The Car of Destiny
brother Cristóbal.”
So I listened, and heard that my eyes though dark as starless skies, could
blaze as the sun with love, and that the blessing of a poor girl who had
none to care for her, was upon the rich girl who held the treasure of my
heart.
“You must blow her a kiss to pay for the song,” Pilar said. “Don’t you
know that? But then, you haven’t been in Spain long—except in your
thoughts. That’s expected; just as a girl must politely kiss her hand to a
bull-fighter if he kisses his to her; for if she doesn’t, she puts the
evil-eye upon him; and like as not he’s gored the next time he goes into
the arena. Oh, I love the _coplas_! And wasn’t that woman singing in good
Spanish? Even the common people speak well here, for Valladolid and Toledo
Spanish is the best in Spain.”
I looked back and kissed my hand to the girl, who would have been insulted
had I thrown money; and lifting my eyes once more to the towering city, I
saw a mediæval background such as old masters love to give their pictures.
The landscape was wild, and unchanged to all appearance from the days when
the Crescent and the Cross battled for supremacy on those stony hills and
in those savage gorges. Once again, I felt myself a crude anachronism, in
my automobile, nor did the impression leave me when Toledo was hidden
round a corner; nor when we flashed past ancient Eastern _norias_, slowly
turned by sleepy horses or indignant donkeys; nor with glimpses of
sentinel watch-towers, or ruined castles—such “castles in Spain” as Don
Pedro promised to the Black Prince’s soldiers—and seldom gave if they were
worth giving.
Now, our business was to hark back to the king’s highway between Madrid
and Seville—that road on which Dick thriftily planned his quick service of
automobiles for passengers and market gardeners; but to-day there was none
of that excitement of the chase to which we were accustomed. I was
depressed despite the good omen of the goats, and an encounter with a mule
who had four white feet—a sign of some extraordinary piece of luck,
according to Pilar’s Dream-Book. The gently undulating, olive-silvered
country, with its occasional far-off hamlets and fine church spires did
not interest me, and I was not as thankful as I should have been for the
good road.
At last we had left the zone of brown cities and sombre hued villages, and
come into the zone of dazzling white habitations, which meant that we were
nearing the southern land, loved by the sun. The huge, semi-fortified,
high-walled farmhouses standing in lonely spaces were white as great
shells floating solitary on seas of waving green. The close-grouped knots
of cottages huddled together for mutual protection might have been cut
from blocks of marble; and their tenants were vivid creatures, burning
like tropical flowers against the dazzling white of their rough walls.
Never for ten minutes was the landscape the same. From olive plantations
we rushed into a bleak country of savage hills, where windmills planted
upon rocks beckoned with slowly moving arms; so down into flowery valleys
with a thread of silver river tangled in the grasses near a long white
road. And always the horizon was broken with tumbled mountains, purple,
gold, and rose, swimming in a sea of light and changing colour.
“Soon we’ll be in Cervantes’ country,” said the Cherub; “and good country
it is—for sport. I come myself sometimes with friends, after wild boar;
and there are plenty of rabbits to be had when there’s nothing better.”
“Don’t speak of rabbits,” said Dick. “It makes me hungry to think of them;
and as nobody has said anything about lunching, and we’re having such a
good run, I haven’t liked to mention it. Still, there’s that Andaluz ham
and goodness knows how many other things wasting their sweetness—”
The Cherub shook his head. “We mustn’t stop here. It will be better to
wait till we come to another road-mender’s house. We’re sure to pass one
before long. Then we’ll pull up, and the women will bring us water, or
anything we want.”
“I believe what you’re really thinking of, is brigands!” exclaimed Pilar.
“Well,” smiled the Cherub, “maybe something of the sort was in my mind;
though you need have no fear, my Pilarcita.”
“As if I would—a soldier’s daughter!” sneered Pilarcita. “I wish we would
meet the Seven Men of Ecija, or El Vivillo himself—if they haven’t caught
him yet. It would be fun.”
“No fun with you among us, child,” the Cherub said. “The chivalrous
bandoleros of the past exist in these days only in story books and
ballads. Vivillo is a villainous brute, and a little farther south we’ll
find no one on the road who’ll care to speak his name. They’ll call him
Señor Coso. As for the Seven Men of Ecija, one says that they’re disbanded
long ago, yet there’s a rumour that they still exist; and by the way, Don
Ramón, for generations that famous band of seven brigands has had a
connection—at least in old wives’ gossip—with the Dukes of Carmona.”
“How’s that?” I inquired, interested; for though I had heard many things
about that house, I had not heard the story at which Colonel O’Donnel
hinted.
“I wonder you don’t know!” said he. “Why, the tale runs that, more than a
hundred years ago, the baby heir of the Carmonas was ailing. If they lost
him, the title would go to another branch of the family; but the Duchess
had died within a few days of his birth, and no foster-mother could be
found to give the child health. Then the Duke caused it to be known far
and near that, if any woman could save his boy, she should have a pension
for life, enough to keep her in comfort with all her family; and that her
daughter and her daughter’s daughter should, if she chose to make the
contract, be foster-mothers of future Dukes of Carmona. In answer to this
proclamation came a woman of Ecija, the town of the brigands; a Juno of a
creature. She nursed the ailing heir back to health, and when the child
had become devoted to her, the secret leaked out that she was the married
sister of the terrible priest who led the brigand band. But she was not
sent away for that reason. Instead, the Duke used his influence
successfully to obtain a pardon for her husband, the priest’s
brother-in-law, when he was taken red-handed for robbery and murder
between Carmona and Seville; and in gratitude for this the man promised
that his sons and sons’ sons should be always at the disposal of the ducal
house. For the rest, the story goes that more than once in the last
century this promise has been exacted and fulfilled in secret.”
“I wouldn’t put it past the present Carmona to have a nest of bandits up
his sleeve,” said Dick. “It’s a pretty black sleeve, if some of the things
one hears are true. But here’s a road-mender’s cottage. What about
halting, and cocking snooks at El Vivillo?”
“It will do very well,” replied the Cherub. “If worst came to worst, we
could make a good defence from inside.”
“Honestly, aren’t you pulling our legs about the brigands?” asked Dick,
half-scornful and half-amused, as we slowed down.
“No,” said the Cherub. “I’m not joking, if that’s what you mean; for we
are on the borders of the _bandido_ country now. It will be years before
brigandage is stamped out in Spain; and you must have read of the trouble
there’s been lately. Not that I think there’s much chance of an encounter,
but it’s well to be prepared; for if a band of men jump at you with
carbines to their shoulders, there’s no getting out revolvers.”
“H’m!” muttered Dick. “I suppose you know what you’re talking about; but I
wouldn’t mind betting that these people would laugh if we asked, ’What
about brigands?’”
“All right; let us ask,” said the Cherub calmly.
By this time the car had stopped close to a tiny white box of a house set
a few yards back from the road, with a strip of grass for a lawn; and an
old man, evidently an ex-soldier, with a plump wife and a pretty daughter
were coming out. We interchanged various compliments; said that, with the
kind permission of his honour, the road-mender, we would lunch near his
house; were told that the house and everyone as well as everything in it,
was at our worship’s disposal; and finally the Cherub murmured a question
as to whether any _bandidos_ had been seen lately.
This way and that the old man glanced before answering. Then below his
breath replied that, as it happened, four gentlemen of the profession had
passed no more than three or four hours ago. They were out of luck, for
they had been hunted by the civil guard; and as they were hungry had gone
over to the right, there, to see what could be got at the nearest farm. As
for this place, it was safe enough, for there was nothing in it which even
a brigand would have; and one had to be agreeable to these persons, if
they stopped to rest or chat; it was more prudent.
“You see, you would have lost your money if I’d taken your bet, Señor
Waring,” said the Cherub.
Never was such a lunch as that we had by the roadside. We all worked at
spreading out the contents of the hampers, while the road-mender and his
family bustled about, not as inferiors with the hope of a tip, but helping
us as friends and hosts.
When we arrived, not a soul was to be seen, save the dwellers in the white
box. The only living things beside the trio and ourselves, were the larks
that sprang heavenward pouring jewels from throbbing throats, and a few
unknown birds of brilliant red and yellow, like drifting flower-petals.
But whether these birds carried the news, or whether it blew over the
country with the scented wind, certain it is that an audience collected to
gaze upon us, as clouds boil up over a clear horizon.
It was not an intrusive crowd that came; neither did they approach
offensively near, or stare with vulgar curiosity. It’s component
members—three or four handsome young mule-drivers, princely in shabbiness;
an elderly tiller of the soil, with the eyes and profile of a half-tamed
hawk; an old woman and a young girl madonna-like in their hooded cloaks,
as they sat their patient donkeys; and a couple of shy children with the
eyes of startled deer—hovered, paused, and ruminated, ready to take
flight, like wild creatures of the forest, at a rude look or chaffing
word.
But they got no rude looks or chaffing words from us, though we dared not
smile too invitingly, lest they misunderstand, and flee from us, offended.
We bowed gravely; they gravely bowed in return. Then, following a hurried
whisper of advice from the tactful Cherub, we continued our meal. But
presently, sandwich in hand, he strolled towards the scattered group,
mingled with it, and murmured. What he murmured, we in the car and round
it could not hear; but the chill uncertainty on those dark faces
brightened into sympathetic amusement.
“He’s telling them about ourselves and the automobile,” chuckled
Pilarcita. “Oh, I know him! He’s probably making up nonsense about the car
and its workings. In another minute they’ll be his slaves, and friends of
us all.”
As she whispered, the plump figure sauntered back. “I think that now it’s
safe to offer them a share of our food,” said he, in the manner of one who
imparts a delicious secret. “They are dying for some; but they’ll refuse
unless we go about it in the right way, for they’re as proud as we are.”
Pilar was not allowed to move, because, in Spain, women are to be
worshipped from afar, and must not mingle with strangers. But she handed
plates of the dainties supplied by Doña Rosita, to Dick and me, and thus
laden we wandered towards our audience.
“Offer something first to the road-mender’s family,” suggested the Cherub,
and we obeyed. “Probably you are not hungry,” was his preface. “Why should
you be, when you have plenty of food as good as ours, maybe better? But