Now I was sorely posed by this suggestion of his--sorely. For, firstly, there was something bitterly distasteful to me, a soldier and, I hoped, a brave one, in masquerading in any such guise as this suggested. Also, I knew that it ill became me to tarry on my journey back for any cause whatever, let alone a new formed friendship for Juan Belmonte. My place was with the Cuirassiers, and with them I ought to be--both the earls having hinted that there would be some hard fighting ere long--while, as for revenging myself on the villain whose name now seemed for a certainty to be Eaton, well! that might easily be left to Señor Jaime and Juan. If they did not between them very effectually confound that hoary-headed scoundrel, I should be much astonished.
On the other hand, there were many things that made for my disguising myself ere I entered Lugo, and, rapidly enough as I sat my horse deliberating, those things ran through my mind. To begin with, it would be full of Spanish and French soldiers and sailors, the runaways from Vigo, who, undoubtedly, would have followed the bulk of the treasure which had been removed from the galleons and transported here; and it was possible that there might be some who would recognise me, since I had played a pretty prominent part in the attack. It might, therefore, be best that--little as this disguising of myself was to my taste--I should do as Señor Jaime suggested.
Yet, all the same--and in the next moment--I decided that I would not do this thing; for, besides that it was too repugnant to me, I knew that it would be useless. And, knowing this, I said so, in spite of the pleading, pitiful glances which Juan cast at me--glances which plainly enough implored me to adopt the monk's dress, and thereby be enabled to stay in Lugo until vengeance was wrought upon James Eaton.
"No," I said, turning to Señor Jaime, who sat quietly on my horse awaiting my answer, while I studiously avoided Juan's gaze. "No, I will not do it. I am a soldier, and as a soldier--at least as a man, and not a monk--I will get through Spain and France. Besides, the disguise would be useless."
"Wherefore?"
"In reply to that," I said, "let me ask you a question: What do you intend to do with your horse? Monks do not ride, as a rule--in Flanders I never saw one on horseback; also, your boots and great steel spurs beneath the gown would betray you."
Now, he seemed very fairly posed at this, and for a moment bent his head over his animal's mane, as though lost in thought. Then suddenly he burst out into one of his deep, sonorous laughs, and exclaimed:
"Body of St. Iago! I never thought of that. Though, for the boots, it matters not; I have the monkish sandals with me. And--and--perhaps the horse can be smuggled into the town somehow, and with it the boots! Ha! I must think!"
And again he became buried in thought; yet, a moment later, he spoke once more:
"If you enter Lugo as you are," he said, "you will be taken for a certainty. There are--there must be--many coming after us from behind, from Chantada--they will describe you. Remember, you were not only seen under the moon's rays during the fight in the wood, but in the town previously. And, if you are taken, there is no hope for you! Eaton has told that you are English--fought against the galleons at Vigo. God! it means the garrote for both of you. You understand what that is? An upright post, a hasp of iron around your neck and it, a wheel to screw that hasp tight to the post--with your neck between them!--and--and--your eyeballs out of your head--your tongue half a foot long. That is what awaits you if you are taken."