"—in my soul is naught but gayety."
—Antonio Ferreira.
For the first time in all his life, Jose was to see Guimarães, the old city where Portugal's hero king, Affonso Henriquez, was born in 1109, the great warrior who made of Portugal a united country.
On the morning of St. Antonio's day, the thirteenth of June, the family was up early to eat with Antonio and Jose the holiday breakfast of estofado—stewed meat and vegetables. At six o'clock they gathered on the wide stone doorstep to see the brothers start. Carlos lay at the edge of the step, his nose upon his paws, waiting, both eyes fixed upon Jose. The dog knew that some unusual journey was planned; he was all ready to go, too.
But Carlos could not go. This was Jose's only regret at starting. "He would be frightened and perhaps lost in the city," Antonio said. So the dog was held back by Joanna, and he decided, in his dog way, that Jose must be going off to school again. The parrot's cries of Accolade! Accolade! followed the brothers until they were beyond reach of the sound.
It was a glorious June morning. Although so early, the sun was even now high in the blue heavens. The air was fragrant with sweet flower perfumes. Many small brown and yellow butterflies fluttered along the roadside. Large gray sand-lizards ran out from the underbrush. Meadow-larks and blackbirds sang in every tree-top.
All beyond the village market-place was new to Jose. The road grew constantly better. Soon above the pine forests appeared the granite peak of Penha. On the approach to Guimarães, the ground rises and pine forests spread around the city for miles. In that wild country, Affonso Henriquez first learned the art of war, and in his very boyhood became the trusted leader of his troops.
As the brothers drew nearer, they saw the gentle hill on which stand the walls of the old castle, still keeping watch over the city which lies beneath. It is impossible to imagine a ruin more stately than that of this grand old castle of the Middle Ages, the first Christian fortress in Portugal,—a castle-fortress which tells the story of the strong spirit of the race of men who built it. The huge granite blocks, each taller than a man, which form the battlements, still stand erect and immovable.
On the road, as the brothers drew yet nearer, were many other travellers, like themselves bound for the city. It was market-day as well as the holiday of St. Antonio. There were men and women, boys and girls, in gala-day costume. Sometimes the women and girls were driving donkeys, pannier-laden. But oftenest, these women-folk had baskets, heavily filled, upon their heads; in Portugal women carry everything in baskets, from babies to bales of goods. There were herdsmen on the way, driving flocks of goats. Groups of children walked soberly along with their parents. Now and then a beggar asked Antonio for a bit of money; but Portugal has few beggars compared with its neighboring country, Spain.
The crowd of holiday-makers grew. Jose climbed into the ox-cart, because he could see more and because the long walk and the unusual excitement were making him feel rather tired. Most of the travellers passed on ahead, for the oxen, pulling their load up-hill, made slow progress. But Jose did not mind this. The music of a brass band was coming to his ears. He had to ask Antonio what it was; he had never before heard a band.
Guimarães is a delightful old city. Even people who have travelled much more than Jose think so. It is full of picturesque buildings. There are many houses with balconies and windows of fine wood-carving. Several of the streets are hardly more than narrow alleys, and the eaves of the houses all but meet overhead. Some of the wider streets end in wonderful views of the hills, seen across fields brilliant green with rye and clover. And there is a beautiful old granite cathedral church.