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 title-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 Pul-teney 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, ‘Musica! Musica!’ 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 goats’ 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 Gijon, to Santiago, and to Madrid. Also, it is the capital of Asturias.
The streets were lined with shops – tailors, glove makers, peruquiers, hatters, mantua-makers, bookshops, jewellers, 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 storeys 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 colours, 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, colour, and description.
I went up to a gipsyish-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 gipsy 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 reals.’
‘You must be joking!’
In the end he offered me three thousand reals* 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 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 ante-chamber, 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 eagle’s 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 reals?’
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 duelling.
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?’
‘Senor, 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 gipsy 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 Andalou – 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 boy’s 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 man’s step-daughter at the Convent of the Esclavitud, and my wooden pipe, and the three thousand reals, which were impounded. The gipsy who had bought the horse 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 Jose 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 hung, or transported to the galleys at Malaga.
From Bernie I had heard fearful tales of those galleys.
Ay de mi! Now I wondered if it might not have been better to stay at Villaverde.
I spent the rest of that day in a very low frame of mind. Through my misery I began to observe how, at certain hours, the relatives of prisoners were allowed in, with food and necessaries for them. The best-served were a group of men in one corner, who, indeed, hardly bore the appearance of prisoners – their shirts were snowy white, their short waistcoats were made of velvet with silver buttons, they wore wide trousers and gaily-coloured scarves and sashes round their heads and waists. They laughed and talked and played cards with the greatest gaiety and unconcern, and, at visiting-time, they were attended by a whole troop of beautiful girls who brought them wine, fruit, bread, sausages, and all kinds of delicacies.
‘Are those lords?’ I whispered to my neighbour, an old man who lay propped against the wall on a kind of cushion, and who looked very ill.
‘No, my boy, they are gente de reputacion – thieves, bandits, assassins.’
I was amazed. I had thought them to be nobles, perhaps imprisoned for political crime. It was plain that they considered themselves of superior consequence to all other prisoners there, for they ordered the rest about with the utmost arrogance. Even the turnkeys appeared to treat them with respect.
During the afternoon I was startled to hear a loud, deep voice at my elbow suddenly announce the hour:
‘Three o’clock!’
Turning sharp around I saw that this voice came from a green parrot which sat composedly on the old man’s wrist.
‘That is Assistenta, my companion,’ the old man said, smiling a little at my surprise. ‘I taught her to tell the time by means of the movement of the shadows cast by the window-bars, and she can do it most exactly. Indeed she is now better than a sun-dial, for she seems to carry the hour inside her, and has never been known to make a mistake.’
I stroked and admired the bird, who turned her head about in a self-satisfied manner and chuckled.
‘Would she like to hear a tune on my pipe, do you suppose?’ I asked the old man.
‘We should both enjoy it,’ he said. ‘She would, and I would.’
So I played a number of tunes, not loud, for fear of attracting angry attention from the other prisoners; though indeed there was such a volume of noise, each man talking to his neighbour at the top of his lungs, that I might have blown a trumpet without it being remarked. However my music pleased the old man and delighted the parrot, who stood up on her tiptoes, opening and closing her wings repeatedly at the sound of it.
Towards evening, greatly to my surprise, who should come towards me, carrying with him a loaf of bread and a big earthenware dish of peas, beans, beef, and bacon, but that same gipsy who had bought my horse and reported me to the alcalde! I could hardly believe he was making for me, until he squatted down beside me and said,
‘Here, little brother. This is for you.’
‘Why do you bring me food?’ I demanded in astonishment.
‘Why? Because you are a stranger in this town and have no friends. Eat, eat!’
I invited the old man, who seemed to have no friends either, to dip into my stew, but he said he was too old to be hungry, and that his granddaughter would bring him some milk presently.
‘Moreover I am not going to live long; food is wasted on me. But Assistenta would be glad to have some of your garbanzos.’
So the parrot sat on my wrist and had some peas. Meanwhile the gipsy squatting beside me said confidentially in my ear,
‘Listen, little brother! I can get you out of this place if you will tell me your secret.’
‘What secret? I have no secret!’
‘Ay, Dios mio! You were with those two men, Senor Smith, the English deserter, whose stepdaughter’s address you carried in your pocket – I saw it, when the alcalde unfolded it – and the other, Manolo Candelas, one of the most notorious bandits in Spain, whose horse you sold me – and you say you have no secret! Why, it is common knowledge that those two men knew the whereabouts of a huge treasure lost by the English army on their way to Corunna – and you were with them and you say you have no secret! What kind of a fool do you think I am?’
‘They did not tell their secret to me!’
Nevertheless for almost an hour he continued pestering and questioning me, asking over and over again where the treasure lay hidden. At last, however, he became convinced that I really did not know, and he stood up, very angry.
‘I have wasted my time on you. You may stay here till moss grows over you, for all I care!’
He had hardly gone when an alguacil came to conduct me to the alcalde. I followed, full of hope and fear.
This time I found myself
alone with the alcalde in his office, and he came to the point at once.
‘Boy: I have reason to believe that the man whose horse you sold had previously entrusted to you a very important piece of information: the knowledge of the whereabouts of the load of gold dollars which was lost during the English retreat to Corunna …’
‘No, senor, he did not,’ I cut in with a good deal of impatience. ‘Nor do I know why anybody should think he did! I am utterly ignorant of the whereabouts of this treasure, and have no wish at all to know anything about it.’
‘I do not believe you! It is your duty to lay that knowledge before the authorities.’
Just like the gipsy, the alcalde was most unwilling to believe that I could tell him nothing, and he questioned me with great skill and cunning, doing his best to lay traps for me, until I quite lost my temper.
‘The good God knows why you should all think I have this secret! Is it likely that those men would tell me such a thing – the very thing they would wish to keep to themselves?’
The alcalde leaned forward, looking at me sharply. An angry spark burned in his deep eye-sockets.
‘Have a care, boy!’ said he. ‘I could order you to be flogged for insolence.’
‘It would make no difference. I do not know.’
After a pause he said more coolly, ‘I begin to believe you. Only a simpleton would show such disregard for his skin. Take him back to the cala-bozo!’ he shouted to an attendant outside the door, and to me, I warn you, you are likely to remain in here for a very long time.’
Burning with rage and injustice, I suffered myself to be led back. I remembered how I had felt when I lit my grandfather’s hayricks. I would have liked to set fire to this whole place.
The old man nodded to me in a friendly way and I settled down again in the spot next to him, which he had kept for me, but I was not allowed to remain in peace for long. One of the rateros came over to say that the chief wished to speak to me.