More Bones (8 page)

Peregil asked the man where he was going. “Alas,” he said, “I don't know anyone here. But if you will let me spend the night at your home, you will be rewarded.”

The water carrier knew that the very lives of Moors and Jews were endangered, because the Inquisition was raging in Spain. Peregil had already been harassed by government officials for merely
befriending
non-Christians like the Moor. But how could he abandon someone in need? He nodded to the old man, and led his donkey home along the shadowy back streets. His biggest worry was what his wife would say when he helped the Moor into their house.

“You will bring trouble down on our heads,” she cried the moment she saw him.

“He's sick,” Peregil said. “We can't leave him in the street.” He placed a mat and a sheepskin on the floor and helped the old man lie down. Peregil and his wife continued to argue while the Moor slept. But when the man began to shake uncontrollably, Peregil rushed to his side.

“My life is about to end,” the old man whispered, “but I want to reward you for your kindness.” He slipped a shaking hand beneath his robe and pulled forth a small sandalwood box. “This is for you.” Then he mumbled only a word or two more before he drew his last breath.

Peregil thought that he might have said “treasure,” but he wasn't sure. Besides, he was much too upset about the man's death to even think about what the box might contain.

His wife broke into tears. “Now we will be accused of murder!”

“Just help me!” Peregil replied. The two of them managed to roll the sleeping mat around the corpse and heave the bundle onto the back of the donkey.

It was still dark out, so Peregil led his donkey to the riverbank and buried the corpse in the sand. Then he led the donkey back home and went to sleep. He was sure that no one had seen him bring the Moor into his house or take his body away.

Unfortunately, a gossipy neighbor had been peering out the window that night. He was the local barber, and he loved gathering scraps of news to pass along to his customers. He had watched Peregil arrive with the Moor, and he had seen him take the body away. The barber had even thrown on his clothes and shadowed the water carrier all the way to the river, where he saw him bury the corpse.

The next morning, the barber rushed to the house of his first customer, a corrupt government official. He was early, but he could hardly wait to share his news.

“Last night I saw robbery, murder, and a burial,” he gasped, still out of breath from running. He dramatized every detail that he could remember or could imagine.

The official's eyes opened wide. There was opportunity here. If there had been a robbery, there must be a pile of money that the scheming official could claim for himself—supposedly in the name of justice.

The barber had barely begun the haircut when the official shoved him aside and stormed out of the house to find Peregil.

The water carrier had arisen early to fill his jugs. He was already walking through the city, shouting, “Who wants water from the well of the Alhambra, cold as ice and clear as crystal?”

“I want more than water,” barked the official, grabbing Peregil by the collar. “Tell me where you have hidden the booty.”

Peregil turned pale. “I robbed no one,” he cried.

The official shook him. “I know everything,” he said. “I could throw you in jail for murder.” His eyes narrowed. “But it was only a Moor. Maybe I can look the other way if you give me the Moor's money.”

Only a Moor? Peregil couldn't understand such cruelty. “God smite me if I lie. I did not kill the Moor, but he did leave me a sandalwood box.”

He was so sure that the official would not be interested in what was inside the box that he took him home to see it. The official grabbed the box, but he was terribly disappointed when only a scroll with Arabic characters and the stub of a wax candle tumbled out.

The greedy official lost interest in Peregil's case. Obviously there was no money to be had. He listened briefly to the water carrier's explanations and decided he was innocent. He allowed Peregil to keep the useless box—but not his donkey. That he kept for himself. “In payment of costs and charges,” he said, even though no payment was due, and he led the donkey away.

Poor Peregil. Not only had he lost his beloved, four-footed companion, he would have to carry the heavy water jugs on his own back.

When he told his wife, she was furious. “I warned you!” she cried. “You never should have brought the Moor into our home. And all you got was a worthless sandalwood box!”

Peregil took her scolding for only so long. Then he snatched the box from a shelf and threw it on the floor. The parchment scroll fell out. When it unrolled, the water carrier noticed how much writing was on it, and he began to wonder what it said.

That very day he took it to a friend, a Moorish shopkeeper. “Can you read this to me?” he asked.

The shopkeeper studied it for a moment. Then his eyes brightened. “This is a spell,” he said, “to break open the door to an enchanted treasure lying beneath the Alhambra's highest watchtower. It says that even the strongest bolts and bars—even rock itself—will yield to the words written here.”

Peregil was mystified. Could this possibly be true? He watched anxiously as the Moor continued to read the Arabic characters. “Unfortunately it is worthless,” his friend said, “unless a certain candle, made with precious perfume, is burned at the same midnight hour that the magic spell is spoken.”

“I think I have a stub of such a candle,” cried Peregil. “It was in the same sandalwood box.” He rushed home to retrieve it, then carried it back to his friend's shop.

“This is the very candle,” the Moor said, “that is specified in the scroll. While it burns, the secret cave will remain open. But beware! He who stays near the treasure after the candle is extinguished will be trapped there, enchanted forever. Perhaps you need me to go along.”

The generous water carrier was quick to respond. “Of course,” he said, “I need you to invoke the spell, and we will share any treasure it reveals.” That very night, Peregil and his friend climbed the steep path to the Alhambra, veering to one side to reach the base of the watchtower. They clambered through brush and over rocks until they found the enchanted place described in the scroll. Both men carried lanterns to light up the underground passages. But first they had to tear away the vines and shrubs that hid the entrance to the cave.

Once inside they found steps carved into stone. They descended from one chamber to another . . . and another . . . and another. It grew damper and darker and drearier the farther down they went. The cave smelled of wet earth and rock. Water from the ceiling dripped on their heads. Both men had to quell a desire to flee—to race out of that strange and forbidding place. But when they stepped onto the floor of the fourth chamber, they knew that the treasure they were seeking was trapped somewhere beneath their feet.

When the clock struck twelve in the watchtower above them, they could hear it faintly in the cave. They lit the candle stub and breathed in its strong scent of myrrh. But there wasn't a moment to lose. The shopkeeper quickly read the magic spell aloud before midnight passed.

There was a horrendous rumble beneath them. The stone floor on which they were standing shook and gaped open, revealing yet another flight of steps. The men felt even more inclined to flee, but they begged mercy from whatever powers they had unleashed, took strength from each other, and descended into the final chamber.

If they had been frightened before, they were terrified now. For their lanterns let them see who was guarding the treasure. On each side stood a huge Moor, dressed for battle, with sword drawn. Peregil backed away, pulling his friend with him. But suddenly he stopped.

“Look!” Peregil whispered. “They aren't blinking an eye.”

The shopkeeper laughed hysterically. A moment before, he had thought he would die, and now he realized he could be the richest man in all of Granada.

“Of course,” he said, when he finally caught his breath. “It was written on the scroll. If someone is in the treasure chamber when it closes, he is enchanted forever.”

Peregil began to load a bag with gold and silver and jewels from elegant porcelain jars. His friend grabbed treasure by the fistful. But both men kept a wary eye on the two guards, still standing like statues on each side of a huge banded chest. Peregil wondered what was inside it.

He inched past the nearest guard so he could open the lid. But the moment he touched it, there was a noise in the chamber above. Was it a falling rock? Or were the stairs about to be blocked by mysterious powers? The frightened men raced up the steps and stumbled into the upper chamber. That's when the candle stub slipped from Peregil's hand and fell to the floor. Its flame went out. Immediately the earth began to rumble and the stone floor slammed shut beneath them. The steps that led down to the treasure were now hidden under a thick layer of rock.

Peregil grabbed the candle stub, and the men ran up to the entrance of the cave. They were happy to be safe, with their bags filled with treasure. On the way down the rocky path, they chattered about what they could do with their newfound wealth. But before they reached the city, the shopkeeper took hold of the water carrier's shoulder.

“You know what will happen,” he said, “if the officials ever hear of our treasure. They will take our money and throw us in jail besides. So we must not tell anyone.” But as luck would have it, a bright jewel slipped from Peregil's bag and fell beside his doorstep. It gleamed in the moonlight. He didn't notice it, but his nosy neighbor did. That nasty gossip watched until Peregil disappeared into the house. Then he sneaked over and pocketed the jewel. The moment the sun rose, he showed it to the corrupt official.

The official was outraged. He raced down the street and burst through Peregil's door. “I'll throw you in jail yet,” he shouted, slapping the poor water carrier, “unless you give me the money you stole.”

What could Peregil do? He would rather lose his treasure than his freedom, so he told the official about the enchanted cave.

Was the official satisfied with Peregil's coins and jewels? “I want more,” he demanded. “Take me to the cave tonight.”

Peregil didn't want to involve the storekeeper. But if the Moor did not read the scroll, the treasure room would not open, the official would be furious, and Peregil would rot in jail.

“I'll bring someone to help us,” Peregil said. He hoisted the bag of treasure onto his shoulder and took it to the official's home. Then he raced off to find the Moor to beg for his assistance.

“What will become of us?” cried the shopkeeper. But as much as he feared the official's power, he could not desert his friend.

That night, Peregil and the shopkeeper waited by the steep path until the official joined them. He showed up riding Peregil's donkey. It brayed when it saw its old master, and Peregil stroked its long ears. “Let's be off!” snapped the official, and when the donkey was slow to move, he poked and prodded it. That greedy man considered it nothing more than a beast of burden.

They climbed the steep hillside to the cave, with the official muttering all the way about the rough ride. Then Peregil tied his old donkey to a tree, and all three men descended to the chamber directly above the treasure. Peregil lit the candle at midnight, and the shopkeeper read the magic words spelled out on the scroll.

When the official heard the horrendous rumble and saw the floor open over another set of descending steps, he was terrified by the powers invoked. “I'll stay here,” he said. “You bring the treasure up to me.” But he was not satisfied with the bags of money and jewels the two men brought up from the huge jars.

“Is this all?” he asked.

“We'll break the poor donkey's back,” cried Peregil, “if we make it carry more. I won't bring up another coin.”

“Nor I,” said the shopkeeper.

Only greed could overcome the official's fear. “Then I will get more for myself,” he said. But he had barely started down the steps when he turned back. “Give me the candle and scroll,” he demanded, grabbing them from the two men. He wanted to be sure that no fearsome powers were invoked while he was in the chamber below. Then he descended, with candle and lantern lighting his way. His knees almost buckled when he saw the enchanted Moorish guards, but when he spotted the magnificent treasure chest, he was thrilled. What incredible wealth must lie inside!

He set the candle down beside the lantern and struggled to open the chest's heavy lid. It was stuck. He pushed and pried and pushed again—and all the while the candle stub was burning lower. He didn't notice when it flickered out.