Patrañas

And so they brought him to the king, and his ghastly burden with him, and the headless rider behind. And the king rose and embraced him, and the queen held her fair white hand and gave it the youth to kiss. And she said, “A youth so comely and valiant should have armour rich and bright, and a steed with a shining coat.” So she called a page to bring a suit of polished steel, and a horse from the royal stables, and present them to young Hernando. Then they took off his ancient armour and laid it on the old black charger, and Hernando donned the new, and sprang into the saddle of the horse from the royal stall.

Now the bold black charger was grieved to be thus set aside, so he snorted and turned his head and rode back to Doña Teresa. When Doña Teresa saw him ride back with the empty armour, she thought that her son was dead, and rejoiced as a Christian mother, that the Moors had sent him to glory. So she laid up the ancient armour, and caressed the bold black charger, and led him to his fresh-littered stall.

Young Hernando meantime feared, as he sat on the fiery steed; for in his far-off hillside home he had but that black charger tried. Nor had he learnt to handle the weapons they gave him to bear.

But the king, who had seen him come in bearing along such goodly spoils, took him for a practised warrior, and gave him a work to do which needed a valiant heart. “Now keep this pass,” he said, “for the rocks are narrow and high, and one at a time, as the enemy comes, with your sword you will strike them down.”

Young Hernando durst not say ‘Nay;’ for his spirit within him was bold, though his young tender flesh was weak. And as he watched there alone, with only the moon for guide, “Oh, had I my old black charger, and my father’s armour!” he cried. And the bold black charger felt, as he stood in his far-off stall, that his master’s son was in danger, and he snorted to get away. And Doña Teresa knew when she heard him snort and snort there was work to do far away. So she bound the armour on him, and away he fled like the wind, nor stopped till he reached Hernando.

“To me! my bold black charger! To me! ’tis yet in time! To me!” And he mounted the charger bold, in his father’s armour clad.

Then stealthily came the Moors, all creeping through the pass, and Hernando’s lance and Hernando’s sword laid them low on the ground that night. And when the king came up, Hernando sat at his post, and his prostrate foes around him.

When the king saw he had done so bravely, he would have given him a new suit of armour, and a new bright-coated steed. But Hernando said, “Good king! pray leave me my father’s armour and my father’s charger bold, for I am but a stripling, and my hand and my arm are weak, but my father’s arms and my father’s steed alone put the foe to flight.”

So the king let him have his will; and as he found him so brave and successful against the Moors, he sent him to carry a message of encouragement to Don Diaz, to whom the Moors had laid siege. Now, as he came back from the errand, he was crossing the lonely plain, when anon it was covered with horsemen – Moorish horsemen, arrayed in their might. He knew that his trust was sacred, and he might not endanger the letter he bore by encountering so overpowering a host. But ‘twas vain that he tried to turn, for the bold black charger refused; but, as if he had been spurred, with his might he dashed right into the Pagan midst. The lance sprang in Hernando’s hand and pierced through the Moorish king. Then the host, dismayed, exclaimed, “This one rider alone in his strength, no mortal man is he: it is one of their Christian saints come down to scatter the Prophet’s band.” So they turned and fled apace, and on the black charger rode behind; and Hernando’s lance and Hernando’s sword laid low the straggling host.

And such fear had fallen on all the Prophet’s children that day, that on bended knee they sent to sue a truce of the Christian king. And to purchase a term of rest, they set all their captives free, and with tribute and with hostages made peace with the Christian king.

So young Hernando rode home – to his home by the steep hillside. And Doña Teresa came out to greet her boy on his gallant steed. And with her, fair Melisenda walked, who a gentler greeting gave; she was his bride betrothed, and she knew that now peace was made, they would lovingly live together, in that far-off hillside home.

And they stroked the bold black charger, and led him to his fresh-littered stall. And ‘tis said that while yet the land was blighted by one strange97 Moor, that bold black charger never died; but whenever the fight raged high, or the Christian host needed aid, there he bore his rider to turn the day. But where he died or when he fell, no mortal ever knew.

THE INFANTE DON HENRIQUE AND THE LIONS

The Infante Don Henrique had a dispute with his brother, King Alfonso. And, as he wished not to fight with him, thought it most prudent to go over to Barbary. As the King of Tunis had been in great awe of his father, and was very desirous not to run any risk of a collision with the Christians, he took pains to treat Don Henrique well, and entertained him honourably for more than four years, and instructed all his people to behave to him kindly.

Mean time, Don Henrique’s princely bearing won all hearts. In all games, and feats of strength and horsemanship, and trials of arms, he bore away the palm; so that all men admired him and cried, “God save him!” till at last the advisers of the King of Tunis feared that they would want next to make him their king, and they would all be under power of the Christians, and the name of the Prophet be put out.

Don Henrique was so valiant, however, and so were all the Christians, his companions, that they dared not attack him openly. And the king saw the danger full well, but durst not interfere either to attack or defend him, for he was divided between love for the young prince and alarm for his own safety.

At last, an astute old Moor devised a plan which should rid them of the young prince without putting them in any danger of suffering from his resistance or the vengeance of his followers, for it should not appear that they of the Moorish sect had any thing to do with it, but it should seem a natural calamity.

The old Moor poured it into the king’s ear, and the king could not but say it was well found; and, for all his love for the young prince, he could not resist taking so easy a way for ridding himself of a great danger.

The young prince, in his ingenuousness, suspected nothing. He was used to go out hunting with the king; and now that he invited him to a hunting party, he was only glad to join the gallant sport.

The Moorish king led him on, away from the rest of the party, into a wild part of the thicket, which, according to the plan of the old Moor, had been turned into a corral, or enclosed ground having no outlet, but so overgrown with bushes, that the prince could not perceive the trap. Then the old Moor, who was on the watch, as soon as they entered the fatal precincts, gave a signal to his men, who let loose and turned in two fierce hungry lions. The prince, not at all dismayed, drew his sword, and rode right up to them. The lions cowered before his prowess, and did not attempt to attack him, so he drove them before him across the corral, and then he saw it was closed in and had no opening but into the den where the lions had been kept; he shut them in and made it fast, and knew now it was a snare; but the king, not daring to face him, had turned and ridden away.

The prince’s heart was grieved, for he had thought the king was his friend, but he said, “I will not remain where my presence is considered a burden.” The Spanish companions with him wanted him to wreak signal vengeance on the treacherous pagans, but Don Henrique said, “As I am a Christian, I shed no man’s blood in personal vengeance; but neither will I leave this ungrateful land without one stroke for Christ. Now these pagans hold in bondage a multitude of Christian captives; go, tell their king that if he fears our presence, we will go, but we leave not our brethren behind.”

When the king found that his plan had failed, he was filled with anger at the old man who had invented it, that he sent and cut off his head, and then he sat trembling with fear at the vengeance Don Henrique might take. So, when they brought him his message, he received it with gladness, and ordered that all who had Christian slaves in their house should give them up to Don Henrique. And, as Don Henrique’s galleys were not enough to contain all the multitude of captives he had saved, the king ordered others to be lent him, so that only the danger might be removed from his coast.

Then the Christian fleet set sail, and God sent them a prosperous wind; and so they came to Rome, where Don Henrique joined the banner of Charles of Anjou, and did deeds of valour in his cause.

BLANCA THE HAUGHTY

The Count of Tolosa had a beautiful daughter called Blanca, and he had promised her in marriage to the son of the Count of Barcelona. Both were young, and rich, and noble; and all the people from both provinces gathered together to celebrate the wedding with every testimony of interest in their happiness. But Blanca was very self-willed; she had always had every thing her own way – a noble palace in the midst of an enchanting country, plenty of servitors to do her bidding, many knights to contend for her favour; and she seemed to fancy that the whole earth and all who lived in it were made for her, and that all must conform themselves to her desires. Nothing was ever good enough to please her.

Her father had thought she would grow out of these foolish ways as she became older and wiser, and had never duly corrected her; and she, meanwhile, became more practised in them, and chose the occasion of her marriage-fête for the wildest of all her pranks.

While all were seated in the great hall of the castle at the high banquet, and all lips were overflowing with praises, perhaps also with envy at her happiness, the young count, offering her a basket of rich fruits, proposed to divide with her a fine pomegranate. Blanca condescended to give him permission to do so, but the count with all his dexterity could not avoid letting one of the luscious ruby pips fall upon the table; then, as if afraid of leaving a spot before her eyes as a testimony of his awkwardness, he hastily took up the pip, and put it to his mouth.

Blanca, who had all the morning been on the look out in vain for some captious pretext on which to found a quarrel, and show off her haughty, petulant airs, immediately caught at this one, and exclaimed, she would never be bound to such a parsimonious husband; it was an act unworthy of a noble; a man who was afraid of losing the value of a pomegranate pip must be a sorry mate indeed; he would not do for her!

It was vain, the young count tried to pacify her by explaining how utterly false was the view she had taken. Equally vain, that her father reasoned with her on the childishness of her conduct, or that her companions pleaded in favour of the disconcerted bridegroom. Blanca would not listen to reason, and the poor young count found himself at last left alone, an object of derision, or at least of pity, to the whole assembly.

He really loved Blanca, and had before this day put up with many caprices out of his affection for her; but this was not only a tax on his patience and good temper, it was an affront on his name and lineage which must not be borne. And yet he loved Blanca too much to resort to any act of hostility which might put a further barrier between them. Uncertain how to act, he went out and rode away, spurring his horse, not caring whither he went, so that he could go far away from the face of his fellow-men and muse over his grief. But all the time there ran ringing in his head, —

“No more a noble count, I trow,A humble shepherd seem I now!”

though he could not think what the lines meant, yet he went on till he had got far away into a distant forest, where all was savage and wild, and where there was nothing to remind him of the scenes he had passed through. There he alighted from his good steed, and threw himself on the hard ground. The sword which he had been wont to raise so bravely against the enemies of his country clanked listlessly by his side, the sharp rocks cut his cheeks, and his noble blood flowed from the rents, while he felt them not, for his heart bled with other and deeper wounds; but all the time there ran in his head the lines, —

“No more a noble count, I trow,A humble shepherd seem I now!”

After he had lain there some time, and the passion of his sorrow had so far cooled down that he began to take notice of the objects around him, he observed two milk-white doves perched lovingly side by side on the branches over his head, yet fluttering full of fear and trouble. Full of his own recent suffering, he felt singular compassion for the two frightened birds; and searching for the cause of their distress, he perceived a great hawk hovering in the air above, in ever-nearing circles, and with glaring eyes preparing to pounce on his luckless prey. The count at once understood their danger, and picking up a stone, threw it with such force and dexterous aim, that it brought down the greedy hawk dead upon the ground. The doves no sooner found themselves delivered from their pursuer, than they gave every token of gladness and delight, hopping from branch to branch, fluttering away and pursuing each other, and then again loving each other in the gentlest way.

The count could not bear to see their happiness, it reminded him of his loss; so he got up and wandered on into a dark cave where he could see nothing, and there laid him down; and the lines running in his head lulled him to sleep, —

“No more a noble count, I trow,A humble shepherd seem I now!”

Then in his dream he saw one of the fair doves appear to him in the form of a beautiful woman; her face was of the softest pink and white, like the face of the sky at sunrise, and her eyes were so bright and lustrous that they illumined the whole cave.

“Caballero, caballero!” said the bright vision; “you do not recognize me, I fear; nevertheless, I am indeed one of those poor doves whose lives you saved from the wicked hawk but now; and if I and my mate live in love of each other, it is to you we owe the boon. I am come to pay the debt I owe you, and I know there is only one way in which I can do it, and that is by telling you how to get for your mate Blanca, for whose sake you are now so sad. I promise you that in a very little time you shall have it all your own way with her, and she shall become as humble as she now is haughty. Meanwhile, take this ring, which I have enchanted on purpose for you, and whatever you ask of it, you will find that it will do it for you.”

Then the beautiful vision disappeared, and the cave immediately became dark and gloomy as before.

The moment the count woke, the memory of his vision rose up before him, and he lost no time in feeling whether he had the ring safe. There it was all right on his finger; and when he felt it, he put his confidence in the promise of the vision, and hastened to go back out of the cave and set to work. He had no sooner found his way again into daylight, than he took off his ring, and thus addressed it: —

“Aniellico, aniellico98! now is the time come to show your devotion to me. You know how Blanca has scorned me, and how I fear to go near her again, lest she should put some fresh affront in her wilfulness upon me, and yet I cannot bear to stay away from her. Tell me, ring, what I shall do.”

“Attend, attend,” answered the ring; “watch now what you see passing before your eyes.”

As the ring spoke, the count saw a moor-hen scudding away across the plain, and a cock as fast as he could following after her. The hen seemed determined to have nothing to say to the cock; but the cock was so persevering that he came up to her, and made her stand still and listen to him, and then he first knocked her about a good deal, and then soothed her down, and at last they both went off together quite amicably; and the ring sang, —

“The cock o’ercomes, though somewhat rough,So man, no less, the coy rebuffOf woman!”

“I see,” said the count, “what you mean; but I do not at all see how you mean me to carry out your plan.”

“Leave that to me,” said the ring; “only do as I advise you, and according to the instructions of my lady the dove, I will give you all you wish. And now, in the first instance, you must take off all this fine armour, and all your noble dress, and put on this disguise of a shepherd; and then take this loom, as if you were going, like the poor shepherd, to weave the wool of your flock; and now come along.”

Then, as they went along together, the ring told him all that he was to do, and what to say, and it had hardly completed its instructions when they arrived at the gate of the gardens of the Count of Tolosa, every now and then interrupting its discourse to sing, —

“The cock o’ercomes, though somewhat rough,So man, no less, the coy rebuffOf woman!”

A gruff old gardener came out to see who called; and when he saw it was only a country bumpkin of a shepherd, he was gruffer than ever, and bid him begone.

“Gardener, gardener!” said the disguised count in his most insinuating accents, “don’t you think, now, if you were to let me come in and help you, you would get through your work much more easily? You have a hard time of it, and get little rest. I am young and strong, and should soon accomplish what you have to do, and then you need not turn out so early in the morning, nor sit up so late at night watching this gate.”

“Pastorcillo, pastorcillo99!” rejoined the old gardener, quite tamed by this appeal, “I cannot say Nay to such an offer; so come in.”

The count lost no time in obeying; and at once began fulfilling his promise, by taking the sheep out of the fold and leading them out to pasture. In doing this, he took care to direct them straight towards the windows of the palace. Arrived there, he sat down and placed his loom, and began weaving away diligently after the manner of poor shepherds, and singing the while, —

“The cock o’ercomes, though somewhat rough,So man, no less, the coy rebuffOf woman!”

He had not been sitting there long, before he observed a postern in the wall which separated the castle-keep from the private gardens, open. How his heart beat! Might it not be Blanca coming out for a walk? No, it was only one of her attendants, who had come to see what the shepherd was weaving.

“Tell me, Don Villano100,” she cried, as she came near him, “what wondrous kind of stuff, is that you are weaving? Is it a heavenly or an earthly texture?”

“It is a stuff much too fine for such as you. It is such a stuff as has not its like in all the world, and cannot be bartered for cloth of gold; for whoever wears this stuff, however old they may be, immediately appears young, and if already young, it makes them beautiful too.”

And then he went on weaving, without paying any attention to her, any more than if he had not seen her, nor seeming to hear any of her questions or entreaties, and singing the while, —

“The cock o’ercomes, though somewhat rough,So man, no less, the coy rebuffOf woman!”

When the dueña found she could make no impression on him she ran off at last to call Blanca, who was not yet out of bed, crying long before she got within hearing, “Infantina, Infantina101! get up and come down quickly, for here in your gardens is a shepherd who is weaving a stuff which cannot be matched in all the world, and cannot be bartered for cloth of gold; for whoever puts on a garment made of it will instantly appear young, how old soever they may have been before; and if they are already young and beautiful, it will make them much more so.”

Now the waiting-maid, it must be observed, was neither young nor pretty, and she was most desirous to get possession of the stuff; and as the shepherd would not give it to her, she was dying to make her young mistress get it from him.

Blanca’s curiosity was sufficiently whetted by the description, to get up in all haste and come down, and see the strange shepherd herself.

The count’s heart beat indeed, as she came near; and she looked so handsome, and so haughty, that the sight brought back the memory of all her cruelty, so that he was divided between the inclination to throw himself at her feet and beg her to come and be reasonable, and the resolve to follow the advice of the ring, and give her a lesson that should make her a good wife. But the ring adjured him to keep quite quiet, and not even look up at her.

“God be with you, this morning, villano!” she exclaimed, rather loud, with a little sharp cough, to attract his attention.

“May He have you in His good keeping, niña102!” rejoined the disguised shepherd, without looking up from his loom.

Blanca was not accustomed to be treated in this way; and she felt very much inclined to call some of the servants to chastise the supposed shepherd for his rudeness. Nevertheless, there was something about his manner that both awed as well as interested her to an unaccountable degree, and far too much to let her give up diving farther into the mystery that surrounded him without another attempt.

“Villano, villano!” she said, at last, “tell me, I pray, the tissue you are weaving, who taught you to weave it?”

“Seven fairies, lady,” replied the feigned shepherd, “who live in seven towers, and who never sleep or dine; but are constantly weaving and singing this refrain, which I sing continually too, lest I should forget it: —

“The cock o’ercomes, though somewhat rough,So man, no less, the coy rebuffOf woman!”

And with that he went on working away as before.

“I suppose you want to sell it, don’t you, villano,” continued Blanca, trying not to look vexed. “Now if you like, I’ll buy it of you, and you may ask what you like; money, or jewels, or whatever you will, and I will pay the price.” And when she had said that, she thought such a bait would be sufficient to make him obsequious.

But far from this, he drew himself up proudly, and told her that all her money and jewels were useless to him; that whoever makes up his mind to contemn riches is richer than all the world; and he who is content with the food and raiment earned by his daily toil cannot be bribed by gold. “But,” he continued, speaking a little lower and more softly, “there is one condition on which I part with my fine weft, and only one. The woman I give it to must be my wife!” and then he resumed his indifferent manner again, and went on weaving, and singing the while, —

“The cock o’ercomes, though somewhat rough,So man, no less, the coy rebuffOf woman!”

Blanca seemed riveted to the spot. She had long mourned – quite in secret and in silence, the loss of her fond admirer, the Count of Barcelona, and often her heart was – quite in secret and in silence – cut to the quick with the thought, “Suppose he should never come back to me!” Though she appeared outwardly gay and haughty as before, this care was continually preying on her mind; she treasured up, quite in secret and in silence, every little thing that could remind her of him; and whenever a stranger came to her father’s castle, though she pretended scarcely to look at him, she scrutinized him through and through, to see if he could be bearer of any tidings from the absent count. Now there was something about the shepherd that re-awakened all her sorrows, and all her hopes. She did not know what it was. She was too agitated to suspect that it was he himself, and yet she felt so drawn towards him, she could not tear herself away. The audacity of such words was great, however, coming from one in his humble garb; and she felt she must administer some strong reproof; so, assuming a show of all the indignation she could call to her aid, she half turned away, exclaiming, “Begone, villano! nor dare to approach me. If you come but one step nearer, I will call my father’s men to kill you!”

“Soperbica, soperbica103!” replied the shepherd, with most provoking coolness. “You are very proud now; but I swear to you that you will not always take that tone. You will talk to me very differently some day. For so the seven fairies promised me when they taught me the song, —