PAGE. I know not, Sire.
The lords, howe'er—
KING. What lords?
PAGE. Sire, the estates,
Who all upon their horses swung themselves;
They did not to Toledo take their way—
Rather the way which you yourself did come.
KING. What! To Retiro? Ah, now fall the scales
From these my seeing and yet blinded eyes!
Murder this is. They go to slay her there!
My horse! My horse!
PAGE. Your horse, illustrious Sire,
Was lame, and, as you know, at your command—
KING. Well, then, another—Garceran's, or yours!
PAGE. They've taken every horse from here away,
Perhaps with them, perhaps but driv'n afar;
As empty as the castle are the stalls.
KING. They think they will outstrip me. But away!
Get me a horse, were't only some old nag;
Revenge shall lend him wings, that he may fly.
And if 'tis done? Then, God above, then grant
That as a man, not as a tyrant, I
May punish both the guilty and the guilt.
Get me a horse! Else art thou in their league,
And payest with thy head, as all shall—
(Standing at the door, with a gesture of violence.)
All!