Sign of the Cross

By JeanTre16

Chapter 6

Ramon's Gift

Chapter Description: Ramon ends up with more than a gift from his sister on his birthday.

In his quarters, Ramon hurriedly tore open his gift and produced a wide grin. "Arte Nuevo de hacer comedias en este tiempo, por Lope de Vega," he read the beautifully gilded words on the leather binding. The package arrived from Spain that morning from his sister. He leafed through the ornately inked pages with shiny gold gilded edges. She understood her brother and had spared no expense when it came to purchasing him the finest. She knew of his passion for the written word. His sister's gift spoke of the tender place in her heart for her flesh and blood. Today was his birthday and she had remembered.

On his last birthday she had sent him expensive goblets, which Siroc had destroyed in the process of making an eavesdropping device to listen in on the Cardinal's guards. The device had worked, giving them valuable information, but the gift had been destroyed. The Spaniard smiled at the thought that his inventor friend would not show the same interest in the "cloak and sword" book he held in his hands today.

Vega was one of Ramon's favorite authors. True, the book he held in his hands was comedy, but the writer was a poet. His works showed he knew the educated rules of poetry, but chose to toss them to the wind, claiming, "The common Spaniard cared nothing for the rules." Vega's witty use of historical fiction had served as an inspiration to the young man's love for rhapsodizing real-life events. Throughout Spain, published books by his favorite Castilian author could be found authentically as well as pirated. His sister had obviously purchased the best. The man with the day off looked forward to the blissful hours of reading that lay ahead—tales of historic love and comedy—involving medieval Spanish nobility.

Memories of sharing laughter with his sister over Vega's books in his father's library brought solace to the poet's heart. In lieu of his other family memories, the ones he had of her far outweighed the ones others perpetuated. While his sister appreciated her brother's passionate side, his father had scorned it. His sister understood Ramon's love to win the ladies with his 'words of grace,' as she teased. His father had pushed him in a soldier's path, saying, "Developing a passionate heart only leads to conflict." His father had his reasons, and his son's disagreement with him had provoked his banishment. It was a high price for the Spaniard to have paid, but he had promised his sister not to let bitter memories overshadow the love she sent with him.

Inspired by the purity of his sister's love for him, Ramon felt compelled to give himself a birthday gift. It was time to resurface and deal with another unresolved issue he had been in denial over. Grasping his book tightly in one hand while tapping it lightly on the palm of the other, the Spaniard sat there in contemplation for a moment. Although his family issues were weighty, another heart issue haunted his present and plagued his future. "Today," he promised his sister aloud, "I will let Liana go."

With his mind set, Ramon grabbed his gift and jacket and fixed his direction toward the door. Hungry, but unable to wait, he drifted though a few pages as he ate a quick breakfast in the Musketeer lounge. "Hey, this is good stuff." The poet savored the pages. Then he rose from his seat, grabbed a slice of bread and some cheese from the table and headed toward the stables. Thinking better of it, he returned to grab more for his pouch. "I may get hungry out there," he said and smiled to himself.

Tucking his rations away, Ramon entered the stables where he found d'Artagnan saddling up his bay, "Amigo," the tall Spaniard greeted his friend. "Thank you for taking my patrol duties today."

"Don't mention it Ramon," d'Artagnan replied, patting him on the back. "It's the least I can do for the birthday boy. Not to mention you covering for me and Siroc this past month." Pulling the cinch tight on his saddle, the young married man added, "Besides, Jacqueline and I agreed to take some time off from her training."

"Si," replied his concerned friend. "You two are having trouble, no?"

"Nothing a few days off won't sort out," d'Artagnan assured. "Don't worry, we'll be all right."

Ramon nodded his head in acknowledgement. He knew they would be more than all right. His friends had been through a lot of changes in the time they had known each other. With each new circumstance thrown at them they had always managed to overcome every one only to draw closer.

The poet in Ramon admired the deep and pure love that his married friends had for one another. It made him think of Liana again. Her resurfacing memory angered him and left him feeling empty at the same time. The sobering realization made him all the more determined to put her behind him so he could move on to a relationship more rewarding like the one his friends had. Even with the troubles Jacqueline and d'Artagnan had known, the relationship they shared far outshone any the tall Musketeer had known.

D'Artagnan noticed that the Spaniard's face showed something other than sheer enjoyment planned for his day off. But seeing that Ramon did not offer any specifics, his patrol relief did not ask. There were some things his friend had deep feelings on that were better off left alone for him to resolve. Just like Jacqueline and his issues, he was sure Ramon's would work itself out in time. "Enjoy your day off," d'Artagnan bid his Spaniard friend good-bye. But just to make sure his poetic friend came back around from wherever his travels led him that day, he added, "Remember, your birthday dinner's on us at the café tonight."

The Spanish Musketeer smiled in acknowledgement as he exited. "Gracias, amigo. Mucho appreciated. I'll be there," he reassured.

Ramon made his way quietly through the town to the heavily wooded area where he found the private sanctuary. He had come here once with Liana before he discovered her dark secret. They had shared an intimate night of wine and poetry. He could still hear her song-like voice in the air. He shook the thought off. Her enchantment still ran deep in his veins. The memory of this spot had haunted him since the last time he had been there. Somehow, today the place called for his return. In his heart, he knew he had to face the wound the site represented.

He had loved and lost. He had fallen too fast and too hard, no doubt at the pull of Liana's spell. She was young and beautiful and her eyes were alive and deep, but she had allowed her potential to succumb to evil. Ramon's soul clung to the goodness of God. He would never be like Liana. They were like oil and water; they could not mix.

"True poetry," he spoke into the stillness as if she would hear, "is from a noble heart of love, not a selfish manipulative heart of stone." He paused, as if expecting to hear an audible answer. Receiving none, but still determined to see his task through, he appeased to his reasoning. "There is a difference between you and me. Nothing twisted or misleading came from my lips." Ramon held his book up between him and the stillness, as if making a point. "Like my sister's demonstration of love to me, her actions edify, and lift up; they do not tear apart, like yours did." He felt the need to rebuke Liana's warped sweetness aloud. He had no hope she would hear him, but he needed to hear it for himself. She had used him with the white-washed allurement of her deceptive words.

Ramon lowered his fist-clenched book to his side and dropped his gaze to the long extinguished campfire. Leaves covered the spot that in his memory flames had burned that ominous night. Its location was all but erased from sight, except for in the recesses of his memory. He brushed the leaves aside with his boot to uncover the stones that marked the encased fire pit. There was no doubt the memory was real. He had only covered it, like the leaves had covered its physical trace. Tapping into his sealed emotions had rent his pain wide open. He knew it would hurt to return here, he just had no idea how much.

She intended to play him for a fool perhaps at the first, to achieve her objective of kidnapping the town's children; but, he also knew his pure and innocent love had played on her heart as well. Yet in the end, she had shown her choice. And he could not, he would not, go where her path led. Her last words on the wind that she still loved him acted as deep potion. "No!" he fought aloud. "I will not permit you to claim my soul. I've come here today to ask my God to take every last bit of it back from you. I will give it to one who is more deserving." There, he had said it. With those words came release and silence. As though a miraculous cleansing rain had washed over him, she was gone.

For a long time the passionate man just stood there staring, while clutching his book in anticipation. But all remained silent. The threat was gone. Slowly, the woods around him seemed to thaw from their freeze. At first a lone bird, then one by one, life returned. Ramon held his book before his eyes, opened it and began to read. Before long, he had wandered off with his horse to a nearby sunny glade and ate his cheese and bread as he read aloud between mouthfuls.

"This is good stuff," he said, while chewing. He planned to commit some of the pages to memory to use in the café that evening. "No one will mind my poor manners here, if I speak with my mouth full," he chided. There was no one in the livening spring woods but him and God's creation. The thought appealed to the poet in him, and before long, Ramon found himself completely absorbed in the enjoyment of his sister's gift.

As he read, the sound of distressed voices nearing the glade suddenly distracted him. With a soldier's instinct, the Musketeer lowered his book to the ground and crouched behind a mossy boulder to spy on the approaching commotion. From his hidden vantage point he saw three Spanish maidens being pursued on foot by a man wielding a sword. Ramon heard one of the women cry out in his native language, "Deio os conceda misericordia!"

Reflexively, Ramon moved his hand in the sign of the cross—forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder—in response to the woman's cry to God for mercy. He whispered a quick prayer of his own, unsheathed his rapier, and resigned his hiding place in pursuit of the assassin.

Ramon Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz was a Spaniard, like the man he was chasing; but, he was also a Musketeer. He needed no one to ask him to do what he was now doing; it was in his noble heart to protect those weak and unable to defend themselves. When he enlisted in the Musketeers, it was not just for the job; it was for an opportunity to passionately use his soldiering skills to fight evil wherever he saw it.

The Spaniard quickly descended upon the assailant, readying his rapier as he ran. With a short distance to go, the assassin realized he was being pursed and turned to slash out. Missing his blow aimed for the Musketeer's head, he regained composure in a crouched position facing Ramon. The man was winded from his chase, but still had fight left in him.

Assessing the readiness of the man before him, Ramon could see the fleeing women look back over their shoulders for a glimpse of their mysterious redeemer. Even from their distance he relayed a glance for them to keep running—they did. Not wanting to give his opponent enough of a chance to catch his breath, Ramon returned his full attention to the vehement man.

"Cobarde!" The man insulted.

"No." the Musketeer piqued, "I am no coward. As I see it, you are the coward who chases after defenseless women." Launching a thrust to his opponent's chest with his rapier, Ramon landed an unguarded secondary blow to the assailant's head with his free fist. This caught the man off-guard enough for the soldier to grab his shirt and hurl him head first into a nearby boulder. "Now, what was that you called me?" Ramon spoke to the unconscious man. When there was obviously no reply, the victor nodded. "I thought you had said nothing."

Ramon retrieved his horse and book; then redirected his attention to where he had last sighted the three beautiful women. He left the motionless man where he lay and went after them. Finding three very exhausted women a short distance away, their deliverer assured them their assailant was no longer a threat and promised to see them to safety.

"Thank you for sparing our lives." One of the flight-weary maidens extended their appreciation. "You are an angel of God."

"No, doncella," Ramon corrected as he dismounted his bay. "It is I who guard three of God's beautiful angels." The tall Spaniard graciously bowed. "And may I ask the names of you and your companions?"

A lovely, but strongly assertive and obviously in charge, woman stepped forward. "Rosalina," she answered in short. "I am the eldest." She seemed to assess the young savior before her. Then giving a faint smile of approval, she continued with the introduction, "But you may call me Rosa. And these are my sisters, Dora and Maria."

Ramon again bowed at the introduction of Rosa's two sisters. Then tending to the matters at hand before the assailant roused to find them loitering, he offered his horse to the two younger sisters. "Let's get you to safety, shall we?" The gentleman made haste to help them up. With Dora and Maria mounted, Rosa and he walked side by side. It was a long walk back to town on foot, but the Musketeer took the opportunity to engage the spirited woman beside him in conversation. "Would you be willing to tell me what caused you to be chased…obviously so far from home?"

While the two younger sisters remained observant of the Spanish Musketeer from atop the light bay, Rosa did all the talking. "That merciless Spanish bounty hunter you spared us from was hired by our greedy neighbors. Castilian noble civility is shamefully not what it used to be." Rosa gestured at her travel clothing. "Alas, would you guess we are Castilian heiresses…well-born? If it were not so pitiful, it would be funny." Her note of irony was right. Ramon noticed that nothing she wore spoke of belonging to nobility.

Rosa's complexion was brightened by the exercise of their walk; yet, all her movements spoke of optimism. "I don't suppose you, being a Spaniard, know of anyplace safe for us to go in Spain?"

"No, Senorita." Ramon's gaze lowered.

Reading his humbled expression, she perceived aloud, "You too, then, are without a place to call home among your own people." They walked on for some time in silence before Rosa consoled, "But don't feel too sad for us, Senor. We are fighters and we still have one hope left of returning home."

"What would that be?" Ramon solemnly asked. "And how may I be of help?"

"Senor, you have already been of great help," Rosa spoke her gratitude. "But if we could trouble you for a safe place to stay until we could seek an audience with the Queen-mother." Rosa explained, "We hoped that in her being the daughter of King Philip of Spain, she would still hold influence among certain Spanish nobility. We wish to ask her help in securing our safe return to Spanish soil." Rosa paused to read Ramon's uncertain features. Then trying to conceal an embarrassing smile from him at the boldness of her proposition, she confided, "I know it sounds rather hopeless, but do you think there's a chance you could help us?"

The warmth of her smile brought a surge of compassion to the poet's heart. "Senorita," Ramon expressed, "I will take you to the Musketeer Captain right away. I am positive he will find a way for you to speak with the queen."

Ramon noted how good it felt to be with someone from his homeland that understood his struggles. Being a poet, he knew that Rosalina meant 'beautiful rose,' and he agreed that her name was fitting. No one could contest that she was beautiful on the outside, but she was proving to possess more beauty on the inside as he learned more of her. For the remainder of the walk, the only sounds to be heard other than Ramon and Rosa's conversation, were of two giggling girls on horseback as they watched their sister being wooed by their handsome countryman.

When they arrived at the Musketeer garrison and presented the request of the three Spanish sisters to Captain Duval, the captain was more than eager to help them see Queen Anne. Before evening set in, Duval and d'Artagnan had gone to the palace to inform King Louis that Spanish bounty hunters were present on French soil, as well as request an audience for the three Spanish women to see the queen. Louis had not been available, due to his preoccupation with Mazarin's niece. But, Anne was present and consented to see to the Spanish women.

Queen Anne added a personal request, "d'Artagnan, would you ask your wife if she would like to join them when they come?"

"I'm sure she would be more than happy to accompany them, Your Majesty," d'Artagnan replied, accepting on her behalf. He shared a pleased grin with his captain who was thinking the same thing he was. Ramon had just provided Jacqueline with the gift she needed to slip into the palace to do her work—three Spanish maidens. They had their 'Trojan Horse.'