The Sisterhood by Helen Bryan Page A

century.” Sniff. Did the man want an art history lesson? “Portraits. Women mostly. But he might have also—”
    “And you have really studied old paintings?”
    “Well, not
every one
ever painted,” Menina couldn’t resist retorting. “But yes, in college.”
    “OK. That is different. Is only one thing to do now.”
    “I know; let me make some phone calls
please
!”
    The captain shook his head, spread his hands and shrugged expressively. “Unfortunately I regret it is not possible to call anyone. I have a cell phone but it is no use up here, no connection. And we have a few telephones in the village but the line is out of order—this often happens in Spain, especially in the mountains. Now is
Semana Santa
, and no one can fix until after Easter. No Internet, no e-mail, no phone. Believe me, that is a big problem for me too at the moment.”
    “OK, can you please give me a ride to somewhere with a working phone, someplace with a hotel? Then I’d be out of your way.”In her pocket she still had Professor Lennox’s card. Thank heavens. She would call Professor Lennox and beg her to get her out of this mess.
    He shook his head. “No, I am sorry, but I cannot leave the village for the time being. Not until after Easter. So, unfortunately, you must stay here till then.”
    This was a whole new problem.
Semana Santa
had only just begun. And it would be another week before she could let her parents know she was OK. They would be frantic. And where was she supposed to stay?
    He seemed to read her mind. “Is somewhere you can stay but I must take you up there myself.”
    “I can pay for a hotel when my father wires money,” she said, trying to regain some kind of control.
    Captain Fernández Galán shook his head and stood up. Now he looked faintly amused. “No wires here. No hotel either. But money is not necessary where I take you.”
    This was more worrying than anything he had said so far. But it was the policeman or the men in the square. She bent to struggle into her heavy backpack to find the captain had already reached down and picked it up and was holding the door open for her. Outside he strode away from the square, leading her up narrow winding streets between whitewashed houses. Aromas of onions and garlic frying in hot oil filled the chilly evening air. She heard women talking and the clatter of dishes. Normality. But hopes of a spare bed in one of these homes faded as they left the houses behind. The captain was leading her up a steep rise that had once been terraced. They followed a narrow path between some olive trees. In the distance, the last pink and orange glow of a spectacular sunset was fading behind the mountains. He stopped and pointed to the dark bulk of the ruined castle above them. “We are going there.”
    “Oh?” Menina looked for lights, some sign of habitation, but it looked deserted. And ominously dark at the end of the path. They reached an arched gate in the wall and stopped. It had two heavy, iron-bound wooden doors with a latticed hatch. Was it a prison? There was no sound but birds. How could she have been stupid enough to come to a totally deserted spot with a man convinced she was a prostitute? An armed man at that.
    “Where are we?” Menina asked warily, starting to back away. She was fit—she could outrun him, get back to the village. But what then? Would someone in one of those houses they had passed take her in?
    The captain seemed to sense her mood. “Do not be frightened. This is a convent, very old convent, maybe oldest in Spain. No one knows the real name; people call it
Las Golondrinas
because, listen, the
golondrinas
.”
    The captain pulled a rope and Menina jumped as a bell clanged loudly over their heads and disturbed the swallows who rose in a noisy, scolding crowd. “No one knows when the first nuns are here. But was before the
Reconquista
. It was a Moorish village, but when the Moors are in Spain, there are many Christians, many Jews. They must pay a