Bridle the Wind (18 page)

‘
Aski dakik bizitzen badakik
,' he would say, and I would carefully repeat what I thought he had said, and he would almost fall down on the grass laughing at my accent, which, he said, sounded more like a duck quacking than an Eskualdunak.

‘No doubt! But what does the sentence mean?'

‘To know how to live is to know enough.'

Then he recited some little poems in Euskara, and set me to learn them. ‘Tell me some English poems!' he demanded. ‘I would greatly wish to hear English poetry. For it is my intention to travel to that land before – to travel to that land when I am older, and read the plays of Esshak-sip-pere, and the poems of Poppe, and Dreeden.'

Now it was my turn to fall about laughing, as I instructed him in the correct pronunciation of those names. But I am bound to relate that he was a gifted scholar. By the end of the day he was able, with a good accent, to recite many stanzas of a poem entitled ‘The Castaway,' by William Cowper, which I had taken a fancy to and committed to memory when in my English grandfather's house; while my progress in the Basque language was still not much advanced beyond
ya-ya
, almost;
aita
, father;
ahizpa
, sister; and
anaie
, brother. So complicated
a language I could never have imagined. Latin, French, Spanish, English, which I spoke with tolerable ease, were all child's play in comparison.

The scenery as we approached St Jean Pied de Port became wilder and more mountainous. A steep road carried us upward, winding between high peaks, and for many leagues there was not a dwelling to be seen. The thick oak copses, the substantial-looking farms and hedged fields, gave way to a land of heath and moor; the hills, becoming ever higher, were no longer green and grassy, but craggy with rock or grey and glittering with slopes of shale. The air grew cooler, and we were glad of our warm and thick new clothing. Juan skipped along delightedly in his rope-soled alpargatas; he said that after so many days barefoot it was like walking on velvet.

St Jean Pied de Port is set on the River Nive, and stands encircled by high green mountains, with a castle-crowned hill behind the town, which is old and handsome. There are high walls, and you enter by a majestic arched gateway beyond the river bridge. The mansions inside the town are surprisingly large, for such a remote mountain spot; but Juan told me that it was once the capital of King Garcia of Navarra, and two hundred years ago belonged to Spain. At one time the town was a stopping place for thousands of pilgrims on their way to Santiago de Compostela.

We found the marketplace without difficulty, but, as dusk had fallen before we reached the town, trading had ceased for the day, and the stall holders
were packing up their wares, pushing wooden trestles to one side, and sweeping cabbage stalks and rotten oranges into the gutters. The beasts for sale had been driven away.

‘We shall have to wait till tomorrow to buy our ponies,' I said. ‘We had best find a place to spend the night.'

Madame Mauleon, kind to the last, had furnished us with the address of a distant cousin who lived on the edge of the city, and had written a few words for him on a scrap of paper.

Discovering by inquiry that the house we sought was on the opposite side of the town, we were making our way along a tree-bordered path on the outskirts when a loud noise of barking and screaming attracted our attention.

‘It is one of those English dogs!' said Juan, peering ahead into the dusk. And he added indignantly, ‘Savage brutes of animals they are!'

‘English dogs? What can you mean?'

‘When the English were in this region before the siege of Bayonne, the Duq de Vailanton' – by which I assumed that Juan meant the Duke of Wellington – ‘kept a pack of his English
chiens de chasse
–'

‘Foxhounds –'

‘Foxhounds,' Juan repeated carefully, ‘and they have run wild, and their descendants have plagued the farmers and wild animals ever since.'

It was true that the black, brown, and white animal barking and leaping at the foot of a lime tree did bear a strong resemblance to the pack of foxhounds kept on my English grandfather's estate
– except that it was smaller and thinner and a great deal wilder and more vociferous.

‘There is a poor terrified cat that it has chased up the tree,' said Juan. ‘Be off, you detestable brute!' and he aimed a kick at the frenzied hound.

‘
Malepeste
, Juan!' I exclaimed. ‘Do not involve yourself in more trouble than you need. Come away, for heaven's sake!'

But Juan, snatching up a dead bough, thwacked the dog with it, and reached up to rescue the cat, which, hurt and bleeding, had scrambled six or seven feet up the trunk of the tree, but seemed unable to climb any farther, and was hanging by all her claws, looking over her shoulder at the dog, in imminent danger, it seemed, of slipping backward into its jaws.

Juan took hold of the cat, and was rewarded by being sharply bitten.

‘Ah!' he cried out, but kept his grip of the animal, and commanded, ‘Felix, beat that brute of a dog with your
makhila
.'

‘It is probably somebody's faithful house-dog and I shall be seized by the town watch.' But I did as he suggested and gave the beast a poke with the point, which sent it howling off down the street. Next moment Juan was almost knocked flying by a tiny girl who rushed at him crying, ‘Minou, Minou!' and tried to grab the cat.

‘Gently,
petite
,' said Juan. ‘Is she your cat? She is hurt, poor thing, see, and must be treated with care.' The child stared at him uncomprehendingly, and he switched from French to Basque. At this
juncture a very small, wizened man arrived, apparently the child's father, who in a torrent of incomprehensible language evidently scolded his daughter for permitting her pet to stray, ordered her to return home, and thanked us for our intervention. Then he took the cat from Juan, handling it more delicately than, from his rough appearance, I would have expected, touched his beretta to us, and vanished with his child into the dusk.

‘Now perhaps we can attend to practical matters,' I said to Juan, who, sucking his lacerated hand, merely shrugged and followed me without replying.

However we were due for disappointment. When we reached the cousin's house, up a steep, narrow street, we found that the big handsome mansion was closed, dark and silent; evidently the cousin was away from home.

‘We had best find some barn or straw stack on the edge of town,' I was beginning, ‘and return to the horse fair early tomorrow' – when we heard a loud, cheerful sound of music: flute, drum, bagpipes, and stringed instruments.

‘Oh, listen!' cried Juan joyfully, ‘I believe it must be a masquerade! Do let us go and see!' And without pausing for reflection, or to see if I agreed, he bounded off down the street at a run.

I, perforce, followed him, thinking that to be in charge of Juan, since his health had begun to mend, was hardly easier than looking after an unbroken colt or a wild hedge bird.

Back at the main square, which was now illuminated
by flaring lamps, we saw that what seemed the entire population of the city had assembled round the sides of the place, while in the centre a series of amazingly costumed characters pranced and capered, receiving enthusiastic applause.

Juan, whose arm I had managed to grab before he disappeared in the throng, pulled me along to where we had a good view and excitedly told me the names of the dancing characters as they performed.

‘See: those are the Reds; they always come first. Look, that big one with the bells on his sash, waving a horsetail – he is Tcherrero; and that one behind him is the Standard-bearer; then the one in black, prowling and pouncing – is he not wonderful! – he is Gathuzain, the cat-man; those two holding tongs, they are the Marichalak, the blacksmiths; the gorgeously dressed couple are Jauna
eta
Anderea, the Earl and his wife; those ones in scarlet jackets with bells and flat hats, they are the Satans, that is, Satan and Bulgifer; and the one with the wicker horse's head and draped body, he is Zamalzain.'

‘But what does it all mean?' I asked, watching the dancers, who were, indeed, amazingly skilful and spirited. ‘Who are these characters? What do they represent?'

‘Oh, how should I know?' Juan replied impatiently. ‘They are themselves, that is all. Why should you ask for a meaning? Listen to the music! Does it not make your feet itch to dance?'

The music was strange to my ears, but full of a
wild energy; it was performed on two drums, flute, trumpet, a small three-holed instrument which Juan told me was a
tchurula
, and a six-stringed guitar called a
soinua.
The players sweated with the vigour of their performance, while the first group of dancers gave way to a second, of comedians and clowns, dressed as gipsies and tinkers, who hopped about performing all manner of antics, evidently making fun of local worthies, for there would be roars of laughter from the crowd at references we did not understand. Then the first group returned to perform a series of intricate and formal dances.

‘These dances are called the
bralia?
,'whispered Juan. ‘Are they not superb? Oh, how I wish I could put that motion into words.'

Some of the dances were performed with swords, or with staves, which the performers handled with wonderful dexterity. Then they placed a large goblet, full of wine, in the middle of the cleared space, and proceeded to do a most remarkable ballet over and around it.

‘This is called the
godalet danza
!' Juan instructed me.

Time and again each of the dancers leaped over the glass, they spun round it, passed by it, skimmed on either side of it, and finally the big one called Zamalzain, who greatly excelled all the rest in the agility and elasticity of his bounds, twiddles, bounces, and pirouettes, was left to dance by himself. At times he seemed to hang in the air over the goblet, remaining suspended apparently in
defiance of gravity – and all this was done without spilling one drop of the wine!

Juan, clutching my arm, seemed wholly taken out of himself in delight at the spectacle; he had almost ceased to breathe in his absorption and admiration. When Zamalzain finally concluded his dance with a sweeping bow, Juan joined frenziedly in the applause, then drew a long, long sigh of contentment.

‘Oh, how I love to watch the dancing! How I have always wished to take part in it. But, of course, my father would never allow such a thing.'

‘Why not –?' I was beginning, when he gripped my arm again in an entirely different way. This was a grip of shock and terror. He had gone deathly pale.

‘
Oh, mon Dieu! Felix!
Do you see – over there – under the big lime tree – standing under the light – there are
Cocher and Father Vespasian
!'

‘No, no, Juan, you must be mistaken – surely' – But while one of his hands was still frantically gripping my wrist, the other pointed, and following the direction of his shaking finger, I saw two figures, one of which was indubitably the man called Cocher, readily recognisable by his tallness, shock of white hair, and the black patch over one eye; while the other …

‘Quick! Come away!' I hissed to Juan, and dragged him back into the crowd, glancing over my shoulder for an instant as I did so. It seemed to me that the two men, after a word had passed between them, were moving in our direction.

The crowd had broken up, now that the formal dancing was over, and many smaller parties of dancers were capering about the streets, to the music of fifes, tabors, tambourines, and
zam-bombas.
On the edge of the main square I noticed a pile of costumes, cast off by the group called the Reds while they refreshed themselves with wine. Struck by a lightning notion I clapped the wicker framework of the character called Zamalzain over my head, and Juan, instantly divining my plan, thrust his beretta and jacket into his bag, and pulled on the scarlet bell-embroidered jacket, scarlet silk scarf, and three-cornered hat hung with ribbons of a Satan. He also snatched up the Satan's wand, a stick adorned with red ribbons ending in fishhooks.

‘
Dance!
' I shouted in his ear, and myself broke into a series of gambols, capers, twirls, and prances, which I hoped would sufficiently resemble the steps of Zamalzain to deceive the onlookers; I had occasionally (unknown to my grandfather) danced at the peasants' celebrations in Villaverde, and learned some flamenco steps which were not too unlike these Basque dances; while Juan, with admirable spirit, considering the fright we had just been given and the distance we had travelled that day, followed my example, striding with a springing gait, leaping into the air, spinning round, and flinging out the hooked ribbons of his staff as if to snatch members of the audience into his power.

‘I am Satan!' he cried. ‘Beware, beware, ye sinners!'

I could not help but admire his courage, since the moment before he had seemed almost paralytic with terror.

And I myself, indeed, had felt a most singular clutch of dread at my heart when I set eyes on that figure under the lime tree. Surely it was
not
Father Vespasian? Surely it
was
Plumet? The two men had been much of a height; I thought I must have been mistaken. Father Vespasian was drowned, he had sunk below the waters of St Just bay; or, by this time, his drowned corpse would have been retrieved by the monks of the Abbey and would be lying at rest in the graveyard on the headland. What could the Abbot possibly be doing in the
place du marche
of St Jean Pied de Port? I
must
have been mistaken, I thought, as I swung and capered and gesticulated, making my way all the time, erratically but steadily, towards the edge of town, while Juan followed close behind me.

Then, rounding a corner, we saw the two men again; this time they had with them a shorter one, hunchbacked, his small pointed head sunk between his shoulders. They stood at an intersection of ways, talking urgently, looking in all directions, evidently uncertain which road to take. The one who might or might not be Plumet had his head turned away; I could not see his face.