But the calm voice of the old knight, promptly reassured him.
“You are endeavoring to retrieve the past, monseigneur, and I am no intermeddler. When you have cleared your conscience, M. de Padilh here, and I, will talk over the disposition of our unfortunate nephew. For the rest I submit to the necessity of the case and the counsel of my companions in arms, and to-morrow will send an envoy to settle conditions of surrender.” With which success, the Spanish cavaliers were well satisfied.
It was an unlucky choice on the part of the commandant in keeping his promise, to appoint Du Vict, the same whose blunt speech formerly increased the viceroy’s enmity to the French. That hotheaded cavalier proposed terms of advantage, where there was cause to be thankful for the reception of any terms at all.
“Tell your commandant I will send him answer by fifteen hundred fighting men,” Santa-Cruz cried in a rage, and instantly gave orders for the march of his infantry.
At this crisis, when the marquis refused to halt an hour, a courier was dispatched in haste by Padilh to warn the French of their danger, and the unhappy general, heart-broken at his disasters, and deserted by all but a remnant of his army, struggled no longer against his fate. A cavalier of milder temper was promptly dispatched to accede to any honorable capitulation, and meeting the Spanish vanguard half way from Angra, concluded a treaty by which a free passage was provided to France, and every gentleman suffered to retain his sword.
Inique himself, rode back with the ambassador to console the gray-haired soldier, and it was while returning from Dame de Loup, his assassination occurred. Had he delayed an hour, the deadly spot might have been safely passed, for within that period De Chaste marched out of his intrenchments, and into the Spanish camp, accompanied by his handful of Frenchmen.
Two purposes now occupied the attention of Santa-Cruz; discovering the assassin of his maître-de-camp, and securing the person of the late viceroy of the island, for each of which services, he offered a reward of five hundred ducats, and a free-conduct to the parties if desired. There was no lack of competitors for the latter prize, and one of these exploring detachments, headed by a corporal, penetrated to the mouth of the cavern at which the Moor lay, not many hours after the capture of his master.
The mute had enough vitality remaining, to motion he had things of consequence to relate, and a French deserter recognizing the count’s slave, restored his strength temporarily, by a draught from his flask.
“We must take the infidel down to Angra, my men,” the corporal said, after putting his ear close to the mouth of the Moor. “By St. Boniface! we came out to fish for minnows, and catch silverfish.”
After nightfall of the same day, with their customary insouciance, the captors of Terrevedros conducted that unhappy nobleman, bareheaded, his wrists bound behind him, and in a peasant’s dress, into the presence of the vindictive marquis, who loaded him with epithets of contempt, and threats of a speedy end. Extremity of danger occasionally exalts a coward into a hero for the time being, and the only words spoken by the count, were uttered with a dignity which astonished the Spanish cavaliers present.