THE NINTH CHRONICLE
HOW HE WON A CASTLE IN SPAIN
The woman that came to the door had on her face a look that pleasedMorano.
"Are you soldiers?" she said. And her scared look portended war.
"My master is a traveller looking for the wars," said Morano. "Are thewars near?"
"Oh, no, not near," said the woman; "not near."
And something in the anxious way she said "not near" pleased Moranoalso.
"We shall find those wars, master," he said.
And then they both questioned her. It seemed the wars were but twentymiles away. "But they will move northward," she said. "Surely they willmove farther off?"
Before the next night was passed Rodriguez' dream might come true!
And then the man came to the door anxious at hearing strange voices;and Morano questioned him too, but he understood never a word. He was aFrench farmer that had married a Spanish girl, out of the wonderfulland beyond the mountains: but whether he understood her or not henever understood Spanish. But both Rodriguez and the farmer's wife knewthe two languages, and he had no difficulty in asking for lodging forthe night; and she looked wistfully at him going to the wars, for inthose days wars were small and not every man went. The night went bywith dreams that were all on the verge of waking, which passed likeghosts along the edge of night almost touched by the light of day. Itwas Rodriguez whom these dreams visited. The farmer and his wifewondered awhile and then slept; Morano slept with all his wontedlethargy; but Rodriguez with his long quest now on the eve offulfilment slept a tumultuous sleep. Sometimes his dreams raced overthe Pyrenees, running south as far as Lowlight; and sometimes theyrushed forward and clung like bats to the towers of the great castlethat he should win in the war. And always he lay so near the edge ofsleep that he never distinguished quite between thought and dream.
Dawn came and he put by all the dreams but the one that guided himalways, and went and woke Morano. They ate hurriedly and left thehouse, and again the farmer's wife looked curiously at Rodriguez, asthough there were something strange in a man that went to wars: forthose days were not as these days. They followed the direction that hadbeen given them, and never had the two men walked so fast. By the endof four hours they had done sixteen miles. They halted then, and Moranodrew out his frying-pan with a haughty flourish, and cooked in thegrand manner, every movement he made was a triumphant gesture; for theyhad passed refugees! War was now obviously close: they had but to takethe way that the refugees were not taking. The dream was true: Moranosaw himself walking slowly in splendid dress along the tapestriedcorridors of his master's castle. He would have slept after eating andwould have dreamed more of this, but Rodriguez commanded him to put thethings together: so what remained of the food disappeared again in asack, the frying-pan was slung over his shoulders, and Morano stoodready again for the road.
They passed more refugees: their haste was unmistakable, and told morethan their lips could have told had they tarried to speak: the warswere near now, and the wanderers went leisurely.
As they strolled through the twilight they came over the brow of ahill, a little fold of the earth disturbed eras ago by the awfulrushing up of the Pyrenees; and they saw the evening darkening over thefields below them and a white mist rising only just clear of the grass,and two level rows of tents greyish-white like the mist, with a fewmore tents scattered near them. The tents had come up that evening withthe mist, for there were men still hammering pegs. They were lightingfires now as evening settled in. Two hundred paces or so separated eachrow. It was two armies facing each other.
The gloaming faded: mist and the tents grew greyer: camp-fires blinkedout of the dimness and grew redder and redder, and candles began to belit beside the tents till all were glowing pale golden: Rodriguez andMorano stood there wondering awhile as they looked on the beautifulaura that surrounds the horrors of war.
They came by starlight to that tented field, by twinkling starlight tothe place of Rodriguez' dream.
"For which side will you fight, master?" said Morano in his ear.
"For the right," said Rodriguez and strode on towards the nearesttents, never doubting that he would be guided, though not trying tocomprehend how this could be.
They met with an officer going among his tents. "Where do you go?" heshouted.
"Senor," Rodriguez said, "I come with my mandolin to sing songs to you."
And at this the officer called out and others came from their tents;and Rodriguez repeated his offer to them not without confidence, for heknew that he had a way with the mandolin. And they said that theyfought a battle on the morrow and could not listen to song: they heapedscorn on singing for they said they must needs prepare for the fight:and all of them looked with scorn on the mandolin. So Rodriguez bowedlow to them with doffed hat and left them; and Morano bowed also,seeing his master bow; and the men of that camp returned to theirpreparations. A short walk brought Rodriguez and his servant to theother camp, over a flat field convenient for battle. He went up to alarge tent well lit, the door being open towards him; and, havingexplained his errand to a sentry that stood outside, he entered and sawthree persons of quality that were sitting at a table. To them he bowedlow in the tent door, saying: "Senors, I am come to sing songs to you,playing the while upon my mandolin."
And they welcomed him gladly, saying: "We fight tomorrow and willgladly cheer our hearts with the sound of song and strengthen our menthereby."
And so Rodriguez sang among the tents, standing by a great fire towhich they led him; and men came from the tents and into the circle oflight, and in the darkness outside it were more than Rodriguez saw. Andhe sang to the circle of men and the vague glimmer of faces. Songs oftheir homes he sang them, not in their language, but songs that weremade by old poets about the homes of their infancy, in valleys underfar mountains remote from the Pyrenees. And in the song the yearningsof dead poets lived again, all streaming homeward like swallows whenthe last of the storms is gone: and those yearnings echoed in thehearts that beat in the night around the campfire, and they saw theirown homes. And then he began to touch his mandolin; and he played themthe tunes that draw men from their homes and that march them away towar. The tunes flowed up from the firelight: the mandolin knew. And themen heard the mandolin saying what they would say.
In the late night he ended, and a hush came down on the camp while themusic floated away, going up from the dark ring of men and the fire-litfaces, touching perhaps the knees of the Pyrenees and drifting thencewherever echoes go. And the sparks of the camp-fire went straightupwards as they had done for hours, and the men that sat around it sawthem go: for long they had not seen the sparks stream upwards, fortheir thoughts were far away with the mandolin. And all at once theycheered. And Rodriguez bowed to the one whose tent he had entered, andsought permission to fight for them in the morning.
With good grace this was accorded him, and while he bowed and wellexpressed his thanks he felt Morano touching his elbow. And as soon ashe had gone aside with Morano that fat man's words bubbled over andwere said.
"Master, fight not for these men," he exclaimed, "for they listen tosong till midnight while the others prepare for battle. The others willwin the fight, master, and where will your castle be?"
"Morano," said Rodriguez, "there seems to be truth in that. Yet must wefight for the right. For how would it be if those that have denied songshould win and thrive? The arm of every good man must be against them.They have denied song, Morano! We must fight against them, you and I,while we can lay sword to head."
"Yes, indeed, master," said Morano. "But how shall you come by yourcastle?"
"As for that," said Rodriguez, "it must some day be won, yet not bydenying song. These have given a welcome to song, and the others havedriven it forth. And what would life be if those that deny song are tobe permitted to thrive unmolested by all good men?"
"I know not, master," said Morano, "but I would have that castle."
"Enough," said Rodriguez. "We must fight
for the right."
And so Rodriguez remained true to those that had heard him sing. Andthey gave him a casque and breast-plate, proof, they said, against anysword, and offered a sword that they said would surely cleave anybreast-plate. For they fought not in battle with the nimble rapier. ButRodriguez did not forsake that famous exultant sword whose deeds heknew from many an ancient song; which he had brought so far to give itits old rich drink of blood. He believed it the bright key of thecastle he was to win.
And they gave Rodriguez a good bed on the ground in the tent of thethree leaders, the tent to which he first came; for they honoured himfor the gift of song that he had, and because he was a stranger, andbecause he had asked permission to fight for them in their battle. AndRodriguez took one look by the light of a lantern at the rose he hadcarried from Lowlight, then slept a sleep through whose dreams loomedup the towers of castles.
Dawn came and he slept on still; but by seven all the camp was loudlyastir, for they had promised the enemy to begin the battle at eight.Rodriguez breakfasted lightly; for, now that the day of his dreams wascome at last and all his hopes depended on the day, an anxiety for manythings oppressed him. It was as though his castle, rosy and fair indreams, chilled with its huge cold rocks all the air near it: it was asthough Rodriguez touched it at last with his hands and felt a danknessof which he had never dreamed.
Then it came to the hour of eight and his anxieties passed.
The army was now drawn up before its tents in line, but the enemy wasnot yet ready and so they had to wait.
When the signal at length was given and the cannoniers fired theirpieces, and the musketoons were shot off, many men fell. Now Rodriguez,with Morano, was placed on the right, and either through a slightdifference in numbers or because of an unevenness in the array ofbattle they a little overlapped the enemy's left. When a few men fellwounded there by the discharge of the musketoons this overlapping waseven more pronounced.
Now the leaders of that fair army scorned all unknightly devices, andwould never have descended to any vile ruse de guerre. The reproach cantherefore never be made against them that they ever intended tooutflank their enemy. Yet, when both armies advanced after thedischarge of the musketoons and the merry noise of the cannon, thisoccurred as the result of chance, which no leader can be heldaccountable for; so that those that speak of treachery in this battle,and deliberate outflanking, lie.
Now Rodriguez as he advanced with his sword, when the musketoons wereempty, had already chosen his adversary. For he had carefully watchedthose opposite to him, before any smoke should obscure them, and hadselected the one who from the splendour of his dress might be expectedto possess the finest castle. Certainly this adversary outshone thoseamongst whom he stood, and gave fair promise of owning goodlypossessions, for he wore a fine green cloak over a dress of lilac, andhis helm and cuirass had a look of crafty workmanship. Towards himRodriguez marched.
Then began fighting foot to foot, and there was a pretty laying on ofswords. And had there been a poet there that day then the story oftheir fight had come down to you, my reader, all that way from thePyrenees, down all those hundreds of years, and this tale of mine hadbeen useless, the lame repetition in prose of songs that your nurseshad sung to you. But they fought unseen by those that see for the Muses.
Rodriguez advanced upon his chosen adversary and, having briefly bowed,they engaged at once. And Rodriguez belaboured his helm till dintsappeared, and beat it with swift strokes yet till the dints werecracks, and beat the cracks till hair began to appear: and all thewhile his adversary's strokes grew weaker and wilder, until he totteredto earth and Rodriguez had won. Swift then as cats, while Morano keptoff others, Rodriguez leaped to his throat, and, holding up thestiletto that he had long ago taken as his legacy from the host of theDragon and Knight, he demanded the fallen man's castle as ransom forhis life.
"My castle, senor?" said his prisoner weakly.
"Yes," said Rodriguez impatiently.
"Yes, senor," said his adversary and closed his eyes for awhile.
"Does he surrender his castle, master?" asked Morano.
"Yes, indeed," said Rodriguez. They looked at each other: all at lastwas well.
The battle was rolling away from them and was now well within theenemy's tents.
History says of that day that the good men won. And, sitting, a Museupon her mythical mountain, her decision must needs be one from whichwe may not appeal: and yet I wonder if she is ever bribed. Certainlythe shrewd sense of Morano erred for once; for those for whom he hadpredicted victory, because they prepared so ostentatiously upon thefield, were defeated; while the others, having made their preparationslong before, were able to cheer themselves with song before the battleand to win it when it came.
And so Rodriguez was left undisturbed in possession of his prisoner andwith the promise of his castle as a ransom. The battle was swiftlyover, as must needs be where little armies meet so close. The enemy'scamp was occupied, his army routed, and within an hour of beginning thebattle the last of the fighting ceased.
The army returned to its tents to rejoice and to make a banquet,bringing with them captives and horses and other spoils of war. AndRodriguez had honour among them because he had fought on the right andso was one of those that had broken the enemy's left, from whichdirection victory had come. And they would have feasted him and donehim honour, both for his work with the sword and for his songs to themandolin; and they would have marched away soon to their own countryand would have taken him with them and advanced him to honour there.But Rodriguez would not stay with them for he had his castle at last,and must needs march off at once with his captive and Morano to see thefulfilment of his dream. And therefore he thanked the leaders of thathost with many a courtesy and many a well-bent bow, and explained tothem how it was about his castle, and felicitated them on the victoryof their good cause, and so wished them farewell. And they saidfarewell sorrowfully: but when they saw he would go, they gave himhorses for himself and Morano, and another for his captive; and theyheaped them with sacks of provender and blankets and all things thatcould give him comfort upon a journey: all this they brought him out oftheir spoils of war, and they would give him no less that the most thatthe horses could carry. And then Rodriguez turned to his captive again,who now stood on his feet.
"Senor," he said, "pray tell us all of your castle wherewith you ransomyour life."
"Senor," he answered, "I have a castle in Spain."
"Master," broke in Morano, his eyes lighting up with delight, "thereare no castles like the Spanish ones."
They got to horse then, all three; the captive on a horse of far poorerbuild than the other two and well-laden with sacks, for Rodriguez tookno chance of his castle cantering, as it were, away from him on fourhooves through the dust.
And when they heard that his journey was by way of the Pyrenees fourknights of that army swore they would ride with him as far as thefrontier of Spain, to bear him company and bring him fuel in the lonelycold of the mountains. They all set off and the merry army cheered. Heleft them making ready for their banquet, and never knew the cause forwhich he had fought.
They came by evening again to the house to which Rodriguez had come twonights before, when he had slept there with his castle yet to win. Theyall halted before it, and the man and the woman came to the doorterrified. "The wars!" they said.
"The wars," said one of the riders, "are over, and the just cause haswon."
"The Saints be praised!" said the woman. "But will there be no morefighting?"
"Never again," said the horseman, "for men are sick of gunpowder."
"The Saints be thanked," she said.
"Say not that," said the horseman, "for Satan invented gunpowder."
And she was silent; but, had none been there, she had secretly thankedSatan.
They demanded the food and shelter that armed men have the right todemand.
In the morning they were gone. They became a memory, which lingeredlike a vision, made partly of s
unset and partly of the splendour oftheir cloaks, and so went down the years that those two folk had, athing of romance, magnificence and fear. And now the slope of themountain began to lift against them, and they rode slowly towards thoseunearthly peaks that had deserted the level fields before ever man cameto them, and that sat there now familiar with stars and dawn with theair of never having known of man. And as they rode they talked. AndRodriguez talked with the four knights that rode with him, and theytold tales of war and told of the ways of fighting of many men: andMorano rode behind them beside the captive and questioned him all themorning about his castle in Spain. And at first the captive answeredhis questions slowly, as if he were weary, or as though he were longfrom home and remembered its features dimly; but memory soon returnedand he answered clearly, telling of such a castle as Morano had notdreamed; and the eyes of the fat man bulged as he rode beside him,growing rounder and rounder as they rode.
They came by sunset to that wood of firs in which Rodriguez had rested.In the midst of the wood they halted and tethered their horses totrees; they tied blankets to branches and made an encampment; and inthe midst of it they made a fire, at first, with pine-needles and thedead lower twigs and then with great logs. And there they feastedtogether, all seven, around the fire. And when the feast was over andthe great logs burning well, and red sparks went up slowly towards thesilver stars, Morano turned to the prisoner seated beside him and "Tellthe senors," he said, "of my master's castle."
And in the silence, that was rather lulled than broken by thewhispering wind from the snow that sighed through the wood, the captiveslowly lifted up his head and spoke in his queer accent.
"Senors, in Aragon, across the Ebro, are many goodly towers." And as hespoke they all leaned forward to listen, dark faces bright withfirelight. "On the Ebro's southern bank stands," he went on, "my home."
He told of strange rocks rising from the Ebro; of buttresses builtamong them in unremembered times; of the great towers lifting up inmultitudes from the buttresses; and of the mighty wall, windowlessuntil it came to incredible heights, where the windows shone all safefrom any ladder of war.
At first they felt in his story his pride in his lost home, andwondered, when he told of the height of his towers, how much he addedin pride. And then the force of that story gripped them all and theydoubted never a battlement, but each man's fancy saw between firelightand starlight every tower clear in the air. And at great height uponthose marvellous towers the turrets of arches were; queer carvingsgrinned down from above inaccessible windows; and the towers gatheredin light from the lonely air where nothing stood but they, and flashedit far over Aragon; and the Ebro floated by them always new, alwaysamazed by their beauty.
He spoke to the six listeners on the lonely mountain, slowly,remembering mournfully; and never a story that Romance has known andtold of castles in Spain has held men more than he held his listeners,while the sparks flew up toward the peaks of the Pyrenees and did notreach to them but failed in the night, giving place to the white stars.
And when he faltered through sorrow, or memory weakening, Moranoalways, watching with glittering eyes, would touch his arm, sittingbeside him, and ask some question, and the captive would answer thequestion and so talk sadly on.
He told of the upper terraces, where heliotrope and aloe and oleandertook sunlight far above their native earth: and though but rare windscarried the butterflies there, such as came to those fragrant terraceslingered for ever.
And after a while he spoke on carelessly, and Morano's questions ended,and none of the men in the firelight said a word; but he spoke onuninterrupted, holding them as by a spell, with his eyes fixed far awayon black crags of the Pyrenees, telling of his great towers: almost itmight have seemed he was speaking of mountains. And when the fire wasonly a deep red glow and white ash showed all round it, and he ceasedspeaking, having told of a castle marvellous even amongst the towers ofSpain: all sitting round the embers felt sad with his sadness, for hissad voice drifted into their very spirits as white mists enter houses,and all were glad when Rodriguez said to him that one of his ten talltowers the captive should keep and should live in it for ever. And thesad man thanked him sadly and showed no joy.
When the tale of the castle and those great towers was done, the windthat blew from the snow touched all the hearers; they had seemed to beaway by the bank of the Ebro in the heat and light of Spain, and nowthe vast night stripped them and the peaks seemed to close round onthem. They wrapped themselves in blankets and lay down in theirshelters. For a while they heard the wind waving branches and the thumpof a horse's hoof restless at night; then they all slept except onethat guarded the captive, and the captive himself who long lay thinkingand thinking.
Dawn stole through the wood and waked none of the sleepers; the birdsall shouted at them, still they slept on; and then the captive's guardwakened Morano and he stirred up the sparks of the fire and cooked, andthey breakfasted late. And soon they left the wood and faced the bleakslope, all of them going on foot and leading their horses.
And the track crawled on till it came to the scorn of the peaks,winding over a shoulder of the Pyrenees, where the peaks gaze cold andcontemptuous away from the things of man.
In the presence of those that bore them company Rodriguez and Moranofelt none of the deadly majesty of those peaks that regard so awfullyover the solitudes. They passed through them telling cheerfully of warsthe four knights had known: and descended and came by sunset to thelower edge of the snow. They pushed on a little farther and thencamped; and with branches from the last camp that they had heaped ontheir horses they made another great fire and, huddling round it in theblankets that they had brought, found warmth even there so far from thehearths of men.
And dawn and the cold woke them all on that treeless slope by barelywarm embers. Morano cooked again and they ate in silence. And then thefour knights rose sadly and one bowed and told Rodriguez how they mustnow go back to their own country. And grief seized on Rodriguez at hiswords, seeing that he was to lose four old friends at once and perhapsfor ever, for when men have fought under the same banner in war theybecome old friends on that morning.
"Senors," said Rodriguez, "we may never meet again!"
And the other looked back to the peaks beyond which the far lands lay,and made a gesture with his hands.
"Senor, at least," said Rodriguez, "let us camp once more together."
And even Morano babbled a supplication.
"Methinks, senor," he answered, "we are already across the frontier,and when we men of the sword cross frontiers misunderstandings arise,so that it is our custom never to pass across them save when we pushthe frontier with us, adding the lands over which we march to those ofour liege lord."
"Senors," said Rodriguez, "the whole mountain is the frontier. Comewith us one day further." But they would not stay.
All the good things that could be carried they loaded on to the threehorses whose heads were turned towards Spain; then turned, all four,and said farewell to the three. And long looked each in the face ofRodriguez as he took his hand in fare well, for they had fought underthe same banner and, as wayfaring was in those days, it was not likelythat they would ever meet again. They turned and went with their horsesback towards the land they had fought for.
Rodriguez and his captive and Morano went sadly down the mountain. Theycame to the fir woods, and rested, and Morano cooked their dinner. Andafter a while they were able to ride their horses.
They came to the foot of the mountains, and rode on past the Inn of theWorld's End. They camped in the open; and all night long Rodriguez orMorano guarded the captive.
For two days and part of the third they followed their old course,catching sight again and again of the river Segre; and then they turnedfurther west ward to come to Aragon further up the Ebro. All the waythey avoided houses and camped in the open, for they kept their captiveto themselves: and they slept warm with their ample store of blankets.And all the while the captive seemed morose or ill at ease, s
peakingseldom and, when he did, in nervous jerks.
Morano, as they rode, or by the camp fire at evening, still questionedhim now and then about his castle; and sometimes he almost seemed tocontradict himself, but in so vast a castle may have been many stylesof architecture, and it was difficult to trace a contradiction amongall those towers and turrets. His name was DonAlvidar-of-the-Rose-pink-Castle on-Ebro.
One night while all three sat and gazed at the camp-fire as men will,when the chilly stars are still and the merry flames are leaping,Rodriguez, seeking to cheer his captive's mood, told him some of hisstrange adventures. The captive listened with his sombre air. But whenRodriguez told how they woke on the mountain after their journey to thesun; and the sun was shining on their faces in the open, but themagician and his whole house were gone; then there came another lookinto Alvidar's eyes. And Rodriguez ended his tale and silence fell,broken only by Morano saying across the fire, "It is true," and thecaptive's thoughtful eyes gazed into the darkness. And then he alsospoke.
"Senor," he said, "near to my rose-pink castle which looks into theEbro dwells a magician also."
"Is it so?" said Rodriguez.
"Indeed so, senor," said Don Alvidar. "He is my enemy but dwells in aweof me, and so durst never molest me except by minor wonders."
"How know you that he is a magician?" said Rodriguez.
"By those wonders," answered his captive. "He afflicts small dogs andmy poultry. And he wears a thin, high hat: his beard is alsoextraordinary."
"Long?" said Morano.
"Green," answered Don Alvidar.
"Is he very near the castle?" said Rodriguez and Morano together.
"Too near," said Don Alvidar.
"Is his house wonderful?" Rodriguez asked.
"It is a common house," was the answer. "A mean, long house of onestory. The walls are white and it is well thatched. The windows arepainted green; there are two doors in it and by one of them grows arose tree."
"A rose tree?" exclaimed Rodriguez.
"It seemed a rose tree," said Don Alvidar.
"A captive lady chained to the wall perhaps, changed by magic,"suggested Morano.
"Perhaps," said Don Alvidar.
"A strange house for a magician," said Rodriguez, for it sounded likeany small farmhouse in Spain.
"He much affects mortal ways," replied Don Alvidar.
Little more was then said, the fire being low: and Rodriguez lay downto sleep while Morano guarded the captive.
And the day after that they came to Aragon, and in one day more theywere across the Ebro; and then they rode west for a day along itssouthern bank looking all the while as they rode for Rodriguez' castle.And more and more silent and aloof, as they rode, grew DonAlvidar-of-the-Rose-pink-Castle-on-Ebro.
And just before sunset a cry broke from the captive. "He has taken it!"he said. And he pointed to just such a house as he had described, ajolly Spanish farmhouse with white walls and thatch and green shutters,and a rose tree by one of the doors just as he had told.
"The magician's house. But the castle is gone," he said.
Rodriguez looked at his face and saw real alarm in it. He said nothingbut rode on in haste, a dim hope in his mind that explanations at thewhite cottage might do something for his lost castle.
And when the hooves were heard a woman came out of the cottage door bythe rose tree leading a small child by the hand. And the captive calledto the woman, "Maria, we are lost. And I gave my great castle withrose-pink towers that stood just here as ransom to this senor for mylife. But now, alas, I see that that magician who dwelt in the housewhere you are now has taken it whither we know not."
"Yes, Pedro," said the woman, "he took it yesterday." And she turnedblue eyes upon Rodriguez.
And then Morano would be silent no longer. He had thought vaguely forsome days and intensely for the last few hundreds yards, and now heblurted out the thoughts that boiled in him.
"Master," he shouted, "he has sold his cattle and bought this raimentof his, and that helmet that you opened up for him, and never had anycastle on the Ebro with any towers to it, and never knew any magician,but lived in this house himself, and now your castle is gone, master,and as for his life ..."
"Be silent a moment, Morano," said Rodriguez, and he turned to thewoman whose eyes were on him still.
"Was there a castle in this place?" he said.
"Yes, senor. I swear it," she said. "And my husband, though a poor man,always spoke the truth."
"She lies," said Morano, and Rodriguez silenced him with a gesture.
"I will get neighbours who will swear it too," she said.
"A lousy neighbourhood," said Morano.
Again Rodriguez silenced him. And then the child spoke in a frightenedvoice, holding up a small cross that it had been taught to revere. "Iswear it too," it said.
Rodriguez heaved a sigh and turned away. "Master," Morano cried inpained astonishment, "you will not believe their swearings."
"The child swore by the cross," he answered.
"But, master!" Morano exclaimed.
But Rodriguez would say no more. And they rode away aimless in silence.
Galloping hooves were heard and Pedro was there. He had come to give uphis horse. He gave its reins to the scowling Morano but Rodriguez saidnever a word. Then he ran round and kissed Rodriguez' hand, who stillwas silent, for his hopes were lost with the castle; but he nodded hishead and so parted for ever from the man whom his wife called Pedro,who called himself Don Alvidar-of-the-Rose-pink-Castle-on-Ebro.