Thus they travelled on through the luminous night. The roads were neither worse nor better than they are to-day in Spain—than they were in England in the Middle Ages—and their way lay over the hill ranges that lie between the watersheds of the Tagus and the Guadiana. At times they passed through well-tended valleys, where corn and olives and vines seemed to grow on the same soil, but for the greater part of the night they ascended and descended the upper slopes, where herds of goats, half awakened as they slept in a ring about their guardian, looked at them with startled eyes. The shepherds and goatherds, who, like those of old, lay cloaked upon the ground, and tended their flocks by night, did not trouble to raise their heads. Concha alone slept, for the General had a thousand thoughts that kept him awake and bright-eyed, while Estella knew from her father’s manner and restlessness that these were no small events that now stirred Spain, and seemed to close men’s mouths, so that near friends distrusted one another, and brother was divided against brother. Indeed, others were on the road that night, and horsemen passed the heavy carriage from time to time. In the early morning a change of horses was effected at a large inn near the summit of a pass above Malagon, and here an orderly, who seemed to recognise the General, was climbing into the saddle as the Vincentes quitted their carriage and passed into the common room of the venta for a hasty cup of coffee. ‘It is the Queen’s courier,’ said the innkeeper grandly, ‘who takes the road before her Majesty in order to secure horses.’ ‘Ah,’ said the General, breaking his bread and dropping it into his cup. ‘Is that so? The Queen Regent, you mean?’ ‘Queen or Queen Regent, she requires four horses this evening, Excellency—that is all my concern.’ ‘True, my friend; true. That is well said. And the horses will be forthcoming, no doubt.’ ‘They will be forthcoming,’ said the man. ‘And the Excellency’s carriage is ready.’ In the early morning light they drove on, now descending towards the great valley of the Guadiana, and at midday, as Vincente had foreseen, gained a sight of the ancient city of Ciudad Real lying amid trees below them. Ciudad Real is less interesting than its name, and there is little that is royal about its dirty streets and ill-kept houses. No one gave great heed to the travelling-carriage, for this is a great centre where travellers journeying east or west, north or south, must needs pause for a change of horses. At the inn there were vacant rooms, and that hasty welcome accorded to the traveller at wayside houses where none stay longer than they can help. ‘No,’ said the landlord, in answer to the General’s query. ‘We are not busy, though we expect a lady who will pass the hour of the siesta here and then proceed northward.’ CHAPTER XXVI WOMANCRAFT