“I am one whose hands thou hast kissed, and whose feet thou hast washed, proud King, in the days of thy innocence and happiness; but one whom thou hast since despised, and driven from thy presence with ignominy. Will that suffice thee? My message I give not in the presence of the vile panders to thy follies and vices I see approaching.”
And he pointed towards the Duke of Aveiro and Senhor Policarpio, when the King, now for the first time, perceived that he was not alone. While the stranger was speaking, they came up, bowing profoundly; but the Monarch had been seized with a strong desire to know what the aged man before him could possibly have to say; and, being well armed, he thought not of personal danger. He therefore desired the Duke and his attendant to ride on, and endeavour to discover the rest of the party, saying he would follow in their track, as soon as he had listened to what the peasant had to communicate. The Duke was obliged to obey, although he regarded the stranger suspiciously; for, at the first glance, he recognised in him the holy Father Malagrida, and it instantly occurred to him, that he was about to betray his own treacherous designs. At first, it flashed across his mind, that his only chance of safety would be to destroy both Joseph and the Priest at once; but his superstitious awe of the Father, prevented him from committing the deed. He rode on, therefore, followed by Policarpio, their former intention yet unaltered.
“Let us draw rein here, if it please your Excellency,” said the latter, as soon as they had lost sight of the King; “we shall have now a fairer opportunity than ever. As he passes by, we will rush at him, and strike him dead. Yonder peasant will be accused of the deed, and we shall escape suspicion.”
“Know you not who yonder seeming peasant is?” exclaimed the Duke. “He is no peasant, but the holy Jesuit Malagrida, for what purpose come hither, I know not; but I fear me much it cannot be for any good, except he seeks to take the trouble off our hands by despatching the King himself.”
“It would be a useful deed, forsooth,” said Policarpio. “Yet, no matter, if he slays him not; his very appearance will aid our purpose; for many must have seen a stranger wandering about, who will be the first suspected; and, as he will probably make his escape, he will inform no one that he saw us. Does not your Excellency think so?”
“Your sagacity is above all praise,” answered the Duke. “You deserve to be a prime minister, my good Policarpio; and you shall be if my plans are successful. They must be so, or—”
He dared not to utter the alternative.
“Fear not, my noble master; success must attend us,” interrupted Policarpio.
Such was the conversation the pair, worthy of each other, held, while concealed among some thick-growing shrubs, in anxious expectation of their victim’s arrival.
As soon as the King found himself alone with the aged peasant, he repeated his former question—“Say, what wantest thou, my friend?”