Bartolomé Read online

  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.

  Arrival

  NOBODY had tummy-ache in the morning. The opposite, in fact. Don Pacheco had drunk a glass of wine with Juan, but otherwise he seemed to assume that his guests had already eaten. They had spent a cold, draughty night on the stone floor of the unused kitchen quarters of the hunting lodge, without their mats and blankets.

  ‘There was no breakfast either,’ Joaquín complained, as they hurried down the drive of the castle. Bartolomé smiled in his chest, up on the cart. It had been warm in the stable, and he’d had no shortage of food. He remembered Father Rodriquez, the old priest in their village. One evening, when Bartolomé had been sitting on the stone steps watching the other children playing, the priest had picked him up, carried him into the church and shown him the great wooden cross hanging on the wall above the high altar.

  ‘The last shall be first,’ the priest had said, pointing at the cross. Bartolomé hadn’t believed it at the time. He was the last in the village, and he could not imagine that ever changing. Until last night, thought Bartolomé, pleased to hear Joaquín impatiently asking his father when on earth they could stop and have some breakfast. Last night, he’d been the first. It was a lovely feeling and it might even be a sign. Maybe an even bigger miracle would take place in Madrid that would turn him, the cripple, into a proper son.

  But whatever miracles might happen in Madrid, Bartolomé had to get back into his prison long before they got to the city gate. As the narrow road emerged from the forest, it met a broad road. Countless coaches and riders passed them in the next few hours. All important people, together with their noble wives and children and their servants, all apparently wanting to get away from Madrid, to escape the hot, muggy city even if only for a day.

  On the roadside, it seemed that every peasant who had a table and a couple of benches had set them out in the shade of a tree. In these temporary little bars, the peasants sold wine and little portions of food to hungry travellers. Merchants with carts and hand-baskets offered all kinds of wares: vegetables, fruit, baked goods and sweets. Their loud voices boomed through the air.

  Bartolomé heard Beatríz whining in the midday heat. She wanted to take a little rest and have something to eat and drink. But Juan went plodding on, past all these temptations. He wanted to reach Madrid before dusk.

  As Juan led his wife and children through the western gate into the city, they clung anxiously to the side of the cart. They had never seen so many houses and people in one spot. Nearly every building had several storeys. Some façades were beautifully decorated and there were windows of glass in which the rays of the sun sparkled. The streets through which they went were paved with great flat stones over which the cart rolled easily.

  ‘Calle Zaragoza, behind Plaza Major. That’s where we live. In case we get split up, that’s where you are to go,’ Juan warned them. ‘Ask somebody the way.’

  He sat Beatríz on the back of the donkey. Ana and Joaquín gave him a horrified look. They would never be able to find their way in this enormous city.

  Juan took no notice of their terror. He marched on, set on reaching his goal, pulling the donkey by the bridle behind him. Ana and Joaquín took each other by the hand. With his other hand, Joaquín held tightly to the cart. Even Isabel was gripped by fear as they left the broad streets and stepped into the narrow alleyways between high houses. Here, where it was so narrow, the people seemed to crowd in. Isabel believed she’d never seen so many people at once. She’d like to have walked with Juan, taking his arm. But that wasn’t the way it happened. Keeping her eyes fixed on Joaquín and Ana’s backs, she hurried along behind them.

  Manuel was bound securely on her back. He’d slept soundly for most of the journey. Now, however, he was woken by the noise of the city. He didn’t know which way to look. There was so much to see.

  They came to a marketplace full of pens with live animals for sale. Manuel pulled excitedly at Isabel’s headscarf when he noticed the hens, geese, goats and sheep. He wanted her to stop. But Isabel had eyes only for the cart and her children. She didn’t want to lose sight of them.

  Juan turned out of the marketplace into a wide street that led to the Cathedral of San Isidor. When they reached the square in front of it, he stopped to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. They were nearly there.

  Ana, Beatríz, Joaquín and Isabel stared open-mouthed at the imposing towers that seemed to reach as high as the clouds. But it was Manuel who noticed something familiar in all this unimaginable splendour. ‘Barmo, Barmo!’ he shouted, pointing excitedly at the cathedral.

  Barmo? Isabel swung around towards the cart. That’s what Manuel called Bartolomé. Surely he couldn’t have disobeyed his father’s order and crept out of the chest? No, the chest was tightly closed.

  ‘Barmo, Barmo!’ Manuel kept calling. He was so excited that he tried to wriggle out of the cloth that bound him to his mother’s back.

  Isabel looked where Manuel was pointing and was horrified. There, in a niche in the grey façade sat Bartolomé, miserable and in rags. It was only when she looked again that she realised that it was not her own son but another crippled child, stretching out his hand to the passersby, who took no notice of him.

  Shocked, Isabel looked away. Tramps had come into the village from time to time, homeless old men and women, childless or abandoned by their children. People gave them a crust of bread, sometimes a bowl of soup. But she’d never seen such a pitiable little child begging. Did he not have any parents?

  Juan had also noticed the little creature. ‘Now you know why I didn’t want to bring him,’ he said in a hard voice. Without waiting for Isabel’s answer, he gripped the bridle more tightly and walked on. The little caravan set off again slowly, following him. Isabel did not look back as they left the cathedral square.

  New Home

  CALLE ZARAGOZA was a narrow, densely inhabited alleyway near the Alcázar and the great Cathedral of San Isidor. Juan stopped the cart in front of one of the buildings and opened
the door. A dark hallway stretched out in front of him. Noises came crowding out of the house, the crying of a child, shrill girls’ voices and the clucking of hens. It smelt of food and of drains.

  ‘This is our new home,’ said Juan.

  ‘Do we have to live with strangers?’ hissed Ana, disappointed. She had dreamt of a roomy house with a garden.

  ‘In Madrid, only the rich people have their own houses,’ explained Juan shortly. He looked at Isabel. ‘We have the whole first floor all to ourselves,’ he said, trying to set her mind at rest. ‘We have a big room at the front, facing the street, and a small room at the back, looking out onto the yard. Upstairs lives Señora Lopez, the widow of an apothecary. She owns the house. Don Zorilla and his wife rent the ground floor. He’s a royal chamberlain, and he has three daughters, Jeronima, Luzia and Augustina. Jeronima is a little simple, but she’s a good soul. You don’t need to be afraid of her. But at the same time, you shouldn’t annoy her.’ Juan looked sternly at Joaquín.

  ‘Don Zorilla found the apartment for me. I owe him a favour because of that. It’s not easy to find a reasonable place in Madrid in a good area. Señora Lopez gave me a good deal on the rent, and in return you’ll do her washing, Isabel, and Ana will look after her children from time to time.’

  Everyone helped with the unpacking, except Manuel and Bartolomé, who wasn’t allowed out of the chest yet. Juan had to take the donkey and cart back before evening. Quickly, they put the chests, the bedstead, the chairs and the rest of the luggage in the hall.

  Juan gave Isabel a big key. ‘For the door to the apartment,’ he explained. At home in the village, they’d had no key, just a bolt that Isabel used to fasten the door at night.

  ‘I’ll carry the big pieces up when I get home,’ said Juan.

  ‘May I come with you?’ asked Joaquín. Juan thought it over. Joaquín should really be helping the others to carry up the chests. On the other hand, it would be good to familiarise him a bit with the area, so that he could show Isabel the way to the well and the market the following morning. Juan nodded.