Part 1: La Contessa
Prologue
My mother reaches under the bed and draws a pile of torn papers.
'It is time for you to learn of your heritage. This was written by your father. It is in his handwriting, and the only copy I have. Treat it carefully. I'll be in the kitchen if... when you have questions.'
I sit down on her bed and start to read...
* * * * *
I grew up in a small rural town in Spain, and was born just before the Peninsular wars with Napoleon. My father died in these wars, and, as my mother died giving birth to me, I was orphaned. I was very young had moved next door when he went to fight, staying there when he didn't return. I didn't strictly need my parents since the entire community raised me. I was six years old.
Our town wasn't so small that we didn't have a mayor or a magistrate, but the real power came from Contessa Conchita Medina Velasquez. She owned almost all the farm land and most of the city besides. Thus, she ruled farmer's lives, wielding the power of life and death over them. They did not despise her for this, but rather respected her all the more. She had been widowed many years ago when her husband, who was a colonel, left to direct troops and was ambushed on the route to the barracks. He left her four children in infancy, three girls and one boy.
Since I had no land to farm, and was not of a farming family, I worked for the Contessa on her lands. I signed up when I was twelve. This was not unusual, since everyone in the town worked for the widowed Contessa, either directly or indirectly.
I was one of fifty employees on her estate and rarely saw her, especially since I would be working out in the fields most days, tending to the vineyards, or helping the farmer's with their harvests. We all knew her to be strict, but fair. She possessed a military commander's instinct for the running of her estate and would always be visiting the homesteads or meeting with public officials or attending to some of the countless other obligations she possessed.
For this reason, her children were cared for by nannies and, later, tutors as they grew up. They would sometimes come down into the town of an evening and drink at the local restaurant bar or stroll the streets. They were always well attended by servants and chaperones, and none of the farmhands or peasants would dare think of looking at the directly, let alone speak to one of them.
Besides, what would it serve? We knew our position in life, and it didn't include fraternising with the Velasquezes. We gave them our life and our blood, but knew we would loose both if we crossed them or found ourselves disagreeable to them.
As I grew I noticed myself attracting the attention of many of the local girls. I responded in kind and often engaged in one of the few recreations left to a poor young man. I loved the enigma of their hard, tanned bodies, which were at once strong and firm, yet endlessly passive and giving. I grew the reputation of being the local beau, but lost much hope of a true, intimate relationship.
But what passionate young man thinks of such things anyhow?
* * *
My first direct confrontation with the Countess came while I was filling in for the stable hand who was away on a family business in the next village. I had taken over his duties for a month or more and always met the Countess as she rode in from the last of her many errands. I would feed and unsaddle the horse, brush it, tend to it, clean it and more. It was good work and light, compared to the demands of the field.
Although I knew she was very busy, and often quite tired, I felt her linger around the stables longer than I would have thought necessary, or even desirable. She would clean out her riding boots, fiddle with her saddle and riding crop, check on the other horses, and any other number of pointless tasks. I was also conscious of her stares which would land on me when my back was turned. Cold, judgmental stares; the look of a trader appraising a cart horse or ox. When I would catch her looking at me, she would hold me in her gaze a second longer, and then turn and leave. I of course, wouldn't dream of addressing her, but simply went about my tasks.
One day she didn't break her glare but stepped forward and spoke to me.
'What is your name, boy?'
'Diego, ma'am. Diego Martinez.'
'Yes.' She answered, as if I had supplied the correct answer. 'Tell me, are you happy in your position here?'
I searched her dark, brown eyes for a meaning to these questions, but found none. 'Yes, ma'am, very. Ma'am is a very kind and generous employer.'
'Mm,' she replied through a firm jaw. She looked me up and down once. 'You are popular with the townsgirls. They like you.' Not a question, but a statement.
'I know not if they like me or no.' I supplied. Her face remained unchanged, waiting. 'I rarely lack for companionship, if that is ma'am's meaning...'
'Yes, it is. You are, one could say...' her eyes fell down on me once more '...experienced.'
I could not stop my male pride from answering, 'Yes, ma'am, very.'
'Hmm.'
And with that, she turned on her heel and left.
I went back to brushing her stallion, disturbed by her questions. I prayed I had not said something to offend the Countess, or I would find myself back in the fields the next day under the hardest labour of the season. I spent a fruitless night worrying and playing our dialogue back in my head, wondering what it all could mean. By the time I had drifted off, I convinced myself that I had offended her and would be digging trenches or rebuilding a barn come midday.
* * *
'You are requested.'
These were the first words I heard on waking. I opened my bleary eyes and focused them on the form of the head butler.
