This last act of faith being ended, the Abbot made a sign, and two of the brethren approached him with a litter. The old man's miraculous tide of vitality was ebbing as fast as it had flowed, and the captain knew that, in the circumstances, the Minister in Lisbon would not approve of this indecent haste. But he had involved himself too deeply with the Viscount to draw back, and it was essential to his plans that the whole monastic garrison should vacate their barracks without delay. Therefore he contented himself with uttering a string of regrets which nobody heeded.
It was a quarter-past twelve when the procession started. The monks went forth two and two, like the Seventy in the gospel. At their head walked the Prior and the Cellarer, who had much to discuss concerning ways and means. The Abbot's litter was borne at first by Father Isidore and Father Antonio. Brother Cypriano and the other lay-monks brought up the rear. They led five pack-mules, whose burdens contained little more than the monks' winter shoes and habits, and a blanket for each one. The Prior had not asked leave to take either the mules or their loads, but the captain had not raised any objection. As for their personal belongings, the fathers and brethren seemed to be almost literally fulfilling the Holy Rule, and to be carrying away almost nothing of their own. Each monk held a small bundle, in which the four volumes of his breviary were the principal item.
They wound down the paved way without looking back. The Viscount grinned and rubbed his hands. Soon the black files were lost to sight in the avenue of camellias, and a few minutes afterwards the strident grinding of iron on iron proclaimed their arrival at the rusty gate.
The captain gave a signal to Carvalho, whose men had been busy saddling their horses, and immediately a detachment twenty strong cantered after the exiles.
"A guard of honor," chuckled the Viscount.
"I am obeying the Minister's instructions," answered the captain dryly.
"Like a good boy. And at the same time you've got rid of half these prying peasants. But come, we haven't sampled the cellar. And I could eat a couple of those fat trout."
The captain flung aside his uncomfortable thoughts and agreed, with an oath, to a carouse. The pair plunged into the cool corridors, to ransack the larder with small success.
Meanwhile the unpitiful sun was beating on the monks' heads and on the Abbot's rude litter. The cruel ball of fire hung in a dome of so hard a blue that it might have been cut from one immense sapphire. The Atlantic chafed in its bed with a simmering sound, and blinded the eyes like molten copper.
Carvalho and his troopers, who had been hanging on the monks' rear, were the first to surrender. Riding forward to the head of the train, Carvalho in person suggested that both drivers and driven should encamp amicably in a neighboring grove of eucalyptus until the fiercest heat had passed. The Prior agreed.