LITMIR.BIZ

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I carried as a symbol of my office, or, more importantly, for the rod I take to bed.”

      They both laughed at this latter designation, and Pedro reconciled himself to the fact that it was going to be a long night.

      * * *

      The mule train carrying Pedro, Catalina, and the children rode through a sunlit forest amid fragrant gray shrubs with, here and there, massive boulders draped in luminous foliage. They continued in shadowed silence as they listened for the sounds of horsemen, not knowing who, if anyone, might be pursuing them. However, the only sound they heard was the creak of leather against leather and the heavy breathing of their beasts as they plodded the flinty paths.

      After they left the forest, the valley widened and became lush and more fertile. The vale and hillsides, which were awakening from winter’s sleep, were replete with fruit trees now coming to bud. After a day of travel along the ridge of this valley, the mule train crowned the top of a hill in brilliant sunshine, and they could see the village of Punto Llano that lay in a green hollow below them. The houses, which gave the appearance of ancient rocks thrown together under a blazing sun, were shuttered and the doors, over which small family shields had been carved, were locked. Not a soul was to be seen, although the village reeked of tannic acid from cork bark, which was boiling in unattended vats. A lone cow, strangely hobbled by a rope tied to its horns and to one leg, and a small herd of goats wandered in the fields alone, their neck bells ringing in the stillness.

      The Robledo party searched the village and could find no one until they came upon an old woman hiding in a hayloft. The woman, whom Pedro referred to as “a woman with a hundred weight of years”—that is a centenarian—told them that the village had been attacked by a group of bandits who had driven off their sheep. Although she was only armed with a thick staff made from the wood of the holly, she had refused to leave with the villagers. The villagers, she told them, were hiding in the hills and would return by nightfall. Although the Robledos were reluctant to leave her there, she insisted they do so, and they hurried away.

      Below the village of Punto Llano, the Robledos were overtaken by a small party of two families who, following the same road, were coming along behind them. They were, they said, escaping the village they had left behind and asked to join the Robledos for the trip to Merida. Two of the men in this party carried matchlocks with which to protect themselves. With the safety provided by numbers and with the worn but serviceable arms the party carried, they felt a safe passage would be assured.

      From Punto Llano they rode to Logrosan and then down a wide valley, generally following the course of the Rio Ruecas. This route took them through Medellin, formerly the home of Hernando Cortes who had opened the West Indies to colonization. In a bleak landscape commanded by a low hill, they found a crumbling castle with nothing to protect but a string of poor houses fronting a filthy street. Although Cortes had brought the riches of the Aztec Empire to the country of his birth, little of it had remained there, and none of it had stuck to his poor village of Medellin.

      From Medellin to Merida was a fine journey of eight days through hills of gray boulders, regal stands of majestic pines, and enormous flocks of partridges, quail, and doves that filled each afternoon’s sky.

      * * *

      * *

      Merida was an ancient city. The Romans, who were later to establish it as the capital of their vast and powerful province of Lusitania, had, in 25 BCE, founded it as Augusta Emerita (Augustus’ Veteran Colony). These were the meritorious veterans of his fifth and tenth legions that had asked to retire from active service and take farms in the area.

      The ride was beautiful. Now and then, the travelers saw an ancient noria or hydraulic water wheel with buckets attached. Burros were pulling them around. There were frequent rectangular storage bins of stone or wood, raised off the ground to keep the grain away from rodents. They also found along the trail, shrines and holy places, cowled with a mantle of stone and looking very much like enormous animal burrows. Occasionally, they came across ancient walls and the traces of an ancient Roman road, but, as they neared the city, Roman roads appeared more frequently.

      They may have known that in the early history of the church, a young girl, St. Eulalia, the celebrated virgin-martyr of Spain, had, by the use of these roads, trudged into Merida eager for martyrdom. During the Diocletian persecutions (c 304 AD), she had presented herself to the judge, Dacian, and had reproached him for attempting to destroy souls by compelling them to renounce what she considered to be the one true God. Dacian at first tried to flatter and bribe her into withdrawing her words and into observing the edicts. He then threatened her, showing her instruments of torture, and saying, “These you shall escape if you will but touch a little salt and incense with the tip of your finger.” Instead of acceding to his wishes, however, she trampled on the cake that was being laid for the sacrifice, and spat on the judge. Thereupon, two executioners tore at her body with iron hooks, and lighted torches were applied to her wounds. The fire caught her hair and she was burned alive. Legend has it that, following her death, her spirit, as a white dove, flew out of her mouth and soared into heaven.

      The Robledo party also saw Roman ruins, including an immense circus formerly seating 30,000 people, and an amphitheater of 14,000 seats. They eventually came upon the Milagros Aqueduct, made of stones shaped and finished so skillfully as to require no mortar. Over 1,000 years old, at the time they saw it, it was doubtlessly good for a thousand more.

      The Robledos also saw the 81-arched Roman bridge built across two arms of the wide valley of the Guadiana, a river celebrated for its underground course. The bridge, a half-mile long and the longest ever built in Spain, was repaired by the Visigoths in 686 AD. The members of the mule train knew that these structures were very old, and, although they did not identify them as Roman, they marveled at their construction.

      On the morning of 14 April 1577, the mule train set off again with, as the Robledo journal states, “the sound of a distant bell carried by the wind.” They were unaccompanied now but on a road heavy with traffic. Along this road, which was little more than a muddy track scattered with rocks, there were relay stages for the royal mail placed approximately two to four leagues apart. By the use of these stages, the riders of the royal mail could cover up to 30 leagues a day. It was by the use of roads such as these that the king’s letters and special dispatches were carried from Madrid to Seville and to the principal towns of the kingdom. The Robledos made use of the corrals, draw wells and stone troughs of these stage stops to refresh their mules on two occasions, but otherwise stayed at various ventas or slept in makeshift shelters which they built for themselves along the road.

      As they neared Almendralejo, they came upon a site recently abandoned by a band of gypsies usually called gitanos bravios, meaning wild or nomadic. The gypsies had camped alongside a stream in the valley below the road the mule train traveled. From the top of the trail, the members of the mule train could see a large wooden wash tub and piggin. They were to find these poorly constructed, their staves of white oak loose and rattly. There were, in addition, a number of other items strewn about which suggested that the encampment had been abandoned with some urgency. Although Pedro told his family that they would not have had anything to fear from these people in terms of their lives, he would have recommended that they remain clear of them because the gypsies were known for stealing and might have made off with their property.

      “The gypsies,” Pedro told his family, “entered Europe about 150 years ago and at first posed as pilgrims. The tale they told,” Pedro said, “was that they were from ‘Little Egypt’ and were on a seven-year odyssey to pay for the sins of their forefathers who had turned away the Blessed Virgin with the Child Jesus. Now they’ve dropped this pose and call themselves Greek, but they refuse to go home. That, in fact, is the rub. They don’t have a home, nor do they seem to want one. Their language,” he continued, “is not like ours. It’s said to be Indian, although they’ve apparently lived in Hungary for many years. They’re intelligent and incredibly clever. They learn the language of the people among whom they travel so as to enter their homes, their stores, and their markets. I hate to make generalizations about a people for most often there are as many who don’t fit the label as those who do. However, in this instance, the generalizations are largely true. They make their living by telling fortunes and by

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