GOLD AND GLORY,
OR
Wild Ways of other Days.
[CHAPTER I.]
A POISON-FLY FOR THE HEART OF ARAGON.
In an apartment, gorgeous with a magnificence that owed something of its style to Moorish influence, were gathered, one evening, a number of stern-browed companions.
A group of men, whose dark eyes and olive complexions proclaimed their Spanish nationality, as their haughty mien and the splendour of their attire bore evidence to their noble rank.
The year was 1485: a sad year for Aragon was that of 1485, and above all terrible for Saragossa. But as yet only the half, indeed not quite the half, of the year had gone by, when those Spanish grandees were gathered together, and when one of them muttered beneath his breath, fiercely:
"It is not the horror of it only, that sets one's brain on fire. It is the shame!"