“Speak,” cried Roderick hastily; “command my life! my throne! my fortune!”
Zoe smiled. “The favour I have to request is trifling. I have a favourite page, who dreads to return to Greece, and I would willingly place him under your care.”
“He shall be my brother!” exclaimed Roderick enthusiastically; “my friend! my companion in arms! He shall live with me, fight with me, and—”
Again a faint smile played on Zoe’s marble features, like the ghost of departed joys; it was but for an instant, however, and it added fresh darkness to the succeeding gloom. “I wish no privileges for my page,” said she gravely, “beyond those usually bestowed upon his class. Treat him kindly, but promise me you will not overindulge him, or I will not leave him with you.”
“You have only to command,” said Roderick, “and you may rely upon obedience.”
“Adieu! then,” exclaimed the princess, extending her hand, whilst a slight blush stained her alabaster complexion. “God bless you!—we may meet again.”
Roderick kissed her hand, as he would have done that of an empress. “Heaven grant we may!” exclaimed he, “for rest assured no earthly pleasure could afford me half the joy.”
“None?” asked Zoe incredulously.
“None!” repeated he firmly; “unless, perhaps,” added he with a smile, “the reconquering of Spain.”
“Then you will accept my page?”
“As a gift from Heaven!”
“He shall join you ere you cross the bridge: once more, adieu!”
“Adieu!” cried Roderick, and Zoe vanished. In half an hour the troops were under arm, and had quitted Cadiz; but Roderick, in the bustle and confusion attendant upon the removal of so large a body of men so suddenly, had quite forgotten the Greek page. As he was crossing the bridge, however, his noble barb started, and Roderick, looking for the cause, saw a slight, graceful boy, who, kneeling, presented him with a letter; it was from Zoe.
“I forgot to tell you,” wrote she, “that my page is dumb. As his loss of speech, however, was accidental, he is, notwithstanding, perfectly intelligent, and will obey your slightest gesture.”
Ordering some of his attendants to provide a horse, Roderick desired the page to mount it, and ride by his side: the boy crossed his arms upon his breast, bowed his head in token of obedience, and then lightly vaulted into the saddle.
XXIII
The army of Roderick advanced rapidly through a lovely country richly tinted by the rays of a southern sun. Nothing, indeed, could be more beautiful than the scene. Though spring was only just bursting from the icy chains of winter, vine-covered cottages peeped through orange groves loaded with their fragrant flowers; whilst behind, the dark foliage of the lofty palm-trees gave depth and richness to the landscape. Innumerable flowers perfumed the air, and the sky glowed with azure and gold.
Under these circumstances, the advance of Roderick’s army, though rapid, resembled rather the journey of a party of pleasure than a fatiguing and toilsome march; and when, just as the sun was setting, they approached a small village, Edric paused on the summit of a hill, to survey with delighted admiration the lovely scene below. A white church peeped from between a thick cluster of trees, and romantic cottages covered with wild festoons of luxuriant plants, were scattered about at intervals; whilst sitting before the doors, were placed groups of peasant girls, singing patriotic airs to their mandolins or lutes, and others were dancing gaily beneath the shade of some widely spreading trees. Neat dresses of black serge fitted tightly to the shape of these girls, and displayed the graceful elegance of their figures to the utmost advantage. Their long dark hair was bound in a simple net; and their sparkling eyes beamed with animation and love, whilst the clear dark complexion, well proportioned forms, jet black hair, and aquiline noses of their male partners, still, notwithstanding the lapse of so many centuries, strongly marked their Moorish origin. Songs of joy and lively music swelled upon the gale; but these sounds of peace and happiness were soon changed to shrieks of terror, as the unfortunate peasants saw the army of Roderick wind slowly through the trees, and they fled screaming for mercy, whilst all their little store of wealth fell an easy prey to the foe they left behind.
Edric shuddered at the pillage that ensued, and warmly remonstrated with his friend.
“My dear Edric,” said Roderick, “these things are inevitable; though what you see here can give you but a very faint idea of the dreadful havoc and devastation of war. My soldiers destroy nothing, and generally even pay for what they take: but commonly in an enemy’s country, men burn what they cannot make use of, and treat the unfortunate inhabitants with the most appalling cruelty. However these are things we cannot reason about.”
“I think not,” returned Edric; and finding his remonstrances unavailing, he had the discretion not to allude again to the subject, till the army approached Seville. The first view of this splendid city, illumined by the glowing rays of the setting sun, struck our young philosopher most forcibly. “Oh, Roderick!” cried he, “look at that long line of sumptuous palaces, adorned with marble pillars, and the finest statues; those lovely gardens—those bowers of roses; and those crystal fountains, whose sparkling spray looks dazzling in the sunbeams.”
“Well,” said Roderick, “I see them all, and more, the lofty spires of the town rising beyond, their gilded vanes glittering in the sun.”
“And can you look upon this fair scene?” asked Edric, “and not feel compunction? Alas! alas! that the cruel hand of man should dare to destroy so lovely a picture!”
“My dear Edric,” returned Roderick, smiling, “you would never do for a conqueror. If you make war a profession, Glory must be your mistress, and to obtain her, you must sacrifice all your better feelings. But, ah! what is that? look yonder, Edric!”
“I see nothing but a volume of
