the castle, within whose poorly fortified walls lay the prize
for which he fought. Escape was impossible, and the small supply of
provisions would soon be exhausted. Don Pedro's only hope was to bribe
some of his foes. He sent an agent to Du Guesclin, offering him a rich
reward in gold and lands if he would aid in his escape. Du Guesclin asked
for time to consider, and immediately informed Henry of the whole
transaction. He was at once offered a richer reward than Pedro had
promised if he would entice the king out of the castle, and after some
hesitation and much persuasion he consented.

On the night of March 23, ten days after the battle, Don Pedro,
accompanied by several of his knights, secretly left the fortress, the
feet of their horses being bound with cloth to deaden the sound of hoofs.
The sentinels, who had been instructed in advance, allowed them to pass,
and they approached the camp of the French adventurers, where Du Guesclin
was waiting to receive them.

"To horse, Messire Bertrand," said the king, in a low voice; "it is time
to set out."

No answer was returned. This silence frightened Don Pedro. He attempted to
spring into his saddle, but he was surrounded, and a man-at-arms held the
bridle of his horse. An officer asked him to wait in a neighboring tent.
Resistance was impossible, and he silently obeyed.

Here he found himself encompassed by a voiceless group, through whose
lines, after a few minutes of dread suspense, a man in full armor
advanced. It was Henry of Trastamara, who now faced his brother for the
first time in fifteen years. He gazed with searching eyes upon Don Pedro
and his followers.

"Where is this bastard," he harshly asked, "this Jew who calls himself
King of Castile?"

"There stands your enemy," said a French esquire, pointing to Don Pedro.

Henry gazed at him fixedly. So many years had elapsed that he failed to
recognize him easily.

"Yes, it is I," exclaimed Don Pedro, "I, the King of Castile. All the
world knows that I am the legitimate son of good King Alfonso. It is thou
that art the bastard."

At this insult Henry drew his dagger and struck the speaker a light blow
in the face. They were in too close a circle to draw their swords, and in
mortal fury they seized each other by the waist and struggled furiously,
the men around drawing back and no one attempting to interfere.

After a brief period the wrestling brothers fell on a camp bed in a corner
of the tent, Don Pe