CHAPTER V
IN WHICH A DAUGHTER GRANTS A FATHER’S WISH
LATE in the afternoon of a day in April, just one year before the date of the occurrences recorded in the foregoing chapters of this tale, Don Rodrigo de Aquilar, statesman, soldier, scholar, devout Catholic, sat at a curiously-carved table in the library of his ancestral house in the street of Las Palmas, Seville. His gray hair and pointed beard, his keen, dark eyes and lofty brow, the simple elegance of his attire, and the artistic luxury of his surroundings combined to form a striking picture in the half-lights of the waning day. Upon the table before him lay pompous tomes, quaint old manuscripts, and several crude maps and charts.
Copies of the letters of Menendez to Philip II. of Spain, made by Don Rodrigo in the archives of Seville; a transcript of the bull “by the authority whereof Pope Alexander, the sixth of that name, gave and granted to the Kings of Castile and their successors the regions and islands found in the west ocean sea by the navigations of the Spaniards:” a reproduction of a map of the western world, dedicated to Sir Philip Sidney by Michael Lok; a volume entitled Hakluyt’s Divers Voyages, hot with hatred of the Spanish, and other misleading data concerning a misunderstood continent confronted the Castilian aristocrat, and by their united efforts cast upon him a spell which had brought to his thin cheeks a hectic flush, and to his haughty lips lines of determination.
It was, however, with a much later manuscript than any one of those above mentioned that Don Rodrigo was engaged at the moment of which we write. Bending eagerly forward from a quaintly-cut, high-backed chair, the aged Spaniard was scanning attentively a parchment upon which a recent explorer, with artistic tendencies, had inscribed a pictorial outline of his discoveries. Ports, harbors, islands, and rivers competed for the attention of the observer with rudely outlined birds, beasts, and fishes. Indians feasting and dancing, Indians flogged by priests. Indians burning alive for heresy, gave grim testimony to the fact that the eccentric cartographer had witnessed sympathetically the saving of souls in the New World. It was not upon these, however, nor upon the chameleon with two legs confronting a bat-winged griffin having the tail of an alligator—a weird product, according to the map-maker, of Mexico—that Don Rodrigo de Aquilar was squandering the retreating light of day. His eyes and mind rested upon a sketch representing a group of Indians working silver mines.
“Methinks, Juan, the venture’s worth the risk. Were it not for Doña Julia, I’d slip my anchor of old age and sail across the sea. I have no mind to place the King’s gift in an agent’s hands, to let him rob the Mexicans and me.”
Don Rodrigo had leaned back in his chair, and was gazing across the disordered table at a pale, dark-eyed youth, attired in black velvet, whose thin, nervous hand had been making a copy of letters-patent from Charles of Spain to his Majesty’s “dear beloved son in Christ, Don Rodrigo de Aquilar.” Juan Rodriquez, secretary to Don Rodrigo, was a lineal descendant of a marinero of Seville who had returned safely to his native city after circumnavigating the globe with Magellan. Of this same marinero it had been written that he was “energetic, courageous, but marvellous unprincipled.”
“I have heard Doña Julia say, señor,” remarked Juan in a softly modulated voice—“I have heard her say, within the last few days, that she would be glad to see those strange lands over-sea, where palaces are made of gold and pearls grow upon the trees.”
A grim smile played across the haughty countenance of the old statesman.
“An idle whim begot of idle tales, young man! But were I sure that sufferings and danger would not beset our ship, I’d take the girl and look upon my grant before I die. ’Twill be her heritage at last. But, look you, Juan! These blind cartographers have dealt in fancies tempting men to death. Somewhere beneath the soil of yonder fatal land lie my two sons—and in my death a famous name must die. And I am old. They’d say at court, should I set sail from here, that his Majesty’s rich gifts had made me mad at last.”
There was silence at the table for a time. Don Rodrigo reclined in his chair and watched the changing lights and shadows of the waning day as they emphasized the sombre beauty of the room. Presently he said:
“You’ve made the footings, Juan? A hundred thousand ducats will cover everything?”
“And leave a handsome margin, señor,” answered the secretary, referring to a parchment upon which daintily-executed rows of figures had been inscribed. “As times go, señor, the vessel costs you but a song.”
Don Rodrigo eyed Juan Rodriquez searchingly. His secretary’s apparent eagerness for the venture mystified him. Diplomatist, educated in a crafty school, the old Spaniard had never lost sight of the advantages to be gained at times by frank directness.
“You are urging me to take this step, Juan. Let me ask you why?”
The pale face of the youth had turned yellow in the twilight. His dark, shifty eyes refused to meet his master’s insistent gaze. His thin hand drummed nervously on the dry, rattling parchment in front of him as he said, with an attempt at candor which did not ring true:
“I believe, señor, that it would be well for Doña Julia, and for you, to leave Seville for a time. She mourns Don Josef—does she not? And you, Don Rodrigo, have won a triumph in diplomacy that frees you for a while from public life. The voyage now is not so fraught with danger as of old, nor is there peril when you reach New Spain. More than one fair lady of Seville has been across and back for love of Mother Church. And, as I said, the marvels of the sea might serve to turn your daughter’s mind from thoughts of her betrothed.”
Don Rodrigo gazed earnestly at the eager face of his secretary.
“You believe, then, Juan, that Doña Julia’s heart was broken when Don Josef fell, run through by the Frenchman’s sword? You think she loved him?”
“Nay, señor, such thoughts are not for me,” answered Juan, in a voice that resembled the purring of a cat. “But this I see—that since you returned from France her eyes are heavy and her cheeks are pale. The songs she used to sing we hear no more. She’s fading like a flower which craves the sun. Give her, señor, new aims, new scenes, the splendors of the sea, the marvels of New Spain, and once again her eyes and smile will be as sunny as they were of old.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, young man,” remarked the old diplomat, playfully. “Mayhap, my Juan, you know a charm to make me young again. Or perhaps you can find the island of Bimini and the fountain of eternal youth which bold de Leon sought. But, hark, I hear her step! We’ll lay the venture, in all its bare simplicity, before her, and do as she decides.”
As Don Rodrigo ceased speaking there entered the library a dark-haired, large-eyed, graceful girl, who glided from the shadows of the twilight toward the centre of the room, and stood motionless at the lower end of the long table. A belated sunbeam, stealing through the distant window, caressed her face for a moment, upon which a sad smile rested as her eyes met her father’s.
“You disobey his Majesty’s behest, Don Rodrigo de Aquilar!” she exclaimed, playfully, pointing toward the books and maps before her. “Did not the King command you to take a well-earned rest, my father?”
“But his Majesty has never ordered me to sit here and die,” remarked Don Rodrigo, emphatically. “Be seated, Julia. You come to us at a most opportune moment. For my services in France his Majesty has granted me fair lands across the sea. Mines rich in silver belong to me by virtue of this seal. The question is, my daughter, will you go with me to view my province in New Spain?”
Juan Rodriquez, who had arisen upon Doña Julia’s entrance, stood watching the girl with stealthy eyes, in which there gleamed a light not there before. There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Julia, looking Don Rodrigo fearlessly in the face, said:
“I will go with you gladly, father. Seville has stifled me. But place no faith upon my changing whims. If we’re to go, then let us sail at once.”