It is not for nothing that Enrique is named El Caballero. A suave gentleness, almost feminine, is the characteristic of his face. Frank, firm, and courteous, he charms all who approach him; but when offended, like a true Spaniard, he can be both unforgiving and vindictive. A certain mobile expression about his mouth tells of strong passions ill-repressed, but the gracious smile so readily called up is as a mask to his feelings. Altogether, a man capable of the tenderest benevolence and of the bitterest hate.
Of all the children of Eleonora de Guzman, Enrique is the cleverest and the best. Often wandering alone in the mountains, and only saved from starvation by the shepherds of the grassy Biscayan valleys—fighting with the freebooters who lurk on the frontiers, escaping into Navarre, where he vainly pleads for help, or despatching unavailing offers to the French king of firm alliance and support if he places him on the throne—Enrique has ever maintained himself orthodox to the Church, and as such is openly favoured by the Pope.
Thus, little by little, he has collected a band of followers about him; and now, confident of help from France, and strengthened in his claims by the report of Don Pedro’s death, he has entered Toledo.
As he sits at a table covered with papers, a sheet of heavily-embroidered drapery at his back, a more gallant young prince would be hard to find, as, doffing for a moment his jewelled cap, he signs to Albuquerque and Don Jaime to be seated.
“To what good fortune,” he asks, “am I indebted for this early visit?”
“My lord,” replies Albuquerque, as he places himself beside the table, “I am already late in imparting the important intelligence. The Lady Blanche of Bourbon has escaped, and is now within the cathedral. Your brother, Don Pedro, is restored to health, and is advancing on this city.”
In a moment the smiling face of the young prince changes to an expression of gravest thought.
“By the bones of Santiago, this is a wondrous change!” he exclaims. “My brother, though still civilly deceased, rises from a bed of death to fight me, and the lady comes to aid me. Is she alone?”
“As far as we know,” is the reply, “one female attendant only is with her. The Lady Blanche is invaluable as a hostage.”
“In what sense?”