Conyngham made his way without difficulty or incident from Xeres to Cordova, riding for the most part in front of the clumsy diligencia wherein he had bestowed1 his luggage. The road was wearisome enough, and the last stages, through the fertile plains bordering the Guadalquivir, dusty and monotonous2.
At Cordova the traveller found comfortable quarters in an old inn overlooking the river. The ancient city was then, as it is now, a great military centre, and the headquarters of the picturesque3 corps4 of horse-tamers, the ‘Remonta,’ who are responsible for the mounting of the cavalry5 and the artillery6 of Spain. Conyngham had, at the suggestion of General Vincente, made such small changes in his costume as would serve to allay7 curiosity and prevent that gossip of the stable and kitchen which may follow a traveller to his hurt from one side of a continent to the other.
‘Wherever you may go learn your way in and out of every town, and you will thus store up knowledge most useful to a soldier,’ the General had said in his easy way.
‘See you,’ Concep?ion had observed, wagging his head over a cigarette; ‘to go about the world with the eyes open is to conquer the world.’
From his guide, moreover, whose methods were those that Nature teaches to men who live their daily lives in her company, Conyngham learnt much of that road craft which had raised Concep?ion Vara to such a proud eminence8 among the rascals9 of Andalusia. Cordova was a good object upon which to practise, for Roman and Goth, Moor10 and Christian11, have combined to make its tortuous12 streets well-nigh incomprehensible to the traveller’s mind.
Here Conyngham wandered, or else he sat somnolently13 on a seat in the Paseo del Gran Capitan in the shade of the orange trees, awaiting the arrival of Concep?ion Vara. He made a few acquaintances, as every traveller who is not a bear must needs do in a country where politeness and hospitality and a grave good fellowship are the natural habit of high and low alike. A bullfighter or two, who beguiled14 the long winter months, when the rings are closed, by a little innocent horse dealing15, joined him quietly in the streets and offered him a horse—as between gentlemen of undoubted honour—at a price much below the current value. Or it was perhaps a beggar who came to him on the old yellow marble seat under the orange trees, and chatted affably about his business as being bad in these times of war. Once, indeed, it was a white-haired gentleman, who spoke16 in English, and asked some very natural questions as to the affairs that brought an Englishman to the town of Cordova. This sweet-spoken old man explained that strangers would do well to avoid all questions of politics and religion, which he classed together in one dangerous whole. Nevertheless, Conyngham thought that he perceived his ancient friend the same evening hurrying up the steps of the Jesuit College of La Campania.
Two days elapsed and Concep?ion Vara made neither appearance nor sign. On the second evening Conyngham decided17 to go on alone, prosecuting18 his journey through the sparsely19 populated valley of the Alcadia to Ciudad Real, Toledo, and Madrid.
‘You will ride,’ the innkeeper told him, ‘from the Guadalquivir to the Guadiana, and if there is rain you may be a month upon the road.’
Conyngham set out in the early morning, and as he threw his leg across the saddle the sun rose over the far misty20 hills of Ronda, and Concep?ion Vara awoke from his night’s rest under the wall of an olive terrace above the Bobadilla road, to begin another day of patient waiting and watching to get speech with the maid or the mistress; for he had already inaugurated what he lightly called ‘an affair’ with Julia’s flighty attendant. The sun rose also over the plains of Xeres, and lighted up the picturesque form of Esteban Larralde, in the saddle this hour and more, having learnt that Colonel Monreal’s death took place an hour before Conyngham’s arrival in the town of Xeres de la Frontera. The letter, therefore, had not been delivered to Colonel Monreal, and was still in Conyngham’s possession.
Larralde bestrode a shocking steed, and had but an indifferent seat in the saddle. Nevertheless, the dust rose beneath his horse’s feet, and his spurs flashed in the sunlight as this man of many parts hurried on towards Utrera and Cordova.
In the old Moorish21 palace in Ronda, General Vincente, summoned to a great council of war at Madrid, was making curt22 military preparations for his journey and the conveyance23 of his household to the capital. Se?ora Barenna was for the moment forgetful of her nerves in the excitement of despatching servants in advance to Toledo, where she owned a summer residence. Julia was nervously24 anxious to be on the road again, and showed by every word and action that restlessness of spirit which is the inheritance of hungry hearts. Estella, quiet and self-contained, attended to the details of moving a vast and formal household with a certain eagerness which in no way resembled Julia’s feverish25 haste. Estella seemed to be one of those happy people who know what they want.
Thus Frederick Conyngham, riding northward26 alone, seemed to be a pilot to all these persons into whose lives he had suddenly stepped as from a side issue, for they were one and all making ready to follow him to the colder plains of Castile, where existence was full of strife27 and ambition, of war and those inner wheels that ever jar and grind where politicians contend together for the mastery of a moment.
As he rode on, Conyngham left a message from time to time for his self-appointed servant. At the offices of the diligencias in various towns on the great road from Cordova to Madrid he left word for Concep?ion Vara to follow, should the spirit of travel be still upon him, knowing that at these places where travellers were ever passing, the tittle-tattle of the road was on the tongue of every ostler and stable help. And truly enough there followed one who made careful inquiries28 as to the movements of the Englishman, and heard his messages with a grim smile. But this was not Concep?ion Vara.
It was late one evening when Conyngham, who had quitted Toledo in the morning, began to hunger for the sight of the towers and steeples of Madrid. He had ridden all day through the bare country of Cervantes, where to this day Spain rears her wittiest29 men and plainest women. The sun had just set behind the distant hills of Old Castile, and from the east, over Aranjuez, where the great river cuts Spain in two parts from its centre to the sea, a grey cloud—a very shade of night—was slowly rising. The aspect of the brown plains was dismal30 enough, and on the horizon the rolling unbroken land seemed to melt away into eternity31 and infinite space.
Conyngham reined32 in and looked around him. So far as eye could reach, no house arose to testify to the presence of man. No labourer toiled33 home to his lonely hut. For, in this country of many wars and interminable strife, it has, since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, been the custom of the people to congregate34 in villages and small townships, where a common danger secured some protection against a lawless foe35. The road rose and fell in a straight line across the table-land without tree or hedge, and Madrid seemed to belong to another world, for the horizon, which was distant enough, bore no sign of cathedral spire36 or castle height.
Conyngham turned in his saddle to look back, and there, not a mile away, the form of a hurrying horseman broke the bare line of the dusty road. There was something weird37 and disturbing in this figure, a suggestion of pursuit in every line. For this was not Concep?ion Vara. Conyngham would have known him at once. This was one wearing a better coat; indeed Concep?ion preferred to face life and the chances of the world in shirt sleeves.
Conyngham sat in his saddle awaiting the new-comer. To meet on such a road in Spain without pausing to exchange a salutation would be a gratuitous38 insult, to ride in solitude39 within hail of another traveller were to excite or betray the deepest distrust. It was characteristic of Conyngham that he already waved his hand in salutation, and was prepared to hail the new-comer as the jolliest companion in the world.
Esteban Larralde, seeing the salutation, gave a short laugh, and jerked the reins40 of his tired horse. He himself wore a weary look, as if the fight he had in hand were an uphill one. He had long recognised Conyngham; indeed the chase had been one of little excitement, but rather an exercise of patience and dogged perseverance41. He raised his hat to indicate that the Englishman’s gay salutations were perceived, and pulled the wide brim well forward again.
‘He will change his attitude when it becomes apparent who I am,’ he muttered.
But Conyngham’s first word would appear to suggest that Esteban Larralde was a much less impressive person than he considered himself.
‘Why, it’s the devout42 lover!’ he cried. ‘Se?or Larralde, you remember me, Algeciras, and your pink love letter—deuced fishy43 love letter, that; nearly got me into a devil of a row, I can tell you. How are you, eh?’
And the Englishman rode forward with a jolly laugh and his hand held out. Larralde took it without enthusiasm. It was rather difficult to pick a picturesque quarrel with such a person as this. Moreover, the true conspirator44 never believes in another man’s honesty.
‘It is not so surprising as you think.’
‘Oh!’
There was no mistaking Larralde’s manner, and the Englishman’s gay blue eyes hardened suddenly and rather surprisingly.
‘No, I have followed you. I want that letter.’
‘Well, as it happens, Se?or Larralde, I have not got your letter, and if I had I am not quite sure that I would give it to you. Your conduct in the matter has not been over-nice, and, to tell you the truth, I don’t think much of a man who gets strangers and women to do his dirty work for him.’
Larralde stroked his moustache with a half-furtive air of contempt.
‘I should have given the confounded letter to the Alcalde of Ronda if it had not been that a lady would have suffered for it, and let you take your chance, Se?or Larralde.’
‘You would not have given it to the Alcalde of Ronda,’ he said in a sneering47 voice, ‘because you want it yourself. You require it in order to make your peace with Estella Vincente.’
‘We are not going to talk of Se?orita Vincente,’ said Conyngham quietly. ‘You say you followed me because you wanted that letter. It is not in my possession. I left it in the house of Colonel Monreal at Xeres. If you are going on to Madrid, I think I will sit down here and have a cigarette. If, on the other hand, you propose resting here, I shall proceed, as it is getting late.’
Conyngham looked at his companion with a nod and a smile which was not in the least friendly and at the same time quite cheerful. He seemed to recognise the necessity of quarrelling, but proposed to do so as light-heartedly as possible. They were both on horseback in the middle of the road, Larralde a few paces in the direction of Madrid.
‘Will you go on?’ he asked.
Larralde sat looking at him with glittering eyes, and said nothing.
‘Then I will continue my journey,’ said the Englishman, touching49 his horse lightly with the spur. The horse moved on and passed within a yard of the other. At this moment Larralde rose in his stirrups and flung himself on one side.
Conyngham gave a sharp cry of pain and threw back his head. Larralde had stabbed him in the back. The Englishman swayed in the saddle as if trying to balance himself, his legs bent50 back from the knee in the sharpness of a biting pain. The heavy stirrups swung free. Then, slowly, Conyngham toppled forward and rolled out of the saddle, falling to the road with a thud.
Larralde watched him with a white face and staring eyes. Then he looked quickly round over the darkening landscape. There was no one in sight. This was one of the waste places of the world. Larralde seemed to remember the Eye that seeth even there, and crossed himself as he slipped from the saddle to the ground. He was shaking all over. His face was ashen51, for it is a terrible thing to kill a man and be left alone with him.
Conyngham’s eyes were closed. There was blood on his lips. With hands that shook like leaves Esteban Larralde searched the Englishman, found nothing, and cursed his ill fortune. Then he stood upright, and in the dim light his face shone as if he had dipped it in water. He crept into the saddle and rode on towards Madrid.
It was quite dark when Conyngham recovered consciousness. In turning him over to search his pockets Larralde had perhaps, unwittingly, saved his life by placing him in a position that checked the internal h?morrhage. What served to bring back the Englishman’s wandering senses was the rumbling52 of heavy wheels and the crack of a great whip as a cart laden53 with hay and drawn54 by six mules55 approached him from the direction of Toledo.
The driver of the team was an old soldier, as indeed were most of the Castilians at this time, and knew how to handle wounded men. With great care and a multitude of oaths he lifted Conyngham on to his cart and proceeded with him to Madrid.
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1
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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3
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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4
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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6
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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7
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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8
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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9
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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10
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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11
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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12
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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13
somnolently
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| adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地；催眠地 | |
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14
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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15
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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16
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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17
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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18
prosecuting
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| 检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 )； 对某人提起公诉； 继续从事（某事物）； 担任控方律师 | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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20
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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22
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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23
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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24
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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25
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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26
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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28
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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29
wittiest
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| 机智的，言辞巧妙的，情趣横生的( witty的最高级 ) | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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31
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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32
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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33
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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34
congregate
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| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
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35
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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37
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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38
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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39
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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40
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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41
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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42
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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43
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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44
conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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45
jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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46
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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47
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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48
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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49
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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50
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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51
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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52
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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53
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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54
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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55
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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