Civis Romanus Sum.
“The mightiest of all peoples under Heaven!”
“I tell you, you stupid, blundering blockheads, that he is my brother; and we are Englishmen, and we know nothing whatever of your Carlist brigands, or whoever they are! We are British subjects, and you had better let us go, or the British Government will know the reason why,” thundered Jack Lester, in exceedingly bad Spanish, interspersed with English epithets, at the top of his voice.
“Gentlemen, it is true; our passports are at Ronda; conduct us thither, if you will. We are travelling for pleasure only, and have no concern with any political matters at all,” said Alvar, in far more courteous accents.
The scene was the mountain side, the time evening, and Alvar and Jack were just beginning their descent, when they were confronted by an official, and surrounded by a small troop of soldiers in the government uniform. They had been suddenly encountered and stopped, and desired to produce their passports, and, these not being forthcoming, their account of themselves was met with civil incredulity, and they were desired to consider themselves under arrest.
“But—but don’t you see that you’re making an utter fool of yourself,” shouted Jack, in a fury. “I tell you this gentleman is my brother, and we are the sons of Mr Lester, of Oakby Hall, Westmoreland, and have nothing to do with your confounded Carlists. I’ll knock the first fellow down—”
“Hush, Jack! Keep your temper,” whispered Alvar, in English. “Señor, I am the grandson of Señor Don Guzman de la Rosa, of Seville, well known as a friend to the government, and this is my half-brother from England.”
“One of the De la Rosas, señor, is exactly what we know you to be; but as for this extraordinary falsehood by which you call yourself an Englishman—and the brother of this gentleman—why, you make matters worse for yourselves for attempting it.”
“Ask the guide,” said Alvar.
“Ah, doubtless; the fellow was known as having been engaged in the late war. Come, señores, you may as well accompany me in silence.”