As to the King of Navarre, who not only had lost a highly valuable marriageable daughter, but the half of the kingdom of Castile, he at once assembled a strong army, under the pretence that the Conde had feloniously carried off the Infanta--a curious accusation, considering that he himself had consented to their nuptials. “Let us wait till he comes to a better mind,” urged Doña Ava, from her palace at Burgos, looking out over those rich plains which are the glory of Central Spain; “after all, I _am_ his daughter, he cannot harm _me_.” But this Christian point of view was not shared by the King of Navarre, who from his mountains executed such raids on Castile that Gonzales had no choice but to face him. Near Ogroño was the battle, not far from Burgos, by the river Ebro, and hardly was it fought, and victory only gained by a clever feint, headed by the Conde in person. Don Garcia’s camp was seized and he himself taken prisoner. Now face to face they stood within a tent, the father-in-law and son. The casque of the king battered, his armour bleared, his chief knights in a like plight, prisoners beside him--the Conde in front brandishing a blood-stained sword, with such a sense of wrong gnawing at his heart as for a time leaves him speechless. Then the words of reproach came rushing to his lips. “False king, did I not come in peace to Narbonne, and you gave me the royal kiss of welcome? Did I not eat at your board? Sleep the sleep of peace under your roof? Ride with you? Jest with you? Live as man to man of the kinship we are to each other? Did you not” (and here his upraised voice breaks into a softer tone as he names her) “give me your daughter, the Infanta, as my wife, and, while her hand was clasped in mine, her kiss upon my cheek, did you not bind me, vile king, in chains, and hurl me into a dungeon, where but for her help, the angel of my life, I should have died unheeded?” To all this Don Garcia, with eyes cast on the ground, answered not a word, his armed figure defined against the pattern of rich brocade which lined the tent under the light of torches. “Now to Burgos with you, King of Navarre, and as you did by me, so be it done to you! That is bare justice!” “Ah! good my lord,” came the soft voice of Doña Ava into his ear, as she went out to meet him with her ladies to the gate of Santa Maria, beside the river which flows by the walls of Burgos “remember, Don Garcia is my father.” “Now prythee hold your peace, fair wife,” was his reply, “much as I love you he shall this time meet his due. Nor shall he return to Navarre until he pays me a full ransom.” But like the gentle dropping of water (and drops, we know, wear even stones, much more the soft substance of which hearts are made) came the entreaties of the Infanta. After all they were married, and Don Garcia had suffered a grievous defeat, which had weakened him for mischief for many a day!