WE GO FROM VALETTA TO SEEK MY LADY BIDDY ELSEWHERE.
The next day seemed to me as if it would never come to an end, having
nothing much else to do than to watch for Matthew's return; and what
made it more tedious and wearisome was that my comrade had started
bidding me expect him back before midday.
"For," says he, "the next station, if I remember right, is but a matter
of four or five leagues distant; so that, starting betimes, they must
needs arrive about ten or eleven at the outside."
When he came not at noon I began to torment myself with fears lest some
mischance had happened to Matthew; either that he had been clapped up in
a bridewell to cure him of his sores, or had been recognized by Lewis de
Pino, to his great misfortune. And though this was grievous enough to
think on (for I loved the kind, honest rogue), yet it was nothing beside
the concern I felt for Lady Biddy had such an accident arrived; for
while I was lingering here, with my hands idle by my side, Lewis de Pino
might be hurrying away with her to Quito.
As soon as the first star began to twinkle I could bear this suspense no
longer, and started out towards the town; for if Matthew were free, I
knew he would leave the town when the gates were about to be closed.
About half a league from the town I met him (to my great joy), and my
first question was what news he had brought with him.
Instead of beating about the bush and making a joke of my impatience, he
answered, very soberly, that De Pino and his train had not yet entered
the town.
"Hows'mever," says he, "there's no call to be cast down about that
matter, for I may very well have made a mistake in the distance, seeing
I have traveled over the road but once, and that ten or a dozen years
ago. One thing is certain, master--they must arrive to-morrow, and this
delay is all to our advantage, since it has given me time to pry about
the town, and examine in what manner we may best contrive to get the
female out of De Pino's hands."
Therewith he entered into the design he had formed for this purpose,
describing the inn at which the merchants stayed, with the means of
getting out of the town, and into it, without passing the gate, etc.,
etc., in such detail that he gave me no time to think of anything else
till we had eaten our supper and emptied the wine-skin, when he declared
he was too tired to converse longer; and so, laying himself down, bade
me good-night and presently began to snore.
But then, my mind being no longer occupied with his return, I grew
uneasy again about this delay, and could not close an eye for my
trouble. I had noticed that Matthew was much less merry than usual, and
now I took it into my head that the long-winded description of the inn,
and his ingenious project for rescuing "the female," was nothing but a
design to divert my mind, and make his own uneasiness less noticeable.
'Twas useless attempting to sleep in this disorder of mind, and I could
no longer lie still when day broke; but getting up quietly, so that I
might not awake Matthew, I went to a little distance and paced backwards
and forwards with a heavy heart. Presently Matthew, getting up, comes to
my side, and says he:
"Can't you sleep, master?"
"No," says I.
"No more can I," says he, "and I took a pretty stiff dose of wine, too,
for my nightcap. I ha'n't slept a wink all night."
"You've snored pretty continually, nevertheless," says I.
"As for that," says he, "I'm a man that must be doing something; and
'tis as easy to snore as to wear spots on your face; but one is no more
a sign of sleep than t'other is of a distemper."
"Why couldn't you sleep, Matthew?" says I. "What's amiss?"
"Well," says he, "De Pino and the female ought to have come in yesterday
morning at the latest."
"But you said you might have made a mistake as to the distance?"
"So I might," says he slyly; "but, to make quite sure, I took the pains
to inquire last night of my friend at the inn, outside the town, and I
found I had not."
"Then you believe they ought to have been here before now?" says I
sharply.
"Yes, master," says he gravely. "They ought to have come in the night
afore last, or yesterday morning at the latest. When it came noon
yesterday I gave them up; yet I stayed there in the hope I was wrong.
First saying to myself that, being warned of your escape by the factor,
he had thought it well to make an ambush, and wait for you to come up;
and then that he had stopped for some reason of his business; but these
arguments wouldn't do--and, to cut a long story short, I made up my mind
when I saw the gates closed last night, and no sign of De Pino along the
road for half a mile--I made up my mind, I say, that he had taken
another road."
"Taken another road!" says I, in a terrible amazement.
"Ay," says he. "I can account for it in no other way."
"And why did you not tell me this last night?" I asks angrily.
"We could do nothing in the dark, and I hoped you would get a good
night's sleep and be fresh for a march this morning," says he simply.
"There was no good in plaguing you before your time."
I could not be angry with the fellow after that, for he was in the
right, and, 'twas out of pure kindness of heart he had held his tongue.
"I though you were so sure of the road, Matthew?" says I.
"So I was, master; and more fool I. Don't spare me; I deserve all the
blame, for 'twas I who would have you come by the river when you would
have gone by the road."
"Did you make no inquiry about this road last night?"
"Ay," says he. "No other road to Quito is known to the innkeeper but
this. Yet he may be as great a fool as I in that matter; and though De
Pino could take no other road to Quito, he might, for all that, have
turned aside to some other place."
"What do you propose we should do now, Matthew?"
"Get on to the road, and hark back as soon as there is light enough for
us to pick our way. We will hit the road within sight of the town-gates
before they are opened, to make certain they have not come up."
The poor fellow was so crestfallen, having now no heart to disguise his
discomfiture, that to cheer him I professed to be in no way disheartened
by this failure.
"For," says I, "there is this advantage about it: I shall not have to
rest idle here any longer. 'Twill be light enough to begin our march in
half an hour."
"Why, that's true, master," says he, brightening up; "and, not to waste
time, we'll have a good meal to strengthen us against fatigue."
"There's nothing to eat," says I; "we finished every scrap last night."
"Nay," says he; "I laid out for that, and brought home a peck loaf and a
roast loin of mutton with me last night."
I remembered he was pretty well charged when we met overnight, but had
taken no heed of what he carried, thinking in the dark it was but
another skin of wine.
"Parrots are all very well for high feeding, and so are serpents and
such-like," says he, fetching his loaf and the loin of mutton, "but give
me bread and roast mutton when there's work to be done."
When we had finished our repast, Matthew buckled on his sword, and we
started off. Striking the road after an hour's march, and making sure
that no cavalcade lay between us and the town, we turned our faces to
the north, and strode out with a will: nor did we check our pace for two
hours, albeit the way lay all up hill and none too smooth. We met not a
soul all that time, for only merchants with their trains of mules, etc.,
pass this way, and they not frequently, so that for a whole week there
may not be a single traveler to be met. Indeed, we had scarcely dared to
travel that way otherwise, for our appearance would have justified any
one in taking us for outlaws--I in my tattered finery, with a peck loaf
slung on my shoulder, as great knife in my girdle, a long sword in my
hand, and nothing but an uncombed crop of hair on my head; and Matthew
likewise fiercely armed, with a wine-skin and a bundle of broken
victuals at his back, scarcely enough clothes to cover his nakedness,
and a complexion as if he had just escaped from a lazar-house--in fine,
as unwelcome a knight and squire as any one might wish to meet. Nor were
our movements much more reassuring than our appearance, for at every
turn of the road we would stop with our swords firmly gripped, peering
round the rocks and betwixt the bushes, as if we were on the lookout for
some one to waylay and murder.
At length we came in sight of a station, and here with great prudence we
went about to spy into it, and yet not be seen ourselves; and this, by
reason of its position and the chance of encountering hunters in the
surrounding wood, was a painful and tedious business; but finally
getting upon the further side, and crawling near with terrible fear
(lest we might arouse some watch-dog, and so have a repetition of our
former trouble), we got a fair sight into the village, where was nothing
to be seen but four bearded rascals playing of cards. And so, creeping
out of that wood as carefully as we had crept in, we once more got into
the road, and pushed onward till noon without stopping, except at the
bends of the road as aforesaid.
At noon we stooped to eat and refresh ourselves, and that done, we went
onward again for best part of two hours, though the sun was now at its
height; but by reason we were now very high up on the side of the
mountain, and that in many places the rock sheltered us with an
agreeable shade, we were not so hot but that we could still march with a
good heart. Yet here we stayed to consult together, for we had come to a
part of the road where we could not conceal ourselves if we met Lewis de
Pino, nor retreat without exposing ourselves to the fire of his
arquebuses. For the path wound along close by the side of the mountain,
with no growth of herbs, and all barren for a long distance in front;
nor was it possible to get out of the path by clambering upwards or
sliding downwards for the prodigious steepness of it, and the road so
narrow that no two pack-mules could pass each other, except by standing
aside in certain cavities hewn here and there in the rock in case of one
train meeting another. Down below lay the woods, but so deep that the
highest tree-tops came no nearer than a couple of hundred feet of where
we stood.
"Master," says Matthew, "if we meet De Pino and his merry men on this
road 'twill be a bad job for us."
"Ay," says I; "and the sooner we get to the other end of it the safer we
shall be."
"Lord love you, master," says he, "what a thing it is to be a
philosopher! Here might I jeopardize my precious life another ten
minutes but for your wisdom."