drowsinesscontinued. She could notseemtowakebeforenoonorholdhereyesopenafterthemoonhadrisen.

Nevertheless, thereweretheafternoons,anditwas not unpleasant tohave a gallant andattentive escort to strollwithheraroundthedecks,or to shield her at dinnerbyexplainingtothosewhowere too insistent onbecoming acquainted thatshewasrecentlybereavedandnotuptomakingpoliteconversation.

Shewasnotsopleased

with him when their fellowtravelersbegantoaddressher as the Condesa.Challenged, Nevilleadmitted to letting hercabin steward in on thesecret of her incognito.There was no longer anydanger from having itknown,andhehadthoughtitmightpromptthemantobetter service. He wasmost contrite that thesteward had seen fit to

spread the tale andapologized handsomely.And yet, Eleanora hadseen him in that mood sooftenduringthevoyage,ashe tried to excuse hisperfidy in Honduras, thatshe was unmoved. Shecould not, in fact, ridherself of the notion thathis action was deliberate,though she could find noreason for it. Until thatincident, she had been on

the verge of warming toNeville, and disposed tobelieve that he had beenlittlemore thanapawnonVanderbilt’s chess board,asheexplained—caughtup in forces stronger andmore dangerous than hehad expected, from whichhe was unable to escape.She found it reasonableenough that he was notsorrytheplantokillWalkerhadfailed,thoughshewas

skeptical that he wasactually glad to beexposed. Still, there wereadvantages in havingsomeonewho,eveniftheydid not often speak of it,had commonmemories ofGranadaandofhowthingshad been there. For thisreason, she pretended toacceptwhatNevillewasatsuch pains to have herunderstand.

Otherthanameticulous

attention toherwell-being,and constantcompanionship which shecouldtakeorleave,Nevilledidnotputhimselfforward.He made no attempt togain entry to her cabin orto capitalize on the balmyhours of the evening theyspent on deck. Suchconsideration wasunlooked for. He wasaware of her position asGrant’smistress andmust

havejoinedwiththerestofGranada in speculatingonher relationship with Luiswhile they were together.But he did not betray byword or deed anyexpectation that shemightbefreewithherfavors.Norwasitthathewasimmuneto her attraction. Therewas a certain look in hiseye, a way he had oftouching her to guide her,a note in his voice, which

told her this was not so.No,shesuspected,withoutvanity, that he haddeterminedonacourseofmaking himselfindispensable to her. Hewas playing a game ofpatience,waitingforhertoready herself to turn tohim. If she was right, shecould not but respect hisintelligence.Norcouldshehelp nourishing doubtsabout the strength of his

emotions.Eleanorawent fromthe

docktotheHotelSt.Louis,where, under thesuperciliousandsomewhatdoubtful stare of the clerk,she signed the registerwithherfullnameandtitle.The results were all shecouldhavehopedforintheway of deference andinstantservice.Nevillehadbeen correct in that, atleast.From that base, she

salliedforththenextdaytothe dressmaker andmilliner. She orderedgowns in black and grayand lavender,aswasrightand fitting and in harmonywithhermood.Togowiththem, she bought bonnetsand scarves and shawlsand gloves and lacemittensandadozenotheritems, though she turneddown without hesitation amantilla touted to her as

the latest rage in fashion.She purchased a newcrinoline and a single setof lace-adorned petticoats,camisole, and pantaloonstobewornforthepresent.The rest of herundergarments andnightwear she orderedfrom the convent —lingerie of silk and lawnexquisitelyembroideredbythe nuns, such as hermother and her

grandmother had wornnexttotheirskin,includingaset inblackembroideredwithgraysatinstitch.

The first of her newfinery to be delivered wasa day gown of gray lawn,embellished with yardupon yard of white lace,with a matching coal-scuttle bonnet and lace-edged parasol. Attired inthis ravishing outfit andcarrying a new reticule of

silver mesh in whichreposed her purse, fan,andcallingcardcase,sheset out in a hired hack tovisitherUncleNarcisoandhisson,CousinBernard,ather old home on RoyalStreet.

Thebutlerwhoopenedthedoor to her ringaskedher to wait in the libraryand took away on a silversalver her card, engravedwith her name and the

arms of the Conde deLaredo. Her uncle himselfcame to greet her withhands outstretched,drawingherintothesalon.Bernard rose to make herhis bow, a rather strainedsmile onhis faceas if theeffort of being cordial wastoo much for him, but hedid second his wife’sinvitationtohaveaglassofratafia with them. Hiswife’s parents, a rather

stout and benign couple,were ensconced upon thesettee, and by theirpresence kept theinterrogation to which shewas subjected frombecoming too severe oracrimonious. Eleanoraboreitwithfortitude,tellingthem what she pleasedandsmilingly turningawaythose questions she didnot wish to answer,wondering all the while

why she had ever allowedherself to bemade to feelinferior to these singularlydull people so full of theirown consequence theycould not tell when theywerebeinggentlyridiculedormaneuvered.Attheendof the visit she waspressed to come to asupper party, a smallgathering which could notbethoughttoogayforoneinmourning.Sheaccepted

with every expression ofgratificationandwentawaygrimlypleasedthatthefirstshot in thebattle to regainher grandmother’s househadbeenfired.

Though New Orleansappeared quiet andpeaceful on the surface,theenthusiasmforthewarefforts of William Walkerwas higher than ever. Itwas inevitable, then, thatonce Eleanora’s identity

became known the newssheets would make muchof her. The tale of a NewOrleans beauty ofprominent family who hadtraveled very nearly to thefront of battle, becomeknown as the Angel ofMercy to the woundedAmericans in Nicaragua,and then returned to thecity the wife of a Spanishnobleman, had too muchthe scent of romance

aboutittobeignored.Thatshehadbeenwidowedbythe war in that foreigncountry added pathos tothestory,justasthehintofwealth gave it a certainindescribable, andirresistible,luster.

Eleanora’s room at theSt.Louiswasbesiegedbymerchants bent oncapturing her interest ineverything from healthtonics to perfume, jewelry

to carriage horses. Shewaspointedouteach timeshe left the hotel, andfollowedalongthestreetata distance by a crowd ofyoung boys squabblingamong themselves for thehonor of carrying herpurchases.

Afterthefirstincidentofthis nature, Eleanoradecided that, despite hermarried state, it wasunwise forher togoabout

unattended. She sent,therefore, a message toher uncle begging for theservices of her oldnursemaid. Her unclereleased the elderlywoman without argument,doubtless anxious to befree of the expense offeeding her, Eleanora toldherself cynically. Eleanorawas tearfully glad to seeher nurse’s gnarled brownface, however, and took

delight in dressing her inblack silk with ivory lace,anda turbanof ivorysatintrimmed with jet beads.With her features set in amask of ancient dignityand her silk skirts andpetticoats rustling alongbeside Eleanora, she wasenough to daunt the mostintrepidbusybody.

Eleanora strolled aboutthecity,visitingoldscenessuch as the convent and

Cabildo,andnewoneslikethe statue of AndrewJacksonsetup thatspringin the recently landscapedold Place d’Armes whichhad then been renamedJackson Square. Shevisited also the newlycompletedapartmentsbuiltby theBaronessPontalba,the first of their kind, withthe idea of moving into asuite of the elegant roomsif she did not achieve her

ambition concerning hergrand-mère’shouse.

Some who stared andnudgedeachotherasshepassed were more thancurious. It was notreasonable to expect thatnone of themenwho hadknownherasthecolonel’swoman in Granada wouldhave returned to NewOrleans, or, thatrecognizing her, theywould be able to refrain

from circulating such ajuicytidbitofgossip.Whenshe began to see the slyleers in the eyes of themen who leaned againstthe walls of the coffeehouses and cafés and theshop clerks who bowedher out the door of theirpremises, when thecourtesiesextendedtohergrew fewer and thecharges higher, she wasforewarned.

Without delay, sheincreasedherattentionstoher relatives. Sheentertained them at quietdinnersandevenatheaterpartybehindthelogegrille,putting on such an air ofgracefullyborneheartachethattheycouldnotbutfeelforherlossandwishtodowhatwas in theirpower tomakeherburdeneasier tobear. The instant shewasnotified of the draft

received from a Spanishfirminhername,shewentto Uncle Narciso with anoffer for the house onRoyalatwhatsheknewtobe a considerable profitover what he and CousinBernard had paid Jean-Paul less than sevenmonthsbefore.Asshehadhoped, Uncle Narcisocouldnotrefuseanappealto sentiment, nor CousinBernard an addition to his

purse. Within hours thekeywasinherhand.Afewdays latershewasable totake possession, to walkthrough the empty roomsand the vine-hung backcourtyard,andfeel,atlast,thatshehadcomehome.

23“Idemandanexplanation!”

Eleanora looked atBernard, her green eyescold. Her hands wereclaspedatherwaistasshestood before him in herwidow’sweeds, but it wasmoreinangerthaninfear.“By what right?” she

asked.“The right of kinship!

Your actions reflect allthoseknown tobeof yourfamily. I demand to knowthe truth of this scandal Ihear concerning yourconduct while inNicaragua.”

“Why?” she askedbluntly.

Bernard drew his headback to stare at her, histhin, aristocratic face

frozen in disbelief. “Why?”heechoed.

“Exactly. A lady doesnot rush to defend hergood name. Her friendswill not believe what theyhear of her, and herenemies will believe theworst whatever she maysay.Whatwill it profit youto know whether I amfalsely accused? Did youhave in mind taking thematter to the field of

honor?Ibegyouwillnot.Itwill only prolong thechatter.”

“Yourefuse,inshort,totellme.”

“The long and short ofit,” she told him, meetinghis gazewithout a tremor,“is that I refuse you theright to meddle in myaffairs.”

“I should have knownthis would be yourattitude,”hethrewather.

“Most certainly youshould, if you had evertakenthetimetostudymycharacter.”

“A profitless enterprise,cousin.Youhavechangedsince you left NewOrleans.”

“Ishouldhopeso.”“Youhave letyournew

position and affluence gotoyourhead,”hesaidwitha hint of querulousness.“What you need is a man

tocurbyourexcesses.ItisagreatpityJean-Paulisn’theretoperformthatduty.”

Eleanora feltherselfgocold with rage. “I couldn’tagreewith youmore,” shesaid with deliberation.“That he is not I placedirectly at your door. Youencouraged an impetuousboy to throw away hisinheritance and his futureto go to his death. If youhad not been so ready to

take this house off hishands—ata lesserprice,ofcourse—hemighthavelistened to reason andstayed away from WilliamWalker!”

“Jean-Paul had alreadysigned up when I boughtthishouse.”

“Yes, he had. But youneedn’t think you canconvince me you hadn’tdiscussed the transactionwith my brother

beforehand.”“Thatmay be, though I

contend he would havejoined regardless. He waswild, and I’ve always saidthatwasyourdoing,lettinghim come and go as hepleased, with whomeverhe pleased, instead ofliving up to hisresponsibilities.”

“I see. Now it is I whoshould have curbed hisexcesses,”shesaid.

“That wasn’t mymeaning at all. I realizethat was an impossibilityfor a fond member of theweaker sex, but I wasthere for you to lean on. Icould have handled Jean-Paul.”

“By putting him in acounting house?” sheaskedscornfully.

“Atleasthewouldhavebeen alive,” Bernardflashed.

“In a living death, likeyours!”sheanswered.

The sound of clappingbroke the strain betweenthem.Nevillesteppedfromthe house out into thecourtyard, applauding ashecame.“Bravo,”hesaid,a laugh in his eyes as hecame toward Eleanora.“Forgive the informality.Your butler let me in. IheardvoicesouthereandI was afraid you might be

in need of a champion. Ishouldhaveknownbetter.”

Eleanora’s smile wasstiff and very nearly asungracious as theintroduction sheperformed.

“Shall I go awayagain?”Nevilleaskedafterthe briefest of nods inBernard’s direction. “I canalways return later. Wehave some catching up todosincewelastsaweach

other.”“By no means,”

Eleanora said. “CousinBernardwasjustleaving.”

“Yesindeed.Iwillleaveyou with your — friend.Concerning your obstinateattitude, however, I musttell you that I regret everwelcoming you back intothe family or allowing youto regain possession ofwhat I consider to be thefamily home. I Cannot

speakformyfather,butasfor me, you will not besurprised if I inform youthat I hereby sever theconnection.”

“Thank you,” Eleanorasaid inaccentsofheartfeltgratitude. “I’m sure that ifyouareunabletofindyourway out someone willshowyoutheway.”

When they were aloneNeville lifted a blondeyebrow. “What was that

allabout?”“Nothing,” Eleanora

said, leading theway to avine-coveredarboragainsta brick wall at one end ofthe courtyard. A smallfountainintheshapeofanironlion’sheadsetintothebrick at the back made acool trickling sound. In thedampness moss hadgrown over everything, itssoft green adding to theimpression of a gladelike

retreat.Eleanorasatdownon a wooden bench andswept her skirts aside tomake room for Neville.Summoning a smile, sheasked, to change thesubject, “Where have youbeen? What have youbeendoing?”

“I’ve been in the East,Washington and NewYork,”hesaid,crossinghisknees,watchingthesheenonhisboots.

“Oh.” Eleanora madenoefforttosaymore.

“I felt IowedVanderbiltapersonal report,”hesaiddefensively. WhenEleanora said nothing,sittingwithlasheslowered,straighteningthefrillofhergown,Nevillesaid,“Amanhastogetbythebestwayhe can. I was raised toexpect a carefree life oninherited money. I can’thelp it if I still have a

tendency to look for theeasyway.”

“Can’t you?” Eleanoraaskedquietly.

“MaybeIcould, if Ihada woman like you behindme,” he told her with adisarming smile. “Nowdon’t go all stiff and coldon me. Anyway, it was awasted trip. CommodoreVanderbilt refused to seeme. Said he had no timefor failures. A low blow,

that, but I suppose themanwith victory in his fistcansaywhathepleases.”

“Victory?” Eleanoraasked, her head comingup.

“Thenearestthingtoit.Minister Wheeler, whorashly took it uponhimselfto recognize Walker’sregime after the election,has been recalled toWashington by thesecretary of state for a

reprimand, and asked toturn in his resignation.Hard on old Wheeler,considering that until thelast few weeks he hadeveryreasontobelievetheU.S. Government wouldapplaud his move. Thewings of the AmericanEagle have been spreadover the former Mexicanterritories of Texas andCalifornia; why notNicaragua — or Central

America, for that matter?I’ll tell you why not;becauseSpainandFrancehavebothannouncedtheyare sending sloops-of-warto watch the shores ofCentralAmerica.ChileandPeru have pledgedmonetary support for thestates allied againstWalker, and England hason the high seas at thismoment a squadron ofthirteen ships manned by

twenty-five hundred menpledged to protect Britishinterests in the area. Theclimate for expansion, youperceive, is not right.Walker has beenabandonedbyhiscountry.”

“But—hehasnotbeendefeated on the field?”Eleanora asked, aworriedlookinheremeraldeyes.

“Notyet.I’llhavetosay— if you’ll pardon thecockfighting parlance —

that Walker shows asgameasabantamrooster.There is a rumor that hehas declared slavery legalin Nicaragua, an obviousattempt to court the favorof theSoutherncontingentin Congress so they willsway the government inhisbehalf—orfailingthat,secede,astheyhavebeenthreatening for years, andjoinhim.Ithinkhewillfindthat was a mistake.

Slavery has been illegaldownthereforthirtyyears.Britain and France, to saynothing of Washington,won’t stand for a return toit.No,I’dsaywegotoutofNicaraguainthe—pardon—nickof time.Somethingbesidesthetemperature isabout to get hot downthere!”

Neville went on to talkof other things, butEleanora gave him only a

small portion of herattention. When, realizingher self-absorption, hefinallytookhimselfoff,shesat for a long time staringat nothing, thinking ofGrantandMazieandJohnand the troupe, of Walkerand Colonel Henry andDoctorJonesandalloftheothersstillinGranada.Shewondered what they weredoing and what they feltand if theyever thoughtof

her. And she longed withan almost frighteningintensitytobewiththem.

Itwouldnot havebeenthe best place for her. Aday or two before, whilestanding on a stool tryingto match a scrap ofmaterial for new wallhangings in her boudoir tothedrapes,shehadturnedfaint. Her old nurse hadbeen near to steady herandleadhertoachair.

“Sit still, Mam’zelleEleanora,” she had said,givingherthetitleshehadused since childhood. “Itwillpassawaysoon.”

“I feel so silly,”Eleanorahadlaughedwitha shaky sound, “I don’tknow what’s the matterwithme.”

“It’s a commoncomplaint among womenwho are married, chère.Like I suspect these

weeks, me. You going tohaveabébé.”

A baby, Grant’s child.Thinking back, she knewhernursewasright. In thehaste and turmoil ofleaving Granada, and thedetermined busyness ofthe last few weeks, shehad not stopped toconsider.

Alone, Eleanora hadslowly removedLuis’s ringfrom her finger and

unclaspedthemedalofSt.Michael from her neck.She had often thought,when a bleak mood wasupon her, that she hadmoretorememberLuisbythanshehadthemansheloved. That was true nolonger.

After that morning,Neville was a frequentvisitor. With hisconnections and mobility,heoftenhaddetailsof the

progress of the war inCentral America whichwere notmentioned in thepress. As the summerturned to fall he kept herinformedonthemovementof the armies ofGuatemala,Honduras,andSanSalvador.Foratimeitlooked as though internaldisputes would prevent aconcertedattack,andthenin early November CostaRica was able once more

toenterthefray.Within days had come

theword thatWalker, in amovetoprotecttheTransitLine over which wouldcome his reinforcement inthe way of new recruits,had evacuated Granada.Unwillingtoleavethetownas a stronghold of theallied forces, he had leftbehind his second incommand and adetachment of three

hundred men with orderstodestroyit.

Theallieshadattackedthe burning town as soonas possible in an effort tohalt the destruction. Theywere thrown back oncewithheavylosses,thentheGuatemalan army hadadvanced to takepossession of GuadalupeChurch. The colonel incommandhadstormedthechurch, routing the

defenders, but his men,with over a hundredwomen, children, sick andinjured,hadbeenbesiegedin the church by thesuperior forces of theenemy. For nineteen daysthey held out, subsistingon horse and mule meatand a dwindling ration offlourandcoffee.Thedeadfrom the fighting in andaround the church wereleft unburied. With the

terrible stench ofputrefaction came cholera.Yellow fever, sunstroke,smoke inhalation — itbegantolookasifdiseaseand exposure would carryoff the defenders beforethey could be relieved.Then on December 12,approximatelytwohundredand fifty new recruits plusthose seasoned veteranswho wanted to volunteerfor the job landed the lake

steamer Virgin aboveGranada during the night.They stormed thebarricades and joined theothers within the church.The allies, convinced theywere under assault byWalker’s entire field force,withdrew. Within twenty-four hours everyone leftalive in the church wasloaded on the Virgin andtaken to safety. Behindthem lay the smoldering

ruins of the town and atattered rawhide bannerfluttering in the windbearingthewordsAguifueGranada. “Here wasGranada.”

For several days therewas no word of the dead.Peoplelinedupoutsidetheoffice of the Crescent,waiting to hear of sons,husbands, fathers, uncles,andcousinswhohadgoneas “colonists” to

Nicaragua. Eleanorawaitedwiththerest.Whenthenewssheetwas inhertrembling hands shequickly scanned the list ofmore than two hundrednames.Grant’s namewasnot among the men. Shesighed, reading lower,andthen her eyes blurredwithtears. Among the womenwas printed the name ofMazie Brentwood Barclay,dead of yellow fever while

heroically nursing thewounded and the childrencaught within the ChurchofGuadalupe.

The months whichfollowed were a time ofwaiting for Eleanora;waiting for news fromNicaragua, waiting for herchild to be born. As theweeks slipped away thesensation concerning heridentity faded, replacedbyother, more exciting

scandal.ThefactthatafterChristmas she ceased togo out and about due toher advancing pregnancywas, no doubt, acontributing factor. Shespenthertimerefurbishingthe old town house,making it livable, sewingfor her child, and listeningfor the sound of thenewsboysinthestreetssothat she could send aservant hurrying out to

purchase a news sheetwhiletheinkwasstilldampuponit.

There was no goodnews tobe found. InearlyJanuary the San JuanRiver was successfullyblockaded, cutting offsupplies and men forWalker. While the younggallants of New Orleanscavorted in the streets inMardi Gras costumesunder a banner declaring

themselves as the newlyorganizedMysticKreweofComus, Walker and hismen were left with shortrations and dwindlingammunition to face thecombined armies ofCostaRica, Guatemala,Honduras, and SanSalvador. Walker’s armyconsisted of less than athousandmenatthispoint.They were opposed bytwenty times that number.

In the face of such odds,desertion began to bleedthe strength of thephalanx.

According to Neville,VanderbiltwasresponsibleformuchofWalker’swoes.Hehadhiredandequippeda team of professionalsoldierstoleadtheCentralAmerican forces, givingdirect payment and thepromise of loans totalingmillions to make the men

acceptable to the proudand hot-tempered CentralAmericans. Thatleadershipwasresponsiblefor the river blockade andmolding the differentarmies into a singlecohesiveforce.Inaddition,Vanderbilt had convincedthe leaders of theallies ofthe lackofwisdom in theirpolicy of a war to thedeath. Thereafter,prisoners and deserters

were offered free passagehomeonVanderbiltships.

Itwasawearingspringwithendlessalarmsasthefilibusters engaged in aseries of small battles,repulsing theenemyagainand again. In April thoseAmerican women andchildren still at Rivas withWalker were taken outunder the protection of aguard ofMarines from theUnitedStates sloop-of-war

St. Mary which had beenhovering off the coast fortwo months. The end, allconceded,wasverynear.

For Eleanora, the endofapartofherwaitingwaseven nearer. On theevening of the ninth ofApril she dragged herselfup to bed. She wasawakened beforemidnightby the first pangs of birth.Before dawn, long beforethe doctor finally arrived,

she was delivered by hernurse of a beautiful,healthy, perfectly formedson.

The world narrowedimmediatelytothewallsofher bedchamber and thecradle that sat beside herbed. She received noguestsandlittlenews.Hertime and thoughts andcaresweretakenupbythelusty appetite, the cries ofher child, and the rituals

involved in keeping himclean,sweetsmelling,andcomfortably asleep. Hewas so infinitelyvulnerable. The only thingwhich mattered was tokeephimsafeandcontent.Sometimes, lying with hissmall warm body againsther own, shewould feel awash of love so strong ithad the feel of anagonizingfear.

A month later, on May

12, the baby was quietlybaptized in a privateceremony held at home.The name chosen, aftermuch soul-searching, wasCharlesMichaeldeLaredoy Villars. As Eleanorasmilingly wiped away thewater from her indignantson’s face, she touchedthe medallion of St.Michael she had placedaround his neck. Luiswould not mind the using

ofhisnameasaprotectivegesture this one last time.The child had been bornnine months, two and ahalfweeksafterhisdeath,not an impossibility fromaphysicalstandpoint;babieswereoftenbornalittlelaterthan expected. The legallimit for a posthumouschild did not concern hersinceshehadno intentionofmaking any such claim.This resolve she held

despite Neville’srepresentation of theadvantagestobeachievedforherson inrepresentingMichael to the de Laredofamily as the rightfulConde.

Neville, thoughuninvited, had put in anappearance at thebaptism. Bearing thetraditional silver cup andpriest’sfeeinthebottomofa cone of sugared

almonds, he had playedthepartofgodfathertoherchild. It was impossible,after that, to keep fromaskinghimtoparticipateinthe small family dinnerwhich she had arrangedafterward. Uncle Narciso,braving his son’s censure,wastocomeinforthegalameal, though he haddeclined to be godfatherontheexcuse,weaktoherears, that he could not

afford it. As if turned out,her uncle never put in anappearance. She wasgratefultoNeville,then,forkeeping the smallcelebrationfromfallingflat.

He did not stay long.Eleanora’s duties as amother interrupted theirafter-dinner coffee as hernurse, nowheart and soulMichael’s nursemaid,came to tell her he wascryingforher.

She tarried longenough to see Neville tothedoor.Hishandwasontheknobwhenheasked,“Isupposeyouhavealreadyheardthenews?”

“No, what?” she saidabsently,hermindattunedto the faint cries issuingfromtheupstairsbedroom.

“Aboutthesurrender?”Hehadherfullattention

now.“Tellme,”shesaid,asuddenstraininhervoice.

“After negotiations byCommander Davis of theSt. Mary, Walker and hismenlaiddowntheirguns.”

“When?”“The first day of May.

He and his officers weretaken to Panama aboardthe American ship. Theyareexpectedtoarriveherein New Orleans any daynow.”

The steamship bearingWilliam Walker home

dockedinNewOrleansonMay 27, 1857. Peoplethrongedtheleveeandthestreets leading to it. Therewas such a crowd ofjostling spectators thatEleanora’s carriage couldnotmove,andonlyby theuse of the most shockinglanguage and ear-splittingcracksofhiswhipwashercoachman able to force apassagetoavantagepointwhere she could see

withoutleavingthehoodedvictoria.

Thesightofreduniformtunics, numbering perhapssixteen, their gold buttonsand fringe bright in thewarm sun, brought atightnesstoherthroat.Shehad to blink several timesbeforeshecouldmakeoutthe slight figure of thegeneral,ablackbirdamongcardinals in his darkfrockcoat.Andthenbehind

him she saw Grant,standing straight andstern-visaged, looking asgaunt as when he hadbeen ill with the wound inhis shoulder. Dazzled bythesunlight,he lookedoutover the crowd. As hisgaze passed over hercarriage, Eleanora drewback, though she wasalmostcertainhecouldnotpenetrate the shadowbeneaththehood.

AtthesightofWalker,agreatroarwentupfromthecrowd, a sound ofwelcome, admiration, andapprobation, as though hehad returned as theconquering hero ratherthan indefeat.Therewereshouts of hurrah and hatsthrown into the air. Smallboys yelled and screamedand ladies applaudedwithgloved hands. A dozenmen surged forward as,

aftersmilingandwavingtothecrowd,thepresidentofNicaragua moved towardthe gangplank. They liftedWalker on their shouldersand bore him through thecrowdtheshortdistancetowhere a carriage waited.Several of his officerspushed after them to joinhim.Therestcrowdedintoa second vehicle. Trailedby the main body of hisenthusiastic well-wishers,

the carriage moved off inthe direction of the St.CharlesHotel.

Even then,Walkerwasnotallowedtorestafterhisweary journey.Thepeoplestood outside the hotelcheering and chanting forhis appearance. He wasforcedtomakenotonebuttwo speeches before theywere finally satisfied andbegantodisperse.

Those who were not

privileged to hear him onthat occasion were giventhe opportunity two dayslater. At a great massmeeting on Canal Street,Walker, flanked by theAmerican flagonone sideand his own red-starredflagontheother,spokefortwohours.Hisfaceshiningwith perspiration in thelight of the gas lamps, hepraised the courage andstrength of his men and

thewarmth and hospitalityof the common people ofNicaragua whosebenefactor he consideredhimself to be. From therehe plunged into awholesale denunciation ofthe people he consideredto be the cause of hisdownfall.He railedagainstthe tyrannical might ofVanderbilt, theshortsightedness ofPresidentBuchanan innot

coming to his aid, with ahintofgraft inpublicofficein official Washington’spreference for thecommodore’s viewpoint intheaffair.HewascriticalofCommander Charles H.Davis, chief officer on thesloop-of-war St. Mary,claiming he sold thephalanx out during thenegotiations with theCentral American alliesand blaming the

commander for refusing totransport the remainder ofhis men to Panama,leavingthemtomaketheirown way. Lastly, heattacked Morgan andGarrison, the two men hehadbeenat suchpains tofavorinthetakeoveroftheTransitLine,fornotforcingtheir way through theblockade to bring troopsandsupplies to relieve thephalanx.

Standing among thecrowd with her nursemaidpulling anxiously at hersleeve,urginghertocomeaway, Eleanora could nothearallofWilliamWalker’simpassioned speech. Still,what she heard disturbedher. It would be toomuchto expect the man to beunaffected by hisexperiences. At the sametime, the shrillness of hisvoice, the uncontrolled

nature of his diatribeseemedtosmackofamanat the edge of his reason.It isneverpleasantto losewhen victory is almostwithin one’s grasp, andWalkermust, she thought,beextremelyweary,buthewould have been betterserved if someone hadrepresented to him thewisdomofalongperiodofreflection before he beganto try to justify his defeat.

His last words reinforcedher views as nothing elsecould. William Walkerconcludedhis speechwitha personal promise toreturn to the fight inNicaragua as soon as themen and resources couldberaised.

While she wasstanding, stupefied by thisannouncement, Eleanora’snurse caught her arm anddrew her away, muttering

under her breath. Hermistress was crazed foruniforms, she said withsome force.ShecouldnotstopMam’zelle—her,shewas too old — but shecould see that youngM’sieurMichaelwasgivenhis proper care andnourishment before hismother who had forgottenhimwentrunningofftotheball for the militarygentlemen.

Theevent towhichhernursereferred,areceptionfor Walker with a ball tofollow, was to be held inthe public ballroom of theSt.CharlesHotel.Itwastobe the event of the springseason with a guest listnumbering severalhundred, including thegovernor of the state,Robert Wickliffe, theBaroness Pontalba, andrepresentatives from the

best of the Creole as wellasAmericanfamiliesinthecity.

For the occasionEleanora had ordered anew gown of white tullebanded about the deepscoop of the neckline,sleeves, and at intervalsdown the enormous skirtwith wide white satinribbon. Between herbreasts she wore acorsageof fresh red roses

backed by silver leaves,and just beneath it,reachingfromhershoulderto her left side, a widesash of red-edged whiteribbontowhichwaspinnedher medal of valor,Walker’s gold star on ablack-and-red ribbon. Herhairsheworepartedinthecenteranddrawnbackintoa chignon of ringlets.Tucked into the side of it,justbelowherear,shehad

pinned another, smallernosegay of rosebuds. Theredroses,wornforWalker,shouldhavebeenaterribleclash with her hair.Instead, they seemedsomehow to drain awaythe fiery sheen, leaving itthe burnished color ofnewly minted gold coins.And if her gown wasdeliberately reminiscent ofthe one she had lefthanginginthewardrobeof

the palacio, who was toknowexceptherself—andone other; the man whohadboughtit?

“The Condesa deLaredo!”

ToEleanora’sears, thesoundofhernameasshewas announced echoedover the quiet hiss of thegas from the chandeliersand the polite murmur ofvoices like a clarion call.She was aware of the

turning of heads as shegave William Walker herhand, but she ignoredthem,greetinghimwiththedeference that was hisdue.

A faint tremor ranthroughhisfingers,thoughhis face betrayed nosurprise as his gray eyesrested upon her, droppingtothemedalsheworeandthen lifting to meet hercleargreengaze.“Youare

lookingwell,Eleanora,”hesaid in calmaccents. “It isa pleasure to see youagain.”

“Andyou,sir.You—allofyou—havebeeninmythoughts these lastmonths.”

“As you have been inours,”hereplied.

There was no time formore. The line behind herpressed Eleanora forward.As she moved away, she

tooka deepbreath, lettingit out slowly. He had notdenouncedher.Therehadbeennothinginhismannertoindicatethatheknewofany blot upon her name.The idea had crossed hermind that hewas trying toconvey a message to herwith his last words, untilshe remembered his habiton ceremonial occasionsof speaking in the royalplural.

Shewanderedaboutatsomething of a loss,inspecting thearrangements of flowers,huge bouquets of rosesand jasmine in urns onstands, and the streamersof ribbon in red and blackdraped from thechandeliersfastenedtothewalls in loops with ribbonrosettes. The suppertables were already laidwith the hotel’s famous

gold service, andcenterpieces of nougatwere in place, formed inthe shape of a cannon, aflag, and a five-pointedstar. There were severaldowagers present, friendsof her grand-mère withwhom she had a noddingacquaintance. She sawone or two friends fromconvent school who pliedher with eager questions,for the most part

concerning not WilliamWalker but the family ofher titled husband. If theyhad heard of the birth ofher child they did not askafter him, and Eleanorafoundshewasnotanxiousto expose so private amatter as his birth— andwith it the question of hissuccession to Luis’shonors—totheircuriosity.

By contrast, the gruffandheartygoodwishesof

Colonel Thomas Henrywere likeabreathof freshair.Standingtalkingtohim,shewasawareof thewayhis uniform had faded, ofthedarnedplacesonitandthe tarnished, verdigrislook of the fringe on hisepaulettes.

Hewasfavoringhislefthand, keeping thatbandaged member behindhis back. The end of hisforefinger had been shot

away just below the firstknuckle and had nothealed as it should.Eleanoraralliedhimonhisaccident-prone ways,accusing him of shootinghimself; but she agreed tolook at it as he insisted, ifhe would come to herhome. She had then tolisten toa recital of all thethings he had learned todo one-handed. When heincluded carrying two

punch cups in one hand,she accepted withgratitudehisoffer toproveit.

It was hot in the roomfrom the growing press ofpeopleand the lightof thegas lamps. She wouldhave liked to havewithdrawn to an openwindowbut thought it bestto stay where shewas soColonel Henry could findherwhenhereturned.She

was opening the fan ofhandpainted parchmentwhich hung by a silk cordfrom her wrist, when shesaw Grant. He stoodstraight and tall just insidethe door. He wore no hatand his hair, in thewavering light, was asshining and blue-black asacrow’swing.Therewerenew lines engraved at thecorners of his eyes, and,though she would have

thought it impossible, aleaner, tougher set to hisshoulders.

As if drawn by theintensity of her regard, heturned his gaze towardher. His eyes narrowedslightly and she wascertain he lost a shade ofcolor under themahoganydarknessofhisskin.

Her lips curved in thefaintestpossible traceofasmile, she slowly raised

her chin. No breathdisturbed the roses at herbreastuntil hemoved inaslowsteptowardher.

And then, without theleast change ofexpression, he stiffenedand the black fire of hisstare seemed to passthrough her. He halted,turnedasifatacommand,andmadehiswayagainstthe tide of people out oftheballroom.

Eleanorastoodstill,thecarved ivory sticks of herfanbendingunder thegripofherhand.Thesoundofoneofthemcrackingbrokethe tension that held her.Then she swung around,her cheeks flaming, as amanspoke fromwherehehad moved, unnoticed, toherside.

“Look what you’vedone,” Neville Crawforddrawled, reaching out,

taking up the fan thatdangled at her wrist tospread the fragileparchment open. “It’sbroken.”

24Eleanora received Nevilleformally in the salon. Shehad considered refusinghim admittance, butdiscarded the idea. Theremight be a certain coldsatisfaction in it, but therewas greater satisfaction inmaking the weight of her

displeasure over hisconduct at the ballpersonallyfelt.

Nevillewasno fool.Hewas fully alive to thenuancesofsocialconduct.Glancing around at theelegantroomashewalkeddown it, at the pale-greenstriped silk walls, whitebrocade settees,Aubusson carpet in adesignofcreamandgreenand rose, and rose velvet

drapes,he liftedabrow. “Iam suitably impressed byyour new grandeur, mydear, but I prefer thesimple comforts of thecourtyard — unless, ofcourse, you havesomething of a privatenaturetosaytome?”

His smile wascalculated to charm but itleft her unmoved. She didnot come forward fromwhereshestoodstifflyina

morning dress of orchid-floweredwhitelawnbesidethemarblemantle.Neville,perforce, had to remainstandingalso.

“You knowwhat I wishto speak to you about,”Eleanora saidchallengingly. “There canhave been no doubt inyour mind, after ourdiscussionsonthesubject,of Grant’s reaction toseeing you standing

beside me. It could nothelpbutlookasifwewerethe conspirators hesuspected, if not more.Why? Why did youinterfere?”

“Shall I be honest?” heasked, tilting his head tooneside.“Ithinkyes,sinceI doubt anything less willserve. I have noticed inyou,mydear,alamentablepreoccupation with ourColonelFarrell.Isawsigns

that you had come toregret the impulsive wayyoulefthim,signsthatyoumight be inclined to useyoungMichael to further areturn to your oldrelationship, now thatWalker is finished. Icouldn’tallowthat.”

“Amanhastheright toknow he has a son!” shedefendedherself.

“Youcouldhavewrittenhim a note,” Neville said

dryly.“Butthatwouldhavehadnoneof the forceofapersonal confrontation,would it? It would beharder foraman to ignorethe natural duty of caringfor the child, and perhapsits mother, if he was facetofacewiththem?”

“I find your suggestioncontemptible,” shedeclared. “I have no needforamantocareforme.”

“That may be. Deny, if

youcan,however,thatyouhavenoneedforaman—”

Eleanoraliftedherchin,awareoftheflareoflustinNeville’s eyes. “You arebeing deliberatelyoffensive.”

“Am I? It’s no morethan the truth. I thoughtthese last fewmonths thatyouwerebeginningtoseeme as a fair substitute foryour precious colonel. Ithought, until Colonel

Grant Farrell came back,thatyouand Imight throwin our lot together. Wewouldmake a good team.With your beauty and mybrains we could turn thatpittance you got from Luisinto a fortune. We couldlive like royalty, move inthe first circles in theEastand in Europe. If youwould let yourself, youcouldlearntocareforme,I think. In the meantime,

what I feel for you will bemorethanenoughtocarryusthrough.”

“Idon’t—”“No, wait! I’m not

suggesting anything in theleast underhanded. I wantto take care of you, tomarry you. I’m asking youtobemywife.”

Eleanorastaredathim,her green gaze level; hertone when she spoke atlast was scathing in its

contempt. “You are themost arrogant, conceited,viciously immoral man Ihave ever met! Youcontrived to have mybrother and me arrestedonchargesthatcouldhaveled to death; you allowedmen who had been yourfriends to go to the firingsquad when you couldhavesaved them;you liedto me, blackmailed me;kept the knowledge of my

brother’s suicide from mein order to arrange apolitical murder, and yetyou expect me to entrustmy fortune and myself toyour tender care? Youmust think me the moststupid woman alive! Ithought more of yourintelligence. I thought yourealizedthatallIwantedofyou was the informationyou could give me aboutWalkerandthePhalanx.If

you thoughtanythingelse,if you have been stavingoff your creditors with theexpectation of having myfortune at your disposal,then I am sorry for you. Irecommendthatyou leavetownbeforeyouare foundout.Thereisnothingtobegained by lingering, Ipromiseyou!”

He smiled, a cynicaltwistofthelipsthatlefthiseyes cold. “That is your

pridespeaking.Women,inour society, have anawkward time of it alone,especially a woman likeyou. In time you willreconsider, and when youdo, I will be waiting —impatiently.”

He had movedgradually nearer as hespoke. With the last wordhe reached for her,grasping her shoulders todragheragainsthischest.

Hisfingerscaughtthebackof her neck, forcing herfaceup,andhis lipscamedown, devouring hers. Hewrapped one arm aboutherwaist,andwithhisfreehand explored the curvesbeneath the softness ofherlawngown.

Shuddering in disgust,Eleanorabroughtherhandup with the fingers curled,rippingathisfacewithhernails. As his hold

loosened, she tore herselfaway and grasping at themantle, tuggedhardat thetasseled bell pull whichhungbesideit.

Nevilledrewhimselfup.Takingoutahandkerchief,he put it to his face. “If itwasn’t foryourhousefulofservants, I would teachyou a few things aboutyourself.”

“Would you?” Eleanoraasked, looking up from

straighteningthefrillattheneck of her gown, andrunning a hand over herhair. “Pretty behavior for agentleman. I wonder whotaught you, unless it wasNiñaMaria?I’mpersuadedthe two of you were wellsuited.”

“Sheatleasthadsenseenough to know how topickawinner.Iexpectsheis queening it in León atthisverymoment.”

“I wish her joy of hervictory,”Eleanorasaid,herlip curling, “and of you, ifyou should decide to joinher.”

“Maybe I will,” he toldher, adjusting the cuffs ofhis shirt below his coatsleeves, “if I don’t hearfrom you within the week.Itmayhelpyoutomakeupyourmindonceand forallif I tell you that yourcolonel has followed his

gallant leader toMemphis,so there’s little chance ofhimcomingtoheel.”

Theopeningofthedoorprevented Eleanora fromreplying,thoughtheglaciallookinhergreeneyeswassufficient to blast thehopes of a less egotisticman.

ThebutlerhadNeville’sbeaver hat in his hand.Taking it, Neville threw alast look at Eleanora, a

lookofhateandfrustrationandwhetted desire. “I cansee myself out,” he saidshortly, and slapping hishat on his head, strodefromtheroom.

Memphis, Louisville,Cincinnati, Washington,New York; it was possibleto trace Grant’swhereabouts with Walkerthrough the news sheets.Uncle Billy was greetedeverywhere with

acclamation. At Wallack’sTheater in New York hisarrival wasmarked by theband playing “HailColumbia,” and he wasforced to make a speechfrom his box. He was inthat city for the touchingreunion with the remnantsof his army as his menstraggledinfromPanama.

Noteveryonelookedonhim with favor, however.His complaints about

CommanderDaviswereill-received insomequarters.In addition, Vanderbilt hadnotimetoexchangeeithercompliments orrecriminations with him,andhispleasforameetingwith President Buchananwere ignored. Before longheturnedtowardthemorereceptive climate of theSouth again, moving hisentouragetoCharleston.

Eleanora, for her own

self-respect, did not sitaround and mope. Thiswas due largely to theeffort of Colonel ThomasHenrytogethimselfkilled.Deep in drink andboredom, he had enteredinto a bet with Major JoeHowell,asometimefriend,sometime enemy,sometime opponent infisticuffs, sometimedrinking companion. Thebet over the fighting

prowess of a couple ofnewsboys had endedunsatisfactorily and theensuing argument hadturnedintoaduel inwhichColonel Henry was theinjured party. Laid on hisbedwithahole inhisarmand another in hisabdomen, he had cursedthe doctor chosen toministertohimandsentforEleanora. When he wasabletobemoved,shehad

had him brought to herhouse and put into one ofthebestbedchambers.

Agreatfavoritewithhismen, the colonel drewvisitors like flies, many ofthem men of the phalanxwhohadchosentolandatNew Orleans fromPanama.Eleanora’shousebecame a mecca for themen who, by and large,rightly or wrongly,considered themselves

legal citizens of theRepublic of Nicaragua. Afew of them had smallhurtswhichtheybroughttoher, but for the most partthey needed only feeding,a place to sleep for a dayor two, a small stake onwhich to return to theirhomes. Eleanora, withsome understanding ofwhatitmeanttobetiredinbody and soul with nomoney, no food, and

nowheretogo,wasgladtodo what she could. Shewas treated at all timeswith the greatest ofrespect, perhaps becauseof the presence of herservants and the bull-likeColonel Henry, perhapsbecause of somethingwithin herself. She couldnot begin to think whattalesmustbegoingaroundthe city concerning theconstant stream of men

passing in and out of herhouse, and she could notbring herself to care. Letthem think what theywould.

TowardthelastdaysofAugust,thenumberofmenwho came began to dropoff.Onebyonethefamiliarfaces disappeared; one ofthe last ones to go was atow-headedboywithasoftcountry accent, the boywhohaddefendedher the

day she was arrested inthe hospital. He came tosay thankyou, towishherhappiness and tell her hewasgoinghometoasmallfarm in the back-hillcountry of northernLouisiana, a farm hehoped he would neverhavetoleaveagain.Bythemiddle of September theywere all gone except forColonel Henry. Soon shewouldbealoneagain.

Not quite, of course.ShehadMichael.Michael,with his fine black hair,skin which looked to bepermanently sunburned,and eyes as brown andshining as chestnuts. Atfivemonthshewasagoodchild,seldomcryingexceptwhen he was hungry orwet, though he was justthe least bit spoiled fromall the attention he hadreceivedfromthemenwho

couldnotresistpickinghimup from his pallet in thecourtyardwhentheyfoundhimthere.

Eleanora, kneeling onthe pallet in a billow ofskirts, told him so in fondaccents as she changedhim one mellowSeptember afternoon.There was a feeling ofautumn in the air. Theleaves were falling fromthetreesaroundthecity.A

driftofpinoakleavesfroma nearby courtyard hadlanded on the pallet, andshe removed one of themfrom the baby’sdeterminedly clenched fistbefore propping him backupon his pillows. He waslearning to sit alone, andcould do so by himself forseveral minutes at a time,holding the position bysheer willpower exercisedwith the most humorous

lookof total concentration.She had sat him up,holding both hands out tocatchhimifhefell,herlipscurved in a fond maternalsmile, when a soundcaughtherattention.

Shehadheardnobell.Looking up, she halfexpected to see ColonelHenry or perhaps her oldnurse coming to takeMichael for his nap. Theman she saw insteadwas

Grant, and beside him, awhite-haired gentleman ofnoble bearing whom sherecognized immediatelyasDonEstebantheCondedeLaredo.

Something grim in thefeatures of the two mensent alarm coursing alongherveins.Herfirstreactionwas instinctive. With aswooping reach, shepicked Michael up andheld him against her. The

child in her arms, shestruggled to her feet,hampered by his weightand the treacherous widthof her full skirt. In thesurprise and unreasoningagitation of the momentshe abandonedpreliminaries.“Howdidyouget in?” she demanded.“Andwhatdoyouwant?”

It was Don Estebanwhoanswered.“Astohowwe got in, a gentleman

who was just leavinginformed us where wecouldfindyouandassuredusofawelcome.WhatdoIwant? You must know,señora, that I have comefor my grandnephew, thenewConde.”

Eleanora glanced atGrant. His face betrayednoexpression,heseemednot to have heard as hestudiedthefaceofhissonwith every appearance of

no more thandispassionate interest.Steadying her voice withan effort, she said, “Youhavebeenmisinformed.”

“I think not, señora. Ihave in my possession acopy of the baptismalrecordof this child. I havebeen in correspondencewithyourparamour,amannamedCrawford.Hedaredto send the copy to mealong with the threat of

exposing the birth if I didnot pay him blackmailmoney. The pair of youmistookyourman, I fear. Iwould never usurp theplaceof the rightfulheir tothe title. I am convinced,however, that you are nota fit person to have thecustody of a child of suchimportance, if you wouldconsenttolethimbeusedin such a manner.Therefore, I have come to

take him with me back toSpain. You can fight it, ofcourse — I would notexpect otherwiseconsidering the fortune atstake — but that fortunecan and will be usedagainstyou—”

“One moment,”Eleanora interrupted, hervoicehard inherefforts tokeep it from trembling. “Iknow nothing of such athreat. I deny completely

ever having a part in it.Why should I blackmailyou if Ihavesuchproofofmy child’s birth? Why notclaim the title with themoney, the exaltedposition of dowagerCondesa, and theguardianshipoftheestateswhich goes with it? Whywould I settle for less —unless this child was notyourgrandnephew?”

“The baptismal

certificate—?”“A subterfuge, to keep

from branding my child abastard,” she said,uncaring of her choice ofwordsaslongastheyhadtherequiredeffect.

“You are saying yourchild is illegitimate,fathered after the death ofmynephew?This Icannotbelieveofyou.Myreadingofyourcharacter—”

“I am sorry that you

have traveled so far on auselesserrand. I amsorrythatIcannotgratifyyoubyclaimingarelationshipwithyou for my son, but mychild was not fathered byLuisdeLaredo.”

Theoldmanshookhishead. “I thinkperhaps youwereafraidthechildwouldbetakenoutofyourhandsif you claimed the title. Ithinkyouthought,youandthis Señor Crawford, that

you could keep the childand bleed the estate,having your cake andeatingittoo,astheEnglishsay.”

“You must make upyour mind, Don Esteban,whether you consider mean overprotective motheroramonsterwhowouldlether child be used as thepawnofablackmailer.Youcan’thaveitbothways.”

“Perhaps not,” the old

mansaidwithdignity, “butImustaskyoutorevealtome the fatherof this child,the man to whom youturned so soon afterwedding and beingwidowed. I feel you oweme this much proof ofgoodfaith.”

Involuntarily Eleanoralooked at Grant, halfexpecting him to claimparentage.Hegazedbackat her, his face still. She

couldnot tellwhathewasthinking behind the deep,fathomless blue of hiseyes, any more than sheevercould.Itwasoddthathewas content to let DonEsteban be her inquisitor,butthen,itwouldnothavebeen like him to hurlaccusations at her incompany with any man.Alone perhaps, but notwith another. The babyheld close against he,

sensingthetensionaroundhim,begantofret.

Itwasa thirdmanwhoanswered the requesthanging in the breathlesssilence. “I don’t like thequestion,”ColonelThomasHenry said with gratingdeliberation, “and I’m ofthemindthattheladydon’tlike it either. Furthermore,I’m plumb staggered thateither one of you yahooscould stand up there and

put it to an angel like ourMissEleanorahere. I’veagood mind to takeexception to youboth, callyou out, that’s the ticket!‘Cept I’m sorta given tothink maybe I have a fewthings to say that mightshed a little lamplight onthis subject. Yes, sir, I’mmighty glad I decided tocome back here and findoutwhetherMissEleanorawanted to see you two

buzzards, instead ofambling down to HalfwayHouse for a drink, cause Igot me something I wantthe both of you to give arealgoodlistento.”

Colonel Henry movedinto the courtyard as hespoke, choosing the stonewall near the vine-shadedarbor in which the baby’spallet had lain for hissupport. His left arm heheldclosetohisbodyand

he walked with a slightlybent-over posture, but hewas beginning to regain ahealthy color. With hisgreatstaminahewouldbeable to return to whateverduty called him within afortnightatmost.

Settled, he began. “It’slikethis.Ibeengoingdownto Halfway House aboutthis timeeveryeveningforthe last week or so; sortato give Miss Eleanora a

spellofrelieffrommyuglyface. I saw this fellowCrawford in the placeseveral times. Couple ofdays ago I heard himmention Miss Eleanora’sname. We got to talkingand drinking, and drinkingand talking, and the moreCrawford drank the biggerbrag he made and theworse threats. He said hewaseithergoingtomakeahaul big enough to live

high as a lord on, or elsehe was going to get evenwith Miss Eleanora forthrowing him out of herhouse. Fuming mad hewasbecauseshewouldn’thave anything to do with‘im anyway he asked,including a parson’snoose, and because hehadwastedmonthsonendhangingabouther,waitingfor her to come around.Said as how she was

mighty fond of that brat ofhers, beg pardon, ma’am,and she’d be sorry whenshe lost him to his richrelatives inSpain.He saida lotmore, laidhis tongueto more cuss words thanan uneducated man likeme ever heard, but Ifigured I could still teachhim a lesson in manners.Did too, out back. Onlything, I’m ‘feared he wassodrunk itmightnothave

took. He was back againlastnight. Iexpecthe’llbebackthisevening,too—ifamanwas towant to findhim.”

As Colonel Henryfinishedhis tale,hestaredhard at Grant, an obviousmessageinhiseyes.

Grant turned toEleanora, the lines abouthis mouth stern. “That’sthewayitwas?”

The resonance of his

voice vibrated through herbody.Shenodded,unableto speak, willing him tobelieveher.

Hesaidnotaword.Hisgaze dropped to the childin her arms. Turning, hewent from the courtyardwith a long, determinedstride.WhatremainedwithEleanora was the look offuriousconcentrationinhiseyes.Itshouldhave;itwasthe same expression she

had seen so often on herson’sface.

Colonel Henry didn’ttarry. “Excuseme,ma’am”he said, hurrying afterGrant.

“Whereareyougoing?”shecriedinexasperation.

“Tothefight,ofcourse.I wouldn’t miss it for aMorgan horse and a newpairofNavyColts!”

“Señora?”DonEstebanaskedinbewilderment.

“I’m afraid,” Eleanorareplied,awansmileonherlips, “that Colonel Farrellhas gone to meet Mr.Crawford on that bloodybattleground, littered withpride, they call the field ofhonor.”

“Ah, a duel, Iapprehend?”heinquired.

“More on the order, Ithink, of a chastisement,”she replied,suchadistantlook in her eye that he

bowed and said no moreonthesubject.

Michael chose thatmoment to register avehement protest to thetightness with which hewas being clasped.Recalled to her duties,Eleanora looked about,and seeing her nursemaidhovering near thebedchamber door,motionedforher,andgavethe baby into her keeping.

Turning to Don Esteban,she invited him to join herfor coffee. Not that shecared for anything in theway of refreshment. Shehadtheidea,lookingattheelderlyman’s face, thathehad something he wishedtosaytoher.Listeningtoitovercoffeeorratafiawouldpass the time until shemight learn what hadoccurred between GrantandNeville.

“I thank you, no,” DonEsteban surprised her bysaying.“Youaremostkindtoask,aftermyconduct—or want of it. Your friendwas quite right, I am inneed of a lesson inmanners. I feel justlyrebuked for letting mysense of responsibility tothe estate overcome myfeeling for what is proper,especiallywhenthepersonconcernedisalady.”

It was a handsomeapology. Eleanora couldbenolessgenerous.“Iamcertain that if my son hadindeed been the heir, Iwould be mostappreciative of your zealand the selfless spiritwhich ledyou toseekhimout. There are not manymen who would not havekept the crest forthemselves, regardless ofthecost.Itisgoodtoknow

Luis has such a worthysuccessor.”

“Youflatterme,señora.Myonehope is that Imayhave repaid some of theharm I have done bybringing Colonel Farrellwithme today. You see, Iam staying at the St.Charles, where formerPresident Walker and thecolonel checked in only afewhoursago.Naturally, Imade inquiries of Señor

Walker, since thisCrawfordhadbeenoneofhis men and I wished toknow the scoundrel withwhomIwasdealing.Intheensuing conversation, thenatureofmybusinesswasmade plain, and thecolonel became greatlyinterested.” Don Estebanglancedatherdiffidently.“Iseem to recall that inGranadaIfoundyouinthepalacio belonging to this

man,Farrell.NowhegoesangrilyawaytopunishthisCrawford for his perfidy.”He touched a hand to hissmall, pointed beard “Thethingexplainsitself.”

A few morecompliments, a finalapologyandexpressionofregret, a wish for goodfortune,alastbow,andtheman who was the rightfuland only true Conde deLaredowasgone.

Eleanoracouldnothelpthinking that she mighthave beenmore gracious,more attentive to hisfarewells. He had traveleda long and weary way fornothing.Sheknewhewasalready staying at the St.Charlesfromwhathesaid,but she still might haveoffered him the hospitalityof the house, for Luis’ssake, if for no otherreason.

It was no use repining.The opportunity was past,andinanycase,sheknewthat such considerationswere no more than adefense against thinking,against picturing Grantdead on the sawdust floorofabarroom.Shehadfewillusions about Neville.Survivalwas his specialty.He would not be a badshot with a pistol, given afair chance, and if there

was a way to take anunfairadvantage,hewouldnothesitate.

Waiting,waiting,pacingin thought-racked fear,sweepingthedustfromthegray ballast-stone flooringof the court, seemed herfate. It had been the onlyrecourse of women forcountless generations,stretching back to thebeginning of wars, and ofhateandrevenge.

Or was it? She haddefied convention in allelse,whyshouldthisbeanexception?

In suddendetermination she swungabout,callingacrosstotheservant quarters, whichopenedontothecourtyard,tohavehercarriagemadeready. Hurrying upstairs,she cut short her nurse’sexclamations andinstinctive protests,merely

telling her where she wasgoing. Gloves, bonnet,lightweight cloak to coverher gown, and she wasready.Her coachmanwasunconscionably slow, butat last the victoria wasbrought out. She climbedin without waiting forassistance, and theywereoff, swinging into thequietandsunlitstreets.

Halfway Housewas sonamed because it lay at

the end of Canal Street,halfway between theMississippiRiverandLakePontchartrain. A popularsaloon and hostelry withthe rougher Americanelement inNewOrleans, itboastedastretchoffieldinthe back bounded only bywoods on either side thatwas perfect forengagements of asanguinary nature. It washere that Colonel Henry

andMajorHowellhadmet.Eleanorahadheardof theplace in detail during theconvalescence of ColonelHenry.

She arrived before theunprepossessing buildingof a uniform gray hue intimetoseemenstreamingtoward the rear of thesaloon. They werelaughing and shouting ateach other with all thegleeful anticipation of

children at a circus. Shedid not need to hear theircries of “Fight!” and“Shootout!” to guess theirdestination. Alighting fromher carriage, she followedthem, aware only vaguelyofhercoachmanwrappingthereinsaroundthebrakeand climbing down to trailprotectivelybehindher.

She saw them theinstant she rounded thecorner,twotallmen,Grant

in his uniform, the buttonslike flashing targets,Neville inwhiteshirt,whitebreeches, and a blackalpaca coat. They stoodfacing each other at tenpaces, their revolversheldloosely at their sides. Toone side, distinct from thecrowdof nearly ahundredspectators, stood ColonelHenry and another manshe did not know,obviously acting as

seconds, and a younggentleman with a drink inhishandandadoctor’skitat his feet, the surgeon inattendance. As sheapproached, ColonelHenry was saying, “Yourgunsare fully loaded.Youmay fire at will when thesignal is given,understood?”

Both men nodded.Quietdescended.

“Ready!”

“Fire!”Withanindrawnbreath,

Eleanora closed her eyesas the guns explodedsimultaneously. When sheopened them Grant stoodunscathed. Neville washoldinghisleftforearm.

“That,” Grant saidquietly, “is for Luis, forletting him go to the firingsquadwhenyouhadbeensenttosavehim.”

Neville, his face

contorted, lifted his gun.Shots rang out again. Arapidly widening red spotappeared on the white ofNeville’sbreeches.

“That was for Jean-Paul,theboyyoulefttokillhimself,” Grant explained,hisvoiceimplacable.Bloodwas trickling from his earlobe,butheseemednottofeelit.

An extraordinary hushheld the crowd now as

they realized they werewatching no commonmeeting. Neville, giving alittle to his hurts, staredatGrant. At the back of hiseyes lurked a primitivefear,a fear thatmadehimlift his gun again, sayingthrough gritted teeth, “Bedamnedtoyou,Farrell!”

His shot kicked up dirtat Grant’s feet. Grant’sbullettookhiminthefleshypart of the other thigh,

sending him staggeringbackseveralsteps.

His voiceexpressionless,Grantsaid,“For Walker, and yourcoward’s attempt on hislife.”

“Bastard!” Nevillescreamed, wavering.Whether from a reflexaction or another try atkilling his opponent, hisfingers squeezed off ashot.

“And this one,” Grantsaid,raisinghisgun,“isfortrying to sell my son’sbirthright”

Neville dropped hisgun, as the last bulletpassed through his rightarm, falling forward tomeasure his length on thegreen,clover-strewngrass.Grant stared down at him,his face grim, then slowlyhe turned his back andstartedtowalkaway.

Themanonthegroundwas alive, thrashing, itappeared, in pain. Thedoctor, his face white,madeamovetogotohim,wavingforwardoneor twoothers with a suggestionthat they carryNeville intothehouse.

And then a manhollered, “Look out! He’sgoingtoshoot!”

Neville, writhing on theground, had retrieved his

gun. Holding it with bothshaking hands, he had itpointed at Grant’s broadback.

Colonel Henry, whohad fallen into step withGrant, gave him a push,tearing the revolver fromhis hand. Thumbing backthe hammer, the veteransoldierfired.

Men scattered in alldirections,uncertain in theconfusionofwhowasfiring

and where. WhenEleanora could see again,Neville lay still upon theground.Thegunhadfallenfrom his lax fingers, hiseyes were open, staring.Hewouldhavenoneedfortheservicesofthedoctor.

Eleanora sat in herdarkened bedchamber.Thelastraysofthesettingsun poured orange lightintothecourtyardbutitdidnot penetrate this

shuttered room. That wasthe way she wanted it.When she had returnedthe baby was crying forher.Nowheslept, replete,against her breast as sherockedinahigh-backchairordered especially for thatpurpose fromBoston.Sheshould lay Michael in hiscradle and think ofdressing for dinner, butshecouldnotbringherselfto do it. There was such

sweetconsolationinsittingwith her cheek resting onMichael’s head, notthinking.No,notthinking.

She had no wish toremember Grant standing,oblivious toNeville’s firing,placing his shots with amarksman’s care, no wishto recall the words withwhich he had claimed hisson, or to bring to mindthat harrowing momentwhen she thought he

would be killed. How shehad arrived home she didnot know, except she hadan uncertain memory ofbeing led back to thevictoria, probably by hercoachman. She was notsorry she had gone. Itwould have beenunendurable to be stillwaiting here, unknowing,afterallthistime.Butifshehad never known howclose Grant had come to

death,shewouldnothavethis trembling deep inside,or the press against hereyesofincipienttears.

A commotion in thecourtyard below drew herattention. Itsounded likeadomestic upheaval ofsome kind, one of thestable cats caughtsneaking into the kitchenno doubt, or somethingsimilar. At the sound offootsteps, more than one

set, on the stairs, shelooked toward the door,annoyed that anyoneshould come for her tosettle a crisis at this time,or that they would be sonoisy about it. Then,makingoutthevoiceofhernursefromthebabble,shebegantobealarmed.

“Here, you can’t go inthere, m’sieur,” the oldwoman said. Hard on herwords the bedchamber

door swung open andGrantwalkedin.

Behindhimwasrangedthe butler, caught in hisshirt sleeves, thecoachman, the scullerymaid,andthenurse.

“I’m sorry, madame,”the old woman said,speaking for all of them.“This one, he camethrough the servants’ doorin the back of the court.We could not stop him.

Shall I send for thegendarmes?”

“No, no, thank you,”Eleanora said, finding hertongue. “Itwill be all right.Youcango,allofyou.”

Theydidnotlikeit.Thenurse,withthelibertyofanoldfamilyservant,lingeredaftertheothershadmovedoff. “He’s a heathen,mam’zelle. I will stay, me,until I can see him out ofthehouse.”

“That won’t benecessary,” Eleanora saidgently. “You see, thismanisMichael’sfather.”

It was not possible forthe old woman to havecaredforEleanorathroughchildbirth, and the longmonths that preceded andfollowedit,withoutlearningwhathadhappenedtoher.She understood at once.With a softly murmured,“Pardon, mam’zelle,” she

reached out to catch thedoor, closing it carefullybeforesheshuffledaway.

There were somegrounds for her nursethinking Grant a heathen,Eleanora admitted as sheregarded him. His uniformwas gone. In its place heworebuckskinbreeches,aleather shirt with fringedseams, and about thecrownofhiscampaignhat,instead of the regulation

band, the skin of arattlesnake. His Navyrevolverwasinaholsterathiswaist and he carried arifleinhishand.

“Ididn’tmeantodisturbyou,” he said, standingstiffly erect by the door. “Ithought I would slip inwhileyouwereatdinner. IseeIshouldhavecometothe front door. You’re wellprotected.”

“Yes. Would you —

mind lightinga lamp?”sheasked,irritatedwithherselffor the nervous tremor inhervoice.

The outline of a lampwasvisibleonthedressingtable. He crossed to it,propping his rifle againstthe bed, snatching his hatoff as an afterthought, tohang on the barrel. As hereplaced the globe overtheflame,hesurveyedtheroomquietlywithhiseyes,

noting the four-poster withitscanopyandhangingsinsea-green brocade loopedwith pale-green mosquitonetting, the rosewoodwashstand and dressingtable with silver-backmirrors, the soft orientalrugunderfoot.

“Not much likeNicaragua,” hecommented, a wry smilemovingoverhisface.

“No,” she answered

bluntly, adding, “If youdidn’twanttoseeme,whydidyoucome?”

“Not for thereasonyouthink,” he answered, hisironic gaze on her arms,which had unconsciouslytightened around thesleeping baby. “I came tosaygood-byetomyson.”

“Good-bye?Where areyougoing?”

“To Texas. There’s aplace out there with my

name on it in the RioGrande Valley. It wasbought with my mother’smoney with theunderstandingthatitwouldrevert to her children, thatis to me, when the manshe married died. I foundnews of his death waitingfor me when I reachedNewOrleansthismorning.There’s nothing to keepmefromgoingbacknow.”

“Not even William

Walker?” she askedquietly.

Grant shook his head.“UncleBillylosthisholdonmeoverayearago.Ithinkyou know thecircumstances. I servedthispastyearofhellasthepriceofloyalty,serveduntilthe dream was over.Nicaraguaislostnow,overand donewith. It’s time tostartoversomewhereelse,onlyWalkerwon’tadmit it.

He’llneveradmitituntilhekneels before a firingsquad. That’s how stronghisvisioniswithinhim.”

“I’msorryIcouldnotbethere for the end of it,”Eleanora said, droppingher gaze to the tops ofGrant’sboots.

“I’m not,” he told her,his voice harsh. “I didn’tknowwhereyouwere,butthatwasbetter,athousandtimesbetter, thanworrying

about you getting hit by ashell at Granada orworking with the sick andwoundedduring thesiege.YouheardaboutMazie—”

Eleanora nodded herhead quickly. After amoment, she asked,smoothing her cheek overthe fine hair on the top ofMichael’s head, “Would ithavemattered somuch, ifithadbeenme, insteadofMazie?”

“Mattered?”hesaidinastrange voice, his darkeyes resting on the roseflush of her cheeks. “Nomore than losingmyheartandsoul.Youarethebeatof my blood and the air Ibreathe. You are mygreateststrengthandmostfearedweakness; the onlyjoy I have found, and theonly pain. I love you,Eleanora.”

She had left Grant so

manymonthsbeforeoutofprideandfearandshame.Shehadnoneed forprideas long as he loved her.Her fear hadbeen that hewouldgrow tohateher forforcing him to choosebetween her and hisloyalty to William Walkerand the phalanx. Thatspecter need trouble herno longer. The shame ofher betrayal she had paidfor with the anguish of

leavingthemansheloved,of bearing his child insolitude,expectingdaily tohear that he had beenkilled in thehot andbrutalcountry she had left.Wasn’tthatenough?

The gold flecks werebrightinhergreeneyesassheraisedthemtoGrant’s.“Would you consider —takingmeandMichaelwithyou—whereveryougo?”

“Take you with me?

What about all this?” heasked slowly, indicatingthe house and itsfurnishings, “and what ofthe damnable money Luislefttoyou?”

“ThehouseIwouldliketo keep as my own placetocometowhenweareinneed of civilization. Theservantsare freemenandwomenofcolorhired forawage — except forMichael’s nurse, who will

have to comewith us, I’mafraid.”

“Thethreeofyou?”She nodded meekly.

“As for themoney, I seemtohavesquandered it inaremarkablyshorttime—”

“You needn’t think youcan fool me,” he said,liftingoneeyebrow.“Henrytold me what you havebeen doing for the mencoming home fromNicaragua.”

“They were all sohungry—”

“I know,” he answeredshortly. “Are you certainthat’s all? No walking,wounded, or stray cats or—”

“I forgot ColonelHenry!”sheexclaimed.

“To the devil withHenry.Hecanfindhimselfanother nurse — andanother bivouac, for thatmatter.”

“Oh, Grant,” she said,her eyes unaccountablyfillingwithtears.

Coming toward her, hedropped to one kneebesideherchair. “All right,ifitmeanssomuchtoyou,Henry can come too,” hesaid.

“It’snot that,” shesaid,smiling, “It’s just that I’veloved you so long, and Iwassoafraid.”

“Of what?” he asked,

gently touching the tearsthat stood like jewels onhercheeks.

“Thatyouwouldn’twantme — that you wouldn’tbelieve that my child wasyourson.”

“Iwillalwayswantyou,”he said, his eyes steadyuponhers.“Iwillkeepyounearmeallthedaysofmylifeifyouwillletme—andif you can bear to bewedtoamanofIndianblood.”

“IcanthinkofnothingIwould like more,” sheanswered,pronouncingthewords with graveemphasis.

The expression in hiseyesheld thewarmthofacaress before he glanceddown at Michael in herarms, awakened by theirvoices, staring at Grantwith solemn curiosity.Tucking his forefinger intothe baby’s small hand, he

said, “As for thisbeingmychild, you never had thehonor of meeting theApache chief, RunningWildHorse.Ifyouhad,youwould know I could neverdenyhisgreat-grandson.”

Thebaby,unimpressedby his illustrious ancestor,unerringly carried thefinger in his grasp to hismouth. Tasting the salt ofhismother’stearsuponthecalloused tip, he gnawed

hungrily at it with the twoteeth just breaking thesurfaceofhisgums.

Grant winced, thoughhe made no move toretrievehis finger.Lookingup at Eleanora, he saidwith a crooked smile, “Forsuchafiercelittlewarrior,Ithink the only place isTexas.”

Author’sNotesAlthough Notorious Angelis fiction, William Walkerwas a real historicalpersonality, one of themost fascinating, if littleknown, in theera inwhichhe lived. His campaign inNicaragua, along with hisearlylifeandhisattemptto

annex Lower California,occurred substantially asgiven.Hisdeterminationtofulfillwhatheconceived tobehisdestinyinNicaraguadid not end with his initialdefeat by the CentralAmerican coalition. Hemounted four additionalexpeditions to Nicaraguabetween 1857 and 1860.Onhissecond try,hewasstopped and turned backby Commodore Hiram

Paulding of the Americansteam frigate Wabash,who was acting on theorders of PresidentBuchanan. On his thirdand fourth attempts, hefailed to make a landingdue to storms at sea andother adversecircumstances.Thefifthtryin August of 1860 wasmoresuccessfulHelandedin Honduras andproceeded to capture the

fortressofTruxillo,thefirststep inaplan tomake theHonduranislandofRoatana base from which tolaunch his attack onNicaragua. This was amistake. Truxillo, beingmortgaged to the Britishgovernmentduetoadebt,came under the protectionofGreatBritain.OnAugust19 theBritish sloop-of-warIcarus, under NavalCommander Norvell

Salmon, entered theharbor. Training the ship’sguns upon the fortress,Commander Salmonordered Walker tosurrender.

Walker, playing fortime, put off his answeruntil nightfall. Under coverof darkness, heabandonedthefortandhiswounded, includingColonel Thomas Henry,who died a few days later

of his injuries. Walkermarched overland, drivingoffhisHonduranpursuers,and turned toward thecoast.Hisescapewascutoff, however, at the RioNegroby the Icarusandaschooner bearing twohundred and fiftyHonduran reinforcements.In the face ofoverwhelming odds,Walker surrendered oncemore on being assured of

safe conduct for his menandhimself.Theyreturnedto Truxillo whereCommander Salmon,violating his given word,gave Walker into thehands of the Hondurans.After a fiasco of a trial,held on September 11,1860, William Walker wassentenced tobe shot.Thesentence was carried outat daybreak of thefollowingmorning.

In the decade afterWalker’s death, theNicaraguan transit routewas owned by a series ofdifferent companies. Thecontinuing politicalupheaval within thecountry made profitableoperation of the routeimpossible. The route, asthesingleassetofvalueinthe country, was seizedandresoldateachchangeof government.Due to the

constant interruption ofservice and resulting lackof reliability, the routenever regained itscompetitive position withthePanamapassage.Thecompletion of thetranscontinental railroad,assuring fast andinexpensive transportationfrom the Atlantic coast tothe Pacific, effectivelysealed the doom of theNicaraguantransit route. It

ceasedofficialoperationin1868. Fifty years laterthere was some revival ofinterest in the transit routeat the time of thediscussion of the bestlocation for theconstruction of aninteroceanic canal. In theendPanamawasselectedand the Nicaraguan routesankbackintoobscurity.

For those who areinterested in such details,

the real people other thanWilliam Walker inNotorious Angel were theNew Orleans recruitingagent, Thomas Fisher;ColonelThomasHenry;hisopponent in the duel inNew Orleans, Major JoeHowell (the brother ofVarina Howell Davis,second wife of JeffersonDavis) and, of course,Cornelius Vanderbilt. Allothers are fictional. The

characters of MazieBrentwood and, to someextent, Eleanora, werebased on a passingreference found in myresearch to a true heroineof the Nicaraguancampaign, Mrs. EdwardBingham. The wife of aninvalid actor, she camewith her husband andchildren to take up one ofthe land grants issued byWalker to American

settlers. She won thedeepest gratitude of thesoldiersof thePhalanx forher services in themilitaryhospital at Granada.During the siege ofGuadaloupe Church, sheministered unceasingly tothe sick and injured until,tired and weak, shesuccumbedtocholera.

PatriciaMaxwellakaJenniferBlake

SweetBrier

FromTheFourthPrinting,1986,Edition

NotoriousAngel has beencalled the best book I’vewritten. It may be; Icouldn’t say since as theauthor it’s impossible forme to be objective.Readers have theirfavorites among a writer’s

works that often seem tohave more to do with thesequence in which theyread them or their ownpersonal situations at thetime than with essentialmerit.Ialwaysfeelthatthebook just completed isbest, though Iwilladmit tohaving favorites myself,usually because of afondness for thecharacters, for memoriesconnectedwiththesetting,

or forsomeplotdetail thatrepresents a minorbrainstorm. NotoriousAngel is one of them.Published originally in1977undermyownname,it was released within amonth of my first JenniferBlake title, Love’s WildDesire. It did not havequite the same impact,perhaps because it wasassociated with theromantic suspense novels

that I had previouslywritten under the Maxwellname. My affection for itstems partially from this“stepchild” status, but alsobecause in writing it Idiscovered the fascinationof complicated politicalsituations, and because itkeepsalive inmymemorythemoment in St. FrancisHospital, Monroe,Louisiana, where myfather-in-law lay dying of

cancer, that I discoveredtheprayertoSaintMichaeltheArchangelthatappearsin the text.Of such thingsare writers’ lives, andbooks, made. It gives megreat pleasure to seeNotorious Angel reissuedinthisnewedition.

AbouttheAuthor

Since publishing her firstbookat age twenty-seven,New York Timesbestselling and award-winning author JenniferBlakehasgoneontowriteover sixty-five historicaland contemporary novelsin multiple genres. Shebrings the story-telling

power and seductivepassionoftheSouthtoherstories, reflecting hereighth-generationLouisiana heritage.Jennifer lives with herhusband in northernLouisiana.

~~~To find out more aboutJennifer’s books, see theSteel Magnolia Press

website atwww.steelmagnoliapress.com

Purchase Steel MagnoliaPress ebooks direct fromAmazon.com at:http://smarturl.it/smp.

~~~Subscribe to FreshLeaves, the SteelMagnoliaPressnewsletter,to be notified of new

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(You can also subscribefrom the Steel MagnoliaPresswebsite.)

~~~Jenniferwouldlovetohearfrom you! Other places toconnectwithher:Website:

www.JenniferBlake.comFacebook:https://www.facebook.com/jennifer.blake.3914Twitter:@JenniferBlake01

~~~If you enjoyed this work,please leave a review tohelp other readers decideifit’sastorytheytoowouldlike to read. A couple ofsentencesareallyouneedtowrite.Thankyou!

~~~MuchofJennifer’sbacklist — historical andcontemporary — is stillavailable in print and/ordigitalformat.

Browse all the SteelMagnolia Press ebooks atAmazon’s Steel MagnoliaPressdisplaysite:

http://smarturl.it/smp

Note: if you’re browsingfrom a UK-based device,theurlabovewill takeyouto the Amazon UK store.Everyone else will bedirectedtoAmazon.com.

~~~

HISTORICALROMANCE

THELOVEANDADVENTURECOLLECTION

TheLOUISIANAPLANTATIONCOLLECTION

TheLOUISIANA

HISTORYCOLLECTION

THEROYALPRINCESOFRUTHENIA

~~~

CONTEMPORARYROMANCE

THEITALIANBILLIONAIRESCOLLECTION

Jennifer’sbrand-new

contemporaryromanceisanAmazonTop100bestseller,withover

50,000copiesdownloadedinitsfirst2weeks.

SWEETLYCONTEMPORARY

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Andlookfor5ofJennifer’smostpopularbacklistContemporary

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January2013.

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24Author’sNotesAbouttheAuthor