The Way Back Home- Part 2

Villains and Heroes

By Samuel

They were first treated to a warm bath, a change of clothing, and a hearty hot meal. Next, it was time to see how best to deliver these two safely and close to their respective destinations. At the end of a heated, productive discussion, it was decided to do the following. As their ship was bound for Messina, Sicily, they would proceed and inquire about a ship sailing to Spain for the rest of the journey. Pierre offered to accompany her and ensure she was delivered to her grandfather. From there, he would make his way home. Three days later, passage was arranged on a ship bound for Barcelona, a large and busy Spanish port. Pierre, not wanting to impose on anyone, used some of his recently acquired wealth to pay for all the costs incurred. At the cost of two gold coins, the captain of their saviour vessel sold Pierre a money belt for depositing and safely keeping his possessions. On board their new passage, they set sail at dawn the following day and four days later arrived at Barcelona, where they disembarked. She was apprehensive, wondering how she was to get to Madrid and be united with her grandfather. Heading for the town centre, to distract her from her fearful thoughts, he suggested they first needed to purchase some clothing items and inquire about carriage travel to Madrid. This would not only be a good mode of transport but also, optimistically, a safer and faster way to travel. The first part was simple; getting clothing was done by visiting two separate establishments, one catering to females and the other to the gentry of the day. The items chosen were not too lavish or too shabby, as that would merely draw unwanted attention. Two dresses and a lady’s long daytime gown for her, with some underclothing, and two suits and an overcoat that he simply loved when he saw them. He had also purchased two leather bags with locks for their journey. At one of the shops, they were directed to the other side of town, where they could make arrangements for both lodging and the coach stop.

Firstly, they went to the coach stop, where they learned that the coach to Madrid had departed four days ago and was only expected back in a week. Tickets for their journey were paid for, and they now went in search of an inn where they would stay before proceeding on their journey. Trusting him enough by this time, she said, and he approved, that they would lodge, for guarded safety, as newlyweds, husband and wife, Pierre and Mary Cortez—the same names used to book the coach tickets. The inn chosen was not too far from the stagecoach stop, and they were glad when they met the owner. He was a giant, no-nonsense man who did not entertain any nefarious activities at his establishment. A room upstairs, at the far end of the passage, with a small balcony overlooking the street below, was allocated to them. Pierre did not argue about the price, gladly paying for a week in advance. They checked the room. It was clean and tidy, with a large bed, some drawers, and a bathtub. Hot water for bathing would be supplied from the kitchen downstairs, which was a part of the main hall serving as a dining room, pub, kitchen, and rest area set up in front of the large fireplace. It wasn’t long before two servants brought them four pails of water, which were deposited into the tub. Pierre stepped out onto the balcony to give “his wife” a chance to bathe in modesty. She appreciated this gesture. It was now dusk, so both of them, now bathed and donning part of their new clothing, went down to the dining room for the evening meal. There were many patrons of the inn present, most of whom already knew each other and exchanged customary pleasantries. They introduced themselves before being seated. When they had finished eating, they bid everyone a good night and returned to their room. After their departure, one half-drunk character expressed his disdain at their lack of friendship, not talking or even staying behind for a bit of time to talk. “Are they high society? Too good for the likes of us?” The innkeeper, to avert any possible problems, spoke out, “What is wrong with you, can’t you see? They are a young, newlywed couple who just want to spend as much time as possible with each other.” This had its intended effect. The drunk clammed up, and the rest smilingly accepted it as truthful.

Their stay was without incident, and besides their daily walk exploring the town and stopping off to inquire about the stagecoach, the routine was pretty much the same, except for the afternoon of the fifth day when some enterprising young man and his band of merry thieves accosted them and tried to rob them. There were three young men, and their leader had seen Pierre paying for the knick-knacks they bought with a gold coin and rightfully assumed that he had more. They thought it would be easy pickings, but miscalculated. Pierre had seen the leader’s avaricious look while they were in the shop and was well-prepared for the assault. They planned to spring on them as they passed one of the tributary alleyways and disappear with their loot—a good plan, but countered by a better-prepared one. Whispering to Shahrazad, he quickly and quietly informed her about the expected attack, instructing her to jump to the side of the street, which would allow him to concentrate on taking evasive action. It did not take long for them to act. Not expecting Pierre’s sharp reaction, the lead crook, almost as big as his intended victim, saw his dangerous situation too late and was unable to avoid the cutlass Pierre produced. He ran straight into a cold steel thrust and was rendered immobile. The second attacker hesitated, and that cost him his health as well. The leader, seeing how it was all turning south, with no thought for his fallen mates, applied the principle that retreat is better than defeat. Well, they were defeated. The few onlookers who witnessed this display cheered them for their bravery. These rascals had a bad reputation on the streets, and the two wounded, tails between their legs, hobbled off to get themselves attended to.

As predicted, upon inquiring on the seventh day, they found out that the stagecoach had returned the previous night and would be leaving for Madrid in a day. That night, they packed their scant belongings and, after a fitful sleep, enjoyed a hearty breakfast, paid the outstanding balance, bid the innkeeper goodbye, and left for the stagecoach stop. They were early, but did not have to wait long. They were part of six passengers making the journey, along with the coach driver and two security guards, one up front with the driver and the other at the back of the coach. Besides the boredom of the journey and the aches and pains from the jolting coach ride, they stopped each evening at a wayside inn to rest the horses and get rest themselves. Night travel was avoided, as it was considered inviting evil to befall them. Arriving in Madrid on the fifth day of their journey, they alighted, picked up their bags, thanked the stagecoach employees, and set about finding the home of her grandfather. Knowing what a religious person Papi Montale was, she suggested they go to the cathedral and inquire about his whereabouts from the priests. This proved to be a useful suggestion, and the priest in attendance knew him very well, even regarding him as a close friend, and made arrangements for one of the junior priests to escort them there. It was a fifteen-minute walk from the cathedral, as his living quarters were in the wealthy part of the city. Upon arriving at this palatial home, they both stood rooted to the sidewalk in awe of its size and grandeur. They later found out that Montag Montale was a highly respected businessman. Stepping through the gates, they moved to the front door, knocking to gain entry. A valet opened, and seeing the priest, bid them welcome and escorted them to the family room. The furnishings and numerous wall-mounted paintings, including paintings of what could only be surmised as ancestry, left them speechless. She did expect some grandeur, but not to this extent. Pierre, a farm boy and galley slave, had never, not even in his wildest dreams, expected this display of lavish riches. The valet left to announce their arrival, inquiring before leaving, “Who may I say is calling?” and upon hearing her name, proceeded post-haste to go and inform the master. It did not take long before this stately, tall man with a goatee beard stepped—no, rushed—into the room. Seeing his granddaughter, his eyes filled with tears of joy. He had received news that the ship she had been travelling on sank, and did not know whether she was alive or had perished in the destruction of the vessel. She rushed forward and, also in tears of joy and relief, threw her arms around him, for she had last seen him years ago while still a child. As their excitement died down, he looked at Pierre and asked what his part was in this whole affair. “Papi, this scallywag is Pierre Belmont, a former slave on the pirates’ ship, but my newfound friend who helped me escape and ensured my safe return to you. I owe him my life.” Indicating for Pierre to step forward, he refused his outstretched hand but instead hugged him as a friend, whispering to him, “Thank you.”

After a sumptuous lunch, they bid farewell to the priest and moved off to the office from which he conducted his business. He listened as she related her faithful voyage of capture and escape, plus all the incidents in between. Listening, and every so often either nodding his head in wonder or anger, depending on the storyline, he finally stood up and, bowing before this strapping young man whom he had just met, said, “When I first saw you, I thought you to be a man seeking a reward for her delivery; please forgive me my presumptuous assumption as it was wrong. But now, name a queen’s ransom, and I will gladly pay it for her safe return.” Pierre replied, “Sir, I do not want any reward. I have already extracted payment from my erstwhile captors. Plus, seeing she referred to me as a scallywag, it was my not-so-pleasant task to watch over your spoilt-brat granddaughter.” His remark brought forth peals of laughter. She was upset at the news that her grandmother, after a short illness, had passed away a couple of months ago.

Montag, looking at Pierre, “What are your plans?” Pierre replied, “Seeing I’m here in this beautiful city and possibly will never see it again, I plan to spend a couple of days touring it and building memories of my ‘visit’ here. Thereafter, I shall bid you farewell, departing to make my way home.” By this time, Montag had taken note of the interplay between these two young people and commented, “Strong bonds are forged in the fires that destiny takes us through. Friendships developed under such circumstances last because they are built on trust and unions made, not on circumstantial convenience. True bonds are created that last a lifetime. I believe this is what has happened in your two cases.” Both of them appreciated these words of wisdom.

Pierre remained for a week and got restless to continue his homebound journey. Shahrazad, also for the first time in Madrid, accompanied him. Montag acquired the services of a guide to take them to the popular tourist spots. It was a fun-filled, short, time-ran-out week. He had booked a return passage on the stagecoach, planning to sail from Barcelona to Marseille. Their farewell was one they did not like, but knew that it was necessary. She hugged him and was unable to resist kissing him full on the lips, telling him to please come and visit, as she would miss him. He felt the same and promised in reply to return. The return journey on the stagecoach was quiet, even though some of his fellow travellers tried engaging him in their discussions about the present conditions and the imminent threats of war between European countries and Britain. Everything worked out well, and it didn’t take long to secure passage on a ship sailing to Marseille. Arriving in Marseille two days later, he took the well-travelled, well-known route to his father’s farm. It was midday when he marched up the road leading to the farmhouse. His dad, returning from the fields to get a lunchtime meal, saw this stranger approaching, and it did not take long for him to recognize his “Prodigal Son.” The earth seemed to tremble as these two giants rushed up to each other and embraced. Leading Pierre into the house, he cried out, “Mother, look who is here!” Pierre stepped forward, and his beloved dear mother, as quickly as she was able to move in the confines of the kitchen, threw herself at him and, crying uncontrollably, could just say, “My son, my son.” It did not take long for the news to spread, and soon family, friends, and other community members had gathered at their home to celebrate. It was a day of joyful reunion and gratitude.