Captain from Castile (2 page)

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Though it was still early, the sun already struck hard along the alleylike streets descending from the church. As became their sex, Dona Maria and Mercedes rode, while Pedro, the page, and a mule boy walked, leading the animals. Don Francisco, also mounted because of his stiff knee, brought up the rear.

The odors of oil, garlic, wine casks, and other ingredients, thickened.; breakfast was in the air; shutters opened, and voices clattered between opposite windows. Now and then a cascade of slops from above splashed the cobblestones. "Look out! Look out!" called the mule boy in perpetual warning. Far off—an occasional vista through the chasm of the street—extended the plain below with its groves of olive trees and, beyond that, the dark wall of the Sierra Morena.

Picking his way mechanically through the litter underfoot, Pedro de Vargas walked in a dream. What did the fuss about Catana Perez matter! He didn't even care to defend himself on that subject. He knew that it would have pleased his mother if he had told her all that had happened at the holy-water font, but the name of Luisa de Carvajal and his new-found love were too sacred to be bawled out in the common street. He relived his experience in the church: the miracle of the ray of light, his exaltation. He ached with an unspeakable longing. Typical of humanity, he walked with his feet among ordures and his head in the clouds.

Downhill the town opened up, leaving more breathing space than in

the crowded district around the castle. Small squares, with a tree or so in the center, were lined with the fronts of newer houses. Upon entering one of these open places, within a stone's throw of home, the de Vargases came upon a considerable hubbub.

In front of the house of Diego de Silva, horses were prancing and fretting under their riders, among whom were several of Pedro's friends; hunting dogs, held back by footmen, yelped and strained at the leash; a crowd of idlers stood around. In the center of the throng, de Silva, mounted on a fine sorrel, was just pulling on his riding gloves.

He was a clean-shaven, still youngish man, with large, reckless black eyes, shrewd and insolent. He had closely knit brows, forming an overhang to the bridge of his nose, with one of them tilting up at an angle, which gave him a sinister, rather sly look. His large ears, pointed chin, and the strips of hair creeping down from his temples reminded Pedro of a bat, though he was otherwise handsome enough. He had soldiered in Italy, had been at court, and was reputed the richest man in Jaen, richer even than the Marquis de Carvajal. Still unmarried, he was a beau with the ladies and the best catch in town. Pedro admired, without liking, him.

At the sight of fine horseflesh, Don Francisco's eyes lighted up, and he forced his mule through the crowd.

"What's this?" he hailed. "It isn't the hunting season, Sefior do Silva. What are you out for?"

"The oldest chase in the world," returned the other with a superciliousness that galled Pedro.

"And that is?" Like all Andalusians, the elder de Vargas spoke with a lisp, which was more marked in his case because he had lost his front teeth. "It's too early in the morning for riddles."

"No riddle," replied de Silva. "It's a man hunt." Noticing Doiia Maria and Mercedes on the fringe of the throng, he bowed with two fingers on his heart.

"What man?"

"My servant, Coatl. I gave the dog some lashes yesterday for the good of his soul, and he rewards me by running off. Homhre! When I get my hands on him, he'll run no more."

Coatl, the Indian, was one of the curiosities of the town, as yet unused to natives of the Islands, though savages, naked or in their barbaric panoply, were frequent enough spectacles in the retinues of homecoming discoverers arriving at the main ports. He had been brought over by a Cuban planter, from whom de Silva had acquired him—a well-muscled, stately man of about thirty, and rather light-colored. His

ears, nostrils, and upper lip had been pierced for ornaments which he no longer possessed. Though technically a servant, because of the edict against the enslavement of Indians, he had no effective rights and was virtually a slave.

The young bloods of Jaen, with Pedro among them, liked to draw him out. Though silent and brooding as a rule, he grew talkative with drink, and would then relate a hodgepodge of marvels in his broken Spanish. It appeared that he was not originally from Cuba, though he was extremely vague on this point; but as nothing could be vaguer than Cuba itself, the mystery did not trouble his audience. He told a tall story about being cacique, or chief, in some fabulous country of the West, whence he had been kidnaped by Carib Indians and finally storm-tossed to the Cuban coast, a story which was accepted as credulously as the tales of Prester John. He was an expert tracker, and Pedro had borrowed him once for a wolf hunt, on which occasion they had become friends. He regretted now that Coatl had proved himself a rascal by running off,

"Join us," remarked de Silva with a roving glance. He was evidently impatient to start.

Don Francisco shook his head. "Too old for such pleasures on a hot day. By God, I recall a chase we had once near Gaeta after a French cavalier by the name of . . ."

"Excuse me," interrupted de Silva, "but we have to ride. Your son would like it perhaps?"

De Vargas stiffened. "Perhaps, senor. He can decide for himself. As I was saying when you took the liberty of interrupting me, the name of the French cavalier was Lanoy."

His eyelids drooped slightly. De Silva kept a patronizing smile.

"Vaya, sir, this fellow Coatl has a long start on us and will reach Granada if we do not spur. I have no time for anecdotes. . . . Senor Pedro, are you with us?"

Nettled at the slight which had been put on his father and about to decline, Pedro caught himself. He remembered his vow to Saint Peter, who was evidently putting him to the test. There could be no question that it was a good deed to help a man recover his property.

"I'll saddle in ten minutes."

De Silva gathered his bridle reins. "Good! We'll follow the Guardia Valley, and loose the dogs on both sides of the brook. He was seen heading that way. Catch up with us when you can. . . . Sound the horn, there."

A huntsman blew the call; de Silva's horse reared; the dogs went

crazy; the onlookers made way, and the cortege headed out of the square. One of Pedro's friends, Hernan Gomez, paused a moment to shout to him: "Don't miss the 'death.' De Silva swears he'll give Coatl two hundred lashes on the spot and cut his leg muscles. Ride hard."

The sound of the horn and clatter of horses drifted back. The little plaza became silent. Turning his mule, Don Francisco rejoined his wife and daughter, who had been looking on from the background.

"Talk of modern manners!" he grunted. "It's a degenerate time. I can't imagine myself at the age of that puppy cutting short an older man of consequence who was addressing me. It would have been unthinkable. And the fellow wishes to buy my vineyard! He can whistle for it!"

Preoccupied as he was, Pedro felt startled. The vineyard and its pavilion were especially dear to his father. Until now a sale had never been mentioned.

"The vineyard, sir?" he repeated.

"Yes, he wants to round out his property. He offers a good price, but I'll see him hanged first."

"You wouldn't sell the vineyard?"

Don Francisco exchanged a glance with his wife, which expressed annoyance at having talked too much.

"Why, perhaps," he evaded, "sometime. But not to him. And by the way, son, I'm surprised that you're riding with him."

"Not with him, sir." During the last minute, Pedro had been thinking intently. "They're following the Guardia. I don't believe that Coatl took that way."

"Ha? And why not?"

"I've hunted with him and know his mind. He's sick for the Islands. He will head for the sea—for Cadiz, not Granada."

"Hm-m," nodded the other. And with a touch of pride, "Well reasoned."

"Besides, we hunted in that direction, through the Sierra de Jaen, not toward the Sierra de Lucena. He knows the paths over there. I wager he let himself be seen along the Guardia, and then cut west. He's shrewd as a fox. I'd like the credit of bringing him in alone."

It was the pretext which would most appeal to his father, a scrap of honor in the offing.

Don Francisco approved. "Yes, it would be to your credit. By the Blessed Virgin, I'd go with you except for this knee. Bring the fellow in alone, eh, while de Silva scours the country with his men and dogs! It would be a feather in your cap and a joke on him. I'm sorry for the

Indian, but servants should not run away. Discipline must be kept. You'll be doing a service to all masters, not merely to de Silva. Remember to take stout cords with you."

"It may be dangerous for Pedro." ventured Dona Maria, "alone with a savage."

The old cavalier gazed proudly at his son's broad shoulders. "Pooh! The boy can take care of himself. He'll never get forward if you coddle him. . . . Hurry ahead, son. Saddle Campeador, and ride with God!"

Ill

Fifteen minutes later, Pedro struck fire from the cobblestones under the arches of the Puerta de Barreras, and waved at Ramon, the gate-man, as he passed.

"Hey!" shouted the old soldier, cupping his hands. "If you're following the Senor de Silva, you're taking the wrong road ... I say, you're taking the wrong road."

But as only a column of dust drifted back, and Pedro continued obstinately to the left, Ramon shrugged his shoulders and returned to the coolness under the tower.

Outside, the heat of the day had begun in earnest. Pedro could feel the burn of it on his shoulders through his long riding cloak. To spare Campeador, he pulled in, when the path turned upward, and continued at a moderate pace. Gradually the patchwork of orchards and gardens and the simmer of the plain on his right, the Campifia de Jaen, leading to Cordoba, were cut off by the first low ridges of the sierra. He threaded a grove of cork oaks, dipped into the greenness of a valley, clambered up again, and at last emerged among the naked mountains.

Meanwhile, the problem at hand absorbed him completely. With the instinct of the tracker, he kept putting himself in the place of Coatl. What would the Indian be likely to do under the circumstances? Apparently he had escaped before dawn. If Pedro's theory was correct, and he had cut over into these mountains from the Guardia Valley, he could not as yet have gone very far in the direction of Cadiz. Moreover, it was hardly to be expected that he would travel by day. The heat, the chance of being seen, his uncouth appearance, and the fact that he was probably moneyless, were all against him. Therefore, he would be apt to hide during the day and travel by night, relying on theft to keep alive until reaching the coast. Once in the dives of Sanlucar, where the

scum of the seaports gathered, he might He hidden, though he had a poor outlook from beginning to end. The immediate question was where to search for him in these hills.

Breathing his horse at an angle of the road, Pedro thought it over. On the face of it, the task seemed hopeless. Ever\' boulder, every crack in the rocks, might serve as a hiding place. He might ride within a yard of the man wdthout seeing him. But a couple of factors helped. In this heat, Coatl must have water, and water was scarce along the uplands. Pedro knew the location of every spring and runnel in the neighborhood. Step by step, he tried to recall the route which he had followed with the Indian during the hunting trip last winter.

Then, beginning with the nearer possibilities, he tried several places without success. The air along the stony stretches had the hot bite of a furnace. Now and then glimpses of the plain far below, with here and there the campanil of a church or roofs of a hamlet figuring the green carpet, offered relief; but for the most part it was only rock and glare. Even Campeador, usually high-hearted, grew listless, hung his head, and left the water holes unwillingly. Pedro reflected that he might spend the day in this region to no purpose. On horseback, he could be seen and heard too easily, provided indeed that he had guessed correctly, and that Coatl was still in this section of the mountains.

At last an idea flashed on him. There was one place of all places that made an ideal hideout from the Indian's standpoint. It was a narrow, shallow ravine about a mile off, open at both ends, and with a good spring of water. In one direction it gave a wide view of the country, and was a favorite stop of Pedro's on a day's hunt. He and Coatl had halted there. He remembered the Indian staring off into distance and his homesick talk about his native country.

But to reach this barranca to the accompaniment of horse's hoofs over the loose stones without giving an alarm was impossible. Riding at a walk, Pedro brought Campeador to \vithin a quarter of a mile of the place. Then, dismounting, he tethered the horse between two boulders, and took off his cloak. The cords for tying up Coatl were transferred from the saddle pouch to his breeches pockets. He made sure that his dagger hung right and was loose in its sheath. That he might prove unequal to the Indian in a personal encounter did not enter his mind; for, w ithout vanity, he knew his own strength and knew besides that a Castilian cavalier was the superior of any savage. At the same time dutifully he commended himself to the Blessed Virgin with three Aves, and prayed to Saint Peter for help to fulfill his vow in honor of Luisa de Carvajal.

There was a low ridge to cross, and a slope to climb before the ravine; but, from the outset, Pedro walked carefully to avoid displacing any of the loose stones. Instead of proceeding in a straight line, he took a roundabout way, moving from boulder to boulder and listening at each pause. He had never stalked a wolf or bear with such intent-ness. There was not a sound—only the emptiness of the hills, the blue heat of the sky. In spite of the dry air, he ran with sweat.

Rounding the contour of the slope, which led to the ravine, he stopped again, listened, and then, inching his way, he peered around the corner.

The place was empty. He could see the round hollow of the spring and clear along to the opposite opening. All his precautions and maneuvers had been unnecessary.