FIC - Purity of Intention (13/?)

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

Title: Purity of Intention (13/?)
Author: namarie120and arieltachna
Type: RPS / FPS crossover
Pairing: Diego / Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: none
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, created for entertainment and enjoyment only. With all due respect, we do not own these characters, either the actors or those created by Arturo Pérez-Reverte. We just think it’s a fascinating world.
Feedback: would be wonderful
Beta: sileya
Summary: A cynical swordsman is hired to return a runaway – or so it appears
A/N: Thanks to tularia for the beautiful banner





An especially strong jolt over the rough roads awoke Diego from his uneasy doze. He had learned early in his career as a soldier to sleep no matter how dire the circumstances, though he had faced few as dire as this. He had not offered any resistance to his arrest by the agents of the Inquisition, but even so they had not been gentle as they seized him, manacling his wrists and feet. As soon as his hands were secured they had beaten him with the butts of their muskets, forcing him to his knees before dragging him into a waiting carriage, adding a few more blows for good measure as they chained his shackles to a bolt in the floor. There had been too many of them to overcome in any case, and the longer their attention was focused on him the more chance Íñigo had to get away, or at least so Alatriste had thought at the time. Since then, he had plenty of opportunity for second thoughts as the carriage jostled over the rutted track, carrying him closer to a confrontation that would strike terror into the heart of any man.

Shifting in a vain attempt to find a less painful position for his aching shoulders, Diego considered his options. They were slim. He would watch for a chance to break free when they took him from the carriage, but he knew the odds were against his winning more than a few moments of freedom at best. These were not ill-trained and half-starved enemy troops he would be facing, but hardened soldiers of the Inquisition. They would be expecting him to try break free once they arrived in Toledo, before he was buried in the dungeons from which no one had even been known to escape. Of course, just because the odds were against him did not mean he would not try. Meeting his end in such a manner would likely be preferable to anything he would endure once the Inquisitors had their claws in him.

Diego was not a man given to brooding over a future he could do nothing about, but turning his thoughts to what he left behind was little better. He could not help but recognize the irony of being charged with the one crime of which he could with all honesty claim he was innocent. That his innocence was solely due to bad luck and worse timing was no consolation. Of all the regrets of his misspent life, the thought that he might die without ever loving Orlando the way he longed to do was the only one he could not dismiss. Still, he would be able to profess his innocence with a clear conscience, and if his denials could keep Orlando from harm, it would be worth whatever fate befell him. He only wished he knew with certainty that Íñigo had gotten away safely, and that the soldiers had been too intent on guarding against his escape to think to follow the boy back to their lodgings.

A droplet of sweat trickled down Diego's face, stinging his eyes as he tried to blink the moisture away. Orlando would not take the news of his capture well, he feared. At least Roux would know better than to let the young Englishman run headstrong into danger. He did not know if there was anything the gypsy could do toward freeing him, but as long as Roux saw that Orlando was safe, that would be enough. Diego was not an especially pious man either, but he offered a prayer nonetheless for his lover's safety. Shifting again, he closed his eyes and tried once more to sleep, knowing he would need all his strength and all his wits to face what was to come.

~~~~~

Orlando, Eric and Íñigo had eaten the dinner Caridad had sent up for them, though only Eric had exhibited much appetite, and Orlando was trying on the articles of clothing Íñigo had obtained for him in the market when Roux returned, slipping silently into the swordsman's quarters. "Fine feathers," the gypsy observed, watching as Orlando tried to judge the fit of the dark blue velvet doublet in Diego's small shaving mirror.

"Señor Bloom is going to save the Capitán," Íñigo insisted before Orlando could reply to the comment. "You should hear his plan, Roux. The Capitán himself couldn't have come up with anything more clever!"

"And what is this clever plan?" Roux asked, turning a chair toward Orlando and reclining with easy grace. "Were you planning on sharing it with me before you executed it?"

"Of course," Orlando replied defensively. "But I needed the clothes for it to work, and you weren't here to ask." He took a deep breath. "You know who my father is. As his son, I should be able to demand a certain amount of attention, should be able to demand Diego's release, but I can't do that if I look like another hired sword. If I learned anything from my father, it's that people pay attention to the image you project, especially people in politics. Dressed like this, with Íñigo as my page and Eric as my bodyguard, I should be able to project a powerful enough image, especially if I mention my father, to get what I want."

"You will certainly look the part," Roux admitted, rubbing a thumb over his close-trimmed moustache. "It has a better chance of success than anything I can think to try."

"I will go first thing in the morning, and Diego will be safely home with us by nightfall," Orlando declared firmly. He refused to consider any other outcome. Failure was simply not an option.

"He is no longer here," Roux replied quietly. "They have taken him to Toledo, to the dungeons of the Grand Inquisitor himself."

"What?" Orlando exclaimed. Immediately, images of faceless men torturing Diego assailed him, whips, chains, brands. The rack. Even in England, he had heard tales of the incredible cruelty of the Inquisition. The idea that Diego, still wounded, might be subjected to such merciless horrors added to the urgency he had felt since hearing his lover had been taken. "How far is that? We should leave immediately!"

"Nearly a day's ride each way, but it is useless to follow him there. He will be returned to Madrid by Friday, in any case." At Orlando's look of confusion, the gypsy explained, "Sunday is the feast of Christ the King - the end of the ecclesiastical year. The Grand Inquisitor apparently believes in beginning the new church year with a fresh page. Any prisoners remaining under accusation will be tried - and sentenced - by this Saturday, before the feast."

Orlando digested that information slowly. "What does that mean in terms of my plan?" he asked after a moment, not sure how to go forward now. "Can it still work?"

"We have four days," Roux said. "I will continue to learn what I can, but I doubt anything I might find could sway the agents of the Holy Office." He held Orlando with a steady gaze, knowing the pressure he was placing the younger man under, but judging he had earned the right not to be sheltered from the truth, however harsh. "Your influence may be the only hope we have."

Orlando nodded, his resolution hardening. Roux wasn't pretending this would be easy, wasn't patting him on the head and trying to pacify him. That thought buoyed him in a backhanded way. The gypsy wasn't treating him like a child, but rather like an equal, one capable of acting to save his lover. "Then I will have to be the kind of powerful man who wields that influence." He looked at Roux, then at Íñigo. "I won't let you down."

~~~~~

Diego had been in jail before, had been held prisoner before, but he had never felt the unnerving, unreasonable dread that tried to take possession of his spirit from the moment he passed under the oppressive stone portal of his destination. He endured being stripped and searched with stoic reserve, given scarce time to pull on his breeches before he was manacled again and led shuffling and clanking into a small, dark chamber, the only contents of which were a plain table, a candle in a wrought-iron stand, and a massive, grotesque crucifix mounted on one wall. Two men clad in unrelieved dark robes sat behind the table. One of these was obviously a scribe, prepared to set down every word of the proceedings; the other had the grim expression and hard, gleaming eyes of a true believer, or a fanatic. Diego suspected in this case they were one and the same.

The Inquisitor studied the man brought before him. Naked to the waist and barefoot, bound hand and foot in heavy chains, the prisoner nonetheless projected an air of defiance that had him smiling inwardly in anticipation. This one would not break easily, providing him with hours of enjoyment. "State your name for the record," he intoned gravely.

Finding the most comfortable stance he could on the cold stone, Diego met his questioner's gaze coolly. "Diego Alatriste y Tenorio," he answered, certain the cleric knew exactly who he was and judging he would gain nothing by refusing to answer.

"Señor Alatriste, you stand before us accused of sodomy, a crime second only to heresy. What say you to the charges?" He knew the answer, of course. No one ever admitted their crimes immediately. It would take some persuasion to convince the man to admit his guilt.

Diego allowed himself to slouch a little more as he answered. "I do not know where your Excellency obtained this information, but you are misinformed."

"Misinformed?" the cleric repeated incredulously. "I assure you, the accusation comes from a reputable source. Name your partners in this heinous crime and we shall consider leniency."

"As I am not guilty of the charges, I have no partners, Excellency," Diego pointed out reasonably.

"So you do not know one Orlando Bloom?" the Inquisitor challenged.

The swordman's eyes narrowed. "Señor Bloom hired my services as his protector," he replied.

"A hired sword, are you? And how often have you sheathed your... steel... in him?" the cleric demanded.

Diego's eyebrows rose at the crude insinuation. "I can assure your Excellency that Señor Bloom and I are not lovers," he averred. Not for lack of intent or desire, it was true, but then that was not what the Inquisitor had asked.

"No?" the priest questioned. "Then you will not care if he is brought here to stand trial as well. Perhaps he will see the wisdom of cooperation though you do not."

For the first time since the questioning began, Diego felt a flicker of true fear at the thought of Orlando in the clutches of these zealots. Reminding himself that the Inquisitor was only making random threats, hoping to strike a reaction from him, he forced his expression to remain one of bored indifference. "Does your Excellency not know who Señor Bloom is?" he asked, feigning surprise. "I would have thought your information more complete than that. He is an Englishman - a noble Englishman - the son of the chief legate to the court of King Philip, in fact. And as such, he of course has diplomatic protection from any accusations that might be raised, however falsely, against him."

The Inquisitor frowned. It was unlike his minions to be less than thorough and having this fish slip through his fingers was most unpleasant indeed. That did not mean the man before him would fare so well, though. "Then perhaps you sate your unnatural lust with..." he paused to look at his notes, "Íñigo Balboa."

Honest incredulity nearly made Diego laugh at the Inquisitor's allegation. "Íñigo? He is my ward - little more than a child!" In truth Íñigo was already older than Diego himself when he ran away from home to enlist in the Flemish wars, but again, that was more information than his questioner needed to know.

"You would not be the first man to take advantage of such a situation," the cleric pointed out calmly. "How often have you heard tales of men despoiling their wards simply because they are near to hand?" He didn't care at all that most of those stories involved young maids rather than young men. The man before him was accused of sodomy.

A roil of anger began to burn in Diego's gut as he realized his questioner was serious. "Íñigo's father and I served together in the Tercio Viejo de Cartagena in Flanders," he growled. "He was killed at the siege of Julich - shot by a Flemish musket-ball. He died in my arms, after gaining my promise to watch over his infant son." Diego met the Inquisitor's gaze with a steely glare. "I gave him my word - a debt of honor. Perhaps your Excellency is unfamiliar with the concept, but I would protect Íñigo as I would my own son."

"In your arms?" the Inquisitor repeated, delighted at the prisoner's turn of phrase. It always happened. Even when they were trying to defend themselves, something they said would play right into his trap. "So you took the child of your dead lover and now you taint him with your depravity. It is well that you have been brought before me, for I see your misdeeds run far deeper than mere sodomy."

Sickened, Diego shook his head. No matter how he answered, this perverted excuse for a man of God would find some way to twist his words against him. He lowered his gaze to contemplate the cold stone floor beneath his feet, determined not to respond to any more of his questioner's taunts.

"You have no answer to that?" the cleric challenged. "Perhaps the whip will loosen your tongue. Guards! Bring the cat!"

Drawing a breath, Diego braced himself for what was to come. He had known it would come to this in the end - in truth, he was surprised the Inquisitor had traded words with him as long as he had. He had endured beatings before; he would endure this one. Setting his teeth, he waited for the first blow to fall.

The guards entered, whip in hand, looking to the cleric for direction. "Begin with ten," the Inquisitor instructed. "Then we will see if he can be reasonable. If not, we will try again."

His knees locked, Diego forced himself to relax the muscles of his back and chest, knowing tensing them would only allow the whip to cut into his flesh that much sooner. He bit back any sound from escaping his throat, though his hands clenched into fists at his side and his legs were trembling by the time the tenth blow was struck.

The Inquisitor surveyed the damage impassively. Welts had formed immediately, several of them open and bleeding now from the multiple blows. To his surprise, the prisoner had not cried out, but he could see the toll it had taken. "I ask you again, who are your partners in sodomy? And before you refuse to answer, remember that my guards can do this all day."

And probably would, Diego recognized grimly, but nothing would force him to answer his tormenter any further. Only by silence could he be sure that he was not giving the Inquisitor any ammunition to use against Orlando and Íñigo. If that meant letting the guards beat him to death, well, there were worse causes for which to spend one's life.

Surprised but grudgingly impressed at the prisoner's stoic silence, the Inquisitor stepped back, gesturing for the guards to begin again. He specified no number this time. Perhaps when the man had been driven to the floor in pain, he would speak. And if not, they had ways of making him stand for the beatings to begin again.

~~~~~

New clothes fitting uncomfortably but allowing him to project the aura of command he had often admired in his father, Orlando swept into the palace of the Archbishop of Madrid, demanding an immediate audience as if such were his due and the need to ask beneath him. Eric and Íñigo walked purposefully behind him, enhancing his air of importance.

Íñigo hoped the trepidation he was feeling did not reflect in his expression, which he kept downcast as a servant should. He had watched Señor Bloom prepare this morning, pacing the tiny common room of the Capitán's quarters as he went over his plan again with Roux. The Englishman had asked Roux to accompany them, but the gypsy had replied with a laugh that Orlando had enough of an entourage already, that his time would be better spent continuing to look into the conde Lee's affairs to try and find some other weapon they might use in Diego's defense. "And I am never quite comfortable in churches," Roux had admitted, clapping Orlando on the shoulder. "You will do well," he added before turning toward the door. "You make quite a convincing nobleman, my friend." Íñigo had to admit that Roux was right, at least when it came to the Englishman's appearance, but he had privately doubted that Señor Bloom would be able to talk his way into an interview with the Archbishop. It seemed he was to be proven wrong - from the instant they stepped foot on the Cathedral grounds, the Englishman's entire attitude had changed to one of arrogant self-assurance.

"I am aware that the Cardinal is a busy man," Orlando replied haughtily when a grey-haired cleric informed him the Archbishop was not to be disturbed, "but I am as well, and this is a matter of some importance. I think he would prefer to speak to me rather than having the King hear that he refused to grant me an audience."

The priest frowned. "And who are you to make such demands?" he asked. He hesitated to disturb the Cardinal after having been given orders not to, but if this man did indeed have the ear of the king, it would be dangerous to ignore him as well.

"Don Orlando Bloom, son of England's chief negotiator with the Spanish crown," he replied as if it should have been obvious. "Someone owes me an explanation as to why my most valued attendant was carried off by the Inquisition without so much as a word to me - or to my father - on trumped up charges with no evidence whatsoever. The Cardinal can give it to me or I can ask the King to look into it. I can assure you, neither he nor my father would be pleased with having their negotiations disrupted by this attempt to smear my name and reputation as well."

Even more convinced that this was not someone it would be safe to ignore, the priest nodded. "Wait here, Excellency," he requested, "I will see what can be done for you." Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe, he hurried off.

Keeping his arrogant mask in place, Orlando glanced back at Íñigo and Eric behind him. He doubted Eric truly cared about the outcome beyond keeping Orlando safe, but Íñigo had as much, perhaps more, riding on this than Orlando did. He wanted to whisper an encouragement to the boy, anything to assure him that, contrary to appearances, this was going exactly as he had expected. He would have been suspicious if the Archbishop had immediately agreed to see him. No, this slow bend beneath his influence was much more what he had come to expect as he observed his father move in the rarefied circles of political power.

Before more than a few minutes had passed, the priest returned. "The Cardinal's adjutant will see you," he announced, motioning for the Englishman to accompany him.

Allowing himself to be mollified, Orlando gestured for Eric and Íñigo to wait for him where they were before following the priest deeper into the palace. They walked the ornate halls designed to show the Church's wealth and authority until they reached an office. The priest announced him to the room, then left with a much more respectful bow than he had accorded Orlando earlier.

The cleric who greeted Orlando was obviously no mere priest. His scarlet robe was trimmed with costly Flemish lace and an ornate golden cross hung at his chest. A signet ring of the same rich metal adorned one of his long, slim hands. "I am Fra Antonio Maria Gordo, Archbishop Carles Rouco's personal adjutant. What business do you have with the Cardinal, Don Orlando?"

"Business of a personal nature," Orlando replied, determined not to let this man see him as anything less than an equal. "I assume you will transmit everything to him faithfully so I will not have to repeat myself when he and I finally meet."

"Perhaps you will tell me what your business is, so I can better judge whether we can assist you," the adjutant answered.

"My attendant, Diego Alatriste y Tenorio, was taken yesterday by the Inquisition," Orlando stated baldly, "depriving me of much-needed protection given the delicate state of the negotiations between our respective countries. I want an explanation, and then I want him released."

"The name is unfamiliar to me," Fra Gordo mused. "But if your attendant has committed heresy, there is nothing to be done for him."

"The charge was not heresy," Orlando averred immediately, "and while his name is perhaps unknown, there is another I think you might recognize. Does the name McKellen mean anything to you?"

"The Englishman who was executed for conspiring against the King? If he was part of that plot, there is even less I can do for him."

"On the contrary," Orlando replied coolly, "McKellen was caught and executed thanks to my attendant. He brought the documents incriminating McKellen to the attention of the authorities, and this is how Spain expresses its gratitude? Accusing him unjustly of sodomy, handing him over to be tortured until he admits to crimes he did not commit? And I am supposed to stand by and let it happen? I think not, Fra Gordo, and unless the Cardinal wishes me to express my displeasure to the King, he will see that Alatriste is returned to me immediately."

"The Inquisition does not answer to the Cardinal, or even to the King," Fra Gordo answered. "If this Alatriste is truly innocent as you say, he has nothing to fear."

Orlando snorted. "Come, Fra Gordo, we are men of the world, you and I, despite the robes you wear, and we both know that the Inquisition does not release its prisoners because they are innocent. Instead, they torture them until they confess to end the pain or until they die from it, neither of which is an acceptable option. We also know that everyone, even the Inquisition, answers to someone. So, either you and the good Cardinal can provide me what I need, or I can interrupt my father and the King, which will, if you are fortunate, merely slow the negotiations between our countries. If you are not so fortunate, it will disrupt them entirely. Do you really want to be the one responsible for that?" Not giving the adjutant a chance to reply to the rhetorical question, he added, "McKellen had an accomplice in his plot, though we could not find his name. You realize this accusation is not about sodomy at all, but about revenge for McKellen's execution. Alatriste is also your best hope in finding his accuser and ending this threat to the King once and for all."

The cleric stroked his goatee as he considered the Englishman's words. "I will take your concerns to the Archbishop," he agreed at last. "Come back Friday; I should have a response for you by then."

"A 'response' is not good enough," Orlando declared. "I know how the Inquisition works. On Saturday, they will execute any prisoners they still have in their custody before the feast on Sunday. I will come back on Friday, but I expect an order for his release. I will not allow the Inquisition to execute Alatriste."


tbc…

Comments

[lost4aname.livejournal.com]

hello, do you perhaps have a link for me to the first 12 chapters of this story??? please?

[ireth06.livejournal.com]

You can find them here: http://volaslash.com/auto/viewstory.php?sid=958&ageconsent=ok

[lost4aname.livejournal.com]

thank you

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

It's also posted at Of Elves and Men (http://www.ofelvesandmen.com/Stories/A/ArielTachna/andNamarie120/PurityOfIntention/_ChapterList.htm).

[lost4aname.livejournal.com]

thanks. i found it and am really enjoying this story so far!!!!

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

Great, glad you found it.

[ireth06.livejournal.com]

Great chapter! I'm glad to see this is still going strong!
I love the historical stories....and this one is good!

I so hope Alatriste can be saved and rescued!!

Thanks for sharing, hugs and kisses!

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

Thanks for posting the link to VOLA, glad you're enjoying this. We're trying to concentrate on getting it finished - next two chapters are written so it shouldn't be as long a wait for the rest of the story.

[sarkka]

This came just perfectly....I watched Alatriste just last night :)


*bites nails* I hope Don Bloom will get his man, every way the meaning of the word =D

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

As determined as Orlando is, I don't think the question is whether he will get Diego back, but what shape Diego will be in when he gets him. Look for more later this week.