John Masters (23 page)

He heard the crunch of stone before he saw the men, and then Simeon Susarte was over him. "Don Rafael?" he muttered. "This is Colonel Figueroa. He will bring up five hundred men the night after tomorrow—if he found the path to his liking." The colonel was short, one-armed, and heavy-breathing. "It's the devil," he said, "but if I can get up, my lads certainly can. And you, Simeon, shall be as great in honor as Martin Alhaja Gontran, the shepherd of Navas de Tolosa. Now, my lord, what can you tell me about the English dispositions...?"

Amelia went quickly down from the Lost Lamb Cave, her heart light. She was a woman at last. It had hurt, but the joy of giving had in a moment buried that pain. Perhaps even now she carried his child—though the women said it never happened the first time. Her lover could never be her husband, but that came to many girls. It was done. She was happy.

She reached the top of the town and went more carefully, for the English had increased the strictness of their curfew since the cannonading had begun. Even so, she heard roistering and shouting from farther down and thought, some of the sailors are ashore and celebrating their victory of the afternoon.

The outer door opened squeakily; she closed it and locked it and went to return the key to its proper place in the hall. Then she crept along to her new bedroom, a tiny room beyond the kitchen that had been a pantry.

As soon as she closed the door, she knew she was not alone. A man's voice said, "Have no fear, pretty."

She recognized the thick accent at once, "The Jew," she whispered. She heard the scratch of flint. A light glowed, the candle flame sputtered, towered, steadied. "What do you want?"

"You, pretty," he said. The pale eyes had a touch of yellow in them from the candle flame.

"Lay no finger on me!" she said fiercely, "or I'll..."

"I said, have no fear," he said, "I see you love another. It is written in your eyes, your face ... not to mention the heather in your skirt and hair."

He was half smiling, a little grim, his eyes wandering over her figure. He said, "It's time you put some more oil on that lock. You might waken poor Senor Fuentes."

She waited, head up. He said, "An extraordinary amount of food seems to have disappeared from the kitchen. Two or three loaves. About two pounds of smoked ham. Three bottles of wine. There must be a burglar about.... Or a thief, like the man who seems to have lived a long time in the attics here. There are cracks in the floorboards there, over your—my—room. Do you realize that a man might have been peering down and watching you undress? ... The question is, shall I search you?"

"No!" she gasped.

He stared straight into her eyes for a long time. "Well, you might be carrying a message," he said at last, "but I don't think so. And the murders seem to have stopped."

"Is that what you really came for?" she asked. "To find the man who was killing the soldiers?"

"Ah, so it is only one man, is it?"

"I didn't say..."

"I am a humble merchant, senorita, a poor Jew, buying here, selling there.... Sleep well. I certainly wish it was I who had pressed your pretty head into the heather." He moved past her and, as before, kissed her. She was expecting it and made no move, but let him. When he had gone, she began slowly to undress, not thinking, only remembering.

She was dozing in her little room when she heard Asher Conquy's voice saying, "It's a secret, but..." She sat up quietly. It was five in the afternoon, near the end of siesta time. Another man, also a Jew from his accent, was saying, "How many? We have to know if we are to bring fresh beef over." They were in the alley below the house.

"Two battalions," Conquy said. "One thousand five hundred men in two ships. They'll be here soon after dark, with this wind."

"What are they going to do with them?"

"The prince said one battalion would go to strengthen the north defenses from San Joaquin Battery to the Landport, and the other, well, he wasn't sure—or he wouldn't tell—but he did hint he might send it right to the top, where it could look down on the whole Rock. Then..."

"Shhh. We'd better get down to the harbor, Asher, and finish our talk there." Their voices faded.

Amelia slipped her feet into her shoes. Fifteen hundred men! And half of them perhaps going to the top of the Rock just before Uncle Simeon came up with the Spanish soldiers. And Don Rafael in mortal danger too. She should tell Senor Fuentes. But he was still weak and knew nothing of what was happening. The senora—still less. Father Romero...

She hurried to the outer door and looked both ways. Senora de Fuentes called, "Amelia, where are you?" She did not answer. The street was empty, and she went out and walked hurriedly to the church. She found Father Romero in the vestry and quickly whispered her news. He threw up his hands. "What can we do, child? The English have closed all passage to and fro. They will not let anyone pass."

"Does anyone here know the way down the back of the Rock?" she asked.

"None of us," he said. "Remember, there are barely a score of us left now, and you and Senora Fuentes the only women."

She said, "I must tell Don Rafael then. At once."

"Should you not wait till dark, child?"

"That will be too late, Father. By the time he can get to them they will be halfway up the path."

She returned to the house, slipped in, and went to Senora de Fuentes. The old woman was in full mourning, her face ravaged and haggard since the loss of her daughter. She seemed relieved to see Amelia. "I thought ... I dare not say what I thought. But now I want you to..."

Amelia interrupted her. "I must go, senora. It is for Spain. Say only, if the Jew or any of the English ask where I am, that I ran away to Barbary on a ship."

It was near six by now. She forgot the fearful, stricken face of Senora de Fuentes and again left the house. A few soldiers were about, but many houses stood empty, for most of the English were quartered in the lower part of the town. As she climbed, all human sounds faded behind her. Her dress was plain dark gray cotton and would not be easy to see if anyone were watching. But the English might have sent up scouts ahead to make a place for the soldiers who were to come. She must be careful not to betray Don Rafael's hiding place by carelessness.

The Lost Lamb Cave was straight above her now, over the ledge of rock and another hundred feet. Don Rafael might not be in it but along toward the batteries, where he said he spent his days, on watch. She moved left and, instead of scrambling up one of the gullies which cut through the limestone platform, kept below it and headed for the slope above San Joaquin Battery. She saw Rafael in the same moment that he saw her. She signaled urgently to him—come. No English were visible from where she was, crouched now close under a low tree, but he must be able to see some, for he did not move but kept his head turned away and very still.

A glint of light caught the very outside corner of her left eye, and she whipped around, just in time to see a man with a musket sink down behind a rock barely sixty feet from her.

They were following her. In a moment Don Rafael would come back in response to her signal. She stood up and walked toward the man with the gun, shouting at the top of her voice. "Stand up, you with the gun! What do you want?"

The man jumped up, his face red with anger, and yelled at her in English. Then Asher Conquy came forward from the scrub behind her, and he was carrying a gun, too. The Englishman grabbed her by the throat and shook her violently. Conquy spoke a word, and he let her go but raised his gun menacingly. Conquy scanned the hill ahead. "I suppose he's somewhere out there. If you don't show me, I'll tell the Englishman to blow your pretty guts all over that rock you're standing on."

She shuddered involuntarily but tightened her lips.

Conquy said, "Come on down, then. We'll see if we can persuade you to talk to us in more comfortable surroundings."

He sat opposite her in the big front parlor. Senora de Fuentes had started to protest when he marched her in there, but he had silenced her with a curt, "She will either talk or hang. Leave us."

The shutters were closed and the tall candles burning. They were the last in the house, she remembered. Tonight was the Eve of All Hallows. In other years some of the children ran about shrieking of magic, and an old woman in the village said that witches rode the sky, she knew because she had seen one.

"My English friend is more used to stalking trollops in London than Spanish shepherd girls on the mountain," Asher Conquy said. "Otherwise ... He was near, wasn't he? And it is Rafael Santangel?" She looked past him at the windows, silent.

"It does not matter much," he said. "Certainly not as to who he is. But..."

"Why are you helping the English?" She said fiercely. "What has this to do with you? Or do you try to betray us just for money?"

The half-smile vanished from his swarthy face, and the pale eyes snapped. He said, "Wait," went out, and came back in a moment, his right hand behind him. He thrust it under her nose and opened it. A big rusty key lay across the square, callused palm. "That's the key of our house," he said.

"In Barbary?"

"Here."

"Here," she faltered. "... But how...?"

"We Jews were expelled from Spain many, many years ago. Without reason. Without recompense. We have not forgotten. Why do you think we speak Ladino? It is Spanish as your ancestors used to speak it.... Some of our forefathers locked their houses and took the key, thinking the Christian king would recover soon from his madness. But he did not. So why should we not recover our own? You robbed—now you are being robbed. Good!" He shook the key at her. "See that Senor Fuentes takes the key of this house when he goes. Perhaps he too will wait two hundred and twelve years to come back."

He saw her look of consternation, put away the key in the skirt of his coat, and sat down. "What do you know of all this?" he said. "You are a country girl. Can you read?"

She shook her head.

He said, "I want to know what is the reason for haste. When you heard me talk about the English reinforcements, you—"

"That was a trap!" she cried.

"I fear so.... You rushed hither and thither like a mad thing. I had expected you to wait until dark. Why did you hurry so?"

She pressed her lips together and looked past him.

"What would you say to ten maravedis? You know, the English hang spies. Even women. Do you want me to take you to the town major? He has a gallows set up ready."

She knew, for half a dozen soldiers had dangled from it in the past month, convicted of looting.

It was a matter of time. This devil would find out or guess if he kept at her much longer. He liked her, or perhaps he liked all girls. It was her only chance. She burst into tears, only half voluntarily, and sunk her head in her hands. He had a habit of standing close, bending over her. He came now, one hand dropped gently to her shoulder, his voice was low and close. "Don't cry, pretty, just..." She jerked her head up and back with all her strength. She felt a smashing thump and heard a cry and sprang for the heavy candlestick. He was reeling, blood spouting like a fountain from his nose. She hit him as hard as she could with the base of the candlestick and hit him again, and he collapsed.

She flew out of the room and the house and into the stable and in a moment back with rope. She had tied up many sheep and goats, and in five minutes he was well trussed, a cloth tied in his mouth. Then she wondered if he was dead and listened. In the silence she heard his breathing and sighed with relief. She ran out and found Senora de Fuentes. "Help me drag the Jew to the cellar, senora," she said. "Then—clean the blood off the tiles. Hear nothing. Know nothing."

She went to the outer door. It was dark. She started up the street.

It was moonless and cold on top of the ridge. They were burning the heath on the sierra to the north, and a fire glowed from the fishermen's huts across the bay. Rafael Santangel sat huddled close to Amelia in the darkness, waiting. A bush stirred, and he strained his eyes to peer down the eastern steep but saw nothing. The wind soughed in the spiny grass and made a thousand tiny flutes of the pitted, holed surface of the limestone. Lights shone in the harbor, and...

A man stood over him, dagger gleaming. "The password!"

"All Saints," he muttered.

"Don Rafael... and is that you, Amelia? What are you doing here?"

Colonel Figueroa came up, gasping for breath and smelling of sweat and old wine. "Mother of sin, I wouldn't come up there in daylight for all the gold in Potosi. Lead on, Simeon, for I have five hundred men huddled like sheep on that infernal path, only they have but two legs each."

Simeon said, "I'll guide this party to St. Michael's Cave, Don Rafael. They'll all shelter there till dawn. Will you wait here for the next party and bring them along? Five hundred more."

"Very well," Rafael said. Simeon moved off, and the soldiers followed, passing in an endless line. He counted—506 men went by; then he sat down to wait. The second party should be close behind.

Half an hour passed; then an hour; an hour and a half; two hours. The wind sawed into his bones, and the thin shirt gave no protection.

"Should I go to the cave and tell the colonel?" Amelia asked.

Rafael said, "No. He will realize that something's gone wrong. We must stay here. The second party might come any moment."

This time he saw Simeon coming from fully ten paces off. "No one?" the shepherd asked.

"No one."

"The colonel asks that you join him at the cave. I'll go back down the path and see whether they are stuck somewhere. Will you come with me, Amelia?"

"I'd be afraid in the dark," she said. "I'll stay with Don Rafael."

Simeon Susarte dropped over the edge like a falling stone. Rafael led down and across the great face of the Rock to St. Michael's Cave.

There was no light, and once inside the arch, after answering a quiet challenge, they had to step carefully among men sprawled asleep all over the damp floor and propped like sacks against every stalagmite.

Colonel Figueroa seemed unconcerned at the delay. "It's five hundred French who are supposed to be following, and to tell the truth, I'd just as soon they didn't come. More honor for us, you understand? If five hundred Spaniards—and we all took the Holy Sacrament before we set out—can't beat three thousand drunken English and Dutch heretics .. There was a whirr of metal as he half drew his sword and slammed it back into the scabbard. —Brave but stupid, Rafael thought glumly.

They sat down among the soldiers. "How was it, coming up the Rock?" Rafael asked the nearest shape.

"Ah, that? Nothing," the man answered in a strong accent. "We're from the Asturias.
Cono,
I've come up worse than that carrying a sick ewe, and in a rainstorm, man—" The voices murmured all around in agreement. "Me, too..."

"Me too..."

"Aye..."

"We're shepherds, all...."

" 'Twas nothing..."

"But this is something," another rough voice cut in. "Do you know how much ammunition we have? Three rounds each."

"Quiet there!" an officer's voice was sharp.

Three rounds a man, Rafael thought angrily. It was fortunate indeed they had all taken the Sacrament and were shriven.

The time passed. Amelia was warm beside him. He found he was holding her hand but did not let go. "You should stay here when we go," he said.

"Let me come with you," she said. "I am not afraid." He squeezed her hand.

A little later, "Don Rafael," Colonel Figueroa said, "time to go, I think. If you will be so good as to lead me to the nearest English outpost ..

In the first gray of dawn they passed over the rained Moorish wall and five minutes later came in sight of Middle Hill. The bay was dull green below, the western mountains just beginning to glow with light. "The English have a guard there," he said, pointing. "They sleep under that bit of sailcloth."

The colonel drew his sword. "Ready, men?" The soldiers crowded up and around. "Charge!"

They swept past, breaking into a shambling trot and then into a full run. A musket went off, close, with a sudden nervous bang. The yell arose—
"Santiago! Espana
!"—more shouts, shots, confusion. Rafael found himself running forward in the middle of the pack, his dagger in his hand. Ahead, the yellow and white tide swept over the Englishmen's hill, then swirled round but did not advance.

When Rafael came up, he saw a dozen English soldiers lying about in the grotesque contortions of violent death. Colonel Figueroa was shouting, "Take position here! Captain, you go there...." The Spanish soldiers formed up, marched hither and thither.

"Go on down," Rafael cried, suddenly aboil with fury. "Don't stop here, colonel! The English don't have a single man on this side. Down into the town!"

The one-armed colonel awkwardly straightened his powdered wig. "Do you look to your duty, Don Rafael, and I will look to mine. What is that girl doing here? Take her away at once.... Steady there, men!"

A bugle in the town began to blow hysterical calls. A couple of musket balls whistled overhead. The Spanish force gave no reply—only one or two rounds per man left now, Rafael thought. But Mother of God, if they attacked now, they could seize powder and ball from the English! He looked up the slope. Simeon came running down the mountain, bounding from rock to rock in huge leaps. He was alone.

A column of redcoats marched out of the town and began to deploy into line. Bugles blew, officers shouted incomprehensible orders. Rafael counted quickly ... about eight hundred men. Simeon Susarte arrived, breathing evenly. "No more soldiers are coming," he said. "And no more ammunition. I have been back to the camp. General Villadarias said the French colonel refused to follow you because it was his right to go before you. Also, he thought the enterprise foolish."

"Trust a viper sooner than a woman and a woman sooner than a Frenchman," Colonel Figueroa said pleasantly. "Well then, we must the alone.
Viva la muerte!"

"Go back, man," Simeon said violently. "Nearly all will be saved."

A storm of musket balls struck the hilltop. A dozen Spanish soldiers fell. The colonel smoothed his wig. "You go, Simeon, and you, Don Rafael, with the girl. Tell the marquis that we die like Spaniards. Give my compliments to the Frenchman.... Now, my chicks, face the front."

The musket balls flew thicker. Simeon Susarte's hand was on his arm, tugging. "Come, master." Then Amelia had his other arm and he began to walk, then run, scrambling up the long slope with them.

He felt no emotion until they were down the tremendous path, where they would have fallen, many times, a thousand feet to death but for Simeon Susarte's sure hand and steady voice. He felt nothing until they had hurried along the eastern beach, past the end of the Spanish trenches. Then they turned and looked at the great gray tower of the north face.

Amelia suddenly said, "Asher Conquy will take my ivory woman.... Let him. I owe him something."

"I'm thinking we've lost more than a little piece of bone," Simeon said somberly. "We've lost the Rock. It'll be many a year before my sheep set foot on there again. When Englishmen and Jews get together, the rest of us stand little chance."

Then Rafael felt the tears hot behind his eyes, and the flowed silently until he found Amelia's hand, and she took his and pressed it to her cheek without speaking. When they moved on, at length, she tried to free her hand, for her uncle was staring strangely at them, but he held her the tighter.