(1/3) Go Saddle the Sea (10 page)

The cattle and horses were housed on the ground floor, I on the floor above them; such is the habit of these parts. The house was built around a court, so that I could, if I wished, step out onto the gallery outside the door of my room, and look down to satisfy myself that all was well with the animals.

This
posada
also had a public dining room upstairs, but I did not wish to eat there, being unused to such places, and also wishful to save my money. Besides, I still had much of the food the López family had given me. I therefore munched bread and olives sitting on the floor of my room (for there was no chair, although
the room was huge, and cold as a barn). It struck me as I squatted there, wrapped in my great cloak, that this was only my sixth night away from home—yet already I felt as if a whole lifetime had passed since I quitted Villaverde. The people of that place—now that I was away from them—seemed like people in a dream, without reality; and, considering them from this distance, I found that I felt quite calm in my mind toward them, and bore them little ill-will—even spiteful Doña Isadora, with her tale-bearing ways, even mean-minded Father Tomás, with his love of punishment. How little they know about what takes place outside the four walls of that house! thought I.

But, though I had lost my hate, I felt inexpressibly glad to be away from them.

Concerning my grandfather I had different feelings.

While I had been at the mill, Don José had asked me one or two questions concerning my grandfather's treatment of me, and then, sighing, had said, "
Ay de mi!
Poor old man! To lose all four sons—and his daughter, too. That is a heavy blow. I hope
your
loss will not grieve him too much."

"Not likely! He will be glad to be rid of me,"' said I.

But now I wondered if I had been quite right. Perhaps he might be a little sorry that I had left: I did not know. He was a silent man, who kept his thoughts to himself.

I said a prayer for him, that he might not be grieved by my going, and then many more for the López family. Indeed, I missed them a thousand times more than my own kin, and felt such a sorrow in my heart, when I thought of that happy place, that I was fain to go downstairs and purchase a rush light from the ancient limping man who was the landlord. For I did not think I would be able to sleep yet a while; if I shut my eyes, I saw the dead man stretched in the field of flowers, and the carrion eaters hovering over him.

Returning to my chamber, I distracted my sad mind by reading a chapter in my father's book.

This (as I think I have mentioned before) was a tale printed in two small volumes. The tide page, as well as the name,
Susan,
also gave the information that it was writ by An English Lady of Quality, and that it had been printed in the American city of Philadelphia for the publishing firm of Crosby, Norris & Jones. How my father had come by a book which was printed in America, I do not know; but
why
he carried it with him, I now, since meeting the bearded treasure seeker, began to comprehend: for the adventures of Miss Susan in the tale mainly took place in the English city of Bath. If, as the man had suggested, my father came from that city, it was no wonder that he should delight in a story that brought its streets before his eyes.

Indeed, I now found myself reading it with a greater interest, when the book mentioned Pulteney Street, or the Pump Room, or Union Street, or Cheap
Yard, wondering whether my father had visited these places. Though I still thought that Susan, the heroine, was a sad, nonsensical girl, always falling into blunders, blind to all the tricks of her supposed friend (a most detestable girl, on the catch for Susan's brother) and prone to fancy all kinds of absurdities about the people she met: as, that they had committed strange crimes and were haunted by remorse. What
could
my father have found in it to admire, apart from its taking place in Bath? I wondered, and, putting it away, I crept into my chilly bed and fell asleep.

Next morning I rose betimes. The ancient landlord was nowhere to be seen, but I found a starved-looking boy, of about my own age, who promised to bring me a breakfast of stewed fowl in a few minutes. Since no other guests were about, I did not fear to go into the upstairs dining room, which was furnished with a huge table and high-backed chairs, all of them three hundred years old, the boy said. I did not know whether to believe him, so, by way of showing that I was not too impressed by his tales, I pulled out a wooden pipe, which I had made for myself at the same time that I made hers for Nieves and proceeded to play tunes on it while I waited for breakfast.

The boy, returning, was greatly delighted. He cried out, "
Músical Músical
" thumped down my dish of stew upon the table, and began to hop about like a mad thing, waving his arms and snapping his fingers until I was almost doubled up with laughing and could play no longer. Then, since he was out of breath, he fetched
me some dry bread to eat with my stew, and a bowl of chocolate, which I did not greatly relish, as it had large greasy lumps of goat's milk floating on top.

When I had finished eating the boy begged for more music, and, I believe, would have been happy to dance about all day to my piping, had not his master limped, scowling, out from some dusty nook, thumped him with a staff, and bade him get about his work.

Since I proposed to sell the Andalusian horse without delay, I then asked the boy to direct me to a beast market. He gave me instructions and I set out, after asking him to mind the mule for me, and promising to play him some more music when his master was not by. This had fortunate consequences, as will be heard later.

Now that morning had come, and the rain had ceased, the streets of Oviedo amazed me by their bustle and gaiety. It is a large town, greater than Santiago de Compostela (which was the only other I had seen), since it stands at the junction of four great roads, leading to Santander, to Gijón, to Santiago, and to Madrid. Also, it is the capital of Asturias.

The streets were lined with shops—tailors, glove makers, perruquiers, hatters, mantua makers, bookshops, jewelers, and tobacco shops. I longed to enter the bookshops, but durst not leave go of my horse, who followed me biddably enough, though he kept shaking his head up and down fretfully as if, poor beast, he wondered what had become of his master.

I could not help a shudder when I thought of that wretched fellow, stretched cold and stiff on the bare mountainside.

At length I came to the
mercado,
a great arched place of two stories where I am sure every kind of provision in the world might have been found for sale. In one corner were fruits—grapes of many colors, figs, apples, pears, oranges, and nuts; another section was set aside for cheese, others for meat, fishes of more kinds than I had ever seen, olives and oil, dried meats and sausages—besides cakes, pastries, and great loaves of bread. Our little market in Villaverde was not a tenth of the size.

I could have amused myself for hours just watching the people choosing and haggling, but I judged it best to be on my way, so walked through to the section of the market where beasts were sold. Here sat old farm women with poultry tied by the leg and cackling; eggs and chicks in rush baskets; frightened calves bawling for their mothers; burros braying; massive bulls tethered tightly to posts; and horses of every age, color, and description.

I went up to a gypsyish-looking fellow, dressed in a jerkin and wearing a high-crowned hat with a scarf tied round it. He had a number of horses in a lead, and I asked if he was interested in purchasing mine. He looked it over, examined its teeth, its forefeet, its hind feet, pulled its "tail, pinched its windpipe, and finally offered me ten dollars, which I thought much too low; hardly the price of a donkey. I therefore
shook my head and moved on, looking for a better buyer.

In a moment, however, the gypsy came up with me again. "Stay, boy. The horse, though past its best, might do for an old man I know who wants a quiet mount. I will give you sixty dollars for him."

"Sixty? I would not take two hundred and sixty."

"Well, I will give you two thousand reales."

"You must be joking!"

I
N THE
end he offered me three thousand reales,
^*
which
I
accepted; he paid over the money, and led the horse away into a canvas enclosure.

Now I felt rich indeed! Much pleased at my successful bargaining, due to which I thought I now had quite enough money to pay for my passage on a ship to England, I could not help loitering a little about the market, examining some fine steel weapons from Toledo, which were displayed at a stall near the entrance—and this was my undoing, for a mean-looking fellow, wearing a round black hat, a black coat and pantaloons, and carrying a brass-tipped staff, presently came up behind me, tapped me with his staff on the shoulder, and commanded me to follow him at once to the office of the Corregidor.

"Why should I? Who are you?" said I, my heart sinking horribly.

"I am an
alguacil
"

"And why should I follow you? I have done nothing wrong."

"You are suspected of horse thieving."

"I have done no such thing!"

"That, we shall soon see."

I had half a mind to run for it, but did not remember the way back to the
posada
clearly enough to be sure that I could get there ahead of him.

He led me across the Plaza Mayor, the wide main square, to the city hall, an ancient stone building, where I was obliged to sit on a bench in a dark cold antechamber, watched sharply by one or two carabineers.

My thoughts were not happy, as may be imagined.

In due course—that is to say, after about two hours, during which time I kicked my heels most miserably—I was summoned to the
alcalde
s office. The
alcalde
sat behind a huge desk. He was the most severe-looking man I ever saw; beside him, my grandfather would seem like a guardian angel. His nose was an eagles beak, his face thin as a lamp chimney, made, it seemed, of parchment stretched over wood; his eyes sat in deep hollows, and his hair was black as charcoal dust.

"Boy," said this terrifying personage, "how did you come by that horse, which you have just sold for three thousand reales?"

I was terrified. For all I knew, if I related the tale of the duel, I should not be believed, but should be accused of murdering the haughty young man. Or I
might cause the other, the grizzle-bearded man, to be pursued and arrested, for he had said that the authorities in this province frowned upon dueling.

I therefore said in a shaking voice that I had found the horse masterless and wandering, up in the mountains—which at least was some part of the truth.

"
Where
did you find him?"

I replied that I had come from San Antonio, and had found the horse along the road between there and Oviedo. I was a stranger in these parts, and so could not give the precise location.

"And how could you tell that his master would not come back for him?"

"Señor, it was in a great wide valley, and there was no other living creature to be seen."

"A likely tale!" broke in one of several men who stood listening—among them I noticed the gypsy who had bought the horse. "It is well known that the horse belonged to the black-haired young man who has been lodging with Maria Diaz. The horse is an An-dalou—all dark, with a white star on his brow—there is no mistaking him."

"And where is the young man?" asked the
alcalde.

"Your Excellency, he is not to be found."

"Cause a search to be made for him. In the meantime, go through the boys pockets."

Two
alguacils
searched me, but got little good for it, most of my belongings being in my saddlebags back at the
posada;
all they found was the note to the mans
stepdaughter at the Convent of the Esclavitud, and my wooden pipe, and the three thousand reales, which were impounded.

The gypsy who had bought the horse from me declared, "Without doubt the boy assassinated that poor young man and stole his horse. He is a child of the devil—you have only to look at his face! Give me back my money."

I guessed he had informed on me in the hope of getting both his money and the horse. However, the
alcalde
said, "Silence! We shall see what the search produces. In the meantime the money will be kept here. Let the boy be put in jail."

So I was led off to the jail, which stood next to the city hall and was entered by a worn flight of stone stairs. After passing through a massive door, on either side of which sat a turnkey, I was taken along a passage, then we descended as many steps as we had climbed, passed a large court where prisoners were taking exercise, and came at length to a huge vaulted dungeon, or
calabozo,
containing, I suppose, about a hundred people.

It was a wretched and disgusting place. Many of the prisoners there had hardly any clothes—perhaps they had been sold—but were merely wrapped in sacking or old rags. It was plain that they slept on the floor, apart from a few who were lucky enough to have a horse cloth or piece of ticking to put between themselves and the stones.

"If you want food," said my escort, "you may send
a message to your friends outside to supply you at visiting time."

"How can I do that? I do not know anybody in this town."

"In that case, go hungry!" replied the official, and, turning round, he left me in the
calabozo.

I hunted about for a dry spot on the filthy floor, and sat down, a prey to the most dismal reflections. If Nieves and Don José could see me now! I was almost sorry that I had not accompanied the treasure seeker on his wild quest. "What will they do with me? I wondered. If a search is made in the mountains, they will discover the corpse of the man who was killed.' They are not likely to find the other man—he will be far away by now. At best they will confiscate my mule and all my possessions, and I shall be left to rot in this hideous place for years. At worst, I shall be hanged, or transported to the galleys at Málaga.