“Yes, if you call it so,” cried the prince, not at all impressed by this reproof, spoken with more gentleness than seemed possible. “Until you send that arch-impostor, Luna, to the scaffold, we shall never be friends.”
“Then let us remain enemies,” replied the king with dignity; “I will do no man’s bidding.”
But this forbearance only angered the prince all the more.
“The traitor who sold victory over the Moors for a bribe in a basket of figs is then to be let off? Under the walls of Granada he did it, the villain!”
“Be silent, Infante!” cried the king; “you know that story is a lie!”
“By Santiago, I hold it for the truth,” quickly replied the prince. “How comes he by such revenues if he takes no bribes? Not this alone, but many. What need has he of twenty thousand freedmen at his heels when he travels—more than your Highness requires? Has he told you, or have you, my lord bishop, his confidant, that the King of Navarre is advancing on Pamplona? By the living God, my father, if you do not banish this upstart I will join with him against you! Think well of it, my lord. I am brave in the field. I stay not at home, toying with a new wife, singing ballads and romanceros, nor have I poets to amuse me, or Latin books to peruse. But the people will follow me. You and your favourite will be alone, and I shall reign over Navarre, Aragon, Leon, and Castile before you die! Ha! ha!”
With these wild words on his lips, the Prince of the Asturias retired as noisily as he had come, leaving the king, his father, in a state of the deepest dejection. No suffering to him was so great as anger and dispute. Almost rather would he have resigned the crown to his son than endure his sneers. But Luna had always combated this idea vigorously; and now he had married a new queen, and he would like to reign, if only to display her beauty by his side. A feeling of relief came over him that at least she and the prince were not joined together against him, although both were working for the same end—the fall of the constable.
With a deep sigh he sank upon a chair; such violence unhinged him. He could not at once collect his ideas sufficiently to resume his conversation. Then he remembered the murder and the invasion of Navarre.
“Is what the Infante says about Navarre true?” he asked the bishop, who stood respectfully aloof.
“Yes, my lord, they are in force before Pamplona.”