GIL PEREZ DE SEGOVIA

Before he left Valladolid Manvers had sold his horse for what he could get, and had taken the diligencia as far as Segovia. Not a restful conveyance, the diligencia of Spain: therefore, in that wonderful city of towers, silence, and guarded windows, he stayed a full week, in order, as he put it, that his bones might have time to set.

There it was that he became the property of Gil Perez, who met him one day on the doorstep of his hotel, saluted him with a flourish and said in dashing English, “Good morning, Mister. I am the man for you. I espeak English very good, Dutch, what you like. I show you my city; you pleased eh?” He had a merry brown face, half of a quiz and half of a rogue, was well-dressed in black, wore his hat, which was now in his hand, rather over one ear. Manvers met his saucy eyes for a minute, saw anxiety behind their impudence, could not be angry, burst into a laugh, and was heartily joined by Gil Perez.

“That very good,” said Gil. “You laugh, I very glad. That tell me is all right.” He immediately became serious. “I serve you well, sir, there’s no mistake. I am Gil Perez, too well known to the landlord of this hotel. You see?” He showed his teeth, which were excellent, and he had also, Manvers reflected, shown his hand, for what it was worth which argued a certain security.

“Gil Perez,” he said, on an impulse, “I shall take you at your word. Do you wait where you are.” He turned back into the inn and sought his landlord, who was smoking a cigar in the kitchen while the maids bustled about. From him he learned what there was to be known of Gil Perez; that he was a native of Cadiz who had been valet to an English officer at Gibraltar, followed him out to the Crimea, nursed him through dysentery (of which he had died), and had then begged his way home again to Spain. He had been in Segovia a year or two, acting as guide or interpreter when he could, living on nothing a day mostly and doing pretty well on it.

“He has been in prison, I shall not conceal from your honour,” said the landlord. “He stabbed a man under the ribs because he had insulted the English. Gil Perez loves your nation. He considers you to be the natural protectors of the poor. He will serve you well, you may be sure.”

“That’s what he told me himself,” said Manvers.

The landlord rested his eyes large, brown and solemn as those of an ox upon his guest. “He told you the truth, senor. He will serve you better than he would serve me. You will be his god.”

“I hope not,” said Manvers, and went out to the door again. Gil Perez, who had been smoking out in the sun, threw his papelito away, stood at attention and saluted smartly.

“What was the name of your English master?” Manvers asked him. Gil replied at once.

“’E call Capitan Rodney. Royalorse Artillery. ’E say ‘Gunner.’ ’E was a gentleman, sir.”

“I’m sure he was,” said Manvers.

“My master espeak very good Espanish. ’E say ‘damn your eyes’ all the time; and call me ‘Little devil’ just the same. Ah,” said Gil Perez, shaking his head. “’E very good gentleman to me, sir good master. I loved ’im. ’E dead.” For a minute he gazed wistfully at the sky; then, as if to clinch the sad matter, he turned to Manvers. “I bury ’im all right,” he said briskly, and nodded inward the fact.

Manvers considered for a moment. “I’ll give you,” he said, and looked at Gil keenly as he said it, “I’ll give you one peseta a day.” He saw his eyes fade and grow blank, though the genial smile hovered still on his lips. Then the light broke out upon him again.

“All right, sir,” he said. “I take, and thank you very much.”

Manvers said immediately, “I’ll give you two,” and Gil Perez accepted the correction silently, with a bow. By the end of the day they were on the footing of friends, but not without one short crossing of swords. After dinner, when Manvers strolled to the door of the inn, he found his guide waiting for him. Gil was in a confidential humour, it seemed.

“You care see something, sir?”

“What sort of a thing, for instance?” he was asked.

Gil Perez shrugged. “What you like, sir.” He peered into his patron’s face, and there was infinite suggestion in his next question. “You see fine women?”

Manvers had expected something of the sort and had a steely stare ready for him. “No, thanks,” he said drily, and Gil saluted and withdrew. He was at the door next morning, affable yet respectful, confident in his powers of pleasing, of interesting, of arranging everything; but he never presumed again. He knew his affair.

Three days’ sightseeing taught master and man their bearings. Manvers got into the way of forgetting that Gil Perez was there, except when it was convenient to remember him; Gil, on his part, learned to distinguish between his patron’s soliloquies and his conversation. He never made a mistake after the third day. If Manvers, in the course of a ramble, stopped abruptly, buried a hand in his beard and said aloud that he would be shot if he knew which way to turn, Gil Perez watched him closely, but made no remark.

Even, “Look here, you know, this won’t do,” failed to move him beyond a state of tension, like that of a cat in the act to pounce. He had found out that Manvers talked to himself, and was put about by interruptions; and if you realise how sure and certain he was that he knew much better than his master what was the very thing, or the last thing, he ought to do, you will see that he must have put considerable restraint upon himself.

But loyalty was his supreme virtue. From the moment Manvers had taken him on at two pesetas a day he became the perfect servant of a perfect master. He could have no doubt, naturally, of his ability to serve his belief in himself never wavered; but he had none either in his gentleman’s right to command. I believe if Manvers had desired him to cut off his right hand he would have complied with a smile. “Very good, master. You wanta my ’and? I do.”

If he had a failing it was this: nothing on earth would induce him to talk his own language to his master. He was unmoved by encouragement, unconvinced by the fluency of Manvers’ Castilian periods; he would have risked his place upon this one point of honour.

“Espanish no good, sir, for you an’ me,” he said once with an irresistible smile. “Too damsilly for you. Capitan Rodney, ’e teach, me Englisha speech. Now I know it too much. No, sir. You know what they say them filosofistas?” he asked him on another encounter. “They say, God Almighty ‘e maka this world in Latin ­ver’ fine for thata big job. Whata come next? Adamo ’e love his lady in Espanish esplendid for maka women love. That old Snaka ’e speak to ’er in French that persuade ’er too much. Then Eva she esplain in Italian ver’ soft espeech. Adamo ’e say, That all righta. Then God Almighty ver’ savage. ‘E turn roun’ on them two. ’E say, That be blowed, ‘e say in English. They understan’ ’im too much. Believe me is the best for you an’ me, sir. All people understan’ that espeech.”

Taken as a guide, he installed himself as body servant, silently, tactfully, but infallibly. Manvers caught him one morning putting boots by his door. “Hulloa, Gil Perez,” he called out, “what are you doing with my boots?”

Gil’s confidential manner was a thing to drink. “That mozo, master ’e fool. ’E no maka shine. I show him how Capitan Rodney lika ’is boots. See ’is a face in ’em.” He smirked at his own as he spoke, and was so pleased that Manvers said no more.

The same night he stood behind his master’s chair. Manvers contented himself by staring at him. Gil Perez smiled with his bright eyes and became exceedingly busy. Manvers continued to stare, and presently Gil Perez was observed to be sweating. The poor fellow was self-conscious for once in his life. Obliged to justify himself, he leaned to his master’s ear.

“That mozo, sir, too much of a dam fool. Imposs’ you estand ’im. I tell ’im, This gentleman no like garlic down his neck. I say, You breathe too ’ard, my fellow too much garlic. This gentleman say, Crikey, what a stink! That no good.”

There was no comparison between the new service and the old; and so it was throughout. Gil Perez drove out the chambermaid and made Manvers’ bed; he brushed his clothes as well as his boots, changed his linen for him, saw to the wash in fine, he made himself indispensable. But when Manvers announced his coming departure, there was a short tussle, preceded by a pause for breath.

Gil Perez inquired of the sky, searched up the street, searched down. A group of brown urchins hovered, as always, about the stranger, ready to risk any deadly sin for the chance of a maravedi or the stump of a cigar.

Gil snatched at one by the bare shoulder and spoke him burning words. “Canalla,” he cried him, “horrible flea! Thou makest the air to reek impossible to breathe. Fly, thou gnat of the midden, or I crack thee on my thumb.”

The boys retired swearing, and Gil, with desperate calling-up of reserves, faced his ordeal. “Ver’ good, master, we go when you like. We see Escorial fine place see La Granja, come by Madrid thata way. I get ’orses ’ow you please.” Then he had an inspiration, and beamed all over his face. “Or mules! We ’ave mules. Mules cheap, ’orses dear too much in Segovia.”

Manvers could see very well what he was driving at. “I think I’ll take the diligencia, Gil Perez.”

Gil shrugged. “‘Ow you like, master. Fine air, thata way. Ver’ cheap way to go. You take my advice, you go coupe. I go redonda more cheap. Give me your passport, master I take our place.”

“Yes, I know,” said Manvers. “But I’m not sure that I need take you on with me. I travel without a servant mostly.”

Gil grappled with his task. He dropped his air of assumption; his eyes glittered.

“I save you money, master. You find me good servant make a difference, yes?”

“Oh, a great deal of difference,” Manvers admitted. “I like you; you suit me excellently well, but ” He considered what he had to do in Madrid, and frowned over it. Manuela was there, and he wished to see Manuela. He had not calculated upon having a servant when he had promised himself another interview with her, and was not at all sure that he wanted one. On the other hand, Gil might be useful in a number of ways and his discretion and tact were proved. While he hesitated, Gil Perez saw his opportunity and darted in.

“I know Madrid too much,” he said. “All the ways, all the peoples I know. Imposs’ you live ’appy in Madrid withouta me.” He smiled all over his face and when he did that he was irresistible. “You try,” he concluded, just like a child.

Manvers, on an impulse, drew from his pocket the gold-set crucifix. “Look at that, Gil Perez,” he said, and put it in his hands.

Gil looked gravely at it, hack and front. He nodded his approval. “Pretty thing ” and he decided off-hand. “In Valladolid they make.”

“Open it,” said Manvers; but it was opened, before he had spoken. Gil’s eyes widened, while the pupils of them contracted intensely. He read the inscription, pondered it; to the crucifix itself he gave but a momentary glance. Then he shut the case and handed it back to his master.

“I find ’er for you,” he said soberly; and that settled it.