(Bilbao in the Provence of Biscay, Spain 1498)

As Diego and Beatriz ambled along with the woman through the cobblestone streets of Bilbao, a few other older women who seemed to have nothing better to do than to peer down from their balconies, took careful note of the foreign couple entering their town. These women were both the sentries and the communication network of the settlement, and their likes are found in most villages and towns across the world. One of these perched sentries in particular was dressed in black. This was not for the reason which was causing suspicions across the land those days, but for the mere fact that her husband had died twelve years previously, and she had donned the faded inky attire and would expectedly wear it for the rest of her life.

This woman in all black, along with the other watchers, perched on the second level above the street, took careful note of the pair being escorted by one of their own. She peered down carefully at the young man-assessing his physique and probable occupation. And then at the young woman-inspecting her carriage and gate, her clothing's age, her tastes in grooming, and to what proximity she walked next to her man. The old woman's eyes had learned to ask the right questions. Did they touch? Who was walking in front of the other? How weary did they appear from their journey?

Needless to say, the old woman perceptively concluded the couple had all the markings of a pair who had come a great distance and were presently not well off. Perhaps, they were even escaping something. The fact that they were lovers-something the old woman waited patiently to discern, became obvious when Diego paused with Beatriz and looked up at the thriving little metropolis before them. For that is when he gave her a kiss, in celebration of their destination.

It wasn't long before they were escorted properly, following the siesta hour, to the establishment of Senor Antonio Herrera.

"How shall I introduce you?" The guide woman asked, as a matter of civility. She still carried her bread nestled in her arm as if were an infant.

"Please tell Senor Herrera that I am Beatriz Ferrara. His cousin . . . from his mother's sister. That I was a resident of Avila for most of my life."

"Very well, then," the woman said sternly. "Come along."

The two followed her for two more corners and turned left onto a narrower street. They came to a large ochra-colored and red-trimmed building of two levels. There was a shop below and a cheery residence above it with plants on the balcony.

Upon entering at the street level, they discovered a man behind a counter with numerous leather goods-saddles, coats, boots, and hunter's bags hanging from the walls and even the ceiling of the place.

"Good afternoon," a serious, but handsome man of perhaps forty-five addressed them.

"And to you good afternoon, Senor Antonio, the guide offered.

"I would like to present to you your cousin, Beatriz Ferrara. . . She has come from Avila."

The man was at first perplexed and looked at Beatriz searchingly, trying to remember if indeed they had ever met. He stepped out from behind the counter and came closer. Beatriz could smell the man's clean clothes and a sprite of lemon cologne about him.

"It is my pleasure," Beatriz said formally, reaching out haltingly with her sunburned hand.

"You are the daughter of Cleotilde, my mother's sister?" he asked, surprised and smiling.

"Yes. Her youngest child. I had heard of you many times, but I don't believe we ever had the chance to . . ."

"No. I did see you once, Beatriz. You were just a child and I was barely old enough to be in the army. It was at a wedding in Avila we all attended."

Beatriz listened with anticipation.

"Someone distant in our family," he recalled. "This groom unfortunately died only a few years later in Italy. But I do remember you well, Beatriz! And that little white dress you wore. Such a precious child. You stole everyone's heart as you danced that evening during the celebrations."

Beatriz smiled embarrassingly and looked down at the floor. It was hard to imagine there was ever such a carefree time in her life.

"What brings you here now? To Bilbao?"

She glanced briefly at Diego.

"I'm sorry, Antonio. This is my husband . . . Diego." She was careful to keep her hand out of his sight, having no wedding ring, as proof of this wild boast. There was just no other way to introduce her lover. A young woman just didn't travel unattended by an unattached man.

"Well, then I am pleased to meet you, Diego. You have married into a very fine family I am proud to say." Antonio smiled and then beamed at the couple's guide.

Diego smiled back broadly as well, and nodded, looking proudly at Beatriz.

"Even though we live in many parts . . . and are now in different provinces," the cousin went on pedantically, "we are well respected wherever we live. You see, my wife is Basque . . . from right here in the north Basque region. And even though you will hear back home that people of the north are not . . . well, so fond of us Spaniards . . . the truth is . . . they are just as wonderful and loving as we are."

The guide woman looked with admiration at Antonio's words and nodded in agreement.

"I was accepted here the day I arrived with Anila, my Basque wife," he reminisced proudly. "We were married right here in her hometown. No one in Seville would ever believe that could happen."

Diego and Beatriz both felt suddenly relieved that they had made such a warm and helpful contact after travelling alone, and in such peril. The old woman with the bread stayed just long enough to get her enticing story down for gossip's sake. She would undoubtedly share it, with embellishments, that same evening with her fellow crones on the balconies.

Excusing herself, the woman departed, much to the well wishes of the three inside Antonio's shop.

"Well," Antonio said with finality. "Whatever the reason for your arrival . . . I am certain you have nowhere to stay tonight. We will have to solve that."

The two looked nervously at each other, while Antonio waited for some mention of just what that reason was. They mysteriously gave none.

"Look," he said, understandingly. "I have a good friend, Jorge . . . he has a small Inn not far from here. He doesn't get much business. I will arrange for you to stay there . . .for as long as you wish . . . at my expense, of course."

"Oh, you wouldn't have to . . ."

"I insist, cousin! I can't have you returning to Avila telling bad tales about your cousin Antonio. True?" He then laughed, as did the grateful couple, albeit nervously.

"Well, perhaps for a few days . . . just long enough for us to get . . . settled here."

"Very well then," her cousin added.

"You see Diego is a skilled hunter and . . . he did very well back in his village of Torres."

"Is that so," the cousin said, looking at Diego, amicably. "Well, the game here is abundant. But not easily brought to market. The town could use one more fine hunter, I'm sure," he said.

Diego nodded appreciatively.

"So come with me now, cousins," Antonio said with enthusiasm. "I'm sure you would like to get cleaned up from your difficult journey and take some rest."

"Yes," Beatriz said in a resigned voice.

"We will go immediately to Jorge's Inn and tell him of the arrangement. I invite you to dinner here at my home tonight. My wife will be very happy to meet you both."

Beatriz took her cousin's hand once more and thanked him for his hospitality and good heart.

As they walked along the busy streets, now filling with more of the Basque people of the town, Antonio nodded or shook the hand of many of the residents in passing. It was obvious to Beatriz and Diego that he had become a pillar of his own small society.

They soon walked by a large, white church on one of the hills which defined the town. Its campanile reached up three stories into the cobalt blue heavens. There, several men in black, accompanied by the local priest, came out of the carved double doors, intersecting them coincidentally on the street. The old priest spoke cordially to Antonio, while his two dour attendants, looking more like soldiers, showed no sign of warmth or good nature. One of the men stared long and perceptively into Beatriz's evasive look. His austere demeanor spoke volumes about his probable position and purpose there at that point in the current events of the times. And all so very close to the house of God.

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