CHAPTER XLV.
WE GO FROM VALETTA TO SEEK MY LADY BIDDY ELSEWHERE.
The next day seemed to me as if it would never come to an end, havingnothing much else to do than to watch for Matthew's return; and whatmade it more tedious and wearisome was that my comrade had startedbidding me expect him back before midday.
"For," says he, "the next station, if I remember right, is but a matterof four or five leagues distant; so that, starting betimes, they mustneeds arrive about ten or eleven at the outside."
When he came not at noon I began to torment myself with fears lest somemischance had happened to Matthew; either that he had been clapped up ina bridewell to cure him of his sores, or had been recognized by Lewis dePino, to his great misfortune. And though this was grievous enough tothink on (for I loved the kind, honest rogue), yet it was nothing besidethe concern I felt for Lady Biddy had such an accident arrived; forwhile I was lingering here, with my hands idle by my side, Lewis de Pinomight be hurrying away with her to Quito.
As soon as the first star began to twinkle I could bear this suspense nolonger, and started out towards the town; for if Matthew were free, Iknew he would leave the town when the gates were about to be closed.About half a league from the town I met him (to my great joy), and myfirst question was what news he had brought with him.
Instead of beating about the bush and making a joke of my impatience, heanswered, very soberly, that De Pino and his train had not yet enteredthe town.
"Hows'mever," says he, "there's no call to be cast down about thatmatter, for I may very well have made a mistake in the distance, seeingI have traveled over the road but once, and that ten or a dozen yearsago. One thing is certain, master--they must arrive to-morrow, and thisdelay is all to our advantage, since it has given me time to pry aboutthe town, and examine in what manner we may best contrive to get thefemale out of De Pino's hands."
Therewith he entered into the design he had formed for this purpose,describing the inn at which the merchants stayed, with the means ofgetting out of the town, and into it, without passing the gate, etc.,etc., in such detail that he gave me no time to think of anything elsetill we had eaten our supper and emptied the wine-skin, when he declaredhe was too tired to converse longer; and so, laying himself down, bademe good-night and presently began to snore.
But then, my mind being no longer occupied with his return, I grewuneasy again about this delay, and could not close an eye for mytrouble. I had noticed that Matthew was much less merry than usual, andnow I took it into my head that the long-winded description of the inn,and his ingenious project for rescuing "the female," was nothing but adesign to divert my mind, and make his own uneasiness less noticeable.
'Twas useless attempting to sleep in this disorder of mind, and I couldno longer lie still when day broke; but getting up quietly, so that Imight not awake Matthew, I went to a little distance and paced backwardsand forwards with a heavy heart. Presently Matthew, getting up, comes tomy side, and says he:
"Can't you sleep, master?"
"No," says I.
"No more can I," says he, "and I took a pretty stiff dose of wine, too,for my nightcap. I ha'n't slept a wink all night."
"You've snored pretty continually, nevertheless," says I.
"As for that," says he, "I'm a man that must be doing something; and'tis as easy to snore as to wear spots on your face; but one is no morea sign of sleep than t'other is of a distemper."
"Why couldn't you sleep, Matthew?" says I. "What's amiss?"
"Well," says he, "De Pino and the female ought to have come in yesterdaymorning at the latest."
"But you said you might have made a mistake as to the distance?"
"So I might," says he slyly; "but, to make quite sure, I took the painsto inquire last night of my friend at the inn, outside the town, and Ifound I had not."
"Then you believe they ought to have been here before now?" says Isharply.
"Yes, master," says he gravely. "They ought to have come in the nightafore last, or yesterday morning at the latest. When it came noonyesterday I gave them up; yet I stayed there in the hope I was wrong.First saying to myself that, being warned of your escape by the factor,he had thought it well to make an ambush, and wait for you to come up;and then that he had stopped for some reason of his business; but thesearguments wouldn't do--and, to cut a long story short, I made up my mindwhen I saw the gates closed last night, and no sign of De Pino along theroad for half a mile--I made up my mind, I say, that he had takenanother road."
"Taken another road!" says I, in a terrible amazement.
"Ay," says he. "I can account for it in no other way."
"And why did you not tell me this last night?" I asks angrily.
"We could do nothing in the dark, and I hoped you would get a goodnight's sleep and be fresh for a march this morning," says he simply."There was no good in plaguing you before your time."
I could not be angry with the fellow after that, for he was in theright, and, 'twas out of pure kindness of heart he had held his tongue.
"I though you were so sure of the road, Matthew?" says I.
"So I was, master; and more fool I. Don't spare me; I deserve all theblame, for 'twas I who would have you come by the river when you wouldhave gone by the road."
"Did you make no inquiry about this road last night?"
"Ay," says he. "No other road to Quito is known to the innkeeper butthis. Yet he may be as great a fool as I in that matter; and though DePino could take no other road to Quito, he might, for all that, haveturned aside to some other place."
"What do you propose we should do now, Matthew?"
"Get on to the road, and hark back as soon as there is light enough forus to pick our way. We will hit the road within sight of the town-gatesbefore they are opened, to make certain they have not come up."
The poor fellow was so crestfallen, having now no heart to disguise hisdiscomfiture, that to cheer him I professed to be in no way disheartenedby this failure.
"For," says I, "there is this advantage about it: I shall not have torest idle here any longer. 'Twill be light enough to begin our march inhalf an hour."
"Why, that's true, master," says he, brightening up; "and, not to wastetime, we'll have a good meal to strengthen us against fatigue."
"There's nothing to eat," says I; "we finished every scrap last night."
"Nay," says he; "I laid out for that, and brought home a peck loaf and aroast loin of mutton with me last night."
I remembered he was pretty well charged when we met overnight, but hadtaken no heed of what he carried, thinking in the dark it was butanother skin of wine.
"Parrots are all very well for high feeding, and so are serpents andsuch-like," says he, fetching his loaf and the loin of mutton, "but giveme bread and roast mutton when there's work to be done."
When we had finished our repast, Matthew buckled on his sword, and westarted off. Striking the road after an hour's march, and making surethat no cavalcade lay between us and the town, we turned our faces tothe north, and strode out with a will: nor did we check our pace for twohours, albeit the way lay all up hill and none too smooth. We met not asoul all that time, for only merchants with their trains of mules, etc.,pass this way, and they not frequently, so that for a whole week theremay not be a single traveler to be met. Indeed, we had scarcely dared totravel that way otherwise, for our appearance would have justified anyone in taking us for outlaws--I in my tattered finery, with a peck loafslung on my shoulder, as great knife in my girdle, a long sword in myhand, and nothing but an uncombed crop of hair on my head; and Matthewlikewise fiercely armed, with a wine-skin and a bundle of brokenvictuals at his back, scarcely enough clothes to cover his nakedness,and a complexion as if he had just escaped from a lazar-house--in fine,as unwelcome a knight and squire as any one might wish to meet. Nor wereour movements much more reassuring than our appearance, for at everyturn of the road we would stop with our swords firmly gripped, peeringround the rocks and betwixt the bushes, as if we wer
e on the lookout forsome one to waylay and murder.
At length we came in sight of a station, and here with great prudence wewent about to spy into it, and yet not be seen ourselves; and this, byreason of its position and the chance of encountering hunters in thesurrounding wood, was a painful and tedious business; but finallygetting upon the further side, and crawling near with terrible fear(lest we might arouse some watch-dog, and so have a repetition of ourformer trouble), we got a fair sight into the village, where was nothingto be seen but four bearded rascals playing of cards. And so, creepingout of that wood as carefully as we had crept in, we once more got intothe road, and pushed onward till noon without stopping, except at thebends of the road as aforesaid.
At noon we stooped to eat and refresh ourselves, and that done, we wentonward again for best part of two hours, though the sun was now at itsheight; but by reason we were now very high up on the side of themountain, and that in many places the rock sheltered us with anagreeable shade, we were not so hot but that we could still march with agood heart. Yet here we stayed to consult together, for we had come to apart of the road where we could not conceal ourselves if we met Lewis dePino, nor retreat without exposing ourselves to the fire of hisarquebuses. For the path wound along close by the side of the mountain,with no growth of herbs, and all barren for a long distance in front;nor was it possible to get out of the path by clambering upwards orsliding downwards for the prodigious steepness of it, and the road sonarrow that no two pack-mules could pass each other, except by standingaside in certain cavities hewn here and there in the rock in case of onetrain meeting another. Down below lay the woods, but so deep that thehighest tree-tops came no nearer than a couple of hundred feet of wherewe stood.
"Master," says Matthew, "if we meet De Pino and his merry men on thisroad 'twill be a bad job for us."
"Ay," says I; "and the sooner we get to the other end of it the safer weshall be."
"Lord love you, master," says he, "what a thing it is to be aphilosopher! Here might I jeopardize my precious life another tenminutes but for your wisdom."
The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane Page 45
