OF THE UNHAPPY SITUATION OF A GREAT PRINCE
THE Count of Nullepart and myself, left thus in our hiding-place and
in the charge of some highly valuable booty, were fain to hope very
devoutly that our enemies might not come upon us during the absence of
our leader.
When we fell to examine the bag, it was some satisfaction to our humane
feelings to observe that three holes had been cut in the top of it to
provide for the entrance of air. Even in a small matter it seemed that
Sir Richard Pendragon could use his ingenious mind to a purpose.
We had not been long in contemplation of the bag ere we had a natural
curiosity to view its contents, and, as I am willing to believe, a
humane desire, as far as the circumstances would permit, to ease them
of their pains. Therefore were we led to open the top of it, and to
expose that which lay within to the light of day. And, good reader, it
was with the liveliest trepidation that we did this; for it was hard to
say in what case the contents were like to reveal themselves.
To give the royal personage within greater ease of body, we propped the
sack against an alder tree; and then, with much concern, exposed his
head to the view. Our first sight of the King’s majesty was a much
dishevelled mass. A closer scrutiny showed the royal forehead to have
one or two slight contusions; the undressed hair was hanging limply all
about it; and a cloth tied with a cord had been thrust into the royal
mouth.
The Count of Nullepart severed the cord with his dagger and withdrew
the cloth, whereupon a pair of eyes came open in an empurpled face
which also had a somewhat contused and swollen appearance, and a young
prince was disclosed in the early prime of his manhood.
At first he gasped a little, since his situation had clearly been one
of great rigour, and his mouth and tongue were very sore. After a
moment of some little embarrassment on the side of both parties, the
King of Castile was good enough to address us. He did so with evident
difficulty, yet in the well-considered tones of one who uses few words
and those to a point.
“I do not know,” said the King of Castile, “to whom I am indebted for
this consideration, but I beg you to believe I am grateful for it.”
I suppose a famous and powerful prince could never have spoken from
quite such a plight, yet his words were ordered with a simple courtesy
that seemed entirely to efface the circumstances of the case. And
no sooner had the Count of Nullepart heard the regal tones of the
Castilian than first he bowed to the earth with all the grace of one
who has moved in courts, and then, quite suddenly, his addiction to
laughter overcame him. Clapping his slender hands to his ribs he began
to twist and writhe most immoderately.
King John of Castile, however, from the precincts of the sack
continued to sustain the glances of the Count of Nullepart and myself
with a simple and serious dignity that no amount of levity could abate;
and indeed so kingly in his bearing was the royal occupant, bound hand
and foot as he was and laid in a clump of alder trees, that I was fain
to remove my hat and bow low before him, if only to prove that at least
a hidalgo of the northern provinces was sensible of his condition.
The King’s majesty received my homage with a smile of great courtesy.
He then asked for a cup of water that he might moisten his lips.
“Sire,” I assured him, “I shall esteem it the greatest honour of my
existence to have the felicity of procuring you something to drink.”
Yet, happy as I was to render this service, it was in no sense easy
to accomplish, for there was never a drinking utensil for the King’s
convenience. I was fain to regret that we had the water-cart no longer
and the skins with which it was furnished; but at the time we cast them
away this present contingency had not been foreseen. Nevertheless, I
went to the stream and dipped my hat in it, and was able to return with
sufficient water to offer the King’s majesty. And I think I have never
seen a prince who was so thirsty. Yet doubtless his mouth and tongue
were in sore case.
The King, having thus refreshed himself, thanked me very gravely and
said, not at all harshly or unpleasantly, “I do not see that foreign
robber, that gigantic and formidable English thief. Yet more than
once in the night I heard his voice. Where is he? I would make him a
compliment on the fortunate issue of his cunning.”
Although the King smiled a little wryly as he said this, he still
preserved the serious dignity of his mien.
Before I could make Sir Richard Pendragon’s excuses for not being
present, as I felt sure, notwithstanding his quiddity, the English
giant, having the blood of kings under his doublet, would have wished
me to do, there came through the soft and sweet morning airs a mighty
commotion. There was shouting, the blowing of horns and trumpets, and
then came the loud bark of a culverin.
“It would appear, your majesty,” said the Count of Nullepart with his
inimitable smiling air, which proceeding from one who wore the garb of
a peasant seemed considerably to surprise the King, “that your worthy
and loyal followers have just discovered that the royal tent has a hole
in it.”
“It would appear so, my friend,” said the King imperturbably; “and they
are a little late in their discovery. Yet I am not sure that I must
blame them. It is my custom to allow myself a long eight hours for
repose.”
It was a source of regret to us that we had no food to offer our
illustrious captive. However, we set the royal personality in as
much ease as we could devise, and for this consideration he was not
ungrateful.
All through the long hours of the forenoon we had to keep a lively
vigilance. The whole Castilian army was astir for miles about,
searching for him who lay in durance in a bag in a grove of alders.
From our concealment we could observe small parties of the King’s
soldiers walking hither and thither about the meadows. Sometimes they
would approach quite near to us; and presently a body of them came down
with ropes to drag the bed of the stream.
It was then, with the most civil apologies in the world, that we were
fain to take up the cloth and the cord, and humbly to request the King
to permit us to do our offices. Yet at the same time we assured him
with every token of high respect that it would be our chief care to
place as little hurt upon him as would consist with our unhappy duty.
However, as we made to put this further indignity upon the King, his
calm fortitude seemed almost to give way. Turning his proud eyes upon
us, he said in a voice that touched me to the soul, “My friends, if you
will plunge a dagger into my heart, your names will be mentioned in
heaven.”
The Count of Nullepart and I conferred together.
“Upon my soul,” said the Count of Nullepart, “I think the royal flesh
should be a little respected.”
“I am of that opinion also,” said I; and then my Asturian prudence
jogged my elbow. “All the same, worshipful, we are laid in a sore
predicament. A live king is worth more than a dead one; and if we leave
his mouth unlocked, why, a single word might be our undoing.”
“As you say, my dear Don Miguel,” said the Count of Nullepart, “a
single word may undo us; but, by my faith, if one so humble as myself
may speak upon a high subject, I believe this to be a true prince, and
I, for one, do not fear to accept a parole of a true prince.”
Upon this speaking the blood of my ancestors mounted in my veins.
“Sir Count,” said I, “I fear not either. You shall offer a parole to
the King’s majesty.”
“The honour is yours, my dear Don Miguel.”
“I do myself the honour of yielding to your years and merit, most
worshipful Count of Nullepart.”
But, in spite of his protests, the Count of Nullepart persisted
smilingly in conferring the signal honour upon Miguel Jesus Maria de
Sarda y Boegas of offering a parole to his Majesty the King of Castile.
“An it graciously please your Majesty,” said I, “this grievous
restraint shall be spared you, if you will deign to give your kingly
word that neither by speech nor act will you reveal your gracious and
royal presence unto your loyal subjects should they fare hither in
quest of your gracious Majesty.”
The King did not hesitate to bestow his thanks upon us for our
favourable consideration, and duly pledged his sovereign word.
Now I know there are some who say, “Put not your faith in princes”;
but from this time onwards it has ever been a source of sincere
gratification that the Count of Nullepart and I thought well to reject
this adage. For, as you are to learn, the bare word of the King was
about to be tried in the severest possible way; and it must always be
written to his honour that, captive and enforced as he was, neither by
word nor deed did he do violence to his covenant.
It happened about midday, as we were viewing with a continual anxiety
the number and proximity of our foes, who were ever moving nearer and
nearer towards us, that we observed a party of them making for our
hiding-place. To escape their notice was impossible, as the clump of
alder trees was too meagre to cover us closely; and had we moved out
into the open meadows we must have been seen at once. Therefore in this
dangerous pass we had a free recourse to our five wits.
First, we crept down to the stream and plucked several armfuls of the
long rushes that grew there. Returning thence to our hiding-place we
turned over the bag so that its princely burden was laid on its belly,
with humble and profound apologies for the necessity, and having seated
ourselves upon our illustrious captive--with as little hardship to him
as we could contrive--proceeded to weave our rushes busily, as though
we were a couple of peasants whose trade was the making of baskets.
When the soldiers came near we were to be seen labouring assiduously,
while the bag upon which we were set was very fairly concealed. And
when we observed them to be moving towards us in a straight line, so
that further secrecy was out of the question, the Count of Nullepart
lifted up his voice in a merry lilt, lest it should appear that we had
a desire to shirk them.
His song seemed to startle them, for as they came up, and they numbered
near to a dozen, their captain asked us roughly what the devil we did
there.
“We are pursuing our trade, gracious excellency,” said the Count of
Nullepart.
“What the devil is your trade?” said the captain of the soldiers.
“Our trade is the making of baskets, gracious excellency,” said the
Count of Nullepart.
“Let us hope then that you make better baskets than you do music, you
loud rogues,” said the captain; “and what the devil have you in the
bundle there?”
No sooner had the captain of the soldiers made this inquiry than, to
our profound alarm, he gave the bag a prod with the point of his sword;
but the occupant thereof, upon whom we were seated, being in a very
sooth a royal king, kept himself very close.
“Oh, the bag, your excellency!” said the Count of Nullepart, feigning a
mighty carelessness. “The bag contains grasses all the way from Esparto
for the making of baskets.”
“Soh!” said the captain, laughing at that which he considered to be
the Count of Nullepart’s simplicity, “the bag contains grasses all the
way from Esparto, does it? I suppose it does not, by any chance,” and
the captain winked at his troopers, “contain the person of the King’s
majesty?”
“The person of the King’s majesty!” cried the Count of Nullepart,
opening his eyes very wide. “Oh no, gracious excellency! it contains
grasses all the way from Esparto. Perhaps your excellency would like to
see them?”
So finely did the Count of Nullepart feign bewilderment that the
soldiers began to laugh heartily at what they took for his simplicity.
As if to convince them of the truth of his statement he made a pretence
of trying to open the wrong end of the bag.
“You thick-witted clown,” said the captain, “we will take your word for
it that your precious bag holds not the King’s majesty.”
“Wherefore should it hold the King’s majesty, excellency?” asked the
Count of Nullepart in a very tolerable provincial Spanish.
“Have you not heard,” said the captain, “that his blessed majesty has
been murdered during the night, and three of his guard also; that
the royal body has been stolen, and that we are scouring all the
countryside to find it?”
“Gentle saints in heaven!” cried the Count of Nullepart, settling
himself more firmly upon the bag, while its royal occupant refrained
scrupulously from making the least motion.
“Why then, brother Juan,” said I to the Count of Nullepart, “surely
that is what all this blowing of trumpets and horns and beating of
drums and strange pillaloo that we have heard all the forenoon has
been concerned with. The gracious King murdered! His body stolen! Good
Virgin Mary, what an age in which to live!”
“God save us all!” said the Count of Nullepart. “The gracious King
murdered during the dark hours of the night! Did I not say to you,
brother Pedro, that something was bound to occur? For did I not remark
the sky last evening was blood red? And was I not so afeared at the
sight of it that I crossed myself three times?”
“Well, at all events,” said the captain of the soldiers contemptuously,
“the wisdom of you clodhoppers will not help us much. I have never seen
a pair of stupider gabies outside the madhouse at Zaragoza.”
“O excellency,” said the Count of Nullepart, counterfeiting the accent
of tears very skilfully, “I pray you not to say that! Our virtuous
mother was mightily proud of us in our infancy. We were bred together,
and right nobly did we suck. But was it a foray, do you suppose, from
the duke’s castle that killed the King’s majesty?”
“Likely enough, you zany,” said the captain. “Although for that matter
some there are who say it was the devil. For myself I can hardly credit
it.”
“Who is there else to compass such a deed?” said the Count of Nullepart
in a hushed voice.
“Yes, who else, brother Juan?” said I, solemnly removing my hat.
Divers of the King’s soldiers, witnessing our grave concern, appeared
to come to the same mind. Several of them followed our example.
“Well, talking of the Devil,” said the captain uneasily, “he was
certainly seen last night by many in this neighbourhood.”
“Good Virgin Mary!” exclaimed the Count of Nullepart, “how poor Juan
would have screamed had he seen his horns!”
“Yes, brother Juan, and poor Pedro also,” said I; and in the depth of
our feigning I felt myself to be turning pale.
“Some say he was without horns,” said the captain.
“Then it can’t have been the Devil, excellency,” said the Count of
Nullepart. “All the world knows the Devil by his horns and his tail.”
“It is said he came into our camp in the guise of a water-seller,” said
the captain. “And they say his voice was so dreadful that it could be
heard at a distance of two leagues. In stature he was near to three
yards; his face was so red that you could warm your hands at it, and
he himself was seen to boil a kettle by holding it next to his nose.”
“O Jesu!” said the Count of Nullepart. “Had Juan met him he must have
perished.”
“It is easy to understand the redness of the setting sun,” said I.
“That’s true enough,” said the captain of the soldiers, sighing
heavily. “The sun was certainly red now you come to mention it. How sad
it is that the King’s courtiers did not heed such an omen! The right
virtuous Duke of Manares is a wise and venerable minister; he at least
should have known what was toward. By my soul, we of Castile ought
never to forgive him! But come, boobies.” The captain, who owing to the
heat of his own imagination was now perspiring freely, turned to his
men, the majority of whom were standing bareheaded. “All the talking in
the world will not recover the corpse of our noble sovereign. Let us
help them to drag the stream. But I for one do not think we shall find
anything there, because any child will tell you that the Devil will
have nothing to do with cold water if he can possibly avoid it.”
Without further parley the captain and his soldiers relieved us of
their unwelcome presence. They went to join a company a short distance
off, that was dragging large hooks along the bed of the stream.
Thereupon we turned the bag over and placed the royal occupant in as
much ease of person as we could devise. We paid this true prince all
the homage of which we were capable, for could anything have been more
regal than his devotion to his simple word of honour? But his Majesty
could only reply to our humble yet heartfelt flatteries with a shake of
the head and a sombre smile.
“Oh, you fools, you fools, you fools!” the King exclaimed. “Did ever
monarch have such a parcel of boobies to serve him since the beginning
of the world?”
Indeed, the King seemed to be truly distressed. Less, however, for his
own indignities, which he could have terminated so easily had he not so
regarded his honour, but because his followers were so unskilful.
As we continued in our hiding-place we were constantly threatened with
further visits from the numerous parties of soldiers that were prowling
around. Happily they did not come up to us. As the day advanced the
Count of Nullepart declared he was growing hungry, which was a feeling
that I shared. I am afraid our captive must also have lain under this
affliction, but there was no remedy for our strait. To obtain food was
impossible without exposing ourselves to a danger we must not venture
to incur.
In the course of the afternoon, the King, whose comfort had been
consulted as far as ever the case would permit, and who had been plied
freely with water, for which he seemed grateful, fell asleep and so
forgot his pains. Thereupon the Count of Nullepart and myself were fain
to ask one another what had befallen our leader. And further, what must
be the ultimate issue of our extraordinary pass.
Certes, Sir Richard Pendragon’s entrance into the castle would be
fraught with every difficulty and with the gravest peril. First, this
broad and deep ditch beside which we lay would have to be crossed, and
the only bridge that spanned it was held by the troops of Castile.
Doubtless this bold man would take to the water rather than expose
himself to his foes, who would be extremely unwilling to let anyone
pass to the castle, no matter what the cunning of his pretexts.
Upon the assumption that Sir Richard Pendragon was able to swim the
foss, his next course would be to climb the steep rocks until he came
to the foot of these high and insurmountable walls that offered so
stern a barrier to the forces of Castile. In what manner he would
overcome these we could only conjecture. For the drawbridge to be
lowered it would be necessary for him to recommend himself to the
notice of those within the castle without attracting the attention
of the besiegers. Verily, the problem was a sore one. Yet so bold,
cunning, and ingenious was the English giant that no array of perils
was likely to daunt him. However, as we awaited events which we hardly
dared to believe could come to pass, we were heartened by the knowledge
of a singular and masterful genius. Had it at last met its overthrow?
To such a question we had not the courage to foretell the answer.