With an oath Morella snatched at his sword; but, before he could draw it, officers of the court threw themselves on him, and the king’s stern voice was heard commanding them to cease their brawling in the royal presences.
“I ask your pardon, Sire,” gasped Morella, “but you have seen what this Englishman did to me, a grandee of Spain.”
“Yes,” broke in the queen, “but we have also heard what you, a grandee of Spain, did to this gentleman of England, and the charge you brought against him, which, it seems, the Dona Margaret does not believe.”
“In truth, no, your Majesty,” said Margaret. “Let me be sworn also, and I can explain much of what the marquis has told to you. I never wished to marry him or any man, save this one,” and she touched Peter on the arm, “and anything that he or I may have done, we did to escape the evil net in which we were snared.”
“We believe it,” answered the queen with a smile, then fell to consulting with the king and the alcaldes.
For a long time they debated in voices so low that none could hear what they said, looking now at one and now at another of the parties to this strange suit. Also, some priest was called into their council, which Margaret thought a bad omen. At length they made up their minds, and in a low, quiet voice and measured words her Majesty, as Queen of Castile, gave the judgment of them all. Addressing herself first to Morella, she said:
“My lord Marquis, you have brought very grave charges against the lady who claims to be your wife, and the Englishman whose affianced bride you admit you snatched away by fraud and force. This gentleman, on his own behalf and on behalf of these ladies, has challenged you to a combat to the death in a fashion that none can mistake. Do you accept his challenge?”
“I would accept it readily enough, your Majesty,” answered Morella in sullen tones, “since heretofore none have doubted my courage; but I must remember that I am”—and he paused, then added—“what your Majesties know me to be, a grandee of Spain, and something more, wherefore it is scarcely lawful for me to cross swords with a Jew-merchant’s clerk, for that was this man’s high rank and office in England.”
“You could cross them with me on your ship, the San Antonio,” exclaimed Peter bitterly, “why then are you ashamed to finish what you were not ashamed to begin? Moreover, I tell you that in love or war I hold myself the equal of any woman-thief and bastard in this kingdom, who am one of a name that has been honoured in my own.”
Now again the king and queen spoke together of this question of rank—no small one in that age and country. Then Isabella said: