Vendetta in Spain ddr-2

by Dennis Wheatley

  With a wry smile de Quesnoy thought how, in his case, history was repeating itself, in that for the second time in his life he should be contemplating running away with a married woman. He recalled the many times he and Angela had wrestled with the pros and cons of an elopement. In her case he would not have had the least scruple about taking her from her villainous husband, but she had had a greater sense of loyalty than Gulia and had insisted on remaining with her husband until he could surmount his financial difficulties. Gulia, on the other hand, was willing not only to sacrifice a much greater name and position for him, but also to share with him the uncertainties of a soldier's life in South America -a thing that Angela would never have agreed to even after they were legally married.

  'Legally married'; he repeated the words in his mind. It was over the difficulty of their becoming so, as long as Angela's husband had been alive, that had caused them such harassing doubts about whether they should gamble everything by her cutting loose and their first living together openly in, so-called, sin. And that, now, would apply equally with Gulia. There could be no divorce, and de Cordoba might quite well refuse to countenance an appeal to Rome for an annulment of their marriage. Even if he did not obstruct the appeal the Church might refuse to grant it. At best it would take two or three years to come through. And in the meantime Gulia would be living a furtive existence with him under an assumed name, and - a thought that made him see red - be in constant dread of being subjected to slights and insults from people who knew that she was not 'legally married' to him.

  After a two hours' walk he decided that, greatly as he desired her, he was neither prepared to disrupt the life of his friend nor place her in such an invidious position; and that he was certainly not going to go back on his original refusal to betray his friend's trust by taking her in secret as his mistress.

  Having made this resolve it followed that in no circumstances should he again become a member of the de Cordoba household, either at San Sebastian or in Madrid; for to do so could result only in placing an appalling strain on both Gulia and himself. His first job was to hunt down Sanchez. After that he would have to appear at the Barcelona trial, but that was now barely a fortnight away; so it would be easy to make some excuse for not returning to San Sebastian in the meanwhile. When the trial was over he would spend six or eight weeks with his father in Southern Russia, then he would go to South America and see whether, in a year or so, he could not after all achieve his lifelong ambition to be given command of a Cavalry Division.

  That evening the hall-porter reported that La Torcera was still living in the gipsy settlement and working in the best troupe of Flamenco dancers, who gave displays in the biggest cave for the wealthier tourists. He then asked if de Quesnoy would like a guide to take him there at ten o'clock, when the dancing started.

  The Count replied that he would not be going there until the following evening, and then he would not require a guide but only a carriage to take him to the settlement and bring him back.

  The porter pressed him to take a guide, giving as his reason that unless strangers were properly sponsored the gipsies could prove troublesome, as the men were a lawless lot and had been known to demand money with menaces before they would let solitary visitors leave their settlement. But de Quesnoy had no intention of saddling himself with a companion, and he assured the porter that he was quite capable of looking after himself.

  His reason for delaying for twenty-four hours before getting in touch with La Torcera was based on a nicely balanced assessment of possibilities. Assuming that after Sanchez's flight from Barcelona he had been living with this woman and, following his stay in San Sebastian, intended to return to her, since he had not caught the Madrid express he could not have got back to Granada before that evening at the earliest. On the other hand, if he meant to return he should be back for certain by the following night. To have questioned La Torcera about him before he arrived would have meant running a grave risk, even if she were heavily bribed, of her warning him directly he did put in an appearance that his hide-out had been discovered; upon which it was certain that he would disappear and again become very difficult to trace.

  If Sanchez was living with the gipsies it seemed most unlikely that he would show himself at any of their performances, as to do so would have been to risk some police agent among the spectators identifying him; so while strangers were about he would most probably lie low in the woman's hut. De Quesnoy's hope was that he would be able either to fool or bribe La Torcera into betraying Sanchez by pointing out her hut to him. He could then go straight to it, take Sanchez by surprise and, at the point of his revolver, compel him to give up the incriminating negative.

  Next morning, as he had another day to kill, he decided to spend it up on the Alhambra height visiting the world-famous Moorish Palaces with which it was crowned.

  First he went to the Generalife, one of the smaller palaces which had been used as a summer residence by the Caliphs and was said to have the loveliest gardens in Spain. He found its long walks of tall clipped hedges a pleasant sight, but no better than those he had seen in similar formal gardens elsewhere. There were, too, roses in great profusion, though their beds were ragged and ill-kept; and by and large he considered the garden of the Alcazar in Seville to be much more beautiful. However, the Generalife possessed one unique feature that it had been well worth coming to see - a very long narrow canal with a hundred fountains playing into it from either side and so forming a continuous arcade of sparkling water-drops rainbow-hued in the brilliant sunshine.

  On the other side of the plateau he found that the great palace of the Alhambra more than rivalled the Alcazar in Seville. The buildings, lakes and gardens within its walls covered several acres and from the main fortress-palace a huge square casbar towered up to the sky. From its top one could see many miles in every direction, and the great ranges of mountains in the distance made the panorama superb. On the ground level its principal courts were gems at which to wonder. To construct the Court of the Lions and the Court of the Ambassadors, with their delicate pillars of different coloured marbles and incredibly intricate lace work carved from stone, must have taken an army of skilled craftsmen years of devoted labour.

  In his imagination he endeavoured to people them again with the colourful throngs that must have inhabited them six hundred years ago: the Caliph, in his huge turban and gorgeous robes, seated on the divan dispensing justice; behind him his Captain of the Guards in chain mail and a spiked helmet of burnished silver, and a huge negro, naked except for a leopard-skin about his loins, the great curved scimitar with which he carried out his task as Executioner resting against his ebony shoulder; the veiled Sultana, seated just below her lord, wearing a bright embroidered jacket and Turkish trousers, her dark hair ablaze with jewels; the Moorish Knights, no darker-skinned than other Mediterranean peoples, clad in surcoats patterned in silks with peacock hues; the slender dancing girls, nude but for diaphanous muslins caught at wrists and ankles by gold bangles.

  De Quesnoy appreciated, too, that such scenes had symbolized far more than a marvellous spectacle and the power which came from armed might. There would also have been present elderly men deeply versed in the law derived from the Koran, poets* doctors, architects, mathematicians, astrologers, geographers, and others more learned, more humane and more advanced in thought than any then living in the Christian world. For it was the so-called Infidels who from Cairo, Baghdad, Damascus and Aleppo had inherited and perpetuated the great civilizations of Greece and Rome.

  History as written by the Western world accounted it a great triumph that the Moors had been driven out of Europe. It had been for the Christian faith; but in no other way. These cultured people, with their high standard of living and scrupulous bodily cleanliness, had been replaced by Europeans who were little better than barbarians: their highest caste still inhabiting bitterly cold and uncomfortable castles, ignorant, unwashed, lice-ridden, a prey to witchcraft and superstition, and dominated by priests whose cr
uelty had not been equalled since in ancient times the priests of Moloch had also appeased their God by consigning human victims to the flames.

  Pondering upon this, de Quesnoy wondered whether, had the Moors defeated the Christians and, in due course, having become the masters of Europe, carried their culture north, humanity might not have been spared the endless wars between Catholics and Protestants, which had caused such appalling suffering and, perhaps, enjoyed the benefits of science and hygiene several hundred years earlier than, with the Christian victory, had proved the case.

  While going through the upper floors of the palace he came to the apartments of the Harem. One of the largest rooms was made delightfully airy from one of its walls being composed only of a row of arches, which gave on to a wide covered balcony. Going out on to it he remained there for a few minutes enjoying the view. The wall of the palace and the cliff on which it was built fell almost sheer to a gorge two hundred feet below. On the far side of the gorge lay the old Moorish city; a huddle of white, red-roofed buildings still surrounded by ancient crenellated walls.

  Beyond it the ground rose in a rugged slope pitted with caves and dotted here and there with small clusters of low, white-painted walls that were evidently living quarters built against the hillside. From a few of them smoke spiralled up. In some places it also rose from what, in the distance, looked like short posts set up on parts of the rock where it was fairly flat, but actually they were chimney pots to carry off smoke from cooking fires in caves hidden below them. It was the gipsy settlement.

  That night, after he had dined, de Quesnoy had himself driven out there. He was wearing informal evening clothes under a long black cloak and a flat-crowned sombrero. Behind his right hip, hidden by the cloak, he carried de Cordoba's revolver, fully loaded. Behind his left hip, similarly hidden, he had slung a leather bag containing a considerable sum in Spanish gold coins. In his pocket he had another, smaller, bag of gold and a number of loose pieces for immediate expenses.

  The driver set him down at the entrance to one of the clusters of low white buildings on the hillside. He gave the man ten pesetas and told him to wait, adding that in no circumstances was he to allow anyone else to hire him, even temporarily for a trip into the city and back, or to send him away, and that on their return to the hotel he should receive four times that sum.

  Delighted at the thought of receiving two whole gold pieces for his night's work, the driver declared that for such a munificent cciballero he would wait a week. He then drove off to a sheltered gully in which were lined up several carriages that had already brought visitors.

  Meanwhile de Quesnoy made his way past a low enclosure that held a herd of goats, and through a narrow passage between two of the hutments that were built into the cliff face. Beyond it there was an open space the size of which surprised him. A natural cave had evidently been enlarged until it formed a rough horseshoe with the roof at its widest part about ten feet high. In it were a dozen wooden tables, all of which had been set round its walls to leave a circle of sanded floor in their centre free for the dancers. It was lit by half a dozen acetylene flares each of which, in its immediate vicinity, gave off a terrific heat.

  No dancing was going on^at the moment and all the tables were occupied, but only about half of them by visitors; at the others sat one or more of the women of the troupe. The Count was ful-somely welcomed by the Maestro of the establishment: an elderly gipsy whose greasy black locks were streaked with grey, and who sported both gold ear-rings and a gold front tooth.

  With many bows the Maestro led him to a table at which one of the prettier girls was seated. She was rather plump-faced and had black kiss-curls plastered flat on the upper parts of both her cheeks. The rest of her hair was piled high and held in place by a big tortoiseshell comb from which hung down a black lace mantilla. From her shoulders rose many-layered puffs of gauzy material below which her well-made arms extended; she had a slight cast in one eye.

  De Quesnoy made her a smiling bow, which she acknowledged with an inclination of the head, then he sat down beside her and told her that his name was Jaime Avila. She replied that she was known as La Conchita and had only recently been made a member of the troupe. A hunchback appeared in front of their table carrying a goat-skin containing wine. Skilfully he squirted a quarter of a litre of the wine into each of the earthenware mugs that stood before them and, with a grin, scooped up the pesetas pushed across to him in payment. The Count lifted his mug to his companion, murmured 'Salud, Madonna,' and tried the wine. It was a little thin and slightly acid but quite drinkable.

  His excitement rising now he felt that he was most probably sitting within a hundred yards of Sanchez's hide-out, he took stock of the other occupants of the cave. They numbered altogether about twenty-five, of which ten men, including himself, he put down as visitors. At the far end of the cave was the band, consisting of two men with guitars who, at the moment, were talking to a very fat middle-aged woman. The remaining dozen were made up by the Maestro, the hunchback waiter and the dancers.

  His eyes ran swiftly over the women, endeavouring to identify La Torcera. Except that the colour of their costumes differed they were all dressed much alike - high combs and mantillas, puffed sleeves and voluminous skirts made in many layers over numerous frilly petticoats. But, after a brief scrutiny, he decided that she must be the woman seated at a table nearly opposite him with a heavy-jowled, middle-aged man wearing a grey suit and a red cummerbund.

  The guitarists began to strum, then moved into a swift rhythm. La Conchita excused herself and, with another girl, got up to dance partnered by the two men of the troupe. Both the latter were as slim as matadors and, like them, wore skin-tight trousers which showed the rippling muscles of their thighs and buttocks.

  All four of them stamped their heels and made the traditional provocative gestures of advance and withdrawal originally inspired by the courting of birds. When the dance was well under way de Quesnoy beckoned the Maestro over to him and said:

  'The dancer opposite is La Torcera, is she not?' and as the man nodded he went on, 'I have been told that she is amusing to talk to. Please tell her that after she has danced I should like her to come to my table.'

  The Maestro shook his head. 'I regret, Senor; but for this evening, as you see, she is already engaged.'

  'For the whole evening?' asked the Count.

  'Yes, Senor. The senor with whom she sits is a rich merchant from Alicante. He arrived early and asked for her; so it is certain that he intends to spend the whole night in her company.'

  This was a most annoying development and one for which de Quesnoy had not bargained. But, now that he had shown himself among the gipsies, he was most averse to putting off his plan even for a night. To the Maestro he said, 'I, too, am rich, and I am prepared to outbid him for her. Be good enough to arrange the matter.'

  'Excellency, I regret,' the Maestro raised his broad shoulders and spread out his arms in a helpless gesture. 'The senor who is with her has already made me a generous present with the request that tonight I should introduce no other admirers to her. How can I now make a deliberate attempt to rob him of his pleasure?'

  As the Maestro moved away the dance was ending. La Conchita and the other girl were pirouetted by their partners, their skirts flairing waist high to tantalize the male onlookers with the sight of their white-stockinged legs, elaborate garters and, above them, a glimpse of naked thighs.

  When La Conchita rejoined the Count, he summoned the hunchback to pour her more wine. Then, having given her time to get her breath back, he said softly, 'My dear, you are certainly the prettiest woman in the troupe, and had I come here tonight for the purpose of enjoying myself I would ask nothing better than to remain with you. But I have a matter of business that it is imperative that I should discuss with La Torcera. As you see, she is not free, and the Maestro tells me that he has been well paid to refrain from disturbing the tete-a-tete she is engaged in. I want you to give me your help in getting her away from her compa
nion. Now, put your hand under the table.'

  When she did so he pressed two gold pieces into her palm. It was much more than she would ordinarily have earned in a night and, a swift glance down having shown her that the coins were gold, she said with an uneasy smile:

  'Mil gracias, Don Jaime. You are a true caballero. But I am much afraid that I shall be unable to earn this generous present. Since the Maestro has refused to present you to La Torcera, I dare not. And I see no other way in which I can help you.'

  'It is quite simple,' he answered her. 'All I wish you to do is to go over to her and make some excuse to get her to go outside with you for a moment. When you have her alone tell her that I will give her five hundred pesetas if she will get rid of her companion.'

  'Five hundred pesetas!' repeated La Conchita, her dark eyes opening to their fullest extent. 'Do you really mean that? If so, you must be a Prince travelling incognito.'

  'I am; my real name is Kropotkin. Please tell her that - Prince Peter Kropotkin.' He told the glib lie because he thought it certain that the gipsies, being perpetually at war with the law, would be anarchist sympathizers, and that, while it was most unlikely that any of them had ever seen the Prince, Sanchez would most probably have spoken of the famous anarchist leader to La Torcera; so she would be all the more willing to get rid of the man she was with and, perhaps, even disclose Sanchez's whereabouts without being bribed to do so.

  La Conchita nodded and stood up. As she crossed the floor a little group came on to it. The fat middle-aged woman, carrying a rush-bottomed chair, placed it opposite the entrance and plumped herself down; the guitarists and three girls grouped themselves round her and, following her lead, they all began to clap in rhythm. A young man, scarcely more than a boy, then entered the circle and began to dance. As he did so, shouts of 'Olel Ole/' came from several of the spectators and most of them joined in the clapping.