Then, ashamed of permitting his own private griefs to intrude on the noble mission he has in hand, Bernardo calls to Don Favila to ride beside him.
“What will the king say to this armament, amigo?” are his first words. “Surely he will now understand the vainness of his purpose! In what disposition did you leave him?”
“I think he is much shaken,” is the reply, “but there are secret reasons. You, my lord, best know his mind.”
Bernardo heaves a deep sigh.
“Talk not to me of him,” he exclaims, “he is a hypocrite, unworthy of an honest man’s regard.” Then, seeing the look of amazement on Don Favila’s face, “Yes! by Santiago! such is my mind, and I will fling my mailed glove into his cursed face and tell him so, if I return from the present adventure.”
More and more amazed, Don Favila listens. “If it were not so early in the day, good Bernardo, I should think you had quaffed too many beakers of wine to our success.”
“Do I look like a man who has wine in him?” answers Bernardo, bitterly. “If wine would drown my care, I would drink a sack.”
“Tell me,” continues Favila, burning with curiosity, “by our long friendship, what is there amiss between you and King Alonso? You were wont to love him well.”
“Then it is past,” replies Bernardo, chafing under the questioning. “I hate him now. It is possible you can judge of the reason better than I. I pray you, good Favila, ask me no more; it is useless looking back.”
Don Favila, as a prudent man, held his peace. Although of a gentle and courteous nature, there was that in Bernardo that no one dared to cross. A look of sullen wrath is on his face he has never seen before. Has he at last discovered the secret of his birth and the cruelty of the chaste king?