Part 36 (1/2)
”Get on to the road, and hark back as soon as there is light enough for us to pick our way. We will hit the road within sight of the town-gates before they are opened, to make certain they have not come up.”
The poor fellow was so crestfallen, having now no heart to disguise his discomfiture, that to cheer him I professed to be in no way disheartened by this failure.
”For,” says I, ”there is this advantage about it: I shall not have to rest idle here any longer. 'Twill be light enough to begin our march in half an hour.”
”Why, that's true, master,” says he, brightening up; ”and, not to waste time, we'll have a good meal to strengthen us against fatigue.”
”There's nothing to eat,” says I; ”we finished every sc.r.a.p last night.”
”Nay,” says he; ”I laid out for that, and brought home a peck loaf and a roast loin of mutton with me last night.”
I remembered he was pretty well charged when we met overnight, but had taken no heed of what he carried, thinking in the dark it was but another skin of wine.
”Parrots are all very well for high feeding, and so are serpents and such-like,” says he, fetching his loaf and the loin of mutton, ”but give me bread and roast mutton when there's work to be done.”
When we had finished our repast, Matthew buckled on his sword, and we started off. Striking the road after an hour's march, and making sure that no cavalcade lay between us and the town, we turned our faces to the north, and strode out with a will: nor did we check our pace for two hours, albeit the way lay all up hill and none too smooth. We met not a soul all that time, for only merchants with their trains of mules, etc., pa.s.s this way, and they not frequently, so that for a whole week there may not be a single traveler to be met. Indeed, we had scarcely dared to travel that way otherwise, for our appearance would have justified any one in taking us for outlaws--I in my tattered finery, with a peck loaf slung on my shoulder, as great knife in my girdle, a long sword in my hand, and nothing but an uncombed crop of hair on my head; and Matthew likewise fiercely armed, with a wine-skin and a bundle of broken victuals at his back, scarcely enough clothes to cover his nakedness, and a complexion as if he had just escaped from a lazar-house--in fine, as unwelcome a knight and squire as any one might wish to meet. Nor were our movements much more rea.s.suring than our appearance, for at every turn of the road we would stop with our swords firmly gripped, peering round the rocks and betwixt the bushes, as if we were on the lookout for some one to waylay and murder.
At length we came in sight of a station, and here with great prudence we went about to spy into it, and yet not be seen ourselves; and this, by reason of its position and the chance of encountering hunters in the surrounding wood, was a painful and tedious business; but finally getting upon the further side, and crawling near with terrible fear (lest we might arouse some watch-dog, and so have a repet.i.tion of our former trouble), we got a fair sight into the village, where was nothing to be seen but four bearded rascals playing of cards. And so, creeping out of that wood as carefully as we had crept in, we once more got into the road, and pushed onward till noon without stopping, except at the bends of the road as aforesaid.
At noon we stooped to eat and refresh ourselves, and that done, we went onward again for best part of two hours, though the sun was now at its height; but by reason we were now very high up on the side of the mountain, and that in many places the rock sheltered us with an agreeable shade, we were not so hot but that we could still march with a good heart. Yet here we stayed to consult together, for we had come to a part of the road where we could not conceal ourselves if we met Lewis de Pino, nor retreat without exposing ourselves to the fire of his arquebuses. For the path wound along close by the side of the mountain, with no growth of herbs, and all barren for a long distance in front; nor was it possible to get out of the path by clambering upwards or sliding downwards for the prodigious steepness of it, and the road so narrow that no two pack-mules could pa.s.s each other, except by standing aside in certain cavities hewn here and there in the rock in case of one train meeting another. Down below lay the woods, but so deep that the highest tree-tops came no nearer than a couple of hundred feet of where we stood.
”Master,” says Matthew, ”if we meet De Pino and his merry men on this road 'twill be a bad job for us.”
”Ay,” says I; ”and the sooner we get to the other end of it the safer we shall be.”
”Lord love you, master,” says he, ”what a thing it is to be a philosopher! Here might I jeopardize my precious life another ten minutes but for your wisdom.”
CHAPTER XLVI.
HOW WE CAME TO THAT PLACE WHICH I CALL THE VALLEY OF DEATH.
As we followed this path, we discovered that, where opportunity offered, bridges of long trees had been thrown from one jutting rock to another, to save the labor of cutting a way in the side of the mountain. We had crossed two of these bridges when Matthew, being ahead of me, suddenly mended his pace, and then, coming to a stand, turns about and cries:
”Hang me if I wasn't right after all, master. They have come along this road, but have turned back.”
”How can you answer for that, friend?” says I.
”Why, look you,” says he, pointing to the road a dozen yards ahead of us. ”Here is a bridge broke.”
Stepping briskly forward, I found that it truly was as he said, for there yawned a great gap, which no man could jump; and that there had been a bridge here we could plainly see by the print of the tree-trunks in the rubble on the ledge cut for them in the rock. Moreover, looking over the edge, we spied one of these timbers lying athwart of a rock down below.
This discovery so comforted me (for I made sure I was now near my Lady Biddy, instead of being all at sea as to her whereabouts) that I set up a great shout of joy.
”For the love of Heaven, master, have a care!” cried Matthew in a whisper, after listening a moment in terror. ”Did you not hear that answer to your shout?”
”Nay,” says I; ”what answer?”
”I know not,” says he, looking around him in a scare; ”pray Heaven it be not our enemies.”