Hearing that he, Du Guesclin, commands a detachment of the troops below, Rodrigues sends him a message, requesting a private meeting, which Du Guesclin willingly grants, along with a safe conduct. Within his tent they meet and exchange mutual compliments. Mem Rodrigues does not affect to deny the straits in which his master lies, or Du Guesclin his determination to take him. Then Mem Rodrigues, in a casual way, observes to the great leader, who sits in deep thought, leaning his forehead on his hand at a table with weapons ranged at his touch: “That whatever reward Don Enrique may have offered him in treasure, titles, or lands, the dukedom of Soria for instance (an entire province lying under Navarre, almost a kingdom in itself), my master, Don Pedro, will make good and more, if you will let him go.” Encouraged by the silence of Du Guesclin, who has never moved, Mem Rodrigues continues: “Surely, it will redound more to your honour, Señor Condestable, to release so great a king, rather than to set up a pretender.” As if touched by a scorpion, the burly Breton starts, his rugged features darken, and a dangerous glitter lights up his deep-set eyes. “By my troth, Sir Knight,” he answers, clenching his fist and letting it fall heavily on the table, causing the arquebuse and daggers on it to rattle ominously, “do you take me, Bertrand Du Guesclin, for a knave or for a fool, to act such a traitor’s part? Speak to me no more on such a subject, if you desire to continue my friend.” So Mem Rodrigues says no more, and returns to the castle discomfited. Of all this Don Enrique is informed. “I thank you, gallant Du Guesclin,” is his answer, “for this and all other marks of your regard. Methinks, all the same, I am better able to reward your service than Pedro, without a rood of land, now for the second time driven forth by his people. Further pleasure me now, I pray you, in this matter, by informing your friend Mem Rodrigues, that you will do all you can to forward his desire if he will prevail on the king to come to your tent to arrange means of escape.” Now the drift of this speech was plain to the Breton leader, neither wanting in cunning nor foresight. He had sent back Mem Rodrigues with an angry denial, now he is bidden to call him again, and eat his own words in a treacherous message. Can he doubt the purpose of Don Enrique? A look passes between them. Death is in their eyes. Nothing more is said. The treason is obvious; Du Guesclin asks time for reflection. Reflect he did, and decided, and by that act fouled his glorious blazon with a blot never to be effaced! * * * * * Abandoned by all, without winter provisions or friends, those still with him unable to help him, the unfortunate Don Pedro, upon the strength of a safe conduct, sworn to by Du Guesclin, determines to capitulate.