The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

by Deborah Alcock

  XXVII.

  My Brother's Keeper

  "Since she loved him, he went carefully, Bearing a thing so precious in his hand."--George Eliot

  About a week afterwards, Don Juan Alvarez dismounted at the door of hisuncle's mansion. His shout soon brought the porter, a "pure and ancientChristian," who had spent nearly all his life in the service of thefamily.

  "God save you, father," said Juan. "Is my brother in the house!"

  "No, senor and your worship,"--the old man hesitated, and lookedconfused.

  "Where shall I find him, then?" cried Juan; "speak at once, if youknow."

  "May it please your noble Excellency, I--I know nothing. At least--theSaints have mercy on us!" and he trembled from head to foot.

  Juan thrust him aside, nearly knocking him down in his haste, and dashedbreathless into his uncle's private room, on the right hand side of thepatio.

  Don Manuel was there, seated at a table, looking over some papers.

  "Where is my brother?" asked Juan sternly and abruptly, searching hisface with his keen dark eyes.

  "Holy Saints defend us!" cried Don Manuel, nearly startled out of hisordinary decorum. "And what madness brings you here?"

  "Where is my brother?" Juan repeated, in the same tone, and withoutmoving a muscle.

  "Be quiet--be reasonable, nephew Don Juan. Do not make a disturbance;it will be worse for all of us. We did all we could--"

  "For Heaven's sake, senor, will you answer me?"

  "Have patience. We did all we could for him, I was about to say; andmore than we ought. The fault was his own, if he was suspected andtaken--"

  "_Taken_! Then I come too late." Sinking into the nearest seat, hecovered his face with both hands, and groaned aloud.

  Don Manuel Alvarez had never learned to reverence the sacredness of agreat sorrow. "Rushing in" where such as he might well fear to tread,he presumed to offer consolation. "Come, then, nephew Don Juan," hesaid, "you know as well as I do that 'water that has run by will turn nomill,' and that 'there is no good in throwing the rope after thebucket.' No man can alter that which is past. All we can do is toavoid worse mischief in future."

  "When was it?" asked Juan, without looking up.

  "A week agone."

  "Seven days and nights!"

  "Thereabouts. But _you_--are you in love with destruction yourself,that, when you were safe and well at Nuera, you must needs come hitheragain?"

  "I came to save him."

  "Unheard of folly! If _you_ have been meddling with these matters--andit is but too likely, seeing you were always with him (though, theSaints forbid I should suspect an honourable soldier like you ofanything worse than imprudence)--do you not know they will wring thewhole truth out of _him_ with very little trouble, and your life is notworth a brass maravedi?"

  Juan started to his feet, and glared scorn and defiance in his uncle'sface. "Whoever dares to hint so vile a slander," he cried, "by my faithhe shall repent it, were he my uncle ten times over. Don Carlos Alvareznever did, and never will, betray a trust, let those wretches deal withhim as they may. But I know him; he will die, or worse,--they will makehim mad." Here Juan's voice failed, and he stood in silent horror,gazing on the dread vision that rose before his mind.

  Don Manuel was daunted by his vehemence. "You are the best judgeyourself of what amount of danger you may be incurring," he said. "Butlet me tell you, Senor Don Juan, that I hold you rather a dangerousguest to harbour under the circumstances. To have the Alguazils of theHoly Office twice in my house would be enough to cost me all my places,not to mention the disgrace of it."

  "You shall not lose a real by me or mine," returned Juan proudly.

  "I did not mean, however, to refuse you hospitality," said Don Manuel,relieved, yet a little uneasy, perhaps even remorseful.

  "But I mean to decline it, senor. I have only two favours to ask ofyou," he continued: "one, to allow me free intercourse with mybetrothed; the other, to permit me"--his voice faltered, stopped. Witha great effort he resumed--"to permit me to examine my brother's room,and whatever effects he may have left there."

  "Now you speak more rationally," said his uncle, mistaking theself-control of indignant pride for genuine calmness. "But as to yourbrother's effects, you may spare your pains; for the Alguazils set theseal of the Holy Office upon them on the night of his arrest, and theyhave since carried them away. As to the other matter, what Dona Beatrizmay think of the connection, after the infamy in which your branch ofthe family is involved, I cannot tell."

  A burning flush mounted to Juan's cheek as he answered, "I trust mybetrothed; even as I trust my brother."

  "You can see the lady herself. She may be better able than I topersuade you to consult for your own safety. For if you are not amadman, you will return at once to Nuera, which you ought never to havequitted; or you will take the earliest opportunity of rejoining thearmy."

  "I shall not stir from Seville till I obtain my brother's deliverance;or--" Juan did not name the other alternative. Involuntarily he placedhis hand on his belt, in which he had concealed certain old familyjewels, which he believed would produce a considerable sum of money; forhis last faint hope for Carlos lay in a judicious appeal to theall-powerful "Don Dinero."[#]

  [#] The Lord Dollar.

  "You will _never_ leave it, then," said Don Manuel. "And you must holdme excused from aiding and abetting your folly. Your brother's businesshas cost me and mine more than enough already. I had rather tenthousand times that a man had died of the plague in my house, were itfor the scandal's sake alone! Nor, bad as it is, is the scandal all.Since that miserable night, my unhappy son Gonsalvo, in whose apartmentthe arrest took place, has been sick unto death, and out of his mind."

  "Don Gonsalvo! What brought my brother to his room?"

  "The devil, whose servant he is, may know; I do not. He was foundthere, in his sword and cloak, as if ready to go forth, when theofficers came."

  "Did he leave no message--no word for me?"

  "Not one word. I know not if he spoke at all, save to offer to show theAlguazils his personal effects. To do him justice, nothing suspiciouswas found amongst them. But the less said on the subject the better. Iwash my hands of it, and of him. I thought he would have done honour tothe family; but he has proved its sorest disgrace."

  "Senor, what you say of him you say of me also," said Juan, glowingwhite with anger. "And already I have heard quite enough."

  "That is as you please, Senor Don Juan."

  "I shall only trespass upon you for the favour you have promisedme--permission to wait upon Dona Beatriz."

  "I shall apprise her of your presence, and give her leave to act as shesees fit." And glad to put an end to the interview, Don Manuel left theroom.

  Juan sank into a seat once more, and gave himself up to an agony ofgrief for his brother.

  So absorbed was he in his sorrow, that a light footstep entered andapproached unheard by him. At last a small hand touched his arm. Hestarted and looked up. Whatever his anguish of heart might be, he wasstill the loyal lover of Dona Beatriz. So the next moment found him onhis knees saluting that hand with his lips. And then followed certainceremonies abundantly interesting to those who enact them, but apt toprove tedious when described.

  "My lady's devoted slave," said Don Juan, using the ordinary language ofthe time, "bears a breaking heart to-day. We knew neither father normother; there were but the two of us."

  "Did you not receive my letter, praying you to remain at Nuera?" askedthe lady.

  "Pardon me, queen of my heart, in that I dared to disregard a wish ofyours. But I knew _his_ danger, and I came to save him. Alas! toolate."

  "I am not sure that I do pardon you, Don Juan."

  "Then, I presume so far as to say, that I know Dona Beatriz better thanshe knows herself. Indeed, had I acted otherwise, she would scarce havepardoned me. How would it have been possible for me to
consult for myown safety, leaving him alone and unaided, in such fearful peril?"

  "You acknowledge there is peril--_to you_?"

  "There may be, senora."

  "Ay de mi! Why, in Heaven's name, have you thus involved yourself? ODon Juan, you have dealt very cruelly with me!"

  "Light of my eyes, life of my life, what mean you by these words?"

  "Was it not cruel to allow your brother, with his gentle, winning ways,and his soft specious words, to lead you step by step from the faith ofour fathers, until he had you entangled in I know not what horribleheresies, and made you put in peril your honour, your liberty, yourlife--everything?"

  "We only sought Truth."

  "Truth!" echoed the lady, with a contemptuous stamp of her small footand twirl of her fan. "What is Truth? What good will Truth do me ifthose cruel men drag you from your bed at midnight, take you to thatdreadful place, stretch you on the rack?" But that last horror was toomuch to bear; Dona Beatrix hid her face in her hands, and wept andsobbed passionately.

  Juan soothed her with every tender, lover-like art. "I will be veryprudent, dearest lady," he said at last; adding, as he gazed on herbeautiful face, "I have too much to live for not to hold life veryprecious."

  "Will you promise to fly--to leave the city now, before suspicions areawakened which may make flight impossible?"

  "My first and my only love, I would die to fulfil your slightest wish.But this thing I cannot do."

  "And wherefore not, Senor Don Juan?"

  "Can you ask? I must hazard everything, spend everything, in thechance--if there be a chance--of saving him, or, at least, of softeninghis fate."

  "Then God help us both," said Dona Beatriz.

  "Amen! Pray to him day and night, senora. Perhaps he may have pity onus."

  "There is no chance of saving Don Carlos. Know you not that of all theprisoners the Holy House receives, scarce one in a thousand goes forthagain to take his place in the world?"

  Juan shook his head. He knew well that his task was almost hopeless;yet, even by Dona Beatriz, he was not to be moved from hisdetermination.

  But he thanked her in strong, passionate words for her faith in him andher truth to him. "No sorrow can divide us, my beloved," he said, "noreven what they call shame, falsely as they speak therein. You are mystar, that shines on me throughout the darkness."

  "I have promised."

  "My uncle's family may seek to divide us, and I think they will. Butthe lady of my heart will not heed their idle words?"

  Dona Beatriz smiled. "I am a Lavella," she said. "Do you not know ourmotto?--'True unto death.'"

  "It is a glorious motto. May it be mine too."

  "Take heed what you do, Don Juan. If you love me, you will look well toyour footsteps, since, wherever they lead, mine are bound to follow."Saying this, she rose, and stood gazing in his face with flushed cheekand kindling eyes.

  The words were such as might thrill any lover's heart with joy andgratitude. Yet there was something in the look which accompanied themthat changed joy and gratitude into vague fear and apprehension. Thelight in that dark eye seemed borrowed from the fire of some sublime butterrible resolve within. Juan's heart quailed, though he knew not why,as he said, "My queen should never tread except through flowery paths."

  Dona Beatriz took up a little golden crucifiz that, attached to a rosaryof coral beads, hung from her girdle. "You see this cross, Don Juan?"

  "Yes, senora mia."

  "On that horrible night when they dragged your brother to prison, Iswore a sacred oath upon it. You esteemed me a child, Don Juan, whenyou read me chapters from your book, and talked freely to me about God,and faith, and the soul's salvation. Perchance I was a child in somethings. For I supposed them good words; how could they be otherwise,since you spoke them? I listened and believed, after a fashion; halfthinking all the time of the pretty fans and trinkets you brought me, orof the pattern of such and such an one's mantilla that I had seen atmass. But your brother tore the veil from my eyes at last, and made meunderstand that those specious words, with which a child playedchildishly, were the crime that finds no pardon here or hereafter. Ofthe hereafter I know not; of the here I know too much, God help me!There be fair ladies, not more deeply involved than I, who have changedtheir gilded saloons for the dungeons of the Triana. But then itmatters not so much about me. For I am not like other girls, who havefathers and mothers, sisters and brothers to care for them. Saving DonCarlos (who was good to me for your sake), no one ever gave me more thanthe half-sorrowful, half-pitying kindness one might give a pet parrotfrom the Indies. Therefore, thinking over all things, and knowing wellyour reckless nature, Senor Don Juan, I swore that night upon this holycross, that if by evil hap _you_ were attainted for heresy, _I_ would gonext day to the Triana and accuse myself of the same crime."

  Juan did not for a moment doubt that she would do it; and thus a chain,light as silk but strong as adamant, was flung around him.

  "Dona Beatriz, for my sake--" he began to plead.

  "For _my_ sake, Don Juan will take care of his life and liberty," sheinterrupted, with a smile that, if it had a little sadness, had very farmore of triumph in it. She knew the power her resolve gave her overhim: she had bought it dearly, and she meant to use it. "Is it _still_your wish to remain here," she continued; "or will you go abroad, andwait for better times?"

  Juan paused for a moment.

  "No choice is left me while Carlos pines uncomforted in a dungeon," hesaid at last, firmly, though very sorrowfully.

  "Then you know what you risk, that is all," answered the lady, whosewill was a match for his.

  In a marvellously short time had love and sorrow transformed the youngand childish girl into a passionate, determined woman, with all the fireof her own southern skies in her heart.

  Ere he departed, Juan pleaded for permission to visit her frequently.But here again she showed a keen-sighted apprehensiveness for _him_,which astonished him. She cautioned him against their cousins, Manueland Balthazar; who, if they thought him in danger of arrest, were quitecapable of informing against him themselves, to secure a share of hispatrimony. Or they might gain the same end, without the disgrace ofsuch a baseness, by putting him quietly out of the way with theirdaggers. On all accounts, his frequent presence at the house would beundesirable, and might be dangerous; but she agreed to inform him, bymeans of certain signals (which they arranged together), when he mightpay a visit to her with safety. Then, having bidden her farewell, DonJuan turned his back on his uncle's house with a heavy heart.