Bartolomé (3 page)

The Mill

THE afternoon went on for ever. They were still on the road when dusk began to fall. Juan had miscalculated. He had expected to make better progress. Now he had to hold Beatríz steady on the donkey so that she wouldn't fall down from tiredness. He used the other hand to lead the animal.

Joaquín had fallen behind ages ago and was dragging along, exhausted, behind the others. Ana held on with one hand to the side of the cart and allowed herself to be pulled along, her eyes half-closed, rather than really walking herself. Isabel did not complain, but Manuel seemed to get heavier with every step.

‘We can't sleep out of doors!'

‘There's a mill at the next bridge. We'll spend the night there. It's not far.' Juan urged his family to get a move on. The only weapon he had was a dagger, and it was dangerous to travel after sunset without protection. Everyone had heard stories of vagabonds or robbers who wouldn't think twice about murdering travellers in order to get hold of their goods and chattels, no matter how little they were worth.

The first stars were already twinkling in the sky when at last they saw the grey silhouette of the mill on the horizon between a long row of pine trees, stretching up against the sky like black torches.

Joaquín, Ana and Isabel were too tired to be happy about it. They stumbled forward, too tired to think. Bartolomé, however, was wide awake. He had slept for a while after he'd eaten, and now he was sitting with his hump leaning against the bed, looking at the astonishing universe above his head.

If I were up there
, he thought,
then I would be able to see everything: the village, the road, the mill between the pines, even Madrid, without being seen myself.

When they reached a point where there was only the bridge between them and the mill, Juan bent over Bartolomé and opened the chest. Bartolomé took one last look at the mill. In spite of the dark sky, it seemed to him now to be more white than grey. Perhaps that was because the pines behind it were so black, or because the stars shone so brightly over it. With this image before his eyes, he allowed himself to be bundled into the chest.

Juan locked the lid carefully.

As if he's afraid I won't stay in here
, thought Bartolomé angrily. In fact he would never disobey his father's orders. If his father could not love him as he loved Joaquín and Manuel, Bartolomé could at least get his attention by being obedient.

Juan led his family over the bridge, through a gate in the fence to the door of the mill, and knocked.

‘You can't leave Bartolomé outside all by himself,' hissed Isabel.

‘We'll take the chest in,' answered Juan curtly. He'd decided that, apart from in their own village, Bartolomé would have to remain hidden from strangers. A man stood by his decisions.

The miller opened the door cautiously, but when Juan explained what he wanted and said that he would pay cash for their lodgings and a pot of warm soup, he became more hospitable. He showed Juan the stable, where the donkey and cart would be safe.

Joaquín unloaded the sleeping mats and blankets, the chest and the little wooden box with Isabel's jewellery from the cart. The miller indicated a place where they could sleep in the grain loft. Joaquín and Ana had to carry the bedding and the jewellery box up, and Juan lifted the chest onto his back and, before the eyes of the curious miller family, he climbed carefully up the steep ladder with his burden.

They'll think I keep gold and silver in it
, Juan thought, setting the chest down beside the millstone. In the meantime, Isabel had made a sleeping place with the mats and blankets.

‘You'll stay in the chest till we're all up,' Juan warned Bartolomé, without opening the lid. Then he went downstairs to eat the soup that the miller's wife had hurriedly stretched with water and bulked out with eggs and tomatoes.

Beatríz was too tired to spoon up the hot liquid. Isabel ladled a little of it into her and then carried her up the narrow ladder.

Before her head had touched the pillow, Bartolomé could hear her soft, even breathing. He waited patiently. A little later, Ana and Joaquín came. Joaquín knocked on the chest.

‘It was a thick vegetable soup with eggs,' he announced through the lid. ‘Pity you won't get any. But you can't be hungry anyway. You didn't have to bestir yourself today.'

Joaquín's feet hurt. Having pulled off his patched boots, he could see that they were swollen and fiery red. Why should Bartolomé get soup, when he'd ridden on the cart all day?

Ana rebuked him: ‘He can't help it. He's a cripple and he can't walk like us.'

But she was too exhausted to make Joaquín apologise to Bartolomé. Tears sprang to her eyes when she took off her shoes and found big blisters on her heels and toes. She couldn't imagine how she'd be able to walk the next day. She crept under her blanket without saying anything more.

‘I'm sorry,' muttered Joaquín, lying down beside her.

Bartolomé wasn't allowed out of his prison until his parents came up to the loft, carrying the peacefully sleeping Manuel. Then he found himself a place between his sleeping brothers and sisters.

‘Are you still hungry?' asked Isabel in a tired whisper. Bartolomé shook his head.

In the morning, they were awoken by the grinding and grating sounds of beams, wheels and millstones. The miller had opened the millrace outside and the great millwheel was starting to creak and turn. He'd be up the ladder any minute now to grind the corn and fill it into sacks.

Isabel shook the tired children awake and started to roll up the bedding. Juan gave Bartolomé a silent look and nodded towards the chest. Bartolomé knew what that meant. He crept over quickly and climbed into the chest. Juan shut the lid tightly.

Torre de la Parada

THE second day of the journey was much the same as the first, only that every step was more difficult. Joaquín and Ana didn't want to go ahead and lead the donkey. Instead, they walked behind the cart, and when Juan wasn't looking, they hung on to it so that they could get a bit of a pull.

After the first hour of marching, Beatríz moaned so much that Juan finally gave in and let her ride on the cart. Bartolomé spent most of the time in the chest, because the road went through one village and hamlet after another, and they were so close together that Juan decided it was a waste of time to keep stopping the cart for the short times in between villages.

‘When we reach the forest, he can come out,' Juan said to Isabel. She didn't protest.

On this day, Juan made the family continue with their journey after only a short lunch break. Looking into Ana's tired eyes, he comforted her: ‘We'll be at the forest soon. It's cool and shady there.'

Ana shrugged her shoulders. She couldn't care less any more that the sun was burning, that she was thirsty even though she could drink as much as she wanted, that her feet were blistered and that her legs hurt.

Juan tried to encourage his children: ‘In the middle of this wood is Torre de la Parada, the king's hunting lodge. We'll lodge there for the night.'

Ana nodded without interest. She couldn't work up any enthusiasm for this castle as long as it was far away, out of sight. Beatríz cheered up, however. She'd had a good rest. She looked at her father with big eyes.

‘Does the king live there?' she asked.

Juan said that he didn't. ‘If he were there, we wouldn't be allowed to sleep there,' he said.

‘Are we going to sneak in secretly?' Joaquín's eyes were bright with excitement. He'd forgotten how tired he was.

Juan frowned crossly. He wasn't a vagabond.

‘The royal master of the hunt, Don Pacheco, has given me permission to stable the donkey and cart and to spend the night in the castle.'

The king, his castle, a hunt master
, thought Isabel. She hadn't realised that Juan had such a high position in court and that he knew such important people personally. She gave him a thoughtful look, which pleased Juan.

‘Can't we go on?' said Beatríz impatiently.

Ana sighed. ‘You don't have to walk,' she said sharply. ‘You're getting a lift.'

Juan laughed. But when he saw that Ana had tears in her eyes, he lifted Beatríz down from the cart.

‘You rode the whole morning. Now you can walk for a bit, and Ana can ride,' he decided, taking no notice of Beatríz's protestations. He took her by the hand and they walked on. Ana climbed up quickly on to the cart.

They reached the forest late in the afternoon. Juan stopped the cart in the shade and Bartolomé was finally able to get out of the chest. He was amazed. He would never have thought that so many trees could grow in one spot. ‘They'd take the sight from your eyes,' he murmured in surprise. Even the road, which yesterday had wound like a long white ribbon up hill and down dale, disappeared here between the tree trunks.

Ana and Beatríz swapped places again, and even Joaquín seemed to find new strength. He and Ana led the donkey together.

‘When will we get to the castle?' he asked.

‘Soon,' answered Juan.

‘What does it look like?' Now Ana was asking questions too. ‘Is it very big? Are there many servants there?'

‘Torre de la Parada is only a little hunting lodge, and the king is hardly ever there. But there's a big staff all the same. They take care of the building, the garden and the game park. For this reason, Bartolomé will have to sleep in the chest tonight, in the stable.'

‘But …' Isabel started to say.

‘Nothing will happen to him,' Juan interrupted her. ‘But I can't bring a locked chest into the castle in full sight of Don Pacheco. It would look as if I had something to hide from him.'

Isabel said nothing, though she didn't think it was right to let Bartolomé spend a whole night alone in a strange place.

But it was Juan who had made these decisions, and it wasn't her place to criticise him.

As Joaquín led the donkey around the next bend in the road, he came upon a long low stone wall.

‘Does this wall belong to the castle?' he asked curiously.

‘Yes. The park is behind it,' explained Juan. ‘We'll come to the entrance shortly.'

And sure enough, after a few hundred metres, a white gravel road led off the main road to a gate in the wall. A small house stood near it, surrounded by juniper bushes. An old man was dozing on a bench in front of the house.

‘Carlos the gatekeeper,' said Juan, lowering his voice. Bartolomé knew what that meant. He crept obediently into his chest. But he protested all the more loudly inside his head. Beatríz, Ana and Joaquín would see the castle and would even sleep there, whereas he wouldn't be allowed so much as a glimpse of it.

If he'd only praise me for my obedience
, thought Bartolomé bitterly. But Juan seemed to take it for granted.

Bartolomé tried to peep through the cracks in the chest, but all he could see was the bedstead and the basket of provisions for the journey.

Juan greeted the gatekeeper confidently and led his family up the long avenue to the hall door. The castle was not large. It was really just a stout square tower, with a two-storey building stuck on to it. The two-storey building had a red façade with white stone inlay. For Ana, Beatríz and Joaquín, it was the biggest building they had ever seen.

‘That tower,' gasped Ana. ‘It's so high, I can't imagine how it was built.'

Juan beamed. ‘Wait till you get to Madrid. In comparison with the Cathedral of San Isidor, this tower is hardly worth talking about.'

Ana looked disbelievingly at him. He had to be joking.

A footman came walking towards the little band. Beatríz tried to hide between the chests on the cart; Ana, Joaquín and Isabel stood bashfully behind Juan. He tried to hide his own uncertainty. Don Pacheco had indeed offered him accommodation for the night, but the higher the position a person held, the less were his friendship and favour to be relied upon. Juan had driven the little Infanta Margarita to the hunting lodge in the spring of the previous year. At that time, he'd spent the night in the stable. There had been a shortage of space, as the king had had a big party to stay. The numerous noblemen and ladies had brought their valets and maids, footmen and coachmen, and the quarters usually occupied by the king's staff were so full that Juan preferred to make his bed in the soft straw.

He hadn't had a quiet night. Marquis, the king's favourite white steed, had had a bout of colic, and Juan had spent hours walking the feverish horse, who was tormented by terrible pains, up and down the yard, wiping the sweat off his coat and speaking softly to him. The colic finally abated in the early hours of the morning. The horse's life had been saved.

Don Pacheco, who was also responsible for stabling the horses, had embraced Juan gratefully. What the king would have done if his fine mount had died didn't bear thinking of. Since that day, there'd been a kind of friendship between Juan and the supervisor of the hunting lodge in spite of the difference in status between them. Every time Don Pacheco had business in Alcázar, the royal residence in Madrid, he made a point of looking in on the coachman and, if they had time, inviting him to have a glass of wine with him. On the few occasions that Juan was required to drive the Infanta to Torre de la Parada, he was allowed to take a rest in Don Pacheco's apartment, while a footman saw to the coach and horses. But Juan couldn't be sure he could rely on this friendship.

The footman who was approaching them now recognised Juan and gave a slight bow. ‘Don Pacheco is expecting you, Don Carrasco,' he announced politely.

Juan nodded, relieved. The footman rustled up a stable hand, and Juan put the donkey's bridle into his hand.

‘Won't we need our mats and blankets for the night?' hissed Isabel.

Juan shook his head. What would Don Pacheco think if his hospitable invitation to spend the night with him was undermined like that?

The stable hand took the donkey and cart away. Inside his chest, Bartolomé could hear the lad taking the reins off the donkey and leading him to the trough. The hurried, hungry chewing of the animal reached Bartolomé's ears in his hiding place. He wished he could climb out of his narrow chest, but he had to wait till he could be sure that there was no one in the stable except the animals. It took for ever. At last, he heard the heavy stable door banging shut and being bolted.

Now Bartolomé raised the lid and crept out. It was pitch dark in the stable. All around him he could hear the soft sounds of many animals, standing quietly in the straw, munching. He could feel the warmth of their bodies.

He felt around for the basket. He pulled a big chunk of bread hungrily from the loaf. He found a few hard-boiled eggs and dried tomatoes. He sat on the bedstead and began to eat. He didn't care that he'd eaten more than his father would normally allow him, the cripple. After all, the others were dining in the castle of the king. In Bartolomé's imagination, they were sitting at a large, beautifully laid table, brightly lit by candles in heavy silver candelabra. Waiters were carrying solid gold platters on which enormous pieces of meat and pies steamed. Also bowls filled with all kinds of delicacies were being offered to them by lackeys. His parents and brothers and sisters were sitting there like princes and princesses, stuffing themselves.

Bartolomé laughed softly. The image in his head was so vivid, he could even hear Joaquín giving politely suppressed burps, and he could see Beatríz rolling off her chair with a bulging tummy. If they had tummy-ache in the morning after their fancy meal, he would have no sympathy for them.