Numerous carts and sledges, on which blocks of light grey granite had been drawn hither, barred his way.  He rode around them at the peril of falling with his horse over a precipice, and now found himself before a labyrinth of scaffolds and free-stone, in the midst of a wild, grey, treeless mountain valley.  What kind of a man was this, who had chosen this desert for his home, in life as well as in death!  The Escurial suited King Philip, as King Philip suited the Escurial.  Here he felt most at ease, from here the royal spider ceaselessly entangled the world in his skilful nets.

His majesty was attending vespers in the scarcely completed chapel.  The chief officer of the palace, Fray Antonio de Villacastin, seeing Ulrich slip from his horse, hastened to receive the tottering soldier’s tidings, and led him to the church.

The ‘confiteor’ had just commenced, but Fray Antonio motioned to the priests, who interrupted the Mass, and Ulrich, holding the prophet’s standard high aloft, exclaimed:  “An unparalleled victory!—­Don Juan . . .  October 7th . . . ! at Lepanto—­the Ottoman navy totally destroyed . . . !”

Philip heard this great news and saw the standard, but seemed to have neither eyes nor ears; not a muscle in his face stirred, no movement betrayed that anything was passing in his mind.  Murmuring in a sarcastic, rather than a joyous tone:  “Don Juan has dared much,” he gave a sign, without opening the letter, to continue the Mass, remaining on his knees as if nothing had disturbed the sacred rite.

The exhausted messenger sank into a pew and did not wake from his stupor, until the communion was over and the king had ordered a Te Deum for the victory of Lepanto.

Then he rose, and as he came out of the pew a newly-married couple passed him, the architect, Herrera, and Isabella Coello, radiant in beauty.

Ulrich clenched his fist, and the thought passed through his mind, that he would cast away good-fortune, art and fame as carelessly as soap-bubbles, if he could be in Herrera’s place.

CHAPTER XXIV.

What fame is—­Ulrich was to learn!

He saw in Messina the hero of Lepanto revered as a god.  Wherever the victor appeared, fair hands strewed flowers in his path, balconies and windows were decked with hangings, and exulting women and girls, joyous children and grave men enthusiastically shouted his name and flung laurel-wreaths and branches to him.  Messages, congratulations and gifts arrived from all the monarchs and great men of the world.

When he saw the wonderful youth dash by, Ulrich marvelled that his steed did not put forth wings and soar away with him into the clouds.  But he too, Navarrete, had done his duty, and was to enjoy the sweetness of renown.  When he appeared on Don Juan’s most refractory steed, among the last of the victor’s train, he felt that he was not overlooked, and often heard people tell each other of his deeds.