The arrival of the court changed the whole aspect of the
lately deserted palace. The clangor of drum and trumpet, the tramp
of steed about the avenues and outer court, the glitter of arms and
display of banners about barbican and battlement, recalled the ancient
and warlike glories of the fortress. A softer spirit, however, reigned
within the royal palace. There was the rustling of robes and the
cautious tread and murmuring voice of reverential courtiers about
the antechambers; a loitering of pages and maids of honor about the
gardens, and the sound of music stealing from open casements.
Among those who attended in the train of the monarchs was a favorite
page of the queen, named Ruyz de Alarcon. To say that he was a
favorite page of the queen was at once to speak his eulogium, for
every one in the suite of the stately Elizabetta was chosen for grace,
and beauty, and accomplishments. He was just turned of eighteen, light
and lithe of form, and graceful as a young Antinous. To the queen he
was all deference and respect, yet he was at heart a roguish
stripling, petted and spoiled by the ladies about the court, and
experienced in the ways of women far beyond his years.
This loitering page was one morning rambling about the groves of the
Generalife, which overlook the grounds of the Alhambra. He had taken
with him for his amusement a favorite gerfalcon of the queen. In the
course of his rambles, seeing a bird rising from a thicket, he
unhooded the hawk and let him fly.
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