In a few days Roderick had regained his usual elasticity; and, as in all similar
cases, the matter which had caused so much surprise and fear soon ceased to be remembered,
or was only remembered to be laughed at. But a deep and restless feeling
had been awakened among the priests and among the people. The total

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

disregard which Roderick had shown for the accustomed privileges of the one, and the
venerated superstitions of the other, sunk deep into their minds, and with the feeling
of general insecurity which his recklessness had produced, necessarily came the desire
to be free from his power. It may be supposed that neither the intrigues of the
archbishop Oppas nor the simple zeal of Romano were spared in promoting this desire.
The effects of their industry may be seen anon.

Roderick, in the meantime, having recovered from his alarm, as the tempest appeared
to have passed unharmingly over his head, relapsed into his wonted indulgence
of lust and license. Unhappily for himself and for his kingdom, the pure
charms and gentle virtues of his incomparable queen, Egilona, failed to restrain him
from the most unbecoming vices. Edeco, his creature, and the pander to his unholy
passions, seldom left him, and his influence over the mind of Roderick, acquired
through the love of pleasure which was the predominant trait with the monarch,
was unapproachable by better and wiser counsellors. With Edeco to minister, and
his own lustful imagination to conceive, the king resumed his career of indulgence,
to which the adventure of the holy house had offered some little check, if not rebuke;
and the court became once again, as it was before, the theatre of wild excess
and abandoned debauchery. But the usurper was destined to receive another warning,
if not a confirmation of the old. It is in the written history of kings, that they
seldom go utterly unadvised of their errors; and the narrow economy which in ordinary
life preserves the ploughman from destruction, would avail with not less adequate
certainty to the protection of the king. It is not less true, however, that high
station is apt to blind one to humble dangers. The monarch is too apt to disdain,
as unworthy of contemplation, the pedestal upon which he stands.

There was one true courtier, who clung firmly to the Goth, and with little but his
self-approval for his guerdon, scorned to counsel in any other than the language of
honesty. This was Bovis. Even as Roderick was about to speed to some pleasures,
or rather excesses, to which he had engaged himself for the day, this nobleman
arrested his progress. His manner was solemn but urgent, and the king seeing
it, and fearing counsel which might interfere with and rebuke his proposed indulgencies,
would have hurried away from his counsellor; but Bovis was too honest, too
faithful, to suffer him to escape.

“Nay, good Bovis, nay; not now—another time,” said the king.

“There is but one time, oh king! for our duties,” replied the plain-speaking and
stubborn counsellor.

“Again!” said the king, while a stern frown gathered on his brow at the pertinacity
of Bovis.

“Again, and yet again, oh Roderick! when I strive against the king in the king's
behalf.”

“Thou art too pressing, Bovis.”

“Not a whit, oh king! if thou wilt hear me. Be not angry with thy servant, I
pray you, my master; my zeal is in your service, not in mine own. Not to serve
you thus would be to wrong thy service, and do myself wrong.”

“I do not reprove you, Bovis, that you neglect me. You shall not, with such a
show of self-reproach, fasten yourself upon me.” And Roderick waved his hand as
if to dismiss the unwelcome counsellor; but the faithful follower was firm.

“The tidings come, oh king!”—

“'T is well! Another time! Seest thou not, good Bovis, that our mood would
be free from toil to-day. We will hear you at some fitter hour, when you may discourse
your will to us, and we will meditate upon it, and plot and plan, if it will
please you, then—but not now. I'm bound for pleasure now.”

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“But few words have I to say, oh king! and they are needful Wilt thou not
hear me?” said Bovis.

“Can I else than hear thee?” replied the impatient monarch, turning full and
fiercely upon the speaker. “Can I else than hear thee, when with thy fullest, freeest
assail of voice, thou perchest on mine ears, and with a note of discord, like the
jay's, though with far less variety of plumage to the sight, still and anon thou rendest
me with thy clamor? Free me of that!”

Firmly but respectfully the counsellor replied:

“It is my love of thee, oh king! and of thy kingdom's good, that prompts my
free duty into active zeal. I would have thee hear me, even though thou chidst me
in return.”

“'T is ever thus,” said Roderick, “it is still the good of my kingdom, or my own
good, and my good subject's zeal. This is the plea for each unhouseled owl, grown
sagacious, and noteful of the tempest. Would I be thoughtful, they assail my
thought, and thrust their own upon me. Would I pray, they come between me and
the holy man, zealous to teach me of their priest's avail, beyond the reach of any
prayer of mine. They make confession for me—decree my penance; would they
could give me absolution!”—

“Not thus, oh king!”—

Bovis would have interrupted the current of his master's fretful declamation; but
Roderick continued, without giving heed to the interruption.

“Still the same, whether in fight or festival, they chase away all my personal
sense or thoughts, solely to requite me with the recompense of theirs. Nor even
when I love are they less heedful to compel me into a passion according to their discretion.
They are still nigh, and when I crave one woman, bring me ten, all the
while chiding me with most saintly discourse of the wrong, and the folly, and the
deadly sin, and preaching with seasoned words of fear, and fast, and fleshly abstinence.
I'm not myself—I cannot be myself, nor rule myself, nor have thought, or
wish, or will, for myself, in the presence of such zealous guardians of my own and
my kingdom's weal as thou, Bovis.”

“Thou art pleased to jibe, Roderick. I have not been the thing thou speak'st
me,” was the calm and dignified reply of the statesman, to the irritable rhapsody of
the king.

“What wouldst thou, then? Speak out at once, and leave me. I thirst for unrestraint.”

Roderick seated himself as he yielded this permission, and Bovis—who was a man
of stern sense and direct purpose—at once replied, addressing himself to the business
on which he came:

“From Cordova we learn, oh king! that Melchior, the famous outlaw, otherwise
known as Melchior of the Desert—he who delivered up Auria to the Moor, and for
whom the late king Witiza offered such heavy reward—has returned from Barbary,
and is somewhere hidden in Spain, and it is thought even in the city of Cordova itself.
Couriers have come from Edacer, who advises us that a Jew whom he hath in
pay is now close upon the trail of the hoary rebel, and he hopes ere long to dispatch
his head to you.”

“For which he would have a goodly recompense. Is it not so, Bovis? The
weight of the traitor's head in treasure was Witiza's offer for the precious possession.
Would he had left the treasure that should pay for it! 'T will task us to provide it,
and the brethren of the rebel must be assessed. There is no mode else. Is this all,
Bovis?”

“No, Roderick; I have other matters of great regard for thy ears.”

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

“I could have sworn it! But go on; dispatch them quick,” said the impatient
monarch

Bovis, without being moved by the sarcastic manner and words of Roderick, proceeded
thus:

“Another comes, who reports that Pelayo, the late king's younger son, toils busily
in rebellion; that his followers already begin to grow in the Asturian Passes, and that
it is the thought of Edacer that he hath also dared to move within the circuit of Cordova,
where his Jewish spy reports him to be found.”

“Tell me of a boy! Why, Bovis, thou hast grown womanish and feeble. What
are these boys of Witiza? Both young and sinewless, unbred in arms, having no
wealth, no followers. Let them send out a force and bring their heads, and talk no
more of them.”

“'T is easy said, oh king!”—

“And easy done, my lord Bovis, if that my people be not worthless and my nobles
unfaithful. But no more of this, thou art answered. Hast thou further speech
with me?”

“I have, oh king! The Moor is on our shores!”

“Ha!” cried Roderick, starting quickly from the seat, in which he rather reclined
than sat, his whole countenance filled with sudden astonishment and alarm.

“What is't thou say'st, Bovis? Didst thou say the Moor—the Moor?”

“The Moor, oh king!”

“Then there is truth in it. The accursed house! Thou saidst the Moor, lord
Bovis?”

“I said the Moor was on the shores of Spain.”

“And why didst thou not speak this to me at first? Why tell me of Jew traitors
and Gothic traitors, when thou hadst to tell me of my enemy—Roderick's enemy—
the enemy of the Goth—the accursed Moslem? Go, bid them arm! Let the big
trumpets sound. Array the force of the kingdom. These infidels must be met, and
with all my power. Go, Bovis, let them arm. I will myself lead them to battle. I
fear not—I will not fear!”

“There is no need, oh king! You speak but rashly. The Moor is few in number;
and a small force, led by a trusty captain, will avail. You must not leave
Toledo.”

“Wherefore?” demanded Roderick.

“There are enemies to Roderick in Toledo, more fearful than any that he hath in
Africa.”

“Ha!—who?—what?” demanded the king.

“Another time, oh king! we'll speak of this. It is enough now that we attend to
the business of which I tell thee. It does not need that thou shouldst lead the force
that is to protect thy borders. Send a good captain”—

“Let Edeco go!”

“A fool!—a fop!” exclaimed Bovis, indignantly. “No, Roderick, keep him here
as thy pander to pleasure, since thou must have such a needful officer. But send a
man, and a tried captain upon this duty. Sent thy missives to the count Julian; is
he not the governor of Ceuta? Let him go to his command. There is not a better
captain in thy kingdom.”

“Thou say'st well, Bovis; thou pleasest me. Let him go. Send dispatches to
him with first speed, and let our commands be urgent upon him to drive back the
infidels.”

“It shall be done, Roderick,” said Bovis, preparing to go; but it was now the disposition
of the king to detain him.

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

“And thou think'st that the force of count Julian will avail, Bovis? The number
of the Moor is small. Art thou sure that it is small, Bovis?”

“Quite sure, oh king! And the force of count Julian is a veteran force, to which
the Moor can offer no equal.”

“Let him speed straight, Bovis. Take thou all the direction of this proceeding,
and command thou, in my name and behalf, whatever is needful to be done. Ha!
Edeco!”

The fop entered at the moment, and the man of business, who heartily despised so
shallow a creature, departed from the presence.

The parasite and puppy, who was the fair representative of a species not yet extinct,
approached the king with the look and manner of one who was satisfied that
he had in his possession the means of giving pleasure. The monarch saw this in
an instant, and prepared himself accordingly to receive it. In that moment the intelligence
of Bovis, and the apprehensions which it had inspired in his mind, were forgotten;
and, bidding the fopling advance, he demanded his tidings.

“Eh, my master; has that camel-faced counsellor, who has a name so befitting—
has he gone, and will he not disturb us?” was the reply of the mincing courtier

“He is, Edeco. What wouldst thou say?”

“I very much dislike his proportions, oh king!—and his speech is sometimes unsavory
to me.”

“Fight him then, Edeco,” replied the king, with a laugh of mingled scorn and
good nature.

“Why, so I would, Roderick, but that my nose objects. To slay him, I must be
near him; and after such contact I fear me that all the waters of the Tagus would
fail to purify my garments.”

“Thou dost right, Edeco, at whatever reason, not to seek Bovis in fight. He
would swallow thee at a bound.”

“Then, oh king! would he swallow a greater delicacy than he has ever eaten before,
and one far too choice for his coarse appetite to esteem. Should he be so unfortunate,
he should then die of his own self-infliction, for greatly I fear me his taste
would be spoiled for all other food. But I have that for thy royal taste, my master,
which is more becoming for our speech. Behold this paper, Roderick; read—read
for thyself. It were too great a feast for me to partake of twice in the same hour
It is the music to thy dainty supper, which thou hearest. How it sounds! Tink-a,
tink-a, tink-a, tink-a, tee! Would that I had grace of musical speech! Dost thou
read the character, oh king? It is fairly written, with a fine reed, else would I not
have looked upon it, for a bad character offends a nice sight; and then what a pleasure
thou hadst lost, Roderick; what a pleasure of sounds and sights—tink-a, tinka-tink-a,
tee—how sweet is the discourse! `Eye,' and `lip,' `cheek,' and `heaving
bosom'—thus it runs; I could not forget. And so pure, too!—a virgin mine!—ah!
ah!—ah! I have had dreams of these in the spring-time, when, in my youth, I did
strive with a maid of Andalusia, and was not overcome in the conflict. I shall
never handle arms again; but it is pleasant to be reminded of them. Dost thou
read, oh king! Is it a sweet discourse?”

“Truly, Edeco, thou wast born beneath the seven stars, that all fought for thee.
Thou art lucky. Where got you this? I will love thee for ever, if the tale be true.”

“Read it again, oh king! I have a musical ear, though the seven stars denied
that I should have musical speech. Read it, Roderick, read it aloud: Tink-a-tinka,
tinka, tee!”

The epistle, which was one written by the archbishop Oppas, was addressed to
Edeco, but in a hand so disguised that it was impossible to suspect the writer, even

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if the sanctity of his profession had left him, like the rest of the courtiers, open to
suspicion. It ran thus, and the king read it sufficiently loud to be heard by Edeco,
but not loud enough to be heard by any casual listener. Roderick was more prudent
in his amours than in his politics, though sufficiently reckless in both for his
own not less than the ruin of his people.

“Doth Roderick delight in beauty?” said the epistle; “and does Edeco know
not where to seek it for the master who so greatly favors him? Wherefore does
he not look upon La Cava, otherwise called Florinda, the young daughter of count
Julian, of Consuegra. Is she not the beauty who would please my lord, the king?
Look on her eye; is there a bright star shining in the dark heavens alone, that is
like to it in excellence? You shall place it in the centre of the court, and the
princely ladies upon whom ye have looked so long, even until ye could see them
not, will be dark spots and sullen clouds beside it, and they shall grow blind while
it blazes. Is it her cheek that ye would look upon? If you look not too long, ye
are hardened into stone, and feel not. That cheek is soft and rose-like, even as an
evening cloud which hangs in the sun's pathway, and gathers his sweet smile as he
goes. Does this move ye not? Then mark her lips, which have the curl of the
leaf and the flush of the flower, and which only pant as they have not pressure.
Is her lip nothing to a taste so dull as Roderick's? Then regard her bosom, which
heaves up, pure, slow and white, even as a little foam-crested billow, that rises and
swells and shrinks back without a murmur, when the sky is fair, and the evening
smile rests on the rocks, at the foot of the rugged Calpe. Bright and black her
tresses fall upon her shoulders in a sort of bountiful tribute to the rounded beauties
which, though they sweetly shadow, they can never obscure; and for her form, ye
have seen a long white figure of fleece in the sky of Andalusia, which the truant
breeze has pressed here and there, until it grew into the shape of some godlike
messenger speeding on a work of love. Even so lined and moulded as it were by
the breathing rather than the finger of Heaven, is the shape of the lady Cava.
Does Edeco hear, and shall the king not see? Would he see her, let him ask why
she comes not to court; let him bring her there, where she shall shine in his bosom.
Let him send the count, her father, upon some far and troublous service, and let
La Cava be his sweet charge in the royal gardens at Toledo. Sweet gardens for so
divine a bird—bird most fitting for such blessed gardens.”

A bright glow overspread the face of the king, as he read this inflammatory
epistle. His quick fancy, sudden to light up, and overwhelming in its fire, was
instantly aroused by the description which he read. Nor were the words of Edeco,
his profligate minister, calculated to subdue his passion. Everything that could be
said by the habitual lips of the licentious courtier, was said, in order to add fuel to
the flame already burning in the bosom of his master; and nothing now would satisfy
Roderick but possesion of the unconscious but selected victim. This, however,
was a resolve more easily taken than executed. The power of count Julian was
immense: his popularity greater than that of any one nobleman in the nation, and
in addition he had command over a certain portion of the military force of the kingdom,
which he had often led, and the men of which were devoted to him. To dishonor
him was to create an enemy too powerful wantonly to provoke; and, however
reckless in most respects, Roderick paused ere he proceeded. It needed the
artful suggestions of Edeco to spur him on. It needed that he should frame plots,
for the consummation of his unholy purpose; and from him came the base suggestion
that the mind of the maiden herself might be moved to consent to her own
shame, and thus the sin might be concealed, for a season at least, from the knowledge
of the devoted father. With the provocation of his lusts, the reflective

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faculties of Roderick grew obtuse, and in due proportion as his baser desires predominated
in his mind, did his more generous resolves sink down. It was one of his first
objections to any attempt upon the maiden, that he had just dispatched a courier to
count Julian, commanding him upon his duties to the frontier, in order to encounter
with the invading Moors. The honorable first feeling of the king revolted at the
thought of doing a wrong to one who was even then about to toil and battle in his
service; but this suggestion, instead of silencing the vicious Edeco, only furnished
him wiih an additional argument.

“And wherefore send the courier, oh king? Let him be recalled. Speed yourself
upon the mission; and while you give his command in person to count Julian,
he cannot fail but tender you the guardianship of La Cava. Let your words be
mixed up with whatever matter of grace and honor you please to suit his ear, so
shall he the more readily confide to you a trust, which—if this letter be true—shall,
indeed, be the sweetest bird that ever sang in your garden.”

“It shall be so,” said the too easily persuaded king. “Ho! there,” he cried to
the attendants; “one of you speed quickly to the lord Bovis; say to him that I resolve
not to send to the count Julian, and bid him recall his messengers. Away!”

The lord Bovis sought in vain to know the particular reasons which had so suddenly
prompted him to undo that which was most wisely done; and he was not the
more satisfied as he saw that Edeco must have been the king's counsellor to this
end.

“I pray that you may not repent, oh king! that you have been persuaded to
withdraw your missives to count Julian. Well do I know there is none other in
your realm better able to contend with the Moor than he.”

“I know it, Bovis; and though I recall the messenger, I do not thereby recall the
message. No, good Bovis; your counsel is in my mind, and Julian shall be our lieutenant
in Africa; but I, myself, will give him his commission, and advise him of his
duties. In an hour and I will be on the road to the castle of count Julian, nothing
doubting of a hearty greeting from an honored servant.”

“Of a surety, oh king! such will be your greeting from Julian. Would that all
your friends were half so true and warm in your service. May I attend your
majesty?”

The inquiry of Bovis was put hesitatingly. He was bewildered by the suddenness
of Roderick's resolves, and fearful that some unseemly motive had induced it, as he
ascribed its adoption to the counsels of Edeco. The king denied him, though in a
kind manner and with a compliment, the boon which he desired.

“No, Bovis; Edeco shall command the guard which shall attend me—and such
command, I trow, would be to you ungracious. You shall stay here and keep watch
while I am absent. Egilona shall rule through thee.”

The rugged but honest counselior turned away—he had his doubts and his fears,
but he could say no more.

In a little while and Roderick was on his way to that secluded dwelling of count
Julian, where—ignorant as innocent—the young and beautiful Cava had dwelt till
now, happy in her own innocence, and in the passionate fondness, the almost jealous
love, which her proud but noble father bestowed upon her. But one dream had yet
warmed her fancy to any attachment other than that which bound her to her sire.
But one image came between her mind's eye and his commanding person. Her
thoughts, though now warmed to love, were yet most pure and undesiring; and, although
the will of her father stood in opposition to her heart's new-born devotion, it
had not provoked her to murmur at his denial or to seek to break through his restraints.
If she loved Egiza, she loved him with the thought that there would come

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a time when her love would be acceptable in her father's eyes: she did not think of
its indulgence on other terms. Perhaps, indeed, she did not think of it at all. Life,
with her, seemed only a feeling—duty, an instinct—and love, an emotion. To call
her feelings by names, or to inquire into their consistency with one another, was no
part of her mind's employment; and her heart, as yet, was quite too young, and too
well satisfied with itself, to call in its assistance.

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