“I have said! Guard the santon; mount him upon one of our chargers; he shall abide with us in our ambush.” While Almamen chafed in vain at his arrest, all in the Christian camp was yet still. At length, as the sun began to lift himself above the mountains, first a murmur, and then a din, betokened warlike preparations. Several parties of horse, under gallant and experienced leaders, formed themselves in different quarters, and departed in different ways, on expeditions of forage, or in the hope of skirmish with the straggling detachments of the enemy. Of these, the best equipped, was conducted by the Marquess de Villena, and his gallant brother Don Alonzo de Pacheco. In this troop, too, rode many of the best blood of Spain; for in that chivalric army, the officers vied with each other who should most eclipse the meaner soldiery in feats of personal valour; and the name of Villena drew around him the eager and ardent spirits that pined at the general inactivity of Ferdinand’s politic campaign. The sun, now high in heaven, glittered on the splendid arms and gorgeous pennons of Villena’s company, as, leaving the camp behind, it entered a rich and wooded district that skirts the mountain barrier of the Vega. The brilliancy of the day, the beauty of the scene, the hope and excitement of enterprise, animated the spirits of the whole party. In these expeditions strict discipline was often abandoned, from the certainty that it could be resumed at need. Conversation, gay and loud, interspersed at times with snatches of song, was heard amongst the soldiery; and in the nobler group that rode with Villena, there was even less of the proverbial gravity of Spaniards. “Now, marquess,” said Don Estevon de Suzon, “what wager shall be between us as to which lance this day robs Moorish beauty of the greatest number of its worshippers?” “My falchion against your jennet,” said Don Alonzo de Pacheco, taking up the challenge. “Agreed. But, talking of beauty, were you in the queen’s pavilion last night, noble marquess? it was enriched by a new maiden, whose strange and sudden apparition none can account for. Her eyes would have eclipsed the fatal glance of Cava; and had I been Rodrigo, I might have lost a crown for her smile.” “Ay,” said Villena, “I heard of her beauty; some hostage from one of the traitor Moors, with whom the king (the saints bless him!) bargains for the city. They tell me the prince incurred the queen’s grave rebuke for his attentions to the maiden.” “And this morning I saw that fearful Father Tomas steal into the prince’s tent. I wish Don Juan well through the lecture. The monk’s advice is like the algarroba;--[The algarroba is a sort of leguminous plant common in Spain]--when it is laid up to dry it may be reasonably wholesome, but it is harsh and bitter enough when taken fresh.” At this moment one of the subaltern officers rode up to the marquess, and whispered in his ear.