In a few minutes I should see Monica, perhaps be as near to her as at the _fonda_ of the Escurial. That was the thought most absorbing; yet my spirit was on its knees before this ancient throne of kings.

I could hardly believe that the sullen yellow stream pounding its way through the gorge, and shouldering aside huge rocks as if they were pebbles, was really the Tagus, enchanted river of my childish dreams-the river my father loved-the golden river I had scarcely dared hope to see.

Not a legend of the Tagus or Toledo that I did not know, I reminded myself dreamily. I knew how, in the grand old days of the city's glory, the Jews of Jerusalem had respectfully sent a deputation to the wise Jews of Toledo, asking: "Shall this man who says He is the Son of G.o.d be given up to the Roman law, and die?" And how the Jews of Toledo had hastened to return for answer: "By no means commit this great crime, because we believe from the evidence that He is indeed the long looked-for Redeemer."

How the caravan had made all speed back, arriving too late; and how, because of their wisdom and piety, the Jews of Toledo had been spared by the Inquisition when all others burned.

I knew how, in a time of disaster and poverty for Toledo, San Alonzo, a poor man, prayed heartily to the Virgin, in whose lifetime the cathedral had been begun, imploring her help for the town; how she came at his call, and looking about to see what she could do, touched the rock, which throbbed under her fingers like a heart, until all its veins flowed with molten iron; how this iron was drunk by the Tagus in such draughts that the water became the colour of old gold; and how after that, the city grew rich and famous through the marvellous quality of its steel, which, the faithful believe, owes its value to the iron-impregnated Tagus.

I knew how the King of the Visigoths had here become a Christian, and made of Toledo the ecclesiastical capital of Spain. I knew how the Cid had ridden to the city on Babieca, beside treacherous Alonzo. I knew how Philip the Second had been driven away by the haughtiness of the clergy, pretending greater love for Madrid, that town built to humour a king's caprice. I knew how, even as in the mountains round Granada, in every cave among the rocks of the wild gorge, sleeps an enchanted Moor in armour, on an enchanted steed, guarding hidden treasure, or waiting for the magic word which will set him free to fight for his banished rulers. And yet, here was I entering this ancient citadel mighty in history and fable, in an automobile, with a photographic camera!

"But you are a banished prince yourself," said Pilar, when I spoke something of what was in my mind. "And you've come out of your enchanted cave at the magic word. That magic word is-Love."

XXI

THE d.u.c.h.eSS'S HAND

High on the hill Colonel O'Donnel pointed out the Alcazar of many vicissitudes, long since turned into a military academy, which has made Toledo to Spain what Woolwich is to England. "There your father and I went to school," said he. "I come every year or two, and wander about with my thoughts."

With this, he began bowing right and left to young officers who sauntered inside the gateway. Nearly everyone knew and seemed delighted to see him; indeed, who could see the excellent Cherub, and not be glad?

He himself was happy. "There go your father and I!" he exclaimed, picking out the two best-looking infants in a procession of incredibly small boys proudly wearing a smart uniform. "Oh, where are the girls who used to smile at us?"

So we drove into the Moorish-looking stronghold, through a labyrinth of steeply ascending tunnels which were streets. They were so narrow that I would not have believed the car could sc.r.a.pe along without smashing the mud-guards, had not the Cherub valiantly urged us on, with a.s.surances that it could be done. And always we did slide through, the sides of the Gloria so close to open doors and windows that we could have reached into dark rooms, and helped ourselves to loaves of bread, bra.s.s cooking vessels, coa.r.s.e green pottery, jars of flowers, or astonished babies.

There was no s.p.a.ce for dwellers in these shadowed lanes to rush from their houses before our car, when warned by the "choof, choof" of the motor as we rattled over the "agony stones," that something extraordinary was coming; but mothers shrieked for their offspring, while young girls hailed their friends to the free show; and men, women, and children jostled each other good-naturedly in every window and door as we approached, pouring out in our wake, though seemingly half afraid even then that the dragon might take to charging back upon them.

Beautiful faces peered from behind rusty bars, with eyes to tempt any man to "eat iron," as the saying is. Dark men with sun-warmed eyes, and black heads wrapped in handkerchiefs of scarlet silk, stared curiously at Pilar's veil; and when we emerged from the stone-and-plaster labyrinth, into a wider s.p.a.ce where the hotel stands like an ancient palace, we were swamped by the laughing crowd which had formed into a trotting procession behind us.

Just as the marble whiteness of the _patio_ cooled our eyes, down the stairs came those with whom my thoughts had raced ahead; the d.u.c.h.ess of Carmona; Monica and her mother; behind them the Duke.

Monica grew rose-red at sight of us. Her elders, not in the Duke's confidence concerning the Gloria's disabilities, appeared as little surprised as pleased; but Carmona's various and visible emotions included extreme astonishment. I looked at him, my cap off for the ladies, smiling and nonchalant as if nothing had happened since our last meeting; and despite the self-control inherited from Oriental ancestors, for an instant he tried in vain to hide mingled rage and bewilderment. Possibly he might have fancied that we had come by train, had not Ropes been starting the car at that moment, _en route_ for some resting-place masquerading as a garage; and the "choof, choof" of my Gloria came in through the open doors like a defiant laugh.

Then he must have wondered how, by all that was demoniac, we had contrived to track him to Toledo!

"This is quite a surprise, Senor Duque!" said I, as we met in the _patio_ at the foot of the stairs.

"Ye-es," he answered, tugging at his moustache, and wishing us and our car on some uninhabited planet.

"And a great pleasure!"

"Um-er-of course," he mumbled; and I dared not meet Monica's laughing eyes, lest our lips should laugh as well.

They went to lunch; but we were not many moments behind, and Pilar, murmuring in my ear, "Cats may look at a king, whether the king likes or not," gaily selected a table next to the others. She then kept up a stream of talk with Monica, exchanging impressions of Madrid. "Didn't you love the shops?" she asked. "And shall you buy Toledo things to-day; scarf-pins and hatpins and paper-knives; or did you buy too many yesterday?"

"I think I bought _just enough_," said Monica, with a quick smile. "But I shall get more here. We're going to a metal work-shop, after the cathedral."

But this was sheer audacity, and was punished as I feared it would be.

Not wishing to pursue with too conspicuous violence, lest we defeat our object, we let Carmona's party leave the dining-room before us. A quarter of an hour later we followed, going out into the strange grey streets, haunted by men and women who have made history. d.i.c.k (armed with a book by Leonard Williams, greatest of authorities on Spain) was allowed to walk beside Pilar, while that most unsuspecting and kindly of chaperons, the Cherub, bestowed his society on me. But, according to his habit, he was often silent, giving me time to dream of Toledo's past.

Picturesque enough were the figures of to-day in the old grey capital of the Visigoths, yet they were not as real for me as other figures which only my mind's eye could see.

Here was the long, flat facade of the building legend had chosen as the palace of Wamba the Benefactor-the Farmer King. I saw the old man waking to life in the dungeon where the treachery of one loved and trusted had thrown him, dressed in the monkish garb which never again could be changed for robes of state. I saw a haggard company of Jews marching into "Tarshish," scarred and bleeding from the persecutions of Nebuchadnezzar who had flung them from Jerusalem. I saw Moorish men fighting to take Toledo-the "Lookout," "the Light of the World," and fighting again to save it for themselves.

There, in the towering Alcazar, had Rodrigo betrayed his beautiful queen, Egilona, for the still more beautiful Florinda, daughter of Julian, Espatorios of Spain; at least, so legend said, mingling the romantic music of its ballads inextricably with the deep organ notes of history. Below, on the cliff above the Tagus, in the Tower of Hercules, had Rodrigo taken the painted linen cloths from the enchanted casket, and seen the awful vision of the Moorish horde with his own figure fleeing before them, one day when he forgot the prophecy which warned all kings of Spain against entering that mysterious, locked door.

Up this narrow street in the town, behind that barred window with its curious cannon-ball decorations, perhaps the incomparable Dona Flor of Dumas' "Bandit" had smiled and pierced the heart of the "Courier of Love"

with her beauty.

It was like awaking from a brilliant dream when the Cherub stopped abruptly, to point up at the vast, incongruous bulk of the cathedral towering over us. But there was nothing incongruous in the rich, Gothic splendour within; and my sole shock of disappointment came when I gave up hope of finding Monica.

They had punished her by changing their plan of campaign, and I must seek her elsewhere. But I could not wrench my friends from this great monument of Spanish glory, merely because I cared more to look on Monica Vale's face than the face of any saint, carved or painted by a master's hand.

I stayed, therefore, finding such consolation as I could in the jewelled gleam of rare old gla.s.s, the magnificence of bronze doors; tombs of kings and heroes; and all the wonders of gold, silver, pearls, and diamonds which, stored in the sacristy, do honour to the famous Black Virgin, the cathedral's Queen.

Coming out again into the town was like stepping with a single stride back from Europe into Africa; for nowhere can Moslem and Christian civilizations be more closely tangled than in Toledo. Moorish streets were like scimitar strokes cleft deep in the city; narrow chasms lined with secretive houses, giving here and there a glimpse of some bright, flowery _patio_, through half-open doors studded with iron bosses, and heavy enough to resist a siege; yet above the tiled roofs soared Christian spires in the translucent blue.

No one cared for us now that we were no longer G.o.ds in a car, except an occasional beggar, to whom the Cherub would murmur, "G.o.d will aid you, sister!" "Pardon me, brother!" and then, changing his mind, drop a penny into a withered old hand, or a pink, childish palm.

"They'll leave the shopping to the last, because Lady Monica told us it was to be done first," said Pilar sagely; so we wandered through the shabby aisles of Rag Fair, Pilar hoping against hope to unearth a treasure; because, did not a man once pick up, for a song, a Greco worth a fortune, and did not one always find something at least amusing in the Rag Fair of Madrid? Thence we went on to the Moorish mosque, which the Visigoths began, and so to San Juan de los Reyes, which, Pilar said, I must like better than anything else in Toledo, because she did. With an air of possession she explained the votive chains of captive Christians darkly festooning the outer walls, and I did not tell her I had heard the story long ago. She shuddered as she pointed to the crucifix which used to go with the procession of the _auto-da-fe_. "Only think how different times are now!" said she. "When Philip the Second was going to be married to his bride, not fourteen, a great show in honour of the marriage was a burning of heretics, here in the Zoco-the market-place of Toledo! I shouldn't have cared much to see a royal wedding then. I don't even like to look at that crucifix, it gives me such thoughts. But see, aren't those carved stone galleries where Ferdinand and Isabel used to hear ma.s.s, like two great chased silver goblets? I hope the king and queen never sat there watching the poor wretches bound before marching off to the Zoco to die; but I'm sure Isabel wouldn't: she was so sweet, she must often have wished she hadn't made that awful promise to Torquemada."

"You're Catholic, yet you say that!" I exclaimed, as we stood looking at the gorgeous shields of Los Reyes Catolicos. d.i.c.k was near, listening with concealed eagerness for the girl's answer,-and no wonder, since he was Protestant, and not the man to be a turncoat, even for his love.

"Oh yes, I'm Catholic," said she. "But,"-half whispering,-"Spaniards, even the most ardent Catholics, didn't really love the Inquisition. It was thrust on them; and-I suppose in those brutal old days it was a horrible excitement to see the burnings. It's natural to us Latins to have excitement; and after years of such dreadful ones as we had in those times, do you wonder the people clamour for bull-fights?"

"Then you don't think we Protestants deserve burning?" asked d.i.c.k, staring at the crucifix.

"How can you ask such a question?"

"But you-couldn't make a real _friend_ of one, I suppose, or-er-let yourself care about one much?"

"I should try and convert him-or her."

"Supposing you couldn't?"

"Then, I'd have to like him-or her-in spite of all. And he-or she-would have to leave my religion alone. But I'm tired of solemn things; and brother Cristobal's dying to buy metal-work."

I don't think that d.i.c.k knew whether he had been encouraged or not. And he must have remembered that the Conde de Roldan is the best and most eligible of Catholics. Poor d.i.c.k! Perhaps he was beginning to realize how much easier it is to advise another man to be sensible than to be sensible yourself.

Pilar had been right in her surmises as to the workings of Carmona's mind.

When we came to the showroom of the Fabrica de Espadas, where the dusk was shot with a thousand gleams and glitters of strange weapons, there were those we had sought in vain till now. The d.u.c.h.ess, yellow with fatigue, was resting her stout person on a bench in the long, low room, Lady Vale-Avon beside her, looking tired and bored. But Carmona was at the gla.s.s-covered counter, begging Monica's advice in the selection of his purchases.

His back was towards us as we entered, and, unnoticed by him, we saw him hold up to the light a small sharp dagger, with a handle beautifully ornamented. He was indicating with his finger, for Monica's benefit, the delicate tracery upon gold, when, warned by lack of attention and wandering glances on the part of his companion, he turned in our direction. Then, hastily laying down the dagger, he pushed it away as though resenting the intrusion of our eyes.