Читать книгу A Knight of Spain - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 4

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Three young men were walking through one of the quietest streets of Alcalà.

Their rich appointments and courteous demeanour marked them as belonging to the noble youths who studied at the University of Alcalà, which was as learned as Salamanca, and more fashionable, and gave a great air of dignity to the little town on the Henares, which, now in the height of its fame, consisted of streets of palaces, convents and colleges huddled together in massive splendour behind the old walls.

It was midsummer, the air was tremulous with heat, and low, purple black clouds rolled up from the plains towards Madrid; beneath them shot the last rays of the fierce sun that ended in a glow of dun light on the white walls and coloured shutters of the silent houses of the silent street through which the three youths were walking in leisurely fashion, two of them with their arms interlinked and talking together, the third a little in advance with his eyes on the ground and his arms folded on his chest.

At the corner of the street stood a handsome palace surrounded by a courtyard in which grew laurels and ilex. Before this the three stopped and gazed through the light yet strong iron railing that divided them from the mansion. A strange glowing light fell on the house that fully faced the west, and the domes and towers rose golden white against the deepening purple of the thundrous sky.

A little hot breeze, the forerunner of a storm, stirred the stiff boughs of the laurel and slightly shook the crimson drapery of an open upper window.

It was towards this window that the three young men looked, for it belonged to the apartment of the lady, Doña Aña Santofimia y Munatones, who was decided to be the most beautiful in Alcalà, and who was the object of the interest of every youth in the University, though none of them had ever spoken to her or seen her nearer than across the space of her father's courtyard.

Before her window was a balcony on which stood three pots of pink roses, now in full bloom, and a bowl of growing basil that cast its feathery shadow over the white wall.

More from habit than earnest feeling the three students lingered to catch a glimpse of the beauty.

Presently she appeared, lifting the crimson curtain, and holding a pair of gilt scissors, on which the strong light gleamed.

She wore a white skirt and a violet jacket fastened with green buttons; over her head was a muslin shawl with a silver fringe.

She came out on to the balcony and cut the withered leaves from the rose bushes, scattering them on the hot air, where they fluttered a second and sank.

Once she looked towards the gate where the three stood, but her face was expressionless. The sun was rapidly being absorbed by the oncoming storm; a low roll of thunder sounded and the dark clouds closed menacingly over the city.

The youth, who kept slightly away from the other two and who appeared to be the eldest, glanced at the sky and then turned away.

The others were about to follow him when they observed the lady to gather one of the pink roses, press it to her lips and hold it out towards them. They stood absolutely motionless and the third came back to his place and stared.

Doña Aña lifted the shawl from her face and hair and let it drop on to her shoulders; they saw the warm tinted dark oval of her face, the cloudy braids of her black hair and the two strings of coral beads round her throat.

First looking carefully to right and left she held up her ten fingers outstretched, then pointed to the gate and vanished, leaving the pink rose and the scissors on the balcony where they had fallen when she opened her hands. The three youths looked at each other with a quick jealousy, for each was utterly at a loss to know for whom the message could have been meant.

A thread of lightning broke the purple gloom and the rain began to fall in heavy drops.

"Come to my lodging," said the eldest youth, "the storm will have broken before you can reach yours."

The others assented, and the three walked rapidly through another more crowded street to a sumptuous house near the walls which they entered as the rain was splashing down in straight slashing spears of silver.

Clapping his hands to summon his servants the young host ordered supper, then followed his friends into a chamber decorated in the Moorish style in black and crimson.

As he closed the door behind him the three laughed together in the joy of youth engaged with an exciting adventure.

They were all remarkable in their persons, and, despite the great difference in their appearance, there was the likeness in all three to a common type.

The eldest was not yet twenty but tall and fully grown, beautifully proportioned and of an appearance of great vigour and energy.

His dark, thin countenance was unusually handsome, he had the olive skin, the waving black hair, the aquiline features, the large eyes and full lips of the extreme south, he was indeed half Italian, but Spanish blood and Spanish training had given him a sombre dignity and a weighty courtesy that did not belong to his father's people.

The regularity of his face was marred though not unpleasingly by the slight projection of his lower jaw, a peculiarity shared by his two companions, indeed it was this similarity that gave all three, different as they were, an air of resemblance.

This youth was dressed richly, though, for his age, rather heavily in black velvet, the short doublet fastened with tags of violet silk and crimson hose; his short black silk mantel was lined with scarlet and a short sword in a beautiful gilt scabbard hung at his side.

The other two were much of the same age and a year younger; in appearance, manner and bearing they were totally dissimilar.

One was slim, well made, graceful and alert, perfectly proportioned and robust; his countenance was singularly charming; his face was a long oval, his eyes grey, his hair tawny, his complexion a burnt rose tint, and over hair, face and neck a ruddy tint, warm as gold. His expression was joyous and proud, and a thousand possibilities lurked in the youthful fire of his glance.

His orange and ruby coloured garments were worn with a reckless air, and yet with a self conscious joy in the richness of them and the worldly grandeur of which they were the symbol.

The other was below the common height, slightly hunched in one shoulder, frail, sickly and thin; his pallid face was commonplace in feature, save for the projecting jaw that was more marked in him than in either of the others, and commonplace in expression save for an expression of unhappy bitterness in his pale roving eyes.

His plain black clothes were worn and neglected, but he wore under his limp and soiled ruff a gold chain strung with diamonds and rubies of extraordinary beauty. It was notable that he clung with a peevish and exacting affection to the fair youth and paid little regard to the other, that he had an intolerant and arrogant manner, and that his companions treated him with some ceremony.

He appeared now to be in a state of excitement, and rushing to the window he flung it open on to the blackness of the storm that was sweeping over Alcalà.

"Don Alessandro," he said imperiously, "what did Doña Aña mean?" His voice was shrill and disagreeable, and as he spoke his limbs twitched uncontrollably.

The dark young man answered in a soft even voice.

"She meant that one of us was to come to her gate to-night at ten," he said. "Surely that, Don Carlos."

"But which one?" was the irritable question.

Don Alessandro slightly raised his shoulders.

"How can one tell the choice of a woman?" he said.

A roll of thunder echoed in the hot air, and Don Carlos shrank back against the casement and snarled up at the sky.

The third youth, who had not spoken yet, now came forward.

"Shall we draw lots?" he suggested in a sweet voice. "Or can one prove a better claim than the others?"

"She is unknown to all of us, Don Juan," returned Don Alessandro, "and we have all sent her letters—"

"What cavalier in Alcalà has not?" said Don Juan lightly. "It is the fashion to be in love with Doña Aña."

A flash of lightning darted into the room and Don Carlos sprang from the window with a squeal like a frightened animal, in the following clap of thunder he put his hands to his ears, every nerve in his body ajar, and screamed aloud.

The other two looked away from him and from each other; he wiped the sweat from his narrow forehead and glanced furtively at them.

"Well, draw lots," he gasped, clutching his handkerchief convulsively in his long hands.

Don Juan put his black velvet cap on the table.

"No dice!" cried Don Carlos; he nervously stripped three rings from his fingers, two of plain chased gold and the third a square emerald, "that," he pointed to the jewel, "is Doña Aña—" he grinned cunningly at the others, tossed the three rings into the cap and shook them together. "Put in your hands," he commanded shrilly, "and see who gets the damsel!"

The other two exchanged a glance; Don Alessandro raised his brows and Don Juan smiled with his eyes: thunder and lightning again sent Don Carlos quivering and snarling into a chair; when it was over he was dead-coloured as ashes, and a slight froth stained his distorted lips.

"I have the first draw!" he cried, staggering to his feet and plunging his hand into the cap.

With a silly laugh he drew out the emerald.

"I have her!" he ejaculated, "I have won!"

A flush rose to Don Juan's dusky cheek: he turned away and looked out of the window over Alcalà which now lay wet beneath the rain now coming down with silver lightness, but Don Alessandro said suavely—

"Certainly, your highness has her."

Don Carlos looked at him with an ugly expression of suspicion and malice.

"No! you think I cheated," he said. "You always play the judge, my cousin. Don Juan, we will go home."

He spoke with his wonted insolence, for the last clap of thunder had been faint; it was plain that the little storm had either spent itself or was the mere messenger of one to come.

In any case it was over for the moment, and Don Carlos regained his courage; he thrust the rings on his fingers and caught hold of Don Juan's arm. "We will go," he announced.

"Will you not stay to supper?" asked the young host with formal courtesy.

"No!" returned Don Carlos ungraciously.

Juan laughed; there was no change in Alessandro's dark face.

"Farewell, my cousin," he said.

Carlos deigned no answer, he stamped his foot and dragged Juan away. When they reached the street they found it was still raining, though the black clouds were dividing over the purple flare of the sunset, and the domes and towers of Alcalà gleamed wet and golden in the last rays of the sun.

The two youths directed their steps towards their lodgings, which were in the archiepiscopal palace built by Cardinal Ximenes, now a captive at Valladolid.

Carlos clung tightly to his friend's arm, walking with feverish impatience and shivering in the rain. Juan, who treated him with tolerant good humour, sung a little song popular among the cavaliers at the University and took no heed of his muttered complaints.

When they gained the palace Carlos looked keenly up at the porter's lodge, which they had to pass as they entered the courtyard. In the sombre shade of the low doorway a young girl sat sorting yanks of new yarn and gazing out at the feeble rain.

Her face, her bare throat and arms glowed in the dusk, and the orange handkerchief she wore round her head fastened with gold pins had the bright quality of a jewel.

As the two young men passed she dropped her brown hands on to her black skirt and stared at them.

"It is the porter's daughter," whispered Carlos.

A dull red had come into his face and he shivered.

Juan gave her an indifferent glance; she rose and made a grave and humble reverence.

Her eyes followed them as they passed across the courtyard; as they entered the palace she put her hands to her full bosom and laughed silently, showing her strong white teeth.

"She is a beautiful woman," muttered Don Carlos.

"Who—Doña Aña?"

"No, the porter's daughter."

They stood together in the shadows of the great hall, Carlos still holding Juan's arm.

"I play the guitar beneath her window sometimes," he muttered, "and she promised to meet me in the garden to-night."

Don Juan's muscles became slightly taut, he was silent; the twilight hid his face. For a space Carlos was silent also, then he said half angrily:

"What is Aña Santofimia y Munatones to me?"

Juan stood alert but mute.

"I shall not go to-night," added Carlos fretfully.

"To the garden?" asked Juan cautiously.

"No—to Doña Aña's gate. Maybe there will be another storm. And the porter's daughter is a more beautiful woman, she is plump and red as the Madonna—"

"You won the toss," said Juan in a quiet tone.

"You go for me—tell her that I could not come—"

"She is not expecting you," broke from Don Juan in a fierce whisper—he covered this remark by saying aloud—

"She will be disappointed."

"Yes," assented Carlos, "but I cannot go."

He shook Juan off and went slowly upstairs.

"Jesus!" exclaimed Juan, crossing himself, "the good fortune!"