"Catana!" he breathed.
The smile he had thought of so often lighted her face. "I wonder if I'm dead and in heaven," she faltered. "It was a bad knock I got when the fighting started.''
He was already in front of her. At the sight of his face, she exclaimed:—
"Ay Maria! You're hurt!"
"It's nothing. It's you—"
But before he could finish, she drew a kerchief from her belt pouch. "Sit down, senor, and I'll bind up your head."
"Rubbish! It's you who need tending. I want to know—"
"Sit down, querido. How can we talk, and you blinking from that cut?"
Straddling a bench, Pedro obeyed. Suddenly he felt as if they had never been separated. It was so familiar, the touch of her fingers. He caught one of her hands and kissed it. Then, when the bandage was finished, he sprang up and took her in his arms.
"Sweetheart!"
Her head sank on his shoulder. "It's been so long, seiior."
"Long? An eternity! But I've a lot to settle with you, muchacha. Why did you come back to Spain after leaving me?"
"Because of you."
"Well, in that case, por Dios, why did you hide?"
"Because of you."
"Hell! Can't you explain, dammit!"
Catana looked past him. "Yes, senor—but who is this gentleman?"
Pedro had forgotten Davila, whom he now beckoned to and introduced. The young man bowed, his eyes curious. The words "Seiiora Perez, a member of the company," did not explain either his master's excitement or this tall, sunburned girl in boy's clothes.
"What's happened to Juan and Sancho?" Catana asked anxiously.
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Pedro replied with a jerk of his head toward the courtyard.
The uproar was subsiding. A last flurry of panic-stricken hoofbeatj: dashed out through the archway, pursued by a bellow of jeers and maledictions. Then a moment later a deep voice sounded beyond the threshold.
"Ah, the cockroaches! We scotched all but three of them. By God, Sancho, the rascals got their bellyful at the Rosario! But, man, it was a close call! If it hadn't been for those cavaliers—"
And the bulk of Juan Garcia filled the doorway. His big face was beet-red. His touseled black hair stood upright. He carried a bloodstained ax in one hand and a sword in the other. But at the sight of Pedro, both sword and ax thumped to the floor. He stood speechless a moment, then, stretching out his arms, he roared, "Ho, by the saints! Who else could it have been! Now, by glory!" and came on like an avalanche.
He folded Pedro in an embrace that bent the cuirass. He kissed him on both cheeks, and ended by rubbing his hair back and forth with the palm of one hand.
"By glory!"
"Hey!" protested Pedro. "Misericordia!"
"I knew it was you," Garcia announced. "That is, I'd have known it if I'd had time to think—even with your vizor down. Lord! I'll never forget that yell when you came in! . . . How did you happen to turn up tonight? Ha, comrade! Comrade!"
He had reached the pommeling stage, regardless of his bare knuckles on the steel of Pedro's harness.
"Hold, for God's love!" laughed de Vargas. "It's lucky I'm in armor. But how is it with you and Sancho—after the fire, I mean?"
"Still alive, boy. Still alive, as you see, thanks to you. It was a near thing, though."
He broke off to throw an arm around Catana. "I thought you were sped, lass, when that dog felled you with his knife hilt." And exploring with one finger, he added, "You've a bump on your head like an egg." His glance rested on de Silva's body across the room. "But I see that the whole reckoning's paid. . . . Comrade," he went on apologetically, "we were taken by surprise. We did not put up a fight worthy of the company."
"It seems to me you did well enough," remarked Pedro, eying the wreckage of the room. "Exactly what happened?"
Between Garcia, Catana, and Lopez, the story was told: the sudden clatter outside, the inrush of armed men. Taken unawares and without
weapons except their knives, the chosen victims had been overpowered after a brief but sharp resistance. ("The girl and I got two of the rats anyhow," put in Garcia, extenuating the defeat.) There had been only a few guests that evening. Terror-stricken, these, together with the servants, had been herded down into the cellar.
"Then it went as Your Excellency saw," added Lopez. "Ay de mi, I'm a ruined man. My furniture! My crockery! And who'll ever stop at the Rosario after this? A sad name, it will have."
De Vargas laid a hand on his shoulder. "Take heart, Sancho. I'll foot the expense, with five hundred pesos to boot. After your service to me, I could do no less. As to the name, my friend, it hadn't so much to lose that it can't recover. Fetch up your guests from the cellar, fill their bellies free of charge; and they'll spread your praise through Andalusia."
"But now," demanded Garcia, "I want to know how you came to be here tonight. I ask it again. And I want to know how it feels to be a Don and an Excellency and a Commander of Santiago, by God."
"I want to know more than that," de Vargas answered. "I want to know whether Catana's your wife."
The grin vanished from Garcia's mouth. He frowned. "What do you think?"
Catana smiled, and Pedro needed no other assurance.
"I think you're a fool, Juan, to have missed a chance you'll never have again."
"A fat chance!" rumbled the other.
"But I want to know still more," continued Pedro, his eyes on Catana. "And it's going to cost someone a whacking if she can't satisfy me. . . . Sancho, light candles in the back room. I've a word to say to this wench. And let no one interrupt if they hear sounds of grief."
"That's the talk!" approved Garcia.
When he had closed the door of the room, Pedro stood looking at Catana, trying to realize that it wasn't a dream.
Then he burst out, "Well, Mistress, have you nothing to say?" But belying the roughness of his voice, he caught her to him and held her a long while, until her hair was ruffled and her face red.
She looked down before the blaze in his eyes. "I wish I was wearing the beautiful dress I bought in Seville, not these things." He smothered her voice again. ''Amado mio!"
"But can't you explain?"
"You don't give me a chance."
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He sat down and drew her upon his knees. "Now." "Well, senor, you ought to know. I couldn't stay behind when you left New Spain. I had to be where I could see you sometimes. I couldn't live else. And I thought just seeing you wouldn't hurt, if you didn't know I was here. Juan and I heard of a trading ship when we were in the southeast country. We reached Jaen before you. I saw you ride into town."
"You did! But, Catana, the New World? You said you wanted to stay. You refused to marry me. I don't understand." She half-smiled. ''Don't you understand, querido?'' "Yes, I was a fool not to make you marry me at Goyoacan." "No, sehor, you'd have done wrong if you had, and I was right to refuse. But, listen. I heard your talk here that day with Sancho Lopez. Until then I intended that you should never know I was in Spain. But your tone of voice—ah, senor, it told me more even than the words. I could hear that you weren't happy. Then I decided that after your marriage, when you sailed for Italy, I should be on that ship. We would make the campaign together."
She stopped. "Who told you I was here? How did you find out?" "You told me." He paused to kiss the surprised droop of her mouth. "I'm probably the world's poorest schoolmaster, and you're the densest pupil. At least there's no worse writer. All I had to do was compare your letters to me. I was dense myself not to have thought of it before." She flushed a little. "And I so proud, believing it was well-written." "Well-written enough to save my life. Except for you, Gatana mia, it's odds I'd have given work to the headsman in Valladolid."
"Then who cares if I'm not learned!" She put both arms around his neck. "Sehor, you'd better give me that beating you promised. I'll be crying anyway in half a minute for happiness."
They were too absorbed to notice that the latc
h rose cautiously, and an exploring eye peered in. Then Garcia flung open the door with eclat. "Now, that's the way it should be!" he proclaimed. "And it shouldn't ever have been any other way."
Pedro stood up with one arm still around Gatana and embraced Garcia with the other. "I cry quarter. But be noble, Juan. Don't crow over me. You were right and I was wrong, and so to the devil with bygones!"
"It's easy said," the other grumbled. "Here we are, like fish out of water, when we ought to be taking up land in New Spain. And you've got to marry the Lady Luisa, now that you've gone this far. With lodgings for Gatana on the side. None of this would have happened
except for your stubbornness. She'd be your lawful wife instead of a kept woman, and we'd all be grandees in Mexico."
"I don't care," said Catana, fist on hip.
"No, you wouldn't," Garcia returned. "You haven't sense enough. But what about me? The gold we put by in Coatl's country won't last forever. What'll I do?"
"Plenty," Pedro nodded. Garcia's words recalled him from the happy present to the still happier future. "We all have plenty to do, and fast. Maybe you don't know that I've been appointed by His Majesty to take the imperial rescript to Cortes."
"Aye. So we'll ride for Seville as soon as the men I left at Linares have caught up. Then I must go back to Valladolid to receive His Majesty's letters and collect my Indians. I could never face Coatl without them."
"But that means—" The incredible news filtered slowly through Garcia's dazed mind. ''Does it mean you're sailing for New Spain, comrade?''
"I hadn't supposed the General was any place else."
"But then—then—" Garcia drew a deep breath and let it out in a roar. He lifted both fists above his head and brought them down on the table. "Then—New Spain! Holy saints! The three of us! Carrying the great news! The comrades! The General! I can't—I can't take it in! Blast me, I—"
He stopped short and his face fell. "But the Lady Luisa? You're betrothed. It's as good as married. What'll you do—"
"That reminds me." Pedro turned to Catana. "Where's the dress you bought in Seville?"
She pointed to a chest in the corner. "There."
"Well then, strip off those things and get into it."
"But why, querido? It's late—"
"Because I want you to. Mistress. That's reason enough."
"Well, of course—"
Pedro and Garcia turned their backs. There was a hurried sound of undressing, a thump of shoes taken off.
"But I'll give you another reason," Pedro went on. "It's that no priest will marry you in breeches."
"Priest!"
"Yes, priest. There's one in the village down the road. We'll pull him out of bed by the big toes if necessar)'."
"Priest!" Catana gasped. "Why?"
"Because you know very well I vowed not to sleep with you again until we married; and if I don't sleep with you tonight, I renounce salvation."
"Seiior, you can't break your pledge to the Lady Luisa! You'd be dishonored. I didn't mean to interfere—. No, senor, God forbid! I can't let—"
"Chiton!" Out of patience, Pedro turned on her. Unfortunately she had got no farther in her change of clothes than a shift much too short for protection.
"Please!" breathed Catana, fumbling in the chest for her petticoat.
"Please!" he fumed, unbuckling his belt. "I'll give you something to say please about, Mistress. You're taking it on yourself again to tell me what to do and what not to do. I'm going to settle this once and for all. If I have to turn you under my arm, so be it." And suiting the action to the words, he grasped Catana in the position indicated.
"Sefior, I didn't mean—Ho! Alas! It isn't proper—ouch!—before Juan. Ay de mi! I'll do anything . . . you want ... if you'll only let me . . . San-ta Ma-ria! . . . put on my petticoat."
"Well, then, remember." He released her and turned his back again.
"That," observed Garcia, "is what you ought to have done a year ago.
Pedro agreed. "Yes, and I'll know better for the future. Juan, see that the horses are ready."
"All I meant to say," Catana ventured in a small voice after Garcia had left, "was that I love you so and that a great marriage—Nay, I didn't mean it."
He had turned again, but this time he found her in yellow damask that set ofT the blackness of her hair and eyes.
He stood gazing a moment.
"Reina mia! You're beautiful!" He strode to her; then, dropping to his knee, he pressed her hand to his lips and laid his cheek against it. "God! How I love you! I wish there was some other word."
She pushed his hair back from his forehead. "You mustn't kneel, my lord. Please. . . . But you can help me fasten the back of this dress. . . . You really like it?"
He fumbled awkwardly with the buttons. Then, noticing a movement of Her hands, he frowned. "Did I beat you so hard?"
"No." She turned her head to kiss him. "It was nothing. . . . To think of me! Married to you! Sefiora de Vargas! . . . Are we sleeping here tonight?"
"I should say not. A bug-ridden sleep we'd have of it. No, dulce miaj we're sleeping at my father the Alcalde's."
She swung around, her face pale.
"My dear lord, not that! I wouldn't dare! I'd die of shame! Please, don't make me—"
"I certainly shall. You're riding with me on Campeador. As for shame, don't speak that word again. You and I are sleeping at my father's house. It's where my wife belongs."
LXXXVH
A FLUSTERED COUNTRY PRIEST, tom between fear of the Bishop, whose ofHce he was usurping, and fear of Garcia's big fists, married Pedro and Catana in the parsonage of the near-by hamlet. Garcia acted as best man; Sancho Lopez gave away the bride; and Cipriano Davila served as an additional witness.
When it came to the ring, Pedro slipped off the heavy signet ring from his thumb and dropped it loose over Catana's finger.
"Never you mind," he whispered. "I'll have it made tight for you."
"But it's your coat of arms."
"Your coat of arms too. Dona Catana mia,"
He could see her lips repeat the new title, dona. Then she smiled faintly and shook her head.
"Do you take this woman?"
Pedro intended no irreverence, but the priest started at the loudness of his answer.
And after the final blessing, when they kissed each other, it was as if they had never kissed before.
"My dear lord!" she whispered. "My dear, dear lord!"
"How now!" roared Garcia at last. "Are you going to stand there forever? Aren't the rest of us to have a chance, by the mass?"
Congratulation of Pedro and the kissing of the bride began. Everybody made the most of the opportunity and kissed her until her lips burned.
''Jesus Maria!" she laughed. "Pohre de mi! I'm so scratched by the beards of you homhres that my mouth feels as if it stretched from ear to ear. Sangre de Dios — "
She caught herself and shot a troubled glance at Pedro.
He pinched her ear. "You'll never stop cursing, sweetheart. It's the brand of the company."
The priest brought wine, and healths were drunk. Sancho Lopez
presented a tankard. "If Doiia Catana will do me the honor," he bowed.
''Dona Catana? Didn't you bring me up, Sancho? What's become of Long-Legs?"
The innkeeper shook his bullet head and grinned, but he answered, "That's a long time ago, your ladyship."
His heartiness held a new note of respect. Except that she took it as a tribute to Pedro, Catana wasn't sure that she liked it.
"Well, to me," put in Garcia, "you're still Catana Perez of the army, the lass who cooked my meat and washed my shirts and held my head on her knees when I was in the bilboes. With all respect to His Excellency here"—he rapped Pedro on the chest—"that seems more of a title to me than any damned dona. . . . But what's the lay now, comrades?" he went on seriously. "I take it Jaen will be too cold or too hot after this to hold you. We start for Seville when?"
Pedro grinned. "SeemxS to
be in the stars that whenever you and I leave Jaen, we leave it in flight. You and Cipriano will meet Catana and me a league out of town on the Cordoba road at sunup day after tomorrow."
"Hey?" returned Garcia. "Meet you and Catana? Aren't you staying at the tavern?"
De Vargas tried to sound casual. "No. Do you think I'd steal off without the blessing of my parents, without presenting my wife? C as pit a!'"
Garcia shook his head. "I suppose not. But if I know your honored father, the Alcalde, it's not too sure we'll meet on the Cordoba road dav after tomorrow."
"Pooh!"
"Pooh, nothing. Suppose he doesn't approve of"—Garcia coughed —"the change of plans? You might end in the clink, my boy. He has the power." The big man added significantly, "Why not leave Catana with me, at least until—"
"No! From now on, Juan, I'm not leaving her with you. We're going to take what comes together. How about it, querida?"
She laid her cheek against his shoulder.
In the upward spiral of his happiness, it seemed to Pedro that their ride through the warm night was much too short, though they rode at a walk. Catana's arms were around him, her thumbs hooked in his belt; her hair brushed his neck. Even the uncertainty as to what reception he would be given at home could not overcloud these radiant facts. He realized that to present Catana as his wife, in view of the betrothal to Luisa, demanded more consideration from his parents than
had his confessions six weeks ago. He was proposing to leave them in a pickle of embarrassmentj while avoiding it himself. But the present was too absorbing for him to be concerned even by the immediate future.
"Please don't trot," Catana had said after a hundred yards from the parsonage.
"Why not? You won't fall off. It'll make you hold me tighter."
"I'll do that anyway, but please don't trot. Alas!"
He pulled up. "What's wrong?"
She hesitated. "You ought to know."
He laughed and, detaching her hand from his belt, he bent low enough to kiss the palm, then continued to hold it, interlacing his fingers with hers.
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