The Velvet Glove Part 17

"For it is the land that feeds the children," added another, who carried a pair of small espradrillas in her ap.r.o.n pocket.

Marcos went back to his father with such information as he had been able to gather.

"Leon is here," he said. "He is in Retreat at the monastery of the Redemptionists, which stands half-empty on the road to Villaba. Sor Teresa and Juanita are both well and in the school in the Calle de la Dormitaleria. Mon has been here for some weeks, but went to Madrid four days ago. It is an open secret that Pacheco will go over to the Carlists with his whole army corps for cash down--but he will not take a promise.

The Carlists think that their opportunity has come."

"And so do I," said Sarrion. "The Duke of Aosta is the son of Victor Emmanuel, we must remember that. And no son of the man who overthrew the Pope can hope to be tolerated by the clerical party here. The new king will be a.s.sa.s.sinated, Marcos. I give him six months."

"Will you come this afternoon to the old monastery on the Villaba road and see Leon?" asked Marcos.

"Oh, yes," laughed his father. "I shall enjoy it." It was the hour of the siesta when they quitted the town on horseback by the Puerta de Rochapea which gives exit to the city on the northern side. It had been sunny since morning, and the snow had melted from the roads, but the hills across the plain were still white and great drifts were piled against the ramparts, forming a natural b.u.t.tress from the summit of the steep river bank almost to the deep embrasures of the wall.

Marcos turned in his saddle and looked up at these as they rode down the slope. Sarrion saw the action and glanced at Marcos and then at the towering walls. But he made no comment and asked no questions.

There are two old monasteries on the Villaba road; huge buildings within a high wall, each owning a chapel which stands apart from the dwelling-house. It is a known fact that the Carlists have never threatened these buildings which stand far outside the town. It is also a fact that the range of them has been carefully measured by the artillery officers, and the great guns on the city walls were at this time trained on the isolated buildings to batter them to the ground at the first sign of treachery.

Marcos pulled the bell-rope swinging in the wind outside the great door of the monastery, while Sarrion tied the horses to a post. The door was opened by a stout monk whose face fell when he perceived two laymen in riding costume. Humbler persons, as a rule, rang this bell.

"The Marquis de Mogente is here?" said Marcos, and the monk spread out his hands in a gesture of denial.

"Whoever is here," he said, "is in Retreat. One does not disturb the devout."

He made a movement to close the door, but Marcos put his thickly booted foot in the interstice. Then he placed his shoulder against the weather-worn door and pushed it open, sending the monk staggering back.

Sarrion followed and was in time to place himself between the monk and the bell towards which the devotee was running.

"No, my friend," he said, "we will not ring the bell."

"You have no business here," said the holy man, looking from one to the other with sullen eyes.

"So far as that goes, no more have you," said Marcos. "There are no monasteries in Spain now. Sit down on that bench and keep quiet."

He turned and glanced at his father.

"Yes," said Sarrion, with his grim smile, "I will watch him."

"Where shall I find Leon de Mogente?" said Marcos to the monk. "I do not wish to disturb other persons."

The monk reflected for a moment.

"It is the third door on the right," he said at length, nodding his shaven head towards a long pa.s.sage seen through the open door.

Marcos went in, his spurred heels clanking loudly in the half-empty house. He knocked at the door of the third cell on the right; for in his way he was a devout person and wished to disturb no man at his prayers.

The door was opened by Leon himself, who started back when he saw who had knocked. Marcos went into the room which was small and bare and whitewashed, and closed the door behind him. A few religious emblems were on the wall above the narrow bed. A couple of books lay on the table. One was open. It was a very old edition of a Kempis. Leon de Mogente's religion was of the sort that felt itself able to learn more from an old edition than a new one. There are many in these days of cheap imitation of the mediaeval who feel the same.

Leon sat down on the plain wooden bench and laid his hand on the open book. He looked with weak eyes at Marcos and waited for him to speak.

Marcos obliged him at once.

"I have come to see you about Juanita," he said. "Have you given your consent to her taking the veil?"

Leon reflected. He had the air of a man who having been carefully taught a part, loses his place at the first cue.

"What business is it of yours?" he asked, rather hesitatingly at length.

"None."

Leon made a hopeless gesture of the hand and looked at his book with a face of distress and embarra.s.sment. Marcos was sorry for him. He was strong, and it is the strong who are quickest to detect pathos.

"Will you answer me?" he asked.

And Leon shook his head.

"I have come here to warn you," said Marcos, not unkindly. "I know that Juanita has inherited a fortune from her father. I know that the Carlist cause is falling for want of money. I know that the Jesuits will get the money if they can. Because Don Carlos is their last chance in their last stronghold in Europe. They will get Juanita's money if they can--and they can only do it by forcing Juanita into religion. And I have come to warn you that I shall prevent them."

Leon looked at Marcos and gulped something down in his throat. He was not afraid of Marcos, but he was in terror of some one or of something else.

Marcos studied the white face, the shrinking, hunted eyes, with the quiet persistence learnt from watching Nature.

"Are you a Jesuit?" he asked bluntly.

But Leon only drew in a gasping breath and made no answer.

Then Marcos went out and closed the door behind him.

CHAPTER XIV

IN THE CLOISTER Marcos and Sarrion went back to Pampeluna in the dusk of the winter evening, each meditating over that which they had seen and heard. Leon had become a Jesuit. And Juanita was worse--infinitely worse than alone in the world.

Marcos needed no telling of all that lay behind Leon's scared silence; for his father had brought him up in an atmosphere of plain language and wide views of mankind. Sarnon himself had seen Navarre ruined, its men sacrificed, its women made miserable by a war which had lasted intermittently for thirty years. He had seen the simple Basques, who had no means of verifying that which their priests told them, fighting desperately and continuously for a lie. The Carlist war has always been the war of ignorance and deceit against enlightenment and the advance of thought. It is needless to say upon which side the ca.s.sock has ranged itself.

The Basques were promised their liberty; they should be allowed to live as they had always lived, practically a republic, if they only succeeded in forcing an absolute monarchy on the rest of Spain. The Jesuits made this promise. The society found itself in the position that no promise must be allowed to stick in the throat.

Sarrion, like all who knew their strange story, was ready enough to recognise the fact that the Jesuit body must be divided into two parts of head and heart. The heart has done the best work that missionaries have yet accomplished. The head has ruined half Europe.

It was the political Jesuit who had earned Sarrion's deadly hatred.

The political Jesuit has, moreover, a record in history which has only in part been made manifest.

William the Silent was a.s.sa.s.sinated by an emissary of the Jesuits.

Maurice of Orange, his son, almost met the same fate, and the would-be murderer confessed. Three Jesuits were hanged for attempting the life of Elizabeth, Queen of England; and later, another, Parry, was drawn and quartered. Two years later another was executed for partic.i.p.ating in an attempt on the Queen's life; and at later periods four more met a similar just fate. Ravaillac, the a.s.sa.s.sin of Henry IV of France was a Jesuit.

The Jesuits were concerned in the Gunpowder Plot of England and two of the fathers were among the executed.

In Paraguay the Jesuits instigated the natives to rebel against Spain and Portugal; and the holy fathers, taking the field in person, proved themselves excellent leaders.

Pope Clement XIV was poisoned by the Jesuits. He had signed a Bull to suppress the order, which Bull was to "be forever and to all eternity valid." The result of it was "acqua tofana of Perugia," a slow and torturing poison.