University of Virginia Library

14. XIV.

“Stand back, before I strike thee to my feet and
beat thee into powder!”

It was thus that a fierce voice arrested the progress
and the speech of Pelayo. A gigantic and wild figure
sprang up in his path even at the entrance of the cottage,
to the threshold of which they had now come, and
brandished a heavy club before their eyes. The foot
of Pelayo had struck upon the cumbrous body of the
man, who lay sleeping at the door of the hovel, and
aroused him into angry consciousness. Egiza started
back, almost in terror, as he beheld the uncouth and
strange figure arising from the earth. But not so Pelayo,
whom nothing could easily daunt or take by surprise.
Yet well might the appearance of the stranger
inspire apprehension, without shame, in any human
bosom. His figure was Herculean—his features dark
—his hair, which was long and deeply black, streamed
wildly from his shoulders, and the thick beard was matted
above his lips and chin in rugged folds, which did
not seem to be lifted often, even to permit of the free
access of food to his wide and swagging lips. His
gesture well accorded with his outward seeming. It
was blustering and fierce, and the voice was that of
one who would seem to have been struggling to out-brave
the tempest in the piercing strength of its shrieks.

“Stand back!” he cried, as he rose and stood before
the princes—“I will not speak again to thee, but strike.”

In an instant the thick short sword of Pelayo waved
in his hand, and, despite of all the entreaty of Egiza,
who would have restrained his progress, he advanced
upon the savage.

“Beware!” cried the stranger, in a threatening voice,
yet receding somewhat from his position.

“Urge him not, Pelayo; he will crush thee with his
mace,” cried Egiza.

“Then get thy weapon ready to slay him when he
does so,” responded Pelayo, chiding, with a stern tone,
his laggard brother. “But fear nothing, Egiza—I have
no fear. This burly monster can do nothing with me in
so clear a light; and be sure I shall not deal so tenderly
with him as I did but a little while ago with thee.”

“Back!” cried the savage, seeing the determined
approach of Pelayo—“back! I warn thee.”

But Pelayo laughed scornfully, still advancing, and
Egiza also drew his weapon and came on closely after
his brother. The savage swung the heavy mace about
his head, and in another instant it would have come
fatally down upon that of Pelayo, but that the quick-sighted
and fearless warrior suddenly closed in with
him, and with the hilt of his sword struck the savage
a blow between his eyes which half stunned him, while
it dazzled his vision with the most stupifying glare.
Without falling, he tottered back against the door of his
hovel, under the overhanging eaves of which, in the
open air, he seemed to have been sleeping. His mace,
still in his hand, fell by his side; and though he lifted it
a second time, he seemed confused and objectless, and
did not again aim to strike either of the princes. Pelayo
grasped the huge weapon with a sudden hand,
while Egiza presented his bared weapon at the throat
of its owner.

“Give me room,” cried the man, recovering, and
seeking to push away the princes; but he was checked
as the sharp point of Egiza's weapon pricked his extended
hand.

“Be not foolish, man,” said Pelayo, kindly; “we seek
not to do you harm. We are friends, and would only
crave from thee a place of shelter and quiet for the
night, which is already half gone.”

“Who art thou?” demanded the savage, in reply.

“Thy master—have I not written my name between
thine eyes?—thy friend, if thou believest in me,” was
the calm but authoritative reply of Pelayo.

“I can fight thee still,” replied the man, fiercely; “I
have no master but Ipsistos—the mightiest God.”

“As thou wilt,” said Pelayo, “though I care not to
fight thee, for I would sleep—my companion and myself
are weary. Give us lodging in thy cabin, and I
will fight thee in the morning, and plague thee with
thine own cudgel; deny us, and I will put my sword
through thee even where thou standest.”

“I like thy speech, and will try thee, as thou sayst,
in the morning,” replied the savage, with a laugh that
was harshly pleasant in the deep, melancholy silence of
those midnight and bleak hills. He continued:

“Thou shalt have the lodging thou requirest, stranger;
and if thou canst strike me 'tween the eyes by daylight,
as thou hast done to-night, I will go with thee for a
season.”

“Wilt thou follow me?” demanded Pelayo, eagerly.

“If thy pursuit shall please me—what is that?” replied
the savage.

“War!”

“Good!—with whom?”

“Mine enemy.”

“Give me the stroke at morning thou hast given me
to-night, and thy enemy shall be mine,” was the promise
of the savage.

“By Hercules the Striker, I will make thy bones
ache!” said Pelayo.

“If thou canst,” said the other.

“What art thou?” asked Pelayo.

“A man—dost doubt me?”

“No! The name of thy nation I would know?”

“Bascone!”

“Ha!—what dost thou here, then?”

“Live!”

“What brought thee to these parts, I mean?”

“I was a warrior, but the King Witiza was a better.
I fought against him, and he made me a prisoner, with
many of my people. I was released by the new king,
and then I fled from Toledo.”

“Wherefore, when he released thee?”

“I feared his tyranny.”

“Why, what hadst thou to fear? What should
tempt him to thy injury? What hadst thou to lose?”

“My freedom!” replied the savage; and as the reply
reached the ears of Pelayo, he grasped convulsively
the arm of Egiza while he replied—

“Comrade, I'll blacken thee with bruises on the
morrow, I so resolve to make thee follow me. But let
us into thy dwelling.”

“It is open to thee,” replied the man—“there's fire,
and thou wilt find acorns upon the hearth. For thy
couch—the dry earth is beneath thee; the turf makes a
good pillow, but I prefer mine here, where the air keeps
it ever fresh. I will watch at the door while ye are
sleeping.”

“Watch well!” said Pelayo—“beware the stranger
does not again strike thee between the eyes.”

“We'll wait till day for that,” replied the other, merrily,
while the two young princes, accepting his courtesy—such
as it was—at once entered the miserable
hovel, where they slept without interruption until the
day had fairly dawned and the red sunlight came gliding
in through the thousand decayed openings of the hovel.