“I well perceive,” said the Black Prince, more prudent in his councils, but as enthusiastic as the rest, when informed of this intention, “that the bastard Enrique is a valiant prince and shows good courage; so, not to be behind him in courtesy, I will also address to him a letter in which I will call on him, according to the laws of honour, to relinquish the crown which he has unjustly seized.”
Upon which—always following out the idea of a knightly encounter in which each side sets forth their right by the voice of a herald or trumpeter—Enrique replies: “To the most puissant Edward, Prince of Wales, Duke of Aquitaine and Guienne: that King Don Pedro has not, as he pretends, and as the prince imagines, governed his kingdom well, but as a tyrant and a traitor, verily giving orders to murder the Lady Blanche, his lawful wife, and Doña Leonora d’Aragon, his aunt—also his cousins of the royal blood—and Doña Bianca de Villena for her goods; that also he killed his three brothers, Don Fadique, Juan, and Pedro, as well as Martin Gil d’Albuquerque his minister, Don Juan d’Aragon and others; and that neither did he respect the wives and daughters of divers nobles, or the rights of the Pope and the Church,—for which cause and others too long to be detailed, and having no allegiance or followers in the kingdom, his subjects, to deliver themselves from so dangerous a ruler, have been pleased to name us his successor with universal acclamation.”
But this royal exchange of courtesies did not deter the Black Prince from fighting desperately. A complete victory was gained at Navarrete. Enrique lost all his train and equipage, the great Constable Du Guesclin being the victim as he had foretold, and taken prisoner.
Prostrate on his knees, Don Pedro thanks the Black Prince, who modestly replies as he raises and embraces him:
“Not to me, but to God, who has given us the victory, give praise.”
This happened on a Saturday. Next day Don Pedro formally requested the Black Prince to allow him “to put to death all his rebellious soldiers, so that they might raise no more disturbance in the kingdom against him.”
“Never, by the blood of Christ!” cried the indignant Plantagenet, horrified at his bloodthirsty ally; “I did not come into the kingdom of Spain to act as your Grace’s headsman, but as your defender.” And from that moment their cordial relations ceased, and the germs of that coolness and suspicion were sown which so soon led to a formal breach between them.
“You will find that the King of Castile is not worth the trouble you have taken to reinstate him,” observed Du Guesclin to the Black Prince, who, treated him, as his prisoner, with every kind of distinction and soon after set him at liberty without ransom.
“I begin to think you are right,” was the prince’s answer, deeply moved at Don Pedro’s cruelty.
Nor did he in this only show the cloven foot. The subsidies he had promised for the troops were unpaid; all his engagements were broken. As soon as he found himself once more safe in Seville and reinstated in his rights, incessant expresses were sent to Burgos, where the prince lodged, in the ancient monastery of Las Huelgas, outside the gates, still remaining a most interesting monument of that chivalric time, and to Valladolid where he moved later—but no money.