Don Rodriguez; Chronicles of Shadow Valley Read online

  THE SECOND CHRONICLE

  HOW HE HIRED A MEMORABLE SERVANT

  When Rodriguez woke, the birds were singing gloriously. The sun was upand the air was sparkling over Spain. The gloom had left his highchamber, and much of the menace had gone from it that overnight hadseemed to bode in the corners. It had not become suddenly tidy; it wasstill more suitable for spiders than men, it still mourned and broodedover the great family that it had nursed and that evil days had soobviously overtaken; but it no longer had the air of finger to lips, nolonger seemed to share a secret with you, and that secret Murder. Therats still ran round the wainscot, but the song of the birds and thejolly, dazzling sunshine were so much larger than the sombre room thatthe young man's thoughts escaped from it and ran free to the fields. Itmay have been only his fancy but the world seemed somehow brighter forthe demise of mine host of the Dragon and Knight, whose body still layhunched up on the foot of his bed. Rodriguez jumped up and went to thehigh, barred window and looked out of it at the morning: far below hima little town with red roofs lay; the smoke came up from the chimneystoward him slowly, and spread out flat and did not reach so high.Between him and the roofs swallows were sailing.

  He found water for washing in a cracked pitcher of earthenware and ashe dressed he looked up at the ceiling and admired mine host's device,for there was an open hole that had come noiselessly, without anysounds of bolts or lifting of trap-doors, but seemed to have opened outall round on perfectly oiled grooves, to fit that well-to-do body, anddown from the middle of it from some higher beam hung the rope downwhich mine host had made his last journey.

  Before taking leave of his host Rodriguez looked at his poniard, whichwas a good two feet in length, not counting the hilt, and was surprisedto find it an excellent blade. It bore a design on the steelrepresenting a town, which Rodriguez recognised for the towers ofToledo; and had held moreover a jewel at the end of the hilt, but thelittle gold socket was empty. Rodriguez therefore perceived that theponiard was that of a gallant, and surmised that mine host had begunhis trade with a butcher's knife, but having come by the poniard hadfound it to be handier for his business. Rodriguez being now fullydressed, girt his own blade about him, and putting the poniard underhis cloak, for he thought to find a use for it at the wars, set hisplumed hat upon him and jauntily stepped from the chamber. By the lightof day he saw clearly at what point the passages of the inn had daredto make their intrusion on the corridors of the fortress, for he walkedfor four paces between walls of huge grey rocks which had never beenplastered and were clearly a breach in the fortress, though whether thebreach were made by one of the evil days that had come upon the familyin their fastness, and whether men had poured through it with torchesand swords, or whether the gap had been cut in later years for minehost of the Dragon and Knight, and he had gone quietly through itrubbing his hands, nothing remained to show Rodriguez now.

  When he came to the dining-chamber he found Morano astir. Morano lookedup from his overwhelming task of tidying the Inn of the Dragon andKnight and then went on with his pretended work, for he felt a littleashamed of the knowledge he had concerning the ways of that inn, whichwas more than an honest man should know about such a place.

  "Good morning, Morano," said Rodriguez blithely.

  "Good morning," answered the servant of the Dragon and Knight.

  "I am looking for the wars. Would you like a new master, Morano?"

  "Indeed," said Morano, "a good master is better to some men's mindsthan a bad one. Yet, you see senor, my bad master has me bound never toleave him, by oaths that I do not properly understand the meaning of,and that might blast me in any world were I to forswear them. He hathbound me by San Sathanas, with many others. I do not like the sound ofthat San Sathanas. And so you see, senor, my bad master suits me betterthan perhaps to be whithered in this world by a levin-stroke, and inthe next world who knows?"

  "Morano," said Rodriguez, "there is a dead spider on my bed."

  "A dead spider, master?" said Morano, with as much concern in his voiceas though no spider had ever sullied that chamber before.

  "Yes," said Rodriguez, "I shall require you to keep my bed tidy on ourway to the wars."

  "Master," said Morano, "no spider shall come near it, living or dead."

  And so our company of one going northward through Spain looking forromance became a company of two.

  "Master," said Morano, "as I do not see him whom I serve, and his waysare early ways, I fear some evil has overtaken him, whereby we shall besuspect, for none other dwells here: and he is under special protectionof the Garda Civil; it would be well therefore to start for the warsright early."

  "The guard protect mine host then." Rodriguez said with as muchsurprise in his tones as he ever permitted himself.

  "Master," Morano said, "it could not be otherwise. For so many gallantshave entered the door of this inn and supped in this chamber and neverbeen seen again, and so many suspicious things have been found here,such as blood, that it became necessary for him to pay the guard well,and so they protect him." And Morano hastily slung over his shoulder byleather straps an iron pot and a frying-pan and took his broad felt hatfrom a peg on the wall.

  Rodriguez' eyes looked so curiously at the great cooking utensilsdangling there from the straps that Morano perceived his young masterdid not fully understand these preparations: he therefore instructedhim thus: "Master, there be two things necessary in the wars, strategyand cooking. Now the first of these comes in use when the captainsspeak of their achievements and the historians write of the wars.Strategy is a learned thing, master, and the wars may not be told ofwithout it, but while the war rageth and men be camped upon thefoughten field then is the time for cooking; for many a man that fightsthe wars, if he hath not his food, were well content to let the enemylive, but feed him and at once he becometh proud at heart and cannota-bear the sight of the enemy walking among his tents but must needsslay him outright. Aye, master, the cooking for the wars; and when thewars are over you who are learned shall study strategy."

  And Rodriguez perceived that there was wisdom in the world that was nottaught in the College of San Josephus, near to his father's valleys,where he had learned in his youth the ways of books.

  "Morano," he said, "let us now leave mine host to entertain la Garda."

  And at the mention of the guard hurry came on Morano, he closed hislips upon his store of wisdom, and together they left the Inn of theDragon and Knight. And when Rodriguez saw shut behind him that darkdoor of oak that he had so persistently entered, and through which hehad come again to the light of the sun by many precautions and someluck, he felt gratitude to Morano. For had it not been for Morano'ssinister hints, and above all his remark that mine host would havedriven him thence because he liked him, the evil look of the sombrechamber alone might not have been enough to persuade him to theprecautions that cut short the dreadful business of that inn. And withhis gratitude was a feeling not unlike remorse, for he felt that he haddeprived this poor man of a part of his regular wages, which would havebeen his own gold ring and the setting that held the sapphire, had allgone well with the business. So he slipped the ring from his finger andgave it to Morano, sapphire and all.

  Morano's expressions of gratitude were in keeping with that floweryperiod in Spain, and might appear ridiculous were I to expose them tothe eyes of an age in which one in Morano's place on such an occasionwould have merely said, "Damned good of you old nut, not half," and letthe matter drop.

  I merely record therefore that Morano was grateful and so expressedhimself; while Rodriguez, in addition to the pleasant glow in the mindthat comes from a generous action, had another feeling that gives allof us pleasure, or comfort at least (until it grows monotonous), afeeling of increased safety; for while he had the ring upon his fingerand Morano went unpaid the thought could not help occurring, even to agenerous mind, that one of these windy nights Morano might come for hiswages.

  "Master," said Morano looking at the sapphire now on his own littlefing
er near the top joint, the only stone amongst his row of rings,"you must surely have great wealth."

  "Yes," said Rodriguez slapping the scabbard that held his Castilianblade. And when he saw that Morano's eyes were staring at the littleemeralds that were dotted along the velvet of the scabbard he explainedthat it was the sword that was his wealth:

  "For in the wars," he said, "are all things to be won, and nothing isunobtainable to the sword. For parchment and custom govern all thepossessions of man, as they taught me in the College of San Josephus.Yet the sword is at first the founder and discoverer of allpossessions; and this my father told me before he gave me this sword,which hath already acquired in the old time fair castles with many atower."

  "And those that dwelt in the castles, master, before the sword came?"said Morano.

  "They died and went dismally to Hell," said Rodriguez, "as the oldsongs say."

  They walked on then in silence. Morano, with his low forehead andgreater girth of body than of brain to the superficial observer, wasnot incapable of thought. However slow his thoughts may have come,Morano was pondering surely. Suddenly the puckers on his littleforehead cleared and he brightly looked at Rodriguez as they went onside by side.

  "Master," Morano said, "when you choose a castle in the wars, let itabove all things be one of those that is easy to be defended; forcastles are easily got, as the old songs tell, and in the heat ofcombat positions are quickly stormed, and no more ado; but, when warsare over, then is the time for ease and languorous days and theimperilling of the soul, though not beyond the point where our goodfathers may save it."

  "Nay, Morano," Rodriguez said, "no man, as they taught me well in theCollege of San Josephus, should ever imperil his soul."

  "But, master," Morano said, "a man imperils his body in the wars yethopes by dexterity and his sword to draw it safely thence: so a man ofcourage and high heart may surely imperil his soul and still hope tobring it at the last to salvation."

  "Not so," said Rodriguez, and gave his mind to pondering upon the exactteaching he had received on this very point, but could not clearlyremember.

  So they walked in silence, Rodriguez thinking still of this spiritualproblem, Morano turning, though with infinite slowness, to anotherthought upon a lower plane.

  And after a while Rodriguez' eyes turned again to the flowers, and hefelt his meditation, as youth will, and looking abroad he saw thewonder of Spring calling forth the beauty of Spain, and he lifted uphis head and his heart rejoiced with the anemones, as hearts at his agedo: but Morano clung to his thought.

  It was long before Rodriguez' fanciful thoughts came back from amongthe flowers, for among those delicate earliest blooms of Spring hisyouthful visions felt they were with familiars; so they tarried,neglecting the dusty road and poor gross Morano. But when his fanciesleft the flowers at last and looked again at Morano, Rodriguezperceived that his servant was all troubled with thought: so he leftMorano in silence for his thought to come to maturity, for he hadformed a liking already for the judgments of Morano's simple mind.

  They walked in silence for the space of an hour, and at last Moranospoke. It was then noon. "Master," he said, "at this hour it is thecustom of la Garda to enter the Inn of the Dragon and to dine at theexpense of mine host."

  "A merry custom," said Rodriguez.

  "Master," said Morano, "if they find him in less than his usual healththey will get their dinners for themselves in the larder and dine andafterwards sleep. But after that; master, after that, should anythinginauspicious have befallen mine host, they will seek out and ask manyquestions concerning all travellers, too many for our liking."

  "We are many good miles from the Inn of the Dragon and Knight," saidRodriguez.

  "Master, when they have eaten and slept and asked questions they willfollow on horses," said Morano.

  "We can hide," said Rodriguez, and he looked round over the plain, veryfull of flowers, but empty and bare under the blue sky of any place inwhich a man might hide to escape from pursuers on horse back. Heperceived then that he had no plan.

  "Master," said Morano, "there is no hiding like disguises."

  Once more Rodriguez looked round him over the plain, seeing no houses,no men; and his opinion of Morano's judgment sank when he saiddisguises. But then Morano unfolded to him that plan which up to thatday had never been tried before, so far as records tell, in all thestraits in which fugitive men have been; and which seems from myresearches in verse and prose never to have been attempted since.

  The plan was this, astute as Morano, and simple as his naive mind. Theclothing for which Rodriguez searched the plain vainly was ready tohand. No disguise was effective against la Garda, they had too manysuspicions, their skill was to discover disguises. But in the moment ofla Garda's triumph, when they had found out the disguise, when successhad lulled the suspicions for which they were infamous, then was thetime to trick la Garda. Rodriguez wondered; but the slow mind of Moranowas sure, and now he came to the point, the fruit of his hour'sthinking. Rodriguez should disguise himself as Morano. When la Gardadiscovered that he was not the man he appeared to be, a study to whichthey devoted their lives, their suspicions would rest and there wouldbe an end of it. And Morano should disguise himself as Rodriguez.

  It was a new idea. Had Rodriguez been twice his age he would havediscarded it at once; for age is guided by precedent which, whenpursued, is a dangerous guide indeed. Even as it was he was critical,for the novelty of the thing coming thus from his gross servantsurprised him as much as though Morano had uttered poetry of his ownwhen he sang, as he sometimes did, certain merry lascivious songs ofSpain that any one of the last few centuries knew as well as any of theothers.

  And would not la Garda find out that he was himself, Rodriguez asked,as quickly as they found out he was not Morano.

  "That," said Morano, "is not the way of la Garda. For once let la Gardacome by a suspicion, such as that you, master, are but Morano, and theywill cling to it even to the last, and not abandon it until they needsmust, and then throw it away as it were in disgust and ride hence atonce, for they like not tarrying long near one who has seen themmistaken."

  "They will soon then come by another suspicion," said Rodriguez.

  "Not so, master," answered Morano, "for those that are as suspicious asla Garda change their suspicions but slowly. A suspicion is an old songto them."

  "Then," said Rodriguez, "I shall be hard set ever to show that I am notyou if they ever suspect I am."

  "It will be hard, master," Morano answered; "but we shall do it, for weshall have truth upon our side."

  "How shall we disguise ourselves?" said Rodriguez.

  "Master," said Morano, "when you came to our town none knew you and allmarked your clothes. As for me my fat body is better known than myclothes, yet am I not too well known by la Garda, for, being an honestman, whenever la Garda came I used to hide."

  "You did well," said Rodriguez.

  "Certainly I did well," said Morano, "for had they seen me they might,on account of certain matters, have taken me to prison, and prison isno place for an honest man."

  "Let us disguise ourselves," said Rodriguez.

  "Master," answered Morano, "the brain is greater than the stomach, andnow more than at any time we need the counsel of the brain; let ustherefore appease the clamours of the stomach that it be silent."

  And he drew out from amongst his clothing a piece of sacking in whichwas a mass of bacon and some lard, and unslung his huge frying-pan.Rodriguez had entirely forgotten the need of food, but now the memoryof it had rushed upon him like a flood over a barrier, as soon as hesaw the bacon. And when they had collected enough of tiny inflammablethings, for it was a treeless plain, and Morano had made a fire, andthe odour of the bacon became perceptible, this memory was hugelyintensified.

  "Let us eat while they eat, master," said Morano, "and plan while theysleep, and disguise ourselves while they pursue."

  And this they did: for after they had eaten they dug up earth andgathere
d leaves with which to fill the gaps in Morano's garments whenthey should hang on Rodriguez, they plucked a geranium with whose dyethey deepened Rodriguez' complexion, and with the sap from the stalk ofa weed Morano toned to a pallor the ruddy brown of his tough cheeks.Then they changed clothes altogether, which made Morano gasp: and afterthat nothing remained but to cut off the delicate black moustachios ofRodriguez and to stick them to the face of Morano with the juice ofanother flower that he knew where to find. Rodriguez sighed when he sawthem go. He had pictured ecstatic glances cast some day at thosemoustachios, glances from under long eyelashes twinkling at eveningfrom balconies; and looking at them where they were now, he felt thatthis was impossible.

  For one moment Morano raised his head with an air, as it were preeninghimself, when the new moustachios had stuck; but as soon as he saw, orfelt, his master's sorrow at their loss he immediately hung his head,showing nothing but shame for the loss he had caused his master, or forthe impropriety of those delicate growths that so ill become his jowl.And now they took the road again, Rodriguez with the great frying-panand cooking-pot; no longer together, but not too far apart for la Gardato take them both at once, and to make the doubly false charge thatshould so confound their errand. And Morano wore that old triumphantsword, and carried the mandolin that was ever young.

  They had not gone far when it was as Morano had said; for, lookingback, as they often did, to the spot where their road touched thesky-line, they saw la Garda spurring, seven of them in theirunmistakable looped hats, very clear against the sky which a moment agoseemed so fair.

  When the seven saw the two they did not spare the dust; and first theycame to Morano.

  "You," they said, "are Rodriguez Trinidad Fernandez, ConcepcionHenrique Maria, a Lord of the Valleys of Arguento Harez."

  "No, masters," said Morano.

  Oh but denials were lost upon la Garda.

  Denials inflamed their suspicions as no other evidence could. Many aman had they seen with his throat in the hands of the public garrotter;and all had begun with denials who ended thus. They looked at themandolin, at the gay cloak, at the emeralds in the scabbard, forwherever emeralds go there is evidence to identify them, until thenature of man changes or the price of emeralds. They spoke hastilyamong themselves.

  "Without doubt," said one of them, "you are whom we said." And theyarrested Morano.

  Then they spurred on to Rodriguez. "You are," they said, "as no mandoubts, one Morano, servant at the Inn of the Dragon and Knight, whosegood master is, as we allege, dead."

  "Masters," answered Rodriguez, "I am but a poor traveller, and noservant at any inn."

  Now la Garda, as I have indicated, will hear all things except denials;and thus to receive two within the space of two moments infuriated themso fiercely that they were incapable of forming any other theory thatday except the one they held.

  There are many men like this; they can form a plausible theory andgrasp its logical points, but take it away from them and destroy itutterly before their eyes, and they will not so easily lash their tiredbrains at once to build another theory in place of the one that isruined.

  "As the saints live," they said, "you are Morano." And they arrestedRodriguez too.

  Now when they began to turn back by the way they had come Rodriguezbegan to fear overmuch identification, so he assured la Garda that inthe next village ahead of them were those who would answer allquestions concerning him, as well as being the possessors of the finestvintage of wine in the kingdom of Spain.

  Now it may be that the mention of this wine soothed the anger caused inthe men of la Garda by two denials, or it may be that curiosity guidedthem, at any rate they took the road that led away from last night'ssinister shelter, Rodriguez and five of la Garda. Two of them stayedbehind with Morano, undecided as yet which way to take, though lookingwistfully the way that that wine was said to be; and Rodriguez leftMorano to his own devices, in which he trusted profoundly.

  Now Rodriguez knew not the name of the next village that they wouldcome to nor the names of any of the dwellers in it.

  Yet he had a plan. As he went by the side of one of the horses hequestioned the rider.

  "Can Morano write?" he said. La Garda laughed.

  "Can Morano talk Latin?" he said. La Garda crossed themselves, all fivemen. And after some while of riding, and hard walking for Rodriguez, towhom they allowed a hand on a stirrup leather, there came in sight thetops of the brown roofs of a village over a fold of the plain. "Is thisyour village?" said one of his captors.

  "Surely," answered Rodriguez.

  "What is its name?" said one.

  "It has many names," said Rodriguez.

  And then another one of them recognised it from the shape of its roofs."It is Saint Judas-not-Iscariot," he said.

  "Aye, so strangers call it," said Rodriguez.

  And where the road turned round that fold of the plain, lolling alittle to its left in the idle Spanish air, they came upon the villageall in view. I do not know how to describe this village to you, myreader, for the words that mean to you what it was are all the wrongwords to use. "Antique," "old-world," "quaint," seem words with whichto tell of it. Yet it had no antiquity denied to the other villages; ithad been brought to birth like them by the passing of time, and wasnursed like them in the lap of plains or valleys of Spain. Nor was itquainter than any of its neighbours, though it was like itself alone,as they had their characters also; and, though no village in the worldwas like it, it differed only from the next as sister differs fromsister. To those that dwelt in it, it was wholly apart from all theworld of man.

  Most of its tall white houses with green doors were gathered about themarket-place, in which were pigeons and smells and declining sunlight,as Rodriguez and his escort came towards it, and from round a corner atthe back of it the short, repeated song of one who would sell acommodity went up piercingly.

  This was all very long ago. Time has wrecked that village now.Centuries have flowed over it, some stormily, some smoothly, but somany that, of the village Rodriguez saw, there can be now no more thanwreckage. For all I know a village of that name may stand on that sameplain, but the Saint Judas-not-Iscariot that Rodriguez knew is gonelike youth.

  Queerly tiled, sheltered by small dense trees, and standing a littleapart, Rodriguez recognised the house of the Priest. He recognised itby a certain air it had. Thither he pointed and la Garda rode. Again hespoke to them. "Can Morano speak Latin?" he said.

  "God forbid!" said la Garda.

  They dismounted and opened a gate that was gilded all over, in a lowwall of round boulders. They went up a narrow path between thick ilicesand came to the green door. They pulled a bell whose handle was asymbol carved in copper, one of the Priest's mysteries. The bell boomedthrough the house, a tiny musical boom, and the Priest opened the door;and Rodriguez addressed him in Latin. And the Priest answered him.

  At first la Garda had not realised what had happened. And then thePriest beckoned and they all entered his house, for Rodriguez had askedhim for ink. Into a room they came where a silver ink-pot was, and thegrey plume of the goose. Picture no such ink-pot, my reader, as theysell to-day in shops, the silver no thicker than paper, and perhaps apattern all over it guaranteed artistic. It was molten silver wellwrought, and hollowed for ink. And in the hollow there was the magicalfluid, the stuff that rules the world and hinders time; that in whichflows the will of a king, to establish his laws for ever; that whichgives valleys unto new possessors; that whereby towers are held bytheir lawful owners; that which, used grimly by the King's judge, isdeath; that which, when poets play, is mirth for ever and ever.

  No wonder la Garda looked at it in awe, no wonder they crossedthemselves again: and then Rodriguez wrote. In the silence thatfollowed the jaws of la Garda dropped, while the old Priest slightlysmiled, for he somewhat divined the situation already; and, being thepeople's friend, he loved not la Garda more than he was bound by therules of his duty to man.

  Then one of la Garda spoke, bringing ba
ck his confidence with abluster. "Morano has sold his soul to Satan," he said, "in exchange forSatan's aid, and Satan has taught his tongue Latin and guides hisfingers in the affairs of the pen." And so said all la Garda, rejoicingat finding an explanation where a moment ago there was none, as all menat such times do: little it matters what the explanation be: does a manin Sahara, who finds water suddenly, inquire with precision what itsqualities are?

  And then the Priest said a word and made a sign, against which Satanhimself can only prevail with difficulty, and in presence of which hisspells can never endure. And after this Rodriguez wrote again. Thenwere la Garda silent.

  And at length the leader said, and he called on them all to testify,that he had made no charge whatever against this traveller; moreover,they had escorted him on his way out of respect for him, because theroads were dangerous, and must now depart because they had higherduties. So la Garda departed, looking before them with stern,preoccupied faces and urging their horses on, as men who go on anerrand of great urgency. And Rodriguez, having thanked them for theirprotection upon the road, turned back into the house and the two satdown together, and Rodriguez told his rescuer the story of thehospitality of the Inn of the Dragon and Knight.

  Not as confession he told it, but as a pleasant tale, for he looked onthe swift demise of la Garda's friend, in the night, in the spideryroom, as a fair blessing for Spain, a thing most suited to the sweetdays of Spring. The spiritual man rejoiced to hear such a tale, as doall men of peace to hear talk of violent deeds in which they may notshare. And when the tale was ended he reproved Rodriguez exceedingly,explaining to him the nature of the sin of blood, and telling him thatabsolution could be come by now, though hardly, but how on some futureoccasion there might be none to be had. And Rodriguez listened with allthe gravity of expression that youth knows well how to wear while itsthoughts are nimbly dancing far away in fair fields of adventure orlove.

  And darkness came down and lamps were carried in: and the reverendfather asked Rodriguez in what other affairs of violence his sword hadunhappily been. And Rodriguez knew well the history of that sword,having gathered all that concerned it out of spoken legend or song. Andalthough the reverend man frowned minatorily whenever he heard of itspassings through the ribs of the faithful, and nodded as though hishead gave benediction when he heard of the destruction of God's mostvile enemy the infidel, and though he gasped a little through his lipswhen he heard of certain tarryings of that sword, in scented gardens,while Christian knights should sleep and their swords hang on the wall,though sometimes even a little he raised his hands, yet he leanedforward always, listening well, and picturing clearly as though hisgleaming eyes could see them, each doleful tale of violence or sin. Andso night came, and began to wear away, and neither knew how late thehour was. And then as Rodriguez spoke of an evening in a garden, ofwhich some old song told well, a night in early summer under theevening star, and that sword there as always; as he told of hisgrandfather as poets had loved to tell, going among the scents of thehuge flowers, familiar with the dark garden as the moths that driftedby him; as he spoke of a sigh heard faintly, as he spoke of dangernear, whether to body or soul; as the reverend father was about toraise both his hands; there came a thunder of knockings upon the lockedgreen door.