THE Admiral was to start early in the morning, and Diego and Don Felipe earnestly hoped that Fray PiÑa would accompany him. But to their secret chagrin they found that Fray PiÑa was to remain at the castle with them. They knew very well the meaning of this—hard study during many hours of the day, while the woods and mountains called to them to be explored, while the fish in the streams remained unmolested. There would be little hunting or fishing, and not much time to spend over the books of poetry and romance in the library. In addition, Don Tomaso de Gama was to travel with the Admiral to Santa FÉ, from whence he had only been absent a short time. Both youths bitterly regretted his departure, and that they would not have the delight of listening to his tales of adventure, his merry songs, nor enjoy his gallant and dashing manners and company.

By daybreak Diego and Don Felipe were up and dressed. Already, below in the courtyard, they could hear the tramping of the travelers’ mules. Diego went to the Admiral’s room, and with him descended to the courtyard. Early as it was, DoÑa Christina was present to say farewell to her guests. The Admiral thanked her with his usual grave courtesy for her hospitality and, especially, her kindness in asking Diego to remain and share Don Felipe’s studies with Fray PiÑa. Don Tomaso, his foot in his stirrup, cried:

“What a happy time you will have, Diego and Don Felipe—no distractions from study—history, geography, astronomy, and mathematics in the morning, and mathematics, astronomy, geography, and history in the afternoon! Now, at Santa FÉ, I shall have a very hard time—watching the besieged city of Granada, making sorties against the gates, living in a tent, jousting with other knights by way of pastime, riding in the tilt-yard—all the hardships and the pleasures of a soldier’s life.”

Don Tomaso, laughing at the long faces of Diego and Don Felipe, flung himself joyously on his horse. The Admiral kissed and blessed both of the youths, and said, by way of consolation:

“All will not be over at Granada in one short month.”

Then the cavalcade rode off. Diego and Don Felipe were in terror for fear Fray PiÑa would call them to their studies at once; but even the stern instructor had a little mercy on them for two days, in which they were quite free.

The two lads started out on foot in the clear October sunrise to climb the near-by mountains, to ford the streams, to enjoy themselves in that expenditure of energy which is the glorious patrimony of youth. Don Felipe had to show all of his haunts to Diego, and together the two boys climbed and walked and slid down steep places and waded mountain streams, with the utmost enjoyment to themselves. Both knew something about plants, thanks to Fray PiÑa, and they were surprised and delighted to find some beautiful pink orchids having their second blooming of the year. Diego gathered them, roots and all, carefully, with much earth, saying:

“These will I take to DoÑa Christina.”

“And I will take some to my sister, for her garden. You should see Luisita’s garden. She loves it well.”

They did not return to the castle until near sunset, and were tired, hungry, and dirty, but very happy. Don Felipe led the way to the back of the castle, where, sheltered from the north by high stone walls, was a warm spot, in which a formal little Italian garden was laid out. Here was DoÑa Christina with DoÑa Luisita and SeÑora Julia. Luisita ran forward to greet them and at once noticed the plants Diego was so carefully carrying.

“I never saw that flower bloom in the autumn!” she cried.

Diego had the readiness to offer her some at once, saying:

“The rest are for the noble lady, DoÑa Christina.”

Then he won for himself the undying esteem of SeÑora Julia by presenting her with one of the plants.

DoÑa Christina, who was very observant, thought well of Diego for remembering the old governess, and as the three young people were busily planting the flowers, she said to SeÑora Julia:

“The youth Diego is well mannered. He knows how to behave to his elders.”

“Truly he is,” replied SeÑora Julia. “No youth can be called well mannered who does not observe politeness to the old and the obscure.”

Soon it was time for supper; and Diego and Don Felipe, washed and dressed and combed, were ready for it. The meal was not splendid and ceremonious as the night before, only the family being present, except Diego and Fray PiÑa; but Diego thought it one of the pleasantest hours he had ever passed. Family life was unknown to him; the recollection of his mother, of his early childhood in Lisbon, of the modest home in which the great Admiral toiled to support his wife and child, and to assist from his narrow means his venerable father, and to help in the education of his younger brothers, was, to Diego, like a faint and far-off dream. He had known many phases and vicissitudes of life in his short span of years, and had not been unhappy on the whole. But this sweet domestic life, the society of ladies at meals, the gentle restraint of their presence, was wholly new and delightful to him. The conversation was chiefly in the hands of DoÑa Christina, SeÑora Julia, Fray PiÑa, and the chaplain, with two or three other persons, officers of the great household maintained by the family of de Langara y Gama. Occasionally DoÑa Christina referred courteously to Diego or Don Felipe; but they were for the most part quiet listeners to the intelligent conversation of their elders, DoÑa Luisita too, being attentive to all that was said.

After supper Diego and Don Felipe had a delicious hour in the library, Diego reading with Don Felipe his newly found treasure, the poems of Petrarca. Don Felipe was glad to improve his Italian by this reading, but laughed at Diego for being so passionately fond of the sonnets.

Then came an hour most delightful of all to Diego, motherless and homeless as he had long been. Don Felipe and he were summoned to the room of DoÑa Christina. There, every night, it was DoÑa Christina’s practice to spend an hour with her children, and Diego was included with the utmost kindness in this little family circle. DoÑa Christina’s kind heart was touched at the thought of Diego’s lack of home life and home affection; Fray PiÑa had given her an excellent impression of the boy, and with the generosity of a warm heart DoÑa Christina wished to make Diego happy and good, as she desired to make her own children. She therefore treated him as a son, and Diego responded with the depth of gratitude and affection of a strong nature.

DoÑa Christina encouraged the lads to talk freely of their hopes and plans, DoÑa Luisita listening intently. Diego did not lose DoÑa Christina’s respect by his high anticipations, his firm confidence that his father was about to make the greatest discoveries the world has ever known.

“I have but one thing of which to be proud,” said Diego, frankly, to DoÑa Christina; “that is my father. I am not of great family like Don Felipe. I am the son of a poor man. I am not old enough to have done anything on my own account. But when I think of my father—his courage, his perseverance during nearly eighteen years, of his knowledge—for Fray PiÑa says my father is the ablest mathematician in Spain—of the way my father commands the respect of all, from the great Queen Isabella down to Brother Lawrence, the servant—my heart swells so with pride my breast can hardly hold it.”

“That is the right kind of pride,” quietly responded DoÑa Christina. “I know what the great Queen thinks of the Admiral, your honored father. I was proud to have a man of so much learning, courage, and virtue under my roof.”

Then began for Diego a time of new and unusual happiness, for it was more than mere pleasure. He was very sanguine, as the young must be, of the success of his father at court. King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had promised that as soon as the fearful struggle with the Moors was over they would redeem the promise they had made and provide the Admiral with the vessels and men he had asked for his voyage—a force so pitifully small for an enterprise so great that it staggered the imagination. And already it was known that the city of Granada was unable to hold out longer than the first of the year. Diego and Don Felipe gloried in the prospect of seeing the great military pageants that would mark the fall of the Moorish power in Spain; and Diego was enough of a Spaniard to feel a patriotic pride in the thought of driving the foreign invaders from the soil of Spain. So they had splendid dreams of what they would see at Santa FÉ, the city built in a day, as it were, across the narrow valley from Granada and commanding its main gates, and where the armies of Castile and Arragon were encamped. Meanwhile was a month of joy which was not seriously impaired by the fact that the two lads spent their mornings in hard study under the iron rule of Fray PiÑa. After twelve o’clock they were free to explore the mountains, to hunt, to follow the streams—all the healthy pleasures of an outdoor life. Their respect for Fray PiÑa was increased by the vast knowledge he had of plants and animals, of sports and of the history of the region. Sometimes they rode, sometimes they walked, always they enjoyed themselves. In the evening, when they returned, after they had made themselves presentable, they had the pleasant family supper in the great hall. Afterward they went to the library and read for a while, and then DoÑa Christina would have them in her private room, where, with DoÑa Luisita and SeÑora Julia, Fray PiÑa and the chaplain, they had a delightful hour of conversation and reading. Often DoÑa Christina would ask Fray PiÑa to read to them some interesting book. Fray PiÑa was well informed on astronomy, and on clear nights would give Diego and Don Felipe lessons in the science of the stars. DoÑa Luisita was also a pupil in these lessons. DoÑa Christina and the chaplain became so interested that they too would join the group, of whom DoÑa Luisita and SeÑora Julia were a part, on the highest point of the main tower of the castle. There, in the sharp autumn nights, they would assemble, warmly wrapped in heavy riding cloaks, and listen to the mellow voice of Fray PiÑa explaining the mysteries of the palpitating stars and the serene planets that made the dark-blue sky radiant. Often in after life and among different scenes the memory came back to Diego of those hours spent on the tower by night, when earth seemed far away and DoÑa Luisita’s eyes, so softly bright, shone like stars.

When, at last, late in November, the day of departure from the castle of Langara came and Diego and Don Felipe were to take the road to Granada, Diego was amazed to find that he was sorry to leave. DoÑa Christina was going with them to begin her tour of duty as lady-in-waiting to Queen Isabella. DoÑa Luisita was to remain at the castle for the present in care of SeÑora Julia and the chaplain. On the last of their pleasant evenings DoÑa Luisita was very sad; and when they took their last lesson in astronomy, and were all together for the last time, tears dropped from DoÑa Luisita’s dark eyes. All tried to comfort her, because it was not pleasant to be left behind.

“Never mind, DoÑa Luisita,” said Diego, “we will not forget you, Don Felipe and I, and, if DoÑa Christina will let us, we will put a little line at the foot of her letters—and I will try and make you some pictures of Granada, although I cannot draw and paint as well as Don Felipe."

Don Felipe, too, made many promises; and DoÑa Luisita submitted patiently, for DoÑa Christina, being a wise woman, was accustomed to exact prompt and uncomplaining obedience from both DoÑa Luisita and Don Felipe.

On the cold, dark morning they rode away DoÑa Luisita showed a brave spirit and kept back her tears with smiles. DoÑa Christina and two of her waiting women were to travel on the sure-footed mules, as ladies did in those times. Besides Fray PiÑa and Diego and Don Felipe, there went for protection, six men armed with harquebuses and mounted, and the chief steward and his assistant. These last rode ahead to secure accommodations for the party, as they would be four nights upon the road.

When the moment of farewell came in the gray of the early morning, Diego felt strangely sad. DoÑa Luisita was clasped first in her mother’s arms and then in Don Felipe’s. Diego made bold to kiss her hand.

As the party clattered across the drawbridge, which was hauled up after them, and watched the lowering of the flag on the keep, signifying that the head of the house was absent, Diego turned and gave a last look at the spot in which he had been so happy.

“You look as if you did not want to see the fall of Granada,” said Don Felipe. “After all, we shall have many more pleasant days together at Langara.”

“I hope so,” replied Diego, from the bottom of his heart.

Diego carried in the breast of his leathern jacket a treasure which had been given him by DoÑa Christina as a souvenir of his happy hours in the library of the castle. This was the little manuscript volume of Petrarca, which Diego had read for the first time with so much delight at Langara.

The party traveled on slowly but steadily. After a while the dark morning brightened and the sun shone gloriously.

It is a privilege of youth to rally quickly from sadness. So it was that after a while Diego’s heart was light again, and he began to enjoy already, in anticipation, a return some day to the castle. Don Felipe’s good spirits were contagious. The two youths were full of health, and of eager and ardent soul, each with a good horse under him, and traveling toward a scene of splendid adventures. Diego surprised himself by bursting into a song, with a refrain:

At every stage of their journey they were met with news of the impending triumph of the Spanish arms. The country was ablaze with patriotism. For nearly eight hundred years the Moors had occupied Spanish territory, had built great cities and fortresses, and had maintained a great court at Granada, in the magnificent palace of the Alhambra, grander than that of the Spanish sovereigns themselves. The Moors were aliens and of another race; they had a different civilization, Oriental in character and totally unlike the Christian civilization. Never, during all these eight hundred years, had there been peace in Spain; nor would there ever be peace until the foreign invaders were driven out. Gradually they had been hemmed in, their large cities taken, their fortresses forced to surrender, until now, under Boabdil, a weak and effeminate king, Granada alone remained to them. This had been invested on every side, no provisions had been carried to the city and garrison for many months, and it was only a question of a few weeks when it must surrender. The Spanish sovereigns did not intend to carry the city by assault, not wishing to injure the women and children or to endanger the city by fire, but to reduce it by steady and incessant attacks. That hour was near at hand.

The Castilian army had borne its share in the campaign and siege, and its Queen, Isabella of Castile, who had administered the civil government of Arragon as well as Castile while King Ferdinand was in the field, was to join him at Granada.

The party from the castle of Langara reached the neighborhood of Santa FÉ early in the morning of the day Queen Isabella was to arrive, and thus were to witness the meeting between the Queen of Castile and the King of Arragon; for, although they were husband and wife, they were independent sovereigns, and met first as such.

Early in the bright November morning, upon the last stage of their journey, the party from the castle was met by the Admiral coming from Santa FÉ to greet them. They met in the narrow pass of Pinos, about six miles from Santa FÉ. Already the highway was crowded with the advance-guard of Queen Isabella’s party, together with the great concourse which always flocks toward the scene of coming exciting events. The Admiral was accompanied by Don Tomaso de Gama and Alonzo de Quintanilla, an accountant to Queen Isabella, and who was the steady friend of the Admiral. As soon as they met DoÑa Christina they all dismounted and respectfully greeted her. Then the Admiral embraced Diego; and when greetings with all were exchanged they set forward briskly. DoÑa Christina wished to reach Santa FÉ and put on the splendid attire of a court lady, in which to greet her Queen. Don Tomaso, too, must return quickly, as well as Alonzo de Quintanilla. The Admiral decided to return with them, so that Diego and Don Felipe, with Fray PiÑa alone, standing on a rocky height directly overlooking the road, witnessed the splendid pageant of the meeting of the sovereigns. The multitude of persons was very great and of all sorts, from peasants to great nobles with their long trains of attendants. None suspected that the fair-haired and blue-eyed youth standing by the grave young ecclesiastic was the son of the man most talked of in Spain at that moment, for the whole country was awake and alive to the projects of the Admiral, who was derided by some, denounced by others, strongly supported by a few, and eagerly discussed by all. Nor was it known that the slim, handsome, black-eyed lad was one of the first grandees of Spain, inheritor of a great dukedom with all its wealth, honors, and responsibilities.

On every hand the sights and sounds were enchanting to Diego and Don Felipe. Before them rose the splendid walled city of Granada, the Moorish flag with its silver crescent floating from the highest point of the citadel. The gilded domes and minarets of the doomed city glittered in the noonday light. On one side the ground fell away abruptly into a long, narrow gorge, through which the little river Xeni flowed, bridged in many places. On the opposite heights the improvised city of Santa FÉ stretched away, grimly watchful of the Moorish stronghold. Beyond that still were the long lines of the encamped armies of Castile and Arragon. All the troops were under arms to greet the Queen. In a large open space between the armies was a splendid pavilion, of painted linen outside and luxuriously equipped inside, which King Ferdinand had caused to be prepared for his Queen. Over it hung the Gonfalon, the gorgeous banner of the two kingdoms, bearing on one side the Castilian coat-of-arms and on the other that of Arragon. From this camp first came a vast cavalcade of royal princes, nobles, knights, and soldiers, halberdiers and harquebusiers to meet the Queen and her party. Among them rode a number of ladies, of whom DoÑa Christina was one.

As the procession wound its way over the plain toward the narrow road that led from the plateau into the lower country, music rang out, flags and banners fluttered gaily, and the armored knights seemed clad in gold, as the sunlight gleamed upon their coats of chain mail. First came a band of musicians playing the national hymns, followed by the trumpeters with their silver trumpets. Then came the heralds in their gorgeously embroidered coats, followed by a group of the chief officers of state and the highest nobles in Spain, all superbly mounted. Next came the ecclesiastics, headed by the great Cardinal Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, afterward the firm friend of the Admiral. In an open space, surrounded by the princes of his house, rode King Ferdinand, a man of splendid appearance, a soldier as well as a statesman. He rode a magnificent charger and was all smiles, bowing to the applause of the thousands of spectators. After him rode Prince Juan, who, to Diego and Don Felipe, was so far the most interesting person who had yet appeared. He was about their own age, extremely handsome, with an expression the most winning, a true son of his mother, the great Queen Isabella. Diego thought it would not be hard to serve so gallant and so gentle a young man.

Behind them came a guard of honor, consisting of the foremost knights in Spain. Toward the end rode three young knights abreast who deeply interested Diego. The first was his friend, Don Tomaso de Gama, looking every inch a knight. On one side rode a dark young man, not handsome, but with a soldier’s eye. This was Gonzalez de Cordova, afterward the celebrated general who won deathless glory in Italy. On the other side rode the most beautiful knight Diego had ever seen. He looked the embodiment of beauty, such as the Greek sculptors gave to their young gods. It was Ponce de Leon, later on to discover Porto Rico and Florida in his search for the fabled Bimini—the fountain of perpetual youth. It was Don Felipe who gave Diego the names of these and many others in the gorgeous cavalcade.

When the procession reached the edge of the plateau it halted, the music was hushed, and a deep silence of expectancy followed. Presently, from the narrow gorge beneath, floated the sweet sound of the silver trumpets, which was the signal of the Queen’s approach. Instantly from the brazen throats of the King’s trumpets came a joyous response. Soon the head of the Queen’s procession came into view. It was as splendid, though not so large, as that of the King. The Queen, after the fashion of the time, was mounted on a mule, splendidly caparisoned. Queen Isabella wore a superb riding costume of black velvet with a hat and feathers, and across her breast and on her slender arms was a delicate gold chain armor, showing that this great and noble Queen, this tender wife and devoted mother, was also a warrior and a sovereign. On her right, similarly mounted, was the Princess Katharine, afterward the noble and unfortunate wife of the eighth Henry of England.

When Queen Isabella reached the plateau King Ferdinand spurred his charger forward, but stopped when about twenty yards off and dismounted, approaching his wife with deep respect. Although devotedly attached to each other, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella were yet independent sovereigns, and the great Queen was the last person in the world to abate any of the honors and dignity due to her country and herself as its Queen.

Prince Juan and every one else dismounted.

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.