Currently, Father Muñosa said, Spain was officially a republic with an elected parliament, but no one thought the democracy would last long. A dictatorship, either by the Radicals or by the Carlist monarchists, seemed to be in the future, which he said made him sad. He warned Allen and Wake not to take sides—that already the butchery of the war was infamous and in the heat of emotion no one would care if they were foreign tourists.
“And remember this, my son,” Muñosa said, looking at Wake. “The monarchists are no friends of democracy, especially American democracy. They hate you for your perceived intervention in favor of the revolutionaries in Cuba. They hate you for threatening them with your navy back there in November—and, of course, more recently here in Spain at Barcelona and Málaga, when you sent warships to protect your citizens. They hate you most of all for making them look weak in front of their own people and the powers of Europe. Do not give them a chance to express that hate, Lieutenant.”
It was a sobering lesson and Wake began to regret leaving to go inland, away from the protection of the Trinidad. Allen, though, had no such qualms.
“Oh well, my friend. Remember? Carpe diem. Carpe diem and see the glory of Spain.”
***
The train station was deserted, except for the bodies. At first Wake thought they were dead, but then saw them stirring off the floor as the disembarking passengers moved off the train cars. Soon they stood, waiting for the crowd to move through them to get to the station gates. The filthy drunks and beggars, reeking of urine and wine, started touching the passengers, hands going into their pockets, while moaning and muttering unintelligible words. Many of the vacant-eyed men wore remnants of different types of uniforms, the military detritus from years of internal war. Some appeared to be semi-lunatics.
When Wake felt fingers in his coat pocket he instantly reacted with an elbow to the throat—the man gasped for air and moved away toward another potential victim without retaliation to Wake, almost as if he expected to be hurt. Shouts of rage toward the men didn’t deter them, only painful action could stop them. Even after the war in America, which dwarfed the one in Spain by size and scope, Wake had never seen such depravity. Allen and Wake quickly walked out of the station and into fresh air, neither saying a word but both shaken. Then they looked up.
The skyline of the city was starting to silhouette against the dawn and it was an awe-inspiring sight. Across the Guadalquivir River were the palaces and cathedrals of old Spain. Seventy miles up the broad river, Sevilla was the designated royal port of deposit for the riches of the New World during the first two hundred years of the Spanish global empire, and the wealth of that time was reflected in the domes and spires and towers that gracefully filled the sky. In the middle was a tall slender tower, which Allen said must be La Giralda, the ancient minaret of the Moors.
“And look over there!” exclaimed Allen. “That’s where Father Muñosa was headed, the Catedral de Sevilla, largest one of Gothic design in the entire world. Oh, there’s the Casa de Pilatos from the Moors. And that over there must be the Alcázar. Just look at that, Peter, the fabled Alcázar . . .”
Wake was astonished by the vision before him, his mind going back to his school days in New England. “A history lesson in stone.”
“Incredible, simply incredible . . .” said Allen.
“And I always thought Havana was impressive. Now I know where the real money went,” chuckled Wake.
They walked along the river, past the Spanish Navy docks and over a long stone bridge, crossing into the central part of the city. Wake saw that the banks of the river were sandy and wondered what the depths were. It must have been difficult to sail up to Sevilla all those years, he guessed, but they had to since the city was the most secure location for the riches against the pirates of the coast.
The center of the city gave the opposite impression from the train station. Wake noticed that the city had wide tree-lined boulevards and massive buildings, and that it was clean and the people well clothed. He saw no beggars and few policemen, only people starting their day and going about their lives. Many people gave them morning greetings, women smiled, and music—even at that time in the morning—could be heard everywhere. It was a normal working city like any other, but within a living museum of some of the most famous historical buildings in the world.
Father Muñosa’s warning came to his mind. Here there was death and treachery? Amidst this splendor, this celebration of what Spain once was and could be again? Perhaps the priest was just overly cautious, he thought.
Three blocks into their walk they came upon a Hotel Lancaster and entered inside. It was owned by an elderly but tough-looking Englishman, George King, and his Spanish wife Carlota. King smiled when Allen reacted to his name.
“Yes, my father had a sense of humor when he named me. But The Andrew had none when they took me fifty-five long years ago. My sarcastic name did me no good then!”
They got a room on the third story with two cots for the night. Intending to get some rest before setting out to see the sights, they ended up talking for a long time about what they had experienced so far.
