Free (1/3) Go Saddle the Sea by Joan Aiken Page B

thing you discover when you set out into the world: Looking at other lives, you begin to see your own in a new light.
    On the fourth day I said I must go.
    I had made Nieves her wooden flute (and a top for Anita); I had gone fishing up the millstream with Mario and caught six trout; I had helped plow the barley field and pick the walnuts from the great tree which grew in the courtyard. I. had also attended a banquet in the village, held to celebrate the recovery of Nieves and the end of the feud with Cobenna; for an emissary had arrived on the second day to propose peace between the villages. There were several sick people in Cobenna, it seemed, wishing to make a trial of the Saints' Walk in the other direction, and anxious to be sure of a civil reception when they came to the end of their journey.
    "Must you really go?" said Nieves, not at all convinced of the need for my journey, as, dressed in some outgrown clothes of Mario's (a long loose tunic of coarse ticking, over a jerkin and short velveteen breeches, with woolen stockings—I kept my own shoes and hat, for his did not fit me), I prepared to mount the mule.
    "Indeed I must go on," said I, "though I am very sorry to leave you all."
    "Come back!" they all cried, and I promised that I would, someday, if it lay within my power to do so.
    "Also, write to us from Inglaterra, to tell if you find your family," cried Anita. "A letter to the miller at San Antonio will find us."
    "And if you cannot trace your family, come back and take this one for your own," said Don José kindly.
    I jumped on the mule, for I could see tears in the eyes of Nieves and I feared that if I remained another minute, I, too, would burst out a-crying. So I kicked the mules sides vigorously, and we galloped away down the valley; but still I could hear them calling, "Remember! Come back! Come back again!" until I was out of sight.
    The mule was fresh from three days' rest and went at a lively pace. But I had ridden a long way before I was able to persuade myself into a cheerful frame of mind.
    At length I said to myself, "Come, Felix! Fie, for shame! What would Bob, or Bernie, say to see you so? Why should you ride along grieving, with a heart like a waterfall? You are a thousand times better off than you were two days ago! You have come through some dangers, you have gained a little sense, you are halfway to the Mar Cantábrico, and, best of all, instead of being solitary and miserable, you now have a whole family of friends. Added to which, instead of being horribly ill-equipped for your journey, you are now fitted out as well as any traveler need wish to be."
    It was true. The López family had loaded me with gifts. Besides Mario's clothes, I had a pocket pistol, which Don José had given me, a bag of raisins from
Anita, who had dried them herself, one of walnuts shelled by Mario, and a tinderbox, besides a wonderful old cloak which had belonged to Don José's grandfather. It was made from goat's felt, and was so thick that it would keep out almost any weather—rain, hail, or snow. It would serve as a blanket for me, or a horse cloth for the mule. I had it packed into one of my saddlebags, for the day was warm and mild—a red autumn sun was beginning to climb out of the mist—and the other bag had been packed full of bread and olives by the girls.
    So at last I shook off the sorrow of parting and looked about me.
    Don José had drawn me a rough map, for, he said, even though I was now but twelve leagues from the coast, such a complicated network of mountains and valleys still lay between me and my goal (some of the mountains, moreover, being upward of two thousand feet high) that even now there was every chance of my going astray and wandering miles out of my way. He had therefore written down for me very explicit directions. He told me my best course was to strike eastward at first, along a track he pointed out to me, which would presently bring me out on the highway that ran south from Oviedo to