Church. It was a capacious lap.

Wars were general enough, God knew! But not every
year could one find a camp where the friar was as common
as the archer or the pikeman, and the prelate as the plumed
chieftain.

Santa Fe was court no less than camp, court almost as
though it were Cordova. This Queen and King at least did
not live at ease in palaces while others fought their wars.
North, south, east and west, through the ten years, they
had been the moving springs. It was an able King and
Queen, a politic King and a sincere and godly Queen, even
a loving Queen. If only--if only--

I had been a week and more in Santa Fe when King Boabdil surrendered Granada. He left forever the
Alhambra.
Granada gates opened; he rode out with a few of his emirs
and servants to meet King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella.
The day shone bright. Spain towered, a figure dressed in
gold and red.

Santa Fe poured out to view the spectacle, and with the
rest went Diego Lopez and Juan Lepe. So great festival,
so vivid the color, so echoing the sound, so stately and various
the movement! Looking at the great strength massing there
on the plain I said aloud, as I thought, to Diego Lopez,
"Now they might do some worthy great thing!"

The squire not answering, I became aware that a swirl in