Welcome Home.
"We are so unlike each other,
Thou and I, that none would guess
We were children of one mother,
But for mutual tenderness."--E. B. Browning
After the first tumult of greeting, in which affection was expressed
rather by look and gesture than by word, the brothers sat down and
talked. Eager questions rose to the lips of both, but especially to
those of Carlos, whose surprise at Juan's unexpected appearance only
equalled his delight.
"But you are wounded, my brother," he said. "Not seriously, I hope?"
"Oh no! Only a bullet through my arm. A piece of my usual good luck.
I got it in The Battle."
No adjective was needed to specify the glorious day of St. Quentin, when
Flemish Egmont's chivalrous courage, seconded by Castilian bravery,
gained for King Philip such a brilliant victory over the arms of France.
Carlos knew the story already from public sources. And it did not occur
to Juan, nor indeed to Carlos either, that there had ever been, or would
ever be again, a battle so worthy of being held in everlasting
remembrance.
"But do you count the wound part of your good luck!" asked Carlos.
"Ay, truly, and well I may. It has brought me home; as you ought to
have known ere this."
"I received but two letters from you--that written on your first
arrival, and dated from Cambray; and that which told of your notable
prize, the French prisoner."
"But I wrote two others: one, I entrusted to a soldier who was coming
home invalided--I suppose the fellow lost it; the other (written just
after the great St. Laurence's day) arrived in Seville the night before
I made my own appearance there. His Majesty will need to look to his
posts; certes, they are the slowest carriers to be found in any
Christian country." And Juan's merry laugh rang through the convent
parlour, little enough used to echo such sounds.
"So I have heard almost nothing of you, brother; save what could be
gathered from the public accounts," Carlos continued.
"All the better now. I have only such news as is pleasant for me to
tell; and will not be ill, I think, for thee to hear. First, then, and
in due order--I am promised my company!"
"Good news, indeed! My brother must have honoured our name by some
special deed of valour. Was it at St. Quentin?" asked Carlos, looking
at him with honest, brotherly pride. He was not much changed by his
campaign, except that his dark cheek wore a deeper bronze, and his face
was adorned with a formidable pair of _bigotes_.
"That story must wait," returned Juan. "I have so much else to tell
thee. Dost thou remember how I said, as a boy, that I should take a
noble prisoner, like Alphonso Vives, and enrich myself by his ransom?
And thou seest I have done it."
"In a good day! Still, he was not the Duke of Saxony."
"Like him, at least, in being a heretic, or Huguenot, if that be a less
unsavoury word to utter in these holy precincts. Moreover, he is a tried
and trusted officer of Admiral Coligny's suite. It was that day when
the admiral so gallantly threw himself into the besieged town. And, for
my part, I am heartily obliged to him. But for his presence, there
would have been no defence of St. Quentin, to speak of, at all; but for
the defence, no battle; but for the battle, no grand victory for the
Spains and King Philip. We cut off half of the admiral's troops,
however, and it fell to my lot to save the life of a brave French
officer whom I saw fighting alone amongst a crowd. He gave me his sword;
and I led him to my tent, and provided him with all the solace and
succour I could, for he was sorely wounded. He was the Sieur de
Ramenais; a gentleman of Provence, and an honest, merry-hearted, valiant
man, as it was ever my lot to meet withal. He shared my bed and board,
a pleasant guest rather than a prisoner, until we took the town, making
the admiral himself our captive, as you know already. By that time, his
brother had raised the sum for his ransom, and sent it honourably to me.
But, in any case, I should have dismissed him on parole, as soon as his
wounds were healed. He was pleased to give me, beside the good gold
pistoles, this diamond ring you see on my finger, in token of
friendship."
Carlos took the costly trinket in his hand, and duly admired it. He did
not fail to gather from Juan's simple narrative many things that he told
not, and was little likely to tell. In the time of action, chivalrous
daring; when the conflict was over, gentleness and generosity no less
chivalrous, endearing him to all--even to the vanquished enemy. No
wonder Carlos was proud of his brother! But beneath all the pride and
joy there was, even already, a secret whisper of fear. How could he
bear to see that noble brow clouded with anger--those bright confiding
eyes averted from him in disdain? Turning from his own thoughts as if
they had been guilty things, he asked quickly,--
"But how did you obtain leave of absence?"
"Through the kindness of his Highness."
"The Duke of Savoy?"
"Of course. And a braver general I would never ask to serve."
"I thought it might have been from the King himself, when he came to the
camp after the battle."
Don Juan's cheek glowed with modest triumph. "His Highness was good
enough to point me out to His Catholic Majesty," he said. "And the King
spoke to me himself!"
It is difficult for us to understand how a few formal words of praise
from the lips of one of the meanest and vilest of men could be looked
upon by the really noble-hearted Don Juan Alvarez as almost the crowning
joy of his life. With the enthusiastic loyalty of his age and country
he honoured Philip the king; Philip the man being all the time a
personage as utterly unknown to him as the Sultan of Turkey. But not
choosing to expatiate upon a theme so flattering to himself, he
continued,--
"The Duke contrived to send me home with despatches, saying kindly that
he thought my wound required a little rest and care. Though I had
affairs of importance" (and here the colour mounted to his brow) "to
settle in Seville, I would not have quitted the camp, with my good-will,
had we been about any enterprise likely to give us fair fighting. But
in truth, Carlos, things have been abundantly dull since the fall of St.
Quentin. Though we have our King with us, and Henry of France and the
Duke of Guise have both joined the enemy, all are standing at gaze as if
they were frozen, and doomed to stay there motionless till the day of
judgment. I have no mind for that kind of sport, not I! I became a
soldier to fight His Catholic Majesty's battles, not to stare at his
enemies as if they were puppets paid to make a show for my amusement.
So I was not sorry to take leave of absence."
"And your important business in Seville. May a brother ask what that
means?"
"A brother may ask what he pleases, and be answered. Wish me joy,
Carlos; I have arranged that little matter with Dona Beatriz." And his
light words half hid, half revealed the great deep joy of his own strong
heart. "My uncle," he continued, "is favourable to my views; indeed, I
have never known him so friendly. We are to have our betrothal feast at
Christmas, when your time of retreat here is over."
Carlos "wished him joy" most sincerely. Fervently did he thank God that
it was in his power to do it; that the snare that had once wound itself
so subtly around his footsteps was broken, and his soul escaped. He
could now meet his brother's eye without self-reproach. Still, this
seemed sudden. He said, "Certainly you did not lose time."
"Why should I?" asked Juan with simplicity. "'By-and-by is always too
late,' as thou wert wont to say; and I would they learned that proverb
at the camp. In truth," he added more gravely, "I often feared, during
my stay there, that I might have lost all through my tardiness. But
thou wert a good brother to me, Carlos."
"Mayest thou ever think so, brother mine," said Carlos, not without a
pang, as his conscience told him how little he deserved the praise.
"But what in the world," asked Juan hastily, "has induced thee to bury
thyself here, amongst these drowsy monks?"
"The brethren are excellent men, learned and pious. And I am not
buried," Carlos returned with a smile.
"And if thou wert buried ten fathoms deep, thou shouldst come up out of
the grave when I need thee to stand beside me."
"Do not fear for that. Now thou art come, I will not prolong my stay
here, as otherwise I might have done. But I have been very happy here,
Juan."
"I am glad to hear it," said the merry-hearted, unsuspecting Juan. "I
am glad also that you are not in too great haste to tie yourself down to
the Church's service; though our honoured uncle seems to wish you had a
keener eye to your own interest, and a better look-out for fat
benefices. But I believe his own sons have appropriated all the stock
of worldly prudence meant for the whole family, leaving none over for
thee and me, Carlos."
"That is true of Don Manuel and Don Balthazar, not of Gonsalvo."
"Gonsalvo! he is far the worst of the three," Juan exclaimed, with
something like anger in his open, sunny face.
Carlos laughed. "I suppose he has been favouring you with his opinion
of me," he said.
"If he were not a poor miserable weakling and cripple, I should answer
him with the point of my good sword. However, this is idle talk.
Little brother" (Carlos being nearly as tall as himself, the diminutive
was only a term of affection, recalling the days of their childhood, and
more suited to masculine lips than its equivalent, dear)--"little
brother, you look grave and pale, and ten years older than when we
parted at Alcala."
"Do I? Much has happened with me since. I have been very sorrowful and
very happy."
Don Juan laid his available hand on his brother's shoulder, and looked
him earnestly in the face. "No secrets from me, little brother," he
said. "If thou dost not like the service of Holy Church after all,
speak out, and thou shall go back with me to France, or to anywhere else
in the known world that thou wilt. There may be some fair lady in the
case," he added, with a keen and searching glance.
"No, brother--not that I have indeed much to tell thee, but not now--not
to-day."
"Choose thine own time; only remember, no secrets. That were the one
unbrotherly act I could never forgive."
"But I am not yet satisfied about your wound," said Carlos, with perhaps
a little moral cowardice, turning the conversation. "Was the bone
broken?"
"No, fortunately; only grazed. It would not have signified, but for the
treatment of the blundering barber-surgeon. I was advised to show it to
some man of skill; and already my cousins have recommended to me one who
is both physician and surgeon, and very able, they say."
"Dr. Cristobal Losada?"
"The same. Your favourite, Don Gonsalvo, has just been prevailed upon
to make trial of his skill."
"I am heartily glad of it," returned Carlos. "There is a change of mind
on his part, equal to any wherewith he can reproach me; and a change for
the better, I have little doubt."
Thus the conversation wandered on; touching many subjects, exhausting
none; and never again drawing dangerously near those deep places which
one of the brothers knew must be thoroughly explored, and that at no
distant day. For Juan's sake, for the sake of One whom he loved even
more than Juan, he dared not--nay, he would not--avoid the task. But he
needed, or thought he needed, consideration and prayer, that he might
speak the truth wisely, as well as bravely, to that beloved brother.