“Otherwise it were a disgrace to the government of the Regents,” put in Don Pedro de Mendoza.
“Restitution is not sufficient,” sententiously observed the archbishop in a pompous voice, intended to impress the company with his high sense of justice. “If the guilt of his guardians be proved, death is their proper due.”
“Methinks your holiness is somewhat severe,” put in the minstrel, making a low obeisance.
“Not at all, not at all! We rule Castile and Leon, not the king, who is disabled by bodily infirmities. It is our duty to have justice done.”
“What noble sentiments!” exclaimed the singer, clasping his hands. “Happy is the king to possess such servants! I leave my appeal with you, my lords, confident that you will see me righted.”
But what he said, though spoken low and in an altered voice, had such a familiar ring in it as to make the archbishop again look sharply at him; then, as if satisfied, he turned away.
Now the festival had continued far into the night, and, as the fumes of the generous wine mounted to their brains, the guests spoke more and more openly to each other.
Again had the voice of the minstrel been raised, during a momentary pause, as he intoned with extraordinary power and skill The March of Bernardo del Carpio:
With three thousand men of Leon, from the city Bernardo goes
To preserve the name and glory of old Pelayo’s woes.
And as his notes rang out in the great hall, the enthusiasm he excited so mastered the stately company that they rose en masse to drink to the health of Castile.