Disclaimers: Fireworks owns the copyrights to the characters from the Queen of Swords. The story plot and other characters are copyright to the author: Maril Swan
Rating: PG
Feedback: yes, please. Your comments and suggestions help keep me inspired to write these stories.

Note: the inspiration for this vignette comes from a conversation with Eliza who has inspired me many times over the past months. Thanks, Eliza.

The Escorial
by Maril Swan

Part Two of Six

Chapter 3
The Letter

A patch of sunlight warmed her shoulders as she sat on the wagon step, an unopened letter on her lap. Unseeing, Marta stared into the verdant green of the forest, resting her soul in its peace. So still was she that a squirrel scampered near her feet, stopping to pick up an acorn. Her slight movement as she glanced down at it, frightened the active little creature and it dashed up a nearby tree, scolding her loudly. Its noisy chatter made her smile a little. She returned her gaze to the letter.

Just over a week had passed since she had left the Escorial and returned to her gitano band. Her Uncle Tonio had been given the letter by a member of another band that had passed through Madrid. Tessa knew how the gitano communicated and had arranged for the message to be carried to Marta. As she gazed down at the letter with its red seal, Marta reviewed the chain of events that had eventually brought her back to her people.

A servant of one of the ladies-in-waiting had come to her with an account of that morning in the Queen's chamber. She was the only friend Marta had made there. Hesitantly, the woman had told Marta of the Queen's edict about getting rid of Tessa's Gypsy woman.

Marta's anger over their treatment of Tessa had turned to cold fear for her. Would Tessa resist this order and defy the Queen, or would she ask Marta to leave? In her heart, Marta knew Tessa loved her, and might try to protect her. They had talked many times since arriving in the Escorial about their dislike of the place with its petty intrigues and gossip. Tessa was aware of the treatment Marta received from other servants, their sullen or superstitious looks, the way some crossed themselves and turned away as she passed to avoid the 'evil eye'. Though she tried to make light of it, Marta knew these slights wounded Tessa also.

After the other servant had left, Marta quickly began to assemble the few things she would need for the trip back to Madrid and eventually, to her own people. While she packed, she wondered where Tessa was, why she had not come to their apartment to speak with her. It was just as well. The parting would be painful and Marta had not been sure she would have the strength to leave if Tessa begged her to stay.

With her travelling bag packed, Marta wrote Tessa a brief note, leaving it on her pillow, then slipped from the lavish apartment. Following the corridors, she eventually arrived at the service area of the palace where the business of keeping the Escorial functioning was carried on by an army of servants and craftsmen. She walked out into the busy courtyard behind the palace where deliveries from Madrid and the surrounding countryside supplied the needs of the nobility within.

Many dray wagons and carts filled the space and Marta stepped over to one of the drivers. He was piling wooden crates of empty wine bottles onto his heavy wagon. A pair of large draught-horses sweated in the hot sun as they stamped and shivered impatiently. Their matted tails flicked at the bothersome flies nipping at them.

"Are you going to Madrid?" she had asked him.

He set a crate down on the wagon and turned in surprise to look at her. A puzzled expression crossed his weathered face as he stroked the grey whiskers on his grizzled chin. "Si," he said slowly as his gaze swept over her. "Do you want something delivered?"

"Yes ...me. I must get to Madrid right away. Can you take me?" Marta held up her small purse and jingled the coins inside. "For four cuartos, would you take me to an address in Madrid?"

The sound of coins seemed to make his decision for him and the driver readily agreed. Marta climbed onto the hard bench to wait until he had finished loading his wagon. After he had completed his task and seated himself beside her, he gave her another curious glance, his expression suspicious. He eyed her bulging travel bag as if he suspected her of stealing something.

"Are you in some trouble, señora, that you want to leave so quickly?"

"No, señor. My mistress has discharged me and I must leave today." She watched his eyes narrow as he considered her story. Then he nodded, and flicking the traces over the team of horses, started toward the service road that parallelled the path used by the fine carriages of the noble guests. It was separated by a wide grove of trees.

The driver proved to be mercifully taciturn, and the two-hour trip to Madrid was accomplished mostly in silence except for the loud rattling of the wine bottles in the wagon. Marta was grateful for the aloofness of her companion as her own thoughts were too heavy for any light conversation. A dozen times she nearly asked him to stop so she could go back, but she knew she was doing what was best. Tessa would understand her hasty departure. It seemed like cowardice to leave without saying goodbye, but Marta wanted to spare them both the pain of this separation.

When they arrived in Madrid, she gave the driver an address near the Plaza Mayor. He raised his eyebrows and whistled softly. "Why are you going to that fancy neighbourhood, señora? To look for work?"

"I have left some things where I used to live with my mistress and just want to pick them up." Marta opened her purse, handing him the coins and he started off again. Eventually, he drew up in front of the villa where Marta had lived for nearly eleven years with Tessa.

Inside the villa, it was cool and quiet. Her footsteps seemed to echo the emptiness she felt as she moved through these familiar surroundings. There seemed to be no one about. Finally, as she reached the kitchen, she found Estella the housekeeper, and some of the other servants sitting around the table eating their mid-day meal. A sudden squeal issued from Estella as she saw Marta enter the room. She looked as if she was seeing a ghost.

"Marta!" she gasped. "We did not expect to see you again for ages." Estella jumped up from her chair, looking guilty. "Will you join us for lunch?" she said, offering her place.

"I won't be staying long, Estella. After we eat, I must speak with you." With that, Marta had pulled up another chair and helped herself to a portion of the meal.

Later, in Don Rafael's office, Marta had confronted Estella with some startling news. "You will go to the Escorial and remain there as Señorita Alvarado's maid. She will tell you what you must do. I am going away for some time."

Marta could see the questions and fears forming on Estella's lined face. She was over forty and had been a servant to the Alvarados since she was a young girl. When Marta had entered the household as Tessa's guardian, there had been considerable resentment from the other servants. The place Marta occupied should have been given to Estella, they seemed to feel. Now as she watched Estella trying to take in this momentous news, she experienced some concern. Estella was fidgety and nervous, talkative and fussy. She would drive Tessa crazy. But as Marta evaluated the other house servants, she realized that Estella was the only one who knew Tessa well enough to serve her.

"You will pack your things immediately. I will arrange for a carriage to take you to the palace today. When you get there, just ask for Señorita Alvarado and someone will take you to her." Marta's tone brooked no argument, and Estella turned without comment and left the office.

Once Estella was safely on her way to the Escorial, Marta had taken her own horse from the stable and saddled it. She had taken some provisions from the kitchen as she did not know how far from Madrid her band might be travelling. With her small hoard of money and the few personal items she could carry, Marta had turned her horse south toward Andalusia.

She knew the habits of her band and soon was able to track them through the byroads and paths they favoured. Their patternas, secret signs left on the roadsides by the gitano for other Gypsies to follow, showed Marta the direction in which they were travelling. It was only two days of steady riding before she caught up with them.

As Marta now sat meditatively reflecting on the depressing events of the last few weeks, she recalled the shock she had felt at seeing her people again. The war had taken a great toll on them. All were gaunt, their clothes ragged and much patched. Their usually flashing eyes seemed dimmed by sorrow and hardship, and their numbers were decreased. The band normally had at least thirty members; now she counted less than twenty.

Their spontaneous joy at seeing her seemed to revive their spirits. She was embraced warmly, tears of gladness spilled upon her shoulders, the lyrical language of the zincali filled her ears and heart, as her people received her among them again without question.

Later, after the feast that had been quickly prepared in her honour, Marta took her Uncle Tonio aside. His care-worn face tore at her heart. He looked so much older than when she had last seen him only two years ago. Much had happened he had told her. The younger men of the band had run away to join the Partisans. Nothing had been heard from them since. Even her brother Rafael and his own son, Pico, had gone to fight the war. It was better, Tonio said, than being conscripted into the Spanish army as muleteers and labourers where the gitano slaved at the most menial jobs to leave the soldiers free to fight.

Marta had offered him the small purse of money which she had been saving for years. At first he refused, but she had insisted that it would pay for her keep while she was with them. He took it with a chagrined look and a grateful smile.

"No matter how long I live among the payos, Uncle Tonio, I never forget that I am zincali," she had declared. As Marta had embraced her uncle, a pain stabbed at her heart as she felt his thinness. At least, she hoped, the money and her presence might help them for a while.

Marta ended her reverie and breaking the seal on the letter, read the first few lines. They began to swim before her eyes and she refolded the letter. Standing up, she put it into the pocket of her skirt. She was not yet ready to hear what Tessa had written. The opening words had torn open the wound again. "My dearest Marta, I miss you more than words can say..."

Chapter 4
Free to be me

Tessa awoke to the sound of someone moving around the bedroom. She rolled over and was about to say, "Marta..." when she spied Estella setting a carafe of coffee on a metal frame under which a small candle burned. A rush of disappointment flooded her momentarily as she remembered that Marta was gone. In the next second, a sudden heady sense of freedom nearly made her laugh aloud. For the first time in her life she was free of all authority; she could do as she liked with no one to censure her. She sighed deeply and stretched languidly, smiling at the new and wonderful sensation. Though the strands of Marta's discipline seemed silken, they were as unyielding as ship's cables when provoked into action. In their eleven years together, Tessa had often pushed against that indomitable will, receiving only small concessions now and then to her childish wishes and tantrums. Now, as she thought about the days ahead without Marta's fierce protection, Tessa almost shivered with delight. It was so exciting to be on her own finally.

Her smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a sense of guilt. She should not be glad to be free of Marta who had done everything for her. However, as much as she berated herself for disloyalty, Tessa could not completely shake off the elation that filled her.

Estella said deferentially, "Señorita, your coffee got cold bringing it all the way from the kitchen. If you will wait a few minutes, it will be warmed again." Estella smiled though it did not relieve the perpetually hang-dog expression she wore as if the cares of the world rested on her narrow shoulders. Her black crepe dress hung shapelessly on her tiny thin body. A neat bun behind her neck pulled her greying hair severely away from her wan face. Some of the silver strands escaped onto the white lace collar around her neck, the only item of unrelieved darkness in her attire.

Such a change, Tessa thought, from the colourful raiment that Marta wore. As bright as the Spanish sun was Marta in the morning, she recalled with a wistful smile. It would take some getting used to, not having Marta greet her cheerily every day.

With a quick bounce, she jumped out of bed and looked for her robe. She saw Estella coming toward her with the robe open, ready to help her put it on. For a second, Tessa was off balance. She did not want Estella performing such personal services for her. That was Marta's job. Tessa took the robe and pulled it on, a little disgruntled suddenly. By now, Marta would have had her laughing at some item of gossip she had picked up in the kitchen, or spoken of some memory or other that they had shared.

But Estella had no conversation. She was subservient and totally overwhelmed by the Escorial. Since late yesterday afternoon when she had arrived, Estella had been scarcely coherent so awed was she by the splendour of her new surroundings. Tessa had taken her to see the kitchens, storerooms, laundry rooms and other parts of the palace that a servant needed to be familiar with. Estella had moved like an automaton, trying to take it all in. Tessa felt a little sorry for her. She hoped Estella would settle in once she got over the shock of the change in her circumstances. At her city home, Estella was nervous and voluble; any slight change in routine might set her off into near hysterics. So Tessa resolved to be understanding and try not let Estella get on her nerves as she always did in Madrid.

After her coffee, Tessa dressed for the morning Mass at which all ladies-in-waiting were expected to join the Queen. This was followed by a communal breakfast with readings from the Bible by one of the many monks who lived in the Monastery. After the meal, a brief period of freedom was allowed the Queen's ladies, then they would attend Maria Cristina in her chambers until the mid-day meal. Occasionally, an outing was planned, but most of the time, her female coterie was forced to keep the Queen company in her stuffy chamber.

This morning during Mass, Tessa had whispered to Juliana that they might go outside into the gardens for a stroll before their attendance on the Queen was demanded. Juliana nodded shyly with a radiant smile.

After breakfast they quickly slipped out of the palace to enjoy the fresh air of the Escorial park. Together, they walked arm-in-arm along the well-kept pathways amid exotic flowering plants and shrubs, under arbours of fragrant blossoms, past some of the many ornate fountains that sparkled in the morning light. Estella and Juliana's maid, Bereniz, followed at a discreet distance.

"My brother seems quite taken with you, Tessa," Juliana said suddenly, her pale cheeks warming to a bright crimson. "I should not have said anything," she stammered, lowering her eyes. "It's just that when Baltasar spoke of you the other day, I had a feeling he was trying to get some information from me about you." Juliana giggled nervously as she glanced at Tessa. "I told him I did not know you well and could tell him nothing."

"I like your brother, but as I told him, I am promised to another." Even as she spoke, Tessa found herself fighting an uprush of pleasure that Baltasar had been inquiring about her.

Juliana looked disappointed. "That is too bad for my brother and me," she sighed. "If you married Baltasar, you and I would be sisters. I would have liked that very much." She squeezed Tessa's arm affectionately.

Tessa felt a sudden fondness for this shy girl who had endured the cruel torments of some of the ladies-in-waiting. Their snide comments and vicious barbs often left Juliana speechless with chagrin. She seemed unable to defend herself, making her vulnerable to the nastiness perpetrated on her for the amusement of the clique around the Queen. A weak target who could easily be reduced to tears.

The raillery had toned down considerably since Tessa had befriended Juliana. The women gave Tessa a grudging respect when they found they could not best her in a duel of wits, or embarrass her into a spiteful silence. It became understood that Juliana had a protector and they left her alone.

All too soon it was time to return to the Queen's chambers for another boring morning of gossip and mindless chatter. Tessa sighed regretfully as they turned their steps back toward the side entrance to the palace. If only the Queen was more interesting or adventurous, it might be bearable. But she preferred to sit like a giant spider in a web and watch the fragile strands reverberate with her chosen prey. Tessa's impression of the monarchy had suffered a severe blow since arriving at the Escorial and viewing the royal couple up so close. Her romantic and glamourous vision of her sovereigns had been shattered by familiarity with them. Not only were they just ordinary people, but not even people to whom she would have given the time of day in other circumstances. It was quite disillusioning. She wished she had never been invited to stay here. So far, the only people she had found agreeable at all were Juliana and Baltasar.

**********

The rustling of the letters that Queen Maria Cristina was reading and the clack of knitting needles which several of the ladies-in-waiting were plying diligently seemed dampened by the soporific aura of the chamber. Tessa sat with her hands folded, her mind drifting far away. She was wondering where Antonio was now. His last letter had been written over six months ago and he had hinted that he was with Wellington's army, that perhaps he might even cross the Pyrenees into France with them.

Tessa drew in a long wearied breath, nearly numb from boredom. How she wished she could do something adventurous and exciting like going to war with the men. The last time they were together, she had suggested to Antonio that she could go with him on the campaign, but he dismissed the idea immediately. That morning, he had sneaked into her bedroom to say goodbye before he left for the war and they had been sitting on her bed, talking in low tones so Marta would not hear.

"I would not have you become a camp follower like those vulgar women, Tessa," he had whispered passionately. "Living in the dirt and squalor of the baggage train. I want to remember you as you are now, someone to dream about, someone to fight for." He had then embraced her so urgently, Tessa was suddenly frightened. She had seen the hundreds and thousands of war casualties in Madrid and realized that Antonio could easily be among them or worse. He could be left behind the battle, buried in some unmarked grave with hundreds of other nameless soldiers.

She shivered though the room was warm, recalling how desolate she had felt when Antonio had said he was leaving right away. He had declared he loved her and was going to fight for her. What could she do to prove her own love to him? She had begun to unlace her bodice but Antonio had gently stopped her.

"When we are married," he had said with a warm smile. "I will come back and we will marry."

Tessa's cheeks warmed at the memory of his gentle touch and passionate kisses. She sighed wistfully, her heart full of longing to be with him again, to see his handsome face and feel his strong arms around her. 'We will marry,' Tessa vowed to herself silently. 'I will wait no matter how long it takes.'

She suddenly looked up to see Maria Cristina staring at her. Disconcerted, Tessa forced herself to meet that sharp gaze without shrinking.

"What are you daydreaming about, Maria Teresa?" the Queen demanded. "From the look on your face, I would say it was a man." She smiled as several of her ladies giggled as if she had said something witty.

"I was thinking of California, Your Majesty," Tessa lied with a bright smile. "And how much I long to return there."

Maria Cristina's eyes narrowed as she focussed on Tessa more penetratingly. "Your Uncle Alejandro has told me that you have not seen Alta California since you were a child. How could you miss a place you can hardly remember?"

"My father is there, Your Majesty. I hope to join him at our hacienda sometime soon." Tessa hoped the Queen would direct her attention elsewhere and leave her alone with her thoughts. Such turned out to be a vain hope.

"Your uncle has also told me you have taken music lessons for many years. That is good, Maria Teresa. A woman should have accomplishments to entertain her husband and keep him interested." Queen Maria Cristina had set her letters aside, seeming to have fixed on Tessa as a new diversion. Tessa saw at once the danger she was in. If the Queen asked her to play the pianoforte, her lies about the music lessons would be exposed. While supposedly going to a music master, Tessa had actually been learning fencing from the foremost maestro de esgrimas in Madrid, Señor Torres.

"Perhaps a woman might have other accomplishments than music to interest a man," Tessa replied. As soon as it slipped out, she realized what she had said. She caught her breath almost afraid to exhale. Her face burned with embarrassment, especially when the Queen suddenly howled with laughter.

"You have been reading too many French novels, Maria Teresa," Maria Cristina chuckled. "Your head is full of romantic nonsense." Pulling herself up straighter in her chair, the Queen added, "We would like to hear you play for us. Something new and modern, perhaps from one of those Austrian composers." She gestured imperiously toward the pianoforte which stood across the chamber near an ornately frescoed wall.

"Though I have taken music lessons for some time, I fear I have no talent for it," Tessa said lowering her eyes modestly. Her arm swept to the other ladies seated in a semi-circle around the Queen's chair. "Perhaps someone else's music would please you more, Your Majesty."

"We will decide for ourselves if we are pleased or not." Maria Cristina once more pointed to the pianoforte with an impatient motion of her arm.

Tessa rose slowly and walked toward the music corner where the pianoforte and several other instruments stood. A slightly raised dias surrounded by a heavy brocade curtain marked this area off from the rest of the chamber. She felt nearly faint with fear as she approached the dreaded instrument whose keys she had scarcely ever touched. Looking amongst the other instruments she noted a small harp, a cello case and a violin case. Behind the pianoforte, leaning against the wall, she spied a guitar case. For a moment she hesitated, then mentally shrugged. 'What the hell. Whatever I do, I will be in trouble.' She unclasped the case and withdrew the guitar. A quick strum told her the instrument was somewhat out of tune but she decided not to take the time to tune it. Sitting on the piano bench, she prepared to play.

"What do you think you are doing, Maria Teresa?" the Queen asked sharply. "I told you to play some music for us."

"I do not play the pianoforte, ma'am. I only know how to play the guitar. If you do not wish to hear it, I will relinquish my place to someone else," Tessa said hopefully. The frown she received told her the Queen was not going to relent from her command to play.

Turning her gaze back to the guitar, Tessa stroked over the strings, trying to recall some of the classical pieces she had learned. Gradually, they came back as her fingers remembered what her nearly frozen brain could not. Nervously, then with more assurance she played, eventually losing herself in the music. With a final strum she looked up to see a contemplative expression on the Queen's face.

The shadow of a smile hovered over Maria Cristina's thin lips and her eyes held a slight mirth. "Play another," she said sternly. "Something more lively this time."

Her fingers limbered from the first tune, Tessa started slowly into a flamenco, gradually picking up the tempo until its volume drowned out every other sound in the room. A spirited flourish ended the tune, and Tessa, lost in its spell, shouted, "Ole" as the last note sounded.

Breathing heavily from exertion, she noticed the total silence as she glanced up. The Queen looked dumbfounded and the other ladies stared in utter amazement. Tessa stood and bowed modestly, saying with an uncertain smile, "I hope Your Majesty found that lively enough."

"Flamenco!" the Queen expostulated. "Just what one might expect of a girl raised by a Gypsy. It is well you sent her away to liberate yourself from her foreign influence."

"Marta is as Spanish as I am," Tessa protested unthinkingly. "Her family has lived in Spain for over four hundred years." She clenched her jaw, reminding herself grimly she must learn to curb her tongue.

The Queen's face was rigid though her small dark eyes flashed. Her voice rose an octave as she spat out, "Maria Teresa, you will leave the chamber and go to the chapel. There you will beg the forgiveness of our Blessed Lady for the sins of disobedience and hubris. You will never learn to be a lady so long as you persist in this rude behaviour." Maria Cristina's jowls shook with anger as she pointed to the door.

Tessa replaced the guitar in its case and with a sidelong glance at Juliana, left the chamber. Outside in the hallway, she was undecided whether to obey the Queen or do what she so wanted to do — go outdoors into the gardens to shake off the stifling atmosphere of the chamber with a little freedom. With a heavy heart, she wandered listlessly toward the nearby chapel where the Queen heard Mass every morning. 'Perhaps,' she thought with a sudden lift of her spirits, 'I will spend a few minutes in prayer and then go outside.'

Continued in Part Three of Six