THE SECOND FIGHT.
We had entered the forest five minutes later, and be very sure, we
wasted no more time in waiting for those behind to come up, since, if
'twas us they followed, we might as well be in its shadow as in the
open. For if we were outnumbered the trees themselves would afford us
some shelter, make a palisade from behind which we might get a shot at
them if 'twas too hot for a hand-to-hand encounter. At any rate, I had
sufficient military knowledge to know that 'tis best to fight against
unequal odds with a base, or retreat, to fall back on, than to be
without one.
Yet as we rode into this forest I loosened my blade in its sheath, and
felt with my thumb to see that the priming of my pistols was ready;
also bade Juan do the same; likewise to keep behind me as much as
might be.
"For," said I, "if they mean attack I will give them no chance of
beginning it. The first hostile word, and I force my horse between
them, cutting right and left, and do you the same, following behind
me. Thereby you may chance to take off those whom I miss."
And I laughed--a little grimly, perhaps--as I spoke, for I thought
that if there were, indeed, six men behind us, my journey toward
Flanders was already as good as come to an end. Yet, all the same, I
laughed, for, strange though it may seem to those who have never known
the delights of crossed steel, a fight against odds had ever an
exhilarating effect upon me; which was, perhaps, as it should be with
a knight of the blade.
Juan, however, did not laugh at all, though he told me he would follow
my orders to the utmost, and, indeed, was so silent that I asked him
if his nerves were firm. To which he replied that I should see when
the moment came.
And now upon the crisp night air we heard the clang of those on-coming
hoofs ringing nearer and nearer; a rough or deadened kind of sound
told us the iron shoes were on the fallen leaves which covered all the
track from where the wood began; the scabbards of the riders flapped
noisily now against spur and horses' flanks; bridles jangled very
near.
Then they were close upon us--five of them!--and a voice called out:
"Halt, there! You are Englishmen--one a sailor and a spy passing
through the land."
"You lie!" rang out Juan's voice, in answer. "We are not Englishmen."
That his reply in fluent Spanish--the Spanish, too, of a gentleman,
and not of a common night patrol--astonished them, I could see. The
leader, he who had spoken, glanced round at his four comrades, and, an
instant after, spoke again:
"Who are you, then, and why does not the big man answer?"
"He speaks French. I am Spanish. Molest us not."
"Molest! _Cuerpo di Baco!_ We are informed you are English. Produce
your papers!"
"We have none. They are lost."
"Ho! ho! ho!" the leader replied. "Very well, very well. 'Tis as I
thought. That man is English; he is denounced this night. As for you,
the accursed English have many possessions wherein our tongue is
spoken. We understand."
And he gave, as I supposed, some order, since all advanced their
animals a few paces nearer, while, as they did so, Juan whispered to
me in the French: "Be ready, but do nothing yet."
"You will return to Chantada with us," the spokesman said, sitting his
horse quietly enough, yet with the blade of his drawn sword glistening
in the moonbeams as it lay across the creature's neck--as, I observed,
did the blades of all the others. "That finishes our affair. For the
rest you will answer to the Regidór."
"We shall not return. Our way lies on."
"So be it. Then we must take you," and, as he spoke, I saw a movement
of his knee--of all their knees--that told me they meant to seize us.
And I knew that the time had come.
"At them!" cried Juan at the same moment. "Advance, Mervan!"
A touch to the curb, and my beast fell back--'twas a good animal,
that! had, I believe, been a charger in its day, so well it seemed to
know its work--then a free rein and another touch of the heel, and I
was amongst them, my sword darting like lightning around. Also, at my
rear, came the jennet's head; near me there flashed the steel of
Juan's lighter weapon; and in a moment we had crashed through
them--they fell away on either side of us like waves from a ship's
forefoot!--fell away for a moment, though closing again in an instant.
"Return and charge!" I cried to Juan, still in French. "At them again!
See, one has got his quietus already!" As, indeed, he had, for the
great fellow was hanging over his horse's neck, in a limp and listless
fashion, which showed that he was done for. But now those four closed
together as we went at them, Juan stirrup to stirrup with me in this
second charge, and our tactics had to be changed. We could no longer
burst through them, so that it was a hand-to-hand fight now; they had
pistols in their holsters, but no chance to use them; they could not
spare a hand to find those holsters--could not risk our swords through
their unguarded breasts; wherefore we set to work, blade to blade.
We should have won, I do believe. Already I had thrust through and
through one man's arm--as luck would have it, 'twas not the sword
arm--already they backed before our rain of blows and cuts and
thrusts, when, by untoward fate, my horse stumbled on the frosty road
and came down; came down upon his haunches, slipping me from the
saddle over the cantle and so to the earth; then regained its hind
legs once more and dashed out from the fray.
And now our position was mighty perilous. Above I saw Juan on the
jennet fencing well with two of the men; over me were the two others
cutting down at my head, though, since by God's mercy I had retained
my weapon, their blows were up to now unavailing. Yet I knew this
could not be for long--nor last--wherefore I cried:
"Save yourself, Juan, save yourself; disengage and flee."
Under my own blade, under those two others that beat upon it so that I
wondered it shivered not in my hand, I saw the boy manfully holding
his own--once, too, I saw him rip up the jerkin of one of his
opponents, and heard the latter give a yell of pain--then, "Great
God!" I thought, "what has happened now?"
For there was a fifth man upon the scene. A man, tall and stalwart,
mounted on a great, big boned, black horse, who had suddenly sprung
from out a chestnut copse by the side of the track; a man in whose
hands there gleamed a sword that a second later was laced and entwined
with those attacking Juan; a man who hurled oaths in Spanish and
French at them--I heard _carambas_ and _por Diôs's_ and other
words--which sounded like the rolling of some great cathedral organ as
they came from his deep throat--_tonneres_, _ventre-bleus_ and
_carrognes_ I heard.
Heavens! who was this man who beat back those others as a giant might
push back a handful of children; whose sword--even as with one hand he
grasped Juan round the waist--went through an adversary's neck so that
he fell groaning upon me, his blood spurting as if from a spigot? Who
was he who laughed loud and long as, with one accord, all those still
alive turned and fled back upon the road they had come? Fled, leaving
us, thanks be to God and this new arrival, the victors of the fray.
He sat his horse calmly now, looking after their retreating figures,
his great sombrero slouched across his face, wiping his blade upon the
coal-black creature's mane; then, as their figures disappeared from
our view, he said in French:
"Warmer work this, Señor Belmonte, than twanging viols and singing
love songs, _n'est-ce pas?_" and from his throat there came again that
laugh.
Glancing up, I saw that which caused me to start, even as I heard Juan
say: "You! You here! And in this garb!"--saw that which made me wonder
if I had gone demented. For this man who had so suddenly come to our
rescue, this _fine lame_ whose thrusts had won the fray for us, was
none other than the monk I had seen on board _La Sacra Familia_, the
holy man known there as Father Jaime.
And swiftly as I gazed up at him there came to my recollection old
Admiral Hopson's suspicions as to having seen him before, also the
imitation pass he had made across the table with the quill at his
brother-admiral, and his words:
"'Twas not always the cowl and gown that adorned his person--rather
instead the belt and pistols--the long, serviceable rapier, handy."
What did it mean?
Ere he answered either Juan's startled enquiries or my stare of
amazement, which he must very well have seen in the moon's rays as I
regarded him, he cantered off after my horse, which was standing
quietly in the forest side by side with that other animal on whose
neck the first wounded man had fallen--he was now lying dead upon the
ground!--and brought both back to where we were, leading them by their
reins.
"You will want your horse, monsieur," he said, "to continue your
journey. _Bon Dieu!_ you both made a good fight of it, though they
would have beaten you had I not come up at the moment."
"Believe us, we both thank you more than words can express," I said,
while Juan sat his jennet, still breathing heavily from his exertions,
yet peering with all the power of those bright eyes at the man before
him, "but your appearance is so different from what it was when last
we met that--that I am lost in amazement. You were, sir, a holy monk
then."
"_Cucullus non facit monachum_," he replied, in what I recognised to
be very good Latin, then added, with a laugh: "In journeying through
dangerous places we are not always what we seem to be. To wit:
Monsieur was either an English soldier or sailor when I saw him
last--an enemy to Spain and France--hating both, as I should suppose.
Yet now he is a private gentleman, and, I imagine, desires nothing
less than that his real position should be known."
"But you--you," Juan interposed, "you were monk from the first moment
I set eyes on you, from the hour when we left Hispaniola. Are you not
one?"
"My boy," he said, and as he spoke he touched Juan on the sleeve as
they both sat their horses side by side--I being also mounted again by
this time--"my boy, I replied to your companion just now with a
proverb. I answer you with another: 'Look not a gift horse in the
mouth.' I have saved your life, at least, if not this gentleman's.
And----"
But Juan stammering forth some words of regret for the curiosity he
had shown, he stopped him with still another touch on the sleeve, and
said:
"Briefly, let me tell this: I had reasons to be in Spain, to quit the
Indies and accompany the galleons, get a passage by some means. It
suited me to come disguised as a monk; there was no other way. For,
rightly or wrongly, both Spain and France are my enemies; in my own
proper character I could never have reached here. Being here, I am
still in danger if discovered; to avoid that discovery I have now
doffed the monkish garb, so that all traces of me are lost. Enough,
however; I am on my road to Lugo. Does your way lie the same road?"
We both answered that it did, whereon he said, speaking quickly and,
as I noticed, in the tone of one who seemed very well used to issuing
orders, as well as accustomed to deciding for himself and others:
"So be it. Let us ride together--and at once. Every moment we tarry
here makes our position more dangerous. Those men will no sooner have
returned to Chantada than every available soldier will be sent forward
to arrest us, even though we be in Lugo itself. You will be recognised
without doubt if you stay an instant in the town. Your one chance is
to get into it and out again as soon as may be.
"And you?" I asked, as now we put spurs to our horses and dashed along
the forest track. "And you? If any of those who were in this affray
return with the soldiers you speak of, it will be hard for you, too,
to escape recognition. Your form cannot be disguised."
"It will be disguised again," he answered very quietly, "when I have
once more resumed the monk's garb. I have it here," and he tapped the
great valise strapped on his horse's back. "It has not been worn since
I got ashore at Vigo, and that's far behind this by many leagues.
There are none here like to recognise me."
"You stay, then, in Lugo?"
"I must stay. I have affairs."
He said this so decidedly that we neither of us ventured to ask him
any more questions, though, a moment or two afterward, he volunteered
to us the statement that, if another horse he had previously bought
when he landed at Vigo had not broken down, he would long ere this
have been in Lugo. Only the finding of a fresh animal--the one he now
bestrode--had taken him some time, and thereby caused him to be late
on his road, which, as we said gratefully enough, was fortunate for
us.
"Ay," he replied, "it was; and also that I was breathing my animal in
the forest at the time those others overtook you. But, _nom d'un
chou!_ I have been a fighter in my day myself, and, since I could not
see two men set upon by five, my old instincts were aroused; though,"
he added, with extreme _sang froid_, "had it been an even fray, I
might have left you to it."
And now it seemed to both Juan and myself as though this man's
assistance to us necessitated us showing some confidence in him;
wherefore, very briefly, we gave him some description of why we were
travelling together, and of how, because Juan had naught else of much
importance to do at the outset of his arrival in Europe, he had
elected to be my companion as far as Flanders.
"Humph!" he exclaimed at this, "he is a young knight errant, as I told
him oft enough in the galleon, when he talked some rhodomontade about
being on his way to Europe to seek out and punish a villain who had
wronged him. Well, sir, even if he finds not the man, he is likely
enough to meet with sufficient adventures in your company ere he
reaches Flanders."
"He thinks he has found him already," I said quietly, in reply.
"What!" and he turned his great eyes on both of us. "Found him. Here
in Spain!" and he laughed incredulously.
"He thinks nothing of the kind," Juan cried hotly, roused more, I
thought, by that scornful laugh than by my doubting words. "He is sure
of it!"
And then he told the whole story of our having seen the old man's
coach in the inn, of the black's insolent reply, of his departure at
night, and of the little doubt there could be that he it was who had
betrayed us to the people of Chantada; also he added:
"But I have him. Have him fast. He is but a league or so ahead of us,
must stop some hours, at least, in Lugo. And then--then, James Eaton,
look to yourself!"
As he uttered those words the black horse which the other bestrode
plunged forward, pricked, as I thought, by some unintentional movement
of the rider's spur, while that rider turned round in his saddle and
gazed at Juan, his face, as it seemed to me, livid beneath the
moonlight.
"Who? What name is that on your lips?"
"The name of a damned villain. The name of James Eaton."
"James Eaton. James Eaton--what is he to you, then? What evil has he
done to you?"
"What evil?" Juan replied, with a bitter laugh. "What evil? and what
is he to me? Only this: He was left guardian to me by my dead father,
and--and--he ill-treated and robbed me. No more than that!"
"You! You! You!" this mysterious man said, his hand raised to his
eyebrows, his dark, piercing eyes gleaming beneath that hand--upon his
face a look I could not fathom. "You!"