“His Grace, as I understand,” replies Don Jaime, “is somewhat indisposed, and has not yet risen.”
“Nevertheless, let us go to him instantly,” urges Albuquerque, “the greatest results depend on what has occurred.”
“I scarcely view the matter in that light,” answers the other coldly. “We conquer or we fall by the fortune of war. It is not a struggle in which a woman more or less——”
“A woman!” breaks in Albuquerque; “but this is a queen, who carries in her hand France and Navarre. She is here, in sanctuary within the cathedral. The importance of her presence cannot be underrated.”
“It is natural that you should think so,” retorts Don Jaime, with a sneer. “You brought her into Spain to establish alliances for Don Pedro. Now these have failed, you would use her on the other side.”
“But, my lord, while we are here bandying unseemly words,” replies Albuquerque, unmoved by the covert insult implied, “time flies. Let us at once crave an audience of Don Enrique, and expose to him our views.”
“His Highness King Enrique, you mean, I presume,” replies Don Jaime, greatly nettled. “This is the second time I have corrected you, my lord minister. You, at least, should not question the title which your abandonment of his brother’s cause so greatly facilitated. This, and the excommunication of the Pope of Rome which legalised it.”
But Albuquerque was not to be drawn into further discussion on so dangerous a subject. He simply bowed and made way for the Asturian noble to pass first under the carved portal which led into the royal rooms.
In a small but lofty chamber, wainscotted with wrought walnut wood and lighted by one of those high casements which run along the front of the Alcazar and give so much dignity to the noble façade, sits Enrique el Caballero.
Quite young, but older than Don Pedro, this son of the unhappy Eleonora de Guzman has already braved death again and again with dauntless valour. In person he is tall and fair like his brothers. The same well-cut features, and chestnut hair lying in crisp, close curls under a velvet cap, thrown back on a broad, clear brow, and a skin so delicate that the choice lace collar worn at his neck is not more white.