Chapter Ten.His Heart’s Desire.“He greatly longed some land that now did feelThe yoke of misbelieving men once moreTo his Redeemer’s kingdom to restore.”Harry Hartsed arrived in Lisbon while the court was still in mourning for the death of the great and good King Joao the First. He bore various despatches to Sir Walter Northberry from his English cousins, and from his daughter; and was kindly received by his own distant cousin, Sir James Hartsed, and by him placed in the household of the Master of Avis, who showed him much kindness, and made many inquiries after his little favourite, Nella Northberry. There were enough English about the Court of Lisbon to prevent Harry from feeling lonely, and the life there was full of interest and energy. Not that Harry’s disposition led him to emulate the Portuguese princes in their love of literature and science; but he did ardently desire to make as graceful a figure in the tilt-yard as Dom Fernando, and to be able to pick up a nut with the point of his lance when his horse was at full gallop, as cleverly as King Duarte himself. He succeeded beyond his hopes in these aims, growing from an uninformed country lad into an accomplished gentleman; and, moreover, in the atmosphere of earnest piety and strict performance of duty in which he found himself, he could not but perceive that something more than good horsemanship and skill in arms, or even in learning, went to the making of these splendid princes.The years since the disappearance of Katharine Northberry had been full of changes. The marriage of Dom Pedro had been followed by that of Dom Duarte to Leonora of Aragon. The Princess Isabel had been given by her father to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy; and Dom Joao had also found a wife for himself. These various royal households added greatly to the gaiety of the court; and when the period of mourning for King Joao was over, it proved that the young Queen Leonora loved state and ceremony, and inaugurated many festivities. She was at this time very popular with the people, and every one rejoiced in the presence of a lady at the head of affairs.Duarte, meanwhile, with an industry and talent equal to his father’s, and with an even greater purity of action and intention, devoted himself to schemes for the good of his subjects, and by so doing made up for the loss of his father’s great minister, Alvarez de Pereira, who had died a few months before the king, and who had long ago put into shape the young princes’ plans for the tithing of Ceuta.Dom Enrique had been but little at Lisbon, his great undertakings filled up his time, and he had of late joined the King of Aragon in a war with the Duke of Milan, during which he had been taken prisoner, to the great alarm and distress of his brothers; but he had soon regained his liberty, and now, at the end of 1435, was at the court.Fernando’s health had become somewhat less delicate, though it was still a check on his sharing in his brothers’ exploits; but he led a very busy, useful, and devout life, managing the affairs of the Order of Avis, spending nearly all his private fortune in ransoming prisoners from the Moors, and in acts of charity or devotion. To the poor, wherever he went, he was a personal friend, and the young men of his household regarded him with enthusiastic admiration, marvelling at the combination of such saintly qualities with such a genuine love for all connected with military honour and personal prowess.The people spoke of his almsgiving, his life of prayer and self-denial, his unfailing gentleness of word and deed, of the sufferings borne with such exemplary patience, and thought that he led the life of a saint on earth. And all this while the life that looked so holy and so peaceful, and was so pure from outward stain, was full of inward storm and struggle, of longings and ambitions, but imperfectly laid at the foot of the Cross. There was much yet to come before Fernando’s victory was won.One bright winter’s day he was sitting in his private room in the palace. As Master of Avis, he possessed property and residences in more than one part of Portugal; but in Lisbon he still lived under his brother’s roof, chiefly that Duarte might bestow on him, in his frequent illnesses, as much as possible of his scanty intervals of leisure. Besides, Fernando’s tastes were simple, and he loved the surroundings of his boyhood. He had been occupied all the morning, after attending mass in the king’s chapel, with the various affairs of his order, and with a consultation with the Archbishop of Lisbon, over the details of a new mission to be despatched to the coast of Africa, in the wake of some of Dom Enrique’s recent discoveries, and now, wearied with so much exertion, was sitting by the hearth, on which burned a small wood fire.It was a pleasant room enough, long and narrow, with a high carved and painted ceiling, and a great chimney-piece of white marble, carved with the dragon’s heads that King Joao, in honour of his English Garter, introduced on every occasion, just as he taught his soldiers to shout Saint George.Harry Hartsed and a young nephew and namesake of the great minister, Alvarez de Pereira, were sitting at the farther end of the room, and talking in a subdued voice, as they looked out between the mullions of the window over the palace garden.After some discussion between themselves, Harry glanced at the prince, and, perceiving that he was doing nothing, crossed the room and ventured to address him.“My Lord, Dom Alvarez and I were discussing a question. May I crave leave to ask your opinion on it?”Fernando started from his reverie, and looked up with the expression in his eyes, half-wistful, half-eager, altogether unsatisfied, that contrasted so strangely with the kind bright smile with which he ever greeted a request.“You are welcome to my opinion,” he said, gaily; “but I know not if it will be of much value toyou.”“My Lord, Alvarez here declares that his fate has been foretold by the stars, and that certain days in the year are unfavourable to him. That if he went into battle on those days he would assuredly be slain. That being so, it would be well to cast one’s horoscope, and learn how to keep from such dangers.”“But,” said Fernando, “if duty called Dom Alvarez to battle on these fateful days, he would but go in with a worse heart for thinking it sure that he would never come out again.”“I should do my duty, my lord, I trust,” said Dom Diego Alvarez, who had followed Hartsed.“Assuredly, señor; I did but speak to show you how little, to my thinking, knowledge of the future is a help to the present performance of duty. And you have, surely heard, since it is the common story, how a Jewish astrologer would have dissuaded the king, my brother, from receiving the homage of his subjects on the day appointed, declaring it to be an unfortunate one.”“But his grace was not influenced by a rascally Jew,” said Harry.“No,” returned the prince; “against the opinions of his councillors he held to his first intention. The king and the dukes, my brothers, having deeply studied the courses of the stars, have found great wonders among them, for which they glorify God; but they do not read in them their own future.”“Well,” remarked Harry, “I must say that little knowledge came by one attempt I know of, to read the future,” and, in answer to the prince’s question, he related his expedition to the forest with Nella.“Alas, poor child,” said Fernando, much moved, “it needs no witch to guess at her fate. Young Mistress Nella must have a brave heart.”“There’s nothing, my lord,” said Harry, “that I should enjoy more than a good blow at the Infidel, and there are many here that think with me. We listen to tales of the siege of Ceuta, and long for our turn.”“Ay?” said Fernando, thoughtfully. “It seems as if our prayers must be weak when we withhold ourselves. But who is coming?”“It is the Duke of Viseo, my lord,” said Alvarez.“Then you may leave us,” said Fernando, as Dom Enrique entered, and, after an affectionate greeting, sat down beside him.“I think of soon returning to Sagres,” he said; “my sailors will be looking for me. Since we have penetrated to the coast of Africa, I have more business than ever.”“I should like to go with you for a time to Sagres,” said Fernando. “I could not make observations for you like Duarte, nor work out your mathematics like Pedro, but I long to see more of your doings there.”“It is so cold at Sagres,” said Enrique; “the winds there are too bleak and rough for you; and yet it would be well for you to spend a few idle weeks.”“I am strong now,” said Fernando hastily; “nothing will hurt me.”Enrique smiled and shook his head.“Nothing ails menowbut idleness,” repeated Fernando, as he looked up at his brother with a sort of inquiry in his face.Enrique was standing leaning his back against the high chimney corner, and now he turned his eyes on Fernando and said—“Is that thought so fresh in your mind still?”“Is it ever absent?” cried Fernando, rising in his eagerness. “Can I forget my childish vow, and the longing I have ever had so to devote myself? We have done much with Ceuta for a centre for the spread of the Cross. If Tangier were ours—” he paused, laying his hand on Enrique’s shoulder. “See, my brother, I am strong enough now for a campaign. I should run no more risk than the rest of you. Is it not my turn? I am the only one of us all whose sword has never been drawn. AmIfit to be head of the Order of Avis? Does such home-staying become my father’s son? Must I be the only one to do nothing for the honour of Portugal or for Holy Church?”Enrique’s enthusiasm was easily fired. All his life he had been ready to turn aside from his own special objects to strike a blow at the Moor.“If you and I could head an expedition,” he said, thoughtfully; “much toil need not fall on you.”“Ah!” cried Fernando. “At such a time I should feel no hardships. I am not so full of my own conceit as to imagine myself a fit leader. Let me but fight under your banner; profit by your experience. Is not our prosperity a shame, while we suffer that unimaginable evil at our very gates?”“It would consecrate all other efforts,” said Enrique, with the peculiar earnestness that always made his words weighty; “and to fight as we have always wished, side by side, in this holy war!”“Yes. Alone I could do little! This hope has been my one aim, my prayer, through all the poor life that has borne so little fruit. Enrique,youhave known it?”“Yes. I know that you have never swerved from it. But you must not call your life fruitless, my Fernando.”“Fruitful of impatience and discontent! In truth I am not worthy of this task.”“Nevertheless,” said Enrique, with his grave smile, “let us together offer our unworthiness to Him Who will purge our sins away. So shall we win honour for ourselves and our brother.”Self-devotion and personal glory were so united in the mind during the reign of chivalry, that it was not marvellous that these ardent souls did not quite distinguish between them. Enlightened as the princes of Avis were, they were, even Enrique, men of their own day. Their more personal aims of scientific discovery, missionary work, organised charity and the like, were experimental, and they could not set them quite on a level with the recognised privilege and the duty of distinguishing themselves in the battle-field. First, they must be soldiers, afterwards, men of science and philanthropists, and Fernando felt himself to have missed his vocation. The deep sense of religion, felt in especial by these two, offered them another and higher object. Perhaps the strong desire of self-devotion was the talent specially committed to the “ages of faith.” The evil they wished to remove was great and obvious, and Fernando did not consider that he might be doing the Church’s work perhaps as effectually in another way. He was humble enough in his estimate of himself; he had done the work at hand without a complaint; but the long-restrained wish, once entertained, swept all before it like a flood, and could see no obstacles and no objections. His natural tastes, his religious fervour, his wish for self-denial, and that self which he had not yet altogether learned to deny, all worked together, by the force of his strong will, to attain his object. Enrique loved him too well to oppose him, and moreover was to the full as impetuous, and more used to having his own way.
“He greatly longed some land that now did feelThe yoke of misbelieving men once moreTo his Redeemer’s kingdom to restore.”
“He greatly longed some land that now did feelThe yoke of misbelieving men once moreTo his Redeemer’s kingdom to restore.”
Harry Hartsed arrived in Lisbon while the court was still in mourning for the death of the great and good King Joao the First. He bore various despatches to Sir Walter Northberry from his English cousins, and from his daughter; and was kindly received by his own distant cousin, Sir James Hartsed, and by him placed in the household of the Master of Avis, who showed him much kindness, and made many inquiries after his little favourite, Nella Northberry. There were enough English about the Court of Lisbon to prevent Harry from feeling lonely, and the life there was full of interest and energy. Not that Harry’s disposition led him to emulate the Portuguese princes in their love of literature and science; but he did ardently desire to make as graceful a figure in the tilt-yard as Dom Fernando, and to be able to pick up a nut with the point of his lance when his horse was at full gallop, as cleverly as King Duarte himself. He succeeded beyond his hopes in these aims, growing from an uninformed country lad into an accomplished gentleman; and, moreover, in the atmosphere of earnest piety and strict performance of duty in which he found himself, he could not but perceive that something more than good horsemanship and skill in arms, or even in learning, went to the making of these splendid princes.
The years since the disappearance of Katharine Northberry had been full of changes. The marriage of Dom Pedro had been followed by that of Dom Duarte to Leonora of Aragon. The Princess Isabel had been given by her father to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy; and Dom Joao had also found a wife for himself. These various royal households added greatly to the gaiety of the court; and when the period of mourning for King Joao was over, it proved that the young Queen Leonora loved state and ceremony, and inaugurated many festivities. She was at this time very popular with the people, and every one rejoiced in the presence of a lady at the head of affairs.
Duarte, meanwhile, with an industry and talent equal to his father’s, and with an even greater purity of action and intention, devoted himself to schemes for the good of his subjects, and by so doing made up for the loss of his father’s great minister, Alvarez de Pereira, who had died a few months before the king, and who had long ago put into shape the young princes’ plans for the tithing of Ceuta.
Dom Enrique had been but little at Lisbon, his great undertakings filled up his time, and he had of late joined the King of Aragon in a war with the Duke of Milan, during which he had been taken prisoner, to the great alarm and distress of his brothers; but he had soon regained his liberty, and now, at the end of 1435, was at the court.
Fernando’s health had become somewhat less delicate, though it was still a check on his sharing in his brothers’ exploits; but he led a very busy, useful, and devout life, managing the affairs of the Order of Avis, spending nearly all his private fortune in ransoming prisoners from the Moors, and in acts of charity or devotion. To the poor, wherever he went, he was a personal friend, and the young men of his household regarded him with enthusiastic admiration, marvelling at the combination of such saintly qualities with such a genuine love for all connected with military honour and personal prowess.
The people spoke of his almsgiving, his life of prayer and self-denial, his unfailing gentleness of word and deed, of the sufferings borne with such exemplary patience, and thought that he led the life of a saint on earth. And all this while the life that looked so holy and so peaceful, and was so pure from outward stain, was full of inward storm and struggle, of longings and ambitions, but imperfectly laid at the foot of the Cross. There was much yet to come before Fernando’s victory was won.
One bright winter’s day he was sitting in his private room in the palace. As Master of Avis, he possessed property and residences in more than one part of Portugal; but in Lisbon he still lived under his brother’s roof, chiefly that Duarte might bestow on him, in his frequent illnesses, as much as possible of his scanty intervals of leisure. Besides, Fernando’s tastes were simple, and he loved the surroundings of his boyhood. He had been occupied all the morning, after attending mass in the king’s chapel, with the various affairs of his order, and with a consultation with the Archbishop of Lisbon, over the details of a new mission to be despatched to the coast of Africa, in the wake of some of Dom Enrique’s recent discoveries, and now, wearied with so much exertion, was sitting by the hearth, on which burned a small wood fire.
It was a pleasant room enough, long and narrow, with a high carved and painted ceiling, and a great chimney-piece of white marble, carved with the dragon’s heads that King Joao, in honour of his English Garter, introduced on every occasion, just as he taught his soldiers to shout Saint George.
Harry Hartsed and a young nephew and namesake of the great minister, Alvarez de Pereira, were sitting at the farther end of the room, and talking in a subdued voice, as they looked out between the mullions of the window over the palace garden.
After some discussion between themselves, Harry glanced at the prince, and, perceiving that he was doing nothing, crossed the room and ventured to address him.
“My Lord, Dom Alvarez and I were discussing a question. May I crave leave to ask your opinion on it?”
Fernando started from his reverie, and looked up with the expression in his eyes, half-wistful, half-eager, altogether unsatisfied, that contrasted so strangely with the kind bright smile with which he ever greeted a request.
“You are welcome to my opinion,” he said, gaily; “but I know not if it will be of much value toyou.”
“My Lord, Alvarez here declares that his fate has been foretold by the stars, and that certain days in the year are unfavourable to him. That if he went into battle on those days he would assuredly be slain. That being so, it would be well to cast one’s horoscope, and learn how to keep from such dangers.”
“But,” said Fernando, “if duty called Dom Alvarez to battle on these fateful days, he would but go in with a worse heart for thinking it sure that he would never come out again.”
“I should do my duty, my lord, I trust,” said Dom Diego Alvarez, who had followed Hartsed.
“Assuredly, señor; I did but speak to show you how little, to my thinking, knowledge of the future is a help to the present performance of duty. And you have, surely heard, since it is the common story, how a Jewish astrologer would have dissuaded the king, my brother, from receiving the homage of his subjects on the day appointed, declaring it to be an unfortunate one.”
“But his grace was not influenced by a rascally Jew,” said Harry.
“No,” returned the prince; “against the opinions of his councillors he held to his first intention. The king and the dukes, my brothers, having deeply studied the courses of the stars, have found great wonders among them, for which they glorify God; but they do not read in them their own future.”
“Well,” remarked Harry, “I must say that little knowledge came by one attempt I know of, to read the future,” and, in answer to the prince’s question, he related his expedition to the forest with Nella.
“Alas, poor child,” said Fernando, much moved, “it needs no witch to guess at her fate. Young Mistress Nella must have a brave heart.”
“There’s nothing, my lord,” said Harry, “that I should enjoy more than a good blow at the Infidel, and there are many here that think with me. We listen to tales of the siege of Ceuta, and long for our turn.”
“Ay?” said Fernando, thoughtfully. “It seems as if our prayers must be weak when we withhold ourselves. But who is coming?”
“It is the Duke of Viseo, my lord,” said Alvarez.
“Then you may leave us,” said Fernando, as Dom Enrique entered, and, after an affectionate greeting, sat down beside him.
“I think of soon returning to Sagres,” he said; “my sailors will be looking for me. Since we have penetrated to the coast of Africa, I have more business than ever.”
“I should like to go with you for a time to Sagres,” said Fernando. “I could not make observations for you like Duarte, nor work out your mathematics like Pedro, but I long to see more of your doings there.”
“It is so cold at Sagres,” said Enrique; “the winds there are too bleak and rough for you; and yet it would be well for you to spend a few idle weeks.”
“I am strong now,” said Fernando hastily; “nothing will hurt me.”
Enrique smiled and shook his head.
“Nothing ails menowbut idleness,” repeated Fernando, as he looked up at his brother with a sort of inquiry in his face.
Enrique was standing leaning his back against the high chimney corner, and now he turned his eyes on Fernando and said—
“Is that thought so fresh in your mind still?”
“Is it ever absent?” cried Fernando, rising in his eagerness. “Can I forget my childish vow, and the longing I have ever had so to devote myself? We have done much with Ceuta for a centre for the spread of the Cross. If Tangier were ours—” he paused, laying his hand on Enrique’s shoulder. “See, my brother, I am strong enough now for a campaign. I should run no more risk than the rest of you. Is it not my turn? I am the only one of us all whose sword has never been drawn. AmIfit to be head of the Order of Avis? Does such home-staying become my father’s son? Must I be the only one to do nothing for the honour of Portugal or for Holy Church?”
Enrique’s enthusiasm was easily fired. All his life he had been ready to turn aside from his own special objects to strike a blow at the Moor.
“If you and I could head an expedition,” he said, thoughtfully; “much toil need not fall on you.”
“Ah!” cried Fernando. “At such a time I should feel no hardships. I am not so full of my own conceit as to imagine myself a fit leader. Let me but fight under your banner; profit by your experience. Is not our prosperity a shame, while we suffer that unimaginable evil at our very gates?”
“It would consecrate all other efforts,” said Enrique, with the peculiar earnestness that always made his words weighty; “and to fight as we have always wished, side by side, in this holy war!”
“Yes. Alone I could do little! This hope has been my one aim, my prayer, through all the poor life that has borne so little fruit. Enrique,youhave known it?”
“Yes. I know that you have never swerved from it. But you must not call your life fruitless, my Fernando.”
“Fruitful of impatience and discontent! In truth I am not worthy of this task.”
“Nevertheless,” said Enrique, with his grave smile, “let us together offer our unworthiness to Him Who will purge our sins away. So shall we win honour for ourselves and our brother.”
Self-devotion and personal glory were so united in the mind during the reign of chivalry, that it was not marvellous that these ardent souls did not quite distinguish between them. Enlightened as the princes of Avis were, they were, even Enrique, men of their own day. Their more personal aims of scientific discovery, missionary work, organised charity and the like, were experimental, and they could not set them quite on a level with the recognised privilege and the duty of distinguishing themselves in the battle-field. First, they must be soldiers, afterwards, men of science and philanthropists, and Fernando felt himself to have missed his vocation. The deep sense of religion, felt in especial by these two, offered them another and higher object. Perhaps the strong desire of self-devotion was the talent specially committed to the “ages of faith.” The evil they wished to remove was great and obvious, and Fernando did not consider that he might be doing the Church’s work perhaps as effectually in another way. He was humble enough in his estimate of himself; he had done the work at hand without a complaint; but the long-restrained wish, once entertained, swept all before it like a flood, and could see no obstacles and no objections. His natural tastes, his religious fervour, his wish for self-denial, and that self which he had not yet altogether learned to deny, all worked together, by the force of his strong will, to attain his object. Enrique loved him too well to oppose him, and moreover was to the full as impetuous, and more used to having his own way.
Chapter Eleven.Diffusing Minds.“How often, O my knights,Your places being vacant at my side,This chance of noble deeds will come and go.”The Princes Enrique and Fernando, having matured their ideas by much discussion, decided on proposing to the King to make an expedition for the taking of Tangier, similar to the one that their father had sent out against Ceuta. Should he, however, be unwilling to make a great national expedition, they would obtain from him his consent, and as much aid as he thought proper, and would devote to the cause all their own resources, which were considerable. Their eagerness grew as their ideas developed, and some inkling of their wishes getting abroad, all the younger nobility caught fire at the notion, and the princes soon saw that their cause would be a popular one.It was therefore with some confidence in the result that they sought their brother in his private apartments, to lay their plans before him.Duarte’s life was one of unceasing toil for the good of his subjects. He had already worked out a great scheme for improving the legal system of Portugal, and his industry was immense. His difficulties were much increased by the over-liberality with which his father had given away the crown-lands to his nobility, and many an anxious hour was spent by Duarte in trying to find means to fill his empty exchequer. He set an example of economy in his household, closer than his young queen altogether approved of; but the remedy for this great evil was still to seek. Busy as he was, however, he retained the scholarly tastes of his youth, and his book,El Leal Conselheiro; or,The Faithful Counsellor, a collection of moral and political sayings, was in its day of great value. Nor, however hurried, did he ever fail in kindness and consideration, especially to Fernando, whom he regarded with almost the protecting affection of a father.He rose now from the table at which he was writing, and greeted his brothers warmly.“Ah! Enrique,” he said, “have you come to tell me how matters go in your new dominions?”For Duarte had made Enrique a present of his recent discovery, the island of Madeira.“Not now, sire,” said Enrique, with some formality. “We have a request to make to you.”“You can hardly ask me for what I will not grant,” said the King. “Sit here, Fernando,” pointing to a couch by the fire. “You look pale—are you well to-day?”“I am well and strong,” said Fernando. “You think too much of my weakness.”And he remained standing, while Enrique, whose words of course carried greater weight, unfolded their cherished scheme. Duarte’s face grew very grave as he listened.“This is your wish, my Fernando?” he said, moving over to him.“The wish of my heart—of my life!” said Fernando, as he grasped Duarte’s hand.“I fear that I see not the way to grant it,” said Duarte, with a reluctant gentleness difficult to contradict.“Tangier,” said Enrique, “would be a splendid jewel to set in the crown of Portugal. We were young and untried when we took Ceuta; it is little likely that we should now fail.”“I do not fear failure,” said Duarte; “assuredly not under your leading. Yet my father could not see his way to further conquests in Barbary, nor can I.”“How so?” said Enrique, bluntly. He was quite as great a man as his brother, and though thoroughly loyal to Duarte, was not much accustomed to opposition from him, but rather to admiring assistance in whatever he proposed.“I will tell you,” said Duarte, gently. “You are a greater soldier than I, Enrique, and your eyes see far into the possible future; but it is I who must consider the well-being of Portugal.”“Pardon,” said Enrique, “if I spoke in haste. Without your good will we could do nothing.”Duarte sat down on the couch and drew Fernando to a place beside him, watching his face while he spoke.“First,” said Duarte, “I cannot tell where the funds to engage in such a war are to be found. We have no money to spare; it costs me much care to consider how to support the state.”“We put our resources at your disposal,” said Enrique.“But yours, my brother, are already hardly pressed for purposes which will, to my thinking, do more in the end for the spread of the Cross than even the taking of Tangier.”Enrique was silent; he knew well enough the truth of this. Scientific discoveries were not made for nothing in days when only one man saw the necessity of them.“But,” said Fernando, “it seems to me that a small force, well armed and full of zeal, would be sufficient.”“You think so?” said Duarte, as if weighing words. “War is very costly, and even if the council consent, that would be no holy war for which unjust taxes were levied.”Justice was too strongly impressed on the sons of King Joao for this principle to be resisted, however unfamiliar it was to the fifteenth century. Fernando, however, spoke pleadingly.“You speak of the well-being of Portugal. Surely it is for the highest well-being of a nation to engage in a noble and self-sacrificing struggle. There are better things than prosperity and ease.”“Yes,” said Duarte. “There are good laws and honest living, education, and the due support of Holy Church. See you, if my father’s reign had been, as we all once wished, one long war against the Infidel, where would have been his translation of the Holy Scriptures into Portuguese—where Batalha and our other great abbeys, to say nothing of the general reform of the kingdom? Do not mistake me, my brothers; my heart glows like yours to fight for the Cross. But, as I read my duty, God has given me this piece of ground to till, and it calls for all my care. You, too, would both be missed much from all the good works you have taken in hand.”“We can return to them with new ardour,” said Enrique.“Yes, and Fernando longs rightly to bear arms. I would it could be so.”“I live but half a life,” said Fernando, low and earnestly.“But then, bear with me while I tell you another difficulty. What pretext have I for making war on the Moorish king? He has in no way injured me!”“There is never a prisoner taken but offers no pretext, but a reason,” said Fernando, eagerly. “Every captive groaning in those dungeons is a good cause.”“There has been less kidnapping of late,” said Duarte.“Yes, since Ceuta was ours,” replied Enrique. “Take Tangier and there will be none.”Perhaps Duarte was more inclined to the scheme by the ardour of Fernando’s wish than by any other cause. He was still hesitating, when there was a summons at the door, and the two other brothers were admitted.“Consult them on the matter,” said Enrique; and Duarte, after the first greetings, rehearsed Enrique’s arguments and his own, demanding the opinion of the new-comers.“I say,” said Pedro, decidedly, “that the scheme is a foolish one. What is the good of plunging Portugal into a rash war with a prince who is a tolerable neighbour, as times go? I give my voice against it.”“If it is done,” said Dom Joao, “it must be by the force of the whole country. No smaller expedition could have a chance. If Fernando had seen anything of warfare, even his hot head could make no such proposal.”“I do not rest on my own judgment, my brother,” said Fernando, gently. “Enrique’s experience is beyond dispute.”“Enrique once tried to take Gibraltar,” said Joao, referring to a rash attempt of Enrique’s youth, “and took me with him.”“When you were glad enough to go,” said Enrique, smiling.“Ay, but since then I have grown wiser. Look you here. Your ardour runs away with you, and Fernando knows nought of the matter. Tangier would be a hard nut to crack, and he could not bear the campaign needful for taking it.”“You have no right so to put me aside,” exclaimed Fernando; then checked himself. “Pardon me, I am hasty. I think indeed little enough of my own powers. I do but wish to devote my uselessness to the service of Holy Church.”“Holy Church would take the will for the deed!” said Joao, with a contemptuous good nature which was hard to bear. He was very fond of Fernando, but his practical and less tender nature had less sympathy for him than any of the others. Fernando coloured, but said nothing; and Duarte, with an elder’s authority, said—“The wishes of our brothers, Enrique and Fernando, and their opinions, have due weights I give way to them so far that I shall lay this matter before the Council of Portugal, when all may speak their mind. But, my brothers, let not our difference of opinion bring the first cloud between us.”“Nay,” said Fernando, with rather a painful smile, “Joao does but prove the truth of my complaint, that I have hitherto been the idle one among you. But we have taken enough of the king’s time. I would but ask him to forgive me for urging my wishes on him.”“Nay, it is well to be reminded of our higher aims,” said Duarte, who had not quite approved of the way in which Fernando had been put down by the others. “We will speak of it again in Council.”In spite of Duarte’s warning there was a good deal of hot discussion between Enrique, Pedro, and Joao, which certainly resulted in fixing Enrique’s own view of the matter. Duarte declined to speak of it further in private, and Fernando’s desire grew so strong that he feared to trust his own temper in the dispute. He spoke, however, in the council well and to the point, urging his view of what number would be sufficient for the attack, and the reasons why he thought that it should be made. Enrique supported him with all the weight of his influence, and the war was exceedingly popular among the younger nobility. Pedro opposed it entirely; Joao declared it to be only possible with a very large force and at great expense; and the king, finding his council divided, at last appealed to the decision of the Pope. If he authorised the war, and would give a Bull of Crusade, well and good; if not, the project must be abandoned.But meanwhile Enrique and Fernando made their preparations, to be ready to start at once when the consent, of which they never doubted, arrived.
“How often, O my knights,Your places being vacant at my side,This chance of noble deeds will come and go.”
“How often, O my knights,Your places being vacant at my side,This chance of noble deeds will come and go.”
The Princes Enrique and Fernando, having matured their ideas by much discussion, decided on proposing to the King to make an expedition for the taking of Tangier, similar to the one that their father had sent out against Ceuta. Should he, however, be unwilling to make a great national expedition, they would obtain from him his consent, and as much aid as he thought proper, and would devote to the cause all their own resources, which were considerable. Their eagerness grew as their ideas developed, and some inkling of their wishes getting abroad, all the younger nobility caught fire at the notion, and the princes soon saw that their cause would be a popular one.
It was therefore with some confidence in the result that they sought their brother in his private apartments, to lay their plans before him.
Duarte’s life was one of unceasing toil for the good of his subjects. He had already worked out a great scheme for improving the legal system of Portugal, and his industry was immense. His difficulties were much increased by the over-liberality with which his father had given away the crown-lands to his nobility, and many an anxious hour was spent by Duarte in trying to find means to fill his empty exchequer. He set an example of economy in his household, closer than his young queen altogether approved of; but the remedy for this great evil was still to seek. Busy as he was, however, he retained the scholarly tastes of his youth, and his book,El Leal Conselheiro; or,The Faithful Counsellor, a collection of moral and political sayings, was in its day of great value. Nor, however hurried, did he ever fail in kindness and consideration, especially to Fernando, whom he regarded with almost the protecting affection of a father.
He rose now from the table at which he was writing, and greeted his brothers warmly.
“Ah! Enrique,” he said, “have you come to tell me how matters go in your new dominions?”
For Duarte had made Enrique a present of his recent discovery, the island of Madeira.
“Not now, sire,” said Enrique, with some formality. “We have a request to make to you.”
“You can hardly ask me for what I will not grant,” said the King. “Sit here, Fernando,” pointing to a couch by the fire. “You look pale—are you well to-day?”
“I am well and strong,” said Fernando. “You think too much of my weakness.”
And he remained standing, while Enrique, whose words of course carried greater weight, unfolded their cherished scheme. Duarte’s face grew very grave as he listened.
“This is your wish, my Fernando?” he said, moving over to him.
“The wish of my heart—of my life!” said Fernando, as he grasped Duarte’s hand.
“I fear that I see not the way to grant it,” said Duarte, with a reluctant gentleness difficult to contradict.
“Tangier,” said Enrique, “would be a splendid jewel to set in the crown of Portugal. We were young and untried when we took Ceuta; it is little likely that we should now fail.”
“I do not fear failure,” said Duarte; “assuredly not under your leading. Yet my father could not see his way to further conquests in Barbary, nor can I.”
“How so?” said Enrique, bluntly. He was quite as great a man as his brother, and though thoroughly loyal to Duarte, was not much accustomed to opposition from him, but rather to admiring assistance in whatever he proposed.
“I will tell you,” said Duarte, gently. “You are a greater soldier than I, Enrique, and your eyes see far into the possible future; but it is I who must consider the well-being of Portugal.”
“Pardon,” said Enrique, “if I spoke in haste. Without your good will we could do nothing.”
Duarte sat down on the couch and drew Fernando to a place beside him, watching his face while he spoke.
“First,” said Duarte, “I cannot tell where the funds to engage in such a war are to be found. We have no money to spare; it costs me much care to consider how to support the state.”
“We put our resources at your disposal,” said Enrique.
“But yours, my brother, are already hardly pressed for purposes which will, to my thinking, do more in the end for the spread of the Cross than even the taking of Tangier.”
Enrique was silent; he knew well enough the truth of this. Scientific discoveries were not made for nothing in days when only one man saw the necessity of them.
“But,” said Fernando, “it seems to me that a small force, well armed and full of zeal, would be sufficient.”
“You think so?” said Duarte, as if weighing words. “War is very costly, and even if the council consent, that would be no holy war for which unjust taxes were levied.”
Justice was too strongly impressed on the sons of King Joao for this principle to be resisted, however unfamiliar it was to the fifteenth century. Fernando, however, spoke pleadingly.
“You speak of the well-being of Portugal. Surely it is for the highest well-being of a nation to engage in a noble and self-sacrificing struggle. There are better things than prosperity and ease.”
“Yes,” said Duarte. “There are good laws and honest living, education, and the due support of Holy Church. See you, if my father’s reign had been, as we all once wished, one long war against the Infidel, where would have been his translation of the Holy Scriptures into Portuguese—where Batalha and our other great abbeys, to say nothing of the general reform of the kingdom? Do not mistake me, my brothers; my heart glows like yours to fight for the Cross. But, as I read my duty, God has given me this piece of ground to till, and it calls for all my care. You, too, would both be missed much from all the good works you have taken in hand.”
“We can return to them with new ardour,” said Enrique.
“Yes, and Fernando longs rightly to bear arms. I would it could be so.”
“I live but half a life,” said Fernando, low and earnestly.
“But then, bear with me while I tell you another difficulty. What pretext have I for making war on the Moorish king? He has in no way injured me!”
“There is never a prisoner taken but offers no pretext, but a reason,” said Fernando, eagerly. “Every captive groaning in those dungeons is a good cause.”
“There has been less kidnapping of late,” said Duarte.
“Yes, since Ceuta was ours,” replied Enrique. “Take Tangier and there will be none.”
Perhaps Duarte was more inclined to the scheme by the ardour of Fernando’s wish than by any other cause. He was still hesitating, when there was a summons at the door, and the two other brothers were admitted.
“Consult them on the matter,” said Enrique; and Duarte, after the first greetings, rehearsed Enrique’s arguments and his own, demanding the opinion of the new-comers.
“I say,” said Pedro, decidedly, “that the scheme is a foolish one. What is the good of plunging Portugal into a rash war with a prince who is a tolerable neighbour, as times go? I give my voice against it.”
“If it is done,” said Dom Joao, “it must be by the force of the whole country. No smaller expedition could have a chance. If Fernando had seen anything of warfare, even his hot head could make no such proposal.”
“I do not rest on my own judgment, my brother,” said Fernando, gently. “Enrique’s experience is beyond dispute.”
“Enrique once tried to take Gibraltar,” said Joao, referring to a rash attempt of Enrique’s youth, “and took me with him.”
“When you were glad enough to go,” said Enrique, smiling.
“Ay, but since then I have grown wiser. Look you here. Your ardour runs away with you, and Fernando knows nought of the matter. Tangier would be a hard nut to crack, and he could not bear the campaign needful for taking it.”
“You have no right so to put me aside,” exclaimed Fernando; then checked himself. “Pardon me, I am hasty. I think indeed little enough of my own powers. I do but wish to devote my uselessness to the service of Holy Church.”
“Holy Church would take the will for the deed!” said Joao, with a contemptuous good nature which was hard to bear. He was very fond of Fernando, but his practical and less tender nature had less sympathy for him than any of the others. Fernando coloured, but said nothing; and Duarte, with an elder’s authority, said—
“The wishes of our brothers, Enrique and Fernando, and their opinions, have due weights I give way to them so far that I shall lay this matter before the Council of Portugal, when all may speak their mind. But, my brothers, let not our difference of opinion bring the first cloud between us.”
“Nay,” said Fernando, with rather a painful smile, “Joao does but prove the truth of my complaint, that I have hitherto been the idle one among you. But we have taken enough of the king’s time. I would but ask him to forgive me for urging my wishes on him.”
“Nay, it is well to be reminded of our higher aims,” said Duarte, who had not quite approved of the way in which Fernando had been put down by the others. “We will speak of it again in Council.”
In spite of Duarte’s warning there was a good deal of hot discussion between Enrique, Pedro, and Joao, which certainly resulted in fixing Enrique’s own view of the matter. Duarte declined to speak of it further in private, and Fernando’s desire grew so strong that he feared to trust his own temper in the dispute. He spoke, however, in the council well and to the point, urging his view of what number would be sufficient for the attack, and the reasons why he thought that it should be made. Enrique supported him with all the weight of his influence, and the war was exceedingly popular among the younger nobility. Pedro opposed it entirely; Joao declared it to be only possible with a very large force and at great expense; and the king, finding his council divided, at last appealed to the decision of the Pope. If he authorised the war, and would give a Bull of Crusade, well and good; if not, the project must be abandoned.
But meanwhile Enrique and Fernando made their preparations, to be ready to start at once when the consent, of which they never doubted, arrived.
Chapter Twelve.Self Chosen Ways.“I saw the Holy Grail, and heard a cry—O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me.”The number of voices raised in favour of the Moorish war concealed the fact of how many regarded it with disapproval. Sir Walter Northberry at once offered himself as a volunteer, and Harry Hartsed, in common with all the members in Dom Fernando’s suite, was hot in the cause, saw no difficulties, and talked as if Tangier were already won, a mode of proceeding provoking to the opposing princes, and to those who thought with them.No such light-mindedness could be urged against the prince himself. There was, indeed, a light of hope and happiness in his face rarely seen there before; but he spent long hours in prayer, not so much for the success of his undertaking, as that he might be worthy to engage in it, and constantly urged on his followers the necessity of preparing for a holy war by a holy life. He showed no resentment at his brothers’ opposition, merely saying that he did not wonder at their distrust of the views of so inexperienced a person as himself, though he could never be grateful enough to Enrique for his comprehension of them. Enrique had so many other matters in hand, in preparation for his departure, that he had not much time to bestow on the collecting of the forces, and moreover had something of the self-confidence of great conscious power, that anything in which he was engaged could be made to succeed. So that Fernando had it all his own way, and perhaps was hardly the person to realise all the difficulties in his path, since he credited others with his own strong and unwavering zeal.The war was, on the whole, popular among the clergy, and was approved by the Archbishop of Lisbon; and Father José—who had been Fernando’s confessor and chaplain from childhood, and had constantly listened to his longings for such an opportunity—rejoiced that his dear son, as he regarded Fernando, should at last gain the wish of his heart. But he said much less about triumphing over the Moors, than about the necessity of faith, purity, and holiness in those who would attack them, about the sin of rivalry and contention among men engaged in a holy war, pointing out how self-indulgence and disputes had been the ruin of crusades. No one, he said, who entered on a holy war, in such an unholy spirit, would find the sword of the Moor open to him a passage from earth to Heaven. No one, who, during this period of preparation, fell into mortal sin, neglected his religious duties, or indulged in uncharitable feelings, would be a true crusader, though he bound the cross on his shoulder, and sailed under the authority of a Bull of Crusade.These truths, however wholesome they might be, and however entirely accepted and enforced by the prince himself, were not always palatable, and Father José’s preaching was often deserted for that of a chaplain belonging to Dom Enrique’s household, named Martin. This priest was instrumental in turning the minds of many towards the war. He preached in glowing terms the glory that was to be won both for earth and Heaven, the certainty of success, the sure path to Paradise; painted vividly the triumph over the conquered city, the splendid spoils that would be the rightful property of the conquering soldiers of the cross, the dreadful fate that would rightly befall the “Pagan hounds,” whom they would destroy; and finally promised absolution and the Church’s blessing to all those who heartily engaged in the contest. This preaching worked up the young nobility to a state of wild enthusiasm, and among others Harry Hartsed, who, though greatly admiring his prince, thought his sentiments rather fine-spun, and that to take arms with a view of revenging the wrong of the Northberry family, and of gaining some spiritual advantages for himself, was quite enough.All his interest in his little playmate’s lost sister was revived by the intelligence that Sir Walter had declined all offers of marriage for Nella in England, and that in the event of his returning safely from the present campaign he meant her to come to Lisbon and rejoin him. She was now more than sixteen, and her reputation as a beauty had preceded her.Harry thought that when spoils and honours should enable him to think of a wife, he would like to see Nella’s brave blue eyes, and hear her frank tongue, before he gave his heart away to any dark-glancing, soft-spoken Portuguese.All through the spring the preparations were pushed forward; and at last, after much delay, came the long-expected answer from the Pope.He wrote that wars of offence with the Infidel were allowable in resistance to any actual injury committed by them on any particular kingdom, but during a period of entire peace could only be justified by proving that the existence of the infidel power was injurious to Christendom at large, in which latter case the Pope granted a bull of crusade. He could not now perceive that the King of Portugal had received any injuries from the King of Barbary, or that the latter had recently in any way made himself obnoxious to the nations of Christendom. He could not therefore grant the bull of crusade, and recommended King Duarte to abstain from the attack.This was King Duarte’s own opinion; but he could not read the Pope’s despatch without thinking of the disappointment it would inflict on his ardent brothers; and, alas! of the great unpopularity of disbanding the already impatient army. This difficulty also occurred to Pedro, who blamed Duarte for having allowed the preparations to be begun.“Look you,” said Duarte, “I shall leave it in their hands. If they can conscientiously disregard the opinion of his holiness, let them make the attempt. It is indeed true that Fernando has never seen warfare. When this is over he will be content, and if Tangier is taken, maybe the Pope will not think the war unjustifiable.”The Popes of the fifteenth century had not so lived or ruled that their fiat should be accepted with unquestioning respect. It was a hard matter, however, to display the letter to the eager spirits who were staking their all on the attempt.Fernando turned pale as death, and uttered not a word.Enrique read through the parchment, and then started up, exclaiming—“There are things that man must do at his own risk. Who can authorise the inmost promptings of the soul that lead to great ends? The holy father may fear to speak; we will give Tangier to the Church, and win his blessing at the sword’s point.”So said Enrique, having indeed much experience of the inward promptings of which he spoke; and Duarte was much swayed by his words.Fernando was still silent. There was the sharpness of a personal wish, both to sway him and to cause a fear of being swayed.“Let it be as the king will,” he said, slowly; but Duarte had not the heart to accept his submission.“Matters have gone too far to recede,” he said. “Go, my brothers; I confide in your judgment, and may the blessing of God rest on your arms.”Fernando bent down and kissed the king’s hand, while Enrique exclaimed—“Tangier shall be yours, when we meet again.” Dom Joao shrugged his shoulders. “That depends,” he said, “on the number and the condition of your troops.”All was now hurry and excitement. And between the contending views there was much confusion.Dom Joao’s opinion on military matters had great weight; and when it was known that he disapproved of the expedition, many held back from it.The young queen liking the excitement of the start, and the probable glory to Portugal favoured the enterprise; and strangely enough it fell out, that the war was advocated by all the gayer and wilder spirits, while the more sober doubted and held back.Queen Leonora laughed at her husband for the strange reluctance that he showed to part with Fernando.“All the—others,” she said, “were constantly absent from him on long and dangerous errands; surely he could let Fernando go for a few months.”“That is the very thing,” said Duarte sadly; “I have never been parted from him, and this war fills me with anxiety and dread.”“Why, you grow slow of heart,” said Leonora, laughing. “You did not think so when Ceuta was before you.”Spite of this rallying, the parting was a cruel one. Although there was a keener sympathy of character and opinion between Enrique and Fernando, Duarte had been to the latter a constant companion and support; and to act against his judgment, and to cause him pain and anxiety, was the first sacrifice in which his project involved him.
“I saw the Holy Grail, and heard a cry—O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me.”
“I saw the Holy Grail, and heard a cry—O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me.”
The number of voices raised in favour of the Moorish war concealed the fact of how many regarded it with disapproval. Sir Walter Northberry at once offered himself as a volunteer, and Harry Hartsed, in common with all the members in Dom Fernando’s suite, was hot in the cause, saw no difficulties, and talked as if Tangier were already won, a mode of proceeding provoking to the opposing princes, and to those who thought with them.
No such light-mindedness could be urged against the prince himself. There was, indeed, a light of hope and happiness in his face rarely seen there before; but he spent long hours in prayer, not so much for the success of his undertaking, as that he might be worthy to engage in it, and constantly urged on his followers the necessity of preparing for a holy war by a holy life. He showed no resentment at his brothers’ opposition, merely saying that he did not wonder at their distrust of the views of so inexperienced a person as himself, though he could never be grateful enough to Enrique for his comprehension of them. Enrique had so many other matters in hand, in preparation for his departure, that he had not much time to bestow on the collecting of the forces, and moreover had something of the self-confidence of great conscious power, that anything in which he was engaged could be made to succeed. So that Fernando had it all his own way, and perhaps was hardly the person to realise all the difficulties in his path, since he credited others with his own strong and unwavering zeal.
The war was, on the whole, popular among the clergy, and was approved by the Archbishop of Lisbon; and Father José—who had been Fernando’s confessor and chaplain from childhood, and had constantly listened to his longings for such an opportunity—rejoiced that his dear son, as he regarded Fernando, should at last gain the wish of his heart. But he said much less about triumphing over the Moors, than about the necessity of faith, purity, and holiness in those who would attack them, about the sin of rivalry and contention among men engaged in a holy war, pointing out how self-indulgence and disputes had been the ruin of crusades. No one, he said, who entered on a holy war, in such an unholy spirit, would find the sword of the Moor open to him a passage from earth to Heaven. No one, who, during this period of preparation, fell into mortal sin, neglected his religious duties, or indulged in uncharitable feelings, would be a true crusader, though he bound the cross on his shoulder, and sailed under the authority of a Bull of Crusade.
These truths, however wholesome they might be, and however entirely accepted and enforced by the prince himself, were not always palatable, and Father José’s preaching was often deserted for that of a chaplain belonging to Dom Enrique’s household, named Martin. This priest was instrumental in turning the minds of many towards the war. He preached in glowing terms the glory that was to be won both for earth and Heaven, the certainty of success, the sure path to Paradise; painted vividly the triumph over the conquered city, the splendid spoils that would be the rightful property of the conquering soldiers of the cross, the dreadful fate that would rightly befall the “Pagan hounds,” whom they would destroy; and finally promised absolution and the Church’s blessing to all those who heartily engaged in the contest. This preaching worked up the young nobility to a state of wild enthusiasm, and among others Harry Hartsed, who, though greatly admiring his prince, thought his sentiments rather fine-spun, and that to take arms with a view of revenging the wrong of the Northberry family, and of gaining some spiritual advantages for himself, was quite enough.
All his interest in his little playmate’s lost sister was revived by the intelligence that Sir Walter had declined all offers of marriage for Nella in England, and that in the event of his returning safely from the present campaign he meant her to come to Lisbon and rejoin him. She was now more than sixteen, and her reputation as a beauty had preceded her.
Harry thought that when spoils and honours should enable him to think of a wife, he would like to see Nella’s brave blue eyes, and hear her frank tongue, before he gave his heart away to any dark-glancing, soft-spoken Portuguese.
All through the spring the preparations were pushed forward; and at last, after much delay, came the long-expected answer from the Pope.
He wrote that wars of offence with the Infidel were allowable in resistance to any actual injury committed by them on any particular kingdom, but during a period of entire peace could only be justified by proving that the existence of the infidel power was injurious to Christendom at large, in which latter case the Pope granted a bull of crusade. He could not now perceive that the King of Portugal had received any injuries from the King of Barbary, or that the latter had recently in any way made himself obnoxious to the nations of Christendom. He could not therefore grant the bull of crusade, and recommended King Duarte to abstain from the attack.
This was King Duarte’s own opinion; but he could not read the Pope’s despatch without thinking of the disappointment it would inflict on his ardent brothers; and, alas! of the great unpopularity of disbanding the already impatient army. This difficulty also occurred to Pedro, who blamed Duarte for having allowed the preparations to be begun.
“Look you,” said Duarte, “I shall leave it in their hands. If they can conscientiously disregard the opinion of his holiness, let them make the attempt. It is indeed true that Fernando has never seen warfare. When this is over he will be content, and if Tangier is taken, maybe the Pope will not think the war unjustifiable.”
The Popes of the fifteenth century had not so lived or ruled that their fiat should be accepted with unquestioning respect. It was a hard matter, however, to display the letter to the eager spirits who were staking their all on the attempt.
Fernando turned pale as death, and uttered not a word.
Enrique read through the parchment, and then started up, exclaiming—
“There are things that man must do at his own risk. Who can authorise the inmost promptings of the soul that lead to great ends? The holy father may fear to speak; we will give Tangier to the Church, and win his blessing at the sword’s point.”
So said Enrique, having indeed much experience of the inward promptings of which he spoke; and Duarte was much swayed by his words.
Fernando was still silent. There was the sharpness of a personal wish, both to sway him and to cause a fear of being swayed.
“Let it be as the king will,” he said, slowly; but Duarte had not the heart to accept his submission.
“Matters have gone too far to recede,” he said. “Go, my brothers; I confide in your judgment, and may the blessing of God rest on your arms.”
Fernando bent down and kissed the king’s hand, while Enrique exclaimed—
“Tangier shall be yours, when we meet again.” Dom Joao shrugged his shoulders. “That depends,” he said, “on the number and the condition of your troops.”
All was now hurry and excitement. And between the contending views there was much confusion.
Dom Joao’s opinion on military matters had great weight; and when it was known that he disapproved of the expedition, many held back from it.
The young queen liking the excitement of the start, and the probable glory to Portugal favoured the enterprise; and strangely enough it fell out, that the war was advocated by all the gayer and wilder spirits, while the more sober doubted and held back.
Queen Leonora laughed at her husband for the strange reluctance that he showed to part with Fernando.
“All the—others,” she said, “were constantly absent from him on long and dangerous errands; surely he could let Fernando go for a few months.”
“That is the very thing,” said Duarte sadly; “I have never been parted from him, and this war fills me with anxiety and dread.”
“Why, you grow slow of heart,” said Leonora, laughing. “You did not think so when Ceuta was before you.”
Spite of this rallying, the parting was a cruel one. Although there was a keener sympathy of character and opinion between Enrique and Fernando, Duarte had been to the latter a constant companion and support; and to act against his judgment, and to cause him pain and anxiety, was the first sacrifice in which his project involved him.
Chapter Thirteen.Before Tangier.“Who is there that wishes for more men from England!”On the 22nd of August the fleet of the Infantes set sail from Lisbon, fourteen thousand men having been decided on as the number necessary for the expedition, and in due course arrived at Ceuta, where Dom Enrique, who had hitherto exercised but little personal superintendence, proceeded to review them, and to examine into their efficiency, Fernando assisting him. The sight of Ceuta recalled to them both that first campaign—so brilliant, so prosperous, so well-planned and executed. It was something to receive the blessing of the Bishop of the city that their father had made Christian, and to see it happy and prosperous under its new rule.As the day went on, Fernando grew very weary of riding about in the hot sun, and began sadly to discover how unequal his strength was to the fatigues of a campaign. Enrique, perceiving this, sent him back to his lodging, whither he presently followed him in much perturbation.“Fernando,” he said, “things are against us. My mind misgave me when we landed as to our numbers; and now I find that, instead of the fourteen thousand ordered to embark, we have but eight! Many fell back on hearing the Pope’s decision; many more from respect to Joao’s views. There has been some strange want of common sense in the officers who superintended the embarkation. They say their orders were not precise, and the king’s commands uncertain. Anyhow, we are here with but half our troops?”“Well, dear Enrique, we who are here must fight the harder!” said Fernando, smiling.“The commanders wish to send back the fleet for more troops,” said Enrique.“No! How should we keep up the spirits of those waiting here? What would the king think? And the enemy would get wind of our intentions! We must push on at once, and trust in the force of our onslaught?”“That is my own view,” said Enrique, “but my mind misgives me!”“That is the most fatal thing of all. It is too late for misgivings,” said Fernando, resolutely.“And you—how can you bear the march over these hot sands? You are over-wearied already.”Fernando winced somewhat, but answered, “You might go by land with the main body of the troops, while I with the rest go to Tangier by sea. I could well do that.”This plan, after a good deal of discussion, was finally adopted; for Fernando was far from well, and could not have attempted the land march. He was the most cheerful and sanguine of the party; but there was so much difference of opinion, and so much depression at the insufficiency of the forces, that the joyful, resolute spirit of crusaders, seemed far from the rest of the army, and time and energy were wasted in disputes and lamentations. The men had lost confidence in their leaders, every one was of a different opinion as to waiting for fresh troops or pushing on as they were, and instead of prayer, praise, or hopeful anticipation, there was perpetual wrangling.It was now found that Father José’s teaching had far more effect in softening, these differences than Father Martin’s; for the former led them to dwell on the blessing of a high and earnest purpose, which would consecrate success, and could not be destroyed by failure; while the latter fell in with the popular feeling, by finding fault with the lukewarmness and want of zeal shown by the other Infantes, who had thus risked the success of the expedition. As he belonged to Dom Enrique’s household, he accompanied the land march; while Father José went by sea, in company with all the members of Fernando’s suite.Harry Hartsed was one of the malcontents. There was something provoking to his common sense in the ill-management of the start; and though he had no expectation of failure, it afforded him great satisfaction to grumble at the princes, and even at the king, by way perhaps of showing that he was not a Portuguese subject. Young Alvarez was more scrupulous and more serious-minded, but he had misgivings as to disregarding the wishes of the Pope; and these two lads represented widespread phases of public opinion.Fernando heard but little of this. Remembering how easily Ceuta had been won, and feeling the utmost confidence in Enrique’s skill, he did not much fear failure, and bore no grudge against his other brothers for thinking differently from himself. He recovered his strength during the sea-voyage, and as they neared Tangier, and he stood on the deck in full armour with the cross of his order on his breast, the look of hope and joy on his face communicated itself to his followers; and whatever else they differed about, they were all ready to live or die for him.Under his orders the landing of the troops and the meeting with Dom Enrique’s contingent was safely accomplished, and, in better spirits than they had yet enjoyed, the little army prepared for the attack. They found that their old enemy, Zala-ben-Zala, was in command at Tangier, and soon became aware that the King of Fez was bringing large numbers into the field against them. Before they left Lisbon the king had strenuously advised them not to leave the beach unguarded so that the enemy could cut off their chance of retreat; and he felt the necessity of this so strongly, that he sent an autograph letter to Enrique at Ceuta, entreating him to observe this precaution. Enrique, however, either disregarded it, or found that with his small number it was impossible to spare any from the attack; for there began such a struggle as tried the courage of veterans, and showed the young recruits the face of war in good earnest.The Portuguese forces marched to the attack in two divisions, commanded by the two princes. Each division fought under the flag of Portugal, and also under that of the order to which its leader belonged, the red cross of Avis, the green cross of the Order of Christ; and on Enrique’s banner was inscribed the motto he had so well earned the right to carry, “Talent de bien faire;” on that of Fernando the humbler legend, “Le bien me plait.”They fought on through the hot September day, with fresh battalions constantly coming up to the defence, till they became conscious that they were contending against a superiority of numbers such as they had never contemplated. Troop after troop of turbaned soldiers came pouring down upon them; nevertheless, they fought with such ardour, that Enrique’s division pressed right up to the walls of the town and raised their scaling-ladders against them; Fernando’s side having meanwhile been so fiercely attacked, that it was all that he could do to hold his ground. Alas! the scaling-ladders which they had brought were too short to reach the top of the ramparts, and after frightful loss of life, and long hours of vain effort, Dom Enrique was forced to sound a retreat, before the darkness overtook them, at the enemy’s very gates. He reached the camp just as Fernando came up to join him, and the two brothers embraced eagerly, thankful at least to find each other safe.“You are unhurt?” said Enrique. “Then all is not lost.”“Oh, yes, I am unhurt,” said Fernando, “and ready for another attempt to-morrow. The odds are great, but our men showed no flinching. I fear me our losses are terrible.”“So great,” said Enrique with reluctance, “and the odds are so much against us, that there is but one thing left to do, and that is to retreat. We must go back to Ceuta, and wait there for fresh troops and longer ladders.”Fernando recoiled almost as from a blow.“What!—have we failed?” he said.“Well, say we have not yet succeeded. There is no help for it, Fernando; it must be done.”Enrique was bitterly mortified, and disappointed, and spoke less gently than usual; and perhaps Fernando had never struggled so hard; with himself as before he answered—“You can judge best, my brother; be it so.”There was no time to be lost in making the arrangements. The army was to re-embark while sheltered by the darkness, and Fernando went to see how best to transport the wounded; while Enrique held council with the officers, who all agreed with him as to the necessity.There were loud murmurs, however, among the younger noblemen, and there was a good deal of delay after the first decision before the final start was made. At last all was ready, and Enrique prepared to give the order for the march in the silent night, without banner, shout, or trumpet. How different from that, morning’s approach! What was it moving in front of them, through the purple darkness of the southern night—long, dim, white lines, between them and the sea?Alas for the disregard of the king’s counsel! They were the white cloaks of the Moorish troops, and the little Christian army was surrounded on all sides.“Betrayed! betrayed! Caught like mice in a trap!” cried Enrique, losing his self-control. “Where is the false traitor to whom this is owing?”“Hush!” said Fernando, laying his hand on Enrique’s arm. “Let none see your amazement. The hand of God is against us. We were unworthy of the cause we undertook in self-willed opposition.”He spoke in a tone of calm, sad conviction, and then, seeing Enrique’s distress, added gently—“The blame lies on me. I know well that you acted for my sake.”Enrique shook his head; then, after a moment’s silence, started into energy again.“Now we must sell our lives hard. There is no choice remaining. We march on the town with the first dawn of light. And now to prayer. May God have mercy on us! we are in evil case. Where is Father Martin?”“My lord, my lord!” cried young Alvarez, rushing up, “here is a sentinel who declares that in the dusk he beheld Father Martin pass him by, and afterwards a figure steal to the enemy’s lines.”“Where is the holy father!” said Enrique, calmly disregarding this assertion.But Father Martin was nowhere to be found, and instead of the proposed solemn services, the whole camp was engaged in a passionate discussion as to whether he had been the traitor or not. Young Hartsed hotly defended him, and he and Alvarez disputed till words almost came to blows.With the first ray of light the rail to arms was sounded, and several hours were spent in desperate efforts to break through the enemy’s ranks. It was all in vain; and as the shadows of evening fell the recall was sounded, and in humiliation and sorrow of heart the defeated princes sent to offer terms of capitulation, and to ask for what ransom they and their troops would be allowed to depart.
“Who is there that wishes for more men from England!”
“Who is there that wishes for more men from England!”
On the 22nd of August the fleet of the Infantes set sail from Lisbon, fourteen thousand men having been decided on as the number necessary for the expedition, and in due course arrived at Ceuta, where Dom Enrique, who had hitherto exercised but little personal superintendence, proceeded to review them, and to examine into their efficiency, Fernando assisting him. The sight of Ceuta recalled to them both that first campaign—so brilliant, so prosperous, so well-planned and executed. It was something to receive the blessing of the Bishop of the city that their father had made Christian, and to see it happy and prosperous under its new rule.
As the day went on, Fernando grew very weary of riding about in the hot sun, and began sadly to discover how unequal his strength was to the fatigues of a campaign. Enrique, perceiving this, sent him back to his lodging, whither he presently followed him in much perturbation.
“Fernando,” he said, “things are against us. My mind misgave me when we landed as to our numbers; and now I find that, instead of the fourteen thousand ordered to embark, we have but eight! Many fell back on hearing the Pope’s decision; many more from respect to Joao’s views. There has been some strange want of common sense in the officers who superintended the embarkation. They say their orders were not precise, and the king’s commands uncertain. Anyhow, we are here with but half our troops?”
“Well, dear Enrique, we who are here must fight the harder!” said Fernando, smiling.
“The commanders wish to send back the fleet for more troops,” said Enrique.
“No! How should we keep up the spirits of those waiting here? What would the king think? And the enemy would get wind of our intentions! We must push on at once, and trust in the force of our onslaught?”
“That is my own view,” said Enrique, “but my mind misgives me!”
“That is the most fatal thing of all. It is too late for misgivings,” said Fernando, resolutely.
“And you—how can you bear the march over these hot sands? You are over-wearied already.”
Fernando winced somewhat, but answered, “You might go by land with the main body of the troops, while I with the rest go to Tangier by sea. I could well do that.”
This plan, after a good deal of discussion, was finally adopted; for Fernando was far from well, and could not have attempted the land march. He was the most cheerful and sanguine of the party; but there was so much difference of opinion, and so much depression at the insufficiency of the forces, that the joyful, resolute spirit of crusaders, seemed far from the rest of the army, and time and energy were wasted in disputes and lamentations. The men had lost confidence in their leaders, every one was of a different opinion as to waiting for fresh troops or pushing on as they were, and instead of prayer, praise, or hopeful anticipation, there was perpetual wrangling.
It was now found that Father José’s teaching had far more effect in softening, these differences than Father Martin’s; for the former led them to dwell on the blessing of a high and earnest purpose, which would consecrate success, and could not be destroyed by failure; while the latter fell in with the popular feeling, by finding fault with the lukewarmness and want of zeal shown by the other Infantes, who had thus risked the success of the expedition. As he belonged to Dom Enrique’s household, he accompanied the land march; while Father José went by sea, in company with all the members of Fernando’s suite.
Harry Hartsed was one of the malcontents. There was something provoking to his common sense in the ill-management of the start; and though he had no expectation of failure, it afforded him great satisfaction to grumble at the princes, and even at the king, by way perhaps of showing that he was not a Portuguese subject. Young Alvarez was more scrupulous and more serious-minded, but he had misgivings as to disregarding the wishes of the Pope; and these two lads represented widespread phases of public opinion.
Fernando heard but little of this. Remembering how easily Ceuta had been won, and feeling the utmost confidence in Enrique’s skill, he did not much fear failure, and bore no grudge against his other brothers for thinking differently from himself. He recovered his strength during the sea-voyage, and as they neared Tangier, and he stood on the deck in full armour with the cross of his order on his breast, the look of hope and joy on his face communicated itself to his followers; and whatever else they differed about, they were all ready to live or die for him.
Under his orders the landing of the troops and the meeting with Dom Enrique’s contingent was safely accomplished, and, in better spirits than they had yet enjoyed, the little army prepared for the attack. They found that their old enemy, Zala-ben-Zala, was in command at Tangier, and soon became aware that the King of Fez was bringing large numbers into the field against them. Before they left Lisbon the king had strenuously advised them not to leave the beach unguarded so that the enemy could cut off their chance of retreat; and he felt the necessity of this so strongly, that he sent an autograph letter to Enrique at Ceuta, entreating him to observe this precaution. Enrique, however, either disregarded it, or found that with his small number it was impossible to spare any from the attack; for there began such a struggle as tried the courage of veterans, and showed the young recruits the face of war in good earnest.
The Portuguese forces marched to the attack in two divisions, commanded by the two princes. Each division fought under the flag of Portugal, and also under that of the order to which its leader belonged, the red cross of Avis, the green cross of the Order of Christ; and on Enrique’s banner was inscribed the motto he had so well earned the right to carry, “Talent de bien faire;” on that of Fernando the humbler legend, “Le bien me plait.”
They fought on through the hot September day, with fresh battalions constantly coming up to the defence, till they became conscious that they were contending against a superiority of numbers such as they had never contemplated. Troop after troop of turbaned soldiers came pouring down upon them; nevertheless, they fought with such ardour, that Enrique’s division pressed right up to the walls of the town and raised their scaling-ladders against them; Fernando’s side having meanwhile been so fiercely attacked, that it was all that he could do to hold his ground. Alas! the scaling-ladders which they had brought were too short to reach the top of the ramparts, and after frightful loss of life, and long hours of vain effort, Dom Enrique was forced to sound a retreat, before the darkness overtook them, at the enemy’s very gates. He reached the camp just as Fernando came up to join him, and the two brothers embraced eagerly, thankful at least to find each other safe.
“You are unhurt?” said Enrique. “Then all is not lost.”
“Oh, yes, I am unhurt,” said Fernando, “and ready for another attempt to-morrow. The odds are great, but our men showed no flinching. I fear me our losses are terrible.”
“So great,” said Enrique with reluctance, “and the odds are so much against us, that there is but one thing left to do, and that is to retreat. We must go back to Ceuta, and wait there for fresh troops and longer ladders.”
Fernando recoiled almost as from a blow.
“What!—have we failed?” he said.
“Well, say we have not yet succeeded. There is no help for it, Fernando; it must be done.”
Enrique was bitterly mortified, and disappointed, and spoke less gently than usual; and perhaps Fernando had never struggled so hard; with himself as before he answered—
“You can judge best, my brother; be it so.”
There was no time to be lost in making the arrangements. The army was to re-embark while sheltered by the darkness, and Fernando went to see how best to transport the wounded; while Enrique held council with the officers, who all agreed with him as to the necessity.
There were loud murmurs, however, among the younger noblemen, and there was a good deal of delay after the first decision before the final start was made. At last all was ready, and Enrique prepared to give the order for the march in the silent night, without banner, shout, or trumpet. How different from that, morning’s approach! What was it moving in front of them, through the purple darkness of the southern night—long, dim, white lines, between them and the sea?
Alas for the disregard of the king’s counsel! They were the white cloaks of the Moorish troops, and the little Christian army was surrounded on all sides.
“Betrayed! betrayed! Caught like mice in a trap!” cried Enrique, losing his self-control. “Where is the false traitor to whom this is owing?”
“Hush!” said Fernando, laying his hand on Enrique’s arm. “Let none see your amazement. The hand of God is against us. We were unworthy of the cause we undertook in self-willed opposition.”
He spoke in a tone of calm, sad conviction, and then, seeing Enrique’s distress, added gently—
“The blame lies on me. I know well that you acted for my sake.”
Enrique shook his head; then, after a moment’s silence, started into energy again.
“Now we must sell our lives hard. There is no choice remaining. We march on the town with the first dawn of light. And now to prayer. May God have mercy on us! we are in evil case. Where is Father Martin?”
“My lord, my lord!” cried young Alvarez, rushing up, “here is a sentinel who declares that in the dusk he beheld Father Martin pass him by, and afterwards a figure steal to the enemy’s lines.”
“Where is the holy father!” said Enrique, calmly disregarding this assertion.
But Father Martin was nowhere to be found, and instead of the proposed solemn services, the whole camp was engaged in a passionate discussion as to whether he had been the traitor or not. Young Hartsed hotly defended him, and he and Alvarez disputed till words almost came to blows.
With the first ray of light the rail to arms was sounded, and several hours were spent in desperate efforts to break through the enemy’s ranks. It was all in vain; and as the shadows of evening fell the recall was sounded, and in humiliation and sorrow of heart the defeated princes sent to offer terms of capitulation, and to ask for what ransom they and their troops would be allowed to depart.
Chapter Fourteen.The Steadfast Prince.“Still to abide ’mid failing hearts high-hearted.”The two Infantes occupied a tent in the centre of the Portuguese camp, and when their messengers returned they came out to the front of it, and, surrounded by their chief officers, prepared to receive the Moorish delegates who had come to offer them terms of surrender. The wounded had been cared for as well as circumstances admitted, and an attempt had been made to draw up the poor remnant of the troops in good order, so as not to produce an impression of utter defeat. But nothing could alter the dejected countenances and downcast air of the beaten army; the very banners hung listless in the still air of evening, and many a wistful look was cast at the blue sea, so near yet so unapproachable, beyond which lay Portugal and home.Life had never held so bitter a moment for Enrique of Portugal as when he stood there to receive and not to dictate terms of surrender; and from an enemy whom he regarded with a mixture of contempt and hatred. He was, however, perfectly calm and impassive, not losing the advantage that his splendid presence gave him, and prepared to accede to the demand for a heavy ransom before he and his army were allowed to depart.Fernando stood beside him; disappointment and self-reproach put aside for the present, he showed himself an equally worthy representative of the honour of Portugal.The Moorish envoys were exceedingly courteous, and began their interview with many compliments on the valour of their illustrious foes.Enrique replied, very briefly, that the fortune of war being against them, they must leave it to the King of Fez to name their ransom.And then, still wrapped in courteous phrases, came the ultimatum. The town of Ceuta must be restored to its former owners, and to insure this one of the Infantes, with a certain number of nobles, must remain as a hostage in the hands of the King of Fez.“The King of Portugal,” said Enrique, “will be prepared for the payment of any money ransom the King of Fez may demand.”“The town of Ceuta,” said the chief officer of the Moors, “is the price of your liberty. Otherwise your troops must be put to the sword, and you and your chief nobles retained as prisoners at the king’s pleasure.”“The King of Fez,” said Fernando, “has a right to impose conditions. I offer myself as the hostage he demands.”“Fernando—no!” cried Enrique, suddenly losing his self-contained manner, and laying his hand on Fernando.“The noble Infante,” said the Moorish envoy, “need have no fears. He and his companions will be treated as the guests of the king, and will be released immediately that Ceuta is in the hands of my master.”Fernando smiled. “I have no fears,” he said, quietly.“And doubtless,” said the Moor, “the King of Portugal will see that it is consistent with his honour to release his noble brother without delay.”“The King of Portugal,” said Fernando, “will act as becomes an honourable and a Christian king.”“I do not consent—I do not consent!” said Enrique, in such agitation that Fernando said—“We will crave leave to withdraw, and to discuss this matter first with each other and then with our nobles.”So saying, he moved back into the tent, followed by Enrique, who threw himself into a seat, covering his face.“I—it must be I,” he said. “I will not leave you. How can I look Duarte in the face?”“But I could not undertake the command of the troops alone,” said Fernando; “and besides, we will not give themmorethan they ask.”Enrique still seemed unconvinced; Fernando sat down beside him and spoke earnestly.“Look you, Enrique. My self-willed longing to give my life to the cause of Christendom him brought this on us. ‘Behold! to obey is better than to sacrifice;’ but I heeded neither Duarte’s wish nor the Pope’s will, nor our other brothers’ opinion. It is fitting therefore that I should bear the brunt of failure.”“To demand Ceuta,” cried Enrique; “Ceuta, our one conquest from the realms of darkness! A law, alas! that we—thatIshould have lost Ceuta to Christendom!”“That,” said Fernando, very low and tenderly, “will not be foryourdecision.”Enrique started, and looked up in his face. Fernando took him by both hands and smiled with wonderful sweetness, while he said—“When wetookCeuta, my Enrique, and all my joy was gone at the fear of your death, you bade me remember that we would both have given our lives for it in the battle.Ibid you think of that now.”Enrique bent his head down on his brother’s hands and groaned aloud.“How can I face Duarte—what can I say to him?” he repeated.“Tell him,” said Fernando, “to remember that both he and I are Christian princes, soldiers of the Cross of Christ. And give him my—my love.” Here he faltered for a moment; then, recovering himself, said, firmly—“We delay too long. Let us consult with the officers. I cannot, I suppose, remain here alone.” Enrique seemed quite unable to recover himself, and Fernando was forced to take the lead in the discussion that followed. There was no lack of volunteers to share in his self-devotion, nor indeed was there any particular reason to shrink from a temporary detention in an enemy’s country. Several nobles of sufficient station to satisfy the requirements of the Moors were selected, and Father José resolved on accompanying his beloved prince; and this fact a little comforted Enrique, and enabled him once more to meet the Moorish envoys, and to announce to them that he had resolved on accepting the terms proposed, and that his brother, with twelve companions, would remain behind as hostages for the restitution of the town of Ceuta, he himself and the rest of the army being allowed to depart unharmed.Moussa-Ben-Hadad, the Moorish envoy, was courtesy itself. El Señor Dom Fernando, Infante of Portugal and Grand-Master of Avis, would be the guest of his king, who would be honoured by his presence, and would do his best to make his stay agreeable, short as it would be. He would be allowed free communication by letter with Portugal. A document was prepared and signed by Moussa-Ben-Hadad and by the two Infantes, to the effect that Fernando was to remain a prisoner until such time as Ceuta should be given up.Alvarez and Harry Hartsed both entreated to remain with him; but he refused steadily, saying that their rank was not sufficient for hostages, and that no unnecessary force should be wasted. Sir Walter Northberry was among the wounded.All was prepared for the start during the night, and with the first dawn of day this defeated Christians began their retreat, in good order and with banners flying. They had no need to eat their hearts out with mortification and wounded pride, as they noticed the innumerable ranks of the foes between whom their own small force took its way to the beach. Self-reproach and shame was for the leaders, who had so misjudged and mismanaged; and Enrique felt as if the weight bowed him to the earth.The time for parting came, and the two brothers were alone. It might seem but a formal parting for a short time, but upon them both lay the weight of a conviction which each was too tender to the other to put into words. But the sympathy between them was too deep and keen for any doubt as to the other’s opinion. Fernando laid his hands on Enrique’s shoulders and looked full into his face.“You are my other self, and you know my heart by your own,” he said. “Courage! for we shall not part for ever.”Enrique dared not give way. He took Fernando’s hand, and together they went out to the front of the tent—the last one remaining of the little camp—where Enrique’s suite were ready mounted on the one side, and the escort of Moors awaited Fernando on the other.The brothers embraced each other in silence; Fernando mounted his horse and bowed to the knights and nobles standing round. In the light of the summer morning, with the new sun shining on the red cross on his breast and on his steadfast, smiling eyes, Enrique beheld him; then, mounting his horse, he rode away, and left this well-beloved brother behind.
“Still to abide ’mid failing hearts high-hearted.”
“Still to abide ’mid failing hearts high-hearted.”
The two Infantes occupied a tent in the centre of the Portuguese camp, and when their messengers returned they came out to the front of it, and, surrounded by their chief officers, prepared to receive the Moorish delegates who had come to offer them terms of surrender. The wounded had been cared for as well as circumstances admitted, and an attempt had been made to draw up the poor remnant of the troops in good order, so as not to produce an impression of utter defeat. But nothing could alter the dejected countenances and downcast air of the beaten army; the very banners hung listless in the still air of evening, and many a wistful look was cast at the blue sea, so near yet so unapproachable, beyond which lay Portugal and home.
Life had never held so bitter a moment for Enrique of Portugal as when he stood there to receive and not to dictate terms of surrender; and from an enemy whom he regarded with a mixture of contempt and hatred. He was, however, perfectly calm and impassive, not losing the advantage that his splendid presence gave him, and prepared to accede to the demand for a heavy ransom before he and his army were allowed to depart.
Fernando stood beside him; disappointment and self-reproach put aside for the present, he showed himself an equally worthy representative of the honour of Portugal.
The Moorish envoys were exceedingly courteous, and began their interview with many compliments on the valour of their illustrious foes.
Enrique replied, very briefly, that the fortune of war being against them, they must leave it to the King of Fez to name their ransom.
And then, still wrapped in courteous phrases, came the ultimatum. The town of Ceuta must be restored to its former owners, and to insure this one of the Infantes, with a certain number of nobles, must remain as a hostage in the hands of the King of Fez.
“The King of Portugal,” said Enrique, “will be prepared for the payment of any money ransom the King of Fez may demand.”
“The town of Ceuta,” said the chief officer of the Moors, “is the price of your liberty. Otherwise your troops must be put to the sword, and you and your chief nobles retained as prisoners at the king’s pleasure.”
“The King of Fez,” said Fernando, “has a right to impose conditions. I offer myself as the hostage he demands.”
“Fernando—no!” cried Enrique, suddenly losing his self-contained manner, and laying his hand on Fernando.
“The noble Infante,” said the Moorish envoy, “need have no fears. He and his companions will be treated as the guests of the king, and will be released immediately that Ceuta is in the hands of my master.”
Fernando smiled. “I have no fears,” he said, quietly.
“And doubtless,” said the Moor, “the King of Portugal will see that it is consistent with his honour to release his noble brother without delay.”
“The King of Portugal,” said Fernando, “will act as becomes an honourable and a Christian king.”
“I do not consent—I do not consent!” said Enrique, in such agitation that Fernando said—
“We will crave leave to withdraw, and to discuss this matter first with each other and then with our nobles.”
So saying, he moved back into the tent, followed by Enrique, who threw himself into a seat, covering his face.
“I—it must be I,” he said. “I will not leave you. How can I look Duarte in the face?”
“But I could not undertake the command of the troops alone,” said Fernando; “and besides, we will not give themmorethan they ask.”
Enrique still seemed unconvinced; Fernando sat down beside him and spoke earnestly.
“Look you, Enrique. My self-willed longing to give my life to the cause of Christendom him brought this on us. ‘Behold! to obey is better than to sacrifice;’ but I heeded neither Duarte’s wish nor the Pope’s will, nor our other brothers’ opinion. It is fitting therefore that I should bear the brunt of failure.”
“To demand Ceuta,” cried Enrique; “Ceuta, our one conquest from the realms of darkness! A law, alas! that we—thatIshould have lost Ceuta to Christendom!”
“That,” said Fernando, very low and tenderly, “will not be foryourdecision.”
Enrique started, and looked up in his face. Fernando took him by both hands and smiled with wonderful sweetness, while he said—
“When wetookCeuta, my Enrique, and all my joy was gone at the fear of your death, you bade me remember that we would both have given our lives for it in the battle.Ibid you think of that now.”
Enrique bent his head down on his brother’s hands and groaned aloud.
“How can I face Duarte—what can I say to him?” he repeated.
“Tell him,” said Fernando, “to remember that both he and I are Christian princes, soldiers of the Cross of Christ. And give him my—my love.” Here he faltered for a moment; then, recovering himself, said, firmly—
“We delay too long. Let us consult with the officers. I cannot, I suppose, remain here alone.” Enrique seemed quite unable to recover himself, and Fernando was forced to take the lead in the discussion that followed. There was no lack of volunteers to share in his self-devotion, nor indeed was there any particular reason to shrink from a temporary detention in an enemy’s country. Several nobles of sufficient station to satisfy the requirements of the Moors were selected, and Father José resolved on accompanying his beloved prince; and this fact a little comforted Enrique, and enabled him once more to meet the Moorish envoys, and to announce to them that he had resolved on accepting the terms proposed, and that his brother, with twelve companions, would remain behind as hostages for the restitution of the town of Ceuta, he himself and the rest of the army being allowed to depart unharmed.
Moussa-Ben-Hadad, the Moorish envoy, was courtesy itself. El Señor Dom Fernando, Infante of Portugal and Grand-Master of Avis, would be the guest of his king, who would be honoured by his presence, and would do his best to make his stay agreeable, short as it would be. He would be allowed free communication by letter with Portugal. A document was prepared and signed by Moussa-Ben-Hadad and by the two Infantes, to the effect that Fernando was to remain a prisoner until such time as Ceuta should be given up.
Alvarez and Harry Hartsed both entreated to remain with him; but he refused steadily, saying that their rank was not sufficient for hostages, and that no unnecessary force should be wasted. Sir Walter Northberry was among the wounded.
All was prepared for the start during the night, and with the first dawn of day this defeated Christians began their retreat, in good order and with banners flying. They had no need to eat their hearts out with mortification and wounded pride, as they noticed the innumerable ranks of the foes between whom their own small force took its way to the beach. Self-reproach and shame was for the leaders, who had so misjudged and mismanaged; and Enrique felt as if the weight bowed him to the earth.
The time for parting came, and the two brothers were alone. It might seem but a formal parting for a short time, but upon them both lay the weight of a conviction which each was too tender to the other to put into words. But the sympathy between them was too deep and keen for any doubt as to the other’s opinion. Fernando laid his hands on Enrique’s shoulders and looked full into his face.
“You are my other self, and you know my heart by your own,” he said. “Courage! for we shall not part for ever.”
Enrique dared not give way. He took Fernando’s hand, and together they went out to the front of the tent—the last one remaining of the little camp—where Enrique’s suite were ready mounted on the one side, and the escort of Moors awaited Fernando on the other.
The brothers embraced each other in silence; Fernando mounted his horse and bowed to the knights and nobles standing round. In the light of the summer morning, with the new sun shining on the red cross on his breast and on his steadfast, smiling eyes, Enrique beheld him; then, mounting his horse, he rode away, and left this well-beloved brother behind.