CHAPTER II
JOHN CASTELL
When the king was gone, Peter turned to those men who had stood by himand thanked them very heartily. Then he said to Margaret:
"Come, Cousin, that is over for this time, and you have had your wishand seen his Grace. Now, the sooner you are safe at home, the better Ishall be pleased."
"Certainly," she replied. "I have seen more than I desire to see again.But before we go let us thank this Spanish senor----" and she paused.
"D'Aguilar, Lady, or at least that name will serve," said the Spaniardin his cultured voice, bowing low before her, his eyes fixed all thewhile upon her beautiful face.
"Senor d'Aguilar, I thank you, and so does my cousin, Peter Brome, whoselife perhaps you saved--don't you, Peter? Oh! and so will my father."
"Yes," answered Peter somewhat sulkily, "I thank him very much; thoughas for my life, I trusted to my own arm and to those of my friendsthere. Good night, Sir."
"I fear, Senor," answered d'Aguilar with a smile, "that we cannot partjust yet. You forget, I have become bond for you, and must thereforeaccompany you to where you live, that I may certify the place. Also,perhaps, it is safest, for these countrymen of mine are revengeful, and,were I not with you, might waylay you."
Now, seeing from his face that Peter was still bent upon declining thisescort, Margaret interposed quickly.
"Yes, that is wisest, also my father would wish it. Senor, I will showyou the way," and, accompanied by d'Aguilar, who gallantly offered herhis arm, she stepped forward briskly, leaving Peter to follow with hercousin Betty.
Thus they walked in the twilight across the fields and through thenarrow streets beyond that lay between Westminster and Holborn. In fronttripped Margaret beside her stately cavalier, with whom she was soontalking fast enough in Spanish, a tongue which, for reasons that shallbe explained, she knew well, while behind, the Scotchman's sword stillin his hand, and the handsome Betty on his arm, came Peter Brome in theworst of humours.
John Castell lived in a large, rambling, many-gabled, house, just offthe main thoroughfare of Holborn, that had at the back of it a gardensurrounded by a high wall. Of this ancient place the front part servedas a shop, a store for merchandise, and an office, for Castell was avery wealthy trader--how wealthy none quite knew--who exported woollenand other goods to Spain under the royal licence, bringing thence in hisown ships fine, raw Spanish wool to be manufactured in England, and withit velvet, silks, and wine from Granada; also beautiful inlaid armour ofToledo steel. Sometimes, too, he dealt in silver and copper from themountain mines, for Castell was a banker as well as a merchant, orrather what answered to that description in those days.
It was said that beneath his shop were dungeon-like store-vaults, builtof thick cemented stone, with iron doors through which no thief couldbreak, and filled with precious things. However this might be, certainlyin that great house, which in the time of the Plantagenets had been thefortified palace of a noble, existed chambers whereof he alone knew thesecret, since no one else, not even his daughter or Peter, ever crossedtheir threshold. Also, there slept in it a number of men-servants, verystout fellows, who wore knives or swords beneath their cloaks, andwatched at night to see that all was well. For the rest, theliving-rooms of this house where Castell, Margaret his daughter, andPeter dwelt, were large and comfortable, being new panelled with oakafter the Tudor fashion, and having deep windows that looked out uponthe garden.
When Peter and Betty reached the door, not that which led into the shop,but another, it was to find that Margaret and d'Aguilar, who werewalking very quickly, must have already passed it, since it was shut,and they had vanished. At his knock--a hard one--a serving-man opened,and Peter strode through the vestibule, or ante-chamber, into the hall,where for the most part they ate and sat, for thence he heard the soundof voices. It was a fine room, lit by hanging lamps of olive oil, andhaving a large, open hearth where a fire burned pleasantly, while theoaken table in front of it was set for supper. Margaret, who had thrownoff her cloak, stood warming herself at the fire, and the Senord'Aguilar, comfortably seated in a big chair, which he seemed to haveknown for years, leaned back, his bonnet in his hand, and watchedher idly.
Facing them stood John Castell, a stout, dark-bearded man of betweenfifty and sixty years of age, with a clever, clean-cut face and piercingblack eyes. Now, in the privacy of his home, he was very richly attiredin a robe trimmed with the costliest fur, and fastened with a gold chainthat had a jewel on its clasp. When Castell served in his shop or sat inhis counting-house no merchant in London was more plainly dressed; butat night, loving magnificence at heart, it was his custom thus toindulge in it, even when there were none to see him. From the way inwhich he stood, and the look upon his face, Peter knew at once that hewas much disturbed. Hearing his step, Castell wheeled round andaddressed him at once in the clear, decided voice which was hischaracteristic.
"What is this I am told, Peter? A man killed by you before the palacegates? A broil! A public riot in which things went near to greatbloodshed between the English, with you at the head of them, and thebodyguard of his Excellency, de Ayala. You arrested by the king, andbailed out by this senor. Is all this true?"
"Quite," answered Peter calmly.
"Then I am ruined; we are all ruined. Oh! it was an evil hour when Itook one of your bloodthirsty trade into my house. What have youto say?"
"Only that I want my supper," said Peter. "Those who began the story canfinish it, for I think their tongues are nimbler than my own," and heglanced wrathfully at Margaret, who laughed outright, while even thesolemn d'Aguilar smiled.
"Father," broke in Margaret, "do not be angry with cousin Peter, whoseonly fault is that he hits too hard. It is I who am to blame, for Iwished to stop to see the king against his will and Betty's, andthen--then that brute," and her eyes filled with tears of shame andanger, "caught hold of me, and Peter threw him down, and afterwards,when he attacked him with a sword, Peter killed him with his staff,and--all the rest happened."
"It was beautifully done," said d'Aguilar in his soft voice and foreignaccent. "I saw it all, and made sure that you were dead. The parry Iunderstood, but the way you got your smashing blow in before he couldthrust again--ah! that----"
"Well, well," said Castell, "let us eat first and talk afterwards. Senord'Aguilar, you will honour my poor board, will you not, though it ishard to come from a king's feast to a merchant's fare?"
"It is I who am honoured," answered d'Aguilar; "and as for the feast,his Grace is sparing in this Lenten season. At least, I could get littleto eat, and, therefore, like the senor Peter, I am starved."
Castell rang a silver bell which stood near by, whereon servants broughtin the meal, which was excellent and plentiful. While they were settingit on the table, the merchant went to a cupboard in the wainscoting, andtook thence two flasks, which he uncorked himself with care, saying thathe would give the senor some wine of his own country. This done, he saida Latin grace and crossed himself, an example which d'Aguilar followed,remarking that he was glad to find that he was in the house of a goodChristian.
"What else did you think that I should be?" asked Castell, glancing athim shrewdly.
"I did not think at all, Senor," he answered; "but alas! every one isnot a Christian. In Spain, for instance, we have many Moors and--Jews."
"I know," said Castell, "for I trade with them both."
"Then you have never visited Spain?"
"No; I am an English merchant. But try that wine, Senor; it came fromGranada, and they say that it is good."
D'Aguilar tasted it, then drank off his glass.
"It is good, indeed," he said; "I have not its equal in my own cellarsthere."
"Do you, then, live in Granada, Senor d'Aguilar?" asked Castell.
"Sometimes, when I am not travelling. I have a house there which mymother left me. She loved the town, and bought an old palace from theMoors. Would you not like to see Granada, Senora?" he asked, turning toMargaret as though to change th
e subject. "There is a wonderful buildingthere called the Alhambra; it overlooks my house."
"My daughter is never likely to see it," broke in Castell; "I do notpurpose that she should visit Spain."
"Ah! you do not purpose; but who knows? God and His saints alone," andagain he crossed himself, then fell to describing the beautiesof Granada.
He was a fine and ready talker, and his voice was very pleasant, soMargaret listened attentively enough, watching his face, and forgettingto eat, while her father and Peter watched them both. At length the mealcame to an end, and when the serving-men had cleared away the dishes,and they were alone, Castell said:
"Now, kinsman Peter, tell me your story."
So Peter told him, in few words, yet omitting nothing.
"I find no blame in you," said the merchant when he had done, "nor do Isee how you could have acted otherwise than you did. It is Margaret whomI blame, for I only gave her leave to walk with you and Betty by theriver, and bade her beware of crowds."
"Yes, father, the fault is mine, and for it I pray your pardon," saidMargaret, so meekly that her father could not find the heart to scoldher as he had meant to do.
"You should ask Peter's pardon," he muttered, "seeing that he is like tobe laid by the heels in a dungeon over this business, yes, and put uponhis trial for causing the man's death. Remember, he was in the serviceof de Ayala, with whom our liege wishes to stand well, and de Ayala, itseems, is very angry."
Now Margaret grew frightened, for the thought that harm might come toPeter cut her heart. The colour left her cheek, and once again her eyesswam with tears.
"Oh! say not so," she exclaimed. "Peter, will you not fly at once?"
"By no means," he answered decidedly. "Did I not say it to the king, andis not this foreign lord bond for me?"
"What can be done?" she went on; then, as a thought struck her, turnedto d'Aguilar, and, clasping her slender hands, looked pleadingly intohis face and asked: "Senor, you who are so powerful, and the friend ofgreat people, will you not help us?"
"Am I not here to do so, Senora? Although I think that a man who cancall half London to his back, as I saw your cousin do, needs little helpfrom me. But listen, my country has two ambassadors at this Court--deAyala, whom he has offended, and Doctor de Puebla, the friend of theking; and, strangely enough, de Puebla does not love de Ayala. Yet hedoes love money, which perhaps will be forthcoming. Now, if a charge isto be laid over this brawl, it will probably be done, not by thechurchman, de Ayala, but through de Puebla, who knows your laws andCourt, and--do you understand me, Senor Castell?"
"Yes," answered the merchant; "but how am I to get at de Puebla? If Iwere to offer him money, he would only ask more."
"I see that you know his Excellency," remarked d'Aguilar drily. "You areright, no money should be offered; a present must be made after thepardon is delivered--not before. Oh! de Puebla knows that John Castell'sword is as good in London as it is among the Jews and infidels ofGranada and the merchants of Seville, at both of which places I haveheard it spoken."
At this speech Castell's eyes flickered, but he only answered:
"May be; but how shall I approach him, Senor?"
"If you will permit me, that is my task. Now, to what amount will you goto save our friend here from inconvenience? Fifty gold angels?"
"It is too much," said Castell; "a knave like that is not worth ten.Indeed, he was the assailant, and nothing should be paid at all."
"Ah! Senor, the merchant is coming out in you; also the dangerous manwho thinks that right should rule the world, not kings--I mean might.The knave is worth nothing, but de Puebla's word in Henry's ear isworth much."
"Fifty angels be it then," said Castell, "and I thank you, Senor, foryour good offices. Will you take the money now?"
"By no means; not till I bring the debt discharged. Senor, I will comeagain and let you know how matters stand. Farewell, fair maiden; may thesaints intercede for that dead rogue who brought me into your company,and that of your father and your cousin of the quick eye and thestalwart arm! Till we meet again," and, still murmuring compliments, hebowed himself out of the room in charge of a manservant.
"Thomas," said Castell to this servant when he returned, "you are adiscreet fellow; put on your cap and cloak, follow that Spaniard, seewhere he lodges, and find out all you can about him. Go now, swiftly."
The man bowed and went, and presently Castell, listening, heard a sidedoor shut behind him. Then he turned and said to the other two:
"I do not like this business. I smell trouble in it, and I do not likethe Spaniard either."
"He seems a very gallant gentleman, and high-born," said Margaret.
"Aye, very gallant--too gallant, and high-born--too high-born, unless Iam mistaken. So gallant and so high-born----" And he checked himself,then added, "Daughter, in your wilfulness you have stirred a great rock.Go to your bed and pray God that it may not fall upon your house andcrush it and us."
So Margaret crept away frightened, a little indignant also, for afterall, what wrong had she done? And why should her father mistrust thissplendid-looking Spanish cavalier?
When she was gone, Peter, who all this while had said little, looked upand asked straight out:
"What are you afraid of, Sir?"
"Many things, Peter. First, that use will be made of this matter toextort much money from me, who am known to be rich, which is a sin bestabsolved by angels. Secondly, that if I make trouble about paying, otherquestions will be set afoot."
"What questions?"
"Have you ever heard of the new Christians, Peter, whom the Spaniardscall Maranos?"
He nodded.
"Then you know that a Marano is a converted Jew. Now, as it chances--Itell you who do not break secrets--my father was a Marano. His name doesnot matter--it is best forgotten; but he fled from Spain to England forreasons of his own, and took that of the country whence hecame--Castile, or Castell. Also, as it is not lawful for Jews to live inEngland, he became converted to the Christian faith--seek not to knowhis motives, they are buried with him. Moreover, he converted me, hisonly child, who was but ten years old, and cared little whether I sworeby 'Father Abraham' or by the 'Blessed Mary.' The paper of my baptismlies in my strong box still. Well, he was clever, and built up thisbusiness, and died unharmed five-and-twenty years ago, leaving mealready rich. That same year I married an Englishwoman, your mother'ssecond cousin, and loved her and lived happily with her, and gave herall her heart could wish. But after Margaret's birth, three-and-twentyyears gone by, she never had her health, and eight years ago she died.You remember her, since she brought you here when you were a stout lad,and made me promise afterwards that I would always be your friend, forexcept your father, Sir Peter, none other of your well-born and ancientfamily were left. So when Sir Peter--against my counsel, staking his allupon that usurping rogue Richard, who had promised to advance him, andmeanwhile took his money--was killed at Bosworth, leaving you landless,penniless, and out of favour, I offered you a home, and you, being awise man, put off your mail and put on woollen and became a merchant'spartner, though your share of profit was but small. Now, again you havechanged staff for steel," and he glanced at the Scotchman's sword thatstill lay upon a side table, "and Margaret has loosed that rock of whichI spoke to her."
"What is the rock, Sir?"
"That Spaniard whom she brought home and found so fine."
"What of the Spaniard?"
"Wait a while and I will tell you." And, taking a lamp, he left theroom, returning presently with a letter which was written in cipher, andtranslated upon another sheet in John Castell's own hand.
"This," he said, "is from my partner and connection, Juan Bernaldez, aMarano, who lives at Seville, where Ferdinand and Isabella have theircourt. Among other matters he writes this: 'I warn all brethren inEngland to be careful. I have it that a certain one whose name I willnot mention even in cipher, a very powerful and high-born man, and,although he appears to be a pleasure-seeker only, and is certainly
of adissolute life, among the greatest bigots in all Spain, has been sent,or is shortly to be sent, from Granada, where he is stationed to watchthe Moors, as an envoy to the Court of England to conclude a secrettreaty with its king. Under this treaty the names of rich Maranos thatare already well known here are to be recorded, so that when the timecomes, and the active persecution of Jews and Maranos begins, they maybe given up and brought to Spain for trial before the Inquisition. Alsohe is to arrange that no Jew or Marano may be allowed to take refuge inEngland. This is for your information, that you may warn any whom itconcerns.'"
"You think that d'Aguilar is this man?" asked Peter, while Castellfolded up the letter and hid it in the pocket of his robe.
"I do; indeed I have heard already that a fox was on the prowl, and thatmen should look to their hen-houses. Moreover, did you note how hecrossed himself like a priest, and what he said about being among goodChristians? Also, it is Lent and a fast-day, and by ill-fortune,although none of us ate of it, there was meat upon the table, for as youknow," he added hurriedly, "I am not strict in such matters, who givelittle weight to forms and ceremonies. Well, he observed it, and touchedfish only, although he drank enough of the sweet wine. Doubtless areport of that meat will go to Spain by the next courier."
"And if it does, what matter? We are in England, and Englishmen will notsuffer their Spanish laws and ways. Perhaps the senor d'Aguilar learnedas much as that to-night outside the banqueting-hall. There is somethingto be feared from this brawl at home; but while we are safe in London,no more from Spain."
"I am no coward, but I think there is much more to be feared, Peter. Thearm of the Pope is long, and the arm of the crafty Ferdinand is longer,and both of them grope for the throats and moneybags of heretics."
"Well, Sir, we are not heretics."
"No, perhaps not heretics; but we are rich, and the father of one of uswas a Jew, and there is something else in this house which even a trueson of Holy Church might desire," and he looked at the door throughwhich Margaret had passed to her chamber.
Peter understood, for his long arms moved uneasily, and his grey eyesflashed.
"I will go to bed," he said; "I wish to think."
"Nay, lad," answered Castell, "fill your glass and stay awhile. I havewords to say to you, and there is no time like the present. Who knowswhat may happen to-morrow?"