The Car of Destiny 33 – Williamson · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The Car of Destiny 33The Seven Men of Ecija
18
Literature · Romance
The Car of Destiny 33
The Seven Men of Ecija
WilliamsonEnglish
Close in front of us was drawn up a large automobile, its front wheels mounted on a barrier of rough stones built across the highway. Rolled in the dust lay a leather-clad chauffeur, limp in unconsciousness or death; and with their backs to the car, two young men stood bravely defending themselves against seven.
So suddenly did we burst upon the scene, and so furiously had I to put on the brake, that I saw only a wild picture of determined faces pale above flashing blades, fierce faces under red peasant caps, and carbines used as clubs. Then Dick and I were out of the Gloria; and instead of two there were four against seven.
Where were the revolvers we had bought by Don Cipriano’s advice at Madrid, for just such an emergency as this?—In our suit-cases at the Cortijo de Santa Rufina, forgotten from the moment of purchase until this moment of need. But, as by one accord, each seized a jagged stone which had rolled from the barricade, and before we had had time for two consecutive thoughts we had joined the strangers, and all four were fighting like demons.
Oddly enough, the seven red caps did not fire their carbines, and had apparently directed all their efforts to disarming or stunning the automobilists. But at sight of us their tactics changed. Surprised at first, their astonishment was burnt up by rage. Four of the seven turned upon us, and drew knives, but quick as light I had wrenched one of them out of a brown hand, giving its owner a smashing blow between the eyes with my stone.
Down he dropped like an ox, and I was ready for another; but the blade of a third would have slid between my ribs had not one of the seven cried out sharply, “Stop! A red car—a red car. These are the men we want.”
“Disable them,” yelled another voice; but it was easier said than done. The second’s pause which followed the warning shout saved my skin. The brigand’s knife flew; and he got a side blow on the temple which sent him spinning.
We were now four against five; but already the right arm of another red cap spouted crimson from the blade in a sword-stick which was flashing blue lightning, and another wore a dark spot on his shirt—a spot which spread and changed its shape.
There was no time to look at faces. I scarcely saw the features of friend or foe, and could not have sworn to the identity of one man had my life depended on it. But I knew that two beside whom we fought were brave beyond the common, that they were worth fighting for and with. We were all four shoulder to shoulder now, our backs against the car, though how we had won through to that position I could not have told.
Another red cap had gone down on one knee, cursing, and there was a fresh blot of crimson on a dark-stained shirt. We four had the advantage now, for we had come to no harm but a few bruises and an aching head or two, when suddenly there was a howl from the fellow last down, “El guardia civile!”
It was true. Out of the distance rode two men, dashing towards us from the direction of Jerez. Far away still, their white, black, and red uniforms caught the sun; and guessing from the knot of forms swaying round a motor-car that something was wrong, the pair spurred their horses to a gallop.
“It’s too hot for us!” panted the brigand I took for the leader. He growled an order; and supporting two of their fallen comrades who were able to help themselves, the uninjured pair made off towards a small wood where I now saw horses tethered. After them we went; but they promptly left their half-disabled friends to shift for themselves, and loaded their carbines—so lately clubs—with quickness almost incredible.
An instant later two black muzzles covered us; and the tide of battle might after all have turned disastrously, had not the shrill ping of a bullet warned the enemy that there was no time to waste upon reprisals.
One of the civil guard had fired from a distance, but with precise aim, as a yell of pain announced. A man already wounded got another souvenir of the encounter; and out of the seven only four could get to their saddles. One limped in the rear, but he had lost his carbine; one sat where his comrades had flung him in their flight, and the last of the seven—stunned by my stone—lay breathing stertorously on the road.
“After them—after them!” one of the young men who had fought so brilliantly shouted now to the civil guards. “Don’t let them get away.”
For the first time I looked at him with seeing eyes. Then, I could hardly stifle an exclamation. It was the King.
He gave me back look for look, smiling that brave and charming smile which has magic in it to transform an enemy into a loyal servant.
I had my cap off now, and so had Dick, who wore the jaunty air I had seen him wear in more than one battle.
“I have to thank you both,” said the King. “And—not for the first time. Our cars, as well as ourselves, have met before. Wasn’t it—near Biarritz?”
I felt the blood stream up to the roots of my hair. “Your Majesty has a King’s memory for faces,” I stammered.
“There are faces one doesn’t forget,” said he. “But we’ll talk of that presently. Now we have work here.”
The King’s companion was already down on one knee by the side of the chauffeur, pouring aguardiente from a flask into the man’s half-open mouth. As for the fellow I had hit, I was sure that he would presently come round, but little the worse for wear; and I suggested that Dick and I find a rope in the car, which would bind him and the two other half-disabled ones. But the King would not let us work alone. He did as much as we, and more, before we were joined by the young officer who was his friend.
Discouraged and weak from loss of blood, as well as the loss of their carbines and their comrades, the wounded brigands made no further fight. But they were silent, save for a muttered oath or two, and I made up my mind that the true secret of this morning’s work would never be torn from them.
For there was, of course, a secret. The King, who had not the clue which I held, saw that, and wondered why the brigands had not wished at first to shoot us. Plainly, their plan had been to make captives.
The obvious idea was that they would have conveyed their prisoners to some brigands’ nest in the mountains, in the hope of obtaining a rich ransom. But they had evidently expected an automobile, or they would not have raised a barricade, just round a sharp corner on a particularly lonely piece of road.
Could they have been lying in wait for the King? This seemed impossible, as he had told no one that he was going out, and the expedition had indeed been made on the impulse, in the company of but one companion beside the chauffeur. He had intended to have a spin, and discover the state of the roads as far as practicable on the way to Jerez before turning back for the procession in the afternoon. And that evening he must return to Madrid. No, it was not the King for whom the seven men had prepared.
Who, then, was to have been their prey?
I believed that I could have answered this question, but I kept silent; and there was no reason why the King should guess that I had a suspicion.
“At all events,” he said, “we have you and your friend to thank that the affair was not more serious. I hope we should have been able to give a good account of ourselves; but seven against two are long odds. And there seems a fate in it that you should have come to me in the nick of time to-day as well as at Biarritz. I should like to know your names.”
I had dreaded this. Foolishly, perhaps, I felt that I could not bear to see the cordial light in his eyes fade to proud coldness, as it must when he knew me for a son of the man who had tried to place another on his throne. Besides, that I should at such a moment announce myself a Casa Triana would seem like bidding for pardon as a reward for what I had done. The confession stuck in my throat; and while I hesitated, Dick spoke.
“My friend didn’t mean you to know, sir,” said he, gabbling so fast that I could not stop him; “but this isn’t the second time he’s happened to be around when there was a little thing to be done for your Majesty,—it’s the third. Yesterday it was he who snatched that bomb away from the man under the paso, collared the other fellow, and stuck the bomb in a smashed water-jar, although he gave the credit to the chauffeur—who, by the way, is ‘shover’ to this car. My friend here is travelling, as you might say, incog. for important private reasons, which he’ll want you to know some day, sir, if he doesn’t now; and that’s why, when Ropes the chauffeur happened along, he made him a present of all the praise.”
The King flushed, looking me straight in the eyes with an expression so noble and at the same time so kind that, had we lived a century or two ago, when men were not ashamed to show their true feelings, I should have thrown myself at his feet.
“I thank you again,” he said, “for everything. I’m glad to know you are Spanish, even if I am to know no more. But am I to know no more?”
“Will your Majesty pardon me,” I asked, “if I beg to remain nameless for the present?”
“I could pardon you far graver crimes,” the King said smiling; “and I’m sure your reason, whatever it is, reflects nothing but honour on yourself. I owe you a debt. Claim it’s payment in my gratitude whenever you will; the sooner the better. And if you want a friend, you’ll know where to find one.”
He held out his hand, and when I took it, shook mine warmly in English fashion. Something else he was about to say on a second thought, when his friend—who had now restored the chauffeur to dazed consciousness—drew his attention. “Sir,” he said, “the guardia civile are coming back without prisoners.”
A minute or two later the two men had galloped up to us, one wounded in the cheek. They had chased the brigands, exchanging shots, until suddenly, having passed beyond a clump of trees and a few lumpy hummocks of sand, the band had vanished as if by magic. The civil guards had explored the spot for some cleverly concealed hiding-place, which they knew must exist within the space of two hundred metres, but they had found nothing. And as they had had no time to ascertain the condition of the men left for us to deal with, they had thought it best to return lest the wounded enemy prove not to be hors de combat after all.
Fortunately the distance from this lonely spot to Jerez was not more than thirty kilometres, and within three miles there was a farm. Here a cart could be got to take the wounded brigands into the town; and from Jerez a posse of men would be immediately sent out to scour the country for the escaped brigands.
The King, whom the guardia civile recognized with respectful surprise, was now anxious to get back to Seville, where he was due in the royal box for the Good Friday procession, and must appear by five o’clock at latest. He delayed only long enough to be sure that his chauffeur was not hurt beyond a slight concussion of the brain, to speak a few kind words to the civil guard, and to say a significantly emphasized “Au revoir” to Dick and me. Then, taking the wheel himself, whilst the half-dazed chauffeur lay in the tonneau, he backed the big, reddish-brown car off the barricade, and darted away in a cloud of dust at a good forty miles an hour.
It was left for us to do what we could to advance the civil guard with their task; and though we had already lost too much time for my peace of mind, it was our plain duty to help those who had helped us. When we had levelled the rough barricade we reluctantly bundled the wounded men into our tonneau, and going at a pace which enabled the civil guards to gallop close behind us, we steered for the farm of which they had spoken. There, in a buzz of excitement, the brigands were piled into a cart; and leaving them to follow, presided over by one mounted guard leading his comrade’s horse, we took the other on to Jerez in our car, so that the search party might be organized the sooner.
Sometimes virtue brings its own reward, and mine came when I learned that our new companion had met an automobile going at a great pace towards Jerez. It had gone so fast that, in the dust, he was not sure of the colour or number of persons inside, but he thought that he had seen several ladies.
If he could he would have compelled us to stop in Jerez and give evidence of the attack by brigands; but laughingly we told him that, rather than be delayed again, we would spill him out by the roadside and vanish into space before he could set the telegraph to work. As for the brigands, the leader with three others had escaped, and the faces of those captured were not known to the guard. But the fact that they had been seven was significant in his opinion; and he believed that they would prove to be men of Ecija, forming a band officially supposed to be defunct.
Should we give a hint of our suspicions, we knew well that every effort would be made to detain us at Jerez, and such a catastrophe I would have avoided at almost any price, unless there had been a hope of handicapping Carmona. But that there was no such hope I was as sure as that the abortive plan had been organized by him.
How he had communicated so quickly with his friends the Seven, I did not pretend to say, unless he had known where to find their leader, and visited him this morning in his car. Whatever he had done, however, he would not have been fool enough to jeopardize his reputation for the sake of laying me by the heels. The fact that he had claimed the aid of bandits proved that he wished to dispose of me without implicating himself, though why he had not adopted the far simpler plan of denouncing me as Casa Triana to the police, I could not conceive. Still, there was ingenuity in this idea. If a young man—or two young men—were captured in a lonely place known to be infected with brigands; if such young men were held for ransom, and kept out of the way for weeks or months, what was all that to a Duke of Carmona?
What if, when one of those young men appeared in the world again (minus an ear or a finger, perhaps), he told a fairy story about the enmity of the Duke, and reminded the public of an old nurse’s tale concerning a bond between the house of Carmona and the leader of the seven famous brigands? Who would believe him? Who would not think it a silly and spiteful attempt on the part of an embittered man to injure a grandee of Spain?
Carmona would not have taken the whole Seven into his confidence, that was certain. He would have appealed to the leader alone. That leader had escaped; and even if he were captured he would not betray the Duke. Why should he, since it would not help himself; whereas, if he were loyal, Carmona would secretly use influence to lighten his lot?
Dick and I discussed these matters in English, under the nose of the civil guard, as I drove on to Jerez; and shrewd Yankee as he was, for once he accepted the Spanish point of view. If we were to “get even with Carmona and pay him out for this,” it must be in some less clumsy way, Dick agreed.
