Captain from Castile (20 page)

"Could I trust you?"

"I swear it before God."

"No, not before God," came the voice. "Perhaps if you renounced

God, I'd believe you. Renounce God, de Silva. You're a familiar of the Holy Inquisition, you're an officer of the Miliz Christi. Soldier of Christ, renounce God."

The point leaped up, drew close.

"I—I renounce God."

At that instant Pedro thrust the blade home, down through the man's body till the point caught on the pavement.

"Now burn in hell forever, soldier of Christ!" he whispered.

Drawing out his sword, he stared at the blank face, the motionless body at his feet.

The door opened. They could come now; he was ready. His hand tightened on the hilt of his poniard.

It was Garcia.

"Hurry. We've got no more than a minute. I was held up."

"The guard?"

"He won't bother us—or anyone else." Garcia's eyes were on the body. "Good work!" he added.

xxi

Manuel Perez, his unshaven face urgent and anxious, hurried the three de Vargases and Garcia out of a small postern door opening on one of the steep slopes of the castle hill. Under a low moon, the decline looked precipitous and long. Delayed by de Silva's visits to their cells, the fugitives had practically no time left for escape. At any moment I the tribunal would be summoning its prisoners, and their flight would be immediately discovered. They had perhaps a ten minutes' start until pursuit was organized. After that, nothing but speed counted, for the pursuers knew what road would be taken. Only the mountains offered a hiding place, and the mountain route only was feasible.

When he had locked the door on the outside, Perez tossed the key away and thus prudently withdrew from the service of justice. Between him and Garcia, Dofia Maria was half-carried down the slope; while Pedro gave his arm to his father, whose stiff knee made hurry difficult.

At the foot of the decline, a couple of men impatiently waited with a string of horses. "By God," said one of them, "it's well you came, for in another half-minute we would have been spurring. Take a look at the Castle."

Here and there at windows and embrasures of the stone mass, lights came and went like distracted fireflies. They gave every sign of agitation and hurry within the walls. Another minute's delay would have been too late{ As the party mounted, a trumpet from the other side of the Castle, clear and imperious in the still night, sounded assembly.

"We've got to race for it," said the man, "if we're to keep ahead of the whoreson troopers. It's no help to be riding with a woman."

Don Francisco, undaunted as ever, flung back at him, "What we lose in speed, we gain in honor—honor to be riding with Dona Maria de Vargas."

Inevitably, he at once took command; inevitably too, everyone obeyed him.

"Pedro, you and Senor Garcia hold the rear. It's the post of danger, and except for your mother, I would ride with you. Mind you keep a good distance behind us, so that we may have timely warning of attack. These men"—he included the two strangers and Perez—"will ride fifty yards in front of you. I'll lead with Dona Maria. And bear in mind the proper intervals; leave space for sword and charge. No use bunching like sheep in a pen. So forward, and God be with us!"

"Vaya!' declared Garcia, as he and Pedro galloped knee to knee behind the others, "there's a real hidalgo! Your father talks as if he were leading a foray. There's a captain, por Dios! Look how these bandit rascals obey him."

In front, with a horse between his legs, the familiar weight of a sword at his thigh, the free stars overhead, Francisco de Vargas felt his spirits revive from the desolation of the past days. Except for what had befallen Mercedes, he might even have welcomed the chance that swept him again from his peaceful moorings into the stream of action. This was his native element, and he had spent most of his years in just such nips and tucks of danger. He drew a deep breath of the warm night air.

"Talk of miracles!" he observed to Doiia Maria. "My dear, who would have imagined some hours ago that you and I would be free of that hell-hole to try our luck again in the open! A manifest act of God and the saints—which shows that not the devil himself can keep us from Italy."

His wife, who had a stitch in her side from the unaccustomed move-."ment of the horse, gave a breathless answer.

"This Senor Garcia," continued her husband, "may be who he will, but he has served Pedro and us as a trusty friend, and for my own part I shall ever remain in his debt. Relax, my love, breathe naturally and go Vvith the horse. You will soon get back to the swing of it. He spoke to

"9

me of Hernan Soler, the robber, by whose favor somehow we have these horses, and I doubt not they are birds of a feather. But after the Judases and scoundrels we saw last night, I do not cavil at an honest ruffian. By the Virgin, no! And here is something to cheer you which Pedro whispered to me as we left the Castle."

"My lord," gasped Doiia Maria, "can we not slacken a little? I'm nearly spent."

"No, we cannot," said the other flatly; "we must win to the high sierra by daybreak. Do as I tell you and breathe deep. But listen. The cursed dog, de Silva, is dead. Pedro sheathed his sword in him when he came to taunt our son in the prison. By the Cross, I feel ten years younger for it!"

Dofia Maria was a good woman, but the joy of the news made her forget the pain in her side.

"Maraviglioso!'' she exclaimed. "Well done!"

Don Francisco threw back his head. "Well done indeed! And, wife, our Pedro is a boy no longer. From henceforth he's a man. He can use my war cry and carry my pennon."

Uphill though it was, they rode hard—too hard, for about a half-mile north of the Rosario, Doiia Maria's horse cast a shoe and fell to limping. Without drawing rein, Don Francisco summoned Manuel Perez to come up.

"Is another mount to be had?" he asked. "Or must we make the best of this? He'll be apt to go down with my lady."

"Horses enough, sir," answered Perez, explaining that they were to meet Hernan Soler with some others of his band at the Rosario. The chief himself would escort them through the sierra.

"Then it's of no moment," said de Vargas. "But keep a tight feel of the jade's mouth, Maria, lest he stumble. Adelante!" And with a laugh, "Little I thought the other night when I was flogging Pedro on account of that damned tavern that I would soon be risking my neck in a hurry to get there!"

Thus far no sound of pursuit had reached them, but even Don Francisco felt relief when he saw a group of horsemen, black in the moonlight, waiting in front of the inn.

Their leader rode forward. He was a loose-limbed, gaunt man in complete armor, and he managed his powerful horse gracefully. A gaudy baldric, much too bejeweled, crossed his cuirass and glittered in the rays of the moon. He had a long face and a toothy smile. What stripe he was showed at once in the oiliness of his manner.

"Gracious sir and lady," he bowed, "Your Worships' servant, Hernan

Soler. I never expected the honor of devoting myself to the service of so renowned a captain, of so noble a seiiora."

He was clearly showing ofT—perhaps for the benefit of the tall girl who stood in the shadow of the archway. Don Francisco returned his compliments adequately, if not effusively; but when Soler launched upon another series of them, he interrupted him.

"I thank you from my heart, cahallero, but we are like to be soon hard-pressed. Dofia Maria needs a fresh mount. If you have an odd piece or so of armor for my son and me, they may be of use before dawn."

"At your command," waved Soler.

The shifting of Dofia Maria's sidesaddle to another horse and the adjustment of armor, which was gladly supplied by several of the men to piece out a sketchy equipment for Don Francisco, Pedro, and Garcia, took a few minutes. During the bustle, when Pedro had slipped on a cuirass and was reaching around for the side straps, a familiar, husky voice at his shoulder remarked: —

"I'll buckle it for you, sefior." In the hurry, he had not seen Catana, but when he tried to turn, she added, "No, wait, you made me lose the strap."

Turning his head, he could feel her hair against his cheek.

He whispered, "Queridaj how can I thank you for everything, for all you've done!"

"There!" She tightened the buckle. Then beneath her breath, "Stand still. Don't let on we're talking. Promise me something."

"Yes, but what do I care who listens! I'd tell anyone what I owe you. Why not let on?"

"Because I'm Soler's girl now. He might be jealous. I want him to get you across the mountains."

Pedro stififened. "Catana? You didn't—you didn't get this help from Soler by—"

"Of course not! Be still!" She rebuckled one of the straps. "Didn't I tell you the other night about Hernan and me? Vaya, I love him. Promise me something."

"Anything. What is it?"

"That you'll think of me wherever you are."

"No need to ask that."

"No, I mean—" She stood a moment fingering the buckle. "We may not see each other again. You'll be a famous captain—I know it, Pedro de Vargas—when I'm hanged for a thief's trull in Jaen. But I wish— If you'll think of me a moment only, every day at the hour of Angelus? Will you?"

"At the Angelus. I swear it."

"And I'll think of you."

Soler walked up.

"That's a tight fit for a big chest," she added, clapping the breastplate with her palm, "and hard to buckle. Well, hombreSj will you ride?"

Soler kissed her full on the mouth—the kiss of possession. "Aye, querida mia. Meet me in a day or so at the place you know of. And adios!"

Pedro bowed as if she had been a great lady. "God be with you, Catana!"

"And with you," she said, "always."

The little troop, grown now to some fourteen horse, cantered off. She stood in the middle of the empty road, watching it, watching one figure in the rear by the side of Garcia. His steel cap sparkled in the moonlight. Had he already forgotten her? Would he look back once more? She clasped her hands.

"Maria gratia plena —''''

He turned and raised his arm.

''Adios, amado mio, amado mio!" she whispered.

When he had disappeared, she still looked at the turn of the road.

But suddenly a sound startled her. It came from the direction of Jaen —the distant racing of horses' hoofs.

XXd

If they could have had the start originally planned, the fugitives might have reached the Sierra de Lucena and taken refuge in the fastnesses of the Granada Mountains before their pursuers had been long on the road. As it was, they could not hope to reach the pass without a fight; and even if this were at first successful, it would be hard to shake off pursuit. For it would not do merely to gain the mountains; they must disappear long enough to find their way undetected to the coast— Almeria or Cartagena—and with luck secure passage for Italy. To be penned in the mountains would be fatal, as it would give the Inquisition time to cut off their escape by sea. After that, with a price on their heads and the province raised against them, their ultimate capture was inevitable.

Warned by a shout from Pedro, whose quick ears had picked up the

sound of approaching, though still distant, horsemen, Don Francisco dropped back for conference. Like a veteran captain, he had his plans ready for the event and now communicated them to Pedro, Garciaj and Soler.

"Look you. I remember a trail to the right not more than five furlongs ahead. We used it in the Moorish wars. It's impossible for a woman, but fair enough for men. Am I wrong, senor?"

"No," agreed Soler, "but it's better for goats. It leads west to Priego and hits the road to Puente Genii."

Don Francisco nodded. "The same. Pedro, your mother cannot take that path. She must keep to this road, and I must guard her. Half the men should ride with us. We'll press on as fast as may be. You with the others might wait for the dogs here. Hold them in play, but fall back. Then take the trail to the west. My guess is they'll follow you, thinking that all of us have gone that way. I grieve to propose this, for it means danger, and I would like my share of it, but Dofia Maria cannot be left alone."

It was clearly the only possible plan. Soler, rising in his stirrups, selected a handful of his best men to form the rear guard with Pedro. To his credit, he did not flinch from the post himself, but the value to the elder de Vargases of his personal escort as far as the sea was too great to be sacrificed. Garcia declared that, of course, he would stay with his friend.

Meanwhile, the little column had briefly halted.

"A word between us," said Don Francisco, beckoning Pedro to one side. "There's no use afflicting your mother with farewells. I'll tell her that you will join us beyond the pass. For myself, I know that whether we meet again on earth is God's affair. If we reach the sea, we cannot wait. You must find your own way to Italy. Whatever happens to us, your kinsman, Cardinal Strozzi, will protect you. And now bear yourself well. I'd give my life to be with you in this skirmish, but I cannot. Here they come. Shout 'Santiago y Vargas.' My blessing goes with you!"

Their hands met in a hard clasp to be long remembered. Then Don Francisco wheeled his horse and galloped up the road. The little group of men, Pedro, Garcia, and five others, waited. Below them the clatter of hoofs grew loud. The moon, slanting across the defile, lighted half of it.

For a first stand, the place was well-chosen. A projecting cliff, around which the road zigzagged, cast its shadow over the defenders, while anyone rounding it from below came fully into the moonlight. The sound of Don Francisco's party in front would throw the pursuers off their guard as to an ambush on the other side of the cliff. In addition, Pedro had the advantage that neither he nor any of the hard-faced rascals with him had anything to lose by fighting. Their lives were forfeit in any case, and most of them had memories of the prison and pillory, the hangman's whip or knife, the execution of friends and relatives, to avenge; whereas the horsemen from the Castle had no such coeent motives for risking their necks.

The noise of the riders came closer; a shout or two; then three ot them abreast swept around the cliff.