The Great Mogul Part 9

"Yes. What quarrel have I or any of my kin with Gondomar that my comrade and I should be entrapped in this fas.h.i.+on?"

"Your name is familiar in my ears. Are you of the same house as one Robert Mowbray, who fell on board the _San Jose_ on the day when St.

Michael and his heavenly cohorts turned their faces from Spain?"

"If you speak of the Armada," answered Walter coldly, "I am the son of Sir Robert Mowbray, who was foully murdered on board that vessel by one of your order. Nevertheless," he added, reflecting that such a reply was not politic, "that is no reason why I should be subjected to outrage or that you should lend your countenance to it. My friend and I, who have done no wrong, nor harmed none, save in defense of two ladies beset by roisterers, have been arrested on the King's warrant and apparently handed over to the Spanish authorities because, forsooth, we pursued certain rascals into the Amba.s.sador's garden."

He paused, not that his grievance was exhausted but rather that the extraordinary expression of mingled joy and hatred which convulsed the Jesuit's face told him his protests were unheeded.

"_Domine! exaudisti supplicationem meam!_" murmured the ecclesiastic, "I have waited twenty years, and in my heart I have questioned Thy wisdom.

Yet, fool that I was, I forgot that a thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past."

The concluding words were in Spanish, but Walter had enough Latin to understand his exclamation in that tongue. It bewildered him, yet he strove to clear the mystery that enfolded his capture.

"I pray you," he said urgently, "listen to my recital of events as they took place yesterday. When the truth is known it shall be seen that neither Master Sainton nor I have broken the King's ordinance, or done wrong to Count Gondomar."

"'Tis not the King of England, so-called, nor the minister of His Most Catholic Majesty, to whom you shall render explanation. Words are useless with those of your sp.a.w.n, yet shall your neck bend and your back creak ere many days have pa.s.sed. Would that my sacred duty did not retain me in this accursed land! Would that I might sail in this s.h.i.+p to my own country! Yet I do commend you, Senor Mowbray, and that gross Philistine who lies by your side, to my brethren of the Seminary of San Jose at Toledo. They shall tend you in the manner that beseemeth the son of him who sent the miraculous statue of our patron to lie deep beneath the waves which protect this benighted England. _Gloria in excelsis!_ Spain is still able, by the Holy office, to revenge insults paid to her saints. _Malefico! Malefico!_"

Turning to the sentry, the Jesuit uttered some order which plainly had for its purport the jealous safeguarding of his prisoners. Then, with a parting glance of utmost rancor, and some Latin words which rang like a curse, he left them.

"I' faith," laughed Roger, quietly, "his holiness regards us with slight favor, I fancy. The sound of your name, Walter, was unto him as a red rag to an infuriated bull."

"I never set eyes on the madman before yester eve," said his astonished companion.

"Gad! he swore at us in Latin, Spanish and English, and 'tis sure some of the mud will stick. An auld wife of my acquaintance, who was nurse to the Scroopes, and thus brought in touch with the Roman Church, so to speak, did not exactly know whether priest or parson were best, so she used to con her prayers in Latin and English. 'The Lord only kens which is right,' she used to say. I have always noticed myself that the saints in heaven cry 'Halleluiah,' which is Hebrew, but, as I'm a sinful man, I cannot guess how it may be with maledictions."

The Spanish soldier growled some order, which Walter understood to mean that they must not talk. He murmured the instruction to Roger.

"They mun gag me first," cried Sainton. "Say but the word, Walter, and I'll draw these staples as the apothecary pulls out an offending tooth."

Here the sentry presented the point of his sword. His intent to use the weapon was so unmistakable that Roger thought better of his resolve, and curled up sulkily to seek such rest as was possible.

Hidden away in the s.h.i.+p's interior they knew nothing of what was pa.s.sing without. Some food was brought to them, and a sailor carried to the cabin their own blankets and clothes on which they were able to stretch their limbs with a certain degree of comfort.

They noticed that their guard was doubled soon after the Jesuit quitted them. One of the men was changed each hour, and this additional measure of precaution showed the determination of their captors to prevent the least chance of their escape, if escape could be dreamed of, from a vessel moored in the midst of a wide river, by men whose limbs were loaded with heavy fetters.

With the sangfroid of their race they yielded to slumber. They knew not how the hours sped, but they were very much surprised when an officer of some rank, a man whom they had not seen previously, appeared in their little cabin and gave an order which resulted in their iron anklets being unlocked. He motioned to them to follow him. They obeyed, mounted a steep ladder, and found themselves on deck.

The first breath of fresh air made them gasp. They had not realized how foul was the atmosphere of their prison, poisoned as it was by the fumes of the lamp, but the relief of the change was turned into momentary stupefaction when they saw that the banks of the Thames had vanished, while two distant blue strips on the horizon, north and south, marked the far-off sh.o.r.es of Ess.e.x and Kent.

With all sails spread to catch a stiff breeze the s.h.i.+p was well on her way to sea. The prisoners had scarce reached the deck before a change of course to the southward showed that the vessel was already able to weather the isle of Thanet and the treacherous Goodwin Sands. Roger's amazement found vent in an imprecation, but Walter, whose lips were tremulous with a weakness which few can blame, turned furiously to the officer who had released them from their cell.

"Can it be true?" he cried, "that we have been deported from our country without trial? What would you think, Senor, if your King permitted two Spanish gentlemen to be torn from their friends and sent to a foreign land to be punished for some fancied insult offered to the English envoy?"

The outburst was useless. The Spaniard knew not what he said, but Mowbray's pa.s.sionate gestures told their own story, and the courtly Don shrugged his shoulders sympathetically. He summoned a sailor, whom he despatched for some one. A monk appeared, a middle-aged man of kindly appearance. He was heavily bearded, and his slight frame was clothed in the brown habit, with cords and sandals, of the Franciscan order.

The officer, who was really the s.h.i.+p's captain, made some statement to the monk, whom he addressed as Fra Pietro, and the latter, in very tolerable English, explained that the most excellent Senor, Don Caravellada, was only obeying orders in carrying them to the Spanish port of Cadiz. Arrived there, he would hand them over to certain authorities, as instructed, but meanwhile, if they gave him no trouble and comported themselves like English gentlemen, which he a.s.sumed them to be, he would treat them in like fas.h.i.+on.

"To what authorities are we to be entrusted?" demanded Mowbray, who had mastered the first choking throb of emotion, and was now resolved not to indulge in useless protests.

A look of pain shot for an instant across Fra Pietro's eyes. But he answered quietly:--

"Don Caravellada has not told me."

"Belike, then, friend, he only needs the asking," put in Roger.

The monk shook his head, and was obviously so distressed that Roger went on:--

"Nay, if it be a secret, let it remain so, in heaven's name. Mayhap I may request your barefooted reverence's good offices in another shape.

At what hour is breakfast served on board this hospitable vessel?"

Fra Pietro answered readily enough:--

"It awaits your pleasure. The Senor Capitan bids me offer you, in his name, the best resources of the s.h.i.+p."

"Egad, let us eat first, after which all he has to do to get rid of us is to place Master Mowbray and me in a small boat with oars. 'Twill save us much bother and the s.h.i.+p much provender, for I am sharp set as a keen saw."

Without reply, the monk led them to a cabin where plenty of cold meats, bread, wine, and beer graced the table.

He sat down with them, crossed himself, and ate sparingly of some dry crust, whilst Walter and Sainton tackled a prime joint.

Roger, pausing to take a drink, eyed askance the meager provender which sufficed for Fra Pietro; he made bold to ask him why he fared so poorly.

"It is fast day, and, unfortunately, I forgot to tell the cook to boil me some salted fish."

"Are there many such days in your calendar?" quoth Roger.

"Yes, at certain periods of the year."

"Gad, if that be so, you ought to follow the practice of a jolly old priest I have heard of, who, having pork but no fish on a Friday, baptized it in a water-b.u.t.t saying, 'Down pig; up pike!' Then he feasted right royally and without injury to his conscience."

The monk smiled. He was wise enough to see that the hearty giant intended no offense.

"I do not need such sustenance as your bulk demands," he said. "I heard the men speaking of your proportions, but, until I saw you with my own eyes I could scarce credit that such a man lived."

"I take it you are not in league with our captors?" put in Walter, anxious to gain some notion as to the extraordinary circ.u.mstances which led up to his present position.

"I am but a poor Franciscan, availing myself of a pa.s.sage to Lisbon."

"Do you know the Jesuit who visited us last night?"

"I did not see him."

"Perchance you may have heard of him. He appeared to hold a high place in the household of Gondomar, the Spanish Amba.s.sador."

Fra Pietro dropped his eyes and murmured:--

"I think he is Dom Geronimo, Grand Inquisitor of the Holy Office."

Mowbray pushed away his plate.