IN WHICH A DAUGHTER GRANTS A FATHER’S WISH
Late in the afternoon of a day in April, just one year before the date
of the occurrences recorded in the foregoing chapters of this tale,
Don Rodrigo de Aquilar, statesman, soldier, scholar, devout Catholic,
sat at a curiously-carved table in the library of his ancestral house
in the street of Las Palmas, Seville. His gray hair and pointed beard,
his keen, dark eyes and lofty brow, the simple elegance of his attire,
and the artistic luxury of his surroundings combined to form a striking
picture in the half-lights of the waning day. Upon the table before him
lay pompous tomes, quaint old manuscripts, and several crude maps and
charts.
Copies of the letters of Menendez to Philip II. of Spain, made by
Don Rodrigo in the archives of Seville; a transcript of the bull “by
the authority whereof Pope Alexander, the sixth of that name, gave
and granted to the Kings of Castile and their successors the regions
and islands found in the west ocean sea by the navigations of the
Spaniards:” a reproduction of a map of the western world, dedicated
to Sir Philip Sidney by Michael Lok; a volume entitled _Hakluyt’s
Divers Voyages_, hot with hatred of the Spanish, and other misleading
data concerning a misunderstood continent confronted the Castilian
aristocrat, and by their united efforts cast upon him a spell which
had brought to his thin cheeks a hectic flush, and to his haughty lips
lines of determination.
It was, however, with a much later manuscript than any one of those
above mentioned that Don Rodrigo was engaged at the moment of which we
write. Bending eagerly forward from a quaintly-cut, high-backed chair,
the aged Spaniard was scanning attentively a parchment upon which a
recent explorer, with artistic tendencies, had inscribed a pictorial
outline of his discoveries. Ports, harbors, islands, and rivers
competed for the attention of the observer with rudely outlined birds,
beasts, and fishes. Indians feasting and dancing, Indians flogged by
priests. Indians burning alive for heresy, gave grim testimony to the
fact that the eccentric cartographer had witnessed sympathetically
the saving of souls in the New World. It was not upon these, however,
nor upon the chameleon with two legs confronting a bat-winged griffin
having the tail of an alligator--a weird product, according to the
map-maker, of Mexico--that Don Rodrigo de Aquilar was squandering
the retreating light of day. His eyes and mind rested upon a sketch
representing a group of Indians working silver mines.
“Methinks, Juan, the venture’s worth the risk. Were it not for Doña
Julia, I’d slip my anchor of old age and sail across the sea. I have no
mind to place the King’s gift in an agent’s hands, to let him rob the
Mexicans and me.”
Don Rodrigo had leaned back in his chair, and was gazing across the
disordered table at a pale, dark-eyed youth, attired in black velvet,
whose thin, nervous hand had been making a copy of letters-patent from
Charles of Spain to his Majesty’s “dear beloved son in Christ, Don
Rodrigo de Aquilar.” Juan Rodriquez, secretary to Don Rodrigo, was a
lineal descendant of a _marinero_ of Seville who had returned safely to
his native city after circumnavigating the globe with Magellan. Of this
same _marinero_ it had been written that he was “energetic, courageous,
but marvellous unprincipled.”
“I have heard Doña Julia say, señor,” remarked Juan in a softly
modulated voice--“I have heard her say, within the last few days, that
she would be glad to see those strange lands over-sea, where palaces
are made of gold and pearls grow upon the trees.”
A grim smile played across the haughty countenance of the old statesman.
“An idle whim begot of idle tales, young man! But were I sure that
sufferings and danger would not beset our ship, I’d take the girl
and look upon my grant before I die. ’Twill be her heritage at last.
But, look you, Juan! These blind cartographers have dealt in fancies
tempting men to death. Somewhere beneath the soil of yonder fatal land
lie my two sons--and in my death a famous name must die. And I am old.
They’d say at court, should I set sail from here, that his Majesty’s
rich gifts had made me mad at last.”
There was silence at the table for a time. Don Rodrigo reclined in his
chair and watched the changing lights and shadows of the waning day as
they emphasized the sombre beauty of the room. Presently he said:
“You’ve made the footings, Juan? A hundred thousand ducats will cover
everything?”
“And leave a handsome margin, señor,” answered the secretary, referring
to a parchment upon which daintily-executed rows of figures had been
inscribed. “As times go, señor, the vessel costs you but a song.”
Don Rodrigo eyed Juan Rodriquez searchingly. His secretary’s apparent
eagerness for the venture mystified him. Diplomatist, educated in a
crafty school, the old Spaniard had never lost sight of the advantages
to be gained at times by frank directness.
“You are urging me to take this step, Juan. Let me ask you why?”
The pale face of the youth had turned yellow in the twilight. His dark,
shifty eyes refused to meet his master’s insistent gaze. His thin hand
drummed nervously on the dry, rattling parchment in front of him as he
said, with an attempt at candor which did not ring true:
“I believe, señor, that it would be well for Doña Julia, and for you,
to leave Seville for a time. She mourns Don Josef--does she not? And
you, Don Rodrigo, have won a triumph in diplomacy that frees you for a
while from public life. The voyage now is not so fraught with danger
as of old, nor is there peril when you reach New Spain. More than
one fair lady of Seville has been across and back for love of Mother
Church. And, as I said, the marvels of the sea might serve to turn your
daughter’s mind from thoughts of her betrothed.”
Don Rodrigo gazed earnestly at the eager face of his secretary.
“You believe, then, Juan, that Doña Julia’s heart was broken when Don
Josef fell, run through by the Frenchman’s sword? You think she loved
him?”
“Nay, señor, such thoughts are not for me,” answered Juan, in a voice
that resembled the purring of a cat. “But this I see--that since you
returned from France her eyes are heavy and her cheeks are pale. The
songs she used to sing we hear no more. She’s fading like a flower
which craves the sun. Give her, señor, new aims, new scenes, the
splendors of the sea, the marvels of New Spain, and once again her eyes
and smile will be as sunny as they were of old.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, young man,” remarked the old diplomat,
playfully. “Mayhap, my Juan, you know a charm to make me young again.
Or perhaps you can find the island of Bimini and the fountain of
eternal youth which bold de Leon sought. But, hark, I hear her step!
We’ll lay the venture, in all its bare simplicity, before her, and do
as she decides.”
As Don Rodrigo ceased speaking there entered the library a dark-haired,
large-eyed, graceful girl, who glided from the shadows of the twilight
toward the centre of the room, and stood motionless at the lower end of
the long table. A belated sunbeam, stealing through the distant window,
caressed her face for a moment, upon which a sad smile rested as her
eyes met her father’s.
“You disobey his Majesty’s behest, Don Rodrigo de Aquilar!” she
exclaimed, playfully, pointing toward the books and maps before her.
“Did not the King command you to take a well-earned rest, my father?”
“But his Majesty has never ordered me to sit here and die,” remarked
Don Rodrigo, emphatically. “Be seated, Julia. You come to us at a most
opportune moment. For my services in France his Majesty has granted me
fair lands across the sea. Mines rich in silver belong to me by virtue
of this seal. The question is, my daughter, will you go with me to view
my province in New Spain?”
Juan Rodriquez, who had arisen upon Doña Julia’s entrance, stood
watching the girl with stealthy eyes, in which there gleamed a light
not there before. There was silence in the room for a moment. Then
Julia, looking Don Rodrigo fearlessly in the face, said:
“I will go with you gladly, father. Seville has stifled me. But place
no faith upon my changing whims. If we’re to go, then let us sail at
once.”