The Sword and the Rose

By Louise Roberts

Brothers Iago and Ferdinando compete for the love of Margherita. Only one can win. Victory comes at a high price.

Brothers, Iago, the Sword, and Ferdinando, the Rose, return from a sea voyage. On their arrival home, Ferdinando proposes marriage to Margherita, who refuses in the hope Iago makes a similar offer. He does not. Instead, Iago departs to fight a war in the Netherlands. Dejected, Ferdinando travels to Naples with intentions to become a priest.

Margherita is devastated, and is sent to her sister, Isabella, in Valencia. She is introduced to a potential suitor Don Ramón de Cabezon. When her brother, Miguel, arrives to fetch her back to Cullera, Ramón is angered and kills Miguel.

When Iago and Ferdinando return to Spain, their circumstances changed they team up in a quest to find justice for their friend. This subsequently leads to sibling rivalry between them over Margherita resulting in an illegal duel. Will the brothers escape capture from the authorities? And which of them will win Margherita’s heart?

PUBLISHER NOTE: This Erotic Historical Romance contains explicit scenes including Forced Seduction (dream sequence) and Anal Sex.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminosity Publishing LLP
• Release date: Jan 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370682133

Louise Roberts

Louise Roberts grew up and was educated in London, England and has always held a passion for history and English Literature. She has been writing since her teenage years, but only began writing fiction in the 1990s having been inspired by her mother, Viviane Elisabeth Borg, who is a published author. Although Louise had immigrated to Sydney, Australia in 1988, she relocated to Europe in 2016 and today resides at the coastal town of Golfe-Juan in the south of France. Louise retains membership of Romance Writers of Australia; Australian Romance Readers Association; and Australian Society of Authors.

Book preview

THE SWORD AND THE ROSE

The Sword and the Rose – Book 1

Louise Roberts

Brothers Iago and Ferdinando compete for the love of Margherita. Only one can win. Victory comes at a high price.

Brothers, Iago, the Sword, and Ferdinando, the Rose, return from a sea voyage. On their arrival home, Ferdinando proposes marriage to Margherita, who refuses in the hope Iago makes a similar offer. He does not. Instead, Iago departs to fight a war in the Netherlands. Dejected, Ferdinando travels to Naples with intentions to become a priest.

Margherita is devastated, and is sent to her sister, Isabella, in Valencia. She is introduced to a potential suitor Don Ramón de Cabezon. When her brother, Miguel, arrives to fetch her back to Cullera, Ramón is angered and kills Miguel.

When Iago and Ferdinando return to Spain, their circumstances changed they team up in a quest to find justice for their friend. This subsequently leads to sibling rivalry between them over Margherita resulting in an illegal duel. Will the brothers escape capture from the authorities? And which of them will win Margherita’s heart?

PUBLISHER NOTE: This Erotic Historical Romance contains explicit scenes including Forced Seduction (dream sequence) and Anal Sex.

THE SWORD AND THE ROSE

The Sword and the Rose – Book 1

LOUISE ROBERTS

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LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

THE SWORD AND THE ROSE

The Sword and the Rose – Book 1

Copyright © August 2016 Louise Roberts

Cover design by Dawné Dominique

All cover art © 2014 by Dusktildawn Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Dedication

To Hubert Joseph Peter Borg, my father.

Who died of bowel cancer on 26th June 1989 aged 64.

Chapter One

SANTA THERESA

A lively fresh breeze blew about the ship as it gracefully cut through the water, which was glistening as though it were made up of millions of tiny flecks of gold. The sun, that rich ball of flame, inched its way slowly above the horizon. Its radiance bathing the surrounding air with mystical warmth every slight rise it made in the hazy early morning sky. A school of porpoises trying to outrun the vessel at its prow resembled a guard of honor for the Santa Theresa as she progressed on her journey.

Ferdinando stood on the stern quarterdeck, his hands grasping the rail in front of him, as he steadied himself from the constant pitching the ship was making as it tossed over each wave. He gazed beyond the sails, which were bellowing out as the wind filled every inch of them. He was watching the coastline in the distance. They had first sighted land five days previously as they approached the Straits of Gibraltar, that narrow channel of water wedged between the south coast of Spain and North Africa. Ferdinando was eagerly searching for familiar landmarks near his home. He pulled at his heavy woolen cloak about his shoulders in an attempt to block out the crispness of the dawn, and at the same time inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the pure sea air whilst lost in his own thoughts.

Ferdinando, Ahoy there!

The voice calling his name seemed distant as the wind lashed about his body. The sun was higher in the sky, and its warmth bathed him comfortingly. But the sound of his name snapped him back to reality, and searched momentarily for the speaker. Then he remembered, his brother was in the crow’s nest, so determined was he to spot their home first. Ferdinando looked up to the top of the mizzen mast, and waved at Iago who was pointing ahead of them. Ferdinando followed the direction of his brother’s extended arm to the cliffs in the distance. He could vaguely make out the church of the village of Cullera, knowing that beyond it lay the orange groves and vineyards of their home, the Villa Sant’Angelo.

Iago had been perched in the crow’s nest since well before dawn. From his vantage point, he had witnessed the first rays of the sun before the others who were on deck. He looked at them with awe, as in his eyes they seemed as though they were the fingers of God stretching out into the waking world.

Iago was not in any way identical to his twin brother, Ferdinando. He had been born two minutes before him, and because of it, always boasted at being the eldest. Where Ferdinando was of a placid nature, a rose with no thorns as their mother had described him, Iago was full of zest and highly adventurous and was only slightly shorter than his brother, but of stockier build. Both had thick curly brown hair and an olive complexion. His eyes however, like their father’s, were a rich dark brown, whilst Ferdinando had melting blue eyes, which he had inherited from his mother.

When on their fourteenth birthday, Ferdinando broke him the news of their impending journey to America, a land which had been named in honor of its discoverer, the Italian navigator and explorer Amerigo Vespucci, he was so overjoyed, he leapt in the air and followed through with a couple of cartwheels on the footpath.

Iago’s greatest pleasures were horse riding, swordsmanship, and guns. He excelled in all three, especially with the latter, where he was a superb marksman with either a handheld wheel-lock gun or musket. He would often dream of having lived a previous life as one of Cortes’ Conquistadors, those famous few men who crushed the entire might of the Aztec Empire to give Spain a vast new territory rich in treasure, and making her one of the world’s most powerful nations. He longed for the day when he could prove his worth with the sword. Now, a little over three years since their departure from Valencia, they were returning home. He could see his brother standing on the quarterdeck at the stern of the ship. As usual, he seemed distant, absorbed in his thoughts. Iago had been calling out his name several times before he registered acknowledgment. Iago shook his head in despair, wouldn’t Ferdinando ever snap out of his dreaming of El Greco or Francisco Ribalta, who, although may have been great painters, he knew that even they could not have captured the beauty of the sights they had seen, or the experiences they had encountered during the voyage. Whilst they had been allowed aboard the Santa Theresa when she had been in port, over the years the young boys had been growing up, this had been their first expedition on her.

Initially, on departure, both brothers were keen to do their fair share in helping the crew, but after a week or so, Ferdinando’s natural fear of heights kept him on deck. He began to take an interest in the pilot’s work, and with the permission of his uncle, commenced in being tutored in the skill of navigation. It was a subject he learnt quickly. Spending as much time as possible studying the charts, the heavens and the use of the pilot’s specialized instruments, such as the cross-staff and the astrolabe, which aided in establishing the latitudes the ship was on.

Apart from his time with the pilot, he spent a considerable amount of time in his cabin studying books of law his uncle, the Duke of Gandia, had given him. They were written in Latin and Greek, which were two of seven languages both boys were proficient in. The others were Spanish, Italian and Portuguese. The last two languages, in which they were fluent in, were French and Arabic. The latter had been mastered from their Moorish servants, and from traders who visited the Port of Valencia from North Africa and Granada, the southern Spanish province where the Moors were dominant until the reconquest some one hundred years previously.

Ferdinando would only come up on deck occasionally and usually at dawn or dusk. Iago, on the other hand, had been an enthusiastic member of the crew, taking his turn willingly at anything. From cleaning the decks to joining the foretopmen in fair and foul weather alike, pulling in and letting out the foretop-sails whilst balancing precariously on the end of a yard. He lived with the crew, sleeping wherever he could, in a space under a part of the deck that did not leak, and, although wasn’t flogged like the others, was awakened at any hour of the night to run up the ratlines to the foretop-sails. By the time they reached America, Iago felt he had become a man, as not only did he change physically, he had lost all his puppy fat, and the sinews on his shoulders and neck had developed like steel ropes. His boyish ways, too, seemed to have been pushed aside. He had now learnt how not to act selfishly, to accept responsibility, and the importance of comradeship. This he acquired during some heavy gales and storms they had encountered on route, where being in good accord with your fellow crew members was not only desirable, it was life-saving. For one mistake, a slip of concentration, or an extra blustery gust of wind may have meant instant death. If knocked off your precarious footing atop of the foretop-sails. Knowing that a strong hand was nearby in the event of such a calamity was reassuring.

The Santa Theresa was a large ship, some six hundred tons in weight, with four masts, three decks, and two quarterdecks, one at the bow, the other at the stern. She was about thirty years old, built as a warship to participate in the Great Armada that King Philip II had launched against the English. Fortunately for her, she had not been made ready in time, due to shortages in the supply of essential materials, and was thus unable to sail. She had been commissioned, and the building of her paid for by Don Ruperto de Borja as his contribution to the war effort. However, even though the mighty fleet had encountered endless delays in getting itself ready provisions were not forthcoming here either. Sailors and soldiers were deserting, or, as with many of the slaves, who were used to pull the oars on the war galleys, became sick and died.

As it was, the Santa Theresa had not fallen victim to the fire ships the English had sent into the fleet. When the ships lay anchored off Gravelines awaiting the Duke of Parma’s armies to be made ready to cross the Sleeve the English had struck. Nor was the Santa Theresa one of the ships that became wrecked on the rocks off Scotland and Ireland, as those who tried to escape the English onslaught had fared.

She still carried cannon, although not as many as had been intended. She now maintained only ten. There were four on each side of the upper deck and two at the stern. These were for protection against pirates or English ships, who were still continuing the campaign against any nation who supported Rome. It was a campaign that had been commenced during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, after she had received a Bull of Excommunication from the Pope. Now fifteen years after her death, the English were still at it. Piracy in the name of the crown or at least that is how the captain of the Santa Theresa saw it.

When about eight years of age Gregario had been orphaned and had been found hiding in one of the holds by the ship’s owner. Rather than having the boy thrown off the ship, Ruperto took the boy under his charge back to his family’s estate at the Villa Sant’Angelo and was brought up as part of the family. Four years later Ruperto had sent him back to the Santa Theresa where he learnt to become a mariner. Gregario did not squander the opportunity and proving himself worthy of the generosity of his patron. On his eighteenth birthday however, whilst at home in Cullera, he had met Maria Cellorigo, a sixteen-year-old young lady from Seville, whose father was a business associate of Don Ruperto de Borja. He was instantly enamored when he first set his eyes upon her.

Don Ruperto de Borja saw a way of strengthening the bond between the two houses. So that his friend would not be dishonored Gregario was officially adopted into the Borja family.

Before the year was out they were married and although he had given up his life at sea, Gregario was content in his new life with his young bride. He looked forward to the day they would be blessed with their first child. A year later, Elena, a delightful daughter was born, but regrettably, Maria died at childbirth. After several months of mourning, Gregario returned to sea, leaving Elena to be brought up by her mother’s family in Seville.

The sound of someone crying out his nephew’s name above deck, stirred him from his concentration. He had been working at his desk for several hours, long before dawn had shown its face. Gregario like his younger brother Juan was particular to detail and accuracy. As such, he was determined to have the inventories and accounts of the voyage balanced and itemized prior to arriving at port, which would be later that day. But right now, he was in need of a break from his work. Laying down his quill, and extinguishing the lantern, which was still alight on his writing table, he stood up and walked over to his closet, then taking out his coat and hat, made his way up on deck. As he emerged, he was forced to squint, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness of daylight. Seeing Ferdinando standing at the stern quarterdeck above him, Gregario climbed the companion steps to join him.

Good morning, Captain, Ferdinando said, seeing him approach. It would seem we are almost home, he added, whilst pointing to the coastline in the distance.

They were soon joined by Iago who seeing them standing together briskly climbed down the ratlines from his vantage point at the top of the mizzen mast. Can you see the church? he said excitedly.

I expect you both will be pleased to return home? their uncle stated kindly.

I cannot deny, I am looking forward to being back at the Villa Sant’Angelo, Ferdinando began, although, I should add, I have enjoyed this voyage immensely, having learnt a great deal from it.

Yes, that makes two of us, Iago agreed. What I mean to say is, that I too have learnt so much from the voyage personally, but I would like to sail with you again, sir.

We shall see, Gregario replied. It will all depend on your father’s intentions with regard to your continuing education.

"But I have already learnt so much, what more could he possibly expect me to learn? Besides he knows my desire in being a Hidalgo, but he has never shown any willingness to permit me in developing my natural interest for the military, unlike my brother here who was given it as a choice," Iago complained.

What you must realize, Gregario explained, is that you are the eldest son. It is your duty to take over from your father one day. Your destiny lies at the Villa Sant’Angelo.

Bah! Iago spat in disgust, If that were true, then Uncle Rodrigo would be master of the villa now, not my father.

That was another time, and circumstances were different.

In what way was it different? Iago asked.

Electing to follow in the service of God is far higher than to follow the service of the king.

But Uncle, are we not told that a king is anointed by God, Ferdinando interrupted. Surely therefore, to serve a king would be the same as doing service to God, and should be looked upon with the same resolve and blessings.

Gregario was stunned by Ferdinando’s address. My boy that was beautifully put, perhaps you should repeat it to your father if you wish to help Iago in his cause. he added, but remember one thing, if Iago follows his dream to serve the king, you are next in line to serve your father. You would have to give up your own ambitions to become the next master of the Villa Sant’Angelo.

Both brothers became silent in order to reflect at what was said each of them thinking of their own needs. Their uncle had spoken true. One of them would have to take over from their father one day. Gregario could see that he had placed them both in a dilemma, and decided he should try and to uplift their spirits again.

Perhaps your father was concerned at the impetuousness of youth, and being overprotective towards you, Iago, Gregario began. However, things have changed, you are now a man. During this voyage, you have proved courage and, above all else, responsibility to me, and to others. He paused to take breath, hesitated, then continued, "In my eyes, you have proved worthy of being not a Hidalgo, but more certainly a Conquistador."

On hearing the word ‘Conquistador’ Iago became lightheaded. He inflated himself with pride. How many times, as a child, he had played with his friends at being the grand Cortes, or in his dreams, where he was a lieutenant to the ‘prince’ of the soldiers of fortune and Christendom. Now his uncle was honoring him with the title one he would live up to from this day forward, and never look back. Iago stepped back slightly and then, after giving a gentle bow to his uncle walked briskly away to join the crew on the foretop-sail.

Ferdinando too excused himself and retired to his cabin in order to complete packing his effects. Since first sighting the Spanish coastline, he had begun to put away some of his belongings into various trunks. Now that they were only several hours away from their final destination, he did not want to waste any more time in completing the chore.

Gregario was content in knowing that he had not let his brother down. As he had promised Juan on the day of his sons’ birthdays, he had taken his children to sea, and brought them back safely, as men.

As dusk began to settle and the cliffs near the Villa Sant’Angelo began to darken, the Santa Theresa, its sails bellowing in the wind, and tinged gold from the setting sun, gracefully entered the port of the ancient city of Valencia.

Chapter Two

CULLERA

It had been a warm, humid day, and Juan, amongst others of the household, had been grateful for the opportunity of the afternoon siesta to escape the midday heat. Unable to sleep however, Juan gave in to his restlessness and rose from his bed. He shuffled to the shuttered doors that led out onto the balcony and opening them, stepped outside. The view, as always, was magnificent. Beneath him, rose bushes lined the walls of the house, separating it from a laneway. Across from them, fig trees disguised the barracks, which housed his personal guards. Behind the barracks lay orange groves and some vineyards, and finally, beyond them, the deep blue Mediterranean Sea finished off the scene. It was a view Juan never tired of, and, when he was not working, would spend many an hour on his balcony greedily observing this delightful sight. As he gazed out towards the open sea, he could vaguely make out a sail on the horizon.

Standing on a tripod, which he kept in a corner of the balcony, was a telescope, which Juan often used, either to gaze at the stars during hot summer nights, or to watch ships as they sailed in and out of the port of Valencia, which was located further up the coast. He walked over to it now and peered through its delicate lenses, focusing it to bring the ship clearly into view. Her sails, pink in color from the early evening sunset, bellowed in the wind. Every inch of canvas stretched out from every mast speeding her journey through the azure blue water. He followed her lines to the bow which was being coated with a fine spray of white foam. As she sliced through the waves, the ship’s figurehead, a woman’s torso scantily dressed in what seemed to represent a fine white gown. Rich chestnut hair flying in the wind in her hands a crucifix held to her bosom was being bathed. A thin smile appeared on Juan’s lips as he recognized the Santa Theresa.

In the distance, he could hear the sound of the village church. Its solitary bell being peeled, calling the people to early evening devotions. He stepped back into the bedchamber. His wife, Ermelinda, stirred in her slumber. She was a fine, tall woman, with dark brown curly hair and blue eyes. An unusual combination for someone of pure Spanish blood as she, although it had been rumored that several generations back, her mother’s part of the family may have originated from either Southern France or Northern Italy. Although their betrothal had been arranged by their parents, as was the custom, almost twenty years before, on meeting her for the first time, Juan had immediately fallen in love with her. Apart from being quite stunningly beautiful, he discovered Ermelinda had a wonderful personality and a good sense of humor, a trait that he found lacking in some women, especially those of the Borja family themselves. Despite having no sisters, Juan did have several aunts, and he and his brothers always found them too severe and stuffy. Having Ermelinda about him added zest to his life. Her laugh and demeanor was intoxicating in themselves they were the recipe for their happy and successful marriage.

Apart from Iago and Ferdinando, who were both in their seventeenth year, Ermelinda had borne him three other children. Veronica was sixteen years of age, Dorotea, and Alfonso, who were another set of twins, were fourteen. Juan felt he was truly blessed to have such a wonderful family.

He quickly dressed as silently as possible by himself. He chose not to bother his valet. When he was ready, he stepped over to the bed, kissing his wife lightly on the cheek and whispered in her ear, "The Santa Theresa is home."

Juan made his way down the stairs to the entrance hallway, and although he could hear the servants preparing the evening meal as he crossed the courtyard, deciding he would attend Mass in the village in order to give thanks to God for the safe return of his brother’s ship.

Having reached the stable, he instructed a groom to saddle his horse, a beautiful white Arabian mare, given to him recently by his wife as a gift for the anniversary of their marriage. When ready, he mounted his steed, and set off at a gentle canter towards the village.

The church, a white building with terracotta tiles for its roof, marked the rear boundary of the Villa Sant’Angelo. On the opposite side of the cove, the Castillo d’Almansa stood on a massive rock overlooking the village below it, which spread out beside the mouth of the Rio Jucar. The church was full with the local population wishing to attend Mass before resuming their daily chores.

Juan entered the building and walked quietly down the aisle, receiving nods of respect from the people as he made his way to the family pew. His presence caused a whisper amongst them, as it was unusual to see him amongst them in the church itself. The Borjas only ever attended it during formal functions or whenever there was an occasion that needed a great deal of space, as the Villa Sant’Angelo boasted a small chapel in its grounds. Mass was usually only said there at mid-morning in order to allow the family members to awaken properly. Juan, however, although he had attended morning Mass wished to pray for his brother’s safe return, and then set off to Valencia to welcome him personally and to look upon his sons after their lengthy absence.

A hand bell rang sharply in the vestry at the side of the altar. A small elderly priest of the Dominican Order entered the church flanked by two altar boys.

The priest smiled at seeing his patron in the pew before him, and giving his blessings, began to recite the Mass in Latin.

The congregation knelt down, Juan joining in with them. Although he repeated the Mass with the people, his thoughts were of his sons, seeing as how it was in this very church three years before, they had all attended a service to bless the Santa Theresa and all who sailed on her, on her impending voyage to the New World.

The sound of bells made him remember where he was, and he began to continue to recite his devotions.

"Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dominus Deus Sabaoth. Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua. Hosanna in excelsis, Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. Hosanna in excelsis."

The Mass was half-way through, and Juan wondered how it had progressed this far so quickly. He was sure he had been listening, but he knew that, even in his youth, the tranquility and peace he felt whilst at church, always resulted in his mind drifting to other things. This time, he was anxious to see the Sword and the Rose. Iago, the Sword, due to his quick, sharp mind, always so determined and delivering his point of view with precision and impact. Ferdinando however, similar to a Rose, had a gentle nature, and like a bud coming into bloom, showed promise of one day becoming a much sought after prize. Juan smiled at the simile, an observation his dearest Ermelinda had once remarked upon, and had since stayed within the family as private pet names for the boys.

Juan reflected on the day Gregario had approached him with the suggestion that he take both boys to sea. He had had no qualms about sending Iago, but had hesitated protectively over his other son, wondering whether the sea journey may be too taxing for him. But apart from his own doubts, he was sure Ermelinda would have taken the news of both her eldest sons being away from home badly.

To his surprise, his wife had favored Gregario’s argument that the voyage would benefit not only the young men, but also the family as a whole, from their experiences.

Ermelinda, being a person who was fond of learning, saw an excellent opportunity for her sons to develop not only their minds, but their physical beings at the same time.

Juan could see the priest approach with the Sacrament in his hands, "Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam. Amen," he said as he placed the thin wafer on Juan’s tongue. Juan subsequently crossed himself in thanks and bowed his head in silent prayer.

The priest made his way to the head of the altar to distribute the Sacrament to the rest of the people.

Not long after, the Mass ended. The old priest stood before his congregation and blessed them. "Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus."

"Amen."

As soon as the priest left the church, the people seemed to become restless, but no one moved. Juan realized they were waiting for him to make his exit before they did as a mark of respect. In order that he should not delay them from their work, Juan stood up and left his pew, acknowledging the various greetings he received. As soon as he was outside, he found his horse, which had been grazing on a stump of grass near the footpath, then mounting her, returned home.

* * * *

The port seemed to be buzzing with life, as barges and small craft ferried cargo to and from the wharves and ships alike, for those ships anchored in mid-harbor.

For the Santa Theresa however, such inconvenience was unnecessary, as the Borja family business included several warehouses with their own private jetties and moorings. The ship had docked alongside one of these, and the crew had already begun to offload the cargo, which consisted of tobacco, cocoa, and most importantly, silver.

Ferdinando and Iago took charge in supervising the latter. They made sure the treasure was safely locked away in the vaults of one of the warehouses, pending its transfer to the Villa Sant’Angelo.

The rest of the cargo too was stowed in the warehouse, and when all was done, Gregario paid off most of the crew, thanked them for their loyalty and bid them farewell, hoping he could count on their services in the future. For a minority of them, the Santa Theresa was the only home they knew and always remained with the ship.

As the vessel fell silent, Gregario and his two nephews returned to their quarters to gather their personal belongings.

I was just thinking, Iago began, it seems strange that there wasn’t anyone here to meet the ship.

Ferdinando looked up at him. He had been squatting near a trunk packing books into it.

It’s too early, Iago. The chances are nobody knows we have arrived.

Well I’m disappointed, that’s all.

What did you expect? Ferdinando replied standing up, as he was beginning to get a cramp in his right leg.

I don’t know, perhaps a welcome committee.

Perhaps even a fanfare or a parade? Ferdinando mocked.

That was unnecessary.

Dear Iago, I would have thought three years at sea would have changed your outlook on life. Welcome to reality.

Oh, but my outlook has changed. I now know I must live my life to the full, and not let any opportunity, whatever it may be, slip by me. You might consider doing the same, Iago replied, shaking a finger at him.

You are not still going on about my future, are you? Ferdinando commented angrily. I told you when we were in Santo Domingo. I intend to take up Uncle Francisco’s offer to attend the university in Gandia.

Iago shook his head in frustration. You are missing the point! All I have been saying to you is that there is more to life than burying that stubborn head of yours in books.

Yes, I agree, but not at the expense of risking life and limb on some hair-brain adventure.

Fighting for the king is hardly a hair-brain adventure. It’s an honor.

Well, I think you will find, Father will not agree to your idea.

I really don’t think Father will have a lot of say in it. Iago snapped condescendingly. After all, I am no longer a child and can do as I please.

And going to die in the name of glory? Is that not childish?

Are you two still arguing? Gregario stood at the doorway to Ferdinando’s cabin. The young men fell silent and turned to face him.

In case you are interested, I have just seen your father approaching the ship, he continued, and he should be here momentarily.

He had hardly finished speaking when they heard a familiar voice cry out from the quay, Ahoy the ship!

Ferdinando was the first to make a move, and Gregario had to jump clear of the door, as both young men bolted out of the room, each trying to be the first to reach their father.

May God be praised for returning my sons back to me, Juan said jubilantly when he set eyes on them, And how tall you’ve both grown?

Forgetting themselves in their happiness, Iago and Ferdinando rushed to him, like two toddlers who had been lost, but now found, they fell to their knees, each grabbing a hand and kissing it.

Juan laughed in gratitude. Come, come, my children get up, get up. Let me look at you.

Gregario stood behind them and smiled. It pleased him to see them reunited.

How is Mother, our sisters, and Alfonso? Iago asked excitedly.

You will see them soon enough. They await you at home, Juan replied, but it is far too late to travel today. I have arranged for us to dine here in Valencia, then after a good night of sleep on the ship, we shall return to Cullera tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, if you boys wish to amuse yourselves, whilst Uncle and I discuss the cargo you brought with you.

Iago and Ferdinando bowed respectfully, and then returned to their respective cabins to change into more suitable attire for the evening’s entertainment, whilst Gregario led his brother into the warehouse.

How are you? And how was the voyage? Juan asked.

I am well, thank you. The journey, as usual, was successful, as you can see, he answered gesturing to the numerous bales of tobacco and cases of cocoa.

What quantity of silver were you able to obtain this time?

A fair amount although not as much as we had hoped.

Why? What was the reason for the shortfall? Juan inquired in a concerned tone.

Like everywhere these days, as with here in Spain, the problem seems to be a lack of laborers. The natives are dying in their thousands, thanks to us Europeans. A simple chill, which to us is nothing more than a mere inconvenience, to them is deadly, Gregario explained, and as for our own countrymen, they are too proud to work.

Too lazy would be more accurate.

I was being polite, Gregario added. Nevertheless, I told the mine overseer to do his best to increase output, even if it means paying the laborers a bit more.

It may work. Time will tell. When do you hope to return?

I haven’t quite decided, perhaps towards the end of next year.

So, Juan said, changing the subject. How did my sons behave during the voyage? Did they help the crew, or were they ill all the way?

To tell the truth, both were exceptional in their own way, Gregario told him. Neither of them suffered from sea-sickness. Iago joined the men with every aspect of seamanship.

What including navigation? Juan interrupted in amazement.

He did dabble a little in that. Gregario laughed. But mostly, he enjoyed climbing the masts and balancing out on the yards when there was a storm.

Mother of God! Juan crossed himself. And you didn’t try to stop him?

Iago was perfectly safe. There were always strong men nearby to offer help had it been needed. But it wasn’t, and he did very well. You should be proud of him.

What of Ferdinando?

Well, Ferdinando is Ferdinando.

What is that supposed to mean?

It means that our brothers, Francisco and Rodrigo, would be very pleased with him, Gregario explained. For he must have read each of the books they gave him about a hundred times.

So he learnt nothing of the ship? He made no contribution?

No, no, Gregario quickly answered in Ferdinando’s defense. On the contrary, he spent a good many hours with the pilot and me learning the art of navigation. He became quite skillful in using the cross-staff, the astrolabe, and in the correct manner of reading charts.

Juan let out a sigh of relief.

One thing is certain however, Gregario added, "his path in life will not be one of the sea, unlike Iago, who I feel may one day, with your blessing, and mine, take charge of the Santa Theresa."

What of Ferdinando? What of him?

Perhaps you should allow Francisco to admit him at the university in Gandia.

To what end? Juan spat. My wish is for him to enter the church.

I think you will have to concede to his wishes, Juan. His mind is made up, as is Iago’s.

All Iago wants, is to be a Hidalgo!

Then let him.

What? And risk him lose his life in some meaningless conflict? No! I will never permit it.

You dare to say, that the fight of our king in the Low Countries is a waste of time?

I believe the Protestants have fought for their right to their religion for too many years, as we have fought for ours.

What you are saying is heresy. Gregario snapped, interrupting him both to our king and to Rome. Be sure the Inquisitor does not hear of your beliefs.

It is solely an opinion, and surely that is not being treacherous. Besides, how many more good Spaniards must die in that God-forsaken land? Our future lies in the New World, not in the old one.

Then, it is your final word that your son will not be a soldier.

It is, Juan replied firmly. Apart from which he has not been home, his views may yet change.

How would being home do that? Gregario asked. It is my belief that both Iago and Ferdinando have already mapped out their lives. Their course is set, and they are taking it.

Even you know that courses can be changed when something unexpected happens, Juan replied with a mischievous smile.

What are you suggesting, Juan?

I’m not suggesting anything I am merely stating what might be.

Which is?

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