 | CHAPTER XIII.
CONSPIRACY—THE MATADOR. The damsel of Darien |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
CONSPIRACY—THE MATADOR.
The astrologer, who knew the place of labour assigned
to the tribe to which the woman Buru belonged, had conceived
the determination of following her to the mountains
in order to secure for Vasco Nunez the proffered liberality
which he had so unscrupulously rejected at her hands. He
reasoned with more coolness and less of youthful feeling
on this subject than the cavalier. With this gold in quantity,
he well knew that it could avail the Indians nothing,
since the only persons to whom the ore was of value, were
those who would seize it, on exposure, from their possession,
as a proper spoil, without offering any equivalent,
and probably bestowing upon them additional blows for
the concealment which kept it from their grasp so long.
To the adventurous Vasco Nunez, however, it was every
thing, and the old man judged from the samples which
the woman had already given that she had in store sufficient
resources to enable him to cross to Cuba, and provide
himself with a new equipment. He regarded the circumstance
as only one of the many modes by which the destinies
who had spoken through the star of Vasco Nunez
would fulfil all their promises; and exulting with this
quickening fancy, he set off on his journey without the
delay of an hour after his separation from his friend. With
singular powers of body for one whose years were those
of ordinary man's decay, he possessed a courage no less
singular—a courage which is, perhaps, the almost invariable
result of a faith such as Micer Codro really entertained.
Hardy and elastic, the length of the way was not a thought
with him at starting, nor did the darkness or the danger
discourage him with their obtrusive suggestions of fear.
did not conjecture his object—returned to the
bohio.
Let us now repair to Garabito. Maddened and humbled
equally by the defeat and consequent degradation to which
the superior skill of Vasco Nunez had subjected him, we
have seen him making his way for the hills, where he
sought the country house of one Joseph de Ribiero, the
chief of an encomienda, who dwelt among the mountains
about two leagues from the city. Ribiero was a man after
his own heart—a man well calculated to feel his degradation
with him, and, if need be, to help him in avenging
it. But their consultation produced no definite determination
until they were joined at night by the bachelor, Hernando
de Enciso. He brought them the first intelligence
of the loss which their common enemy had sustained by
reason of the hurricane, the wing of which had passed
lightly over the region in which the encomienda lay. The
misfortune of Vasco Nunez, while it rejoiced the mean
spirit of Garabito, tended in no degree to moderate his hostility.
His heart was set upon revenge, and nothing short
of the blood of his foe, drawn in fatal sluices from his
heart, could satisfy his hatred. But there was still some
difficulty in his way ere he could procure this satisfaction.
The blood of the timid Haytien, or the humbled Indian,
might be much more easily drawn than that of the proud
and fighting Spaniard; and the difficulty was increased
when the destined victim was one like Vasco Nunez.
What mode of vengeance was he to employ against a man
who had already foiled his weapon with such superior ease,
and whose exquisite swordsmanship was so universally
acknowledged by the best masters of fence in Santo Domingo?
This was a difficulty which they all felt equally,
and for which, it was equally evident to all, that there was
but a single remedy—and that—assassination! Yet, though
this thought pervaded the mind of the three conspirators
with equal strength, they had neither of them acquired
sufficient hardihood in the more audacious character of the
villain, nor had they yet arrived at that degree of confidence
in each other, to declare their sentiments at first
with open boldness; and it was only after the discussion
of a dozen expedients—expedients of which none of them
thought seriously even while they made them—that Enciso,
had yet done themselves, ventured to declare himself:
“Señores, you will talk here all night and be no nearer
than before to your business. Let me give you my conclusion
now. Obando will do nothing for us, till blood be
drawn. Had you suffered Vasco Nunez to puncture you
in the arm or side, you had had your revenge ere this.
Now, there is but one way—you must get a matador to
your help, and do the business without witnesses. There
is a fellow here, one Lope Ortoba who hath been employed
in these offices before. For twenty pesos you engage his
soul, and for five pieces more, you have what is of more
value, his arm. He will strike for you, but you must see
him do it. He requires that you should look on and point
out the victim, else he will do nothing. He is a bold fellow
and strong enough, single handed, to hold his ground
with any wrestler in San Domingo; but he hath no skill
with his weapon, and what he does he must do without
word or warning. Take this man, and get in waiting for
Vasco Nunez. Ortado knows well enough how to hide
himself for this purpose, and you can be nigh to help with
a lunge or a stroke should the struggle be a close one,
which it is scarce like to be if the matador do not bungle.
What better would you have than this? I can advise no
better!”
In the secret minds of the two the plan of Enciso met with
their ready concurrence, but the same pretence of virtue,
arising from the natural caution of imbecility, which had
kept them before from suggesting this remedy, now
prompted them to a hesitating and feeble opposition to the
scheme. But the cunning lawyer knew his men, and long
accustomed to the study of the human brute, he had already
divined the true thoughts of the two before him. He
knew that their objections were no less insincere than
he esteemed them untenable. Assured, therefore, that
they would dismiss them in the end, he forebore pressing
his views, and with a composure which took something
of the air of indifference, proceeded thus:
“As you please, Señor Garabito—the business is entirely
your own. It must be for you, therefore, to say
what will be your course of justice. It is your concern
only, not mine. Yet, truth to speak, I am at my wit's end.
I see not what you will do. You cannot meet Vasco Nunez
but he is something more; and he has strength, with
his slight, which is superior to thine, mine, and Ribiero's.
You were but a dead man to cross with him a second time,
and such measure I advise not.”
The thoughts of Ribiero soon became those of Enciso,
while Garabito, still unassured, or rather undetermined,
paced the apartment in gloomy and speechless incertitude.
Enciso put his hand upon his shoulder and arrested his
progress.
“You are but trifling with your honour, Garabito, not
to say, your safety. There is no choice before you. Nobody
in Española looks to see you meet Vasco Nunez on
equal terms—yet they all expect that you should avenge
your wrong. You must wash out your dishonour in his
blood. There is no help—nor should you desire to avoid
it.”
“Nor do I,” exclaimed the other ferociously. “It is
his blood only that I seek. Show me the way to strike
him, give me but to know, and I will risk all peril, I care
not of what kind, to procure me the vengeance which I
seek. Do this, Ribiero—Enciso—and I will call you
friends indeed.”
“But have we not done so?” replied Enciso. “Following
my counsel, you cannot fail. The deed is soon done,
and the stain washed out.”
“What! by this murderer, Ortado,” replied Garabito
with a shuddering sensation which must not be ascribed to
reluctance so much as fear.
“Ay, the mutador, who is always a respectable person
when employed by men of honour. He is the agent of
their honour, and necessary to it, when, in such cases as
yours, a strong man and skilful swordsman presumes upon
his superiority to inflict disgrace and injury. In such cases,
there is no dishonour in employing such agents as will
bring you the desired equality. As well might it be counted
dishonourable and cowardly, that the Spaniards, numbering
but few men opposed to the savages, should employ
the arts of Spanish warfare and clothe themselves in
escaupil, to protect them from their numerous arrows.
You must dismiss these idle scruples, Garabito, if you
meditate this revenge, for, in truth, it were as vain for you
to cross weapon with Balboa as with the Cid Campeador
help is in Ortado.”
“If I really seek revenge!” exclaimed the still indecisive
Garabito.
“Ay!” retorted the other, “and truly, Señor Garabito,
for a man who hath suffered a wrong so grievous, methinks
you are mighty slow in urging your resentment.”
“I would be certain only—I hesitate but that I may do
nothing idly and with ineffectual purpose. I would see
all my movements, and note every step heedfully that I
may not miss my blow when I strike. That is all my
cause of thought—it is not that I lack resolve, for I have
sworn by the holy mother of God that Vasco Nunez shall
die.”
“A good resolution, and one, let me tell you, Garabito,
that is most necessary to your station in Santo Domingo.
The people look for it, and even the monkish and the
drivelling, though they might blame thee for shedding
blood, yet, if thou didst not, would cry aloud, `that is he
who lay under the feet of Vasco Nunez and offered no resistance.”'
“They shall not say this, Enciso.”
“They will if thou dost not take thy redress. Can any
thing be more easy? Thou hast only to place thyself and
Ortado among the palm trees by the cottage of the Señora
Teresa. She loves him, it is said—”
“It is said falsely!” cried the other, whose vanity was
in arms at this suggestion.
“I know not that,” said Enciso, who very well knew
how to provoke his frown. “I know not that, and I believe
it not, Garabito; and had you seen the two as this
day I beheld them in the Plaza!—hadst thou seen the
fiery eyes of Vasco Nunez, and the confident glance which
he gave her!—hadst thou, again, beheld the free smile
which she returned him, and seen how she hung upon his
arm!—besides, they do say, it was his arm that saved her
from the hurricane!”
“Would it had blasted both!” was the fierce exclamation
of Garabito. “Hell's curse be upon them, Hernando,
if this be true. But it is not true—it cannot be as thou
sayest. It was only this morning that I spoke with Teresa.
I came from her when I encountered with the woman,
and drew this quarrel upon me by the provocation of
spoke slightingly of Vasco Nunez, and I could not
mistake the sneer of her lips when his name was spoken.
I well recollect her question—“Was he not fencing-master
at Xeres de los Caballeros, and what should make him
thus great in Santo Domingo?' Said she thus, and could
she favour him as thou thinkest?”
“If she said thus, she did Vasco Nunez wrong. He is,
it is true, a native of Xeres de los Caballeros, but he is of
noble family, and brought up as page to Don Pedro, Lord
of Moguer. He is master of fence, but yet no fencing-mas'er.”
“Thou seemst to favour him in thy speech, Hernando,”
was the petulant reply of Garabito.
“I do, and I counsel thee to slay him,” said the other
with composure. “I so far favour him that I would give
him the distinction of dying at thy hands, or under thy direction.
Trust not the sneer or the speech of Teresa Davila—she
is but a woman like the rest, and she will lip, like
a wanton, the very man whom she seems least of all to
favour. This is but one of the thousand arts among the
sex. Thou shouldst be wise by this time beyond such
deception. She will laugh at thy credulity, as, shouldst
thou let this matter rest, will all Santo Domingo scorn thy
cowardice.”
“It shall not rest!” said the other hoarsely. “I do but
seek the means to make my vengeance certain.”
“And I give thee these means. What should hinder.
Take thy fellows with thee at midnight, or take Ortado,
who is far better for business of this sort than any of thy
fellows—and when he leaves the bohio of Teresa deal
with him at a blow. For, I tell thee, Garabito, sneer as
she may, he seeks her nightly; and she yields him strains
of love from her guitar, and sits with him beneath the
banyan in the starlight; and their mutual voices melt into
murmurs, so that no ear but their own shall make out their
language, though, to all men, the meaning of such speech
should be clear enough. Nay, I will not swear that his
arm clips not her waist when the murmur needs to be enforced
by a proper action.”
“I will stab him in her arms!” was the choking speech
of the auditor, whom the words of Enciso, intended for this
purpose, had almost goaded into madness—“I will stab
them both.”
“Nay, nay! that were too much. But thou mayst stab
him—thou must, or lose the favour—nay, lose the very
countenance of every man in Santo Domingo. Thou shalt
lie in wait for him as he comes from his mistress warm
from her arms—perchance with her kiss yet warm upon
his lips.”
“No more—thou maddest me, Enciso. Thou hast a
trick of the fiend in thy speech, methinks, which gives
thee a strange power upon me. I will do it as thou sayst.
I will slay him with her kiss upon his lips; I will show
no mercy—none. And for Teresa—”
“Be not angry with her.”
“What! not angry with her, when she deceives me?”
“Hath she deceived thee, Garabito?”
“Nay, I may not say that! There have been no words
of love between us; but there have been shows of regard,
and she hath seemed to incline to me while she spoke
slightingly of Vasco Nunez.”
“Thou art young yet, Garabito! Thou shalt forgive
Teresa, and count not these shows of love against her.
For a woman she is well enough. It is the vice of the
sex which vexes thee, and not of the person. Thou wilt
have no occasion for complaint when thou hast slain thy
enemy. Teresa Davila, if I rightly know her, is too wise
a damsel to think for an instant of a dead lover who is of
little use, when there are so many living ones to be had.
I warrant thee against all such folly on the part of Teresa.”
The treachery was resolved upon, and the farther conversation
of the conspirators was devoted to the mode
which should be adopted, for the more effectual prosecution
of his crime. The suggestion of Enciso, which counselled
the assassin to perform the deed when his victim
was leaving the dwelling of the damsel, was congenial to
the jealous rage of Garabito. Enciso gratified his own
mean hostility to his noble enemy, by thus moving Garabito.
His soul festered within him at the unmeasured and
unmitigated scorn which Vasco Nunez had never forborne
to bestow upon himself.
“And thou tell'st me that this fellow, Ortado, is even
now within thy encomienda?” demanded Garabito.
The person addressed summoned a servant, to whom in
few words he gave his commands. Within an hour the
matador was in attendance—a broad-shouldered, bull-necked,
matted shock of hair, small keen dark eyes, that looked
only through half-opened lids, a mouth large and thick-lipped,
and limbs short, well and closely set, indicative
alike of strength and activity. A prevailing sluggishness,
however, seemed to hang upon and to impede his movements,
and the half-doubting Garabito, who now looked
upon the assassin for the first time, found it difficult to believe
that one so seemingly apathetic should even venture
upon a work requiring readiness and activity, or if he did,
to believe that he could possibly succeed in its execution.
“Is this the man, Enciso?” demanded Garabito. Before
the person addressed could answer, the matador spoke.
“Ah, ha! Señor Hernando, is it thou? Well, I have
ever been glad to serve thee, and will write deep letters for
you now. There is game somewhere, señor, but whose
mark goes upon it? I must know for whom I kill.”
“I thank thee, Lope;” replied Enciso—“I have no use
for thee at this moment myself, but I have counselled my
friend, the Señor Garabito, to crave help at thy hands.
There is game of his upon which thy mark must be set.
He will give thee the `conscience money'—then tell thee
where the game lies.”
“Thirty pesos, señor, for conscience, and ten for the
blood,” exclaimed the assassin, turning to Garabito and extending
his hand for that retaining fee in murder, which, as
it was supposed to bind the faith of the professional
murderer, was called the `conscience money'—the second
sum named was the reward of the actual stroke of death.
“Thou hast raised thy prices, Lope,” said Enciso.
“Not to thee, señor—I am ready to serve thee as before;
but the Señor Garabito is a young beginner and must
pay for his inexperience. Shall I go with thee aside, se
ñor, and hear of thee thy business?”
“Nay, it needs not,” answered Garabito, giving him the
fee as he spoke—“these are all my friends, and know my
whole purpose.”
“That as thou wilt, señor,” replied the assassin, “but
ours is a business in which there are few friends; and there
is no need that one should have knowledge of the business
upon which he is not bold to go. But that I also have
knowledge of the Señor Ribiero, and the bachelor, enough
to make me easy that they should know our purpose, I
the matador is from his secresy, and a false friend might
betray him to the knife of that enemy, for whom he has
his own in waiting. But the Señor Lope is my friend,
and so is the bachelor, and if they only know thy business
and none else, I am ready. Who is it that lives too long
for the Señor's happiness?”
“Vasco Nunez de Balboa?”
“Ha! Vasco Nunez! When does the Senor Garabito
command that he shall cease to live.”
“Thou hast two days to slay him.”
“Enough, Señor, I will make up the accounts with thy
debtor and he shall pay forfeit. Thou wilt be with me,
and see the business.”
“Canst thou not do it without witness?” demanded
Garabito with an emotion which he could not altogether
conceal.
“I can, but will not,” responded the fellow bluntly—“I
have never done otherwise, and see no reason to depart
from wholesome practice. The Señor cannot fear to look
on what he is not afraid to command and what I am not
afraid to execute.”
“It is not fear!” replied Garabito quickly, and his contradiction
alone would have furnished sufficient occasion to
justify a doubt of its truth.
“Thy shame is the same thing with thy fear, Señor. I
take no labour which my employer must not look upon
when it is done. Thou shalt not say that I botched thy
business when it is over, and it is part of my engagement,
which I hold due to my conscience, that my employer do
not seem to disapprove, by his absence, the thing that I do
for him.”
“He will be with thee, Lope;” said Enciso—“it was
only a doubtful point of honour in the mind of Señor Garabito,
whether he should look on and withhold his own
hands from the business.”
“On that head let me assure the Señor,” replied the
matador with perfect confidence—“the point of honour is
that he should withhold his hand unless I ask his aid,
else would the business be none of mine, and I would be
receiving his wages without executing his work—a thing
utterly against my conscience. Has the Señor a desire
that his enemy should die in one or more strokes. A tender
first be disabled and permitted a prayer or two before he
receives the stroke of mercy.”
“No prayers—no time—no mercy!” replied Garabito,
“and if thou canst slay him with a single stroke,
then, in God's name, let it be done.”
“It is done!” replied the matador, and they proceeded
to make those minor arrangements for the execution of their
bloody purposes, which, at this time, we need pursue no
farther. Enough, that they laid their plans to their own
satisfaction, and the result was that another day only was
allotted to the life of Vasco Nunez.
| CHAPTER XIII.
CONSPIRACY—THE MATADOR. The damsel of Darien | |