The Teeth of the Gale

by Joan Aiken

  ‘Will you not say goodbye to Papa and the girls?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I shall be seeing them again, soon enough, when I come back with your cousin Juana’s reply.’ Let the poor things have time together while they can, I thought. Besides, I was growing anxious about Pedro. ‘Take care of them, Nico! I hope Senor de Larra comes soon with some more food for you.’

  He will be fairly astonished to find a new rope already installed, I thought, rather smugly; I have stolen a march on you there, my friend! And then I concentrated on the disagreeable task of getting myself down, in the rain, wind, and semi-dark, without dashing out my brains on protruding jags of rock. The descent, spinning giddily round and round, seemed to take an eternity – far, far longer than the climb up the cliff.

  8

  We meet Don Amador; a night in the cave; reappearance of Figaro

  Under the pine tree I was relieved to find Pedro still stretched out, breathing peacefully and regularly; his faint had turned to genuine slumber. When I touched him he responded drowsily. ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘Que tal, friend? How do you find yourself?’

  ‘Nada, nada. It is a trifle – except that my head aches like the Devil,’ he grumbled, rubbing it. I noticed that when he scrambled up he swayed, and had to grab a branch; which filled me with great anxiety as to how, in this shaky state, he was going to manage the crossing of the rope bridge.

  ‘Come,’ I said. ‘Lean on me. This is no spot in which to loiter.’

  For the rain was now cataracting down, and jagged shafts of lightning every minute weirdly irradiated the castillo perched high above us on its crag. I had a notion that lightning might strike the cliff and bring down more masses of rock tumbling upon our heads.

  And what about those poor children, immured up there in such a comfortless shelter, without food or bedding? Would they not be frightened to death as the storm raged about their ears? They had a fire, it was true, and their father – and the bit of bread I had brought, to dull the worst pangs of hunger; but that was no place for children. The sooner they are out of there, I thought, the better; and I hoped that Juana would feel as I did about the matter.

  ‘Courage, hombre,’ I said to Pedro. ‘Make what speed you can.’

  ‘If this accursed lightning did not get in one’s eyes so,’ he mumbled, tripping over a root and leaning heavily on my arm. Cumbered as I was, carrying both of our guns slung over my other shoulder, and he still weak and stumbling, we made but slow progress. I did not like to hurry him, though the thought of Juana troubled me; in this storm she would be wondering what had become of us.

  Suddenly, in one of the lightning flashes, I saw, a few yards ahead of us, an unmistakable figure floundering about in the darkness, much as we were ourselves. I recognised him at once from his girth.

  ‘Hola there, Don Amador!’ I shouted. ‘Hola!’

  I saw his big face turn – wet, white, and startled – lit by the next dazzling flash.

  ‘Who calls? Quien es?’

  ‘It is us – Felix Brooke and Pedro.’ For of course he must know, he couldn’t help knowing perfectly well who we were, just as we knew him. It seemed foolish to keep up the pretence of ignorance any longer. ‘My friend has been hurt by a falling rock,’ I called. ‘Can you help us along?’

  ‘Willingly, senor.’

  In fact he seemed pleased to have our company.

  ‘Have you by any chance seen a little brat of a child?’ he asked me confidentially, taking Pedro’s other arm. ‘I have searched for her everywhere – but everywhere! I do hope that she has not fallen into the gorge. For if so, Dona Conchita will be angry with me. I shall be in real trouble. But what could I do? I cannot be in two places at once. “Find the tunnel!” Conchita tells me. As if it would be marked with a big sign: This way to the castillo. High and low I looked for the cursed tunnel. Not so much as a rabbit-hole did I find. And, mean-while, the wretched child disappears! Ten million devils, what a time I have had of it, nursemaiding that little scorpion across Spain. I would sooner be in charge of a barracuda! Conchita claims that she is mine, but that fact I take leave to doubt. No other member of my family – but nobody – has ever been possessed of such a temper. She is ungovernable! I think she is a child of the Evil One – heaven protect us!’ He stopped to cross himself and to drink, from a flask, something that smelt like aguardiente – it was plain that he had taken a good deal of it already.

  ‘Set your mind at rest, senor,’ I said. ‘Little Pilar climbed up the cliff into the castillo. She is with her brother and sister.’

  ‘Really? Did she, indeed?’ Don Amador seemed delighted. ‘Do you know,’ he confided, ‘I had half a notion that, if I left her at the foot of the cliff, some such idea might light into her head. She is a devil for climbing. But what happened then, senor? Did the madman devour her?’

  To my ear, he sounded hopeful, rather than anxious.

  ‘No, he did not. And the other children greeted her kindly enough.’

  ‘Ay, ay, they are not bad children. Though heaven forbid that I should be saddled with their upkeep,’ he added hastily. ‘But what of the madman? Did you see him, senor? El Tuerto? Is he raving?’

  ‘Yes, I saw Don Manuel. And, no, I must say that he seemed to me perfectly sensible, in full command of his wits.’

  ‘Is that so indeed?’

  My information seemed to depress Don Amador. He trudged along for a few yards in silence. Then he asked, ‘Did El Tuerto – Don Manuel – did he and Pilar speak together at all? Did she – did she give him any message from her mother?’

  ‘Message? No, not that I can recall. Don Manuel is very, very bitter against his wife,’ I could not help saying. ‘He can hardly hear her name without a curse. He believes that it was her deposition that had him flung into jail.’

  Don Amador sighed. It seemed to me that he felt some little sympathy for the man up in the castle. Was he tired of being allotted all the inconvenient tasks while Conchita stayed behind and took care of herself? Did he wonder what his reward was likely to be, in the end?

  ‘You are quite certain that little Pilar gave her father no message from Dona Conchita?’ he persisted.

  ‘Yes, positive – unless there was some note contained in the little book that she brought. Might there have been something written in that, a message? But the pages were all stuck together,’ I remembered. I did not go on to inform him that Don Manuel had thrown the book out of the window; it occurred to me that I was giving Don Amador a good deal more information than he was giving me.

  ‘What will Dona Conchita do, if he refuses to part with the children?’ I asked.

  ‘A company of armed men is being sent from Pamplona; they will very soon blow him out of his nest,’ said Don Amador with satisfaction. ‘They will bombard the castillo.’

  ‘But the children!’ I said in horror. ‘They will be hurt too!’

  ‘That will be Don Manuel’s responsibility.’

  And their mother’s, also. And yours, you fat hypocrite, I thought.

  ‘When will the soldiers arrive?’

  ‘Quien sabe?’ Don Amador had an abrupt late access of caution. He added gaily, ‘Well, well, very likely the soldiers will not be needed – perhaps Don Manuel will have a sudden change of heart. Sudden things have been known to happen. Tra la la!’ And he sang a few cheerful bars of a song, as we continued to help Pedro along the narrow path; then, with a complete change of tone, and in a polished, social manner, he observed to me chattily, ‘So, then Senor Felix, I hear that you are to be a duque? Allow me to congratulate you. I hear that your English grandfather has died at last.’

  ‘Oh, indeed?’ said I, greatly astonished at such information coming from such a source. ‘How in the world do you come to know that, Don Amador?’

  ‘Why, from my friend Sir Tomas Jay, he is the English ambassador in Madrid, you know. Your English grandfather died last month. There was a note about it in the Diplomatic Bag. Doubtless you will find the tidings waiting for you when you
return home.’

  I digested this news in silence as we made our way onwards. Would this mean that I must travel to England? Must I take on a whole load of new and unwelcome duties over there in that rainswept land? If there was any means by which I could disclaim the inheritance, I resolved to do so. Surely, somewhere, there must be another English heir who would be glad to step into a dukedom?

  Now, to our great relief, a light came into view, twinkling on the far side of the gorge. There was the hut, and even if it contained Conchita and the two untrustworthy postilions, it was a most welcome sight.

  But at this point Pedro subsided to the ground with a groan.

  ‘Felix, I’m not going to be able to cross that devilish contraption,’ he croaked. ‘My head swims; I’m as limp as a rag; my hands wouldn’t hold the rope.’

  I looked at him in deep concern and realised that he was quite right. He was white, and shaking badly. It would be total folly for him to attempt the crossing.

  ‘Well then, there is nothing for it: you must stay on this side. And I will too. Don Amador can go across and explain. Sit and rest yourself against that beech tree, Pedro, while I hunt about and see if I can find some shelter where we can pass the night – all you need, now, is to be soaked and chilled, on top of having your head broken by our young friend dropping a rock on you.’

  ‘Eh, dear, dear, what a misfortune. I suppose I had better cross the bridge, then,’ said Don Amador, with a decided want of alacrity. ‘I will inform the Dona that you both remain here on this side. Here – ’ he passed his flask to Pedro, ‘take a sup of that, my dear fellow, it will do you good.’

  ‘Thanks, senor.’ Pedro tipped up the flask, in which there was only about a spoonful left. ‘Salud!’ he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  Poor Don Amador seemed wholly reluctant to launch himself across the rope bridge, in the teeth of the storm that was now raging. Rain fell like lances. And the incessant flicker of lightning illuminated his fat form dangling and swinging like a fly on a spiderweb as he made his painful way across.

  Meanwhile I searched around as best I could, and was lucky to find a cave, or at least a cleft under an overhang in the rocky mountain-side that sloped down to the river so steeply. The ground under the overhang was reasonably dry, and the place had the merit of being within sight of the bridge. To this refuge I half dragged, half carried Pedro, then busied myself with lighting a fire in it, kindling dry grasses and dead leaves with flint and tinder, then feeding the flame with all the scraps of dry wood that I could collect. By and by it burned briskly enough, and I could add some larger, damper pieces without the risk of putting out the flame.

  A mouthful of hot food would not come amiss now, I thought yearningly, and decided that, when the fire was sufficiently well established, I would cross to the hut and bring back something to eat.

  ‘I am a shameful trouble to you, Felix,’ croaked Pedro miserably. ‘I could kick myself. Acting like this – like a baby – just because a pebble fell on my thick skull.’

  ‘A pebble! It was a lump the size of a doorstep. And whose shot was it that saved Juana from the bear, pray?’

  ‘Whose indeed?’ said a voice, and into the circle of firelight stepped Juana herself with raindrops glistening on her dark-blue hood and habit. ‘Well! You have got your two selves pretty snugly established here; and I can’t say I blame you. But it was rather hard, leaving me on the other side with those delinquentes, so I have just come to join you.’

  ‘Juana! You came across the rope? In the storm? You dared to do that?’

  ‘Is it so brave to do something that you have both done – and Pedro three times over?’

  She removed a bag from her shoulder and added, laughing, ‘Well, I will admit that I kept my eyes tight shut all the way over; though with so many lightning flashes, keeping them shut made very little difference. And skirts on a contraption like that are a horrible disadvantage. Here – at least one of that pair of ruffians did something useful, he shot an izard – ’ and she pulled out a good-sized haunch of roasted meat and a loaf. ‘Just as well. Imagine it! With all the rugs and furs she took along to keep herself warm, Conchita hadn’t thought to add anything in the way of provisions, except for the bread. And that was just a pretext to let Don Amador get away from San Quilez before the rest of us. Fortunately I brought some wine and sausage from Berdun.’

  She added a leather bottle. ‘Here, my friend – a drink of this will do you good,’ she said to Pedro.

  ‘Dona Juana, you are a blessed angel,’ he mumbled. ‘And presently you will be sitting up on high, playing a golden harp!’

  ‘Oh indeed? Well, let me tell you, my thoughts have not been very angelic today, stuck in that hut with . . . But tell me, how did you get on?’ she added, in a wholly different tone. ‘Tell me what happened?’

  So I told her, and showed her the note that Don Manuel had written.

  She read it in silence – not once, but half a dozen times, sitting cross-legged in the firelight, with her chin resting on her clenched fist. And I remembered many former occasions when we had sat, thus, by a woodland fire, on that other journey, five years ago.

  As she seemed wholly wrapped in thought, and not at all ready to break the silence, Pedro said to me in a low voice, ‘What was it that the fat fellow was saying to you, Felix, about your being a duque? My head was throbbing badly, I did not take it in. Something about your English grandfather?’

  ‘It seems he has died. Don Amador appears to be a very well-informed character.’

  ‘So that makes you, then, an English duke?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘And rich?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Well, if I am that, I thought, with a lift of the heart, I can use some of my English money to help Grandfather look after the old ladies and the people on the estate; he won’t have to end his days in continual worry.

  ‘No wonder that Dona Conchita has been setting her cap at you,’ Pedro murmured thoughtfully.

  ‘Pedro!’

  ‘Putting the fat fellow’s nose out of joint.’

  ‘It’s nothing to joke about. Anyway – I wouldn’t have her if she was the last woman in the world. After that business of the bear – ’ And I thought of the things that Don Manuel had let fall.

  When Pedro had eaten a little, and drunk a few more mouthfuls of wine, and was drowsing again by the fire, I said, ‘Well, I suppose I should go across and make my report – ’ as Juana still had not spoken but continued to sit brooding, chin on fists. ‘Would you object to staying here with him?’ I asked her.

  ‘How can you ask? He saved my life!’

  I put the guns within reach, told her to use them if need be, made up the fire, and then groped my way across the rope bridge. The hut door was shut, so I knocked on it loudly. Nobody bade me enter, but I walked in without waiting to be invited. Conchita, I saw, sat by the fire, Don Amador was talking to the two postilions.

  She jumped up, came to greet me, and clasped my wrists.

  ‘Tell me quick, Felix – how are my babies? Are they well? Did they ask for me? Has that brute ill-treated them?’

  ‘No, he has not, senora,’ I said. ‘They appear to be in good health.’

  Her hypocrisy sickened me. I could hardly bear to look her in the eye. To my own annoyance, the falsity seemed to be in me just as much as in her. Treating with people who are false breeds wrong thoughts in oneself. To cover my feelings I spoke quickly and loudly.

  ‘Don Manuel says that he will not, in any circumstances, give up the children to you, senora,’ I told her. ‘But he has written a letter to Dona Juana, asking if she will be prepared to take charge of them. In which case he would be prepared to relinquish them.’

  ‘To be brought up by Juana! What an extraordinary suggestion! He would surrender them to a mere girl – a nun!’ Conchita laughed loudly and scornfully, but it was plain that she was shaken and perplexed, as well as very angry indeed. ‘Well – that just proves that he
is mad! Where is Juana? – oh, I recall – I sent her across with some dinner for your servant. How does she respond to this very peculiar proposal?’

  ‘She has said nothing. She is thinking about it. She may not agree to it,’ I said coldly. ‘Why should she do so? They are not her children.’

  ‘Well – I do not know what to say. I will see. I will think. You had better come back to me tomorrow and I will give you my answer then. I understand that you plan to spend the night on the other side of the river.’

  She did not inquire after Pedro or ask if we were comfortable or needed anything.

  Muchas gracias, senora, I thought sourly, observing the change in her manner. Two days ago she could hardly load me with sufficient civility. And I wondered, when did she hear that news about my English grandfather? But now she seemed to have abandoned her attempts to win my favour. Perhaps she had seen the disgust in my eye.

  I heard raised voices at the other end of the hut. ‘Why did you not take better care of him, idiots?’ demanded Don Amador in squeaky, furious tones. ‘One of the best mules out of Andalusia, and you tell me he is gone? How do you mean, gone?’

  ‘His tether broke. Maybe the bear ate him,’ said Esteban sulkily.

  Then Don Amador observed me and came hastening in my direction – possibly to cut short anything approaching dalliance between me and Dona Conchita. But he need not have troubled about that.

  ‘How is that unfortunate fellow? Did he take some food?’

  ‘A little, I thank you, senor. And I will see you very early in the morning,’ I said, halfway through the door, mindful of that troop on its way from Pamplona. ‘By that time, no doubt, Dona Juana will have taken her decision.’