In truth, he was a noble steed.”
Mazeppa.
A few minutes’ easy riding brought us to the spot where the roads diverged, and where it had been previously arranged that we should part company. We took leave of El Manco and the Cura; the fosterer and Frenchman turning their horses’ heads in the direction of Toledo, while the partidas took the mountain route. Consequently, the Empecinado and I were left alone, the escort passing on, with the exception of a single horseman.
“I know not wherefore, Mr. O’Halloran, but I feel more reluctance in saying the word ‘farewell’ than is my wont. The chances against our ever meeting in this world are enormous. Well, it matters not—‘tis but a too frequent occurrence in life’s history—the parting from those we esteem. Believe me, I shall ever look back on our brief acquaintance with pleasure, and wish you the best fortunes that attend a soldier—death or distinction. If I live, you will hear of the Empecinado. The tale may not be flattering; it may be of enemies destroyed, of villages laid in ashes. Men will speak of him as of a demon, and women cross themselves when they hear his name pronounced; and yet, Mr. O’Halloran, I was once such another as thyself. Mine, at thy own age, was the same ardent and disinterested courage, that at the posada risked life to save a stranger; and when the flush of blood had cooled, I would have recoiled, like thyself, from treading on a worm. And I was happy. I had a home on the sweet banks of the Huebra. I had a wife—a child. The Madonna’s features at the altar, where we plighted our bridal vows, were not lovelier than Camilla’s—the infant’s on the holy Virgin’s knees, not sweeter than my boy’s. I lost both, Mr. O’Halloran—lost them—but don’t ask how! In one brief day, Juan Diez’s nature changed, and he became what he is, cold to the misery he inflicts on others, from the fearful remembrance of what he underwent himself. But enough; sometimes recall the Einpecinado to thy recollection, and think on the inn of Villa Moro. Thou shalt have one token to bring me to thy memory—‘tis this horse. He is a titling gift; black as the rider he carried in safety through as great extremity—ay, even as that we encountered the first morning that we met.”
I thanked him warmly, but declined to accept the charger.
“Well, it would appear that in turn Juan Diez is to ask a favour and be refused,” he remarked, with an appearance of disappointment.
“Not so, Empecinado. I am too grateful for the past to incur fresh obligations. Why, look but at the value of the animal! My foster brother, as we rode together, was observing, that he doubted whether there was a more beautiful charger in Spain.”
“I question if there be; and yet I got him cheap enough. He cost me but a three hours’ ride. To be sure, the night was dark, and the road the worst on the frontier. He was the fwourite steed of one of Spain’s worst enemies; and the pistols, which you will find loaded in the holsters, were a gift from Napoleon to his minion. On the borders of Portugal I cut off a small detachment, escorting plundered property for better security to Ciudad Rodrigo. Of these spoils, Junot was the chief proprietor. I divided them among my band, but kept this charger, partly from personal regard for the French marshal, and partly as a memento of my success.”
Still I declined the Empecinado’s present.
“Well, let us change the terms. If you will not receive, you shall purchase; for I am determined to get rid of him. Are you aware that I have increased my stud this morning by eighty-three? I think I can spare one. Come, will you accept or purchase?”