The feelings of the Alcaide, a comfortable man with a wife and family, may be imagined. No sooner did he reach the Ayuntamiento than he found that a fight had really taken place, and a dead body been discovered. But alas! no one could give him the slightest clue. No one had seen the fight; no one knew the survivor.
At last, on the evening of the second day, when in sheer despair he had taken leave of his wife and children and sent for his confessor, an old woman looking like a witch, was shown into his presence, and astonished him by declaring that she could name the man. But what with his impatience and the breathless state of the old woman it was some time before he could get her to explain.
At last she spoke. “I had just fastened my door and was going upstairs, for it was late, when I heard a great clatter of swords at the opening of the Calle. As the night was dark and I could not see, I lit a candle and looked out of the window. There I saw two men fighting. As one, or both, will be sure to want to be laid out to-morrow (for my trade is with the dead), I will make sure, I said to myself. One had his back to me, the other was the king.”
“The king?”
“Yes, my lord, and no other. He was in common clothes and wore a mask; but when he had run his enemy through he took it off, and stood wiping his sword. I could see him as plainly as I see you. In a terrible fright, I blew out my candle, lest he should look up and kill me also; but he was too busy. If I had not seen his face,” continued the old woman, chuckling to herself, “I should have known him by the knocking of his knees. Everybody in Seville knows the noise the king makes when he walks.”
The old woman dismissed with proper thanks and a liberal reward, the Alcaide presented himself betimes at the Alcazar next morning, arriving just as Don Pedro was taking his seat upon the marble bench outside his dazzling portal, to judge all who came.
When Don Pedro beckoned to him to approach, the Alcaide smiled. “Well, sir officer,” says he, eyeing him all over with an evil smile, “have you found the man?”
“Yes, my lord, and nothing is easier than for your Grace to meet him face to face.” At which notion the Alcaide became so overwhelmed with mirth he had to turn away his face not to laugh outright.
“Is the man mad?” thought Don Pedro, “or is he mocking me?” Then a fit of passion seized him. “Villain,” he shouts, “you have found no one. You are shirking to save your life. Unless the real man is brought here——”
“But, my lord,” breaks in the Alcaide, “if you know who the real man is, why do you command me to seek him?” To which shrewd question Don Pedro could find no reply; only if he hated the Alcaide before, he then and there resolved on the very next opportunity to cut off his head.