Albornoz and his parents were eating breakfast, but at their table, two chairs were empty: those of the brothers, Alvar and Fernan, still away at the Duke of Mendoza’s castle in Guadalajara, experiencing military training for the first time. The family did not speak at meals until Garcia had said grace, after which, upon his nod, food could be taken and conversation begun. The mousy wench in her brown tabard put down a pitcher of milk to accompany the bread and fruit, took one step backwards, bowed her head politely and left the room.
Garcia emptied his beaker, wiped his mouth on a white linen napkin and placed his hands, palms down, on the table — a sign he was about to speak.
“The boys will be back home in time for dinner tonight. I have received outstanding reports concerning their sw
