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Prince of Wales. A fine welcome indeed. Already I like
Bordeaux."
"Remember I warned you," said Miriam severely,
and went into the inn.
The Prince de Galles did in fact extend a warm
welcome. An ancient inn rebuilt in the seventeenth-
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century and now on the border between old town and
new, it offered small but comfortable chambers and a
cosy private parlour. They dined on local delicacies:
oysters from Arcachon, pâté de foie gras de Périgueux,
confit of duck, and partridge with truffles.
Felix had by now decided that French cuisine was
as much to his taste as their wines, but he eyed the
Roquefort cheese askance when he learned it was
made from goats' and ewes' milk.
"And it's ripened in a cave in a cliff," Miriam said
with mock solemnity, "not in some nice, clean dairy.
That is why it's mouldy."
"But Stilton has blue mould and it... Oh, you are
teasing, you wretch." He grinned. "Is it really made in a
cave? A clean cave, I trust." He tasted a morsel and
came back for more.
"You may be able to inspect the cave for yourself. I
believe our best route will take us near Roquefort. I
regret to say that we shall narrowly miss the
Armagnac region."
"A little detour perhaps?" said Felix hopefully,
sipping the Armagnac brandy the waiter had brought
with the cheese and coffee. "This is smoother even
than the cognac I bought yesterday. Do try some,
Isaac."
"No, thank you. What do you mean `our best route,'
Miriam? Shall we not continue by the main road to
Spain?"
"We could." She hesitated, unsure whether they
would accept her argument. "It is the best road,
though not the most direct to Pamplona. However, it's
the way all the French troops and artillery and
supplies go, all funnelled through the narrow gap
between the mountains and the sea."
"God forbid," muttered Hannah.
"Lord, I wager we'd be stopping to show our papers
every hundred yards," Felix exclaimed.
Isaac frowned. "It does sound as if there would be a
lot of delays, not to mention the danger. What is the
alternative?"
"Hannah, have you got the map?"
Hannah peered at the floor between her and Isaac.
Felix reached down on her other side and hauled up
her faded tapestry bag. "Is this it?"
"Thank you, my lord. Here you are, Miss Miriam."
She loosened the strings and, delving into the depths,
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pulled out several papers. As she handed them to her
mistress, one fell on the table.
Felix picked it up, glanced at it, and broke into
howls of laughter. He passed it across the table to
Isaac, who studied it with a grin.
"Your work, Miriam? You have a definite talent." He
handed her the caricature she had drawn at Jakob
Rothschild's house, of Felix and himself as fighting
felines. "I particularly like Jakob as a fox."
She covered her crimson face with her hands. "Oh
no! I thought Hannah had disposed of that long since.
I do beg your pardon."
"Why? I'd say it was wickedly accurate, would not
you, Felix?"
"Superb," he gasped, still laughing as he took the
picture for another look. "You rival Gillray, Miriam. It's
an honour to be subjected to your pencil. May I keep
it?"
"No, you may not." She retrieved the paper and tore
it up. "Now you will never take my maps seriously."
"Certainly we shall." Isaac started unfolding the rest
of the sheets and spreading them on the table, while
Hannah and Felix moved the glasses, bottles and
dishes out of the way.
"Every time we went off the main highway I drew
maps," Miriam explained, arranging the papers in
order. "Uncle Amos often needed to go back to the
same place two or three times. They are not at all
accurate for distance or direction, but if you follow
them you will get where you're going."
"And the little faces?" Felix asked.
Again she felt her face grow hot with
embarrassment. "Uncle Amos was always forgetting
the names of people and places so I drew one or two of
our friends in each village to remind him of who lived
there."
"Just like the puff-cheeked winds and the mermaids
and sea monsters on old maps," he quizzed her.
"Not at all. These were useful."
"There's Madame Daubigny," Hannah pointed at the
sheet she was poring over. "A fine dance that husband
of hers led her, and her half blind, poor woman. The
doctor gave her an ointment that stopped the itching
in her eyes though there weren't nothing he could do
for her sight. And there's..."
"Thank you for proving my point, Hannah," said
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Miriam. "Now please, let us get down to business.
There are lots of passes across the Pyrenees, but very
few are suitable for carriages. The two leading to
Pamplona, Maya and Roncevalles..."
"Roncevalles?" Felix interrupted. "Where Roland and
Oliver died fighting the Moors?"
"Yes, though that will not help us! Maya and
Roncevalles are the most direct, but they are therefore
the most frequented and the best guarded. We may do
better to go farther east and take one of the passes to
Jaca. Besides less likelihood of being stopped, I know
people in that area. In the mountains inns are few and
far between."
"I am willing to trust your judgment," Isaac said
gravely. "Better to go the long way round than not to
reach Pamplona at all. Felix?"
"Jaca it is. What a disappointment! I should have
liked to see the spot where Roland sounded his horn
and expired. Show us on your map, Miriam."
She showed them the route, half flattered at their
ready acceptance of her advice, half dreading that she
had made the wrong decision.
When she and Hannah retired to their chamber and
she was brushing her long, heavy hair, she voiced her
fear. "I hope I'm right. Suppose it would be better to go
by Roncevalles?"
"That's something you'll never know, child, so don't
worry your head. If it's fated, it's fated. But it seems to
me that now those young fools have stopped snapping
the nose off each other's face, if you give them your
maps they don't need you along to hold their hands.
Monsieur Ségal could get us back to England, God
willing."
"Oh no, Hannah, I cannot desert them! They still [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]