by The Rock
"So the master got wounded the day the English came, did he?" he said. "That was a long time ago. Why hasn't he gone to Spain like all the other gentry?" He spoke Spanish with an odd accent, using some words that she had hardly ever heard.
She answered him. "He had his leg shot off. He nearly died. He'll leave as soon as he can, have no fear."
"H'm." The Jew got up and wandered round, picking up things and putting them down again. "Who do you spend your nights with?"
"Alone," she snapped.
"Why do you look so tired, then? ... But you're a woman, aren't you? You wouldn't go out stabbing soldiers at night, would you? Though you're strong enough. A good strong girl." He passed his hand over her buttock. She knocked the bucket of dirty water over his feet.
He laughed. "And good spirit, too ... Do you know there have been no more murders since the night I arrived, three days ago? ... What happened to Don Rafael Santangel? He was staying here, wasn't he, before the English came?"
She bent and began to mop up the mess. "He left the next day," she said.
"Why was he here?"
"He was betrothed to marry Senor Fuentes' daughter when she finished her studies in the convent next year. And now, if you will leave me to my work..."
"Not yet... Was she hurt when the English came?"
"Raped and strangled," she said coldly. "No more."
"Ah. Are you sure Don Rafael left?" She saw that her bitterness had given him a clue and resolved to keep a closer curb on herself. He was waiting for her when she came back, the bucket refilled. She knelt again. He said, "What's he like?"
"Who?"
"Don Rafael. How old?"
"Twenty-one."
"Good-looking?"
"Yes. Tall, fair-skinned. His eyes are dark. He is heir to a great name and estate."
"Too high for you. But he used to steal a kiss now and then, perhaps." She felt the tears stinging her eyes and with effort kept to the rhythm of her scrubbing.
He said, "Where did you get this?"
She looked around and jumped up. In his hand he held the naked woman carved of ivory that Simeon had found on the Rock years ago and had given, laughing, to her, saying, "One day you'll be like that, little one." It had big breasts and a deep-cut cono, and she did not let visitors see it but kept it in a drawer and sometimes found herself praying to it as though it had been a sacred Virgin. But because it was not a Virgin she only prayed to it for pretty clothes and a high comb to put in her hair and such.
The Jew was saying, "This is old, my girl, valuable perhaps. See this stand and the ring on her head. They're gold."
"You stole it from my room," she cried. "You had no right to go in there!"
"I was just interested," he said. "You are a brave girl, loyal, and probably in love. A dangerous mixture." He gave her back the figurine. "I'd like to see you like that."
She tossed her head, and as though it had been a signal, the house shook, and a dull thudding rattled the window panes.
"The Spanish have opened fire," the Jew said softly. "They are making their next move. No more than a pawn, I think. They won't risk much for a barren rock like this."
"You talk of us as pieces in a game?" she said angrily. "We are people, not chessmen. This is our home, not a pawn."
"That is how you see it," he said, "But you are in minority, are you not? A very small minority." He smiled, suddenly kissed her, but gently, and went out.
From his place between two rocks, in a thorn bush, Rafael watched the English ships sweep into the bay, watched the French squadron try to escape, then the battle. The thunder of the cannon came up surprisingly loud and sonorous, though the billows of smoke sometimes hid all but the topmasts of the ships. When the smoke cleared, the French had vanished—burning, beached, sunk. The English squadron hove to under the guns of the fortress below him.
He moved his position slightly and grimaced with pain. It was not by sea that the English would be thrown off the Rock.
It was a cool day, with occasional drops of rain from the cloud hanging low over the Wolf Leap far above him. He had been in position since before dawn and could not move till dusk, for he was almost in the middle of the upper defenses, close above San Joaquin Battery. He could easily hear the English soldiers' voices as they talked. Sometimes, as they passed along the slope, they seemed to look straight at him; but his face was daubed with mud, his clothes drab and streaked, and they had not seen him.
This was his fourth day. The English had occupied and improved all the defenses along this north face, from the water as far as the beginning of the cliff above the Moorish Castle. They put out pickets along the foot of the slope, but they were far apart, and certainly men could pass undetected between them to seize the main works, where all but a sentry or two would be asleep. The chief defense was the inundation, which left only a narrow track for approach to the Landgate; but the inundation ended below the cliff, so men could pass to the east of it to the back of the Rock. If Simeon Susarte could really guide a large number of soldiers from there to the crest... the English had no defenses at all facing upward except a post of a dozen soldiers close above the Hospital of San Juan de Dios.
The light began to fade, and rain fell more heavily. The redcoats scurried to the shelter of their lean-tos. Smoke of cooking fires rose. The sun gleamed once over the bay and the wreckage of the French ships, then hid, and soon it was dark. Rafael moved carefully, standing, stretching, taking the stiffness out of one limb at a time, then set off along the slope for the Lost Lamb Cave, his home.
It was on the slope, five hundred feet above the town and hidden from it by an outjutting shelf of limestone. Low holly oaks obscured the narrow sand-filled entrance. After a long crawl it widened out into a big chamber.
He went in, lay down on the bed of heather, and fell asleep.
He awoke, knife in hand, at the clink of stone and stared toward the entrance. Though there was no light, he could see her plainly, naked, her hair streaming, running, her mouth open, but he could hear nothing. She vanished. He lay sweating, afraid.
A long time later stones clinked again, and Amelia Susarte's voice whispered, "Master, 'tis I, Amelia." She came in, and he heard her put down a heavy basket. He put out his hand to feel her and touched her breast. Her breathing stopped. He muttered, "You are dressed.... I saw a woman naked. Running. Afraid."
"You had a dream," she said, her voice trembling.
The breast was full and round under his hand, and slowly he slid his hand round to her back. She sighed, and all the stiffness went out of her body. Her lips were warm and wet, her body trembling with love. Until the final ecstasies, when she cried out under him, he could not erase from his mind the fear in that other face, for it had been like hers but not the same. But at last, spent, the apparition and the fear faded, and it was Amelia Susarte, the shepherd's niece, beside him.
"I love thee, master," she said softly. "I always have." He sat up but held her hand. She kissed it and held it to her cheek. "I mean you no harm," he said. "It is not that I think so little of you. It is only..."
"Say nothing," she said. "There is no need.... I have a letter for you from Father Romero to give to Simeon."
He took it. "What time is it? I shall have to go up soon." She took his hand again. "Are you tired? Is it bad and dangerous by day?"
"Sometimes," he said. "Yesterday a partridge nearly gave me away. It was walking under the bushes, feeding on fallen berries, and stepped near on my hand before it saw me and let out such a squawk and burst up through the bushes into flight with so sudden and loud a drumming that I thought I was lost, for two English soldiers were watching, not fifty feet away. But they had no interest. They see nothing except rum barrels.... What of the town? Senor Fuentes?"
"Well. He threatens to leave tomorrow, but I think the senora will keep him another week. The Jew—he is called Asher Conquy—puts his nose in everything. No one can go round a corner but he is there. I am afraid of him, master."
He said, "You don't have to come up again. There's plenty of food and drink here.... I must go."
Outside the cave, in the rain, she turned to him and put up her face. He kissed her, found his desire and affection rising, and stepped back abruptly. What could he bring but shame to a girl such as she?
"Go," he said. "Be careful."
He turned and started up the slope. There were no English up here by day, and there would be none by night. The only paths were narrow winding tracks made by goats and sheep and wild pig. Sometimes he climbed across bare wet sheets of limestone, faintly gleaming, sometimes burrowed up on hands and knees under thorn and scrub. Suddenly, there was nothing ahead. On three sides the void opened before him. He was on the northern pinnacle of the Rock, the Wolf Leap. A few lights glimmered in the town, a few toward Spain. Cloud wraiths drifted past. He sat waiting, fearing that the naked woman would come again in her terror.
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."
