This was just, and as it should be, admitted the Cherub; but [pg 216]we were not the public. We were special ones, even as special as the Duke of Carmona who would entertain his friends there that evening. Surely the guardian must know that the O'Donnel family was on terms of friendship with the Governor of the Alcázar, who would suffer severe pains of the heart if he heard that such visitors had been turned away. Thus the good Cherub continued to whisper. And whether or no coin changed hands I cannot tell; but certain it is that in less than the five minutes allowed by Pilar for the working of her father's fascinations, we were inside the forbidden precincts, accompanied by a lamb-like attendant.
It was from him that we must learn what we wished to know; but it would be unwise to betray a premature thirst for information on any subject save the history or beauties of the Alcázar. Asking a question now and then of our guide, we wandered from patio to patio, from room to room of that wonderful royal dwelling once called “the house of Cæsar.” Many a rude shock and vicissitude had it sustained when Goths fought for it with Romans, when Moors seized it from Christians, when Christians won it back, and conducted themselves within its jewelled walls in ways unworthy of their faith and boasted chivalry, yet the beauties which Pedro the Cruel restored in admiring imitation of the Alhambra, glowed still with undimmed splendour, in the sunshine of this twentieth century afternoon.
If I had not been preoccupied by my own private and extremely modern anxieties, I should have let imagination work the spell it longed to work, and make of me some humble character gliding shadow-like, but ever observant, through tale after tale of the “Arabian Nights.” In just such a palace as this had the Seven Calenders lost each an eye; behind any one of these fretted arches might one come upon a king, half man, half jet-black marble. The most captious of genies could have found no fault with the Hall of the Ambassadors save the absence of the roc's egg; and despite my impatience the storied enchantment of the place soon had me in its grip.
[pg 217] Scheherezade, I said to myself, could have invented no tales to surpass in thrilling interest the scenes which had been enacted here. The drama of widowed Egilona and her handsome Moorish prince, ruined by her love; the tragedy of Abu Said, done to death by Pedro for the sake of his “fair ruby, great as a racket ball,” and the store of gems for which men still search secretly in hidden nooks of the Alcázar; the murder of the young Master of Santiago, who came to Pedro as an honoured guest; the love story of Maria de Padilla, whose spirit, the guardian whispered, could be seen to this day flitting in moonlight and shadow along her favourite garden walks, or trailing white robes through rooms which had been hers.
“Perhaps, as the moon is full, Maria will appear to-night in the garden to the Duke of Carmona and his guests,” said Pilar; and I knew from this preface that our probation was at an end.
The attendant laughed. “Perhaps,” he replied; “but I think there will be too much noise to please her. The Duke has engaged a troupe of dancers and guitarists to entertain his friends.”
“No doubt King Don Pedro used to amuse his in the same way,” remarked the Cherub, “employing the forerunners of Ramiro Olivero and his school maybe.”
“It is Ramiro Olivero who performs to-night,” said the attendant, playing into our hands.
“Of course! He is the favoured one in such affairs,” assented the Cherub. “It ought to be a pretty entertainment, and interesting to the Duke's English guests. It will be somewhere in the gardens?”
“In the lower garden of the Moorish kiosk,” was the unsuspecting reply.