2. CHAPTER II.
With the departure of Romano, the archbishop, in soliloquy, gave a greater freedom
to his secret and true thoughts. He laughed scornfully as he thought upon his
late companion
“A man,” said he, “to work upon the many—to rouse them into rage until no
lion of the desert shall be less easy to tame or conquer—whose words shall fall
like so much heavenly manna around them, and so readily persuade and prompt—
yet what a child himself!—how easy to be won, to be beguiled, and carried from
the truth, which he really loves, to the blinding falsehood, which if he do not hate,
it is only because of his utter incapacity to see!”
He called a page, after this soliloquy, and proceeded to prepare certain papers
which lay before him.
“These lords,” said he again, in a half-syllabled manner, “these lords, whom
Roderick hath banished, at an instance the source of which he suspects not, are in
Andalusia. They are rush, and rage against him. They must have counsel. It
were pity that so much good anger, which might produce noble performance, should
suffer waste. These advices will better teach them; and their proud stomachs shall
not fail to gorge the counsel, as they shall know nothing of the counsellor!”
The page stood before him.
“Ha! thou art there, Ewitza? 'T is well. Go down to the inner court and learn
if the couriers be yet arrived from Cordova. The couriers of the church, boy;
remember!”
The boy disappeared.
“The church is a good mantle,” said Oppas, with a most innocent chuckle, “and
like charity covereth many sins. But for its vestment my couriers would not so
safely pass with their precious burdens.”
This passing commentary did not, however, interfere with the various matters of
business which still lay before the archbishop for his disposal. Various dispatches
were prepared with the haste and readiness of one expert in his vocation. Over
most of these, as he singly arranged them for the couriers, he spoke freely to himself
of their several objects, their character, and of those to whom they were to be
delivered. All of these dispatches more or less affected the conspiracy which he
had in hand; and, though addressed to wholly different persons, no two of whom
were to be moved in like manner, yet it may be said, in behalf of the good judgment
which the lord Oppas had of men in general, that but few of his dispatches ever
failed utterly of the effect they were intended to produce.
“This!” said he, as he lingered long upon one billet ere he passed the gold and
silken cord around it, “this should be the torch, the blaze of which should kindle
all the rest. This is for Roderick. He shall fire the pile: by his own hand, in
his wild passion, shall he effect his own destruction. It cannot fail: his lust is
now a madness—an incurable disease, and this cannot but mislead him.”
He turned the billet in his hand—once more read over the contents, which were
written in a style carefully disguised. When he had read, he folded it, penned the
inscription in the same assumed writing, folded the silken cords about it, and placed
it in his bosom, out of sight, saying as he did so:
“This will serve to-morrow; and if Roderick flame with its tidings, as I am sure
he must, then will our desires have play not less than his! Julian will be sent
far from sight, and the army be removed to the African coast—taking all hindrance
from the path of Pelayo. What follows next, but that the wronged father should
bring the same army to our aid, and rouse up the nobility to side with him—even
those who are friendly to the usurper. This done, what matters it whether that
great brag of the court and twisted feather, the dangling Edeco, leads the forces of
the Goth? Were it the best army that ever Spain sent out against the Scipios, it
were sent out to ruin under Edeco. God keep him in the grace of Roderick, so that
he may still continue to be the espatorio—sword-bearer it should rather be, for truly
doth he bear it rather as a burden than as a weapon—rather as a thing that, as it
carries honor, must be carried in its turn, than as a thing it were a grace to carry, and
which should call for eminent grace in him who carries it.”
The page by this time had returned, and, advancing, he laid sundry packets before
the archbishop; on all of which the cross was drawn in deep red lines. Oppas
made a sign to the bearer to wait, and breaking the silk of each he proceeded to
its perusal. When he had done, he gave him the sundry dispatches which he
had made up, and commissioned him to send off the couriers with them straight.
“This,” said he, taking the one billet from his bosom, on which he had so much
relied, and addressing the boy, “this thou wilt dispose of, Ewitza, so that the page
of Edeco shall possess it, yet see thee not. Thou canst place it in his hands after
night, to-morrow, having well chosen a disguise for thy concealment.”
“I can, my lord!” said the swarthy boy, whose dark eyes shone with a quick,
arch, and intense fire: “I can, my lord,” he repeated, as the archbishop watched
his countenance.
“And with the secrecy I require, Ewitza?”
“As thou requirest, my lord!”
“I trust to thee; I know that thou wilt do it. Leave me now; thou hast done
thy service for the night.”
The boy retired, and the archbishop was alone. He looked out upon the stars,
and with that mingling of religion and superstition which was the prevailing feature
of the time, and from which the wisest and the worst were not entirely exempt, he
demanded of them that success in his purposes which he had nevertheless toiled diligently
to secure by merely human means. One star, a dark red orb, shining over
the distant and frowning rock known as the House of Hercules, particularly fixed
his attention. Bright sparks seemed to shoot out from its sides, and while he gazed
he fancied that an eye looked forth upon him from its centre.
“It is the eye of a god,” said the priest, “perchance the eye of Hercules himself,
watching over his temple. Would that the skill were mine to read its language!
It might be, then, that I should not”—
He paused and looked around him upon the chamber, as if he heard some one
stirring within; then turning his gaze again to where the star had shone, he was
filled with new courage as he saw that it had sunk from his sight behind the mountain,
and was no longer visible, no longer watching its temple.
“It is favorable, that sign,” he exclaimed; “if the god withdraw his guardianship,
what care we for the human keepers; what care we for the mummery and the
mystery, if it makes for our cause that it be thrown open to the impious gaze of the
intruder? Roderick shall break the seal, rather than close it. I will move his
vanity to the measure; for well I know that it must work wo to the monarch who
shall do so. It will work him wo with his people, if not with Hercules. The
church shall rise against him—the Iberian slaves shall grow strong, having its sanction—and
the kingdom shall be lost to him for ever. It will be our weakness and
lack of spirit, if it shall then be lost to us.”
Complying with a habit of body rather than a feeling or sentiment of mind, the
conspirator retired to his devotions; and when these were finished, sought his couch
for those slumbers which his protracted and earnest toils throughout the day had
long before rendered necessary.
