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The rest of that day and half the next, Theo wrestled with whether to tell his stepfather about what had happened. He was nervous of appearing to interfere in Sir Andrew’s business. But the man who’d accosted him had been starving—Theo had never met anyone so skeletal. Surely, he thought, Sir Andrew needed to know about that. Theo had resentments aplenty against his stepfather, but he didn’t think he was cruel. Perhaps Senor Madera was deceiving his master about what was happening in the orange groves.

And Theo also needed his stepfather’s help. He felt like a complete fool for getting lost and frightened, but wouldn’t that just happen again the next time he went out if he didn’t understand the lay of the land?

So, plucking up his courage, he made an announcement at the start of lunch the next day that he had something to say and then launched into the story of all that had happened, omitting only the one detail of how he had vomited in the street. It wasn’t necessary to his narrative, and he was trying hard to erase that particular humiliating memory from his mind.

When he got to the part about the beggar, Elena, who had already shown signs of increasing agitation, couldn’t contain herself any longer. “You should never have gone out alone, Theo. What were you thinking?” she demanded angrily.

Sir Andrew raised his hand before Theo could answer. “Let him finish,” he told Elena, but she ignored him. “Anything could have happened!” she cried.

“But it didn’t,” said Sir Andrew, stopping her in mid-flow with the same authority in his voice that Theo remembered from when he had seen him commanding the attention of the congregation in the church in Gramercy Park. “Something happened to the boy, something specific. And I for one would like to know what it was. Carry on, Theo.”

Elena was silenced and Theo finished his story.

Sir Andrew listened carefully, keeping his eyes fixed on Theo, and at the end he stroked his chin with his forefinger, reflecting on what he’d heard.

“This man who came after you—did he threaten you?” he asked.

“No. I was frightened because he was so agitated and I couldn’t understand what he was saying, at least to begin with. But then I felt sorry for him,” said Theo. “I’ve never seen anyone as hungry as that. It was like he could die of it.”

Elena was wide-eyed, her attention distracted from Theo’s disobedience by the shock of this new revelation. “Do you think this man does work for you?” she asked her husband.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he did during the harvest and the sowing, when we take on extra hands,” said Sir Andrew.

“But not now?”

“No. We only keep on a few regulars in the summer for irrigation and maintenance. It’s always been the way.”

“But surely you have an obligation not to let the others starve for the rest of the year? Isn’t that your Christian duty?”

“No business could afford that,” said Sir Andrew, sounding irritated. “You can’t pay someone for nothing.”

“But what are they supposed to do if they can’t eat?” asked Elena.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not my responsibility. These matters are not your province, my dear. I think you know that.”

“I know that as Christians we should help those who are hungry,” said Elena, refusing to back down. “Isn’t there something you can do, Andrew? Even if it’s only a little? I feel so much that I could be happy here, but not if the people who work for you are starving.”

Theo felt a surge of affection toward his mother. Her intervention had been the last thing he expected. She had never involved herself with Michael’s business and, as far as Theo knew, she had followed the same policy in her second marriage. Up until now.

Sir Andrew looked equally surprised, and Theo thought for a moment that he was going to lose his temper. But then he shook his head instead, as if to rid himself of the emotion, and smiled. “You are my better angel, Elena,” he said, bowing his head as if in submission. “You see the truth plain as a pikestaff when I can only see the obstacles in the way. I’ll talk to Madera and see what we can do.”

Elena’s face lit up as he rose from his chair and bent to kiss her.

“And thank you for telling me about what happened, Theo,” he said, turning to his stepson. “The village has clearly changed since I was last here, and your mother is right that you should avoid the barrio. But I can see it is no fun for you to be a prisoner of the house. That was not my intention when I brought you here. Let me see what I can do to solve the problem and, in the meantime, stay home. Agreed?”

Theo nodded, feeling better disposed to his mother and stepfather than he had in a long time. He admired the way his mother had stood up to Sir Andrew for what she believed in, when he was so strong and she was so weak, and he liked the way his stepfather had been prepared to listen. He would never have admitted it to himself, but at that moment it was almost as if he felt part of a family.

A solution to Theo’s confinement in the house arrived quicker than he had anticipated.

The next day, the village priest, Don Vincente, came to lunch. He was a fat, hairless man in his sixties with a broad smile on his full lips and pale, watery eyes that darted this way and that.

He shook Theo’s hand for longer than was necessary, holding it in his clammy palm, and complimented him on his Spanish.

“You speak the mother tongue, young man, like they do in Madrid,” he said approvingly. “It’s nothing like the half-Moorish babble they talk here. I was there last year for the wedding of the marquis’s son,” he went on, switching his attention to Sir Andrew. “The marquis did me the honor of sending an invitation, and it was a source of great satisfaction to me that I was able to assist with the celebration of the wedding Mass in the cathedral. I wish you could have been there to see it. It was truly a splendid occasion. The marquis is a man of God. Like you, Don Andrés.”

Sir Andrew inclined his head, and looking down, Theo noticed the gleaming silver buckles on Father Vincente’s shoes, with a glimpse of violet silk stockings showing beneath the hem of his cassock.

“The Church is so grateful for your generous donations,” the priest went on. “I am sure Senor Madera has told you that just this last year, we have been able to rebuild our beautiful chapel. I made sure to give you a special mention at the service of rededication.”

“What chapel?” asked Elena, curious as always about all things religious.

“It’s on the hilltop, dedicated to Santa Leticia, our patron saint,” said the priest. “The Moors dragged her up there to cast her from the cliff, but the Archangel Michael took hold of her as she fell and bore her gently to the ground so that she could continue God’s work. It is a most holy place. You must see it while you are here.”

“I should like to,” said Elena eagerly. “Why did it need to be rebuilt?”

“It was burnt and desecrated by the Anarchists,” said Father Vincente, crossing himself. “A terrible thing. But it will not happen again. The Guardia will see to that.”

Elena drew in her breath as if she had received a blow, and her hands began to shake. Sir Andrew immediately reached out and put his hand on her arm. “It’s all right, my love,” he said softly. “It’s not like you think. Yes, there were two bad years at the beginning of the republic when the Left was in power, but the Catholic Party won the election last year, and they have got everything back under control. And as Father Vincente says, there are Guardia here to protect us. You remember how they came to Theo’s rescue the other day.

“My wife is from Mexico, so she has had firsthand experience of such outrages,” Sir Andrew explained, turning back to Father Vincente.

“I am sorry to hear that. It is terrible what God’s people have had to endure in that benighted country at the hands of the Red Antichrist,” said the priest, his voice brimming with emotion as he crossed himself again. “I know of the great work you have done to help the Church in those parts, Don Andrés. Word of your goodness and bravery reaches us even from afar. Please be sure to tell me if I can provide any spiritual comfort to Dona Elena while she is here. I will be sure to include you both in my prayers.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Andrew and Elena, speaking at the same time. Watching them both, Theo had the sense that his mother’s gratitude was more fervent than his stepfather’s. He knew that his mother believed that priests were Christ’s ministers who could do no wrong, but Sir Andrew was different. He was more cerebral than emotional, more English than Spanish, and Theo wondered if he shared his own instinctive aversion to the priest’s flowery language and flattering words. All his talk of the marquis and Madrid jarred when men were starving a stone’s throw from Father Vincente’s church, and it hadn’t escaped Theo’s attention that the priest was eating second helpings of every course that was served.

“There is something you may be able to assist us with, Father,” said Sir Andrew, reopening the conversation after the plates had been cleared. “My stepson got lost in the barrio the other day and was harassed several times. Fortunately, as I was reminding my wife, the Guardia were there to help.”

“I am most sorry to hear that,” said the priest, switching his look of compassionate concern from Elena to Theo, although he refrained from crossing himself this time. “It’s not sensible for people of quality to go there alone. There have been attacks.”

“I have told Theo that and he understands,” said Sir Andrew. “However, I equally don’t consider it fair to the boy to keep him immured inside this house all summer. I was hoping that you might be able to suggest a suitable companion and guide for Theo so that he can explore our countryside. It’s beautiful at this time of year. I would see to it that whoever you recommend was properly remunerated, of course.”

Father Vincente scratched his perspiring bald pate, looking doubtful, and then suddenly brightened. “I know the very person,” he said. “Bernardo Alvarez, the café owner, has a son, and I am sure he would be happy to help. They are good Catholics. Shall I talk to him for you?”

“No, I’ll do it myself. But thank you, Father Vincente. You have been most kind.”

Sir Andrew summoned Theo as soon as lunch was over and the priest had gone, and they set out on foot, heading down the hill. He had put on a panama hat and was carrying a walking stick with which he beat a rhythmic tattoo on the cobblestones.

“Father Vincente always puts me in a bad mood,” he told Theo. “He’s a good man, of course, but all that scraping and bowing and crossing—ugh! It makes me want to scream. So I drink too much to try and keep my temper while he’s there, and then I’m left with a sore head and am no good for the rest of the day. But maybe a brisk walk will help, and if his recommendation of old Alvarez’s son works out, then it’ll all have been worth it.”

They walked across the square in front of the church through which Theo had passed on the day he got lost and approached the half-open door out of which a powerful smell of incense was emanating from the interior gloom—a world away from the bright afternoon outside.

But then, just as Theo thought they were going to go inside, Sir Andrew veered away around the side of the building and walked on through an archway into a much larger square with a tall fountain in the center, surmounted by a weathered stone statue of the Madonna. Women and girls were standing at its spouts, filling water jugs, while others were hard at work, washing clothes in the surrounding basin. On either side of them, two lines of pollarded plane trees raised their decapitated limbs fist-like to the sky.

A stone arcade ran down one side of the square with peasant women underneath, squatted down beside small piles of produce—onions and peppers and dried tomatoes laid out on burlap sacking. Beyond, opposite the archway through which they had entered, was an imposing building constructed of the same gray stone as the church that, as Sir Andrew explained, housed the ayuntamiento, the town hall and center of power in the village. The red-, gold-, and purple-striped flag of the Spanish Republic hung limply down over its closed entrance doors.

Opposite the arcade, on the west side of the square, shaded from the afternoon sun, groups of men in every kind of headwear, from broad-brimmed Seville hats to cloth berets, were sitting or standing at tables, set up outside a bustling café. Some were playing cards but most were talking all at the same time, shouting and gesticulating at each other and only stopping to toss off tiny glasses of some sort of clear spirit, washed down with tumblers of water. A radio loudspeaker set on the wall was blaring out a political speech, but no one was paying it any attention.

Without hesitating, Sir Andrew advanced on the café. As he approached, some of the noise died down as the men outside eyed him curiously, but he ignored them, striding in through the open door with Theo in tow.

Inside, there was a crowded bar behind which a big, burly man in a dress shirt, clearly the proprietor, was holding forth to his customers in a booming voice. All around, the walls were covered with bullfighting pictures and memorabilia—gaudy posters advertising long-gone corridas and photographs of matadors with their red capes held out at precise angles as bulls charged toward them across dusty arenas.

The proprietor stopped talking as soon as he saw Sir Andrew, pulled his necktie into place, and came out from behind the bar to greet his visitor. He walked with a pronounced limp, and Theo deduced from the lack of bend in his right leg that he was wearing a prosthetic, like Sergeant Raikes at Saint Gregory’s. As if at a signal, everyone else in the room had become quiet, too, and Theo felt suddenly as if he were standing in the middle of a brightly lit stage, just as the curtain had risen.

“Don Andrés, you honor me with this visit,” said the big man, bowing low. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“No thank you, Senor Alvarez,” said Sir Andrew. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Of course, follow me,” said the proprietor, leading the way through a door and down a long corridor to a room at the end that was completely unlike the raucous bar they’d just left behind. Everything was neat and orderly. An expensive walnut desk was positioned under the window with a swivel chair behind it and two upright chairs lined up on the other side, and several filing cabinets and a safe were arrayed along the far wall under two framed photographs of soldiers in military uniform, hanging side by side. It was the kind of office that Theo might have expected the mayor to be occupying in the ayuntamiento on the other side of the square, but not the proprietor of the village café.

If Sir Andrew was experiencing the same sense of surprise, he showed no sign of it. “This is my stepson, Theo,” he said.

Senor Alvarez got up from his chair and made a short bow to Theo before turning his attention back to Sir Andrew.

“I heard you were married, Don Andrés,” he said. “May I offer my congratulations.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Andrew. “But I am here on Theo’s account. He is new to the village and would benefit from having a guide when he goes out, a friend of his own age who can show him the district and take him up into the mountains, perhaps. Don Vincente mentioned that you have a son who might fit the bill.”

“Antonio? Why yes! It’s an excellent idea,” said Senor Alvarez, clapping his stubby hands. “Let me send for him now.” He pressed a button on his desk and spoke rapidly into a speaker.

“I will pay him for his time, of course,” said Sir Andrew. “Shall we say ...”

“No, I would not hear of it,” said Senor Alvarez, shaking his head vigorously. “You will be helping me by taking Antonio off my hands, and he will learn from your boy just as much as your boy will learn from him. About England and Buckingham Palace and important places he has never seen.”

“Theo is American,” said Sir Andrew.

“Even better. The White House and the Empire State Building. Antonio will be broadening his horizons. That’s the point. Because what I can give my son is very limited, Don Andrés. I am just a simple soldier, you see. Not a man of culture and education like you. I lost my parents when I was young, and when I joined the Legion, I had nothing and knew nothing. My officers were my family and my teachers,” he said, pointing up at the photographs on the wall. “I owe them everything. That’s why I keep them here beside me—so I don’t forget.”

Theo turned around to look at the pictures. He had never seen anyone like the man on the right. Standing ramrod straight in a cocked hat, he had an eyepatch over his right eye, a bright-white glove on his right hand, and an empty sleeve over what had been his left arm. He looked quite terrifying.

“That’s General Millán-Astray, Theo—the best and bravest man I’ve ever known,” said Senor Alvarez, enjoying Theo’s shocked reaction to the photograph. “He was my first commander in Morocco. We came to him as boys your age, and he made us into men. He told us that we were already dead, so we had nothing to fear, and we believed him. We became novios de la muerte , bridegrooms of death, and we cried ‘?Viva la muerte!’ when we rode behind him into battle, because we knew that to die in combat is the greatest honor, just as to live as a coward is the worst disgrace.”

Senor Alvarez paused for a moment with a distant look in his eye, as if he was reliving one of his cavalry charges, before continuing:

“We were strong because we were together and because we believed in Spain and in ourselves and feared nobody. When the general came to see me in hospital after I lost my leg, he laughed and said we were a pair now, him and I—eye, arm, leg. And I laughed, too, even though the pain was terrible, and we sang the ‘Hymn of the Legion’ and all the other wounded soldiers on the ward joined in. It was the proudest day of my life.”

Theo opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out because he didn’t know what to say. He felt amazed and appalled in equal measure by Senor Alvarez’s incredible harangue. The world that he was describing was alien to anything Theo had ever known. But before he could repeat his impersonation of a dying fish, Sir Andrew came to his rescue.

“General Franco seems to have been more fortunate with his injuries,” he said, pointing at the second picture with a hint of irony in his voice that was entirely lost on the grandiloquent café proprietor.

“Fortunate, yes, but that is because he is invulnerable,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “The Holy Mother protects him. When we attacked, he was always out there in front, riding a white horse so that we could see him and follow him, but the enemy’s bullets flew all around and never touched him. I saw it with my own eyes, and each time it was a miracle. I tell you, Don Andrés, that with more leaders like these, Spain would never have lost its empire and its honor.”

Theo looked over at the man in the second picture, who could not have been a greater contrast to his mutilated colleague. Franco was short, with the beginnings of a potbelly jutting out from his uniform. His face seemed pale and soft, effeminate even, and it was hard for Theo to reconcile it with the intrepid warrior that Senor Alvarez was describing. Where Astray was fanatical, Franco was composed, but there was something distant and opaque about his eyes, which unnerved Theo.

There was a knock at the door, and a young man of Theo’s age came into the room.

“Ah, Antonio,” said his father. “Come and meet Don Andrés and his stepson, Theo. Don Andrés is giving you the opportunity to do something useful for a change. You are to be Theo’s guide. He wants to see the mountains.”

“Would this be something you’d be willing to do?” asked Sir Andrew, who had stood up to shake Antonio’s hand.

“Of course he’s willing,” said Senor Alvarez before his son could answer. “He is if I say he is.”

“I’d still prefer to hear it from Antonio direct,” said Sir Andrew, who had kept his eyes on the boy while his father was speaking. Behind his stepfather’s back, Theo could see a look of angry annoyance pass across the café proprietor’s face. He was clearly not someone who liked to be crossed or have his authority questioned.

But Antonio grinned and the smile lit up his face, making Theo like him before he had even spoken. He looked nothing like his father, and the contrast between them was as marked as between the two generals on the wall. He was slightly built with curly hair and hazel eyes that sparkled with amusement and good humor. It was a candid, truth-telling face with no trace of the calculating craftiness that lurked under his father’s thick-set brows.

“I’d be honored to guide,” he said enthusiastically. “When can we start?”

“Why not now?” said Senor Alvarez brightly—all trace of irritation wiped from his face. “Give Theo something to eat, Antonio. I’m sure he’s hungry, and you can discuss your plans. There are a couple of other matters I want to talk about with Don Andrés.”