“No, my lord, I have not done. Behind all this is His Holiness the Pope—long angered by the favour you show Mussulmen and Jews—seeking a cause to place you and Castile under an interdict; the Lady Blanche of Bourbon will serve him well for this. And as to your Castilian subjects, I warn your Highness to proffer no offers of advancement to Cerda, husband of Doña Maria Coronel. To my certain knowledge he is engaged in treasonable practices with Don Enrique; and the lady, my lord—here a cold smile for an instant lit up Albuquerque’s face—will never yield!”
“To hell with them and you,” roars Don Pedro, beside himself with rage. “You too, as report says, hold your papers in the hands of my brother, and will meet other traitors at his camp. Cursed hypocrite and treacherous counsellor, begone from my presence! Tread not Castilian soil again, I warn you.”
“Except as a conqueror,” is the calm reply. “May your Highness raise the glory of Castile as high as my desire, and you will win the world.” And the great minister passed down the dark aisle as tranquil as on a gala day, the shadow of the light vine-trellis clinging to the groined arches striking upon his mantle—the sound of his footsteps growing fainter and fainter, until finally they were lost in the murmurs of the night breeze.
Spite of his passion a spell of silence sat upon the king. The voice of his guardian angel rose within him, and on his lips was the cry, “Return, return, Albuquerque;” but the good impulse promptly vanished, and with a mocking laugh he turned to Don Juan. “Have the horses saddled and the escort ready, I ride at break of day.” Then, striding down the aisle, he disappeared.
Poor Blanche! Her dream is over. She awoke to find Don Pedro gone—Don Fadique fled—and a bench of bishops appointed to consult upon her supposed misdeeds. Proof there was none against her—not even of witchcraft, which was the popular accusation at times when all others failed. But, for all that, the bishops were much too terrified at the king not to pronounce her guilty.
The Duke of Bourbon, her father, and the most Christian king, her brother-in-law, by the mouth of a herald sent to Seville, storm and threaten—but what could be said against the judgment of these holy men?
Both justice and knowledge in those days lay in the Church, and Don Pedro had managed so cunningly, and Maria de Padilla had so carefully spread abroad diabolical accusations, that Blanche was held to be guilty of incest.
If the marriage by proxy common among kings and great princes were not respected as a point of chivalrous honour, by the person selected by the husband to represent him in the sacred rite, no crowned head would be safe. It was usual for a man of mature years to be chosen on such occasions, not a gay young infante like Don Fadique; but, on the other hand, his near relationship to the king was deemed sufficient guarantee for his honour, and knightly honour in those days was much more considered than either virtue or religion.
Thus this accusation against Blanche appealed to the most violent prejudices of the time. She was supposed to have offended against that unwritten code which is the safeguard of kings.
No one cared for details. Degraded into a criminal, laden with contempt, she was sent under a strong escort to the castle of Talavera de la Reina on the Tagus, not far distant from Toledo; and Don Fadique saved his life by flight into Portugal.