THE FIRST FIGHT.
In a moment I, too, was off my horse--had tied it and the jennet's
reins together--and had flung myself on the man--a big, brawny fellow
who had one arm around Juan's body while, with his disengaged hand, he
felt for a knife in his girdle.
Even as I did so I saw that they were both perilously near the edge of
the rock which hung over the river, that in a few more moments both
must have gone over it--over and down, crashing through bushes and
shrubs until they fell into that rapid stream below, or were hurled on
to the timbers of the crazy bridge, with, probably, their bones broken
all to pieces.
Yet, small as was the space left in which a third man might intervene,
be sure I lost no time in doing so, in flinging myself upon that
muscular Spaniard and in tearing him off his prey. Seizing him by
the collar of his jacket, one hand around his throat, I dragged him
from the boy--for I was as muscular as he, and, maybe, younger,
too--wrenched him to his feet and sent him reeling back into the road.
"Catch the horses," I said to Juan, "quick. And mount yourself. Be
ready. Once I have disposed of this fellow there remains none but the
one at the gate."
And, although the lad tottered as he rose to his feet, he did as I
bade him, and, securing the animals, which had but backed a few paces
down the road, got into his saddle again. Then he said--though
faintly: "I will go forward and dispose of the remaining man."
Yet there was still this one to be disposed of--and I understood at a
glance that I had no easy task before me ere I could do so.
He was a fellow of great bulk--this I could observe in the light of a
watery half moon that now peeped up over the bend of the rock by where
the cabin stood; also he was well armed. In his hand he held now a
long cavalry sword, which he had drawn from its steel scabbard with a
clash even as he staggered back against the rock; with his other hand
he fumbled at the silken sash around his waist, in which was the knife
he had endeavoured to draw against Juan.
In God's mercy, he had no pistol!
He muttered some hoarse words--to me they conveyed little--yet no
words were needed. I knew as well as though he had spoken my own
tongue that one of three things must happen now: That great inch-deep
blade either buried in my heart or my head cleft open with it, or my
straight English weapon through and through him!
Then we set to it.
As animals which are bereft of speech fight, so we fought now--only
more warily. For they fly at each other's throats, in a moment are
locked in each other's grasp, their fangs deep in the other's flesh.
It was not so with us. We had not to come too close, but rather to
guard and feint, to avoid each other till the moment, the one critical
and supreme moment, came. Thus we began.
At first, perhaps, because of the deadly weight of his blade--better
for cut than thrust--he aimed twice at my head, and tried again a third
time, then jumped back with another of his--to me--unintelligible hoarse
and raucous exclamations; for, at that attempt, I had quickly--ay! and
easily, too--parried the blow, had disengaged my weapon, and, with a
rapid thrust, had nearly struck home--had missed the inside of his ribs
by an inch only. Then knew that the next time I should not fail.
"Curse you," I muttered, "if I could speak your _patois_, I'd tell you
that you are doomed." While to myself I said: "He is a clumsy fool,
and--he is mine."
We had turned in these passadoes, as I drove him back; so, too, I had
edged him round. Now, 'twas I who had the rock behind me, 'twas he who
had the declivity of the lower precipice behind him.
And he knew it as well as I--saw in a moment all that this meant,
and--endeavoured to turn again.
Yet he never had the chance. Trust me for that!--as my recollection of
the daily lessons in the fence school at Hounslow, which for a year
Dutch William's best _ferrailleurs_ had taught me ere my father got my
guidon for me.
He never had the chance! Yet he strove hard for it, too; proved that
Spain made no bad choice when she sent him to this frontier post;
strove hard to beat me round again, to bring my back in the position
his was--to the lip of the plateau--and failed.
If I could have spoken to him in his _patois_--for 'twas scarce
Spanish--if I could have made him understand, if he would have
discontinued his contest with me, I would have spared him, and
willingly; would have bidden him let me go in peace, and be saved
himself. For he was a brave man; too good a one for the doom that must
now be his. Yet he forced me to it, forced me to go on, ceased not for
one instant his swinging blows and thrusts, forced me to parry and
thrust in turn for my own salvation--to drive him back step by step to
the brink of the precipice behind him. And, now, it was not five paces
behind him.
His was the danger--I wondered if he knew it--yet mine the horror.
Above the clashing of our swords I heard now the dull, hoarse roaring
of the river below, heard its angry swish as it struck past the
timbers of the bridge below--in my desire to save him I told him madly
in my best Spanish to desist--to save himself. Also, I think, he saw
upon my face some look of horror at the fate that must be his, some
beads of sweat, perhaps, upon it, too--I know I felt them there--saw
them, and--God help him!--misunderstood them. Misunderstood, and
thought my look of horror, my sweat, were for my own safety.
With a leap, a roar, he came at me again like a tiger springing at its
prey, his blows raining upon my sword; almost I thought that even now
he would have borne me to the earth, have conquered. And I thrust
blindly, too, in desperation, knew that my blade was through his arm,
saw him jump back, stagger--and disappear!
And up from below where he had last stood there came a scream of awful
fear and terror, the branches and the bushes crashed, there was a thud
upon the water a hundred feet below--and then nothing more but the
swirl of the river and its hoarse murmur as it swept along.
It had not taken much time in the doing. A moment later I was running
up the road to where the gate stood, swung back now so that the road
was clear. And Juan was sitting on his horse, a pistol in his hand,
and in the road, standing beneath him, his hands by his side, stood
the last remaining man, dreading to move, palsied with fright, and
speechless.
"What shall we do with him?" the youth asked, turning on me a face in
which there was now left no vestige of that brilliant colour it had
once borne. "What? Kill him?" and his eyes flashed ominously, so that
I knew the lust for blood was awakened.
"Nay," I said. "Nay. There is no need for that. Bind him and lock him
up here in his hut. That will do very well. Also, he is old. What of
these others?" and I turned to those who lay in the road.
As I looked at them, it seemed that none were hurt to death--for which
I was thankful enough, since a soldier needs but to disable his enemy,
and seeks not to take life needlessly. The one whom I had first cut
down seemed to have but a scalp wound--doubtless the thick, coarse hat
of felt he wore had turned my blade; he whom I had run through the
shoulder had but a flesh wound, which would trouble him for some weeks
at most; while the fellow whom Juan had pinked had got an ugly gash in
the neck.
"We will put them all in here together," I said, pointing to their
hut, "then leave them. Doubtless they will be relieved in some hours.
Yet the longer ere it happens the better. We must press on and on till
we are well clear of this part of the world. There will be a hue and
cry."
After saying which, I proceeded to drag the wounded men in--one of
them was able to enter the place unaided, though not without many
melancholy groans and ejaculations--and then motioned to the old man
to follow.
But now, obeying me even as I so pointed to the door, he cast an
imploring glance at Juan, and then muttered something to him, the boy
answering him with a laugh. And on my demanding to know what he had
said, my companion replied:
"He saw you take up the lamp. Therefore he asked if you were going to
burn them all when they were locked in the hut."
"Humph!" I said. "It has not quite come to that."
Time was, however, precious now, therefore it was useless for us to
remain here any longer, or to waste any more of it; whereon, again
taking up the lamp, I carried it out into the road. Then I removed the
key from where it hung by the side of the door, and, going out, locked
them all inside.
"Now," I said, "they can remain there till some one comes by to set
them free. Yet, if that some one comes across from Portugal, and our
late landlord speaks truth, they will be in no hurry to do that
friendly office for them." After which I blew out the lamp, and,
walking to the edge of the under precipice, hurled both it and the key
down into the river beneath.
For some time after we had set out upon our journey again we rode in
silence, Juan being as much occupied, I supposed, with his thoughts as
I with mine. And, indeed, my own were none of the pleasantest; above
all I regretted that that brave man with whom I had fought had gone to
his doom. For, although killing was my trade, and although I had
already taken part in several skirmishes and fights, I had none too
great a liking for having been obliged to slay him. Yet I consoled
myself with the reflection that it was his life or mine, and with that
I had to be content. But also there were other things that troubled
me, amongst them being what I feared would prove certain, namely, that
there would be that hue and cry after us of which I had spoken for
some time at least, and until we had left the frontier far behind.
Nor, since Lugo was but a short distance from this place, would it be
possible for us to stop there even for so much as a night's rest. We
must go on and on till we had outstripped all chance of being
recognised as the two men who had forced themselves into a hostile
country in the manner we had done.
But now, breaking in on these reflections, I heard Juan's soft voice
speaking to me, murmuring words of admiration and affection.
"Mervan," he said, "if I liked you before--ay! from the very moment
you stood outside the cabin door of _La Sacra Familia_ and bade me
unlock it, and when the first sound of your voice told me I had naught
to fear--I love you now. My life upon it! you are a brave man, such as
I delight in seeing."
I laughed a little at this compliment, yet soberly, too, for this was
no time for mirth--also, I recognised clearly enough that every step
the animals beneath us took brought us nearer to other dangers, by the
side of which our recent adventure was but child's play--then
answered:
"And what of yourself, Juan? You have done pretty well, too, I'm
thinking; go on like this, and you will be fitted to ride stirrup to
stirrup with the most grim old blades of Marlborough's armies when we
get to Flanders--if we ever do! I thought you nervous, to speak solemn
truth; now I am glad to have you by my side."
"Yet," said the boy, his face radiant with delight, as I saw when he
turned it on me under the rays of the moon, "I was deathly sick with
fear all the time. Oh! my God!" he cried suddenly, "what should I have
done, what become of me, if you had been struck down?" Then added,
anxiously, a moment later. "You are not wounded?"
"Not a scratch. And you?"
"Nor I, either. Yet I was so faint as I guarded that old man by the
gate, that I doubted if I could sit the horse much longer; I should
have fallen to earth, I do verily believe, had you not joined me when
you did."
"Poor lad," I said, "poor lad. You have chosen but a rough road, a
dangerous companion. You should have gone to England in the
_Pembroke_, with the fleet. You would have been half way there by now,
and in safety."
"Never!" he said. "Never!" And, as if to give emphasis to his words,
he turned round in his saddle toward me, placing his left hand on the
cantle as though to obtain a steady glance of my face, and continued.
"I told you we were friends, sworn friends and true. Also, that to be
together was all that I asked. Mervan, our friendship is rivetted,
bound, now; nothing but death or disaster shall part us--nothing; till
at least, this journey is concluded. Then--then--if you choose to turn
me off you may; but not before. You have not yet learnt, do not know
yet, what a Spanish--a--a man reared amongst Spaniards feels when he
swears eternal friendship."
After which he regained his position and rode on, looking straight
between his horse's ears. But once I heard him mutter to himself,
though still not so low, either, but what I heard it very well:
"Friendship. _Diôs!_"
And this warm, fervent youth, this creature full of emotion and
glowing friendship, was him against whom the admiral had expressed
some distaste when he learned that I proposed to ride in his company;
had doubted if that companionship might not be of evil influence over
my fortunes during the journey. If he knew nothing, what did it all
mean? I asked myself. Above all (and this I had pondered on again and
again, though without being able to arrive at any answer to the
riddle), why warn me against one whom he, when brought into contact
with that one himself, had treated with such scrupulous deference?
Even as I thought again upon these things I resolved that as our
acquaintance, our friendship and comradeship ripened, I would ask Juan
who and what he was.
For at present I knew no more than I have written down--that he was
young and handsome, and was well to do. But beneath all, was there
some mystery attached to him? Some mystery which the older and more
far seeing eyes of Sir George had been able to pry into and discover,
while mine were still blinded to it?
We were passing now through a wild and desolate region, a portion of
the western extremity of northern Spain, in which we met no sign of
human life or human habitation, hardly, indeed, any sign of animal
life. Also we had struck a chain of mountains densely clothed with
cork and chestnut woods, the trees of which were bare of leaves, and
through the branches of which the wind moaned cheerlessly. On our left
these mountains, after an interval of barren moorland, rose
precipitously; to our right the Minho rolled sullenly along, the road
we traversed lying between it and the moor. So desolate, indeed, was
all around us now that we might have been two travellers from another
world journeying through this, a forgotten or undiscovered one; no
light either far or near twinkled from hut or cottage, neither bark of
dog nor low of cattle reached our ears; all was desolate, silent and
deserted.
Yet, even as the road lifted so that we knew we were ascending those
mountains step by step, we observed signs which, added to the well
kept state of the road itself, told us it was not an altogether unused
one. For though the snow lay hard and caked upon it, we could observe
where it had taken the impression of cart wheels and of animals'
hoofs, could perceive by this that it was sometimes traversed.
And, presently, we observed something else, something that told us
plainly enough that we were now in the direct way for Lugo, observed
that there branched into the road we were travelling an even broader
one than it--causing, too, our own road to broaden out itself as it
ran further north; a road in the middle of which was a huge stone
column or pedestal, with arms also of stone upon it, pointing
different ways, and with, carved on them, words and figures.
And of these arms one pointed west and bore upon it the words: To
Vigo; another pointed north with, on it, the words: To Lugo.
And seeing all this by the aid of a tinder box and lantern which we
carried amongst our necessaries--seeing it, too, by craning our necks
and standing up in our stirrups--we knew that we had now struck the
route along which those must have come who had fled from Vigo after
the taking of the galleons.