The Car of Destiny
realizing at last that this was no wild sport, but the end of all things.
Fuentes waved off his men—“_fuera gente_,” knowing that this sign of
serene courage would thrill thirteen thousand hearts, already warm for
him, and adjusted his red _muleta_ to the small, spiked stick which
secured it. Then, graceful as a wave which rears its crest to
breaking-point, he moved towards the bull, wary yet defiant.
Vivillo, as if to prove the power and fulness of his lungs, bellowed for
the first time since he had entered the arena, as he hurled his dark body
upon the _torero_, his huge head down. The _muleta_ met his horns and
smothered them, to be swept up and away, while Fuentes stood motionless,
smiling. But to the agitation of the audience, instead of following the
_muleta’s_ scarlet wave, Vivillo halted with horns lowered to gore, and
charged the man.
Lightly Fuentes stepped aside, tempting the bull again with the _muleta_;
but Vivillo would have none of it. Then came such give and take between
man’s skill and brute’s ferocious cunning that the audience lost all
self-consciousness in watching.
Nearer and nearer Fuentes and Vivillo drew to the barrier. Now they were
close to _Tendido_ Number 9, and mechanically I lifted my eyes from the
arena to find Pilar. She was no longer to be seen there, and I thought
that she had fled before the death. But as Vivillo made a lunge which all
but caught Fuentes, a door in the barrier flashed open, flashed shut, and
a girl stood in the ring.
It was Pilar in her white dress and lace mantilla. She had left her seat,
gone down alone to the entrance of the _tendido_, had waited her chance,
and slipped into the arena. But she could hide no longer. At sight of the
girl’s figure, white against the dark red barrier, a wild, warning shout
went up. Two or three of Fuentes’ _cuadrillo_ ran towards her, but with a
passionate gesture she motioned them off, holding out her arms to the
royal box.
“Pardon, pardon for Vivillo, the brave bull!” she cried. And I knew now
that this was what she had meant from the first. If Vivillo were brave, if
he won the respect of the King and the crowd by supreme strength and
courage, she had hoped to save him as other bulls had been saved from time
to time, since, in earliest days, Spain had followed Roman customs. I had
read of those pardoned bulls and heard of them from my father—one hero,
may be, in ten years. For this she had come; for this she had sat watching
Vivillo’s blood flow, waiting until he had proved himself so brave that
thirteen thousand voices might join hers in asking the bull’s life of the
King-President.
At sound of his name, cried in those dear, familiar tones as if calling
him from across the valley of death, Vivillo raised his head, turned his
back for the first time upon the enemy, and bounded towards the girl.
Horrified, the audience shrieked at her, at him, waving their hands,
throwing hats into the ring in front of the bull as if to distract him
from a helpless victim. But they need not have feared. His sides heaving
under their mantle of blood, Vivillo’s rush subsided to a trot, as in the
home-pasture far away. Half-blinded with fury as he had been a moment ago,
the kind young face and voice loved by him since he was a calf at his
mother’s side brought Vivillo back to himself. Hope must have quickened in
his heart as he heard that call, which in old days had meant choice food
and sweet caresses. It was the call of life, and he answered it with
gratitude.
[It was the call of life, and he answered it with gratitude.]
IT WAS THE CALL OF LIFE, AND HE ANSWERED IT WITH GRATITUDE
How the men yelled, and the women laughed and cried as the great bull laid
his armed head against the pale girl’s arm! How they clapped when he ate
something which she held to him in her hand, and how they shouted to the
King—“Pardon—pardon for this brave bull. Pardon for El Vivillo!”
Dick was at her side now. He must have leaped the barrier; but I did not
see him until he was there, and the Cherub close behind him. Fuentes was
under the royal box, asking if the prayer for the bull’s life were to be
heard; and, amid tumultuous cheering, pardon was granted, with the jewel
he should have won by giving Vivillo death instead of life. The bull was
saved. Panting, he stood by Pilar’s side, his blood staining the creamy
whiteness of her mantilla. Even when the tame _cabestro_ came, with
tinkling bell, to entice Vivillo away, she could hardly bear to leave him,
though she well knew that he was safe; that his wounds would be skilfully
tended; that he would be restored to health, and that, in very shame (when
the story was made known), Carmona must surrender the bull to her.
But the King and Queen were on their feet bowing to the crowd, their
relatives and guests standing behind them. The Queen turned and murmured
to the King, who spoke to someone I could not see, and an equerry hurried
out of the box. A moment later the Duke of Carmona, his mother, Lady
Vale-Avon, and Monica were entering the royal box. Evidently the Queen’s
wish had been to make some introduction. All chatted together for a
minute, looking down at the ring, which Vivillo was just leaving with the
big, brindled _cabestro_. Probably the King was congratulating Carmona on
the bull given by him to the _Corrida __Real_. Then, having bowed once
more to their enthusiastic subjects, the royalties prepared to leave the
box before the next bull should come into the ring.
I knew that Monica, with Carmona and the others, would follow in the train
of the King and Queen, that they would go out at the royal entrance, and
that I must be near if I would have my last chance with the girl. But it
was a misfortune that she should be with the royalties, because, since the
catastrophe of two days ago, the police of Madrid were taking extra
precautions for the safety of their sovereign and his bride. The ground
outside the royal entrance had been kept clear of the populace when they
went in, and would be again when they went out. A haggard, hollow-eyed
wretch such as I was now would be instantly suspected and ordered back.
Yet Monica was to be married to-morrow, and then it would be for ever too
late. Somehow I must get close enough to speak with her, even if the words
I had to say were cut short by a bullet.
Many people were leaving, though more than half the audience remained, and
I had to fight my way through a crowd that had not my reasons for haste.
Perhaps a look at my face made them give me room, for sooner than I dared
hope I was out of the bull-ring, and pushing through the dense pack of
people who had assembled to see the royalties and their guests drive away.
I had reached the outside rank, when I saw Carmona’s automobile coming
into place behind the royal carriages and motor-cars. Someone had been
sent to fetch it here from the other entrance; and the Duke of Carmona
would be a figure of importance in the eyes of all Madrid.
Civil guards and police were busy keeping the crowd in order, with warning
gestures pressing rank upon rank back upon one another.
I made no effort to separate myself from the mass, for neither the King
nor Queen nor Carmona had yet come in sight; and I was waiting. But
suddenly shouts of “_Viva el Rey—Viva la Reina!_” broke out and swelled.
They were coming. Now they were at the door. I caught sight of Carmona,
exceedingly handsome in the joy of his great triumph. The King paused at
the door, and, seeing Carmona near by, flung him a kindly last word, with
a smile. Carmona stepped forward, hat in hand. Monica, with her mother and
the Duchess, came to a stop close behind.
My moment had come. I sprang out from the crowd, and had taken three steps
towards her, when two civil guards had me by the shoulders. At the same
instant I heard Dick’s voice, and knew that he had found his way after me,
true as always, guessing what I would try to do.
The sudden movement and buzz in the group round me caught Monica’s
attention. She looked, and gave a little cry as our eyes met across the
sunlit, open space. Out came her hands, and for an instant I thought she
would have run to me; but her mother’s quick eyes had identified the man
between the civil guards, and she seized Monica by the arm.
“Get back,” said one of the civil guards angrily. “No one is allowed to go
nearer to the King.”
“I must speak to those ladies,” I said, shaking one shoulder free.
“Another step, and you’ll spend your night between prison walls,” muttered
the guard, furious that there should be a scene under the eyes of royalty.
But now the eyes of royalty were upon me, and there was recognition in
them. The King held up his hand imperatively.
“Let that gentleman go,” he said. “He is a friend of mine. _Señores_, I am
glad to see you again. Have you come to congratulate me on my marriage?”
The guards stepped back; and the King’s question was a command. He said
“_Señores_”; therefore he was speaking to Dick as well as to me. I walked
towards him as he stood ready to greet us; and now Dick, who had kept
behind in the crowd, was at my side.
Carmona’s face grew scarlet, then yellow-pale.
“I beg your Majesty’s forgiveness,” he said, “but you cannot know what I
know of this man, or you would not receive him. This may be another
horrible plot; for he is the Marqués de Casa Triana, suspected of throwing
a bomb in Barcelona some years ago, who not only has broken his parole and
come secretly to Spain, but has been following you about from place to
place in his motor-car, and—”
The King burst out laughing, in his boyish way.
“All the better for me if he has, since he has continually found the way
to do me some good turn. If it hadn’t been for him and his motor-car I’m
not sure that I would be here—and happy—to-day.” He held out his hand to
me. “So you are the Marqués de Casa Triana,” he said. “And that was why
you wouldn’t tell me your name, when your friend let me know I had one
more thing to thank you for besides those I knew—on the day of the
brigands?”
He smiled at Dick, who presumed on his notice.
“Your Majesty,” he ventured, “may I mention the name of the man who
employed those brigands, not to injure you, but one he had already
injured—Casa Triana himself? Well, it’s the Duke of Carmona; and when the
brigands failed, he tried having Casa Triana knocked on the head and shut
up in a house of his at Granada, so that he could marry the girl who was
engaged to my friend. You can ask Lady Monica Vale, sir, if I’m not
telling you the truth—as far as she knows it.”
The King, without answering, turned his eyes on Monica.
“It is true, sir, that we were engaged,” she replied to the question in
his look. “I love him still, and only promised to marry the Duke because
he said, if I did, he would save Ramón from imprisonment—and worse. He
told me he had helped Ramón to get out of Spain to England, when he was on
the point of being arrested for—something that happened in Seville. Now I
know it wasn’t true;—that he—lied, and that he’s been horribly treacherous
to Ramón, as well as to me. I’ll not keep my promise to him to-morrow, or
ever.”
“This seems a strange story,” said the King. “I must hear it at length,
later. But you shall not marry against your wish. You shall marry the man
you love; we will see to that, whether Carmona can clear himself or not.
As for my friend Casa Triana, I owe him a triple debt. Part of it I can
repay by giving him certain estates in the South which I believe I’ve
been—keeping in trust for him. Part I can never repay; and part—well, if I
can give him a bride who loves him, perhaps he will consider himself
repaid?”
“I thank your Majesty a thousand times,” I said.
Monica looked at me. She was very pale; but there was heaven in her eyes.