Page 53 of The Truth About Myths
“Everything. During the Roman Empire, Spain garrisoned most of the legionaries. While common folk adored Jupiter or Minerva, soldiers worshiped Mithras. They believed this dark God to be responsible for creation. He killed a divine bull, and its blood originated all life.”
“Gruesome,” Isabel said, wondering where he was headed with his tale.
“The legionaries built temples to worship Mithras. Before a battle, soldiers huddled in its underground caves. A priest would slaughter a bull atop the grate, and the animal’s hot blood would bathe them, making them invincible.”
He paused, his voice solemn. “Thetorerofights the bull for this same mythical strength, giving immortality to those who fight the bull and those who watch.”
Isabel smiled for his sake. "The history lesson was great, but I will keep to my lavender soap."
"Thank Mithras for that." Laughing, he kicked a pebble. "Isabel de Orleans, what would you do if you had absolute power?"
Isabel frowned, taken aback by the odd subject. "I believe in a constitutional monarchy."
"That's why it's a hypothetical question. If I were king and didn't have to bow to parliament, I would forbid exile. Spain for the Spaniards." His voice faltered a little.
It broke her heart how much he missed his home. But what could she do other than offer him empty platitudes?
"I would banish male debauchery. Enhance women’s power," Isabel blurted.
"More power?" He halted and looked deep into her eyes. "Impossible."
Glancing away, Isabel kept walking. She had breached all her rules about interacting with males during this trip. Still, she didn't feel threatened, the way she advised her ladies would be when in the company of a man. Henrique aroused in her a palette of unwanted emotions, but fear wasn't one of them. And Alfonso… his were the manners of a true prince.
"It is here."
The olive grove parted to show a grassy ridge. She had not realized they had climbed so high. A plain stretched for miles and miles, the muted colors of earth, rocks, and sun-burned hay contrasting with the powerfully blue sky.
“That is the Ebro River. Since my family had to escape from everything we held dear, I didn't cross the river back to Madrid, to my home.”
Caressing the horizon, the Ebro sashayed among rocky outcrops. The water was so incongruent with the dry land it was almost a mirage.
Isabel looked into eyes so black they resembled a fathomless pond. A shiver ran up her arms. "Why, Alfonso, are you in Spain?"
His face hardened, and he took a step away from her. "I graduated from military school, and I'm not allowed to wear the red and yellow uniform. I've studied history, geography, and politics, but I'm not allowed my opinion. My mind brims with ideas to take Spain to the future, but my future was robbed of me. I want to wear my country's uniform and board a Spanish frigate while my subjects screamViva España." He closed his eyes, and the wind whispered through his hair. "I want to cross the Ebro to Madrid and sit on my throne."
Isabel gasped. "Surely you know this is impossible."
"I'm the only descendant of Saint Louis. The legitimate heir."
He talked treason. She turned to leave.
He held her arm. "Are you still my friend, Isabel?"
She shrugged away his touch. "I don't have dangerous friends."
"How would you feel if a power-starved general banished your family from Portugal and installed foreigners in your place? An Italian playboy who doesn't even know your motherland's idiom?"
"I would not interfere if it was in my country’s best interests."
He grasped both of her hands. "I know you love Portugal, and I admire patriotism. I wouldn't be here if my presence weren't needed. Aosta is killing my country. The economy flounders. The peasants starve. Spain is in the Middle Ages, while Britain, France, and Prussia have factories and progress. I want to change the order of things."
A tightness spread from her chest to her limbs. For the first time, she felt unsure of how to act. Her king had given her clear instructions. Luis was back in Portugal, secure she was doing her duty. But Alfonso? Her instincts screamed he was ready to be king.
Alfonso smiled, his black eyes alight with shy mischief. "Come now. I'm not asking you to take arms with me and invade Madrid."
"What are you asking me? Portugal's support is not mine to give."
He shrugged. "If I can't have the support of the entire nation, can I at least have it from the one Portuguese who counts for me?"
