Although the King smiled a little wryly as he said this, he still preserved the serious dignity of his mien. Before I could make Sir Richard Pendragon’s excuses for not being present, as I felt sure, notwithstanding his quiddity, the English giant, having the blood of kings under his doublet, would have wished me to do, there came through the soft and sweet morning airs a mighty commotion. There was shouting, the blowing of horns and trumpets, and then came the loud bark of a culverin. “It would appear, your majesty,” said the Count of Nullepart with his inimitable smiling air, which proceeding from one who wore the garb of a peasant seemed considerably to surprise the King, “that your worthy and loyal followers have just discovered that the royal tent has a hole in it.” “It would appear so, my friend,” said the King imperturbably; “and they are a little late in their discovery. Yet I am not sure that I must blame them. It is my custom to allow myself a long eight hours for repose.” It was a source of regret to us that we had no food to offer our illustrious captive. However, we set the royal personality in as much ease as we could devise, and for this consideration he was not ungrateful. All through the long hours of the forenoon we had to keep a lively vigilance. The whole Castilian army was astir for miles about, searching for him who lay in durance in a bag in a grove of alders. From our concealment we could observe small parties of the King’s soldiers walking hither and thither about the meadows. Sometimes they would approach quite near to us; and presently a body of them came down with ropes to drag the bed of the stream. It was then, with the most civil apologies in the world, that we were fain to take up the cloth and the cord, and humbly to request the King to permit us to do our offices. Yet at the same time we assured him with every token of high respect that it would be our chief care to place as little hurt upon him as would consist with our unhappy duty. However, as we made to put this further indignity upon the King, his calm fortitude seemed almost to give way. Turning his proud eyes upon us, he said in a voice that touched me to the soul, “My friends, if you will plunge a dagger into my heart, your names will be mentioned in heaven.” The Count of Nullepart and I conferred together. “Upon my soul,” said the Count of Nullepart, “I think the royal flesh should be a little respected.” “I am of that opinion also,” said I; and then my Asturian prudence jogged my elbow. “All the same, worshipful, we are laid in a sore predicament. A live king is worth more than a dead one; and if we leave his mouth unlocked, why, a single word might be our undoing.” “As you say, my dear Don Miguel,” said the Count of Nullepart, “a single word may undo us; but, by my faith, if one so humble as myself may speak upon a high subject, I believe this to be a true prince, and I, for one, do not fear to accept a parole of a true prince.”