The Family - Mario Puzo [176]
“You are correct, Cesare—very few,” Duarte said. “But there are some still. You will ride to the castle of your brother-in-law, the king of Navarre. He’s expecting you. You’ll be welcome there and safe.”
“And you, Duarte?” Cesare asked. “Where will you go? Italy would be deadly. Spain, after tonight, will be fatal as well. You never trusted the French. Nor they you, for that matter. So where?”
“I have a small boat waiting on the beach not too far from here,” Duarte said. “I’ll sail it to England.”
“To England, Sir Edward?” Cesare said, with a small smile.
Duarte looked up, surprised. “So you knew? All along?”
“Father suspected for years,” Cesare said. “But won’t you encounter a hostile king—perhaps a deadly one?”
“Possibly. But Henry Tudor is a shrewd, practical man, one who tries to gather able men to advise and assist him. In fact, I have lately heard rumored that he has inquired after my whereabouts, which have been unknown to him. He has given a strong indication that, if I return to serve him, I might find amnesty and perhaps even the restoration of my former status. Which, I must admit, was quite a handsome one. This may, of course, be a trap. But, realistically, what choice do I have?”
“None, I suppose. But, Duarte, can you sail that far alone?”
“Oh, I’ve sailed farther than that, Cesare. And over the years I’ve come to enjoy solitude.”
Duarte paused. “Well, my friend, it’s growing late,” he said. “We must go our separate ways.”
They embraced there on the hilltop, lit by the bright Spanish moon. Then Cesare backed away. “Duarte, I shall never forget you. Godspeed and fair sailing!”
He turned, leapt on his horse, and rode off in the direction of Navarre before Duarte could see the tears streaming down his cheeks.
30
ALERT TO THE danger of being recaptured by Spanish militia combing the countryside, Cesare avoided all towns and rode only at night, sleeping in the woods during the day. Filthy and exhausted, he finally reached Navarre, in the north tip of the Iberian peninsula.
Cesare was expected by his brother-in-law, for Duarte had told the king of his coming. He was quickly passed through the gate and escorted to a spacious room overlooking the river.
By the time Cesare had bathed and dressed in the clothes provided for him, a soldier arrived to lead him to the royal apartments.
There, King Jean of Navarre, a large man with tanned skin and a trim beard, embraced him warmly.
“My dear brother, how good to see you!” Jean said. “I have heard all about you from Charlotte, of course, and you are welcome here. Oh, we have minor skirmishes with disorderly barons from time to time, but nothing that would threaten your safety or peace of mind. So rest, relax, and enjoy yourself. Stay as long as you like. And, for God’s sake, we must have the royal tailor make you some clothes!”
Cesare was immensely grateful to this man, whom he had never before met, and who was saving his life. He had no intention of leaving that debt unpaid, especially after leaving his dear Lottie in France so long ago.
“I thank you, Your Majesty, for your gracious hospitality,” Cesare said. “But I would like to assist you in these ‘minor skirmishes’ about which you have spoken. For I have experience in war, and would be pleased to put that experience at your service.”
King Jean smiled. “Well, of course you may. I know of your exploits.” He drew his sword and playfully touched it to Cesare’s shoulder. “I make thee commander of the royal army. I should tell you, however, that the previous commander was blown to bits last week.” The king laughed now, showing dazzling white teeth.
For two days Cesare rested, for he was completely exhausted. He slept around the clock, but as soon as he woke, after dressing himself in his new clothing—complete with armor and weapons—he went to inspect the army he was to command. Beginning with the cavalry, he saw that they were experienced professionals, well trained and well led. They would carry themselves well in battle.
Next Cesare inspected