THE CLEAVING OF MONTOYA
By Rodlox
[email protected]
NOTES: If Grisham can say "Moroccan", then I can say "Moor"...right?
SERIES: "HELM" {anybody getting tired of it yet?}.
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GRANADA, SPAIN; 1788 AD
"Sir, Senor Montoya is here to see you," Ariel told him.
Senor Hector Cruz looked up from the signature he was verifying, "Yes yes, send him in," to the servant girl, and finalized that piece of work while he waited for the young Moor to bring in the company.
A knocking on the heavy-grained wooden doors to his study, which was where he was, got his attention, and he looked up to see the Spanish ambassador to England in his doorway. "Good to see you again, old friend," he greeted.
A nod from the stiff-legged ambassador. "And you as well," his Spanish tainted with strong English currents. "Business faring well these days?"
"Don't you know?" asked Pierre Montoya, his voice slightly scratchy from often yelling himself hoarse.
"No, news of the Spanish realm is oddly missing in the King's court," Montoya replied with a chuckle. "Speaking of which, King George is in good health, and sends you his best."
Hector chuckled, standing up on his bow legs. "Things for me are faring as they usually do for those of us who are the bankers of merchants." Stepping out from behind the wide business desk, "But enough of that. Are you up for a bit of gentlemanly fencing?"
A bow. "By all means. The English aren't much for that particular pastime, so I'm likely rusty in that."
"I'm sure they have other pastimes you'd not mind continuing, on Ariel perhaps," Hector jabbed.
Pierre managed a shocked look. "She's a Moor, Hector," properly offended.
"Her ancestors were Moorish Muslims," Hector countered. "She goes to Church, the same as myself and any member of my family."
"And your point is?" A light chuckle, and a short one. "Apologies, friend Hector; I have no intention of telling anyone."
Cruz pretended to think it over. Pierre was a good friend, always had been, since they were boys. And childless Pierre was almost a member of this family. Finally, "Forgiven. Now, let us find that practice dueling circle?"
After walking down the hall, they arrived at the room that had been set aside for duels. Donning the appropriate gear, they began. Pierre noticed that Hector's bowleggedness was still as deceptive as ever, as the banker ducked and darted, his legs as fluid as a racehorse. "I've been to my house before I came here," Pierre complimented, "and I do not think it has ever looked so neatly clean."
A shrug from Hector as he expertly swung. "Luis was curious about the sort of house you kept."
"Really? And where is your son?" and watched Hector's face change; even eyes gone soft and watery from inks can harden and narrow under the right conditions - like Cruz's guarded and defensive nature. "I'd like to see how much he's grown," Montoya clarified.
Hector let his face - eyes included - relax. "In that case, I'll have him meet us for a snack after this, fair?" Pierre nodded. "But first, there is an important item for us to discuss, a personal matter."
"Go on," Pierre nodded.
"I call you on that favor you promised me those years ago, my friend," Hector Cruz said as they circled each other within the fencing circle, preparing to begin the interplay of swords.
"Of course," Pierre Montoya answered, starting the fence with an upwards thrust of his sword. "Ask what you will of me." After all, Cruz had saved him from bankruptcy; not only that, but Hector'd helped him to regain his family fortunes. He owed this man so much he doubted he'd be able to repay it in a century.
"It is a simple thing really," Hector said as he used a soft block of Montoya's sword with his handkerchief. "Simply care for little Luis should anything happen to myself or my wife. That is all I ask."
Parry, parry. "What of your daughter?"
A nod as Cruz swept the swords to one side. "I hope to make separate arrangements for her, no offense to you, my friend."
Freeing his sword, and with an elegant lunge, Pierre's sword was instantly a centimeter from Hector's neck. "But of course, my friend," he answered seriously, and put his sword in it's sheath.
~~~~~
GRANADA, SPAIN; 1795 AD
Luis asked, "But they were truthful, were they not?" He remembered all those Sabbaths at Church. He used a hard block with his sword hilt to push Pierre away. "They converted and prayed to God, did they not?"
"They were, and they did," Pierre--now Luis's legal father--answered. "But someone saw a way to profit more in business with your father gone. He foolishly told his plan to a priest. A priest with connections with Inquisitors," ones who, in particular, had bones to pick with any Jewish banker they could find. "The rest we know.
"It is a sad fact of life, Luis. Those who rule make the laws and they may choose how strictly to enforce them."
Luis's face was resolute. He'd not be a victim of the people who killed his mother and father! He'd become a ruler himself, if it took the last breath from his body!
END