Great curiosity was felt, especially by Don Pedro de Mendoza, the treasurer, as to how the king had obtained money to defray the expenses of the tertulia which had been announced. Mendoza knew that the coffers were empty. Had he borrowed money from the King of Aragon, or some powerful northern noble? Had he unearthed a treasure, or contracted with the Jews? If so, how could it happen that he was ignorant of it?
Again all the great nobles assembled, and many more, from south and north, who had not been present at the entertainment in the Casa del Cordon, composed especially of the supporters of the Regents.
Most of those who came from afar had never seen the king (so purposely was he secluded), and looked on him as a sickly youth, destined soon to follow his father to the tomb. It was this idea, indeed, sedulously spread abroad, which added so much to the prestige of the Regents. If the king died, who was to succeed him?
When the cedar doors are thrown open, a huge undecorated gallery is disclosed, devoid of any furniture except bare wooden tables and benches placed on either side.
At the head the young king is seated in a chair of state, surmounted by the arms of Spain. On one side the hereditary Constable of Castile (Condestable) supports him, clad in complete armour; on the other the chamberlain, Don Martinez de Velases, who introduces the company. As each feudatory advances, Don Enrique inclines his head. His manner is courteous but very cold, as he raises his hand to signify the special place assigned to each at the table, where a piece of bread and a cup of water are placed.
Not even the rigid rules of formal etiquette imposed on the Spanish Court can conceal the amazement of each grandee as he takes his place on the hard bench, but the presence of the young king checks all outward expression.
As the Regents enter and sit down with the rest (no special seat having been assigned them) a momentary flush passes over the king’s face.
“I fear the food provided does not suit your palates,” he says, at last, unable any longer to affect to misunderstand the astonished glances each one exchanges with the other, specially the Archbishop of Toledo, who, with a highly offended air, places himself before his portion of bread and water; “but I myself am frugally fed. I hope this may reconcile you to it.”
“Is the young king mad?” is whispered round the room, as each guest endeavours to swallow the unpalatable food; “or is it the caprice of a silly boy, soon to be deposed?” Indeed, in this sense, the eccentricities of this so-called banquet are very agreeable to the greater number present, as plainly displaying his incapacity for reigning.
Meanwhile, Don Enrique, seated at the head of the board, has partaken of his portion of bread and water with apparent relish.