Beauvallet by Georgette Heyer

It was an easy matter to cross the Frontier, armed with the Chevalier de Guise's credentials. From as much of the despatch to Philip as he could read, or was not sealed, Beauvallet had learned that the youthful Frenchman was some sort of a cousin to the Duc de Guise, and it seemed probable from so particular a mention of him that he had not been employed on an errand into Spain before. Beauvallet did not doubt that he could brave out the imposture, but he knew that he carried his life in his hand. One evil chance, one Frenchman in Madrid to whom the Chevalier was known, and he might expect to find himself sped. The knowledge made him set his horse caracolling on the road, never so keenly enjoying life as when he stood in danger of losing it. He tossed his sword up in the air, and caught it deftly as it fell. The sunlight glinted all along the shimmering blade. Between eight crowns the name Andrea Ferrara was inscribed, and beneath it a pungent motto: -- My bite is sure. "A sword and my wits against all Spain! " sang out Beauvallet, and whistled a catch between his teeth. Then he fell to thinking of her whom he went to seek, and the leagues passed uncounted.

There was time enough for meditation during these long days upon the road, for it took them close on two weeks to come within sight of Madrid, a white town perched on a spur above a vast plateau, looking north over many windy leagues to the Guadarrama Mountains, and south to the grand chain that guarded Toledo.