Arturo Perez-Reverte - The Cavalier in the Yellow Doublet

“Alatriste,” he called.

I turned to the captain, who was staring in some confusion at both Guadalmedina and the king. Finally, he went over to them, leaving the shelter of the porch. The king’s blue eyes fixed on him, as cold and watery as the eyes of a fish.

“Give him back his sword,” ordered Guadalmedina, and a sergeant approached with the captain’s sword and belt. It did not, in fact, belong to the captain but to the first ruffian from whom he had plundered it after cutting his throat. My master, apparently more bewildered than ever, stood there, holding the sword. Then he slowly buckled on the belt. When he looked up again, his aquiline profile and bushy mustache—from which the rain was now dripping—gave him the appearance of a wary falcon.

“Turn your fire on me,” said Philip, as if thinking out loud.

I was confused at first, then I remembered that these had been the captain’s words when Malatesta was aiming his pistol at the king. My master was now looking at the king coolly and inquisitively, as if wondering where this would all end.

“Your hat, Guadalmedina,” said His Catholic Majesty.

There was a long silence. At last, Álvaro de la Marca obeyed and rather grumpily did as he was asked—he was getting thoroughly soaked—and handed the captain that lovely hat adorned with a pheasant’s feather and a band sewn with diamonds.

“Put it on, Captain Alatriste,” ordered the king.

For the first time since I had known my master, I saw him utterly dumbfounded. And he remained so for a moment, fidgeting with the hat, uncertain what to do.

“Put it on,” repeated the king.

The captain nodded, as if he had only then understood. He looked at the king, and at Guadalmedina. Then he thoughtfully studied the hat and put it on very slowly, as if giving everyone time to change their mind.

“You will never be able to speak of this in public,” warned the king.

“No, I imagine not,” replied my master.

For a long moment, that obscure swordsman and the Lord of Two Worlds stood eye to eye, and on the latter’s impassive Hapsburg face there appeared just the flicker of a smile.

“I wish you luck, Captain. And if you’re ever condemned to be hanged or garrotted, appeal to the king. From today on, you have the right to be beheaded like an hidalgo and a gentleman.”

Thus spoke Philip II’s grandson on that rainy morning at La Fresneda. Then he gave an order; Guadalmedina got into the coach, raised the footboard, and closed the door. The coachman cracked the whip and the carriage set off, ploughing through the mud, followed by the archers on horseback and Cózar’s cries of “Long live the king!,” for, drunk again, or perhaps pretending to be, the actor kept roaring: “Long live the Catholic king,” “Long live the House of Hapsburg,” “God bless Spain, guardian of the true faith, Spain, and the whore who bore her.”

I went over to the captain, quite overcome. My master was watching as the royal carriage disappeared. Guadalmedina’s elegant hat was in marked contrast to the rest of him, for, like me, he was cut, bruised, beaten, and mud-splattered. When I reached his side, I saw that he was laughing softly to himself. When he saw me, he turned and winked, taking off the hat to show me.

“With a bit of luck,” I sighed, “we can get something for those diamonds.”

The captain was studying them. Then he shook his head and put the hat on again.

“They’re fake,” he said.

EXTRACTS FROM

POETRY

WRITTEN BY VARIOUS WITS

OF THIS COURT

Published in the XVIIth century with no imprint

and preserved in “The Counts of Guadalmedina”

section in the Archive and Library of

the Duques de Nuevo Extremo (Seville).

BY DON FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO

TO THE LAWYER SATURNINO APOLO, FRIEND OF BAD POETRY

AND OF OTHER PEOPLE’S PURSES

O petty lawyer, plumping out your purse

With other people’s cash and gold doubloons,

The cream of rascals, no one could be worse,

Brother superior, sucking blood from other’s

wounds,

The pen that you wield—a wild and coarsening

quill—

Can only spit the vilest blots on earth.

“A professor of vile verses” fits the bill,

Arselicker extraordinary, malformed from birth,

A stinking heap, a dunghill of a man,

Of pride and lechery a steaming cesspit,

The greatest farter of lies since the world began

And miner of the muses’ dregs—no respite.

Never your lyre, always a purse you follow,

You offspring of Cacus, you bastard of Apollo!

BY DON LUIS DE GÓNGORA

ON THE FLEETING NATURE OF BEAUTY AND OF LIFE

Whilst gold—sun-burnished—tries to catch

The glitter and the brightness of thy hair;

Whilst the lily-of-the-field can never match

The whiteness of thy brow—beyond compare;

Whilst more eyes yearn to pluck thy ruby lips

Than gaze upon the first carnation of the year;

And whilst thy lovely, glowing neck outstrips

The shiniest crystal—for you have no peer—

Take now enjoyment in thy neck and brow,

Thy lips and hair, before this—thy prime

Of lily, gold, carnation, crystal—now

Is changed to silver or dead violas by time,

And you and they together soon be wrought

To earth, smoke, dust, and shadow—naught!

BY FÉLIX LOPE DE VEGA CARPIO

ON THE DELIGHTS AND CONTRADICTIONS OF LOVE

Fainting, daring, full of rages,

Tender, rough, expansive, shy,

Treacherous, loyal, cowardly, courageous,

Hoping, despairing to live or to die;

Away from one’s love—no center or repose,

Furious, brave, yet ready for flight,

Humble, haughty, all joy, then all woes,

Offended, wary, then dizzy with delight;

Averting one’s gaze from evident deceit,

When poison foul gives off a honey’d smell

And pain is loved and pleasures all retreat,

Then, one believes that heaven’s found in hell

And body and soul are at illusion’s behest,

Such is love—as he who tastes it can attest.

STATEMENT OF APPROVAL

I have read the book entitled The Cavalier in the Yellow Doublet , the fifth volume of the so-called Adventures of Captain Alatriste , for which don Arturo Pérez-Reverte asks to be granted a license to publish. As with the previous volumes, I found in it nothing repugnant to our Holy Faith or to good customs; rather, as child of the wit and qualities of its author, it contains much salutary advice, which, in the guise of an amusing story or fable, embodies all that is most grave and serious in human philosophy. While it does not abound in Christian or pious reflections, I believe that it will prove edifying to the young reader, for the rhetorically minded will find much to admire in the language, the curious will be entertained by the events described, and, by the ideas, the learned will approve of its rigor, the prudent will take due warning from it, and there is much wholesome wisdom to be gleaned from its somewhat harsh examples and teachings. In short, it offers as much profit as delight.

For all these reasons, it is my view that the author should be granted license to publish.

Dated in Madrid, on the tenth day of the month of October, in the year 2003.

Luis Alberto de Prado y Cuenca,

Secretary of the Council of Castile

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Arturo Pérez-Revertelives near Madrid. Originally a war journalist, he now writes fiction full-time. His novels The Flanders Panel , The Club Dumas , The Fencing Master , The Seville Communion , The Nautical Chart , and The Queen of the South have been translated into twenty-nine languages and published in more than fifty countries. In 2003, he was elected to the Spanish Royal Academy. Visit his website at: www.perez-reverte.com.