So at the end of a year the prison was unbarred and a great festival held in the old palace of Burgos, of which no trace remains; a throne glittering with cloth of gold was raised in the midst of carpets and screens and awnings of brocaded silk, a luxury borrowed from the Moors--from whom, much as they fought them, all refined tastes were acquired; and afterwards, at the board in royal robes, Don Garcia is seated side by side with Castile (Doña Ava, crowned with a royal diadem, between), as they quaff the generous wine of Valdepeñas in healths of eternal amity and alliance. * * * * * Again the Cortes were assembled in haste, in the northern city of Leon, to determine conclusions against the Moors. The Caliph Almanzor, coming from Cordoba, had penetrated north as far as Santiago de Compostela, in Galicia, sacked the shrine, the very Mecca of Spain, where countless miracles were wrought by his bones; and, insult of insults, pulled down the bells and hung them (oh, horrors!) in the Mesquita of Cordoba, where they still remain! So that Fernan gladly hastened to obey Don Sancho’s summons, along with the kings of Aragon and Navarre. Years had passed, a son had been born to him, and many acts of courtesy exchanged, as between royal kinsfolk. To recall the past was by no means in harmony [Illustration: THE PUERTA DI SANTA MARIA, BURGOS.] with his forgiving temper. “Perhaps he will pay the debt he owes me,” was his thought, “for my horse Sila and the hawk he bought of me so long ago; the sum must by this time be a big one.” It was night when the council ended, and the royal company assembled in the hall, having exchanged their heavier garments for fanciful doublets and mantles of tissues woven in Eastern looms, set off with fur and gems--graceful _toques_ to correspond, replacing helmet and head-piece, a feather lying low on the shoulder, or peaked caps encircled with garlands of jewels, the badge of his house embroidered on each knight’s breast. As each guest took his place with that solemn demeanour common to Spaniards, a flourish of trumpets sounded, a side door opened, and Doña Teresa appeared, upright to stiffness, wearing her crown upon her head, her son Don Sancho advancing with respectful courtesy to place her on his right hand. All eyes were fixed on Don Fernan Gonzales, the youngest of the princes. Happiness and loyalty looked out of his comely face, grace was in every movement, as he exchanged compliments with his royal kinsmen--Aragon, a broad-shouldered man, frank and true in nature; Navarre, dark and preponderant, his eyes bent significantly on his son-in-law; and his nephew of Leon, Don Sancho the Fat, grown so obese he moved in his royal robes with difficulty.