The prisoner, who had been assisting to life the wounded man out of
the path of the trampling horses, turned round, and replied, with
marked emphasis, "King Henry of Castile is, thanks to our Lady, safe
on the other side of the Zadorra, to recover his throne another day."

"Du Guesclin himself! Ah, dog!" cried Pedro, his eyes glaring with
the malignity of a demon, and raising his bloody weapon to hew down
Bertrand du Guesclin, for no other was the prisoner, who stood with
folded arms, his dark eyes fixed in calm scorn on the King's face,
and his sword and axe lying at his feet.

Eustace was instantly at his side, calling out, "My Lord King, he
is my prisoner!"

"Thine!" said Pedro, with an incredulous look. "Leave him to my
vengeance, and thou shalt have gold--half my treasury--all thy
utmost wishes can reach--"

"I give him up to none but my Lord the Prince of Wales," returned
the young Squire, undauntedly.

"Fool and caitiff! out of my path! or learn what it is to oppose
the wrath of Kings!" cried Pedro.

Eustace grasped his sword. "Sir King, you must win your way to
him through my body."

At this moment one of the attendants whispered, "_El Principe,
Senor Rey_," and, in a few seconds more, the Black Prince, with
a few followers, rode towards the spot.