“Truly I have cause to remember it,” is her answer, and an evil twinkle came into her eyes. “What say you, Conde, to a closer alliance among the Christians with Navarre, a marriage for instance, as a tighter bond? The Gothic nations can only hope to drive back our enemy by standing by each other. King Garcia has a daughter, very fair, and of singular courage and accomplishments. What say you, whom Nature has formed at all points to please a lady’s eye”—(at this compliment the Conde again bows low, and kisses the queen’s hand)—“to an alliance which will bind together the powers of Leon, Navarre, and Castile?”
In the king’s face, turned somewhat aside, first came a look of blank astonishment, succeeded by a smile so malignant that had Castila seen it he would certainly not have consented.
“By my faith,” are the king’s words, suddenly assuming an aspect of the most intense interest, “a very excellent proposal. Refuse it not, my lord. Men say in Leon that I rule, but that Queen Doña Teresa holds the reins of state. Who better? Follow my example. Her judgment is excellent.”
But the Conde saw not the matter in that simple light. With much misgiving he had come to Leon. Hostile to him, he knew, was the queen, and Don Sancho was ruled by her.
“You hesitate,” exclaims Doña Teresa, her visage forming into a dark frown; “better not to give good counsel than to have it cast in one’s teeth.”
“Nay, Doña the Queen, I did but consider your words. The matter is too important to be accepted offhand.”
“You bestow your own hand, I suppose, yourself?” she asks with a sneer.
Again the Conde bowed.
“Where else could you give it better? You are not already married, I presume, from a weariness in your mind at having so many who would claim the title.”
“It would not become me to say so,” put in Fernan, a genuine blush rising on his cheek.