Читать «Cup of Gold (Золотая чаша)» онлайн - страница 103

"Yes, I will go back. You have made me old, Seсor. You have pricked the dream on which my heavy spirit floated. And I wonder whether, in the years to come, you will blame me for the death of your friend."

Henry flushed quickly.

"I am trying to do something of that sort now," he said. "It does not seem worth the while to lie any more, and that is only one more proof of dead youth. But now, good-by, Ysobel. I wish I loved you now as I thought I did yesterday.

Go back to your husband's scented hands."

She smiled and raised her eyes to the holy picture on the wall. "Peace go with you, dear fool," she murmured. "Ah, I too have lost my youth. I am old-old-for I cannot console myself with the thought of what you have missed."

Henry Morgan stood in the doorway of the Hall of Audience and watched a little troupe of Spaniards ride through the streets toward the Palace. The troupe was surrounded on all sides by a mob of buccaneers. First in the line came the messenger, but a changed messenger. Now he was dressed in scarlet silk. The plume of his hat and his sword's scabbard were white in token of peace. Behind him rode six soldiers in silver breast-plates and the Spanish helmets which looked like half mustard seeds.

The last soldier led a riderless white mare with crimson trappings and a line of golden bells on its brow band. The white saddle cloth nearly touched the ground. Following the mare were six mules bearing heavy leathern bags, and the group was rear-guarded by six more soldiers.

The cavalcade drew up before the Palace. The messenger leaped from his horse and bowed to Henry Morgan.

"I have here the ransom," he said. He looked worried and tired. The weight of his mission was riding heavily on his spirit. At his command the soldiers carried the leather bags into the Hall of Audience, and only when they were all deposited with the rest of the treasure did the anxiety leave his face.

"Ah," he said, "it is good. It is the treasure. Twenty thousand pieces of eight-not one lost by the wayside. I invite you to count them, Seсor." He whipped a little dust from his foot. "If my men could have refreshments, Seсor; wine-" he suggested.

"Yes. Yes." Henry motioned to one of his followers. "See that these men have food and drink. Be courteous, as you love life."

Then he went to the bags to count the ransom. He made little towers of shining coins and moved the towers about on the floor. Money was bright, he thought. It could have been cut in no more charming shape, either. A square would not answer, nor an ellipse. And money was really worth more than money.

He tumbled a tower and built it up again. It was so extremely certain-money. One knew beforehand what it would do if set in motion; at least, he knew up to a certain point. Beyond that point it did not matter what it accomplished. One might buy wine with money. One had the wine. And if the merchant's clerk should kill his master for the same coins, it was unfortunate; it was, perhaps, Fate or something like that, but one had his wine just the same.