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HOW HE HIRED A MEMORABLE SERVANT
When Rodriguez woke, the birds were singing gloriously. The sun
was up and the air was sparkling over Spain. The gloom had left
his high chamber, and much of the menace had gone from it that
overnight had seemed to bode in the corners. It had not become
suddenly tidy; it was still more suitable for spiders than men, it
still mourned and brooded over the great family that it had nursed
and that evil days had so obviously overtaken; but it no longer
had the air of finger to lips, no longer seemed to share a secret
with you, and that secret Murder. The rats still ran round the
wainscot, but the song of the birds and the jolly, dazzling
sunshine were so much larger than the sombre room that the young
man's thoughts escaped from it and ran free to the fields. It may
have been only his fancy but the world seemed somehow brighter for
the demise of mine host of the Dragon and Knight, whose body still
lay hunched up on the foot of his bed. Rodriguez jumped up and
went to the high, barred window and looked out of it at the
morning: far below him a little town with red roofs lay; the smoke
came up from the chimneys toward 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
as he dressed he looked up at the ceiling and admired mine host's
device, for there was an open hole that had come noiselessly,
without any sounds of bolts or lifting of trap-doors, but seemed
to have opened out all round on perfectly oiled groves, to fit
that well-to-do body, and down from the middle of it from some
higher beam hung the rope down which mine host had made his last
journey.
Before taking leave of his host Rodriguez looked at his poniard,
which was a good two feet in length, not counting the hilt, and
was surprised to find it an excellent blade. It bore a design on
the steel representing a town, which Rodriguez recognised for the
towers of Toledo; and had held moreover a jewel at the end of the
hilt, but the little gold socket was empty. Rodriguez therefore
perceived that the poniard was that of a gallant, and surmised
that mine host had begun his trade with a butcher's knife, but
having come by the poniard had found it to be handier for his
business. Rodriguez being now fully dressed, girt his own blade
about him, and putting the poniard under his cloak, for he thought
to find a use for it at the wars, set his plumed hat upon him and
jauntily stepped from the chamber. By the light of day he saw
clearly at what point the passages of the inn had dared to make
their intrusion on the corridors of the fortress, for he walked
for four paces between walls of huge grey rocks which had never
been plastered and were clearly a breach in the fortress, though
whether the breach were made by one of the evil days that had come
upon the family in their fastness, and whether men had poured
through it with torches and swords, or whether the gap had been
cut in later years for mine host of the Dragon and Knight, and he
had gone quietly through it rubbing his hands, nothing remained to
show Rodriguez now.
When he came to the dining-chamber he found Morano astir. Morano
looked up from his overwhelming task of tidying the Inn of the
Dragon and Knight and then went on with his pretended work, for he
felt a little ashamed of the knowledge he had concerning the ways
of that inn, which was 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
minds than a bad one. Yet, you see senor, my bad master has me
bound never to leave 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 hath bound me by San Sathanas, with
many others. I do not like the sound of that San Sathanas. And so
you see, senor, my bad master suits me better than perhaps to be
whithered in this world by a levin-stroke, and in the 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
voice as though no spider had ever sullied that chamber before.
"Yes," said Rodriguez, "I shall require you to keep my bed tidy on
our way 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
for romance became a company of two.
"Master," said Morano, "as I do not see him whom I serve, and his
ways are early ways, I fear some evil has overtaken him, whereby
we shall be suspect, for none other dwells here: and he is under
special protection of the Garda Civil; it would be well therefore
to start for the wars right early."
"The guard protect mine host then." Rodriguez said with as much
surprise in his tones as he ever permitted himself.
"Master," Morano said, "it could not be otherwise. For so many
gallants have entered the door of this inn and supped in this
chamber and never been 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 by leather straps an iron pot and
a frying-pan and took his broad felt hat from a peg on the wall.
Rodriguez' eyes looked so curiously at the great cooking utensils
dangling there from the straps that Morano perceived his young
master did not fully understand these preparations: he therefore
instructed him thus: "Master, there be two things necessary in the
wars, strategy and cooking. Now the first of these comes in use
when the captains speak of their achievements and the historians
write of the wars. Strategy is a learned thing, master, and the
wars may not be told of without it, but while the war rageth and
men be camped upon the foughten field then is the time for
cooking; for many a man that fights the wars, if he hath not his
food, were well content to let the enemy live, but feed him and at
once he becometh proud at heart and cannot a-bear the sight of the
enemy walking among his tents but must needs slay him outright.
Aye, master, the cooking for the wars; and when the wars are over
you who are learned shall study strategy."
And Rodriguez perceived that there was wisdom in the world that
was not taught 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
his lips upon his store of wisdom, and together they left the Inn
of the Dragon and Knight. And when Rodriguez saw shut behind him
that dark door of oak that he had so persistently entered, and
through which he had come again to the light of the sun by many
precautions and some luck, he felt gratitude to Morano. For had it
not been for Morano's sinister hints, and above all his remark
that mine host would have driven him thence because he liked him,
the evil look of the sombre chamber alone might not have been
enough to persuade him to the precautions that cut short the
dreadful business of that inn. And with his gratitude was a
feeling not unlike remorse, for he felt that he had deprived this
poor man of a part of his regular wages, which would have been his
own gold ring and the setting that held the sapphire, had all gone
well with the business. So he slipped the ring from his finger and
gave it to Morano, sapphire and all.
Morano's expressions of gratitude were in keeping with that
flowery period in Spain, and might appear ridiculous were I to
expose them to the eyes of an age in which one in Morano's place
on such an occasion would have merely said, "Damned good of you
old nut, not half," and let the matter drop.
I merely record therefore that Morano was grateful and so
expressed himself; while Rodriguez, in addition to the pleasant
glow in the mind that comes from a generous action, had another
feeling that gives all of us pleasure, or comfort at least (until
it grows monotonous), a feeling of increased safety; for while he
had the ring upon his finger and Morano went unpaid the thought
could not help occurring, even to a generous mind, that one of
these windy nights Morano might come for his wages.
"Master," said Morano looking at the sapphire now on his own
little finger 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
Castilian blade. And when he saw that Morano's eyes were staring
at the little emeralds that were dotted along the velvet of the
scabbard he explained that it was the sword that was his wealth:
"For in the wars," he said, "are all things to be won, and nothing
is unobtainable to the sword. For parchment and custom govern all
the possessions of man, as they taught me in the College of San
Josephus. Yet the sword is at first the founder and discoverer of
all possessions; and this my father told me before he gave me this
sword, which hath already acquired in the old time fair castles
with many a tower."
"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 old
songs say."
They walked on then in silence. Morano, with his low forehead and
greater girth of body than of brain to the superficial observer,
was not incapable of thought. However slow his thoughts may have
come, Morano was pondering surely. Suddenly the puckers on his
little forehead cleared and he brightly looked at Rodriguez as
they went on side by side.
"Master," Morano said, "when you choose a castle in the wars, let
it above all things be one of those that is easy to be defended;
for castles are easily got, as the old songs tell, and in the heat
of combat positions are quickly stormed, and no more ado; but,
when wars are over, then is the time for ease and languorous days
and the imperilling of the soul, though not beyond the point where
our good fathers may save it."
"Nay, Morano," Rodriguez said, "no man, as they taught me well in
the College of San Josephus, should ever imperil his soul."
"But, master," Morano said, "a man imperils his body in the wars
yet hopes by dexterity and his sword to draw it safely thence: so
a man of courage and high heart may surely imperil his soul and
still hope to bring it at the last to salvation."
"Not so," said Rodriguez, and gave his mind to pondering upon the
exact teaching he had received on this very point, but could not
clearly remember.
So they walked in silence, Rodriguez thinking still of this
spiritual problem, Morano turning, though with infinite slowness,
to another thought upon a lower plane.
And after a while Rodriguez' eyes turned again to the flowers, and
he felt his meditation, as youth will, and looking abroad he saw
the wonder of Spring calling forth the beauty of Spain, and he
lifted up his head and his heart rejoiced with the anemones, as
hearts at his age do: but Morano clung to his thought.
It was long before Rodriguez' fanciful thoughts came back from
among the flowers, for among those delicate earliest blooms of
Spring his youthful visions felt they were with familiars; so they
tarried, neglecting the dusty road and poor gross Morano. But when
his fancies left the flowers at last and looked again at Morano,
Rodriguez perceived that his servant was all troubled with
thought: so he left Morano in silence for his thought to come to
maturity, for he had formed a liking already for the judgments of
Morano's simple mind.
They walked in silence for the space of an hour, and at last
Morano spoke. It was then noon. "Master," he said, "at this hour
it is the custom of la Garda to enter the Inn of the Dragon and to
dine at the expense of mine host."
"A merry custom," said Rodriguez.
"Master," said Morano, "if they find him in less than his usual
health they will get their dinners for themselves in the larder
and dine and afterwards sleep. But after that; master, after that,
should anything inauspicious have befallen mine host, they will
seek out and ask many questions concerning all travellers, too
many for our liking."
"We are many good miles from the Inn of the Dragon and Knight,"
said Rodriguez.
"Master, when they have eaten and slept and asked questions they
will follow on horses," said Morano.
"We can hide," said Rodriguez, and he looked round over the plain,
very full of flowers, but empty and bare under the blue sky of any
place in which a man might hide to escape from pursuers on horse
back. He perceived 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
said disguises. But then Morano unfolded to him that plan which up
to that day had never been tried before, so far as records tell,
in all the straits in which fugitive men have been; and which
seems from my researches in verse and prose never to have been
attempted since.
The plan was this, astute as Morano, and simple as his naive mind.
The clothing for which Rodriguez searched the plain vainly was
ready to hand. No disguise was effective against la Garda, they
had too many suspicions, their skill was to discover disguises.
But in the moment of la Garda's triumph, when they had found out
the disguise, when success had lulled the suspicions for which
they were infamous, then was the time to trick la Garda. Rodriguez
wondered; but the slow mind of Morano was sure, and now he came to
the point, the fruit of his hour's thinking. Rodriguez should
disguise himself as Morano. When la Garda discovered that he was
not the man he appeared to be, a study to which they devoted their
lives, their suspicions would rest and there would be an end of
it. And Morano should disguise himself as Rodriguez.
It was a new idea. Had Rodriguez been twice his age he would have
discarded it at once; for age is guided by precedent which, when
pursued, is a dangerous guide indeed. Even as it was he was
critical, for the novelty of the thing coming thus from his gross
servant surprised him as much as though Morano had uttered poetry
of his own when he sang, as he sometimes did, certain merry
lascivious songs of Spain that any one of the last few centuries
knew as well as any of the others.
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
Garda come by a suspicion, such as that you, master, are but
Morano, and they will cling to it even to the last, and not
abandon it until they needs must, and then throw it away as it
were in disgust and ride hence at once, for they like not tarrying
long near one who has seen them mistaken."
"They will soon then come by another suspicion," said Rodriguez.
"Not so, master," answered Morano, "for those that are as
suspicious as la Garda change their suspicions but slowly. A
suspicion is an old song to them."
"Then," said Rodriguez, "I shall be hard set ever to show that I
am not you if they ever suspect I am."
"It will be hard, master," Morano answered; "but we shall do it,
for we shall 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 all marked your clothes. As for me my fat body is better known
than my clothes, yet am I not too well known by la Garda, for,
being an honest man, 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 is no place for an honest man."
"Let us disguise ourselves," said Rodriguez.
"Master," answered Morano, "the brain is greater than the stomach,
and now more than at any time we need the counsel of the brain;
let us therefore appease the clamours of the stomach that it be
silent."
And he drew out from amongst his clothing a piece of sacking in
which was a mass of bacon and some lard, and unslung his huge
frying-pan. Rodriguez had entirely forgotten the need of food, but
now the memory of it had rushed upon him like a flood over a
barrier, as soon as he saw the bacon. And when they had collected
enough of tiny inflammable things, for it was a treeless plain,
and Morano had made a fire, and the odour of the bacon became
perceptible, this memory was hugely intensified.
"Let us eat while they eat, master," said Morano, "and plan while
they sleep, and disguise ourselves while they pursue."
And this they did: for after they had eaten they dug up earth and
gathered leaves with which to fill the gaps in Morano's garments
when they should hang on Rodriguez, they plucked a geranium with
whose dye they deepened Rodriguez' complexion, and with the sap
from the stalk of a weed Morano toned to a pallor the ruddy brown
of his tough cheeks. Then they changed clothes altogether, which
made Morano gasp: and after that nothing remained but to cut off
the delicate black moustachios of Rodriguez and to stick them to
the face of Morano with the juice of another flower that he knew
where to find. Rodriguez sighed when he saw them go. He had
pictured ecstatic glances cast some day at those moustachios,
glances from under long eyelashes twinkling at evening from
balconies; and looking at them where they were now, he felt that
this was impossible.
For one moment Morano raised his head with an air, as it were
preening himself, when the new moustachios had stuck; but as soon
as he saw, or felt, 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 for the impropriety of those delicate
growths that so ill become his jowl. And now they took the road
again, Rodriguez with the great frying-pan and cooking-pot; no
longer together, but not too far apart for la Garda to take them
both at once, and to make the doubly false charge that should so
confound their errand. And Morano wore that old triumphant sword,
and carried the mandolin that was ever young.
They had not gone far when it was as Morano had said; for, looking
back, as they often did, to the spot where their road touched the
sky-line, they saw la Garda spurring, seven of them in their
unmistakable looped hats, very clear against the sky which a
moment ago seemed so fair.
When the seven saw the two they did not spare the dust; and first
they came to Morano.
"You," they said, "are Rodriguez Trinidad Fernandez, Concepcion
Henrique 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
a man 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 the mandolin, at the gay cloak, at the emeralds in the
scabbard, for wherever emeralds go there is evidence to identify
them, until the nature of man changes or the price of emeralds.
They spoke hastily among themselves.
"Without doubt," said one of them, "you are whom we said." And
they arrested Morano.
Then they spurred on to Rodriguez. "You are, they said, "as no man
doubts, one Morano, servant at the Inn of the Dragon and Knight,
whose good master is, as we allege, dead."
"Masters," answered Rodriguez, "I am but a poor traveller, and no
servant 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 them so fiercely that they were incapable of forming
any other theory that day except the one they held.
There are many men like this; they can form a plausible theory and
grasp its logical points, but take it away from them and destroy
it utterly before their eyes, and they will not so easily lash
their tired brains at once to build another theory in place of the
one that is ruined.
"As the saints live," they said, "you are Morano." And they
arrested Rodriguez too.
Now when they began to turn back by the way they had come
Rodriguez began to fear overmuch identification, so he assured la
Garda that in the next village ahead of them were those who would
answer all questions concerning him, as well as being the
possessors of the finest vintage of wine in the kingdom of Spain.
Now it may be that the mention of this wine soothed the anger
caused in the men of la Garda by two denials, or it may be that
curiosity guided them, at any rate they took the road that led
away from last night's sinister shelter, Rodriguez and five of la
Garda. Two of them stayed behind with Morano, undecided as yet
which way to take, though looking wistfully the way that that wine
was said to be; and Rodriguez left Morano to his own devices, in
which he trusted profoundly.
Now Rodriguez knew not the name of the next village that they
would come 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 he
questioned the rider.
"Can Morano write?" he said. La Garda laughed.
"Can Morano talk Latin?" he said. La Garda crossed themselves, all
five men. And after some while of riding, and hard walking for
Rodriguez, to whom they allowed a hand on a stirrup leather, there
came in sight the tops of the brown roofs of a village over a fold
of the plain. "Is this your 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 a
little to its left in the idle Spanish air, they came upon the
village all in view. I do not know how to describe this village to
you, my reader, for the words that mean to you what it was are all
the wrong words to use. "Antique," "old-world," "quaint," seem
words with which to tell of it. Yet it had no antiquity denied to
the other villages; it had been brought to birth like them by the
passing of time, and was nursed like them in the lap of plains or
valleys of Spain. Nor was it quainter than any of its neighbours,
though it was like itself alone, as they had their characters
also; and, though no village in the world was like it, it differed
only from the next as sister differs from sister. To those that
dwelt in it, it was wholly apart from all the world of man.
Most of its tall white houses with green doors were gathered about
the market-place, in which were pigeons and smells and declining
sunlight, as Rodriguez and his escort came towards it, and from
round a corner at the back of it the short, repeated song of one
who would sell a commodity 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
so many that, of the village Rodriguez saw, there can be now no
more than wreckage. For all I know a village of that name may
stand on that same plain, but the Saint Judas-not-Iscariot that
Rodriguez knew is gone like youth.
Queerly tiled, sheltered by small dense trees, and standing a
little apart, Rodriguez recognised the house of the Priest. He
recognised it by a certain air it had. Thither he pointed and la
Garda rode. Again he spoke 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
low wall of round boulders. They went up a narrow path between
thick ilices and came to the green door. They pulled a bell whose
handle was a symbol carved in copper, one of the Priest's
mysteries. The bell boomed through 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 the
Priest beckoned and they all entered his house, for Rodriguez had
asked him for ink. Into a room they came where a silver ink-pot
was, and the grey plume of the goose. Picture no such ink-pot, my
reader, as they sell to-day in shops, the silver no thicker than
paper, and perhaps a pattern all over it guaranteed artistic. It
was molten silver well wrought, and hollowed for ink. And in the
hollow there was the magical fluid, the stuff that rules the world
and hinders time; that in which flows the will of a king, to
establish his laws for ever; that which gives valleys unto new
possessors; that whereby towers are held by their lawful owners;
that which, used grimly by the King's judge, is death; that which,
when poets play, is mirth for ever and ever.
No wonder la Garda looked at it in awe, no wonder they crossed
themselves again: and then Rodriguez wrote. In the silence that
followed the jaws of la Garda dropped, while the old Priest
slightly smiled, for he somewhat divined the situation already;
and, being the people's friend, he loved not la Garda more than he
was bound by the rules of his duty to man.
Then one of la Garda spoke, bringing back his confidence with a
bluster. "Morano has sold his soul to Satan," he said, "in
exchange for Satan's aid, and Satan has taught his tongue Latin
and guides his fingers in the affairs of the pen." And so said all
la Garda, rejoicing at finding an explanation where a moment ago
there was none, as all men at such times do: little it matters
what the explanation be: does a man in Sahara, who finds water
suddenly, in quire with precision what its qualities are?
And then the Priest said a word and made a sign, against which
Satan himself can only prevail with difficulty, and in presence of
which his spells can never endure. And after this Rodriguez wrote
again. Then were 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 the roads were dangerous, and must now
depart because they had higher duties. So la Garda departed,
looking before them with stern, preoccupied faces and urging their
horses on, as men who go on an errand of great urgency. And
Rodriguez, having thanked them for their protection upon the road,
turned back into the house and the two sat down together, and
Rodriguez told his rescuer the story of the hospitality of the Inn
of the Dragon and Knight.
Not as confession he told it, but as a pleasant tale, for he
looked on the swift demise of la Garda's friend, in the night, in
the spidery room, as a fair blessing for Spain, a thing most
suited to the sweet days of Spring. The spiritual man rejoiced to
hear such a tale, as do all men of peace to hear talk of violent
deeds in which they may not share. And when the tale was ended he
reproved Rodriguez exceedingly, explaining to him the nature of
the sin of blood, and telling him that absolution could be come by
now, though hardly, but how on some future occasion there might be
none to be had. And Rodriguez listened with all the gravity of
expression that youth knows well how to wear while its thoughts
are nimbly dancing far away in fair fields of adventure or love.
And darkness came down and lamps were carried in: and the reverend
father asked Rodriguez in what other affairs of violence his sword
had unhappily been. And Rodriguez knew well the history of that
sword, having gathered all that concerned it out of spoken legend
or song. And although the reverend man frowned minatorily whenever
he heard of its passings through the ribs of the faithful, and
nodded as though his head gave benediction when he heard of the
destruction of God's most vile enemy the infidel, and though he
gasped a little through his lips when 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 leaned forward
always, listening well, and picturing clearly as though his
gleaming eyes could see them, each doleful tale of violence or
sin. And so night came, and began to wear away, and neither knew
how late the hour was. And then as Rodriguez spoke of an evening
in a garden, of which some old song told well, a night in early
summer under the evening star, and that sword there as always; as
he told of his grandfather as poets had loved to tell, going among
the scents of the huge flowers, familiar with the dark garden as
the moths that drifted by him; as he spoke of a sigh heard
faintly, as he spoke of danger near, whether to body or soul; as
the reverend father was about to raise both his hands; there came
a thunder of knockings upon the locked green door.
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