WHAT HAS HAPPENED?
The light increased as we advanced; the space it occupied grew larger;
also it seemed to be entering at what I now judged to be the mouth, or
exit, of some narrow, vaulted passage, through which we were
progressing and arriving at the end of; almost, too, it seemed as if
this passage was itself growing less dark; as if now--as I turned my
eyes to where the mute walked by my side--the outline of his form was
becoming visible.
What was I to find at the end of this outlet--what to see awaiting me
when at last I stood at the opening in the midst of the wintry dawn--a
scaffold, or the _braséro?_ Which? I perceived now--my eyes
accustoming themselves to the dusky gloom--that this vaulted way, or
corridor, was one hewn through a bed of rock, and roughly, too,
blasted, perhaps, in earlier days; and that all along its sides were
great slabs, or masses, of this rock, that lay where they had fallen.
Perceived something else, also--a man crouching down behind one of the
fallen blocks, his cape held across his face by one hand, so that
naught but the eyes were visible; the eyes--and one other thing that
shone and glistened even in the surrounding gloom--a huge gold
earring, of the circumference of a crown-piece, which fell over the
crimson edge, or guarding, of that cloak.
Where had I seen a man wearing such earrings as that before? Where?
Then, even as I went on to my death, I remembered--recalled the man.
'Twas he who had cried out to the Alcáide in the court, bidding him
question Eaton as to how he knew so much of Gramont's past--yet--what
doing here, why hiding behind that fallen mass? Was there some one
within these dungeons whom he sought--some one for whom an attempted
rescue was to be planned? I knew of none--knew of no other prisoner
within these walls--since now Gramont was, must be, as far away as his
unhappy child--my lost love, Juana. Yet, perhaps, it was not very like
I should have known.
But now the end was at hand. I scarce cared to turn my eyes to observe
whether or not the mute had seen the sailor shrinking behind the
stone; instead, nerved myself, by both prayer and fierce
determination, to meet my fate, to make my exit into the open as
bravely as became a man; to let not one of my executioners see that I
feared them or the flames that were to burn the life out of me.
So we drew near the mouth of the passage--moving through the gloom
that was as the gloom of a shuttered and darkened house on some wintry
morn--I seeing that, beyond and outside, was a sloping, stone-flagged
decline that led down to a lane which ran out into the open country
beyond. We were, therefore, outside the walls of Lugo, and I deemed
that it was here, unknown to the townspeople, that I was to meet my
fate.
We stood a moment later on that stone-covered descent, and I gazed
around it startled--amazed! For here, upon it, was no hideous
_braséro_ piled up with logs of wood, and drenched with resin and
pitch to make those logs burn more fiercely; no upright plank nor beam
against which the sufferer's hand--my hand!--was to be nailed through
the palm; no executioners clad in black from head to foot. Instead, a
man in peasant's dress--green breeches, leather _zapátas_ and a
sheepskin jacket. A peasant holding by the reins two horses, one
black, the other dappled grey.
I felt almost as though once more I should faint--felt as I had done
in that reeking, mouldy corridor through which I had come--became
sick, indeed, at the relief, even though 'twere for an hour or so
only, which was accorded me from instant death, since I knew that here
that death could not be dealt out.
Then I turned to the deaf and dumb man--if such he was--who had now
released my arm--had done so, indeed, since the half light had been
reached--and implored him to tell me what was intended.
For answer--he guessed, no doubt, the import of my words--he pointed
to the horses and made signs I should mount one of them. And I,
incredulous, asking God inwardly what was meant, went toward the black
one and seizing its reins and twisting a lock of its mane around my
thumb prepared to do as I was bid, yet with my nerves tingling and
trembling so that I scarce knew whether I could reach the saddle or
not.
Then, ere the attempt was made, as I raised my foot to the iron, the
mute touched my arm, felt in his belt with the other hand and,
producing a piece of paper, gave it to me.
It was from Juana; ran thus in English:
Your road is through Samos, Caldelas and the other Viana. At Terroso
you will cross the frontier. The jailer will guide you to us. Come
quickly, so that thereby my fate may be decided.
Juana.
That was all. All--from her to me! From her to me! No word of love
accompanying the message. Not one!
She had saved me in some way--had induced the Alcáide to bring about
my escape also--had done this, yet could send me no greeting such as
she must have known I hungered for. Was it shame, remorse, that made
her so silent and so cold? Heartbroken, I thrust the letter into my
pocket, and, at a sign from the mute, mounted the horse, he doing the
same with the other.
Then, ere we gave them their reins, he leant across and put into my
hands the sword he had carried under his arm since first he opened the
door of my cell; a sword long and serviceable-looking, with a great
hilt and curled quillon; one that I had seen another like somewhere,
though where it was I could not recall.
* * * * * * * * *
'Twas over twenty leagues to Terroso, I learnt in the course of our
ride. Diminishing those leagues moment by moment, we went on and on,
the black horse that I bestrode never faltering in its quick pace, the
grey keeping close to it.
And I, my brain whirling, my heart beating tumultuously within my
breast, my whole being--my soul!--shaken by the release from an awful
death which had come to me, would have given all that I was possessed
of if from that stricken, silent, terrible companion by my side I
could have extracted one word--gleaned from him one jot or atom of
information! Yet to my repeated exclamations he, seeing that I was
speaking to him, shook his head persistently; when I made signs to him
in the alphabet which I felt sure he knew, he turned his face away and
rode on stolidly. Had a dead man, a spectre, been riding ever by my
side, swiftly when I rode swiftly, halting when I halted, neither
could have been more terrible to me than this living creature, so
immutable and impenetrable.
I was sore beset--distraught, my mind full of fearful fancies! Fancies
that I should find Juana dead--though, too, I imagined that she would
not slay herself until she had made sure of my safety, else why her
letter?--fancies that, since the letter contained no word or hint of
love, she had forced herself to tear me out of her heart forever;
forced herself to do so because now she knew she could never be aught
to me again. These fancies, these thoughts, were awful in their
intensity; were made doubly so by this silent creature who never
quitted my side.
And once my agony of nerves grew so great that I turned round upon
him--gesticulating fiercely--hating myself for my brutality in doing
so against one who was, in truth, my saviour--shrieking at him:
"Speak! Speak! For God's sake, speak! Utter some word. Give some sign
of being alive--a reasoning thing. Speak, I say, or leave me--else I
shall slay you."
Then I shuddered and could have slain my own self at the man's action.
For he turned and looked at me--it was in the fast gathering
twilight, as side by side always, we were slowly riding up a mountain
path--looked--then, as I gazed, the tears rolled down his coarse face!
And, poor unhappy, afflicted thing! those tears continued to trickle
down that face till night hid it from my eyes.
I knew now that he understood at least, that he comprehended the words
of pity and remorse I poured forth before the darkness came; at least
the touch I made gently on his sleeve was read aright by him. For on
his broad, expressionless face, to me for so long a stolid mask, there
came a placid smile, and once he returned my touch lightly as still we
rode on, and on, and on.
We halted that night to rest our horses and ourselves at a miserable
inn, high up in the mountains, a place round which the snow was
falling in great flakes, that seemed, indeed, to be embedded in snow.
A ghastly, horrid place in which, as I sat shuddering by the fire,
while my companion and the landlord slept near it--wondering if by now
Juana had accomplished her dreadful purpose, unable longer to bear the
company of the man, Morales, to whom she had sold herself; or, almost
worse still, the company of her sin stained father; wondering too, if
by now that splendid form was stiff in death!--I almost cursed the
escape that had come to me. In truth, I think that now, upon this
night, amidst the horrors of this lonely mountain inn, I was almost a
madman; for the soft beat of the flakes upon the glass of the window
seemed to my frenzied mind like the tapping of ghostly fingers; as I
fixed my eyes upon those flakes and saw them alight one by one upon
the panes and then dissolve and vanish, it looked to me as though they
were fingers that scratched at the window and were withdrawn only to
return a moment later. Also the wind screamed round the house--I
started once, feeling sure I heard a woman--Juana--shriek my name,
plucked at the sword by my side and would have made for the door, but
that the landlord laughed at me and pushed me back, saying that those
shrieks were heard nightly and all through the night during the
winter.
At last, however, I slept, wrapped in my cloak before the peat fire,
the mute in another chair by my side. And so, somehow, the night wore
through. The morning came, and we were on our road once more, ten
leagues still to be compassed ere the frontier was reached, with,
behind us, as now I gathered from my mutilated companion's manner in
answer to my questions, the possibility that we might be pursued. That
after us, in hot chase, might be coming some from Lugo who had
discovered our escape.
The mountain water courses and rivulets hummed beneath the frozen snow
bound over them by the bitter frost, the tree boughs waved above our
heads and across our path as, gradually descending once more to the
plain, the chestnuts and the oak trees took the place of the gaunt
black pines left behind above; once on this bitter morning we saw the
sun steal out from amidst the clouds--lying down low on the horizon as
though setting instead of rising. Yet on we rode for our lives, with
upon me a deeper desire than the salvation of my own existence--the
hope that I should be in time to save Juana, to wrench her from
Morales ere it was too late, to bear her away at last to happiness and
love unspeakable. Rode on, my black horse stumbling once over a mass
of stone rolled down from the heights above; the dappled grey coming
to its haunches from a similar cause, yet both lifted quickly by a
sharp turn of our wrists and rushing on again down the declivity,
danger in every stride and only avoided by God's mercy.
The leagues flew by--were left behind--a long billowy plain arrived
at, sprinkled with hamlets from which the cheerful smoke rose to the
sky; the mute had passes which took us through that other town of
Viana; the last spot of importance was reached--and passed!--that lay
between us and the border--between us and Portugal and safety.
Then once more our beasts slackened in their stride, again the ground
rose upward, once more the hills were before us, above them at the
summit was the frontier, Terroso. Another hour and we should be
there--Juana's and my fate determined.
To use whips--neither of us had spurs--was cruel, yet there was no
other way; therefore we plied them, pressed reeking flanks, rode on
and on mercilessly. And now the end was at hand; afar off I saw a
cabin over which floated both the banner of Spain and of Portugal. We
were there some moments later--the mute's papers again examined--our
passage allowed.
We had escaped from Spain!
"You ride quickly," the Portuguese _aduanista_ said; "seek some
others, perhaps, who come before you?" and he addressed himself to my
companion, probably because he bore the passports. Then continued: "If
'tis a señor and señora you desire, they are in the _fonda_ half a
league further on."
"_They_," he said, "'_They!_' God be praised!" I murmured. Had any
tragedy occurred it would not have been "they."
Not waiting to answer, but briefly nodding my thanks, we went on, the
last half league dwindling to little more than paces now.
And then I saw the _fonda_, a place no bigger than a wooden cabin, I
saw a woman seated on a bench outside against its wall, her elbows
upon her knees, her dark head buried in her hands.
She heard the ring of our horses' hoofs upon the road, all sodden as
it was with half-melted snow, and sprang to her feet--then advanced
some paces and, shading her eyes, looked up the way that we were
coming; dashed next her hand across those eyes as though doubting what
she saw, and ran down the road toward us.
As I leapt from my horse she screamed, "Mervan!" and threw herself
into my arms, her lips meeting mine in one long kiss, then staggered
back some paces from me, exclaiming:
"How! How, oh, my love, how--how have you escaped--found your way
here--to me?"
"How?" I repeated after her, startled at the question; startled, too,
at the tone of her voice. "How! Do I not owe my salvation to you--to
your power over him--the Alcáide?"
"My God! No!" she answered. "Never would he have aided you to escape."
Then, suddenly, as some thought struck her, she screamed aloud:
"Mervan--Mervan--where is my unhappy father?"
"Your father! Is he not here?"
"No! No! No! Oh, God! what has happened? Has he been left behind to
meet his doom?"
And, as she spoke, she reeled and would have fallen had I not caught
her in my arms.