THE SEVENTH CHRONICLE
HOW HE CAME TO SHADOW VALLEY
Rodriguez still believed it to be the duty of any Christian man to killMorano. Yet, more than comfort, more than dryness, he missed Morano'scheerful chatter, and his philosophy into which all occasions so easilyslipped. Upon his first day's journey all was new; the very anemoneskept him company; but now he made the discovery that lonely roads arelong.
When he had suggested food or rest Morano had fallen in with hiswishes; when he had suggested winning a castle in vague wars Morano hadagreed with him. Now he had dismissed Morano and had driven him away atthe rapier's point. There was no one now either to cook his food or tobelieve in the schemes his ambition made. There was no one now to speakof the wars as the natural end of the journey. Alone in the rain thewars seemed far away and castles hard to come by. The unromantic rainin which no dreams thrive fell on and on.
The village of Lowlight was some way behind him, as he went withmournful thoughts through the drizzling rain, when he caught the smellof bacon. He looked for a house but the plain was bare except for smallbushes. He looked up wind, which was blowing from the west, whence camethe unmistakable smell of bacon: and there was a small fire smokinggreyly against a bush; and the fat figure crouching beside it, althoughthe face was averted, was clearly none but Morano. And when Rodriguezsaw that he was tenderly holding the infamous frying-pan, the veryweapon that had done the accursed deed, then he almost felt righteousanger; but that frying-pan held other memories too, and Rodriguez feltless fury than what he thought he felt. As for killing Morano,Rodriguez believed, or thought he believed, that he was too far fromthe road for it to be possible to overtake him to mete out his justpunishment. As for the bacon, Rodriguez scorned it and marched on downthe road. Now one side of the frying-pan was very hot, for it wastilted a little and the lard had run sideways. By tilting it back againslowly Morano could make the fat run back bit by bit over the heatedmetal, and whenever it did so it sizzled. He now picked up thefrying-pan and one log that was burning well and walked parallel withRodriguez. He was up-wind of him, and whenever the bacon-fat sizzledRodriguez caught the smell of it. A small matter to inspire thoughts;but Rodriguez had eaten nothing since the morning before, and ideassurged through his head; and though they began with moral indignationthey adapted themselves more and more to hunger, until there came theidea that since his money had bought the bacon the food was rightfullyhis, and he had every right to eat it wherever he found it. So much canslaves sometimes control the master, and the body rule the brain.
So Rodriguez suddenly turned and strode up to Morano. "My bacon," hesaid.
"Master," Morano said, for it was beginning to cool, "let me makeanother small fire."
"Knave, call me not master," said Rodriguez.
Morano, who knew when speech was good, was silent now, and blew on thesmouldering end of the log he carried and gathered a handful of twigsand shook the rain off them; and soon had a small fire again, warmingthe bacon. He had nothing to say which bacon could not say better. Andwhen Rodriguez had finished up the bacon he carefully reconsidered thecase of Morano, and there were points in it which he had not thought ofbefore. He reflected that for the execution of knaves a suitable personwas provided. He should perhaps give Morano up to la Garda. His nextthought was where to find la Garda. And easily enough another thoughtfollowed that one, which was that although on foot and still some waybehind four of la Garda were trying to find him. Rodriguez' mind, whichwas looking at life from the point of view of a judge, changed somewhatat this thought. He reflected next that, for the prevention of crime,to make Morano see the true nature of his enormity so that he shouldnever commit it again might after all be as good as killing him. Sowhat we call his better nature, his calmer judgment, decided him now totalk to Morano and not to kill him: but Morano, looking back upon thismerciful change, always attributed it to fried bacon.
"Morano," said Rodriguez' better nature, "to offend the laws ofChivalry is to have against you the swords of all true men."
"Master," Morano said, "that were dreadful odds."
"And rightly," said Rodriguez.
"Master," said Morano, "I will keep those laws henceforth. I may cookbacon for you when you are hungry, I may brush the dust from yourcloak, I may see to your comforts. This Chivalry forbids none of that.But when I see anyone trying to kill you, master; why, kill you hemust, and welcome."
"Not always," said Rodriguez somewhat curtly, for it struck him thatMorano spoke somehow too lightly of sacred things.
"Not always?" asked Morano.
"No," said Rodriguez.
"Master, I implore you tell me," said Morano, "when they may kill youand when they may not, so that I may never offend again."
Rodriguez cast a swift glance at him but found his face so full ofpuzzled anxiety that he condescended to do what Morano had asked, andbegan to explain to him the rudiments of the laws of Chivalry.
"In the wars," he said, "you may defend me whoever assails me, or ifrobbers or any common persons attack me, but if I arrange a meetingwith a gentleman, and any knave basely interferes, then is he damnedhereafter as well as accursed now; for, the laws of Chivalry beingfounded on true religion, the penalty for their breach is by no meansconfined to this world."
"Master," replied Morano thoughtfully, "if I be not damned already Iwill avoid those fires of Hell; and none shall kill you that you havenot chosen to kill you, and those that you choose shall kill youwhenever you have a mind."
Rodriguez opened his lips to correct Morano but reflected that, thoughin his crude and base-born way, he had correctly interpreted the law sofar as his mind was able.
So he briefly said "Yes," and rose and returned to the road, givingMorano no order to follow him; and this was the last concession he madeto the needs of Chivalry on account of the sin of Morano. Moranogathered up the frying-pan and followed Rodriguez, and when they cameto the road he walked behind him in silence.
For three or four miles they walked thus, Morano knowing that hefollowed on sufferance and calling no attention to himself with hisgarrulous tongue. But at the end of an hour the rain lifted; and withthe coming out of the sun Morano talked again.
"Master," he said, "the next man that you choose to kill you, let himbe one too base-born to know the tricks of the rapier, too ignorant todo aught but wish you well, some poor fat fool over forty who shall betoo heavy to elude your rapier's point and too elderly for it to matterwhen you kill him at your Chivalry, the best of life being gone alreadyat forty-five."
"There is timber here," said Rodriguez. "We will have some more baconwhile you dry my cloak over a fire."
Thus he acknowledged Morano again for his servant but neveracknowledged that in Morano's words he had understood any poor sketchof Morano's self, or that the words went to his heart.
"Timber, Master?" said Morano, though it did not need Rodriguez topoint out the great oaks that now began to stand beside their journey,but he saw that the other matter was well and thus he left well alone.
Rodriguez waved an arm towards the great trees. "Yes, indeed," saidMorano, and began to polish up the frying-pan as he walked.
Rodriguez, who missed little, caught a glimpse of tears in Morano'seyes, for all that his head was turned downward over the frying-pan;yet he said nothing, for he knew that forgiveness was all that Moranoneeded, and that he had now given him: and it was much to give,reflected Rodriguez, for so great a crime, and dismissed the matterfrom his mind.
And now their road dipped downhill, and they passed a huge oak and thenanother. More and more often now they met these solitary giants, tilltheir view began to be obscured by them. The road dwindled till it wasno better than a track, the earth beside it was wild and rocky;Rodriguez wondered to what manner of land he was coming. Butcontinually the branches of some tree obscured his view and the onlyindication he had of it was from the road he trod, which seemed to tellhim that men came here seldom. Beyond every huge tree that they passedas they went downhill Rodr
iguez hoped to get a better view, but alwaysthere stood another to close the vista. It was some while before herealised that he had entered a forest. They were come to Shadow Valley.
The grandeur of this place, penetrated by shafts of sunlight, colouredby flashes of floating butterflies, filled by the chaunt of birdsrising over the long hum of insects, lifted the fallen spirits ofRodriguez as he walked on through the morning.
He still would not have exchanged his rose for the whole forest; but inthe mighty solemnity of the forest his mourning for the lady that hefeared he had lost no longer seemed the only solemn thing: indeed, thesombre forest seemed well attuned to his mood; and what complaint havewe against Fate wherever this is so. His mood was one of tragic loss,the defeat of an enterprise that his hopes had undertaken, to seizevictory on the apex of the world, to walk all his days only justoutside the edge of Paradise, for no less than that his hopes and hisfirst love promised each other; and then he walked despairing in smallrain. In this mood Fate had led him to solemn old oaks standing hugeamong shadows; and the grandeur of their grey grip on the earth thathad been theirs for centuries was akin to the grandeur of the highhopes he had had, and his despair was somehow soothed by the shadows.And then the impudent birds seemed to say "Hope again."
They walked for miles into the forest and lit a fire before noon, forRodriguez had left Lowlight very early. And by it Morano cooked baconagain and dried his master's cloak. They ate the bacon and sat by thefire till all their clothes were dry, and when the flames from thegreat logs fell and only embers glowed they sat there still, with handsspread to the warmth of the embers; for to those who wander a fire isfood and rest and comfort. Only as the embers turned grey did theythrow earth over their fire and continue their journey. Their road grewsmaller and the forest denser.
They had walked some miles from the place where they lit their fire,when a somewhat unmistakable sound made Rodriguez look ahead of him. Anarrow had struck a birch tree on the right side, ten or twelve paces infront of him; and as he looked up another struck it from the oppositeside just level with the first; the two were sticking in it ten feet orso from the ground. Rodriguez drew his sword. But when a third arrowwent over his head from behind and struck the birch tree, whut! justbetween the other two, he perceived, as duller minds could have done,that it was a hint, and he returned his sword and stood still. Moranoquestioned his master with his eyes, which were asking what was to bedone next. But Rodriguez shrugged his shoulders: there was no fightingwith an invisible foe that could shoot like that. That much Moranoknew, but he did not know that there might not be some law of Chivalrythat would demand that Rodriguez should wave his sword in the air orthrust at the birch tree until someone shot him. When there seemed tobe no such rule Morano was well content. And presently men came quietlyon to the road from different parts of the wood. They were dressed inbrown leather and wore leaf-green hats, and round each one's neck hunga disk of engraved copper. They came up to the travellers carryingbows, and the leader said to Rodriguez:
"Senor, all travellers here bring tribute to the King of ShadowValley," at the mention of whom all touched hats and bowed their heads."What do you bring us?"
Rodriguez thought of no answer; but after a moment he said, for thesake of loyalty: "I know one king only."
"There is only one king in Shadow Valley," said the bowman.
"He brings a tribute of emeralds," said another, looking at Rodriguez'scabbard. And then they searched him and others search Morano. Therewere eight or nine of them, all in their leaf-green hats, with ribbonsround their necks of the same colour to hold the copper disks. Theytook a gold coin from Morano and grey greasy pieces of silver. One ofthem took his frying-pan; but he looked so pitifully at them as he saidsimply, "I starve," that the frying-pan was restored to him.
They unbuckled Rodriguez' belt and took from him sword and scabbard andthree gold pieces from his purse. Next they found the gold piece thatwas hanging round his neck, still stuffed inside his clothes where hehad put it when he was riding. Having examined it they put it backinside his clothes, while the leader rebuckled his sword-belt about hiswaist and returned him his three gold-pieces.
Others returned his money to Morano. "Master," said the leader, bowingto Rodriguez, his green hat in hand, "under our King, the forest isyours."
Morano was pleased to hear this respect paid to his master, butRodriguez was so surprised that he who was never curt without reasonfound no more to say than "Why?"
"Because we are your servants," said the other.
"Who are you?" asked Rodriguez.
"We are the green bowmen, master," he said, "who hold this forestagainst all men for our King."
"And who is he?" said Rodriguez.
And the bowman answered: "The King of Shadow Valley," at which theothers all touched hats and bowed heads again. And Rodriguez seeingthat the mystery would grow no clearer for any information to be hadfrom them said: "Conduct me to your king."
"That, master, we cannot do," said the chief of the bowmen. "There bemany trees in this forest, and behind any one of them he holds hiscourt. When he needs us there is his clear horn. But when men need himwho knows which shadow is his of all that lie in the forest?" Whetheror not there was anything interesting in the mystery, to Rodriguez itwas merely annoying; and finding it grew no clearer he turned hisattention to shelter for the night, to which all travellers give athought at least once, between noon and sunset.
"Is there any house on this road, senor," he said, "in which we couldrest the night?"
"Ten miles from here," said he, "and not far from the road you take isthe best house we have in the forest. It is yours, master, for as longas you honour it."
"Come then," said Rodriguez, "and I thank you, senor."
So they all started together, Rodriguez with the leader going in frontand Morano following with all the bowmen. And soon the bowmen weresinging songs of the forest, hunting songs, songs of the winter; andsongs of the long summer evenings, songs of love. Cheered by thismerriment, the miles slipped by.
And Rodriguez gathered from the songs they sang something of what theywere and of how they lived in the forest, living amongst the woodlandcreatures till these men's ways were almost as their ways; killing whatthey needed for food but protecting the woodland things against allothers; straying out amongst the villages in summer evenings, andalways welcome; and owning no allegiance but to the King of the ShadowValley.
And the leader told Rodriguez that his name was Miguel Threegeese,given him on account of an exploit in his youth when he lay one nightwith his bow by one of the great pools in the forest, where the geesecome in winter. He said the forest was a hundred miles long, lyingmostly along a great valley, which they were crossing. And once theyhad owned allegiance to kings of Spain, but now to none but the King ofthe Shadow Valley, for the King of Spain's men had once tried to cutsome of the forest down, and the forest was sacred.
Behind him the men sang on of woodland things, and of cottage gardensin the villages: with singing and laughter they came to their journey'send. A cottage as though built by peasants with boundless materialstood in the forest. It was a thatched cottage built in the peasant'sway but of enormous size. The leader entered first and whispered tothose within, who rose and bowed to Rodriguez as he entered, twentymore bowmen who had been sitting at a table. One does not speak of thebanqueting-hall of a cottage, but such it appeared, for it occupiedmore than half of the cottage and was as large as the banqueting-hallof any castle. It was made of great beams of oak, and high at eitherend just under the thatch were windows with their little square panesof bulging bluish glass, which at that time was rare in Spain. A tableof oak ran down the length of it, cut from a single tree, polished anddark from the hands of many men that had sat at it. Boar spears hung onthe wall, great antlers and boar's tusks and, carved in the oak of thewall and again on a high, dark chair that stood at the end of the longtable empty, a crown with oak leaves that Rodriguez recognised. It wasthe same as the one that was cut o
n his gold coin, which he had givenno further thought to, riding to Lowlight, and which the face ofSerafina had driven from his mind altogether. "But," he said, and thenwas silent, thinking to learn more by watching than by talking. And hiscompanions of the road came in and all sat down on the benches besidethe ample table, and a brew was brought, a kind of pale mead, that theycalled forest water. And all drank; and, sitting at the table, watchingthem more closely than he could as he walked in the forest, Rodriguezsaw by the sunlight that streamed in low through one window that on thecopper disks they wore round their necks on green ribbon the design wasagain the same. It was much smaller than his on the gold coin but thesame strange leafy crown. "Wear it as you go through Shadow Valley," henow seemed to remember the man saying to him who put it round his neck.But why? Clearly because it was the badge of this band of men. And thisother man was one of them.
His eyes strayed back to the great design on the wall. "The crown ofthe forest," said Miguel as he saw his eyes wondering at it, "as youdoubtless know, senor."
Why should he know? Of course because he bore the design himself. "Whowears it?" said Rodriguez.
"The King of Shadow Valley."
Morano was without curiosity; he did not question good drink; he sat atthe table with a cup of horn in his hand, as happy as though he hadcome to his master's castle, though that had not yet been won.
The sun sank under the oaks, filling the hall with a ruddy glow,turning the boar spears scarlet and reddening the red faces of themerry men of the bow.
A dozen of the men went out; to relieve the guard in the forest, Miguelexplained. And Rodriguez learned that he had come through a line ofsentries without ever seeing one. Presently a dozen others came in fromtheir posts and unslung their bows and laid them on pegs on the walland sat down at the table. Whereat there were whispered words and theyall rose and bowed to Rodriguez. And Rodriguez had caught the words "Aprince of the forest." What did it mean?
Soon the long hall grew dim, and his love for the light drew Rodriguezout to watch the sunset. And there was the sun under indescribableclouds, turning huge and yellow among the trunks of the trees andcasting glory munificently down glades. It set, and the western skybecame blood-red and lilac: from the other end of the sky the moonpeeped out of night. A hush came and a chill, and a glory of colour,and a dying away of light; and in the hush the mystery of the greatoaks became magical. A blackbird blew a tune less of this earth than offairy-land.
Rodriguez wished that he could have had a less ambition than to win acastle in the wars, for in those glades and among those oaks he feltthat happiness might be found under roofs of thatch. But having come byhis ambition he would not desert it.
Now rushlights were lit in the great cottage and the window of the longroom glowed yellow. A fountain fell in the stillness that he had notheard before. An early nightingale tuned a tentative note. "The forestis fair, is it not?" said Miguel.
Rodriguez had no words to say. To turn into words the beauty that wasnow shining in his thoughts, reflected from the evening there, was noeasier than for wood to reflect all that is seen in the mirror.
"You love the forest," he said at last.
"Master," said Miguel, "it is the only land in which we should live ourdays. There are cities and roads but man is not meant for them. I knownot, master, what God intends about us; but in cities we are againstthe intention at every step, while here, why, we drift along with it."
"I, too, would live here always," said Rodriguez.
"The house is yours," said Miguel. And Rodriguez answered: "I gotomorrow to the wars."
They turned round then and walked slowly back to the cottage, andentered the candlelight and the loud talk of many men out of the hushof the twilight. But they passed from the room at once by a door on theleft, and came thus to a large bedroom, the only other room in thecottage.
"Your room, master," said Miguel Threegeese.
It was not so big as the hall where the bowmen sat, but it was a goodlyroom. The bed was made of carved wood, for there were craftsmen in theforest, and a hunt went all the way round it with dogs and deer. Fourgreat posts held a canopy over it: they were four young birch-treesseemingly still wearing their bright bark, but this had been painted ontheir bare timber by some woodland artist. The chairs had not thebeauty of the great ages of furniture, but they had a dignity that theage of commerce has not dreamed of. Each one was carved out of a singleblock of wood: there was no join in them anywhere. One of them lasts tothis day.
The skins of deer covered the long walls. There were great basins andjugs of earthenware. All was forest-made. The very shadows whisperingamong themselves in corners spoke of the forest. The room was rude; butbeing without ornament, except for the work of simple craftsmen, it hadnothing there to offend the sense of right of anyone entering its door,by any jarring conflict with the purposes and traditions of the land inwhich it stood. All the woodland spirits might have entered there, andslept--if spirits sleep--in the great bed, and left at dawn unoffended.In fact that age had not yet learned vulgarity.
When Miguel Threegeese left Morano entered.
"Master," he said, "they are making a banquet for you."
"Good," said Rodriguez. "We will eat it." And he waited to hear whatMorano had come to say, for he could see that it was more than this.
"Master," said Morano, "I have been talking with the bowman. And theywill give you whatever you ask. They are good people, master, and theywill give you all things, whatever you asked of them."
Rodriguez would not show to his servant that it all still puzzled him.
"They are very amiable men," he said.
"Master," said Morano, coming to the point, "that Garda, they will havewalked after us. They must be now in Lowlight. They have all to-nightto get new shoes on their horses. And to-morrow, master, to-morrow, ifwe be still on foot..."
Rodriguez was thinking. Morano seemed to him to be talking sense.
"You would like another ride?" he said to Morano.
"Master," he answered, "riding is horrible. But the public garrotter,he is a bad thing too." And he meditatively stroked the bristles underhis chin.
"They would give us horses?" said Rodriguez.
"Anything, master, I am sure of it. They are good people."
"They'll have news of the road by which they left Lowlight," saidRodriguez reflectively. "They say la Garda dare not enter the forest,"Morano continued, "but thirty miles from here the forest ends. Theycould ride round while we go through."
"They would give us horses?" said Rodriguez again.
"Surely," said Morano.
And then Rodriguez asked where they cooked the banquet, since he sawthat there were only two rooms in the great cottage and his inquiringeye saw no preparations for cooking about the fireplace of either. AndMorano pointed through a window at the back of the room to anothercottage among the trees, fifty paces away. A red glow streamed from itswindows, growing strong in the darkening forest.
"That is their kitchen, master," he said. "The whole house is kitchen."His eyes looked eagerly at it, for, though he loved bacon, he welcomedthe many signs of a dinner of boundless variety.
As he and his master returned to the long hall great plates of polishedwood were being laid on the table. They gave Rodriguez a place on theright of the great chair that had the crown of the forest carved on theback.
"Whose chair is that?" said Rodriguez.
"The King of Shadow Valley," they said.
"He is not here then," said Rodriguez.
"Who knows?" said a bowman.
"It is his chair," said another; "his place is ready. None knows theways of the King of Shadow Valley."
"He comes sometimes at this hour," said a third, "as the boar comes toHeather Pool at sunset. But not always. None knows his ways."
"If they caught the King," said another, "the forest would perish. Noneloves it as he, none knows its ways as he, no other could so defend it."
"Alas," said Miguel, "some day when he be
not here they will enter theforest." All knew whom he meant by they. "And the goodly trees willgo." He spoke as a man foretelling the end of the world; and, as men towhom no less was announced, the others listened to him. They all lovedShadow Valley.
In this man's time, so they told Rodriguez, none entered the forest tohurt it, no tree was cut except by his command, and venturous menclaiming rights from others than him seldom laid axe long to treebefore he stood near, stepping noiselessly from among shadows of treesas though he were one of their spirits coming for vengeance on man.
All this they told Rodriguez, but nothing definite they told of theirking, where he was yesterday, where he might be now; and any questionshe asked of such things seemed to offend a law of the forest.
And then the dishes were carried in, to Morano's great delight: withwide blue eyes he watched the produce of that mighty estate coming inthrough the doorway cooked. Boars' heads, woodcock, herons, plates fullof fishes, all manner of small eggs, a roe-deer and some rabbits, werecarried in by procession. And the men set to with their ivory-handledknives, each handle being the whole tusk of a boar. And with theireating came merriment and tales of past huntings and talk of the forestand stories of the King of Shadow Valley.
And always they spoke of him not only with respect but also with thediscretion, Rodriguez thought, of men that spoke of one who might bebehind them at that moment, and one who tolerated no trifling with hisauthority. Then they sang songs again, such as Rodriguez had heard onthe road, and their merry lives passed clearly before his mind again,for we live in our songs as no men live in histories. And againRodriguez lamented his hard ambition and his long, vague journey,turning away twice from happiness; once in the village of Lowlightwhere happiness deserted him, and here in the goodly forest where hejilted happiness. How well could he and Morano live as two of thisband, he thought; leaving all cares in cities: for there dwelt cares incities even then. Then he put the thought away. And as the evening woreaway with merry talk and with song, Rodriguez turned to Miguel and toldhim how it was with la Garda and broached the matter of horses. Andwhile the others sang Miguel spoke sadly to him. "Master," he said, "laGarda shall never take you in Shadow Valley, yet if you must leave usto make your fortune in the wars, though your fortune waits you here,there be many horses in the forest, and you and your servant shall havethe best."
"Tomorrow morning, senor?" said Rodriguez.
"Even so," said Miguel.
"And how shall I send them to you again?" said Rodriguez.
"Master, they are yours," said Miguel.
But this Rodriguez would not have, for as yet he only guessed whatclaim at all he had upon Shadow Valley, his speculations being far moreconcerned with the identity of the hidalgo that he had fought the nightbefore, how he concerned Serafina, who had owned the rose that hecarried: in fact his mind was busy with such studies as were proper tohis age. And at last they decided between them on the house of alowland smith, who was the furthest man that the bowmen knew who wassecretly true to their king. At his house Rodriguez and Morano shouldleave the horses. He dwelt sixty miles from the northern edge of theforest, and would surely give Rodriguez fresh horses if he possessedthem, for he was a true man to the bowman. His name was Gonzalez and hedwelt in a queer green house.
They turned then to listen a moment to a hunting song that all thebowmen were singing about the death of a boar. Its sheer merrimentconstrained them. Then Miguel spoke again. "You should not leave theforest," he said sadly.
Rodriguez sighed: it was decided. Then Miguel told him of his road,which ran north-eastward and would one day bring him out of Spain. Hetold him how towns on the way, and the river Ebro, and with awe andreverence he spoke of the mighty Pyrenees. And then Rodriguez rose, forthe start was to be at dawn, and walked quietly through the singing outof the hall to the room where the great bed was. And soon he slept, andhis dreams joined in the endless hunt through Shadow Valley that wascarved all round the timbers of his bed.
All too soon he heard voices, voices far off at first, to which he drewnearer and nearer; thus he woke grudgingly out of the deeps of sleep.It was Miguel and Morano calling him.
When at length he reached the hall all the merriment of the evening wasgone from it but the sober beauty of the forest flooded in through bothwindows with early sunlight and bird-song; so that it had not the sadappearance of places in which we have rejoiced, when we revisit themnext day or next generation and find them all deserted by dance andsong.
Rodriguez ate his breakfast while the bowmen waited with their bows allstrung by the door. When he was ready they all set off in the earlylight through the forest.
Rodriguez did not criticise his ambition; it sailed too high above hislogic for that; but he regretted it, as he went through the beauty ofthe forest among these happy men. But we must all have an ambition, andRodriguez stuck to the one he had. He had another, but it was anambition with weak wings that could not come to hope. It depended uponthe first. If he could win a castle in the wars he felt that he mighteven yet hope towards Lowlight.
Little was said, and Rodriguez was all alone with his thoughts. In twohours they met a bowman holding two horses. They had gone eight miles.
"Farewell to the forest," said Miguel to Rodriguez. There was almost aquery in his voice. Would Rodriguez really leave them? it seemed to say.
"Farewell," he answered.
Morano too had looked sideways towards his master, seeming almost towonder what his answer would be: when it came he accepted it and walkedto the horses. Rodriguez mounted: willing hands helped up Morano."Farewell," said Miguel once more. And all the bowmen shouted"Farewell."
"Make my farewell," said Rodriguez, "to the King of Shadow Valley."
A twig cracked in the forest.
"Hark," said Miguel. "Maybe that was a boar."
"I cannot wait to hunt," said Rodriguez, "for I have far to go."
"Maybe," said Miguel, "it was the King's farewell to you."
Rodriguez looked into the forest and saw nothing.
"Farewell," he said again. The horses were fresh and he let his go.Morano lumbered behind him. In two miles they came to the edge of theforest and up a rocky hill, and so to the plains again, and one moreadventure lay behind them. Rodriguez turned round once on the highground and took a long look back on the green undulations of peace. Theforest slept there as though empty of men.
Then they rode. In the first hour, easily cantering, they did tenmiles. Then they settled down to what those of our age and country andoccupation know as a hound-jog, which is seven miles an hour. And aftertwo hours they let the horses rest. It was the hour of the frying-pan.Morano, having dismounted, stretched himself dolefully; then he broughtout all manner of meats. Rodriguez looked wonderingly at them.
"For the wars, master," said Morano. To whatever wars they went, thegreen bowmen seemed to have supplied an ample commissariat.
They ate. And Rodriguez thought of the wars, for the thought ofSerafina made him sad, and his rejection of the life of the forestsaddened him too; so he sought to draw from the future the comfort thathe could not get from the past.
They mounted again and rode again for three hours, till they saw veryfar off on a hill a village that Miguel had told them was fifty milesfrom the forest.
"We rest the night there," said Rodriguez pointing, though it was yetseven or eight miles away.
"All the Saints be praised," said Morano.
They dismounted then and went on foot, for the horses were weary. Atevening they rode slowly into the village. At an inn whose hospitablelooks were as cheerfully unlike the Inn of the Dragon and Knight aspossible, they demanded lodging for all four. They went first to thestable, and when the horses had been handed over to the care of a groomthey returned to the inn, and mine host and Rodriguez had to helpMorano up the three steps to the door, for he had walked nine milesthat day and ridden fifty and he was too weary to climb the steps.
And later Rodriguez sat down alone to his supper at a table well andv
ariously laden, for the doors of mine hosts' larder were opened widein his honour; but Rodriguez ate sparingly, as do weary men.
And soon he sought his bed. And on the old echoing stairs as he andmine host ascended they met Morano leaning against the wall. What shallI say of Morano? Reader, your sympathy is all ready to go out to thepoor, weary man. He does not entirely deserve it, and shall not cheatyou of it. Reader, Morano was drunk. I tell you this sorry truth ratherthan that the knave should have falsely come by your pity. And yet heis dead now over three hundred years, having had his good time to thefull. Does he deserve your pity on that account? Or your envy? And towhom or what would you give it? Well, anyhow, he deserved no pity forbeing drunk. And yet he was thirsty, and too tired to eat, and sore inneed of refreshment, and had had no more cause to learn to shun goodwine than he had had to shun the smiles of princesses; and there thegood wine had been, sparkling beside him merrily.
And now, why now, fatigued as he had been an hour or so ago (but timehad lost its tiresome, restless meaning), now he stood firm while allthings and all men staggered.
"Morano," said Rodriguez as he passed that foolish figure, "we go sixtymiles to-morrow."
"Sixty, master?" said Morano. "A hundred: two hundred."
"It is best to rest now," said his master.
"Two hundred, master, two hundred," Morano replied.
And then Rodriguez left him, and heard him muttering his challenge todistance still, "Two hundred, two hundred," till the old stairwayechoed with it.
And so he came to his chamber, of which he remembered little, for sleeplurked there and he was soon with dreams, faring further with them thanmy pen can follow.