Volume Three—Chapter Eight.
We left that very respectable personage, Senhor Policarpio, entertaining two friends in the garden of the Duke of Aveiro’s residence. As it grew dark, he invited them again into the house to partake of a supper he had prepared for them. After the repast was finished, and he had plied his guests well with wine, he opened an attack which he had been meditating.
“So the Marquis complains that he has been insulted by that low-born villain Teixeira, and that the King will give him no redress,” he began. “Now, that is what I call not acting in a kingly way; and I think your master very ill-treated.”
“Your observation is a just one, Senhor Policarpio,” answered Manoel. “And this is not the only instance in which he has been ill-treated. He applied to be created a duke the other day, and the King, without any reason, refused his request, to the great indignation of the Marchioness, who had determined to enjoy the title.”
“Ah! if the Marquis would but follow the advice of my master, he might easily be made a duke,” said Senhor Policarpio; “but that he will not do, talking instead about his loyalty, and all that sort of nonsense. Now listen, my friends. It strikes me that we might arrange these affairs ourselves, without consulting our masters till the work is done, when they will reward us accordingly. We are not likely to be made dukes and counts, but we are certain to get as many purses of gold as we want, which are far better than all the titles in the world without them. As we well know, there are certain plots and conspiracies hatching, which will, if not discovered, all end in smoke. Now, when I have an object in view in which I wish to succeed, I entrust it to no one more than is necessary. You feel assured that your master would reward you, if you were to punish this Teixeira for his insolence; and I am ready to aid you, on condition that you speak to no one on the subject, or it will be certain to fail. This is my plan:—Teixeira drives out every night in his carriage (vain as he is of it) to some place or other. I propose to watch for him, mounted on good horses, when, as he passes by, we will fire into his carriage, and cannot fail to kill or wound him severely. We may then, favoured by the darkness, easily escape before any alarm is given, and you may then claim a reward from your master. For me, it will be sufficient to know that I have served you; besides that, I owe him a debt of vengeance on my own account.”
The brains of the two servants being by this time considerably confused by liquor, they willingly assented to Senhor Policarpio’s proposal, not having sufficient judgment left to perceive that he had probably other motives for the deed than their interests, or his own wish for revenge.
“Well, then, my friends, there is no moment like the present, when work is to be done,” he continued. “I have notice that Teixeira will this night visit a certain house; and I propose to waylay him on his return to the palace, and pay him his deserts. Are you agreed?”
“Agreed! agreed!” exclaimed both the men. “We are ready to do anything so honourable a gentleman as yourself proposes.”
“You flatter me, gentlemen, by your good opinion. We will not dream on the work, then—this night it shall be done. I must tell you, another friend of mine will join us; but do not speak to him, as he wishes not to be known. We will divide into two parties. You, Manoel, must accompany my friend; and you, Antonio, keep by my side; then, if the first shots do not take effect, the second ambush will be more fortunate. Come, gentlemen, we will prepare for our expedition. I have horses in readiness at a stable in the neighbourhood; for I fully counted on your assistance. Another glass to our success. Nerve your arms for the deed, and it cannot fail!”
It was an intensely dark night, when three men, with masks on their faces, (for a guilty countenance would fain hide itself even from the sight of Heaven,) sallied forth from the Quinta of the Duke of Aveiro. They walked some way, when, stopping before the door of a low, solitary building, the principal of the party applied a key to the lock, and, all entering, they found three steeds ready saddled. Without uttering a word, they led forth the horses, the last closing the door; and, mounting, they rode back in the direction they had come. They had not proceeded far when they encountered a fourth horseman, dressed completely in black, with a black mask, and a horse of the same hue.
“Who goes there?” said the principal of the three, in a low voice.
“A friend of religion,” was the answer, in the same low tone.
“’Tis well,” said the first speaker. “This is the friend I expected,” he continued, turning to one of his companions. “Do you, Manoel, accompany him. Fire, when he fires, and keep close to his side. We will all again meet at the stables, where we will leave our horses, and return on foot to the Quinta. Onward, my friends, to our work.”
The stranger, accompanied by him who was addressed as Manoel, now separated from the other two, both parties, however, proceeding by different routes toward the upper part of Lisbon, to the neighbourhood of a house called the Quinta da Cima, which lay directly in the way between the residence of the young Marchioness of Tavora and the royal palace.
Antonio and his companion, who, as our readers may have suspected, was no other than Senhor Policarpio, rode on in silence whenever they passed any houses, the former, who was of a more timid disposition than his fellow-servant, already repenting of the deed he had undertaken to perform.
“Hist!” he said, drawing in his rein as they were passing between some of the high blank walls with which that part of Lisbon abounds. “Are you certain there is no one following us? Methought I heard a horse’s footsteps.”
“On, on,” muttered his companion with an oath. “The more reason for speed.”
They proceeded a few paces further, when the other again stopped.
“I am sure I heard the sounds again,” he whispered.
“Cursed fool, his cowardice will spoil all,” thought Policarpio. “’Tis but the echo of our own horses’ feet, friend,” he said aloud. “Fear not; ’tis too late now to draw back, and the work must be done.”
They again rode on, encountering no one on their way; for, at that late hour, and in those solitary roads, few ventured out, if they could avoid it, and then only in large parties, with servants and torches, to guard against the daring marauders who infested them, committing every atrocity with impunity. They at length observed a number of people advancing towards them with torches, the flames throwing a lurid glare on their figures and the surrounding walls; but Policarpio, desiring his companion to follow, turned down a lane on one side, till they had passed by. Riding a little further on, Antonio again vowed he heard the sounds of horses’ feet. Policarpio listened.
“Yes,” he said, “’tis our friends—we are near the spot agreed on.”
As he spoke, four horsemen were perceived emerging from the gloom towards them.
“How is this?” exclaimed Antonio in a tone of alarm. “There were but two!”
“They are more of our friends,” was the answer.
“What, all enemies of Teixeira?”
“All, and trusty men. Speak not again, friend. We come to act, not to talk,” whispered Policarpio.
The six horsemen rode on at a slow pace, so as to allow their horses’ hoofs to emit the least possible sound, till they arrived at a deep archway, into the recesses of which not a ray of light penetrated. Here the stranger, in sable garments, with his companion, Manoel, took their posts, their horses’ heads turned towards the road, so as to sally forth at a moment’s notice. This was the ambush nearest the residence of the young Marchioness of Tavora. A little further on, a lane between high walls turned off to the right, and towards it Policarpio and Antonio directed their course; the two other unknown horsemen passing further on to another place of concealment.
“Halt here, my friend,” said Policarpio; “we shall not have long to wait; this is the best place we could have selected. As soon as the deed is done, follow me down the lane, and we will make a circuit to the Quinta.”
“How is it there are so many engaged in the work; I thought we three only were to be privy to it?” observed Antonio.
“The man has many foes,” was the laconic reply. “Now silence.”
Slow seemed the hours of darkness to lag along over the heads of the intended assassins. It was a time of the most harrowing anxiety, of doubts and fears to them all. During the bright glare of day, or when excited by wine and conversation, they had contemplated the deed as a duty they were called on to perform; but now, on the silent watch, when the moment for action was drawing on, they felt that they were about to commit a deed such as would, if discovered, hold them up to the execration of mankind. Darkness, which serves to cloak a crime from the eyes of others, reveals it to the startled conscience of the criminal in its native deformity. In vain each man sought to banish the voice which rung in his ear—Murder! murder!—but that mocking voice would not be silenced; and yet it was a useless warning, for each had resolved to do the deed, and now it was too late to fly; besides, when one would have done so, the thought of the reward to be reaped rose up in his mind, and determined him to persevere in spite of all consequences.
Policarpio listened eagerly for the expected sound of the carriage-wheels. “Ah! he comes,” he muttered, as a low rattling noise at a distance was heard; and even he, cool and hardened villain as he was, felt his heart beat quicker, and he drew in his breath at the thought of what he was about to do; he felt almost a relief from suffering as the noise died away in a different direction. The clear ringing sound from the clock of a neighbouring church now struck; he listened attentively to mark the hour—one, two; he counted on—ten, eleven, and no more. He must have been mistaken; he thought it was much later. Another dreadful hour of suspense must elapse, for their intended victim was not expected to pass till nearly twelve o’clock, and he was sometimes much later. His doubts were soon set at rest, for another clock, at a greater distance, now gave forth the hour of eleven. Thus they waited, sometimes supposing that their enemy had not paid his usual visit; that he might have taken another road, or that, by some mysterious chance, he had been forewarned. There was one among those midnight assassins whose fierce and fiery temper could ill brook this delay, and, as he sat on his horse beneath the arch, he gnashed his teeth with impatience, and grasping a pistol in his hand, longed for the moment to use it. Twelve o’clock struck, and scarcely had the sound from the last stroke of the bell died away on the calm midnight air, when a carriage was heard rapidly approaching. Each of the assassins gathered in his rein, and more firmly grasped his weapons to prepare for action. There could be now no further doubt—another minute and their victim would be in their power!
Onward came the carriage. It approached the dark archway; it had scarcely passed it, when the stranger in black, followed by Manoel, dashed forward, discharging his pistol at the head of the postilion; but the piece missed fire, as did that of his companion.
“Curses on the weapon,” he cried, raising his carabine, as the carriage dashed by; he fired, but the ball took no effect.
“Forbear! forbear!” shouted the postilion, as he drove on; “’tis the King you are firing at!”
He had just uttered the words, when Policarpio and his companion rode furiously towards him; the former discharging a pistol, but without effect. On their approach, he was seen to turn rapidly round before Policarpio could come up with him, and to drive down a steep and rugged path, towards the river.
“Fire!” shouted Policarpio to his companion, as they galloped after the carriage. “Fire! or they will escape us!” and, at the same moment, both discharged their pieces at the back of the carriage. A loud cry was heard, but they could not further tell the effect of their shots, for the postilion, driving for his own life, as well as that of his master, if he had escaped destruction, urged on his mules at a furious pace beyond their reach, before they had time to reload their fire-arms.
“What shots are those?” cried a voice from a window above them. “Murder! murder!”
The sound struck terror into the bosoms of the guilty assassins; and, turning their horses, they galloped off from the spot, by the roads previously agreed on, fancying that they were closely pursued. Onward they dashed, the dying shriek of their victim ringing in their ears, mixed with unearthly sounds—it seemed like the mocking laughter of demons. But at that time they dreaded not the supernatural powers half so much as the anger of man; him they had made their enemy, and now detection was what they most feared. “Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed,” was the rigid law to which they had become amenable. No obstacles stopped them in their course. Their steeds, as if conscious of their masters’ haste, leapt fearlessly over the fragments of ruins which, in many places, strewed the road. With bridle and spur their riders kept them up, for a fall would have thrown them into the power of their fancied pursuers. After making a considerable circuit, Policarpio and Antonio approached the stable where they were to leave their horses. Leaping from his horse, Policarpio opened the door of the stable, for they were the first arrived, and entered, ordering his companion to follow, and to take off the saddles from their steeds. Having placed the horses in their stalls, they waited the return of the other two, in anxious expectation. Some minutes elapsed, and yet they arrived not.
“Can they have been seized?” muttered Policarpio to himself; “if so, all is lost, and I must make my escape.”
“We have made Teixeira pay dearly for his insolence,” said Antonio Ferreira. “Think you he could possibly have escaped? We sent shot enough through the carriage to kill most men.”
“Think you we should have run all this risk, and taken so much trouble, merely to kill a vile wretch as he is? But talk not of it again. We aimed at far higher game than he is; he may have been within, for it was his carriage; but it was not his paltry life we aimed at. It is the King we have killed!”
“Heaven pardon me!” exclaimed Antonio, in a trembling voice; “I thought not to have done such a deed!”
“Bah! this is no time for repentance,” answered Policarpio. “What is the difference between one man’s life and another’s. You have done your master a greater service than you thought. But silence; some one may overhear us: the devil has quick ears.”
They waited some time longer for their companions.
“I fear me, Manoel and your friend have been captured,” whispered Antonio.
“If so, we shall to a certainty be betrayed; and in flight is our only chance of safety. Adeos! friend Antonio. I shall take one course, and you may take another. This country will be no longer a safe abode for either of us.”
He went, as he spoke, to the door of the stable, and was about to hasten away, when he heard the sound of horses approaching, and directly after, the masked stranger, with Manoel, rode up. The former leaping to the ground, gave the reins to Policarpio. “I shall return homeward on foot,” he said. “Let silence and discretion be your motto, my friends, and you are safe; you shall not be forgotten.” And the stranger in black disappeared in the obscurity. Having relieved the horses from their saddles, and well fed them, Policarpio, with his two friends, returned to the Quinta.
As they entered a room, where lights were burning, they gazed at each other’s pale and haggard countenances, on which guilt had already stamped its indelible marks. Conscience-struck, they scarce dared to speak of the deed they had done. Policarpio was the first to recover his usual daring.
“Come, my friends,” he cried, filling for himself a bumper of wine, “banish these childish fears. Here’s to the health of the next King who shall reign over us, and may he prove a better master than the last!” His companions endeavoured in vain to imitate his careless bearing, though, at his desire, they gladly pledged him.
“Ah!” he continued, “to-morrow the whole city will ring with this night’s work! but no one will suspect us of the deed; and if they do, it matters little—we shall be above all fear of punishment.”
“I wish it were not done,” muttered Antonio; “I thought not to kill the King.”
“I pray we have not missed doing so,” answered Policarpio. “Curses on the weapons that failed when most required.”
“Who were those who accompanied us,” asked Manoel; “they seemed not of low degree?”
“That matters not, friend,” responded Policarpio; “you will gain your reward, and seek not to know more.”
Fearful of returning home, the two servants of the Marquis of Tavora threw themselves, overcome with fatigue, on the ground; but sleep visited not the murderers’ eyes that night, their victim’s shriek still rung in their ears, and their guilty hearts still beat with fears of the future.