Pelayo :: :: University of Virginia Library

With the approach of night, the Prince Pelayo, as
had been agreed upon, proceeded to the dwelling of
Melchior of the Desert, under the guidance of the page
Lamech, who had been despatched by his father to the
prince for this purpose. The boy was now differently
attired from what he was when Pelayo had first seen
him; and the prince could not help remarking the exceeding
and effeminate beauty of his face and person.
His eyes were dark—dark and glittering. His hair was
smooth, like that of a girl, and of a rich black—glossy
beside, and fine as the most delicate silk. His figure
was so slender, it might have been thought almost too
ethereal for mortality, and so symmetrical that the eye
always looked for it again, as if for a thing that was
necessary.

“Thou art but a child, Lamech,” said the prince,
kindly, “to engage in toil like this. Are not thy limbs
weary?”

“Oh no, my lord, they never weary when my heart
goes along with them,” was the gentle response, uttered
by the lips of a childish innocence.

“'Tis a right spirit thou hast, and God hold thee in
it, boy; but these are dangerous seasons for the mild.
Thy meekness will put thee at the feet of bad men, who
will ever trample upon thee, if thy ready weapon teaches

them not to fear. Thou wilt find it wise to lift steel
when thou get'st more years.”

“And so I have learned already, my lord. See—
my arm is weak, I know, but I am strong in heart; and
with this dagger, methinks I could teach the insolent
man a goodly lesson.”

He disengaged from his tunic, as he spoke, a small
and richly-ornamented poniard, which had been hitherto
concealed within its folds, and nothing could have looked
more pretty or more amusing in the sight of Pelayo,
than the glow of valour in the eyes of one so exceedingly
effeminate and slight of form. The prince
smiled slightly as he replied—

“It is well that thou'rt provided, boy; but hold
it no slight to thy valour, if I counsel thee to a greater
gain of strength than thou hast. Why, what would thy
arm do in a stroke with mine, even though mine carried
no weapon, and thou wert ready with thy steel?”

The boy looked at the extended arm with a glance
expressive of innocent admiration, as he surveyed the
knotted muscles, that, swelling here and there into hills,
indicated the great strength of the owner. But his features
underwent a change corresponding with the active
movement of his thought.

“Why is thine eye sorrowful?—thou weepest, boy,”
said the prince, curiously.

“It is a child's weakness, my lord—when I thought
of thy strength, I thought how thou wouldst use it.
Thou wilt go into the battle, where the spear strikes,
and the sword cleaves; and what were thy strength
then?”

“All, boy! It is then that I will strike—then will
my strength avail for conquest.”

“Ah, but my father. It is thus Melchior speaks to—
to Lamech. Thus went he in fight against the Saracen,
when they made him captive, and he led the camels in
the long march of the desert. I was but a child then,
but I remember.”

“Thou hast had an ill chance of fortune, boy. Wert
thou a captive, too, with thy father?”

“For three long years; but I chafed not in my captivity,
for the Saracen was tender, and had pity on my
youth. They gave me no task which was not a pleasure,
and they taught me much that they knew. I
learned to read the stars in their teaching, and to heed
their language; and many a song they taught me, when
we lay, at the warm noon, in the camel's shadow, made
my heart soften so that I forgot—shame on me that I
did—that my father was a captive.”

“And thou hast always been with Melchior?”

“Ever since I knew him. They were kind—the
Saracen—when they made us captive, for they did not
part the father from his child.”

“How old art thou now, Lamech?”

“Sixteen, my father tells me. But I am much older
than that, I know.”

“How! What dost thou mean?”

“Oh, sometimes I have lived two days at a time, and
then I learned all that I know.”

“Indeed!—but art sure thou knowest where thou
lead'st me? I know not this place. It looks strange
to me.”

“Quite sure, my lord. I know it by day and night,
the same. It is the suburb of the Hebrews.”

“Ha! Well, I am pledged for this, and must go on.”
As he spoke, Pelayo crossed himself with an air of
strict devotion; then continued, “And the Christian
does not often come to this quarter of Cordova?”

“Only when he seeks for money,” was the reply,
uttered in a tone of deep emotion, and with a subdued
sternness of accent, which showed a larger share of
character in the speaker than his previous language had
led Pelayo to anticipate. The prince gazed on him
earnestly, but the eyes of the boy were busy in his
progress.

The two now pursued their way through a strangely

clustering assemblage of small and uncouth dwellings.
The owners had been studious, it would seem, to avoid
any show of external splendour in their habitations.
The assessor came too frequently, and was satisfied with
too much difficulty, not to compel a due forbearance on
the part of the wretched Israelites, of all those exhibitions
of wealth, which, as it was, they could not often
conceal. No one not familiar with that people would
have looked for its possession in the quarter of the city
through which Pelayo now made his way. Silence and
an air of unnatural repose was over all; and the occasional
light, shining stealthily through the crevice of the
household, was hurriedly obscured with the consciousness
of approaching feet. Thus moving, they came at
length to a long low dwelling, crowded in by others, all
larger and more imposing to the eye, yet all around, in
some way or other, connected with that to which they
now advanced. A slight tap upon the door, by the hand
of Lamech, obtained for them admittance, and passing
through a long and dimly-lighted gallery, they entered a
spacious court, over which they moved in a direct line,
and Pelayo then found himself in another passage,
equally dark and narrow with that which he had just
left. He might have thought the boy had mistaken his
way, but for the unhesitating progress which he made,
and the knowledge which he had then in his memory
of the exceeding necessity for caution on the part of one
so much in danger, and whose arrest was so desirable,
as that of the man he sought. Pressing on, therefore,
with a speed that still at times left him short of his conductor,
he at length ascended a flight of winding stairs,
which carried him into a small chamber. Here he
paused while the boy tapped upon an inner door. He
heard a hum of retiring voices before it was opened,
but in the next moment he was ushered into the apartment.