Amid the bustle of attendants rushing to and fro with ponderous dishes, and skins of wine to replenish the flagons, and the joyous talk of the numerous guests echoing down the hall in which the deep sonorous voice of the archbishop is prominent by bursts of loud laughter and noisy jests as deep draughts of the finest vintages of Val de Peñas and Xeres mount into the brain, the feast proceeds, each guest pledging his neighbour, the Conde de Peralta drinking to Don Pedro de Mendoza, in his turn bowing to the Conde de Lerma, who, rising in his chair and bowing low, carries his full goblet towards the Marqués de Villena, who with lofty courtesy acknowledges the toast, and forthwith fills his golden cup to drink wassail to the archbishop. “I will warrant your Grace of not dying of old age with this vintage,” cries Don Pedro de Mendoza, addressing the archbishop as he has risen in his place to return the compliment, eying the generous liquor with the loving eyes of a connoisseur. “It is enough to carry a man far into a hundred years.” All at once the conversation is arrested by the soft notes of a Moorish zither; just the sweep of the cords and a tap or two on the sounding board, _galopando_, then the plaintive _cana_ or cry rises, preluding the _cancionero_ of the Cid--ever the popular hero of Burgos--sung with such exquisite sweetness that the entire company is hushed. Si es Español Don Rodrigue Español fue el fuente andalla. “What new constellation has your greatness procured us?” asks Don Silvela Velasco, turning to the Marqués de Villena--a known lover of music. “Who is he? Not the young king himself, with all his talent, can excel him.” “He sings well,” is the answer of the marquess, listening attentively until the final _cadenza_, and giving his opinion with the decision of a master. “But I know nothing of him. Minstrels were commanded to be present, and he is come. His voice and the music please me. I am accounted, as you know, my lords, a judge in these matters. You are aware that if the king has any merit, he owes it entirely to my training.” Again the sweet voice sounds, this time with more power in its tones. “Who is he? Can no one tell us?” asked the archbishop, breaking off in a discussion of the value of certain jewels which he had purchased from a Jew. “A wandering _estudiante_ who is travelling through the north,” answered the chamberlain, advancing with doffed cap and bended knee; for the Regents exacted the same respect in addressing them as the kings of Castile; “recommended to me by a friend as skilled in his art.” “That cannot be doubted,” said the archbishop. “Bring him round, that we may judge of his appearance.”