Chapter 264: An Outing With Catalina II

Francisco smiled at the guard and said, “Do not concern yourself. My servants are following. I have learned my lesson—last time, I was far too lax with them. Since then, they have taken it upon themselves to be more vigilant. Look—there, behind us.”

He gestured toward the rear, where two of his servants rode on horseback, muskets slung across their backs.

The guard followed his gaze and nodded, visibly relieved. “That is well. Still, you should remain cautious. We have heard that those behind the last incident were…” He glanced about, lowering his voice. “…the British.”

Straightening again, he resumed in a normal tone, “And as you know, they are not inclined to surrender or abandon their pursuits.”

Francisco inclined his head in acknowledgment. He, too, had noticed a number of English and Irish men lingering in the area, their attention too often drawn toward him. Yet, as they had made no move, he had no cause to act. Now, however, as he ventured beyond the city, the circumstances were different. The open road offered opportunity—perhaps too much of it.

He had not been idle in his preparations. Quietly, and without drawing unnecessary attention, he had hired a group of mercenaries, informing them only that bandits might attempt to harm him. The sum he offered was generous enough to secure their loyalty—at least, he hoped so. He had withheld any mention of the British. If word reached the wrong ears, coin might easily change hands, and he knew well that he could not compete with London’s purse.

Once satisfied that all was in order, the carriage was allowed to proceed.

Seated within the phaeton, Francisco allowed himself a small breath of ease before speaking. “We are bound for a high cliff some of my men discovered while hunting. They say the view is remarkable. I have also arranged for some of our typical dishes—something simple for the outing.”

Catalina smiled softly and leaned her head against his arm. “When do you think we shall return home?” she asked. Her tone was light, but there was a quiet tension beneath it.

In truth, she feared they might return too late—that her grandmother, María, might pass before she could see her again. At times, the thought visited her in restless dreams, made sharper still by the distant war that shadowed their homeland.

Francisco exhaled slowly. “If all proceeds well, I may acquire the knowledge I require within two years—perhaps a little more.” He paused, his expression tightening slightly. “What troubles me more is where we shall go afterward. Unless my father and his allies succeed in taking Cartagena, reaching Medellín will become exceedingly difficult.”

Catalina frowned, though she nodded in agreement. It was not impossible—but the risk would be considerable.

“I miss them dearly,” she said after a moment. “Isabella must be quite grown by now. And your father…” She hesitated faintly. “He must have aged with all that he carries.”

Francisco gave a quiet chuckle, though there was little humor in it. “Indeed. I never thought he would take the initiative to rebel. I always believed he would wait for my return before beginning such a venture.” He shook his head slightly. “Yet it seems even the most patient man becomes a tiger when his cubs are threatened. I suspect he did not take kindly to the Spanish attempt on my life—nor to the involvement of that English agent.”

Catalina shifted slightly, then asked, “Do you think we shall see that girl—Elizabeth—again? I still owe her my life. I would repay that debt, if I could.”

Francisco shrugged, though his gaze drifted toward the horizon. “I do not know. Perhaps.” He paused, then added more quietly, “Though I fear that if we do meet again, it may be as enemies. At present, we are of interest to London… and she serves them.”

Catalina fell silent. She understood the reality all too well. They had been able to speak as allies once, even as friends—but now, everything stood uncertain. Elizabeth belonged to her country, while they themselves were tied to causes and companies that, not long ago, had been little more than distant names encountered during their travels. Whether Elizabeth would still wish for friendship was a question neither of them could answer.

“Do not dwell on it too much,” Francisco said after a moment. “Who knows—perhaps she may yet accept our offer and, one day, come to serve the new government.”

The thought brought Catalina a small measure of comfort, and she allowed herself a faint smile. Francisco, however, remained less certain. It was a pleasant possibility—but little more than that.

The phaeton came to a smooth halt at the crest of a windswept ridge. Below them, the valley of the Leine River stretched outward like a ribbon of green silk, dotted with the red-tiled roofs of distant farmsteads.

While the servants, directed with quiet efficiency by Johanna, began unloading the silver crates and setting up a folding campaign table, Francisco stepped down and offered his arm to Catalina. She accepted, and together they walked a short distance beyond the bustle of preparation, toward the very edge of the hill.

From there, the land opened before them in a vast expanse of deep greens and shifting shadows. For a long moment, Francisco said nothing. He simply stood, drawing in the clean, sharp air—a welcome contrast to the acrid scent of sulfur and alcohol that so often filled the laboratory.

“I have not seen the horizon in some years,” he said at last, his voice quiet. There was no calculation in his gaze now, no trace of analysis—only a rare ease. “In Bogotá, I sometimes miss this sense of space, though the mountains there seem forever poised above you.”

Catalina leaned lightly against the wooden railing, allowing the wind to loosen a few strands of her hair.

“It feels strange,” she said, a tired but genuine smile touching her lips, “to be out here without the need to record every thought in a notebook.”

Francisco gave a soft laugh—a brief, unguarded sound seldom heard within the halls of the university. “It is a relief. For a moment, I nearly forgot we must return to the laboratory tomorrow.” He paused, glancing toward the lowering sun. “But not today. Today, it is enough that the work is done—and that we are here to see the day’s end.”

They remained a while longer, quietly taking in the view, before Francisco guided her back toward the small table set near the carriage. A charcoal brazier had already been lit, its embers glowing steadily in the gathering light.

“Come,” he said gently. “Let us eat a little. I will listen.”

They settled together upon a blanket, the servants moving about them with practiced discretion as they prepared the meal. Conversation came more easily now, softened by the open air and the distance from their usual burdens.

Catalina spoke of her days in Göttingen, sharing small pieces of gossip about the women in the laboratory—light observations that carried a quiet amusement. Francisco, in turn, recounted his own interactions, speaking of his companions and their work.

For a time, the weight of war, distance, and uncertainty seemed to recede, leaving only the simple comfort of shared company beneath the fading light.

While the sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow on the hilltop, the base of the ridge was already swallowed in deep, cold shadows. Hidden among the dense thickets and limestone outcrops, thirty German mercenaries—men with scarred faces and heavy muskets—waited in silence.

The mercenary captain, a man named Karl with a beard like iron wire, gripped the hilt of his saber. He had been told they were here to intercept a band of highwaymen looking to kidnap the “wealthy Spaniard” on the hill. For the gold Francisco had paid, it seemed like an easy day’s work.

“Shh… did you hear that?” whispered one of Francisco’s personal servants

Karl frowned, leaning his ear toward the forest path. A rhythmic, heavy thrumming was vibrating through the damp earth. “It sounds like cavalry. Too disciplined for bandits. Do you think your ’highwaymen’ found themselves some stolen horses?”

The servant shrugged with a cold indifference that didn’t match his station. “Don’t know. But they’re coming fast. Why don’t you send one of your ’meat shields’ to ask the people down there for their credentials?”

arl muttered a harsh curse in German before signaling to one of the younger recruits. The boy hesitated only briefly before stepping onto the path, a lantern raised high in his trembling hand.

“Damn Hispanics,” Karl grumbled under his breath. “Just like their ancestors—always ready to send others to die for their cause.”

The young man advanced cautiously, each step measured. The wind stirred faintly around him, carrying the distant rustle of the valley below. Then—without warning—gunshots shattered the stillness.

The report echoed sharply across the ridge.

Startled, the boy cried out and fell backward onto the path, the lantern slipping in his grasp. For a brief, suspended instant, no one moved. Then every eye widened, the quiet replaced by a sudden, taut confusion.

“Wait,” Karl said, his voice tightening as he stepped forward. “What is happening? Are they attacking our men?”

One of Francisco’s servants glanced toward the sound, frowning. He gave a small, uncertain shrug. “I doubt it. We would have heard something sooner if that were the case.” He paused, already shifting his weight as if preparing to move. “Let me go and see. I will return and tell you what is happening.”

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