Fair Margaret

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"A few, a very few, Dona Margaret. But I erred about Betty, whom I took
for a simple serving-girl, and to whom, if need be, I am ready to make
all amends."

"Except that which is due to a woman you have asked to be your wife, and
who in our country could claim the fulfilment of your promise, or
declare you shamed. But you have not answered. Would they go free?"

"As free as air--especially the Senora Betty," he added with a little
smile, "for to speak truth, there is something in that woman's eyes
which frightens me at times. I think that she has a long memory. Within
an hour of our marriage you shall look down from your window and see
them depart under escort, every one, to go whither they will."

"Nay," answered Margaret, "it is not enough. I should need to see them
go before, and then, if I consented, not till the sun had set would I
pay the price of their ransom."

"Then do you consent? he asked eagerly.

"My lord Marquis, it would seem that I must. My betrothed has played me
false. For a month or more I have been prisoner in your palace, which I
understand has no good name, and, if I refuse, you tell me that all of
us will be cast into yonder dungeons to be sold as slaves or die
prisoners of the Moors. My lord Marquis, fate and you leave me but
little choice. On this day week I will marry you, but blame me not if
you find me other than you think, as you have found my cousin whom you
befooled. Till then, also, I pray you that you will leave me quite
untroubled. If you have arrangements to make or commands to send, the
woman Inez yonder will serve as messenger, for of her I know the worst."

"I will obey you in all things, Dona Margaret," he answered humbly. "Do
you desire to see your father or--" and he paused.

"Neither of them," she answered. "I will write to them and send my
letters by this Inez. Why should I see them," she added passionately,
"who have done with the old days when I was free and happy, and am about
to become the wife of the most noble Marquis of Morella, that honourable
grandee of Spain, who tricked a poor girl by a false promise of
marriage, and used her blind and loving folly to trap and steal me from
my home? My lord, till this day week I bid you farewell," and, walking
from the arcade to the fountain, she called aloud to Betty to accompany
her to their rooms.

The week for which Margaret had bargained had gone by. All was prepared.
Inez had shown to Morella the letters that his bride to be wrote to her
father and to Peter Brome; also the answers, imploring and passionate,
to the same. But there were other letters and other answers which she
had not shown. It was afternoon, swift horses were ready in the
courtyard, and with them an escort, while, disguised as Moors, Castell
and Peter waited under guard in a chamber close at hand. Betty, dressed
in the robes of a Moorish woman, and thickly veiled, stood before
Morella, to whom Inez had led her.

"I come to tell you," she said, "that at sundown, three hours after we
have passed beneath her window, my cousin and mistress will wait to be
made your wife, but if you try to disturb her before then she will be no
wife of yours, or any man's."

"I obey," answered Morella; "and, Senora Betty, I pray your pardon, and
that you will accept this gift from me in token of your forgiveness."
And with a low bow he handed to her a beautiful necklace of pearls.

"I take them," said Betty, with a bitter laugh, "as they may serve to
buy me a passage back to England. But forgive you I do not, Marquis of
Morella, and I warn you that there is a score between us which I may
yet live to settle. You seem to have won, but God in Heaven takes note
of the wickedness of men, and in this way or in that He always pays His
debts. Now I go to bid farewell to my cousin Margaret, but to you I do
not bid farewell, for I think that we shall meet again," and with a sob
she let fall the veil which she had lifted above her lips to speak and
departed with Inez, to whom she whispered as they went, "He will not
linger for any more good-byes with Betty Dene."

They entered Margaret's room and locked the door behind them. She was
seated on a low divan wrapped in a loose robe, and by her side,
glittering with silver and with gems, lay her bridal veil and garments.

"Be swift," said Inez to Betty, who stripped off her Moorish dress and
the long, flowing veil that was wrapped about her head, whereon it was
seen that her hair had changed greatly in colour, from yellow to dark
chestnut indeed, while her eyes, ringed about with pigments, and made
lustrous by drugs dropped into them, looked no longer blue, but black
like Margaret's. Yes, and wonder of wonders, on the right side of the
chin and on the back of the neck were moles, or beauty-spots, just such
as Margaret had borne there from her birth! In short, their stature
being much the same, though Betty was more thickly built, except in the
strongest light it would not have been easy to distinguish them apart,
even unveiled, for at all such arts of the altering of the looks of
women, Inez was an adept, and she had done her best.

Now Margaret clothed herself in the white robes and the thick head-dress
that hid her face, all except a little crack left for the eyes to peep
through, whilst Betty, with the help of Inez, arrayed herself in the
wondrous wedding robe beset with jewels that was Morella's bridal gift,
and hid her dyed tresses beneath the pearl-sewn veil. Within ten minutes
all was finished, even to the dagger that Betty had tied about her
beneath her robe, and the two transformed women stood staring at
each other.

"It is time to go," said Inez.

Then Margaret broke out:

"I do not like this business; I never did. When he discovers all, that
man's rage will be terrible, and he will kill her. I repent that I have
consented to the plot."

"It is too late to repent now, Senora," said Inez.

"Cannot Betty be got away also?" asked Margaret desperately.

"It is just possible," answered Inez; "thus, before the marriage,
according to the old custom here, I hand the cups of wine to the
bridegroom and the bride. That for the marquis will be drugged, since he
must not see too clear to-night. Well, I might brew it stronger so that
within half an hour he would not know whether he were married or single,
and then, perhaps, she might escape with me and come to join you. But it
is very risky, and, of course, if we were discovered--the stitch would
be out of the wineskin, and the cellar floor might be stained!"

Now Betty interrupted:

"Keep your stitches whole, Cousin; if any skins are to be pricked it
can't be helped, and at least you won't have to wipe up the mess. I am
not going to run away from the man, more likely he will run away from
me. I look well in this fine dress of yours, and I mean to wear it out.
Now begone--begone, before some of them come to seek me. Don't you
grieve for me; I'll lie in the bed that I have made, and if the worst
comes to the worst, I have money in my pocket--or its worth--and we will
meet again in England. Come, give my love and duty to Master Peter and
your father, and if I should see them no more, bid them think kindly of
Betty Dene, who was such a plague to them."

Then, taking Margaret in her strong arms, she kissed her again and
again, and fairly thrust her from the room.

But when they were gone, poor Betty sat down and cried a little, till
she remembered that hot tears might melt the paint upon her face, and,
drying them, went to the window and watched.

A while later, from her lofty niche, she saw six Moorish horsemen riding
along the white road to the embattled gate. After them came two men and
a woman, all splendidly mounted, also dressed as Moors, and then six
other horsemen. They passed the gate which was opened for them and began
to mount the slope beyond. At the crest of it the woman halted and,
turning, waved a handkerchief. Betty answered the signal, and in another
minute they had vanished, and she was alone.

Never did she spend a more weary afternoon. Two hours later, still
watching at her window, she saw the Moorish escort return, and knew that
all was well, and that by now, Margaret, her lover, and her father were
safely started on their journey. So she had not risked her life in vain.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE HOLY HERMANDAD

Down the long passages, through the great, fretted halls, across the
cool marble courts, flitted Inez and Margaret. It was like a dream. They
went through a room where women, idling or working at tapestries, looked
at them curiously. Margaret heard one of them say to another:

"Why does the Dona Margaret's cousin leave her?" And the answer,
"Because she is in love with the marquis herself, and cannot bear
to stay."

"What a fool!" said the first woman. "She is good looking, and would
only have had to wait a few weeks."

They passed an open door, that of Morella's own chambers. Within it he
stood and watched them go by. When they were opposite to him some doubt
or idea seemed to strike his mind, for he looked at them keenly, stepped
forward, then, thinking better of it, or perhaps remembering Betty's
bitter tongue, halted and turned aside. That danger had gone by!

At length, none hindering them, they reached the yard where the escort
and the horses waited. Here, standing under an archway, were Castell and
Peter. Castell greeted Margaret in English and kissed her through her
veil, while Peter, who had not seen her close since months before he
rode away to Dedham, stared at her with all his eyes, and began to draw
near to her, designing to find out, as he was sure he could do if once
he touched her, whether indeed this were Margaret, or only Betty after
all. Guessing what was in his mind, and that he might reveal everything,
Inez, who held a long pin in her hand with which she was fastening her
veil that had come loose, pretended to knock against him, and ran the
point deep into his arm, muttering, "Fool!" as she did so. He sprang
back with an oath, the guard smiled, and she began to pray his pardon.

Castell helped Margaret on to her horse, then mounted his own, as did
Peter, still rubbing his arm, but not daring to look towards Margaret,
whose hand Inez shook familiarly in farewell as though she were her
equal, addressing her the while in terms of endearment such as Spanish
women use to each other. An officer of Morella's household came and
counted them, saying:

"Two men and a woman. That is right, though I cannot see the woman's
face."

For a moment he seemed to be about to order her to unveil, but Inez
called to him that it was not decent before all these Moors, whereon he
nodded and ordered the captain to proceed.

They rode through the arch of the castle along the roadway, through the
great gate of the wall also, where the guard questioned their escort,
stared at them, and, after receiving a present from Castell, let them
go, telling them they were lucky Christians to get alive out of Granada,
as indeed they were.

At the brow of the rise Margaret turned and waved her handkerchief
towards that high window which she knew so well. Another handkerchief
was waved in answer, and, thinking of the lonely Betty watching them
there while she awaited the issue of her desperate venture, Margaret
went on, weeping beneath her veil. For an hour they rode forward,
speaking few words to each other, till at length they came to the
cross-roads, one of which ran to Malaga, and the other towards Seville.

Here the escort halted, saying that their orders were to leave them at
this point, and asking which road they intended to take. Castell
answered that to Malaga, whereon the captain replied that they were
wise, as they were less likely to meet bands of marauding thieves who
called themselves Christian soldiers, and murdered or robbed all
travellers who fell into their hands. Then Castell offered him a
present, which he accepted gravely, as though he did him a great favour,
and, after bows and salutations, they departed.

As soon as the Moors were gone the three rode a little way towards
Malaga. Then, when there was nobody in sight, they turned across country
and gained the Seville road. At last they were alone and, halting
beneath the walls of a house that had been burnt in some Christian raid,
they spoke together freely for the first time, and oh! what a moment was
that for all of them!

Peter pushed his horse alongside that of Margaret, crying:

"Speak, beloved. Is it truly you?"

But Margaret, taking no heed of him, leant over and, throwing her arm
around her father's neck, kissed him again and again through her veil,
blessing God that they had lived to meet in safety. Peter tried to kiss
her also; but she caused her horse to move so that he nearly fell from
his saddle.

"Have a care, Peter," she said to him, "or your love of kissing will
lead you into more trouble." Whereon, guessing of what she spoke, he
coloured furiously, and began to explain at length.

"Cease," she said--"cease. I know all that story, for I saw you," then,
relenting, with some brief, sweet words of greeting and gratitude, gave
him her hand, which he kissed often enough.

"Come," said Castell, "we must push on, who have twenty miles to cover
before we reach that inn where Israel has arranged that we should sleep
to-night. We will talk as we go." And talk they did, as well as the
roughness of the road and the speed at which they must travel
would allow.

Riding as hard as they were able, at length they came to the _venta_, or
rough hostelry, just as the darkness closed in. At the sight of it they
thanked God aloud, for this place was across the Moorish border, and now
they had little to fear from Granada. The host, a half-bred Spaniard and
a Christian, expected them, having received a message from Israel, with
whom he had had dealings, and gave them two rooms, rude enough, but
sufficient, and good food and wine, also stabling and barley for their
horses, bidding them sleep well and have no fear, as he and his people
would watch and warn them of any danger.

Yet it was late before they slept, who had so much to say to each
other--especially Peter and Margaret--and were so happy at their escape,
if only for a little while. Yet across their joy, like the sound of a
funeral bell at a merry feast, came the thought of Betty and that
fateful marriage in which ere now she must have played her part. Indeed,
at last Margaret knelt down and offered up prayers to Heaven that the
saints might protect her cousin in the great peril which she had
incurred for them, nor was Peter ashamed to join her in that prayer.
Then they embraced--especially Peter and Margaret--and laid them down,
Castell and his daughter in one room, and Peter in the other, and slept
as best they could.

Half an hour before dawn Peter was up seeing to the horses while the
others breakfasted and packed the food that the landlord had made ready
for their journey. Then he also swallowed some meat and wine, and at the
first break of day, having discharged their reckoning and taken a letter
from their host to those of other inns upon the road, they pressed on
towards Seville, very thankful to find that as yet there were no signs
of their being pursued.

All that day, with short pauses to rest themselves and their horses,
they rode on without accident, for the most part over a fertile plain
watered by several rivers which they crossed at fords or over bridges.
As night fell they reached the old town of Oxuna, which for many hours
they had seen set upon its hill before them, and, notwithstanding their
Moorish dress, made their way almost unobserved in the darkness to that
inn to which they had been recommended. Here, although he stared at
their garments, on finding that they had plenty of money, the landlord
received them well enough, and again they were fortunate in securing
rooms to themselves. It had been their purpose to buy Spanish clothes in
this town, but, as it happened, it was a feast day, and at night every
shop in the place was closed, so they could get none. Now, as they
greatly desired to reach Seville by the following nightfall, hoping
under cover of the darkness to find and come aboard of their ship, the
_Margaret_, which they knew lay safely in the river, and had been
advised by messenger of their intended journey, it was necessary for
them to leave Oxuna before the dawn. So, unfortunately enough as it
proved, it was impossible for them to put off their Moorish robes and
clothe themselves as Christians.

They had hoped, too, that here at Oxuna Inez might overtake them, as she
had promised to do if she could, and give them tidings of what had
happened since they left Granada. But no Inez came. So, comforting
themselves with the thought that however hard she rode it would be
difficult for her to reach them, who had some hours' start, they left
Oxuna in the darkness before any one was astir.

Having crossed some miles of plain, they passed up through olive groves
into hills where cork-trees grew, and here stopped to eat and let the
horses feed. Just as they were starting on again, Peter, looking round,
saw mounted men--a dozen or more of them of very wild aspect--cantering
through the trees evidently with the object of cutting them off.

"Thieves!" he said shortly. "Ride for it."

So they began to gallop, and their horses, although somewhat jaded,
being very swift, passed in front of these men before they could regain
the road. The band shouted to them to surrender, and, as they did not
stop, loosed a few arrows and pursued them, while they galloped down the
hillside on to a plain which separated them from more hills also clothed
with cork-trees. This plain was about three miles wide and boggy in
places. Still they kept well ahead of the brigands, as they took them to
be, hoping that they would give up the pursuit or lose sight of them
amongst the trees. As they entered these, however, to their dismay they
saw, drawn up in front of them and right across the road, another band
of rough-looking men, perhaps twelve in all.

"Trap!" said Peter. "We must ride through them--it is our only chance,"
at the same time spurring his horse to the front and drawing his sword.

Choosing the spot where their line was weakest he dashed through it
easily enough but next second heard a cry from Margaret, and pulled his
horse round to see that her mare had fallen, and that she and Castell
were in the hands of the thieves. Indeed, already rough men had hold of
her, and one of them was trying to tear the veil from her face. With a
shout of rage Peter charged them, and struck so fierce a blow that his
sword cut through the fellow's helmet into his skull, so that he fell
down, dying or dead, Margaret's veil still in his hand.

Then they rushed at him, five or six of them, and, although he wounded
another man, dragged him from his horse, and, as he lay upon his back,
sprang at him to finish him before he could rise. Already their knives
and swords were over him, and he was making his farewells to life, when
he heard a voice command them to desist and bind his arms. This was
quickly done, and he was suffered to rise from the ground to see before
him, not Morella, as he half expected, but a man clad in fine armour
beneath his rough cloak, evidently an officer of rank. "What kind of a
Moor are you," he asked, "who dare to kill the soldiers of the Holy
Hermandad in the heart of the King's country?" and he pointed to
the dead man.

"I am not a Moor," answered Peter in his rough Spanish. "I am a
Christian escaped from Granada, and I cut down that man because he was
trying to insult my betrothed, as you would have done, Senor. I did not
know that he was a soldier of the Hermandad; I thought him a common
thief of the hills."

This speech, or as much as he could understand of it, seemed to please
the officer, but before he could answer, Castell said:

"Sir Officer, the senor is an Englishman, and does not speak your
language well--"

"He uses his sword well, anyhow," interrupted the captain, glancing at
the dead soldier's cloven helm and head.

"Yes, Sir, he is of your trade and, as the scar upon his face shows, has
fought in many wars. Sir, what he tells you is true. We are Christian
captives escaped from Granada and flying to Seville with my daughter, to
whom I pray you to do no harm, to ask for the protection of their
gracious Majesties, and to find a passage back to England."

"You do not look like an Englishman," answered the captain; "you look
like a Marano."

"Sir, I cannot help my looks. I am a merchant of London, Castell by
name. It is one well known in Seville and throughout this land, where I
have large dealings, as, if I can but see him, your king himself will
acknowledge. Be not deceived by our dress, which we had to put on in
order to escape from Granada, but, I beseech you, let us go on
to Seville."

"Senor Castell," answered the officer, "I am the Captain Arrano of
Puebla, and, since you would not stop when we called to you, and have
killed one of my best soldiers, to Seville you must certainly go, but
with me, not by yourselves. You are my prisoners, but have no fear. No
violence shall be done to you or the lady, who must take your trials for
your deeds before the King's court, and there tell your story, true
or false."

So, having been disarmed of their swords, they were allowed to remount
their horses and taken on towards Seville as prisoners.

"At least," said Margaret to Peter, "we have nothing more to fear from
highwaymen, and have escaped these soldiers' swords unhurt."

"Yes," answered Peter with a groan, "but I hoped that to-night we should
have slept upon the _Margaret_ while she slipped down the river towards
the open sea, and not in a Spanish jail. Now, as fate will have it, for
the second time I have killed a man on your behalf, and all the business
will begin again. Truly our luck is bad!"

"I think it might be worse, and I cannot blame you for that deed,"
answered Margaret, remembering the rough hands of the dead soldier, whom
some of his comrades had stopped behind to bury.

During all the remainder of that long day they rode on through the
burning heat, across the rich, cultivated plain, towards the great city
of Seville, whereof the Giralda, which once had been the minaret of a
Moorish mosque, towered hundreds of feet into the air before them. At
length, towards evening, they entered the eastern suburbs of the vast
city and, passing through them and a great gate beyond, began to thread
its tortuous streets.

"Whither go we, Captain Arrano?" asked Castell presently.

"To the prison of the Holy Hermandad to await your trial for the slaying
of one of its soldiers," answered the officer.

"I pray that we may get there soon then," said Peter, looking at
Margaret, who, overcome with fatigue, swayed upon her saddle like a
flower in the wind.

"So do I," muttered Castell, glancing round at the dark faces of the
people, who, having discovered that they had killed a Spanish soldier,
and taking them to be Moors, were marching alongside of them in great
numbers, staring sullenly, or cursing them for infidels. Indeed, once
when they passed a square, a priest in the mob cried out, "Kill them!"
whereon a number of rough fellows made a rush to pull them off their
horses, and were with difficulty beaten back by the soldiers.

Foiled in this attempt they began to pelt them with garbage, so that
soon their white robes were stained and filthy. One fellow, too, threw a
stone which struck Margaret on the wrist, causing her to cry out and
drop her rein. This was too much for the hot-blooded Peter, who,
spurring his horse alongside of him, before the soldiers could
interfere, hit him such a buffet in the face that the man rolled upon
the ground. Now Castell thought that they would certainly be killed, but
to his surprise the mob only laughed and shouted such things as "Well
hit, Moor!" "That infidel has a strong arm," and so forth.

Nor was the officer angry, for when the man rose, a knife in his hand,
he drew his sword and struck him down again with the flat of it,
saying to Peter:

"Do not sully your hand with such street swine, Senor."

Then he turned and commanded his men to charge the crowd ahead of them.

So they got through these people and, after many twists and turns down
side streets to avoid the main avenues, came to a great and gloomy
building and into a courtyard through barred gates that were opened at
their approach and shut after them. Here they were ordered to dismount
and their horses led away, while the officer, Arrano, entered into
conversation with the governor of the prison, a man with a stern but not
unkindly face, who surveyed them with much curiosity. Presently he
approached and asked them if they could pay for good rooms, as if not he
must put them in the common cells.

Castell answered, "Yes," and, by way of earnest of it, produced five
pieces of gold, and giving them to the Captain Arrano, begged him to
distribute them among his soldiers as a thankoffering for their
protection of them through the streets. Also, he said loudly enough for
every one to hear, that he would be willing to compensate the relatives
of the man whom Peter had killed by accident--an announcement that
evidently impressed his comrades very favourably. Indeed one of them
said he would bear the message to his widow, and, on behalf of the rest,
thanked him for his gift. Then having bade farewell to the officer, who
told them that they would meet again before the judges, they were led
through the various passages of the prison to two rooms, one small and
one of a fair size with heavily barred windows, given water to wash in,
and told that food would be brought to them.

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