A little after daybreak we three peasants with our water-cart left these friendly quarters; and at least one of us was unable to foresee the amazing things that were to befall ere he would again stretch his limbs in repose. Throughout the day we moved freely within the lines of the Castilian host, mixing with the soldiers upon familiar terms, offering them water in exchange for the nimble cuarto, and bantering them with rude jokes. Then, as the sky grew dark again, we found ourselves within sight of the pavilion that had been set up for the use of the King’s majesty. It was a handsome and imposing tent, formed of a striped cloth of blue and red, interwoven with the arms of Castile and flying its three lions. An enclosure was formed around it with cords stretched upon poles; and before the entrance were three sentinels with drawn swords. For some time we stood observing the royal arrangements. A throng of captains and courtiers was continually passing in and out of the King’s tent. Then we drew off with our water-cart into a thicket that was near, fed the honest mules, and proceeded to eat some cheese made out of goats’ milk with which we had provided ourselves. About an hour after sundown the moon rose; and this was a circumstance that gave satisfaction to our leader. “John Castilian,” said he, “there is an old score that is due to thee by the hand of English Dickon that will not go much longer unrequited.” Saying this the English giant produced a stout piece of cord from the recesses of his jerkin, to which he added a short piece of iron, a cloth, and a huge bag woven of hemp, which had been tied to the tail of the water-cart. And swearing an oath in round London English, he waved these articles in the face of the good lady the moon. It was near to midnight when we led the water-cart out of the thicket. We drove it to within a quarter of a league of that narrow path that winds sheerly upwards to the heights of Montesina, and thereby to the base of the walls of the duke’s castle. Hitching the mules to a tree in a retired spot, we retraced our steps cautiously by the light of the moon, until the outlines of the royal pavilion again took shape before us. Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night, for the King of Castile was no reveller. Doubtless his Majesty was already abed and lapped in slumber. At the door of his tent we were able to discern the drawn swords of the sentinels glancing to the moonlight as they mounted guard.