OF MADAM’S RENCOUNTER WITH THE FROWARD PRINCE
IT was with no little relief, and yet with curiosity, that we crossed
the drawbridge and entered the precincts of the castle. By now it was
dark, but the light of the stars shed their soft lustre upon the sombre
walls and the eager groups of soldiers that awaited us. It was clear
that our exploit had become known in the castle, for no sooner had we
crossed the threshold with our royal burden than loud cries of triumph
were proclaimed from a hundred throats.
The first to greet us was Don Luiz, the opprobrious fat man. He was
accompanied by a number of persons bearing lanterns. By their light
we were able to remark that although the dignity of Don Luiz was now
waxing so great that it would seem that he alone was the author of this
fortunate pass, his bulk was yet sensibly diminished by the rigours it
had recently sustained.
It was not easy for us to forbear from open laughter at the airs the
fat man gave himself, the more especially when we recollected the
indignities to which so lately he had been subjected.
“It will please the noble countess,” said he, “to give an audience
to the gracious King after he has taken some little refreshment and
otherwise eased the royal personality of those discomforts that have
recently encompassed it.”
We crossed the outer patio and dismounted before the doors of the
castle. The Count of Nullepart and I lifted the King from the saddle.
Yet no sooner had we done this than we made the discovery that the
royal prisoner had suffered so sorely in his durance that by now he was
fallen insensible.
Thereupon we bore the unfortunate prince into an apartment that had
been set for his reception. Meats and wine were laid in it, also
burning faggots and lighted candles. With our own hands we chafed the
limbs of the King, and it gave us some concern to find, so close had
his bonds been drawn, that in places the skin had been broken.
Having administered a powerful cordial to the King, having invested
his nakedness in a furred gown and slippers, and having placed him in
cushions next to the warmth, he was presently restored to something of
his true mind. Thereupon we dressed him in the choicest silk raiment
that could be found to fit him, and this was chiefly from the duke’s
own wardrobe.
The King then partook of food and wine, of which he could never have
been in such sore need. More than twenty hours had passed since the
Count of Nullepart and I had eaten, but before assuaging our necessity
we were able to do ourselves the honour of ministering to the royal
wants.
By these means the blood was restored to the King’s countenance and
animation to his eyes, and it was plain to see that rumour had not
belied this ambitious prince. His features were those of an eagle,
with a noble fire in the glance and a proud disdain. And in spite of
his recent distresses and this present pass, that must have irked him
to the soul, he bore himself most scrupulously in accordance with his
lineage. With the frank courtesy of the high-born, he thanked the Count
of Nullepart and myself for our services; and, with a somewhat rueful
smile, he was good enough to say that had it been known to him that his
aged Uncle Roldan was able to gather such skilful minds about him, he
would have conducted his campaign with a less degree of levity.
The King then asked of the English robber. He asked whether we were
the countrymen and good friends of that formidable adventurer. And
when we had answered the King that although we were far from being the
countrymen of the redoubtable Sir Richard Pendragon, yet were his good
servants in all that he pleased to command us, the King laughed.
“Ods blood!” said the King, “that English thief is the most
accomplished villain in Spain. I wonder he did not cut my throat while
he was upon his work; yet doubtless the rascal is wise to bait his hook
with a live fish.”
“By your gracious leave and forgiveness, sire,” said the Count of
Nullepart, in his charming manner, “doubtless he was fain to believe
that a bag full of live royalty is of better account when it comes to
the terms of a treaty than a bag full of dead bones.”
“Yes, sir,” said the King, with sombre eyes, “that was doubtless his
argument.”
When the King had supped he reposed for an hour; and in that period
the Count of Nullepart and I were able to doff our peasants’ disguise
and to satisfy our hunger. Then came Don Luiz to inform us that his
lordship’s grace and the Countess Sylvia would receive the royal
prisoner.
The King’s limbs were still so sore and constrained that he could
not walk without a great deal of assistance. Thus he entered the
audience-chamber leaning heavily upon the Count of Nullepart and myself.
We found our mistress seated, in the fashion of a royal queen, upon the
daïs at the end of the apartment. By her side, yet in a sensibly lower
place, was his lordship’s grace, who was fast asleep with a backgammon
board before him. He had been engaged in a game with the dwarf, who was
now mumping and mowing from a corner, for he durst not show himself
much to the Lady Sylvia.
In my travels through all parts of the world I have looked much upon
female beauty. My gaze has been ensnared by the fair of many lands, yet
never, I think, has it beheld a figure to compare with that of noble
fire and queenly splendour that now greeted us.
“I give you no greeting, John of Castile,” she said in her clear
speech, that was so loud and ringing. “I make you no service, infamous
cousin. I would not soil my lips with your name, you bloody and
covetous villain, had they not long been accustomed to bespeak dogs and
horses. But we would have you kneel for pardon, treacherous caitiff,
whose blood smokes black in your heart like that of the evil fiend. For
it is our intention, you paltry knave, first to cut off your ears, as
we would those of a cheat and a pickpocket; and then we will devise in
what further manner to deal with one who would rob his poor relations.”
To this terrific speech that was delivered with an insolent scorn that
could not have been surpassed, the King of Castile replied with a
gesture of most kingly disdain. And I think the little Countess Sylvia,
meeting the full power of that sombre and fearless glance, was in some
measure given to pause. She had not looked for it that an enemy brought
captive into her hands should venture thus to outface the full torrent
of her fury.
A minute of silence passed, in which each of these creatures exchanged
their regal gestures. The meeting of their disdainful eyes was like
that of a pair of true blades. It was as though each must overbear the
other in the shock of their contention.
“It is my intention to ask no pardon, madam,” said the King composedly.
“I am a young man, but I am learned enough to ask pardon of none. I do
not fear death.”
“You do not fear death, base thief and murderer that you are!” said
the Countess Sylvia, while her eyes spat at him. “Why should you fear
death, you unready slave, when death shall come to you as the softest
clemency of heaven?”
“Whatever indignity you are pleased to place upon this flesh, madam,”
said the King coldly, “it will be less than its merit for having
permitted itself to fall into such hands.”
At this speech, and the demeanour by which it was accompanied, the
Countess Sylvia quivered all over with passion; and had the King been
near to her, and a sword been ready to her hand, I think he had been
spared that which was to befall him, for there and then he must have
breathed his last.
You will not need to be told, gentle reader, that while these passages
were toward, the Count of Nullepart and I preserved a demeanour of the
gravest propriety. Yet, could we have forgotten that the actors in this
play were two of the most considerable persons of their age, and that
their interview was like to have an extremely tragic issue, I think we
must have yielded a little to mirth. For could anything have been more
wanton than the addresses they paid to one another when the life of
each might be said to depend on the other’s clemency.
The Countess Sylvia had only to speak the word for the life of the
King to be forfeit; while on his part, whether he lived or whether he
perished, he was so sure of her castle falling into the hands of his
soldiers, for he was a most powerful prince, and his resources were
very great, that it was equally clear that her life also was in his
power.
Now, this side of the matter was very plain to the Count of Nullepart.
And in the very height of their bitter enmity he sought to render it
to his mistress. After the most searching abuse to which the tongue
of woman was ever applied had been met by the most open contempt--not
very princely bearing on the side of either, yet the sublimity of
their anger seemed to make it so--they were brought to such a pass
that rage tied up their very mouths, so that they were fain to conduct
their warfare with their eyes. Then it was, after they had been thus
outfacing one another for I know not how long a period, that the Count
of Nullepart, greatly daring, made the first of his recommendations to
madam. In his subtlest manner he disclosed to her the case in which she
stood.
“Peace, Sir Count,” she said scornfully. “You are an honest good
fellow, and you have well served the grace of his lordship, but you
must know I can make no abatement of my resolve. The bloody-minded
prince shall perish like a felon. He shall suffer every rigour that can
be devised by the outraged gentle mind and nature of a daughter. It is
not for naught that this uncivil wolf of the forest is come into the
sheep-fold.”
“I pray you, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, “graciously to
permit me to remind you that, should the life of the King’s majesty be
forfeit, his great host will raze your father’s castle to the earth.
And personally I have no doubt that if a hair of this prince’s head
sustains an injury, you and all its other contents will be put to the
sword.”
“You speak truly, Sirrah Count,” said madam. “But I myself will raze
this castle to the earth, and all of us who are within it shall die
upon our swords.”
With his rare address the Count of Nullepart continued long to urge the
more humane aspect of the matter, but the heart of his mistress was not
to be moved. It was in vain that he exerted all those powers of wise
enchantment in the use of which he was without a peer. His entreaties
had no happier result than that the Countess Sylvia consented to
postpone her measures upon the royal person of Castile against the
return of her redoubtable captain, Sir Richard Pendragon, the English
barbarian robber, than whom this unlucky prince had no more relentless
and bitter foe.
“I am indeed between the vulture and the kite,” said the King with
a wry smile, while we were leading him away from this unfortunate
audience. “My amiable, gentle, and dove-like cousin is desirous to
cut off my ears, and proposes to slay me an inch at a time. I shall
therefore be curious to learn the measures that are proposed by my
friend of England. He will, doubtless, ordain that I am cooked in a
pot.”
We conducted the royal captive to the apartment in which he had supped.
In this comfortable place we laid him that he might abide the return
of not the least of his enemies. In so doing, however, we ventured to
disobey the explicit will of our mistress. As we had left her presence
she had enjoined us strictly that “the vile spawn of darkness be thrown
among rats into the deepest and slimiest of the dungeons underground.”
The King slept soundly after his late fatigues, but there was no repose
that night for any others within the castle. The minds of all, from
that of madam herself to that of the meanest scullion, were filled by a
single theme. What had befallen Sir Richard Pendragon?
Already the exploits of the English giant had given to his name and
personality something of a supernatural cast. Nor was this merely the
view of the commonalty; it was shared by our mistress and the highly
sagacious Count of Nullepart. Under the direction of such a leader we
knew that great haps were toward in the darkness. And so lively and
profound were our speculations of their nature, that excitement and
anxiety reigned through all the long hours of the night.