The King, first taking off his plumed helmet and sweeping the ground with it, bowed low to his wife. Queen Isabella, who had also dismounted, removing her hat from her head, revealed her beautiful chestnut hair, coifed with jewels, and returned the King’s bow ceremoniously. Then walking toward each other, they met, and the King kissed the Queen formally on the cheek, as one sovereign kisses another on meeting. When that was over, however, the King and Queen embraced and kissed heartily as husband and wife. Prince Juan, after ceremoniously saluting his mother, was also kissed and embraced. The young Princess Katharine was then clasped in the arms of her father and her brother.
Then, again remounting, the two processions united and took their way toward Santa Fé. The loud acclaims increased as the joint armies of Castile and Arragon beheld the Queen whom they both adored; and, long after the procession had become a mere moving speck in the distance, the far-off sound of cheers and of swords drawn and driven back to their scabbards still floated across the little plain.
The sight of Ferdinand in all his splendor impressed Diego deeply; but when his young eyes fell upon Queen Isabella a feeling of reverence stole into his heart which could only be compared with what he felt for his father. Here was a woman, a Queen, a saint, a gentlewoman, the soul of courtesy, the model of integrity, proud where she should be proud, meek where she should be meek, nobly ambitious for her country, the mother of her people, ready to lead her soldiers in battle like a king, and then kneeling by them and binding up their wounds as would a mother—Diego’s mind was lofty enough to render full tribute to this Queen, one of the most glorious women who ever lived.
IV
THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR
THE short November afternoon was melting into twilight when Diego and Don Felipe, with Fray Piña, took their way on horseback across the plateau to the town of Santa Fé. The plain was still thronged with persons going homeward after the great spectacle of the day, and with those who dwelt in Santa Fé or were encamped outside.
The Admiral had engaged lodgings for the party in a tall, old house, one of those in the original small town where he himself lodged. It was in a crooked and retired street, but Diego and Don Felipe were delighted to find that one window of the room which they shared together, under the roof, looked toward the plain upon which were encamped the armies of Castile and Arragon, while another gave a view of the deep and narrow valley that lay between Santa Fé and the beleaguered city of Granada. Directly before them lay the “Gate of Justice,” one of the main gates of the city, and from its towers they could hear, in the clear November air, the shrill cry of the muezzin, the Moslem call to prayer. “Prayer is better than sleep—than sleep—than sleep.”
After the traveler’s supper, at which were present the Admiral and his friend, Alonzo de Quintanilla, Diego and Don Felipe were willing enough to go to their room. They felt as if they were living under a spell of enchantment. The splendid personages they had seen, the great events of which they were to be spectators, the pomp and glory of war, impressed their young imaginations powerfully. Although tired with their long day of travel and excitement, they could not sleep. So an hour passed. They rose at last, and, as they were gazing out of the window toward the camp, at ten o’clock they noticed in the middle of the camp, lying a mile away, a great mass of flame shoot skyward. Instantly the camp was roused, and there was a great commotion in the town. De Quintanilla ran out of the house and, mounting his horse, still standing at the door, galloped away toward the camp. The fire, though violent, soon burned itself out, and in an hour De Quintanilla returned with the news that the beautiful tents erected by the King for Queen Isabella, the Princess Katharine, and their suites, had mysteriously caught fire while the Queen was at prayer in the tent arranged as a chapel. She had made an almost miraculous escape, and by her courage and presence of mind not a life had been lost, although the splendid row of tents, hung with rich brocades and gorgeously furnished, were only a heap of ashes.
“The Queen,” said De Quintanilla, to the listening group, “showed as ever the spirit of ten men-at-arms, being composed and even smiling, and saying that the humblest tent in the army is enough to shelter her, for she is a soldier like the rest of the army.”