CABALLERO'S PENANCE
Chapter One
LATE THAT SULTRY
AFTERNOON IN THE VERY EARLY 1880's, young Don
Fernando Venegas rode slowly along the dusty highway which stretched from
Mission San Gabriel to the pueblo with the long name which men already were
contracting to Reina de los Angeles, and which now is known simply as Los
Angeles.
Don Fernando rode in splendor. The slanting
rays of the declining sun flashed from the silver ornaments on his bridle and
saddle, and the rings on his ungloved hands. Diamonds and rubies scintillated
in the brooch which fastened the silk scarf around his throat. Less precious jewels
adorned the band of his sombrero. Others glittered in the hilt of the rapier he
wore at his side—a thing of rare beauty and workmanship which also could be the
means of swift and violent death.
Don Fernando's huge black horse pranced as
though with pride because he carried such a splendid personage upon his back. A
proper distance behind, and to the left and the lee, lest his body stench
affront the delicate nostrils of his young master, Don Fernando's personal bodyguard and servant, Miguel, followed astride
a riding mule, looking down with evident scorn upon others of his ilk,
inordinately proud in the knowledge that a man takes rank from the one he
serves.
In Reina de los
Angeles it was the usual hour for the after-siesta promenade, when the cool breeze
started drifting in over the hills from the distant sea. As he emerged from the
highway and rode slowly toward a corner of the plaza, Don Fernando saw elderly men of birth and breeding as they strutted
around somewhat pompously, plump señoras
who teetered and smiled and bowed, dainty señoritas
as they tripped along vivaciously with severe-looking dueñas ever watchful
beside them, which bothered their fair charges not at all, no dueña in
existence ever having been capable of dulling the lustre in a flashing eye. He
saw other young caballeros parading on all sides of the plaza in their
finest silks and satins, for there was to be a social affair of importance at
the barracks that evening, and each young blade was attired in his resplendent
best.
Native servants
were scurrying around like so many sage rabbits in the brush, and with no more
courage, careful to keep from under foot lest a whip laid forcibly across a
naked back teach them the penalty for carelessness and laxity in manners.
Perspiring, barefooted, ragged peons
bore burdens like beasts, huge bundles upon their heads or backs.
Don Fernando Venegas straightened in his
saddle, his head held high, glancing down upon this world from beneath drooping
lids as, though the very best of it was unworthy his consideration. He was tall
and slender, lithe and handsome, a young scion of a noble family with its roots
in Old Spain and this one branch in the land of Alta California at the world's
end. His elderly father had a great rancho of thousands of acres, received
through a king's grant, in the vicinity of Mission San Gabriel. He had huge
herds and flocks, vineyards and orchard land, citrus fruits and olives, and was
a gentleman of station, wealth and substance.
As he rode on
slowly, Don Fernando bowed to friends
and acquaintances, lifted a hand in polite salute when he was hailed, and
finally drew rein in front of the adobe tavern. Miguel dropped off the back of
his riding mule quickly and hurried forward to hold the stirrup while his
splendid master dismounted. On his knees, Miguel wiped the trail dust from his
master's fine boots, using a square of heavy silk cloth for the purpose, then
arose and bowed and led the black horse away to tether him to one of the horse
blocks at the side of the building.
At the open door
of the tavern, the fat innkeeper was bending almost double over his ample paunch,
wheezing and panting as he did so, and holding wide his hands in a gesture to
indicate that the tavern was no longer his property, should Don Fernando desire to claim it. But Don Fernando favored him with not so
much as a single glance as he stooped slightly to pass through the doorway and
into the cool, semidark interior.
The innkeeper
clapped his hands smartly, and some of his native servants came running in
answer, their bare feet pat-patting on the beaten earth floor, as Don Fernando sank on a bench beside one
of the tables not far from the door.
"Fetch wine
in my golden goblet! . . . The richest wine from my own private wineskin!"
the innkeeper barked. "Fetch warm and perfumed water for the proper
bathing of gentle hands . . . and fine linen with which to dry them! Fetch
meats and fruits, honey and cakes . . . and make the greatest haste!"
Don Fernando lifted a restraining hand
languidly. "Fetch the wine only," he counter-ordered in a low,
well-modulated voice, and tossed down upon the table a piece of gold.
"Hasten
with the wine, sluggards!" the innkeeper shouted, clapping his hands
again. "The best wine for Don
Fernando! Do not keep the caballero waiting! Hasten, base sons of
snails!"
"Your
constant vocal tumult annoys and distresses me," Don Fernando complained to the innkeeper.
"I ask a
thousand pardons of you, Don
Fernando." The innkeeper bowed low and exhaled abundantly again. "I
shall contrive to speak in whispers hereafter. I am only loud with joy because
you honor my poor tavern with your presence. Ah, the wine! In my own golden
goblet, Don Fernando! It is rare
wine—"
Don Fernando sipped cautiously.
"Juice-sweetened water in a cup of brass," he gave verdict. He tossed
down two more gold pieces. "Dispose of it," he ordered, "and
purchase a better one, that I may have something fitting from which to drink if
I ever enter your filthy hovel again."
"Everything
shall be done as you request, Don
Fernando," the innkeeper replied, putting the gold coins quickly into a
pocket of his apron.
"I have
come here, rogue, to have certain speech with you." Don Fernando informed him, speaking softly. "Private
speech!"
"Si, Don Fernando!" The innkeeper waddled
away for a few feet and clapped his hands. Some half score men scattered around
the room gave him their immediate attention. "Out!" he screeched at
them. "The tavern is especially reserved for
the moment. Out at once, señors! Don Fernando Venegas desires to have
private speech with me."
They
arose and made their exit immediately, though some did it with poor grace, and Don Fernando, brushing his nostrils with
his handkerchief as if to drown with perfume a stench, appeared otherwise not
aware of their passing. The innkeeper followed them to the door, closed it upon
them and scurried back to the table, motioning for the servants in the room to
retire.
"Don Fernando, we are now alone," he
whispered, then. "I am prepared to listen to your demands and execute any
order you please to give me. It is an honor to serve—"
"I am not even here, señor,"
Don Fernando interrupted, his eyes
twinkling. "Now attend me closely! Try hard to understand my words and
motives. It certainly beneath a Venegas to listen to idle gossip—"
"Ha!
Such a thing is unthinkable, Don
Fernando! Every man who possesses the slightest sense is aware of that."
"Yet
there may be times," Don
Fernando continued, "when a man cannot learn the truth of a thing unless
words are wafted into his ears."
"That is a wise saying, Don
Fernando. Nobody with sense can dispute a statement of that nature."
"Though
he may not with propriety pry into the personal affairs of others, he certainly
cannot avoid it if the affairs of others happen to be the subject of talk near
him, and so enter unasked and unbidden into his intelligence."
"Ha!
There we have it! There never was a truer word spoken,
Don Fernando!" the innkeeper
declared. "How I wish I had a skill with words, so I could explain things
as expertly as do you."
"Understand
me, fellow—I am not even here with you," Don Fernando reminded him. "But if you were to discuss
something, it is possible that the brisk evening breeze would carry your speech
to my ears."
"The
evening breeze is quite strong today I notice, Don Fernando. I am wondering what topic of discussion should happen
to enter this poor thing of mine I call a mind."
"Suppose
you had an urge to consider—merely to yourself, of course—affairs concerning Don Carlos Moreno, lately come to Reina
de los Angeles from Santa Barbara and reported to be traveling to San Diego de
Alcala to make himself a new home there."
"Ha!
Don Carlos Moreno! There is a hidalgo
of estimable wealth and social station. Having lately lost his wife, he has
disposed of his hacienda and goes to join old friend, Don Juan Quinonez, also bereaved. He is
for the present moment the honored guest of Capitán
Felipe Sebastiano, comandante and representative in Reina de los Angeles
of His Excellency, the Governor of Alta California. There is to be a grand
affair of fashion at the barracks this evening in his honor. I could speak of
this Don Carlos Moreno—si!"
"Suppose
that you make some slight speech also —strictly to yourself, understand—of Don Carlos Moreno's daughter, the señorita Manuela, saying whether she is
as fair as some men claim—"
It
flashed into the mind of the innkeeper that Don
Fernando was not overly much concerned about Don Carlos Moreno. But plainly, he desired to hear the daughter's
praises voiced by the lips of another. The innkeeper rolled his eyes and kissed
the tips of his fingers and wafted the kiss toward the ceiling.
"Ah,
the dainty señorita Manuela!" he
exclaimed. "Such rare beauty and grace! Such splendid vivacity! The
twinkling stars are in her eyes and the bright sunshine in her smile. Even my
poor old heart which has been pounding at my ribs for so many years is but a
bit of common earth for her dainty feet to tread upon."
"Were
I present here instead of being elsewhere," Don Fernando remarked, "I should probably ask whether that
flowery speech of yours was truth or the gross exaggeration of an unbalanced
mind."
"I
speak the truth! She is the fairest, the sweetest and most modest . . . I swear
it by the saints!"
"That
seems to be sufficient," Don
Fernando decided. "Do others hold a like opinion of her?"
"Ha!
How the young caballeros have been
strutting around
since she came to Reina de los Angeles with her father!" the innkeeper
exulted. "How loudly they talk and boast and laugh and try to attract her
attention to themselves!"
"No
doubt," Don Fernando observed.
"And how
the little señorita smiles at their
clownish antics, undoubtedly knowing that some man she considers to be of real
worth will be coming past some day."
"Were I
really present here and interested at all in this gossip, I might question
whether she seems to prefer any one of them to the others," Don Fernando hinted.
"I have
only rumor and hearsay upon which to base any statement I may make," the
innkeeper explained, "but it is being whispered about that one woos her
with such fire that he really makes himself ridiculous and displeasing."
Don Fernando glanced up at him with evident
interest. "His name?" he asked.
"I hesitate
to voice it . . . Bartolo Rios."
"Ha!" Don Fernando Venegas turned almost
purple in the face from his sudden wrath, and quickly brushed his scented
handkerchief across his nostrils. "There is a horrid odor in the air, señor, since you spoke that name,"
he declared.
"I realize
that also, Don Fernando. I ask your
humble pardon."
"Bartolo
Rios! Some ignorant fools even give him a `Don'
to ride in front of his name. Bartolo Rios and his brother, Luis, sons of a
rogue of a father who has amassed some wealth through his unscrupulous
dealings! The Rios', swindlers of peons and natives, daring to ape the
manners of their betters!"
The innkeeper
knew how those of good blood looked upon the Rios—as upon rich upstarts who
thought gold could balance birth and breeding. He knew, also, how affairs were
between Don Fernando Venegas and the
Rio brothers personally, how Don
Fernando, by common report, itched at times to out blade and at them, yet would
deem it lowering himself to do such a thing.
"That a
creature like this Bartolo Rios breathe the same air as the dainty señorita—" he began.
But Don Fernando interrupted him with a
gesture.
"No doubt,
the señorita Manuela Moreno is a
charm and a delight, as you have explained to me," he said. "It is in
my mind to make her acquaintance as speedily as possible, and if the sight of
her pleases me to devote considerable time to her, my principal object in this being
to keep continually in Bartolo Rios' path if he persists in approaching and
annoying her. It were no less than a duty—"
Don Fernando ceased speaking abruptly and
arched his brows in a display of annoyance. Through the open window of the
tavern had come a series of howls, shrill cries of pain, the unmistakable sound
of a whip being laid forcibly across a human back. Loud laughter could be heard
also, and a man speaking in angry, stentorian tones:
"I'll cut
your stinking hide into thin strips, peon
dog!"
Don Fernando gestured a command, and the
innkeeper hurried to the window and peered out into the plaza. "Don Fernando!" he cried, excitement
sharpening his voice. "It is that same Bartolo Rios of whom I was just
speaking. He is beating Miguel, your peon
body servant, for some fault."
"He is—?
What did you say, señor? He is
beating Miguel? Ha!"
Don Fernando got up from the bench quickly
and straightened his lithe body. He adjusted his sash, felt of the hilt of his
rapier, tugged at his sombrero, and brushed from one of his ruffled sleeves an
imaginary speck of dust. The innkeeper, his eyes bulging, waddled ahead and
pulled the door open.
Don Fernando went forth slowly into the
orange and scarlet sunset. He saw that Miguel was upon his knees, trying to
shield his head with his arms, and Bartolo Rios was standing over him, flaying
with a whip he had taken from some man standing nearby. Some of the bystanders
were laughing at Miguel's plight, others scowling at Bartolo Rios for this
exhibition of wanton cruelty.
There was a
quick hush among the spectators when Don
Fernando appeared. Bartolo Rios stepped back and dropped the whip to his side,
his face aflame and his black eyes gleaming malevolently. Miguel's howls ceased
when he saw Don Fernando approaching,
but he remained in his kneeling position with his arms wrapped around his head,
and whimpered.
Don Fernando strode forward quickly,
handkerchief held to nostrils, and looked down at the wretched Miguel.
"What is this tumult?" he demanded, sternly. "You screech like a
madman."
"Master, I
swear by all the saints that it was no fault of mine!"
"Your dog
of a peon splattered dust upon my
boots as I walked past him," Bartolo Rios accused, "and I punished
him for it. My own personal servants are better trained."
Don Fernando seemed not to hear what had
been said. He spoke to Miguel again.
"You know
how I detest all tumult and disorder. Miguel, why are you peons always brawling?"
"Brawling?"
Bartolo Rios roared angrily, his swarthy face suddenly aflame again. "I,
Bartolo Rios, brawl with a common peon?
I but whipped a dog—"
"Miguel, it
is in my mind that you should be punished for this in some manner," Don Fernando continued, as though
Bartolo Rios had not spoken. "Your offense is a serious one. You have
startled the gentle ladies with your wild howls. It is well known to many that
you are my body servant. Do you seek to belittle me in the eyes of
others?"
"Master, I
swear—!"
"Silence,
rogue!" Don Fernando ordered.
"Your act is the cause of much embarrassment to me. If you felt some wild,
strange urge to kick dust upon the polished boots of a man.as he passed you,
why did you not select one of gentle blood who would be above noticing your
fault, or, noticing it, would have admonished you gently? Some man, let us say,
I could with full propriety have rebuked as an equal and demanded satisfaction
as from such; did I care to resent his beating of you?"
At the
conclusion of Don Fernando's somewhat
long speech, which he had delivered in a voice loud enough for all around to hear,
Bartolo Rios stepped closer quickly.
"Did I hear
and understand you correctly, Don
Fernando Venegas?" he demanded.
"Your
pardon, señor, but not knowing you
well I am unaware whether you can hear at all."
"I resent
your words and manner intensely, Don
Fernando! Why am I not your equal in all things? My father undoubtedly has as
much wealth as your own—"
"Wealth?"
Don Fernando questioned in
interruption, his brows arching again. "Wealth is a necessity of life, as
is the periodical purging of the human system with certain drugs, but neither
is discussed much in polite society. Besides, some wealth is gathered through
such means as a gentleman may use with propriety, and other wealth by swindling
ignorant natives—"
Don Fernando ceased speaking, smiled faintly,
and made a rather vague gesture which might have meant almost anything.
"You dare
speak so to me?" Bartolo Rios shouted.
"Was I
speaking to you, señor?" Don Fernando asked, and each separate
syllable dripped insult.
"Now, by
the saints—!" Bartolo Rios stepped backward, and started to draw his blade
from its scabbard. Brushing his nostrils lightly again with his scented
handkerchief, Don Fernando remained a
picture of calm and eyed the other as one might some curious animal.
The crowd had
meanwhile been joined by others enjoying the promenade before the evening meal,
and among them was Capitán Felipe
Sebastiano, comandante in Reina de los Angeles and trusted
representative of His Excellency, the Governor. Being something of a
politician, Capitán Sebastiano knew
how to take advantage of moments. The Rios family had wealth, he knew well, but
the Venegas family had wealth and social station and great influence also. And
now Capitán Sebastiano sought to put
an immediate stop to this affair, having the feeling that Don Fernando really had no wish for combat.
"I beg of
you, señors, to curb your
anger!" Capitán Sebastiano
shouted at them, glancing significantly at Bartolo Rios' half-drawn blade.
"Do not forget the new order of His Excellency forbidding duelling. The
punishment for transgression is severe. It can extend even to imprisonment and
confiscation of estate. Let us have peace here, señors."
Don Fernando said nothing and made no move.
Bartolo Rios fell back a step, and his blade rang as he slapped it back
violently into its scabbard.
"His
Excellency's order is most convenient for some," Rios said. He glared at Don Fernando and turned away abruptly. Capitán Sebastiano gestured for the crowd to
disperse. Don Fernando glanced
around— and his eyes met, for the very first time, those of señorita Manuela Moreno.
Clinging to her
father's arm, she had stopped at the fringe of the crowd. Don Fernando realized that she must have been there for some time,
must have seen and heard.
Never before had
he seen a face which struck so deeply into his heart's consciousness at first
sight. A vision of loveliness was there before him.
Her dark eyes
were sparkling as she regarded him. Her white teeth flashed in a fleeting smile
that caused a dimple to dance in one cheek. Her lips moved slightly, and on a
gust of the breeze her words carried to Don
Fernando's ears.
"Caballero!" she said. "A real
one!"
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