Now Ysobel came from the patio and stood beside him.
“What an amount of money,” she said. “Is that my ransom?”
“Yes; it is the gold which purchases you.”
“But what a very great deal! Am I worth that much, do you think?”
“To your husband you are. He paid it for you.” He moved ten towers into a line.
“And to you—how much? How many of these golden chips?”
“You must have been worth that much to me. I stated the price.”
“Wouldn’t they skip well on the water!” she said. “How they would skip! Do you know, I can throw like a boy, with my arm bent.”
“It was said you were capable,” he announced.
“But am I really worth that much?”
“The money is here, and you are to go. It has bought you. A thing must be worth what is paid for it, or there could be no trade.”
“It is good,” she said. “It is comforting to know one’s value to a real. Have you any idea of your worth, Captain?”
Henry Morgan said, “If I were ever captured and a ransom demanded for me, I would not be worth a copper penny. These dogs of mine would laugh and shrug. A new captain would raise to lead them, and I—well, I would be subject to the pleasure of my captors, and I think I could foretell their pleasure. You see, I have been at revaluing myself in the last few days. I may have some value to historians because I have destroyed a few things. The builder of your Cathedral is forgotten even now, but I, who burned it, may be remembered for a hundred years or so. And that may mean something or other about mankind.”
“But what is there about me that is worth all this gold?” she insisted. “Is it my arms, do you suppose? My hair? Or is it that I am the embodiment of my husband’s vanity?”
“I do not know,” said Henry. “With the revaluation of myself, the whole economic system of emotions and persons has changed. Today, were I to demand a ransom, perhaps you would not be flattered.”
“Do you so hate me, Captain Morgan?”
“No, I do not hate you; but you are one of the stars of my firmament which has proven to be a meteor.”
“That is not gallant, sir. That is quite different from your speech of a few days past,” she observed spitefully.
“No. It is not gallant. I think that hereafter I shall be gallant for two reasons only—money and advancement. I tried to be gallant for the pure, joyous looks of things. You see, I was honest with myself before and I am honest with myself now. These two honesties are antithetical.”
“You are bitter.”
“No; I am not even bitter. The food that bitterness feeds on is gone out of me.”
“I am going now,” she said softly and wistfully. “Have you nothing more to say to me about myself? Nothing more to ask of me?”
“Nothing,” he answered, and immediately went to piling the coins again.
The messenger entered from the street. He had drunk deeply, for the removed burden of his mission had made him joyous. He bowed to Ysobel and to Henry Morgan; bowed warily, with an eye to his balance.
“We must go, Señor,” he announced loudly. “The way is long.” He led Ysobel to the white mare and helped her into the saddle. Then, at his signal, the column moved off down the street. Ysobel looked back once as they started, and it seemed that she had taken a mood from Henry Morgan, for there was a puzzled smile on her lips. But then she bent her head over the mare’s neck; she was intently studying the mare’s white mane.
The messenger had remained standing at Henry’s side in the doorway. Together they watched the fluid line of riders swing away while the sunlight glinted on the soldiers’ armor. In the center of the troupe, the white mare seemed a pearl in a setting of silver.
The messenger put his hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“We know how to understand each other, we men of responsibilities,” he said drunkenly. “It is not as though we were children to have secrets. We are men, brave men and strong. We may confide in each other. You may tell me the thing nearest your heart if you wish, Señor.”
Henry shook the hand from his shoulder. “I have nothing to tell you,” he said brusquely.
“Ah; but then I will tell you something. Perhaps you wondered why the husband of this woman was willing to pay such a vast sum for her. She is only a woman, you say. There are many women to be had more cheaply—some for a real or two. Her husband is a fool, you say. But I would not have you think that of my master. He is no fool. I will tell you how it is. Her grandfather still lives, and he is the owner of ten silver mines and fifty leagues of fertile land in Peru. Doña Ysobel is the heiress. Now if she were killed or carried off—But you understand, Señor—Poof! The fortune into the King’s arms!” He laughed at the cleverness of his reasoning. “We understand each other, Señor. We have tough skulls—not the soft heads of chickens. Twenty thousand—it is nothing to be reckoned against ten silver mines. Ah, yes; we understand each other, we men of responsibilities.”
He clambered into his saddle and rode away still laughing. Henry Morgan saw him join the undulating cavalcade; and now there was a ruby with the pearl in the silver setting.
Captain Morgan went back to
