GIL PEREZ DE SEGOVIA
Before he left Valladolid Manvers had sold his horse for what he could
get, and had taken the _diligencia_ as far as Segovia. Not a restful
conveyance, the _diligencia_ of Spain: therefore, in that wonderful
city of towers, silence, and guarded windows, he stayed a full week, in
order, as he put it, that his bones might have time to set.
[Illustration: The towers of Segovia.]
There it was that he became the property of Gil Perez, who met him one
day on the doorstep of his hotel, saluted him with a flourish and said
in dashing English, "Good morning, Mister. I am the man for you. I
espeak English very good, Dutch, what you like. I show you my city;
you pleased--eh?" He had a merry brown face, half of a quiz and half
of a rogue, was well-dressed in black, wore his hat, which was now in
his hand, rather over one ear. Manvers met his saucy eyes for a
minute, saw anxiety behind their impudence, could not be angry, burst
into a laugh, and was heartily joined by Gil Perez.
"That very good," said Gil. "You laugh, I very glad. That tell me is
all right." He immediately became serious. "I serve you well, sir,
there's no mistake. I am Gil Perez, too well known to the landlord of
this hotel. You see?" He showed his teeth, which were excellent, and
he had also, Manvers reflected, shown his hand, for what it was
worth--which argued a certain security.
"Gil Perez," he said, on an impulse, "I shall take you at your word.
Do you wait where you are." He turned back into the inn and sought his
landlord, who was smoking a cigar in the kitchen while the maids
bustled about. From him he learned what there was to be known of Gil
Perez; that he was a native of Cadiz who had been valet to an English
officer at Gibraltar, followed him out to the Crimea, nursed him
through dysentery (of which he had died), and had then begged his way
home again to Spain. He had been in Segovia a year or two, acting as
guide or interpreter when he could, living on nothing a day mostly and
doing pretty well on it.
"He has been in prison, I shall not conceal from your honour," said the
landlord. "He stabbed a man under the ribs because he had insulted the
English. Gil Perez loves your nation. He considers you to be the
natural protectors of the poor. He will serve you well, you may be
sure."
"That's what he told me himself," said Manvers.
The landlord rested his eyes--large, brown and solemn as those of an
ox--upon his guest. "He told you the truth, senor. He will serve you
better than he would serve me. You will be his god."
"I hope not," said Manvers, and went out to the door again. Gil Perez,
who had been smoking out in the sun, threw his _papelito_ away, stood
at attention and saluted smartly.
"What was the name of your English master?" Manvers asked him. Gil
replied at once.
"'E call Capitan Rodney. Royalorse Artillery. 'E say 'Gunner.' 'E
was a gentleman, sir."
"I'm sure he was," said Manvers.
"My master espeak very good Espanish. 'E say 'damn your eyes' all the
time; and call me 'Little devil' just the same. Ah," said Gil Perez,
shaking his head. "'E very good gentleman to me, sir--good master. I
loved 'im. 'E dead." For a minute he gazed wistfully at the sky;
then, as if to clinch the sad matter, he turned to Manvers. "I bury
'im all right," he said briskly, and nodded inward the fact.
Manvers considered for a moment. "I'll give you," he said, and looked
at Gil keenly as he said it, "I'll give you one _peseta_ a day." He
saw his eyes fade and grow blank, though the genial smile hovered still
on his lips. Then the light broke out upon him again.
"All right, sir," he said. "I take, and thank you very much."
Manvers said immediately, "I'll give you two," and Gil Perez accepted
the correction silently, with a bow. By the end of the day they were
on the footing of friends, but not without one short crossing of
swords. After dinner, when Manvers strolled to the door of the inn, he
found his guide waiting for him. Gil was in a confidential humour, it
seemed.
"You care see something, sir?"
"What sort of a thing, for instance?" he was asked.
Gil Perez shrugged. "What you like, sir." He peered into his patron's
face, and there was infinite suggestion in his next question. "You see
fine women?"
Manvers had expected something of the sort and had a steely stare ready
for him. "No, thanks," he said drily, and Gil saluted and withdrew.
He was at the door next morning, affable yet respectful, confident in
his powers of pleasing, of interesting, of arranging everything; but he
never presumed again. He knew his affair.
Three days' sightseeing taught master and man their bearings. Manvers
got into the way of forgetting that Gil Perez was there, except when it
was convenient to remember him; Gil, on his part, learned to
distinguish between his patron's soliloquies and his conversation. He
never made a mistake after the third day. If Manvers, in the course of
a ramble, stopped abruptly, buried a hand in his beard and said aloud
that he would be shot if he knew which way to turn, Gil Perez watched
him closely, but made no remark.
Even, "Look here, you know, this won't do," failed to move him beyond a
state of tension, like that of a cat in the act to pounce. He had
found out that Manvers talked to himself, and was put about by
interruptions; and if you realise how sure and certain he was that he
knew much better than his master what was the very thing, or the last
thing, he ought to do, you will see that he must have put considerable
restraint upon himself.
But loyalty was his supreme virtue. From the moment Manvers had taken
him on at two pesetas a day he became the perfect servant of a perfect
master. He could have no doubt, naturally, of his ability to
serve--his belief in himself never wavered; but he had none either in
his gentleman's right to command. I believe if Manvers had desired him
to cut off his right hand he would have complied with a smile. "Very
good, master. You wanta my 'and? I do."
If he had a failing it was this: nothing on earth would induce him to
talk his own language to his master. He was unmoved by encouragement,
unconvinced by the fluency of Manvers' Castilian periods; he would have
risked his place upon this one point of honour.
"Espanish no good, sir, for you an' me," he said once with an
irresistible smile. "Too damsilly for you. Capitan Rodney, 'e teach,
me Englisha speech. Now I know it too much. No, sir. You know what
they say--them _filosofistas_?" he asked him on another encounter.
"They say, God Almighty 'e maka this world in Latin--ver' fine for
thata big job. Whata come next? Adamo 'e love his lady in
Espanish--esplendid for maka women love. That old Snaka 'e speak to
'er in French--that persuade 'er too much. Then Eva she esplain in
Italian--ver' soft espeech. Adamo 'e say, That all righta. Then God
Almighty ver' savage. 'E turn roun' on them two. 'E say, That be
blowed, 'e say in English. They understan' 'im too much. Believe
me--is the best for you an' me, sir. All people understan' that
espeech."
Taken as a guide, he installed himself as body servant, silently,
tactfully, but infallibly. Manvers caught him one morning putting
boots by his door. "Hulloa, Gil Perez," he called out, "what are you
doing with my boots?"
Gil's confidential manner was a thing to drink. "That _mozo_,
master--'e fool. 'E no maka shine. I show him how Capitan Rodney lika
'is boots. See 'is a face in 'em." He smirked at his own as he spoke,
and was so pleased that Manvers said no more.
The same night he stood behind his master's chair. Manvers contented
himself by staring at him. Gil Perez smiled with his bright eyes and
became exceedingly busy. Manvers continued to stare, and presently Gil
Perez was observed to be sweating. The poor fellow was self-conscious
for once in his life. Obliged to justify himself, he leaned to his
master's ear.
"That _mozo_, sir, too much of a dam fool. Imposs' you estand 'im. I
tell 'im, This gentleman no like garlic down his neck. I say, You
breathe too 'ard, my fellow--too much garlic. This gentleman say,
Crikey, what a stink! That no good."
There was no comparison between the new service and the old; and so it
was throughout. Gil Perez drove out the chambermaid and made Manvers'
bed; he brushed his clothes as well as his boots, changed his linen for
him, saw to the wash--in fine, he made himself indispensable. But when
Manvers announced his coming departure, there was a short tussle,
preceded by a pause for breath.
Gil Perez inquired of the sky, searched up the street, searched down.
A group of brown urchins hovered, as always, about the stranger, ready
to risk any deadly sin for the chance of a maravedi or the stump of a
cigar.
Gil snatched at one by the bare shoulder and spoke him burning words.
"_Canalla_," he cried him, "horrible flea! Thou makest the air to
reek--impossible to breathe. Fly, thou gnat of the midden, or I crack
thee on my thumb."
The boys retired swearing, and Gil, with desperate calling-up of
reserves, faced his ordeal. "Ver' good, master, we go when you like.
We see Escorial--fine place--see La Granja, come by Madrid thata way.
I get 'orses 'ow you please." Then he had an inspiration, and beamed
all over his face. "Or mules! We 'ave mules. Mules cheap, 'orses
dear too much in Segovia."
Manvers could see very well what he was driving at. "I think I'll take
the _diligencia_, Gil Perez."
Gil shrugged. "'Ow you like, master. Fine air, thata way. Ver' cheap
way to go. You take my advice, you go _coupe_. I go _redonda_ more
cheap. Give me your passport, master--I take our place."
"Yes, I know," said Manvers. "But I'm not sure that I need take you on
with me. I travel without a servant mostly."
Gil grappled with his task. He dropped his air of assumption; his eyes
glittered.
"I save you money, master. You find me good servant--make a
difference, yes?"
"Oh, a great deal of difference," Manvers admitted. "I like you; you
suit me excellently well, but----" He considered what he had to do in
Madrid, and frowned over it. Manuela was there, and he wished to see
Manuela. He had not calculated upon having a servant when he had
promised himself another interview with her, and was not at all sure
that he wanted one. On the other hand, Gil might be useful in a number
of ways--and his discretion and tact were proved. While he hesitated,
Gil Perez saw his opportunity and darted in.
"I know Madrid too much," he said. "All the ways, all the peoples I
know. Imposs' you live 'appy in Madrid withouta me." He smiled all
over his face--and when he did that he was irresistible. "You try," he
concluded, just like a child.
Manvers, on an impulse, drew from his pocket the gold-set crucifix.
"Look at that, Gil Perez," he said, and put it in his hands.
Gil looked gravely at it, hack and front. He nodded his approval.
"Pretty thing----" and he decided off-hand. "In Valladolid they make."
"Open it," said Manvers; but it was opened, before he had spoken.
Gil's eyes widened, while the pupils of them contracted intensely. He
read the inscription, pondered it; to the crucifix itself he gave but a
momentary glance. Then he shut the case and handed it back to his
master.
"I find 'er for you," he said soberly; and that settled it.