Secret and inclosed, with blooming shrubs planted around, with not a
sound to be heard of the merry company, nor of the animated streets of
the city, with the full moon shining overhead and brightening the solemn
circle with its clear brilliancy--such was the spot. The two captains
unsheathed their gleaming swords and stood opposite each other, ready
for the encounter. But before they began the combat a nobler feeling
drew them to each other’s arms; they lowered their weapons and embraced
in the most fraternal manner. They then tore themselves away and the
fearful contest began.
They were now no longer brothers-in-arms, no longer friends, no longer
brothers-in-law, who directed their sharp steels against each other.
With the most resolute boldness, but with the coolest collectedness,
each fell upon his adversary, guarding his own breast at the same time.
After a few hot and dangerous passes the combatants were obliged to
rest, and during the pause they regarded each other with increased love,
each rejoicing to find his comrade so valiant and so honorable. And then
the fatal strife began anew.
With his left hand Heimbert dashed aside Fadrique’s sword, which had
been aimed at him with a thrust in tierce, sideward, but the keen edge
had penetrated his leathern glove, and the red blood gushed out. “Hold!”
cried Fadrique, and they searched for the wound, but soon perceiving
that it was of no importance, and binding it up, they both began the
combat with undiminished vigor.
It was not long before Heimbert’s blade pierced Fadrique’s right
shoulder, and the German, feeling that he had wounded his opponent, now
on his side called out to halt. At first Fadrique would not acknowledge
to the injury, but soon the blood began to trickle down, and he was
obliged to accept his friend’s careful assistance. Still this wound also
appeared insignificant, the noble Spaniard still felt power to wield his
sword, and again the deadly contest was renewed with knightly ardor.
Presently the garden-gate clanked, and the sound of a horse’s step was
heard advancing through the shrubbery. Both combatants paused in their
stern work and turned toward the unwelcome disturber. The next moment
through the slender pines a horseman was visible whose dress and bearing
proclaimed him a warrior and Fadrique, as master of the house, at once
addressed him. “Senor,” said he, “why you come here, intruding into a
strange garden, we will inquire at another time. For the present I
will only request you to leave us free from further interruption by
immediately retiring, and to favor me with your name.” “Retire I will
not,” replied the stranger, “but my name I will gladly tell you. I
am the Duke of Alba.” And as he spoke, by a movement of his charger a
bright moonbeam fell upon his pale thin face, the dwelling-place of all
that was grand and worthy and terrible. The two captains bowed low and
dropped their weapons.
“I ought to know you,” continued Alba, looking at them with his
sparkling eyes. “Yes, truly, I know you well, you are the two young
heroes at the battle of Tunis. God be praised that two such brave
warriors, whom I had given up for lost, are still alive; but tell me,
what is this affair of honor that has turned your good swords against
each other? For I hope you will not hesitate to declare to me the cause
of your knightly contest.”
They complied with the great duke’s behest. Both the noble youths
related the whole circumstances, from the evening previous to their
embarkation up to the present moment, while Alba remained between them,
in silent thought, almost motionless, like some equestrian statue.