In the days when people made pilgrimages, we used to say that all roads lead to Rome, you just had to walk and ask the way as you went, that’s how sayings come into being and are then unthinkingly repeated, and it’s not true, for here all the many roads and paths lead to Montemor, and although no one is speaking, only a deaf man could fail to hear the lofty speech echoing around the latifundio. Some, if they can find no better mode of transport and regardless of whether they come from near or far, are on foot, others are pedaling along on ancient bicycles that wobble and creak like mule carts, while those who can, have come by bus, and all are converging on Montemor, arriving from all the points of the compass rose, and carried there by a strong wind. The sentinels on the castle ramparts watch the Moorish host approach, the flag of the prophet folded in their bosom, O Holy Mother of God, the infidels are coming, lock up your wives and daughters, gentlemen, close the doors and raise the drawbridge, for in truth I say unto thee, today is the day of judgment. The narrator is, of course, exaggerating, doubtless the result of too much time spent immersed in medieval studies, fancy imagining armies and pennants when there is only this disparate band of rustics, probably not even a thousand of them, and yet the final gathering will be far larger. But one thing at a time, there’s another two hours yet, for the moment Montemor is just a town with more people in the streets than usual, they wander about in the main square talking to each other in low voices, and those with a little money to spend buy themselves a drink. Has the party from Escoural arrived, I don’t know, we’re from Monte Lavre, there aren’t many of them, it’s true, but at least they’re here, and they’ve brought a woman with them, because Gracinda Mau-Tempo wanted to come too, there’s no stopping women nowadays, that’s what the older, more old-fashioned men think, although they say nothing, imagine what they would have said if they had overheard the following conversation, Manuel, I’m going with you, and Manuel Espada, despite himself, thought she must be joking and responded, or, rather, all the Manuels in the world answered for him, This isn’t women’s business. What did you say, a man should be careful when he speaks, it’s not just a matter of saying the words, you can end up looking ridiculous and losing all authority, fortunately Gracinda and Manuel really love each other, nevertheless, the discussion continues for the rest of the evening and even when they’re lying in bed, The child can stay with my mother and then you and I can go together, we don’t just share a bed, you know, and finally Manuel Espada gave in and, glad to give in, put his arm around his wife and drew her to him, the man invites and the woman consents, the little girl is sleeping and hears nothing, Sigismundo Canastro, too, is asleep in his bed, having tried and succeeded, perhaps the next time will be even better, a man can’t just give up, damn it.
What went on between man and wife last night or the night before, and what they will do later, are not matters to be discussed in Montemor, or, indeed, when this day is over, for who knows how it will end. The cavalry, as usual, rides forth from the guards’ barracks, while inside, Lieutenant Contente and Leandro Leandres are deep in conversation, the order to mobilize has been issued, now they must await events, although others have decided to wait elsewhere, they are the owners of the latifundio who live in Montemor, and there are quite a few of them, so we were not far off when we spoke of sentinels, for there is a stockade along the walls of the castle, with the braver of the infantes perched on the reconstructed ramparts, and a rosary of fathers and mothers, the former dressed as knights and the latter clad in suitably light colors. The more malicious commentators will say that they have taken shelter there because they are afraid of this invasion of farm laborers, a hypothesis that has a certain ring of truth about it, but let us not forget how few distractions there are here, apart from bullfights and the cinema, this time it’s rather like a picnic in the country, there’s plenty of shade and, if necessary, there is the safe haven of the convent of Our Lady of the Annunciation, pray for us. It is, however, true and verifiable that they left their houses out of a hitherto unknown fear, the servants remained behind on guard, because if you take on servants when they’re young, they tend to be loyal, as is doubtless the case with Amélia Mau-Tempo, who also works as a maid in Montemor, these facts are at once contradictory and inevitable, but given the times we live in, one cannot really trust anyone, not because the workers of the latifundio have joined together to make their demands, it’s not the first time they’ve asked for work, but because one can all too easily imagine those hands closing into fists, there’s a lot of anger out there, a lot of conspiracies, dear aunt, a
