The Crimson Conquest 42

The Crimson Conquest 42

Pedro pushed the door open, and entered. "’T is a crying need," he

said, and hastily explained.

 

"Who is this girl?" demanded the señora, with a pang of jealousy.

 

"Peralta’s enamorada," replied the cook, thinking he lied, but venturing

it to quiet her suspicion.

 

"And who this Rogelio?" asked the señora.

 

"A toad!" answered Pedro. "Wilt go? I will ride with thee to the

fortress."

 

The señora was retying the fagged end of her braid.

 

"A favor to me, _carita_," urged Pedro.

 

"I will go," said Señora Bolio.

 

"Then come to the _cantina_ as soon as thou ’rt clad. I will have thy

mule," and he hastened away. By the time the animals were saddled the

lady arrived, her battle-axe beneath her arm, wrapped in a bundle of

apparel. Pedro strapped it to her saddle, and summoning the fevered

_veedor_, assisted the señora to mount. As they rode out on the quiet

road, Rogelio leading, the cook gave further history of the Ñusta,

together with certain sidelights on the _veedor_. They reached the

fortress, and having seen the two through the gate, Pedro returned,

relieved for Rava, but sadly disturbed by thoughts of Cristoval.

 

The señora followed her conductor to his door. As he dismounted a sound

of revelry stole out upon the night, and the _veedor_ dashed in. The

neglected lady sniffed after him scornfully, swung herself out of the

saddle, unstrapped her belongings, led her mule into the patio, and

followed the _veedor_ to a half-open door. The unfortunate Rogelio was

doomed to further bitterness. The room was lighted by all the lamps of

the establishment. Duero and his companions were seated round a

well-laden board, a bowl of steaming punch in the midst, and had arrived

at the jovial stage. As Rogelio entered and stood blinking at the

brilliancy, his fat chin wagging with renewed rage at their effrontery,

they surveyed him a moment, and burst into a shout of laughter. Duero

raised his cup.

 

"Hail, good host, liberal entertainer, most hospitable mate!" roared he.

"Thou ’rt welcome. Enter! Come, leave diffidence outside. Thou ’rt

not intruding—now is he, _camaradas_? No! Sit and make free. What is

ours is thine—not so, _camaradas_? _Segaramente_! _Hola_!" He sprang

to his feet as the señora appeared at the door. "Blessed angels of

Heaven, what do I see? The Señora Bolio!" He advanced with a profound

bow. "Welcome, Señora, most welcome! Upon my heart, ’tis like the

sight of a nosegay from Old Castile! Ho, _compañeros_!—your courtesies

to _Señora la Conquistadora_!" He bowed again, answered by the lady

with a glare of cold disdain.

 

"Miscreants, knaves, cutthroats!" shrieked Rogelio. "You shall pay dear

for this night!"

 

Duero surveyed him darkly, hunched his shoulder, and thrust out his

chin, and the _veedor_ sank into a chair. The soldier eyed him for a

moment, and turned to the lady. "Señora, I surmise thou hast come to

care for the girl. She needeth it, God knoweth, and the less time lost

the better. Come. I have the key."

 

Rogelio sprang up to follow, but once more the hunch of shoulder, the

thrust of chin, and the scowling look askance, and he sat. Duero winked

at the señora as he turned to lead the way, and ignoring her snort of

resentment of the liberty, went out. She followed, and halting at the

Ñusta’s door, he said, as he unfastened, "Pedro hath told thee of this

Rogelio?"

 

"Briefly, that he is a toad," responded the señora.

 

"Brief, but most precise! Pedro hath a good head. Now, Señora, I’ll

leave thee to enter, and the door unlocked. If thou hast need of aught,

thou’lt find us entertaining the _veedor_ for an hour or more. I’ll

have him send a bowl of broth at once. Adiós."

 

Duero rejoined the others, and they sat long making their host unhappy;

then, having promised him with evident sincerity that if he whispered a

complaint he would find himself some morning with a severed windpipe,

they took their leave.

 

Señora Bolio went to the couch. Rava had raised her head, but

perceiving the invader was a woman, rose to her knees, her eyes

streaming, and voice broken with sobs. With arms outstretched, she

poured forth an impassioned supplication in words to the stranger

unknown,—in words unknown, but with meaning clear, and an eloquence that

went straight to the heart of the señora. For the señora had a heart.

It beat somewhat wildly at times, and at times with vehement hostility

toward the sex which had worked it countless wrongs; but like other

hearts that flame, it had its gentler warmth. The appeal of the injured

and helpless girl touched her womanliness, and she hastened to her side.

 

"Poor dearie!" she exclaimed, seating herself and drawing the sobbing

prisoner to her breast. "Poor little waif! Have they been cruel, these

men? Ah, may the devil roast them well! Do not weep, love. Do not

weep, chiquita. They shall not harm thee more. Let the _veedor_

beware. Let him come to trouble thee, and we’ll unjoint him—will we

not, little one? We’ll put a twist in his neck, thou and I, that will

let him look at his shoulderblades to his heart’s content—will we not,

my dove? Ah! That we’ll do, and more, if he but roll his eyes aslant at

thee!"

 

With soft voice and motherly caress, the señora soothed the heart-broken

Rava; her words—perhaps quite as well—without meaning to the girl, but

her tones replete with sympathy. Rava clung to her as to a last hope,

becoming gradually more calm, until a knock at the door stirred her

terror afresh. Releasing her, the señora sprang up. Grimly she

stripped her battle-axe, and stepped to the door. The servant recoiled.

 

"Ah, ’tis thou!" the lady exclaimed, and received the broth.

 

The strength it gave aided her efforts to restore calm to the despairing

captive, and in an hour Rava slept. Her guardian sat long, nursing a

waxing enmity for the authors of the maiden’s sorrows, and for Rogelio

in particular; then, having with fell purpose placed her weapon

conveniently at hand, she lay down beside her _protégée_.

 

She awoke early, astonished to find Rava kneeling with hands clasped in

prayer, a silver crucifix before her on her pillow, the Latin periods,

in her quaint, hesitating accents, sounding strangely. The señora

joined her orison, then turned to her in surprise.

 

"A Christian, thou?" she asked, taking her hand.

 

Rava understood the word, and assented eagerly. "Cristoval!" she said,

and touched the crucifix, her eyes filling at the name.

 

"Ah! Peralta! The stout freebooter with the good voice. I know him,"

and the señora nodded emphatically. "Art baptized, child?"

 

This word was familiar also, and Rava nodded her head; then said

eagerly: "Father Tendilla! Father Tendilla!"

 

"Father Tendilla!" exclaimed Señora Bolio. "Thou knowest him? Blessed

thought!—we’ll send a word to Father Tendilla. Aha, Rogelio, sniffling

obesity, we shall see! We’ll choke thee with thine own unholy purpose,

or I’m not Bolio. Rogelio, indeed! If, now, Pedro will but come!" She

patted Rava’s arm reassuringly and arose.

 

Meanwhile the _veedor_, with eyes puffed and bloodshot from a night of

scanty sleep and much exacerbation, was breakfasting. At intervals he

paused, laid down his knife, and sat rubbing his hands in pleasing

meditation while he chewed. Then his complacent smile would fade, and

he would cease both to rub his hands and to chew while he irefully

reviewed the night’s indignities. "Caitiffs! Perfidious scoundrels!

Vipers! Only wait! Rogelio hath not done. If he live not to see the

garrote at every one of your rascally throats, then ’t is because he

shall be short-lived. Wait, my over-cheerful bullies: we’ll have

another settling of this account, and ’t is Rogelio will split his

sides! But, oh, my stars, what a cost! Four thousand—oh, calamities!"

Then, as the matter slowly revolved in his mind and the other aspect

came uppermost, he would begin to chew again with a returning smirk of

satisfaction. "But what a prize! Eh, Rogelio, what a prize! And

safely housed—in the cage, as Duero put it!—accursed knave! serpent!

Four—oh, my soul and body!—But, oho! Mendoza, thou uncouth ruffian, how

now? Rogelio hath overmatched thee, despite thy rant and swagger. He,

he! The fox and the bull—the fox and the bull! Ah, but thou ’rt a

rogue, Rogelio! a sad rogue and sly! And thou’lt be reimbursed the four

thousand—oh, my life, yes! Her jewels ought to do that. Did she wear

jewels last night? Murder! I did not think to look. But ’t is like

Duero looked out for that—or that prison-bird, Peralta." Rogelio’s

countenance fell. Presently it brightened. "But we have her, and now it

is to be seen how she will receive thee, Rogelio—her daring captor!

Doubtless with charming terrors and maidenly trembling. Oh, these

delightful women! Shy, timid, alluring! Bless their souls—if they have

souls. He, he!"

 

He sat awhile blinking and chuckling at the remains of his meal;

snuffled, arose, and went to make a toilet which he purposed should

reconcile his captive. A zestful, engaging occupation, this decking for

the admiration of a fair one; and most agreeable if one can, like

Rogelio, achieve it with the flattering self-assurance that it cannot

fail. Nevertheless, it was not without some rasping of temper, and more

than once in the process Rogelio stamped and swore with squeaky

emphasis. But at length, after a final glance at his mirror and a

dubious fingering of his double chin and hanging jowls, he quit his

room, creditably attired, considering all the circumstances. To be

sure, his hose were mended in places, his doublet seedy in the strong

light, and his ruff far from crisp and snowy; but these defects were

offset by a profusion of rings, and a redolence of musk sufficiently

overpowering to divert attention.

 

Señora Bolio answered his rap, and opening the door a little way,

replied to his salutation with a brief nod, and stood surveying him from

head to foot and back again from foot to head with disfavor as

disconcerting as it was manifest. Indisputably, the señora’s aspect was

unfriendly.

 

The _veedor_ hesitated. "Is—ah—is the señorita within?"

 

The señora paused for another survey before she replied with asperity:

"Is the señorita within! Of a surety the señorita is within. Prithee,

where is she like to be—out chasing butterflies?"