The Firebrand
Page 36
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE DEATH-CART
Thus came the little Isabel of Spain into sanctuary. That the respitecould only be temporary, Rollo knew too well. The monks were stout andwilling men, but such arms as they had belonged to almost primitivetimes, chiefly old blunderbusses of various patterns from the middle ofthe sixteenth century to the end of the eighteenth, together with ahalberd or two which had been used from time immemorial in the Hermitagekitchen for breaking bones to get out the marrow, chopping firewood, andsuch like humble and peaceful occupations.
Two of the remaining brothers of the Ermita were as other men, plain,simple and devout, ready to give up their lives, either by dying ofdisease at their post of duty, or by the steel of cruel and ignorantmen, as the martyrs and confessors of whom they read in their breviarieshad done in times past.
The cook-almoner on the other hand proved to be a shrewd little man,with much ready conversation, a great humorist at most times, yet notwithout a due regard for his own safety. Him the little Princess knewwell, having often stolen off through the gardens and down the long"Mall" to taste his confectioned cakes, made in the Austrian mannerafter a receipt which dated from the time of the founder of blessedmemory, Henry the Fourth of that name, and often partaken of by Catholicsovereigns when they drove out to the lofty grange and Hermitage of theSegovian monks of El Parral.
The fourth and principal friar proved upon acquaintance to be a man ofanother mould. He was a tall square-shouldered man, now a little bentwith age, but with the fires of loyalty burning deep within eyes of theclearest and most translucent blue. His hair was now quickly frostingover with premature infirmity, for not only was his constitution feeblebut he was just recovering from a dangerous attack of pneumonia.Altogether Brother Teodoro was a northern-looking rather than a Spanishman. It was not till afterwards that Rollo discovered that he belongedto the ancient race of the Basques, and that in his day he had fought asa bold soldier in the _partidas_, which rose in the rear of Napoleon'smarshals when he sent his legions across the Pyrenees. Indeed, he hadeven followed _El Gran' Lor_ to Toulouse when the battered remnants ofthat great army skulked back home again beaten by the iron discipline ofEngland and the gad-fly persistence of the Spanish _guerrilleros_.
It was with Brother Teodoro then, as with a man already walking in theshadow of death, that Rollo in quick low-spoken sentences discussed thepossibilities of the Hermitage as a place of defence. It was clear thatno ordinary military precautions and preparations would serve them now.The four brethren were willing, if need were, to lay down their livesfor the young Queen. But saving the pistols and the limited ammunitionwhich Rollo had brought with him in his belt, and the bell-mouthedblunderbusses aforesaid, rusted and useless, there was not a singleweapon of offence within the Hermitage of San Ildefonso of greaterweight than the kitchen poker.
The Basque friar laid his hand on his brow and leaned against the wallfor a minute or two in silent meditation.
"I have it," he said, suddenly turning upon Rollo, "it is our onlychance, a ghastly one it is true, but we are in no case for finedistinctions. _We will get out the death-cart and gather us an army!_"
Rollo gazed at the monk Teodoro as if he had suddenly lost his wits.
"The death-cart! What is that?" he cried, "and how will that help us togather an army?"
The Basque smiled, and Rollo noticed when he did so that his eyebrowstwitched spasmodically. There was a broad scar slashed across one ofthem. This man had not been in the army of the _Gran' Lor_ for nothing.For in addition to the sabre cut, he had great ideas under thatblue-veined, broad, sick man's forehead of his.
"Yes," answered Teodoro, calmly, "our brother, whose duty it was tocollect the bodies of the plague-stricken, died two days ago, and theoxen have not been in the town since. As for me, I too have been sick--amere _calentura_, though for a time the brethren feared that the plaguehad laid its hand on me also; and as for those other two, they haveenough to do to keep up their ministrations among the living. To givethe last sacrament to the dying is, after all, more important than tocover up the dead. At such times one has to remember how that once on atime the Virgin's Son said, 'Let the dead bury their dead!'"
He was silent a little, as if composing a homily on this text.
"But all things work good to the chosen of God," he said. "To-night wewill make of these very dead an army to defend our little Queen--theLord's anointed. For in this matter I do not think as do the most of mybrothers of the Church. I am no Carlist, God be my witness!"
Rollo was still in a maze of wonder and doubt when they arrived at thelittle stables attached to the long low building of the Hermitage andbegan to harness the oxen to the cart. He prided himself on hisquickness of resource, but this was clean beyond him.
"One of us must abide here," continued the monk. "I am still sick untodeath, so that I greatly fear I can give you no help. Bleeding and this_calentura_ together have left me without power in my old arms. But lendme your pistols, of which you will have no need. I am an old soldier ofthe wars of the Independence, and have not forgotten mine ancient skillwith the weapons of the flesh. Do not fear for the little Princess. Onlymake such speed as you can."
And with the utmost haste the Basque instructed Rollo as to hisbehaviour when he should reach the town, whilst at the same time he washelping him into the dress of a Brother of Pity and arranging the hoodacross his face.
"Hold your head well down," so ran the monk's rubric for the dreadoffice, "repeat in a loud voice '_Bring out your dead! Bring out yourdead!_' No more than that and no less. With the butt of your ox-staffstrike the doors whereon you see painted the red cross, and those thatremain will bring out whom the plague hath smitten."
The young man listened as in a dream. The oxen started at the friar'sgentle chirrup. The ox-staff was placed in Rollo's hand, and lo, he wasguiding the meek bent heads softly towards the town before he evenrealised that he was now to encounter a foe far more terrible than anyhe had ever faced in battle or at the rapier's point upon the field ofhonour.
The trees were as solidly dark as black velvet above him. The oxenpadded softly over the well-trodden path. In the gloom he dropped hisgoad, and only became conscious when he tried to pick it up that theBasque had drawn over his hands a pair of huge gloves which reached downalmost to his wrists. These had been carefully tarred outside, anddoubtless furnished at least some protection against infection.
The great well-fed beasts, white oxen of the finest Castilian breed, agift of the Queen-Regent to the brethren, were under perfect control;and though Rollo had only once or twice before handled the guidingstaff, he had not the least difficulty in conducting the cart towardsthe town.
Indeed, so often had the animals taken the same road of late, that theyseemed to know their destination by instinct, and gave the tall youngmonk in the hood no trouble whatever. The wheels, however, being ofsolid wood of a style ancient as the Roman occupation, creaked withtruly Spanish _crescendo_ to the agony point. For in all countriesflowing with oil and wine no man affords so much as a farthing's worthof grease for his waggon-wheels. But upon this occasion the lack was noloss--nay, rather a gain. For even before Rollo's shout gained assuranceand sonorousness, the creaking of the wheels of the cart far-heardscattered various groups of marauders about the streets of the town asif it had been the wings of the angel of death himself.
"_Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!_"
Certainly it was a solemn and awful cry heard echoing through thestreets in the chilly hours of the night. Here and there at the sound alattice opened, and some bereaved one cried down to the monk to stop.
Then staggering down the staircase, lighted (it may be) by some haggardcrone with a guttering candle, or only stumbling blindly in the darkwith their load, the bearers would come. In a very few cases these weretwo men, more frequently a man and a woman, and most frequently of alltwo women.
"_Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!_"
"Brother, we cannot!" a sh
rill voice came from high above; "come uphither and help us, for God's sake and the Holy Virgin's! She is ourmother, and we are two young maids, children without strength."
Rollo looked up and saw the child that called down to him. Another ather shoulder held a lighted candle with a trembling hand.
"She is so little and light, brother," she pleaded, "and went soregularly to confession. Brother Jeronimo gave her the sacrament but anhour before she parted from us. Come up and help us, for dear Mary'ssake!"
It went to Rollo's heart to refuse, but he could not well leave hisoxen. He was a stranger to them and they to him; and his work, thoughwell begun, was yet to finish.
While he stood in doubt, his mind swaying this way and that, a figuredarted across to him from the opposite side of the street, a boy dressedin a suit of the royal liveries, but with a cloak thrown about hisshoulders and a sailor's red cap upon his head.
"Give me the stick," he said in a muffled voice; "go up and bring downthe woman. If need be, I will help you."
Without pausing to consider the meaning of this curious circumstance,where all circumstances were curious, Rollo darted up the staircase, hismilitary boots clattering on the stone steps, strangely out of harmonywith his priestly vocation.
He found the little maiden with the candle waiting at the door for him.She appeared to be about eight years old, but struck him as verysmall-bodied for her age. Her sister had remained within. She wasolder--perhaps ten or twelve. She it was who had pleaded the cause ofthe dead.
"Indeed, good brother," she began, "we did our best. We tried to carryher, and moved her as far as the chair. Then, being weak, we could getno farther. But do you help, and it will be easy!"
Rollo, growing accustomed to death and its sad victims, lifted theshrouded burden over his shoulder without a shudder. He was in the moodto take things as they came. The two little girls sank on their knees onthe floor, wailing for their lost mother, and imploring his blessing inalternate breaths.
"Our mother--our dear mother!" they cried, "pray for us and her, mostholy father!"
"God in heaven bless you," Rollo said aloud in English, and strode downthe stairs. A knot of straggling gipsies furtively expectant stood aboutthe door. The cart was still in the middle of the street with itsattendant boy, in the exact place where Rollo had left it.
"Here, lend me a hand," he cried in a voice of command, as he emergedinto their midst with his white-wrapped burden.
But at the mere sight of the monk's habit and of the thing he carried onhis shoulder, the gipsies dispersed, running in every direction as ifthe very plague-spectre were on their track. The boy in the red cap,however, crossed the road towards him, and at the same moment the elderof the little girls sobbingly opened the lattice, holding the candle inher hand to take a last look at her mother.
The feeble rays fell directly on the boy's upturned face. At the sightRollo stumbled and almost fell with his burden. The youth put out hishand to stay him. His fingers almost touched the dead.
"Hands off!" thundered Rollo, in fierce anger. "Concha Cabezos, how dareyou come hither?"
The boy looked up at the man and answered simply and clearly--
"Rollo, I came because _you_ dared!"