The Lion Triumphant (26 page)

The stillness in the patio enveloped me. I looked up at the balcony on which I had seen Isabella. The doors were shut; there was no sign of life. I went quietly around to the side of the house; there was a pergola shady and made cool because the plants were trained over the trelliswork. I was facing a gate—wrought iron like that other—and beyond this lay a patch of land and a small hutlike dwelling.

As I stood looking through this gate a child emerged from the house; I judged him to be about two years old; he was dirty and barefooted, and he was dressed in a shapeless garment which came to his knees. He was rubbing his eye with his fist and he was obviously in distress because every few seconds a sob shook his body.

I had become passionately interested in children and his misery touched me deeply and made me want to alleviate it if possible.

He saw me suddenly and stopped; he stared at me and I thought for a moment he was going to run. I called out to him: “Good day, little boy.” He looked bewildered and I repeated my greeting in Spanish. My voice must have reassured him, for he came toward the gate and stood there. A pair of brown eyes were raised to me; his hair which was thick and straight was of a medium brown, his skin olive. He was an attractive little boy in spite of the grime; and the jauntiness was there in spite of his misery.

I smiled at him and knelt down so that our faces were on a level. I asked in rather stumbling Spanish what was wrong. His lips quivered and he showed me his arm. I was shocked by the bruises. He sensed my sympathy and held out the arm to me. I touched it gently with my lips and he smiled. His smile was dazzling, like but one other, and I knew at once who he was. He was Jake Pennlyon’s son, the result of the rape of Isabella.

With all my heart I hated Jake Pennlyon then, who spread his bastards around and never thought of what became of them. In this remote place there were two of them. And because I hated Jake Pennlyon my sympathy for this unfortunate child was intensified. But I should have been angry at the sight of any neglected child.

Through the bars I laid my lips on the bruises.

I heard a voice call: “Carlos! Carlos.” And a string of words I could not understand. Some patois, I supposed. The child turned and ran away. There was a bush in this patch of land; he scuttled behind it and hid. I backed from the gate as a woman came out. Her hair hung around her face; her mouth was cruel; her black eyes fierce; her flaccid breasts nearly fell out of her loose low-necked dress.

I heard her repeat the name “Carlos.” And I watched, wondering what I should do if she found the child, for I knew she was responsible for those bruises.

I wanted to open the gate and go through. I wanted to remonstrate with her, but I knew that would only make things worse for the child.

She seemed to content herself with shouting and after a while went back into the cottage. I waited for the child to come out, but he did not do so and I wondered whether he had fallen asleep in the bushes.

I went back thoughtfully to the Hacienda.

I talked to Honey. “I think I have seen Jake Pennlyon’s child,” I said, and told her about the boy Carlos.

“You shouldn’t have gone there. You were shown clearly that you weren’t wanted.”

“What a strange ménage this is, Honey,” I said. “What do you think happens in that house? Does Don Felipe go there often?”

“What is it to you?”

“Nothing, of course. Oh, Honey, when my child is born we shall go home.”

I could not get Carlos out of my mind. Those great brown eyes and the look in them when I had kissed his bruises, and the show of fear at the sound of that voice. I pictured his cowering before her blows. The next day I took with me a little rag doll which Honey had made for Edwina. The child had ignored it. She was no doubt too young to know what it was.

Strangely he was waiting at the gate and I knew that he had hoped that I would come again. When he saw me he grasped the bars and started jumping up and down. I knelt down and he held out his arm for me to kiss. The gesture brought tears into my eyes.

I gave him the rag doll. He seized it and laughed. He held it against him and then held it out to me. I realized it was for me to kiss.

“Carlos,” I said. He nodded.

“Catalina,” I said, the Spanish version of my name.

“Catalina,” he repeated.

Then he ran away looking around all the time, which I knew meant that he wanted me to stay. He came back with a flower—an oleander—which he gave to me. I took it and tucked it into my bodice. He laughed. We were friends.

I wanted to ask him questions, but the language barrier was difficult, and suddenly I heard the sound of voices and once again the little boy scuttled away and hid behind the bush. I drew back into the shelter of the oleanders and watched. Two children came out of the house, one of about eight I should say, the other about six. They ran to the bush and dragged Carlos out. I heard him scream. They took the rag doll and the elder of the boys started to pull it apart. Carlos screamed his rage; but he was powerless and the mutilated rag doll lay in pieces on the grass.

Carlos lay on the ground and lamented miserably. The elder of the boys came up and kicked him. Carlos sprang to his feet. The two boys rolled on the grass; then the woman appeared. The elder of the boys ran away. Carlos was struggling to his feet when the woman kicked him.

This was too much for me. I pushed the gate with all my might and to my amazement it opened. I ran through. Her attention turned from the child; the woman stared at me and let forth a stream of abuse.

Carlos had stopped screaming and moved behind me; I could feel his hands clutching my skirt.

The woman attempted to seize him, but I held her off, protecting the child. She was ugly that woman—low, atavistic; there was no intelligence in her face, only cunning; and there was cruelty there too—horrible unreasoning cruelty, and this was the woman who had charge of Jake Pennlyon’s son.

Her eyes flashed with sadistic delight. I knew she was planning what she would do to the child. A trickle of saliva dribbled from her mouth. I drew back. She was repulsive and horrible and I would not leave any child to her mercy.

Without thinking what I would do, I picked up Carlos in my arms and walked through the gate. I felt his hands clutching me tightly, his hot dirty face close to mine.

The woman ran after us. I tried to shut the gate in her face, but I was too late, so I hurried with the child into the patio.

I saw then that there was someone there. It was the duenna whom I had heard called Pilar.

Pilar stared at me with those sharp eyes under the straggling brows. I said: “This child is in need of care.”

Pilar came to me and tried to take Carlos from me. He screamed and clutched to me more tightly.

“It’s clear,” I said, “that he is terrified of you all, which is an indication to me of the ill treatment he has received from you. I shall take him to the Hacienda with me.”

Pilar could evidently understand one or two words. “To the Hacienda,” she cried. “No, no.” She screamed something about Don Felipe.

I said: “I care not for Don Felipe!” which was a foolish thing to say when he was the master of us all.

Isabella came into the patio. She took one look at the child and she ran to us. She tried to take him from me.

Carlos began to scream in real terror.

Pilar cried: “Isabella, Isabella
favorita.”

I knew that I must protect the child. I knew that I must not let his mother lay hands on him. She was mad. I had never seen a madwoman before. Some would say that she was possessed by devils and if ever I saw possession it was then. She started to scream; Pilar was beside her or she would have dropped to the ground; I saw her lying there and Pilar was forcing something between her lips; she was writhing as though tormented.

I ran out through the gate across the grass back to the Hacienda.

I said: “It’s all right, Carlos. You are with me now.”

Don Felipe was away, which was perhaps well. I knew that everyone in the household was astounded by the enormity of what I had done. I could not have done anything which would have been more outrageous. The terrible tragedy of this house had begun on the day the
Rampant Lion
came to Tenerife; the shadow of those events had hung across the house for three years; they had changed the way of life of everyone there. And in true Spanish fashion this matter which had changed everything was to be ignored; they were to behave as though it had not happened; even though Don Felipe’s bride lived in a house apart because she was mad, and he had taken an alien woman to complete his revenge. And I—that alien woman—had now brought into his house the result of this disaster. I did not care. I was to have a child of my own and I loved all children. I would not stand by and see them ill-treated to save any Spanish Don’s pride.

It was pathetic to see the manner in which Carlos regarded me. I was clearly a kind of goddess who could do anything. I was the one who had kissed his bruises, who had carried him out of squalor to a beautiful house. I bathed him in my sunken bath and treated his bruises and there were many on his little body and the sight of them aroused my fury to such an extent that I was ready to inflict the same punishment on that evil-faced woman. I soothed him with lotions and wrapped him in a cotton shift; and he slept in my bed. When I awoke next morning he was lying close to me and his hand gripped my nightgown firmly. I believed he had held it while he slept, so terrified was he that he was going to lose me. I knew then I could never fail him.

Oh, Jake Pennlyon, I thought. I am going to fight for your son.

Jennet couldn’t make enough of him. The likeness between her child and this boy was apparent. Though one was fair and the other dark … they were half brothers.

No one in the Hacienda protested, although there was a tension all about us.

“They are waiting,” said Honey, “for Don Felipe to return.”

He came back three days after I had brought Carlos to the Hacienda. By that time the child had ceased to be afraid; he followed me but no longer appeared to feel it necessary to cling to my skirts. Under my treatment the bruises were beginning to disappear from his body and also from his mind. In a short time I hoped those miserable days of his early life would become like a bad dream that disappears with the light of day. That was what I intended should be.

Everyone was waiting for what would happen now. I sensed they believed that my brief show of authority was over.

Nothing happened all day. I was tense, starting every time a servant approached me, waiting for the summons. The one who was least perturbed was the one most concerned: Carlos. He had complete faith in me. Moreover, he had no idea of who he was.

It was early evening when Don Felipe sent for me. I was to go to the
escritorio.

He rose as I entered; he looked impassive as ever; there was no sign of anger on his face; but then I had never seen any emotion there.

He said: “Pray be seated.” So I sat down.

I looked about the
escritorio
at the paneled walls and the emblem of Spain above his chair.

“You show great temerity in bringing the child into the Hacienda. You know full well who he is.”

“It is obvious.”

“Then you will know too that he is an embarrassment to me.”

I laughed angrily. “And do you know that you are diabolically cruel to him? For the last three days that child has been happy for the first time in his life.”

“Is that reason to flout my orders?”

“It is the best of reasons,” I said unflinchingly.

“Because he is your lover’s child?”

“Because he is a child. He is not my lover’s child. Jake Pennlyon was never my lover. I hate that man as much as you hate him. But I will not stand aside and see a child ill-treated.” I stood up, my eyes blazing. I was determined to keep Carlos as I had rarely been determined before. Someone had said of my mother—I think it was Kate—that when my mother had a child she became a mother to all children. Well, I was about to have a child. I had always been fond of children, but now I was ready to lead a fervent crusade on their behalf. Carlos had turned his appealing gaze on me—and even though I was aware of his resemblance to Jake Pennlyon every time I saw him I was going to save him from misery. I was going to make him a happy child no matter what the cost.

Don Felipe said: “You were betrothed to Captain Pennlyon. You would marry him.”

“I would never have done it. You see your plans for revenge have failed. I was betrothed to him because he forced me to it. He would have betrayed my sister and her husband if I had not agreed to it.”

“You are a defender of others,” he said, and I was not sure whether he spoke with a touch of irony.

“He has no compassion, that man. He would have forced me as he forced your Isabella. I eluded him although the betrothal was necessary. Later I feigned to be suffering from the sweating sickness until his ship had sailed. That is what I felt for Jake Pennlyon.”

He was looking at me strangely.

“How vehement you are! How fierce!”

“I have found it necessary to be so. But know this: You have no call to judge Jake Pennlyon. He has ruined lives through his lust; you will do so through your pride, and I believe one sin to be as deadly as the other.”

“Be silent.”

“I will not be silent. Don Felipe, your pride is so great that you have taken a woman from her home. You are guilty of rape. You have given her a child. Moreover, you have inflicted torture on the innocent result of another man’s lust. And all this to appease your pride. The devil take your pride … and you too.”

“Take care. You forget…”

“I forget nothing. Nor ever shall I forget what you and Jake Pennlyon have done to women and children. You great men! So powerful, so strong. Yes! When suppressing the weak and those who are not in a position to fight you.”

“I see little weakness in you,” he said.

“Do you not when I was forced to submit to your evil motives?”

“Tell me, were you not quickly reconciled?”

I felt a slow flush creeping over my face. “I do not understand you, Don Felipe Gonzáles.”