mastering the rage which, like a whirlwind, seized him at sight of the king. “Either on the instant you promise to give into my hand my father, Don Sancho of Saldaña, or I will fortify my castle of Carpio and take service with the Moor. I am at least near enough the throne in blood not to serve a liar and a hypocrite.”
These words are spoken slowly. His voice has a strange ring in it. “Now, by this blade, which I have proved owes no lord but Heaven and me, King, Conde, or Grandeza, swear, King Don Alonso, to set my father free.”
“Nay, Bernardo,” answers the king, putting by the weapon with his hand. “Not in this guise let us speak.”
His look and manner have suddenly changed. He is roused into alarm at Bernardo’s threat of taking service with the Moor, not in his case only but in many others the last refuge of disappointed patriots.
“Your father shall be free, according to your desire. I give you my royal word. On the seventh day from this, you yourself shall meet him at Salamanca. Of the imprisonment of the Conde de Saldaña and my treatment of—” (even now he could not bring himself to pronounce Doña Ximena’s name), “I am answerable to God and to the Church alone. My conscience absolves me; my reasons are my own. No oath is needful,” seeing that Bernardo still holds his sword. “Let us part friends.”
“No, by the Holy Virgin of Compostela, we never can be friends. You have blasted my life and that of those who bore me. I would die a hundred deaths ere such a thing could be.”
“Bethink you of my former kindness to you,” urges the king. “You bore the standard of Leon in the wars.”
No answer comes from Bernardo. There was that in the sudden change of the king’s demeanour which roused his suspicions. He liked not the smoothness of Alonso’s speech nor the smile he had called up. Could he be mocking him?
“You hesitate!” cries Alonso. “Are you bold enough to doubt a king’s word?”