"Assuredly, Señor. And in truth, I think it well you should have a friend with you, for the murmurs against you are growing stronger. It is whispered that an afrancesado was lately slain in your quarter, and men are saying that he was not the only one there. They are puzzled, for if you are an afrancesado, as some think, why are you fighting the French so desperately every day? I only tell you what they think and say, Señor; it is well I am your friend."
Jack set his lips; he traced this to Miguel's inveterate malice. Hurrying along with the big peasant, he arrived at the Aljafferia Castle, and was admitted after some delay to Palafox's room. The general had now taken to his bed; the fever had gained a terrible hold upon him, and but for his indomitable spirit he would probably ere this have died. He was surrounded by a group of his advisers, among them Don Basilio, Santiago Sass, Padre Consolacion, and General San March, who, having failed to hold the Monte Torrero against the French in the early days of the siege, had since been under a cloud. The priests scowled at Jack as he approached; the lean Santiago Sass and the rotund Padre Consolacion looked at him with equal distrust.
"Come, Tio Jorge," said General San March, "you are in time to support me. I have been asking the captain-general to allow me to lead a sortie across the Ebro, now that the French are weakened there by the withdrawal of so many men."
"Useless, useless!" cried Palafox from his bed.
"Useless, Señores!" echoed Tio Jorge. "What men have we now for sorties? Three weeks ago, yes; but now—most of our men can hardly stagger under the weight of their muskets. The time for sorties is past; but let us hope the French are withdrawn from San Lazaro by news of our brothers coming to aid us—"
"And we will never give in, never give in!" cried Santiago Sass. "No, not even though traitors within our walls give the gates to the enemy."
Tio Jorge was on the point of resenting, on Jack's behalf, the glare with which the priest accompanied these words; but Jack laid his hand on the man's arm, and, advancing to the bedside, spoke to the worn figure lying there.
"You remember, Señor, the despatch that was brought to you from the Supreme Junta, little more than a week ago, by one of your officers who made his way by night through the French lines?"
"I remember it."
"You have that despatch still?"