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Let us now penetrate the royal palace of Toledo, at present in the occupation of
the usurper Roderick, and that incomparable woman, Egilona, his wife; a woman
superior to her time, in sense and in virtue—but one whose charms, though great
enough to win her the homage of a Moorish not less than a Gothic monarch, were
yet not equal to the task of securing the affections of one so capricious and reckless
as king Roderick.

The palace of Roderick—king of the Romans, as the late Gothic sovereigns were
pleased to style themselves—had become the dwelling-place of Roman ostentation
and Asiatic luxury. The throne blazed with gold and jewels of immense value;
the commonest utensils of the household were formed of the most costly materials;
the robes, dresses, and equipment were of a texture which the early Goths would
have laughed to scorn for their silken effeminacy; and all objects of contemplation
and enjoyment, announced that rapid progress from the extreme of savage privation
and necessity to the refinements—so called—of civilization, to which the Goths may
ascribe the downfall of their mighty empire. The luxuries which enervated them,
at the same time invited the invader; and both the Moors who succeeded, and the
Goths whom they overthrew, learned in due season to deplore the wooing and too
well beloved possessions, which, however willing they might have been to die for,
they had not the strength or courage to defend.

King Roderick sat upon his blazing throne, having on his head the horned crown
of Gothic royalty, and covered with robes richly embroidered from the neck to the
heels, the folds of which swept the floor in a long train behind him. He was a
monarch of a noble and imposing presence, with a face full of authority, an eye
haughty and commanding, and a lip that curled with an imperious and stern expression.
Egilona, his queen, sat below him, upon an inferior seat, and her eyes
were turned up and watchful of his features with a fond but earnest look, which at
moments grew even into sadness. Her features were very beautiful, and not less
amiable than beautiful. In the midst of a court where all was vicious, and where
sensual indulgence had a full guaranty in the universal practices of all, not the
slightest suspicion had ever assailed her purity; and though Roderick had ceased to
love her with that regard which so much beauty might well have awakened in any
but a blunted sense, he at least never ceased to respect her in consideration of her
many virtues and her gentle bearing.

On either hand of the king stood an espatorio, or sword-bearer, of whom there
were four, one of whom always kept guard in the ante-chamber of the Gothic monarch.
The espatorios on the present occasion were Edeco and Favila—the former,
a favorite of the monarch who contributed greatly to his debasing passions by ministering,
as his creature, to those sensual indulgences to which, in his hour of prosperity,
Roderick had unhappily given himself up. Edeco was a servile minister, a
fop, a thing of feather and pretence, who spoke after a manner of his own, and
whose ambition was to emulate the effeminacies not less than the extravagances of
the other sex. Favila was a simple noble, having the royal blood of the old stock
in his veins, but without much character of any sort, and one who would readily fall
in with the prevailing influences of the time, good or bad. There were many
ladies and nobles in attendance, all richly attired; for Roderick was a monarch to
whom the glitter of jewels and the glow of silks and costly embroidery were grateful
beyond all reasonable measure. But the archbishop Oppas was absent from the
assembly, and it was for his presence that the king most earnestly looked.

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But though late in attendance upon the court, Oppas had been already long since
busy with his ministry; and ere the king had made his appearance that morning before
his attendants, the wily conspirator had taken care, though keeping himself free
from any apparent connection with the proceeding, to prepare the mind of Roderick
against the anticipated application of Romano. It was to obtain further knowledge
on this subject that the king looked round upon his courtiers, and at length ordered
that the archbishop should be summoned. Before the command had well escaped
his lips, the door opened and the desired personage made his appearance. The king
addressed him instantly:

“My lord bishop, you are waited for. What men are those without?”

Romano and his associates had followed the archbishop, and now awaited in the
ante-chamber for the summons to the royal presence.

“They are the men, oh king!” replied the archbishop, “who keep the House
of Hercules.”

“The House of Hercules—what house is this?” demanded the king, who affected
ignorance of the whole matter.

“It is a mystery, oh king!” continued Oppas, “no doubt of highest though of
secret value. It is called the `Mystery of Hercules,' though it hath many other
names.”

“Make us wise in them, my lord bishop,” said the king.

“I have little knowledge in this matter, oh king!” replied Oppas, “and not much,
if any, beyond that of the noble gentlemen I behold around me; which is a knowledge,
I believe, commonly possessed by all the people of this country who come of
the native Iberian stock”—

“The native Iberian stock!” exclaimed the king, scornfully. “What idle mock
is this, my lord bishop? What secret should the native Iberians keep from their
sovereign, I pray? What are they that they should thus presume in secrets, in mysteries,
and houses of Hercules? Of a truth, this is a matter for grave heed and close
inquiry, and we'll have more of it, my lord bishop. Give forth thy other names for
this mystery; we will hearken patiently, even though we hearken without gain of
wisdom.”

“These are old names, oh king! by which the charge of the keepers of the House
of Hercules hath ever been known; and each of them hath a signification which ancient
times hath affixed to it. One is the `Perfect Guard,' by which it would seem
that he who hath established the mystery would have shown that the secret should
be made inviolable”—

“Ha! it were no wisdom of Hercules to think to bind the Goth! But go on, my
lord bishop.”

“`Pleasure and Pain,”' continued Oppas, “is another of the names set to this
mystery, having its meaning also; for it is said”—

“We will read this signification ourself, my lord bishop. The `Pleasure' is for
the king of the Romans; the `Pain'—thou shalt have it thyself, lord Oppas, to
share between thy native Iberians and the keepers of the mystery. What think
you, is the division not an equal one, my lords?”

And the wild, scornful laugh of the sovereign was but the signal for a kindred
echo from all around him—all save the queen and her ladies, the archbishop himself,
and one of the lords in attendance whose name was Bovis, and who was one
of the best counsellors, though perhaps one of the least attended to, of the king
whom he served.

“Another name, oh king!” said the archbishop, with a gravity of countenance
which the mirth of the sovereign and of the court had not shaken, “another name

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is given to this mystery, having a higher meaning, which should not move your
scorn, my lords—`God's Honor,' and the `Secret yet to Come,' are no irreverent
titles to our regard, oh king! These are the names of the House of Hercules, and
of the mystery thereof. By all these names, from the time when Hercules slew
Geryon and built this house, hath it been known even until now.”

The archbishop crossed himself devoutly, as he concluded; but the king burst into
a loud laugh, and as he was about to speak, seemingly with scorn of what he had
heard, Egilona, the queen, turned to him, and her hand was laid gently upon his
arm, and her eye looked up in supplication to his face, while she spoke in a gentle
and sweet voice—

“`God's Honor,' oh Roderick! remember it is `God's Honor;' and there can be
no king's honor unless there be `God's Honor.' Speak not in wrath, speak not in
scornfulness of what thou hearest, oh Roderick! for it is holy. Let that name—
God's Honor'—be a spell to keep that secret which may seem to us but a childish
folly.”

“Go to, Egilona!” said the king, gently but quickly; “these are not things of
thy discernment. Have done; we will hear others speak.”

“Then hear me, Roderick!” cried the lord Bovis, advancing. “Hear me! I
would counsel thee to leave this House of Hercules and its mystery, as a thing not
calling for thy heed. It is enough that the native loves it, and deems it sacred—let
it not be seen that thou scornest the thing of his affection, for then”—

“Enough, enough, good Bovis,” exclaimed the king, impatiently; “thou hast the
trick of the aged Santon, and makest thunder when thou pleasest.”

“Alas, Roderick, would that I could make thee to heed the real thunder when
thou but hearest it!” responded Bovis, turning away his face from the monarch in
mortification, as he saw that his exhortations must be fruitless, and that Roderick
was predetermined in his purpose.

“Doubtless this mystery hath gold and silver in it,” said Edeco, in a mincing
tone, seeing the humor of the king, “it may be robes of a curious fashion are there
wrought. I would have a sash from its walls, my lord bishop, could it yield me one
of a most cunning and light texture. These silks, by the burning lance! are unendurably
heavy upon the shoulders.”

The affected speech of the effeminate favorite was as great a provocation of mirth
as any of the good things of the monarch, for which mirth was necessarily expected,
and the courtiers generally laughed, and the king spoke with a kindred humor to the
favorite; but Egilona looked upon him sternly, and the face of Oppas was turned
upon the ground. The latter saw, and was satisfied to see, that matters were going
on according to his desire, though he affected to look with gravity and sorrow upon
the open scorn which the king expressed for the sacred things of which he had
spoken.

“`God's Honor,' my lord bishop,” said the king, “is truly a title to our devout
regard; yet we know not but that `God's Honor,' in the House of the pagan Hercules,
is made a cover for man's sin. We will hear more of this matter from thee,
ere we summon these men to our presence. Where is this house, I pray thee?”

“Here, in Toledo, oh king!” replied the archbishop. “Hard by the ruins of
Erviga, the enchanted tower takes a large and holy space from the press of the city.
It seems but a common rock, heaved suddenly up from the bosom of the broad valley;
and yet, even as a tower, it is built up with a crafty skill and a most consummate
art. So fame gives it out; of my own knowledge I can say nothing. It hath
doors and windows within, all well secured, yet there is without but one single gate
of solid brass, most cunning of design, having upon it a thousand clasps at the least;

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whereto each monarch of Spain, before thyself, oh Roderick! hath set anew a lock,
having due observance to the commands of Hercules securely to preserve his mystery
which he hath therein concealed. To pray thee to do in like manner with the
kings aforepast, do the men stand without. It is for this purpose only that they
come.”

“For this they come in vain!” was the sudden and resolute reply of Roderick.
“I were no king in Spain, if stale conceit like this should bind me down submissive
to an idle mock, that to my mind, lord bishop, would seem greatly to trench upon
ground that is holy. This Hercules—this pagan Hercules—what is he better than
the accursed Mohammed to us? He should, of a surety, lose dominion where the
cross of Christ is held high in honor by truest worshippers. But, let the men
appear.”