University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI

But the consternation of the king, when he first emerged from the cavern, had
been sufficiently visible to such of the people as were bold enough to advance beyond
their fellows. The nobles sagaciously beheld nothing and spoke of nothing
that they saw; for they well knew that there is no knowledge more dangerous to
the inferior than that which shows him the weakness of the superior. The weakness
of the tyrant is the scourge of the slave. But in the absence of the nobles there
was no such check upon the sullen Iberians.

“Didst thou behold his eye?” said one. “Looked he not like one who had been
blasted?”

“And his hair!” said another; “how it rose and stiffened upon his head; and
the sweat poured from him like rain!”

“He hath it truly!” said another; “the good Romano warned him how it would
be, but he heeded it not. He hath it now!”

“But that is not all!” exclaimed a fourth; “that is not all, my brethren, that ye
shall see. It is but a warning he hath had of what is to come. Think you when
Holy Church curses, that he who is cursed lives? No! We know not what Roderick
the Goth hath seen, or what he hath heard; but of a surety he hath seen and
heard matter of fear which is to come. Hush!—the lords move slowly, and may
hear us; and for the native to speak in the ears of the Goth is accounted insolence.”

“They do say,” murmured the first speaker, in a subdued voice, “they do say
that the king defied the Cross, and spit upon the holy man Romano. If he
did”—

“Can he live?” demanded another. “Something dreadful will happen.”

“I will not sleep to-night,” said the fourth speaker, “for of a truth great Hercules
will avenge his wrong upon Roderick. I look to see it before the morning dawns.
And, lo! my brethren, behold! Look at that great bird which has just lighted upon
the holy house, as if he had been sent from Heaven as a messenger. Look!”

“I see it! I see it!” was the cry of each; and every eye was turned to the rock,
on the topmost pinnacle of which an eagle had alighted, as he had probably done
for a hundred years and a thousand times before, without attracting the same degree
of attention.

“Let us all watch, my brethren!” said the first speaker, solemnly, “for, of a
truth, something dreadful is to happen. It cannot be that this will pass over. Hercules
will have his dues, and the blessed Romano will be avenged. My blood
boils to think how he hath been scorned by Roderick, and thrust away at his bidding
by his soldiers. Of a truth, had any one of the nobles who stood beside Roderick
when he came from the holy house, but said to me, `Brito, cast a stone at his head,'
I had done it.”

The timorous crowd shrank away from the bold speaker, who was thus unconsciously
embodying the popular mind; and, one by one, they left him to those musings
which they esteemed too dangerous to participate, but which were sweet to
him—doubly sweet—as they were now for the first time entertained. But he was
not left entirely alone. When the crowd had gone, a stranger—wrapped in a close
disguise—approached him from behind a ledge of the rocks which were at hand.
Brito started from his place of rest and watch as he beheld him, and his hand
clutched a sharp knife which he carried in his belt.

“Fear nothing,” said the intruder, seeing his action.

“I do not fear much,” was the reply of Brito; “but thou comest so suddenly
upon me. Who art thou?”

The stranger, without answering his question, replied thus by another question:

“Thou art a serf of the count of Saldano, him that is banished, art thou not?”

“I was!” replied the slave, sullenly; “but he is no master now!”

“He was a noble master once,” said the stranger; “but of this I would not speak
I heard thy words but now, Brito, spoken among thy fellows.”

“Well!” exclaimed the slave, while his hand once more clutched his knife.

“Thou wouldst have hurled a stone at the impious Roderick, had any one bade
thee from among the nobles?” said the stranger.

“Ay, that would I! I said it to my fellows, and I fear not to say it to thee,” replied
the man.

“No, thou need'st not fear to say it to me. Thou speak'st aptly. I, too, would
freely have hurled a stone at the tyrant, and should have asked for no one to bid
me.”

“Wherefore didst thou not?” was the natural reply of the Iberian.

“It was not time!” was the reply of the stranger, uttered in low but firm and
emphatic tones. “When I would hurl the stone, Brito, there will be many more to
do as I do, should my aim or strength fail me. Dost thou heed?”

“I do; but thou confusest me, stranger.”

“Wherefore?”

“I know not; but it is so. I am confused, and many strange thoughts are in my
brain.”

“Let me arrange them for thee, Brito. Thou wouldst have struck the tyrant, had
any one of the nobles commanded thee? Wherefore shouldst thou look to them
for command? Regard thine own limbs. Have they strength in them? What are
thy muscles? Can they not bend and heave, and are they not elastic for all strife
and trial? Look'st thou ever in the water which ran at thy feet, and saw'st thou
ever thine own face, and looked it less like that of a man than Edeco's? Wherefore
look to him for a word of authority, when thou art not less—ay, when thou
art far more—a man than he? What is the difference between you? Hast thou
ever asked, Brito?”

“I have not—I know not, stranger; but some of these thoughts have already
come to me, confusedly,” said Brito.

“I knew they had, or thou hadst not spoken as thou didst. But hearken to me,
and I will show the difference between Brito and Edeco,” said the stranger. “A
feather makes it.”

“A feather!” exclaimed the serf.

“Ay! a feather—a feather, and a robe. Speak to me, and shout, Brito; I would
hear thy voice.”

The Iberian shouted aloud, until the deep valley rang again with the thrilling
sounds.

“Didst thou ever hear the royal espatorio speak?” demanded the stranger.

“I have,” was the reply.

“Had he a voice like thine?”

“Of a truth, he had not,” said Brito.

“What then?” said the stranger. “Thou hast better limbs and sinews—better
lungs for speech, and, since thou hast looked in the brook I need not tell thee that
thou hast a far nobler aspect than Edeco. What is the difference between you?
The feather, Brito, the feather—nothing more.”

“Yes, more,” said Brito.

“What?”

“The king's favor,” said the other.

“A feather too! I marvel what were the value of the king's favor to Edeco,
when the stone hurled from thy hand has taken his master in the forehead! But
little, I tell thee, Brito; but even that little shall be made up to thee if thou wilt go
with me. Thou shalt have the feather and the robes, Brito, and the favor of a
king.”

“I would not have the favor of king Roderick,” responded Brito, quickly and sullenly,
“since he hath banished my master.”

“Thou shalt have the favor of a king, but not of Roderick, Brito. Come with
me.”

“I would wait awhile, stranger, and see if aught comes from the holy house.
Hercules will of a surety avenge his wrong upon the tyrant.”

“Thou seest now!” said the stranger. “It is from Hercules that I come to thee,
Brito. He hath chosen thee, with a thousand others, to minister to his revenge
upon Roderick. Come!”

With a mind crowded with conflicting and new thoughts, the serf followed his
mysterious guide. The stranger had touched the key of thought in his mind, and
had fired the train which ages had prepared and events were still preparing. That
night Brito was dispatched with missives to prince Pelayo; and it was thus that the
lord bishop Oppas gained a new instrument in the cause of revolution.

That same night, sleeping in the arms of the pure and beautiful Egilona, Roderick
started from his dream of fears, in the consciousness of a wild and sudden terror.

“The palace flames!” he cried, in alarm, arousing his still slumbering queen. At
the first moment of awakening, such, indeed, was the impression upon both. A
bright red glare covered the walls and the chamber, and almost blinded them with
the intensity of its reflection. But, looking forth, the king soon discovered the true
occasion of the blaze. The flames rose vividly, but in the distance; and it required
no second look to tell him that it was the towering House of Hercules that sent forth
such an immense body of light. The pinnacle of the mountain was clearly in his
sight, the flames rising and winding around it and shooting up in pyramidal glory
even into heaven. The superstitious apprehensions of the king, which he had quieted
greatly before his return to the palace, were once more aroused; and while the
trembling Egilona hung upon his arm, he crossed himself, and muttered his regrets
for entering the enchanted premises, against the will and wishes of all beside himself.
It was sweet and singular then, to see Egilona chiding his self-reproach, and encouraging
him against his superstitious apprehensions. She derided the serious fears
he had begun to utter, though she had been the most urgent ere the attempt was
made to discourage him against it. But Roderick was not so easily satisfied, though
the words of the queen tended greatly to soothe his apprehensions. The scene in
the cavern, of which the queen knew nothing, and the knowledge of which he had
enjoined upon Bovis to withhold from all, was present in its fullest force to his mind;
and the dreadful cries which now began to assail his ears, as if they were the cries
of demons dancing around the blazing ruins, helped to strengthen his original fears.
He could bear it no longer, for he heard his name occasionally amidst the uproar,
which by this time had awakened the household. Favila, one of the royal espatorios,
who slept in an adjoining chamber, clapped his hands for admission, and the
king bade him prepare his guards, while he attired himself in his armor in order to
go forth. He was soon equipped and in readiness to ascertain and meet the danger,
whatever might be its shape; for, however great might have been his faults and deficiencies,
the want of courage was not among them. It gave him pleasure to see
the stern lord Bovis beside him, as he emerged from the palace; for, though it was
not often his custom to heed the counsel of the wise and honest, he still found a singular
degree of confidence in having beside him such a counsellor. When they arrived
at the scene of the conflagration, it was singular to behold the spectacle. It
was not merely the trees and shrubs which covered the rock that seemed to burn,
but the rock itself. Red flames seemed to shoot out, like jets or tongues of fire,
through a thousand crevices upon and all around it, which the eye had never seen
before. The whole interior of the cavern appeared to be on fire, and the heat was
insupportable except at a considerable distance. Yet, from its capacious jaws came a
thousand confused and conflicting cries. Voices seemed loud in debate within, and
ever and anon one voice, preëminent over all, cried aloud—“Wo! wo, to Roderick,
who hath possessed himself of the secret! Wo to Spain, that hath suffered it!
Wo!—wo!”

“Now, would that I knew the secret of that cavern!” muttered the lord Bovis to
himself, but sufficiently loud to reach the ears of the king.

“What secret?” demanded Roderick.

“The secret of its passages to and fro, in and out, Roderick; for, of a surety,
these priests are now howling within.”

Even as he spoke the cries ceased, and all was silence. In a few moments more
the flames overspread the pinnacled tower, and seemed to possess a perfect mastery
within. Crash after crash of the falling stones announced this to be the case, and
at length the entire front of the fabric went down, unfolding for a moment, only to
close up for ever, the spacious jaws of the enchanted tower.