The scales fell from my eyes; por el Santo de los Santos, he was no other than our Lord Saint Anthony, whom I had seen. Who but he would have termed me "son and comrade?" sinner and fool that I was. The hair of my flesh stood up, as the Scripture says, and with a prayer on my lips I gored my poor nag with the spurs and dashed along the pass of the Sierra for two leagues more until the poor animal almost sank beneath me; but perceiving rest necessary for him, I reined up at the door of a lonely wayside inn, in a part of the country which was entirely unknown to me, and which seemed to be overshadowed by mountain peaks and masses of rock, the features and outlines of which were strange, and to me gloomy and fantastic. In my excitement, and the holy terror under which I laboured, I had evidently lost the path, and thus mistaking my way, had ridden, Heaven and St. Anthony alone knew whither.
Solitary, dark, and desolate as this posada seemed,—and it was just the kind of place we so often read of in romances as being a rendezvous for robbers, and for having a landlord in their interest, with trap-doors under the beds, stains of blood upon the floors, old skeletons in the cellars, and a terrible reputation for mysterious appearances and unaccountable disappearances—it was a welcome halting-place for one so weary, so thirsty, and anxious as I was then, and so full of supernatural fear, as I never, for an instant, doubted having seen the blessed patron of our regiment, and to me at that time the human countenance even of a robber had been thrice welcome.
Though the hour was late the hostalero had not gone to bed. He seemed a civil and respectable man, and smiled with good-humour when he saw me, with all the care of an old traveller and the suspicion of a true Spaniard, transfer my pistols from their holsters to my girdle, a movement which seemed to fill with alarm the miserable and drabbish-looking Maritornes, who seemed to be the sole assistant of the patrona. Vague fancies and a sense of alarm were floating uppermost in the current of my thoughts; and being most anxious to start betimes when day broke, I left the saddle on my horse, as I stabled him in the lower apartment of the posada, for you may know, señores, that the Portuguese inns are constructed exactly like those among us here in Spain, the lower story being entirely one vast and clay-floored chamber, appropriated to the cattle and baggage of travellers. I merely relaxed the saddle-girth and curb-chain, but left my Andalusian jennet all ready for marching, when the morning came, and then ascended by a wooden trap-stair to the upper story, where the patrona had a steaming supper of ham and eggs, just such as we have had, well seasoned with pepper and garlic, spread for me, with a bunch of raisins and a choice flask of—ah, demonio! my heart leaped when I saw it—the wine of Xeres de la Frontierra.
A prayer rose to my lips, I thought of St. Anthony, but felt strong and composed, believing that I was under the peculiar care of that blessed patron of the regiment of Lagos. I would have left the little venta and betaken myself once more to the road, but, if any snare was really laid for me, such a movement might only render me more liable to an open and deliberate attack.
"I will be wary," thought I; "let me watch well, even as our holy patron watches me. Xeres! ouf, I would rather drink the salt lake of Fuente de la Piedra than touch a drop of it."
I felt morally certain that it was poisoned or drugged for some fatal purpose, and that in the tasting of it lay the main part of my danger. I finished the rasher of ham and the fragrant huevos; and to lull all suspicion asked my host to join me in discussing the bottle of Xeres as he uncorked it.
"The señor would, perhaps, excuse him. Xeres always made him ill, maldito—yes, and there was no doctor nearer than Elvas or Abrantes; but he would take a glass of aguadiente to my health and successful journey."
"Rascally picaro!" thought I; "you have other reasons for declining the Xeres, but I shall mar them yet."
I might have forced him with my sword at his throat to drink a cupful; but I dissembled, and filling out a bumper from the leathern beta, raised it to my lips, pretending to taste. I saw, then, the slow stealthy eyes of the hostalero watching me keenly.
"It has a peculiar flavour," said I.