Our maître-d'hôtel, who felt he could not be sufficiently attentive to friends of de Nevada and the de la Torres, brought us strong tea; and on hearing an account of our night, suddenly departed, to reappear with a white powder procured at a chemist's.
"A touch of the fever, señor, caught last night at sundown," he remarked. "It is taken in a moment, but seldom shaken off so quickly. This powder will go far to put you right."
We took it in faith, and found it chiefly quinine. The effect was excellent. Though still weak, we were capable of an effort, and when H. C. returned with hands full of roses, carnations, orange-blossoms, sweet verbena—for which he had extravagantly paid threepence and made the flower-woman's heart sing for joy—we were able to carry out our programme and start for Saguntum.
A short railway journey landed us amidst the ruins of this ancient city, where we were in the very atmosphere not only of Rome, but of days and people long before.
The small, primitive town at the foot of the height was full of quaint outlines. Large circular doorways led to wonderful interiors; immense living-rooms in semi-obscurity; rich dark walls whose colour and tone were due to smoke and age. Here women were working and spinning and sometimes bending over a huge fire, deep in the mysteries of cooking. Beyond these dark rooms one caught sight of open courts or gardens, where orange and other trees flourished. Some of the women were busy making cheese, which here is quite an article of commerce and goes to many parts of the country. We had the place to ourselves. The women stopped their cheese-making and spinning to assemble in groups of twos and threes and stare after us. Human nature is curious and inquisitive all the world over.
But the charm and attraction of the place are the ruins that crown the heights; walls and towers now crumbling and desolate, witnessing to the strength and power of Saguntum in ages gone by. It was founded nearly 1400 years before the Christian era by the Greeks of Zante, when the Phœnicians were still monarchs of the land. Why they permitted the Greeks to erect this stronghold does not appear. When a wealthy frontier town allied to Rome, it was attacked by Hannibal. The defence was brave, determined and prolonged; but Rome would not come to the rescue, and the town perished amidst frightful horrors. This chiefly led to the Second Punic War, by which Saguntum was revenged and Hannibal and his armies were routed out of Spain: reverses they never recovered. In time it was rebuilt by the Romans, and in the course of centuries fell under the dominion of the Goths and the Moors.
Saguntum—Murviedro, as it is often called—is now a magnificent ruin. The climb to the castle is long, steep and rugged, and on reaching the gates we found them closed. There was no guardian to admit us; the ruins were uninhabited. After our feverish night, a return to the town for the keys and a second long climb seemed too much of a penance. Yet the interior must be seen.
Fortune favoured us. We found a man near the gates cutting away the rank grass and weeds: a strange uncanny creature; terribly hump-backed; with a pale long-drawn face from which a couple of dark eyes looked out upon you with a strange inward fire that seemed consuming him. He was almost a skeleton, as though he and starvation were close companions.
We made known our trouble, offering a substantial bribe if he would go down and bring up the keys. The man's eyes sparkled. Without hesitation he laid down his great shears and put on the coat he had placed under the walls.
"If the keys are to be had by mortal power, señor, I will not return without them," he said; his voice was shrill with the sharpness of habitual suffering.