CHAPTER I_Fortune

FORTUNE

J. C. SNAITH

AUTHOR OF “ARAMINTA,” “BROKE OF COVENDEN,” ETC.

[Illustration]

NEW YORK

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY

1910

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY

New York

_All rights reserved_

Published April, 1910

THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS

RAHWAY, N. J.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. OF MY JOURNEY TO THE PLAIN 3

II. OF AN INN. OF A MAN FROM FOREIGN PARTS 12

III. OF THE EATING OF MEAT 25

IV. OF FURTHER PASSAGES AT THE INN 33

V. I HEAR OF THE PRINCESS 41

VI. OF A PRIVATE BRAWL. I TAKE PROFIT AT THE COST OF

REPUTATION 54

VII. OF THE DISABILITIES THAT ATTEND ON GENTLE BIRTH 64

VIII. OF A GREAT CALAMITY 78

IX. OF OUR ROAD TO THE SOUTH 92

X. OF OUR COMING TO THE DUKE OF MONTESINA AND HIS HOUSE

UPON THE HILL 101

XI. OF A GRIEVOUS HAP 116

XII. OF ADVERSITY. OF A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE OF A FAIR

STRANGER 125

XIII. OF OUR ENTRANCE INTO A NEW SERVICE 136

XIV. OF THE JOURNEYING BACK TO THE HOUSE OF MY REJECTION 144

XV. OF SOME FROWARD PASSAGES BEFORE THE DUKE 159

XVI. OF THE GRIEVOUS MISHANDLING OF HIS LORDSHIP’S GRACE 171

XVII. OF OUR ATTENDANCE IN COUNCIL UPON A GREAT MATTER 187

XVIII. OF THE AMBASSADOR OF THE RUDE CASTILIAN PRINCE 194

XIX. OF MADAM’S EMBASSY TO HER NEPHEW FRANCE 204

XX. OF OUR ROAD TO PARIS 213

XXI. OF OUR FIRST PASSAGES WITH THE CASTILIAN 221

XXII. WE ARE HARD BESET 226

XXIII. OF THE COUNT OF NULLEPART’S EXTREMITY 232

XXIV. OF SIR RICHARD PENDRAGON’S PASSAGES WITH THE GENTLEMEN

OF THE KING’S GUARD 250

XXV. OF SIR RICHARD PENDRAGON’S DUELLO WITH THE GALLANT

FRENCHMAN 255

XXVI. OF OUR APPEARANCE AT THE LOUVRE BEFORE KING LOUIS 263

XXVII. OF OUR AUDIENCE OF THE MOST CHRISTIAN KING 275

XXVIII. OF FURTHER PASSAGES IN THE LOUVRE AT PARIS 281

XXIX. SIR RICHARD PENDRAGON’S STRATEGY 291

XXX. OF OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE CASTILIAN HOST 301

XXXI. OF AN ASTOUNDING EPISODE 307

XXXII. OF THE UNHAPPY SITUATION OF A GREAT PRINCE 313

XXXIII. A SORTIE FROM THE CASTLE 326

XXXIV. OF MADAM’S RENCOUNTER WITH THE FROWARD PRINCE 330

XXXV. OF SIR RICHARD PENDRAGON’S RETURN 338

XXXVI. OF SOLPESIUS MUS, THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL OF THE JOGALONES 344

XXXVII. OF THE RIGOURS TO BE SUFFERED BY THE INFAMOUS KING 349

XXXVIII. THE LAST 357

FORTUNE

CHAPTER I

OF MY JOURNEY TO THE PLAIN

AS I left the place of my birth and long abiding and took the road

to that far country where I thought my fortune lay, the sun already

had a countenance. It was shining on the chestnut trees; on the tall

white walls of the house of justice at the corner of the square; on

the worthy priest who was sprinkling holy water on the steps of the

monastery of the Bleeding Heart to suppress the dust, to keep away

the flies, and to consecrate the building; and especially on the only

bailiff that our town could boast, whose salary fluctuated with the

thieves he captured. He, honest fellow, had driven so poor a trade of

late that he crept along in his winter coat, seeking the shade of trees

and houses.

Even at this time some portion of philosophy had gone to the increase

of my mind, a habit which sprang, I think, from my mother’s family--her

brother Nicolas was a clerk of Salamanca and wore a purple gown. So

when it fell to consider two such matters as the dearth of rogues and

the sun’s majestic clemency it found a pleasant argument. I had yet to

adventure half a league into the world, but unless my eyes were false,

the place I had vowed to win was fair and full of virtue. Having such

thoughts I rejoiced exceedingly. Thus I checked my horse a moment and,

lifting up my eyes to heaven, was fain to salute the morning.

However, as I made to pursue my way, glowing with the generosity of

my youth, my gaze was diverted by a thing of pity. It was an old poor

woman sitting beside a door. She was thin and feeble. Her cheeks were

hollow, there was no lustre in her glance, her mouth had not a tooth;

but her face was such that I felt unable to pass her by. My father had

an adage pertinent to her case. “Be kind to the poor,” said the first

of mankind, “and if you are not the happiest man in Spain, it is a

conspiracy of Fortune’s.”

As I approached this aged creature I saw she had an eye which seemed

to ask an alms yet did disdain it; and this war of pride and necessity

in a poor beggar woman, halt and lean, led me to consider that she was

not of the common sort, but had had a birth perhaps, and upon a day

had known the cushions of prosperity. And this fancy moved my heart

indeed, for in my view there is no more pitiful sight in nature than a

blood Arab so broken in his wind and circumstances as to be condemned

to base employments. There were only ten crowns in my purse, but its

strings were untied before I could consider of my private need. Bowing

to her as solemnly as if she had been the daughter of a marquis--and

who shall say that she was not?--I begged her to accept a tenth part of

my inheritance.

She received this invitation with those shy eyes that so much enhance

her sex; while such confusion overcame the gentle soul that a minute

passed before her faltering hand could draw a coin from the bag I held

before her.

I went on my way with no more than nine crowns in my possession. Now,

it is no light thing, believe me, reader, for a youth of one-and-twenty

to adventure into an unknown country, upon a quest of fortune on a

mountain horse, in the company of a sword of an ancient pattern, a

leather jerkin laced with steel, a hat without a feather, and the sum

of nine crowns, neither more nor less, for the whole of his estate.

I had set the nose of Babieca in the direction of the south. At first

my way was taken through a pleasant country of great hills, that had

cork trees on their slopes. Here and there little rivers ran in and

out; sparkling in the morning sun; shining on the side of some tall

mountain; circling round the foot of some grave precipice. But as the

morning passed, and as hour by hour I went farther from my native

hills, the nature of the land was changed. The cool woods and streams,

the rich green pastures, and the fine tall hills with their garlands of

dark forests yielded to a barren plain, to which, alas! there appeared

to be no end. It was bare and arid, and strewn in many places with

sharp rocks. There was not a tree, not a stream of water; and such

horrid quantities of sand consumed it that it became at last a desert

whose life was sterile. A few barren shrubs were the only things that

grew there; and, as I was soon to learn, an infinite degree of misery.

All this time the sun was rising in the sky, and when about the hour of

noon it began to beat from a naked heaven whose face was brass, upon

the unsheltered plain, this wilderness grew so fierce and garish as

hardly to be borne. Mile upon mile I did assay and stoutly overcame;

but horizon succeeded to horizon, each so bright and quivering with

heat that the eye was afeared to meet it, each so bare, so flat, and

so like the one that was before, glaring sand on every side and torrid

fire everywhere, with never a prospect of shelter or abode, and so

small a hope of change, that at last I began to shrink from the path I

was determined on, and was even led to think this must be the high road

to eternity.

Even before noon my mouth was parched like a dust-pit. Thirst

shrivelled my tongue, but no spring was there to quench it; nor was

there a house to be seen. Indeed, the sun was become almost as cruel

as he was formerly gentle, sitting in heaven like a ball of fire, and

seeming to take pleasure from his pitiless descent on the coarse suit

of a sanguine colour of one Miguel Jesus Maria de Sarda y Boegas.

And to increase the evil of my case my person was now taken with a

pestilence of flies. These vindictive creatures bit my face and neck

so sharply that the vexation of my person spread into my mind; whereon

it rose to such a height against them as to provoke as round a fume of

swearing as that of any rapscallion of the towns. Perforce I had to

check this froward disposition in myself; for it is intolerable in one

who boasts that his fortitude shall overcome the world, to find himself

put out of countenance by the meanest insect in it.

It is no part of valour for a man to break and flee before an enemy,

but the sun was now so much against me that I was fain to seek a refuge

from him. Indeed, necessity was like to drive me to it all too soon,

for there was already a kind of sickness creeping in my brain. So a

little in the afternoon I saw through the fiery haze that trembled

above the plain, a piece of scrub that promised a retreat. I turned my

horse towards it with more alacrity than credit, though I am sure that

had Cæsar himself been mounted that afternoon on my patient Babieca he

must have acted even as did I, however the stoutness of his heart had

cried out on the weakness of his nature.

I led Babieca into as much shade as I could devise, tied him to a bush,

and crawled under it with my unlucky brains. While taking refuge here

I had a fall in fortune. You will conceive, O admirable reader! that

the sun, this false friend in whom I had reposed my trust, having dealt

with me in this false spirit, there was no longer that poetry in my

temper with which I had begun my journey. I was beset with doubts. If a

face so bright, so open, so intelligible could hide such malice, where

was the candour of the world? By this pertinent reflection my thoughts

were carried to the poor woman who had also shared my trust. Perchance

it was not the part of wisdom to bestow the tenth portion of my

inheritance upon a beggar in the road. Sorely considering this aspect

of the case I took forth my pouch, and pouring my little means into my

hand, not without a pang that one palm could hold it all, behold! in

lieu of nine crowns I discovered that I had but eight.

Now, I was never afraid to believe that if a man hold a low opinion of

his kind, and looks upon them in a spirit of askance, such a one is

fit for no nice company, since he merits no more consideration than he

is willing to bestow. But to find that my trust had been abused so

wickedly gravelled me altogether. I could have wept for the petty trick

and cried out upon the world. Nor would I have you to consider that it

was a piece of lucre that led me to this mind. It was the plausibility,

the cold ingratitude that pricked me like a dagger. I had hoped to

carry upon my pilgrimage that good faith towards my fellows that my

noble father had bade me entertain. It was to be my solace and my

watchword. As I rode forth the zephyrs of the morning were to breathe

it in my ears; at night I was to lie down in its security underneath

the stars. “Man is a thing so excellent that this peerless world was

made for his demesne.” Thus Don Ygnacio, and he was threescore years

and seven when he perished of the stone. Was the seed of that true

caballero to renounce a wisdom so mature because of a blow received by

misadventure?

Some hours I lay in security, for I was in mortal fear of the ball of

fire above my head. By a good chance I had placed a luncheon of rye

bread and a piece of cheese made of goat’s milk in my wallet. This

I munched with discretion, for there was never a house to be seen,

and this uninhabited plain appeared to stretch many miles. There was

no spring at which to allay my thirst, and during long hours I was

tormented dreadfully. My tongue and throat were blistered by the heat

that arose from the burning sand. Bitterly did I lament that I had not

had the wisdom to strap a skin of water to my saddle.

By the time the fury of the sun had grown somewhat less my head had

recovered of its stroke, and I got upon my road. Nor was it in any

bitterness of spirit that I went, for I had taken a solace from my

meditations which reconciled me to the rape of my patrimony. It should

call for more than a single mischance to break my faith in my brothers

of the mountains and my cousins of the plains. Many a weary mile did I

make ere the sun went down and a little pity for the wayfarer entered

the firmament. My eyes did ache with the glare of the burning yellow

ground; my body was sorely painful with the fatigues of travel; and

when at last the sun was gone and the night and its stars appeared

I gazed anxiously on every hand for the sign of some habitation to

which I might commit my distress. But there was never a poor inn nor a

swineherd’s hut to be seen in all this wilderness.

The night found me greatly doubtful of my way. I kept Babieca’s head

as fair to the south as I could reckon, but in the faint light of the

stars a true course was difficult to point. Nor was it without its

dangers, for the road was of a wretched nature. It was strewn with

sharp-pointed boulders, sand, stunted grasses, and was full of holes.

Whither it led I did not know. But I had been told, or perhaps had

dreamt, that many famous cities lay before me buried in the mists

of night. They were marked in my imagination as the homes of every

splendid enterprise, of every fortunate endeavour; and beyond all else,

of the fairest peoples of the fairest countries of the world.

It was very dark, but soon I saw these cities stretching out before

me in the night. They were truly delectable to see; fair places all,

with the morning beams upon a crowd of palaces, castles of a noble

situation, large, white, and lofty churches built of stone, and a

company of ships. I saw the sea, which was only known to me by rumour,

that broad highway to the Indies and other foreign lands where fame and

riches wait on boldness and can be picked like acorns from beneath the

trees. I saw the waves, a dark yet radiant azure, which were said to

ride a thousand galleons, filled with men of valour. I could see their

friends upon the beach waving their farewells. And I know not what

emotion then swept over me, for no sooner did I observe the people in

this fantasy than I remembered I had not a friend in all the world save

Babieca, patient ambler and poor mountain creature that he was, and he

was dumb like the stones upon the road. I felt the tears rising in my

heart, and though I fought against them they were stubborn rebels not

easy to suppress. For I cannot say with what intensity I longed at this

dark hour for one glance from the eyes of him who was alive but a week

ago.

My way was very lonely then, having strayed remote into a distant

country. And very lonely was my heart; yet to those who will overpass

my boldness I will confide it faltered not in resolution and therefore

was not cold. For through all the long season of his adversity my

father had maintained: “Courage is a living fire in a winter’s night.”

Thus when the evening winds arose and chilled my body I pressed on,

though I knew not whither, and had no thought of return. Hours came

and hours went, and I had a great despair of sanctuary for myself and

willing beast; and I had such a languor that it was no virtue of my own

that held the reins. My belly was as bare as was this wilderness, yet

my heart was fixed against complaint. I pressed forward stubbornly

until at last Babieca began to stumble at every yard he took.

Upon that both of us came to one mind. We could go no farther. I was

seeking for a tree whose branches might afford some protection from the

shrewd airs of the night, and in such a desert a tree was hard to find,

when I thought I discerned a light a great way off. I cannot tell you,

reader, in what a tumult of hope I made towards this beacon. It showed

across the waste so faintly that at first it looked no more than the

ignis fatuus. Yet we had no other hope than this. Cheerful words to

the hapless Babieca and shaking of the reins persuaded the good beast

still to do his best. And presently these doubts were settled, for as

we pressed on towards our talisman we found it to proceed from a sort

of house. Thereupon I could have cried aloud for joy, in such a manner

had hunger, weariness, and solitude wrought upon the hardihood of my

resolves.

It was no easy task to find the place whence this light proceeded. And

when at last I was able to learn I uttered a cry of delight. For it was

an inn; a little inn and paltry, and yet the sweetest inn, I think, to

which a traveller ever brought his weariness.