their victim to life: Sebastian opened his eyes and beheld himself in
the hands of the Almoçadem’s servants, once more a prisoner and a slave.
At that moment it could not be said his fortitude forsook him, though he
closed his eyes again with the air of one bereft of hope: on the
contrary, he was mentally bowing to the will of Providence, and striving
to rein in the phrenzy of extravagant rashness.
Having secured the weapons with which he might have attempted
resistance, and seeing him completely enfeebled, the Moors loaded him
with abuse; and one of them was on the point of adding outrage to
invective, when Sebastian half-started from the ground on which he lay,
faintly uttering the name of Kara Aziek; at that sound the Africans
shrunk back, staring on each other, and pronouncing the Christian a
sorcerer: he had indeed divined the only magic that could save him from
an extremity of insult; for on quitting the Cassavee these slaves had
been threatened by Hafiz with their lady’s wrath should they injure the
Portuguese.
The crowd of Alarbes that had joined El Hader’s servants, forbade any
attempt to elude them; Sebastian promised to return quietly, upon
condition that they did not fasten his hands like a criminal. After
some consultation together, the men at last consented to this. Without
allowing him time to recover from his exhaustion, they mounted him upon
a horse, and forming a troop of Alarbes around him, proceeded towards
the valley of palms.
The uncouth habits and ferocious looks of his mountaineer associates,
the mode of his conveyance, joined to the circumstances of his
situation, forcibly recalled to Sebastian the period in which he was
first carried to the abode of El Hader: thought then flowed back upon
the memory of Stukeley and the rare goodness of Abensallah; sigh
followed sigh as he remembered them, though he envied the lot of the
friend he lamented, who had escaped the galling chains of slavery by a
memorable death.
Such reflections as these occupied him so entirely, as to render him
insensible to the brutality of his companions, who frequently repeated
with grins of horrid triumph, that the Almoçadem had sworn he should be
broken upon the wheel.
Advancing in a beaten and direct road lying below the hills he had
mounted, Sebastian found that a journey which had cost him two nights
and days of wearisome toil, was to be achieved in less than the fourth
part of that time: the Moors hurried on, not allowing him any other
refreshment than a draught of water, so that when they reached the
valley of palms, his strength had completely forsaken him, and he almost
dropped from his horse at the great gate of El Hader’s residence.
The Moors conveyed their captive to one of those dungeons where Gaspar
had formerly been confined, telling him he must wait there till it
pleased their high Lord the Almoçadem to determine upon his punishment:
Sebastian gave no answer to their brutal information, throwing himself
along the damp earth (his only resting place) regardless of his own
fate, alarmed now for that of Gaspar.
It was but too probable that the Almoçadem might have revenged himself
upon his innocent head for the flight of his countryman: this fear had
not before agitated Sebastian, because he believed Kara Aziek would
interfere for the poor soldier, and that indeed El Hader himself was not
inclined to cruelty; but the present appearance of severity rendered
apprehensions for Gaspar perfectly rational.
This thought gave anxiety a new direction, and kept the unfortunate
monarch from reflecting upon his own disappointment; he was now
earnestly praying to see, or hear from Kara Aziek, from whom alone he
could hope for an account of his friend: but Kara Aziek did not appear,
and the King of Portugal counted the tedious hours of night in a dark
dungeon, upon the bare ground, alone and unsolaced.
“When the mind’s free, the body’s delicate;” he that had been nursed on
the lap of luxury, now suffered every human privation without missing
any other comforts than those of freedom and friendship.
Morning was made known to Sebastian merely by the sounds of labour
without; no cheering sun-beam penetrated his airless cell; he lay on the
unpaved floor, his spirit subdued awhile by past exertion and present
disturbance.
Towards evening a Moor whom he had once before seen, came to inform him
that it was El Hader’s pleasure he should be brought out the ensuing day
into the large slave-court, there to receive a thousand lashes, in the
presence of the Almoçadem and all his household.
“Tell your merciless master that I will die first!” exclaimed Sebastian,
fiercely starting from the ground.
“Peace! thou art a fool!” returned the phlegmatic Ephra, “how art thou
to escape this flogging, when thou hast neither weapons nor strength to
put thyself out of the world?”
“I shall then meet death on some of _your_ weapons!” cried Sebastian,
whose eyes struck fire as he spoke. “By every saint above, I swear, that
while there is life in this body it shall not be dishonoured by a
coward’s punishment! The man who would sooner lose life than honour, may
find avenues to death at every step. Tell your master--again I say tell
him--that I will die resisting his infamous decree!”
“You will die like a lunatic then, as you are,” retorted Ephra, turning
to go away, “I can tell you in return, that our master swears he will
not abate one jot of your punishment, even to please my lady, his
daughter: so don’t reckon upon _her_ interference.--Nay, for that
matter, she is lying sick at Mequinez, and will know nothing of this
business till it is over.”
Ephra closed the dungeon door as he finished, leaving Sebastian to
contemplate the probability of death on the morrow.
It was in vain that the young and ardent monarch strove to reconcile
himself to a destiny so inglorious: to perish thus in obscurity among a
handful of sordid Moors, without the means of conveying to his people,
and his Gonsalva a last blessing, was a thought which drove him to
phrenzy; he could not hope for the satisfaction of seeing Gaspar, nor
was Kara Aziek to be near, soothing his parting pangs with respect and
tenderness.
A confused apprehension that she would too deeply regret his fate,
trembled at his heart, softening the wildness of despair;--“Amiable, too
tender Aziek!” he exclaimed, “when I am released from earthly
sufferings, may some miracle be worked for thee!--may thine eyes be
opened to the true faith, and thy days be spent in other scenes than
these, so full of horror and iniquity!”
Hope, which hitherto had never completely left the intrepid breast of
Sebastian, now fled far away; the absence and sickness of Kara Aziek
appeared his death-warrant; he therefore endeavoured to meditate on the
probable event of his approaching struggle, with the seriousness it
demanded.
It was the middle watch of night, when having fallen asleep after a long
train of thought; he was awakened by the sound of the heavy bolts which
fastened his prison door; they were withdrawn by feeble hands, for they
moved gratingly: at length the door opened, and he beheld two of Kara
Aziek’s women.
They advanced timidly, closing the door behind them: the King sprung
from the ground; hope once more warmed his heart.--“Your mistress, your
angel mistress!” he exclaimed, “does she send you hither?”
“She sends me to reproach you, you rash Christian!” answered the slave,
“did you doubt her promise, that you thus rushed upon certain
destruction by attempting escape?”
“No, no, Benzaide,” replied Sebastian, “I doubted only her power to
serve me.--tell her that if I am to perish tomorrow, my soul will pine
in Paradise till it meets again, her pure and benevolent spirit!”
At this passionate burst of gratitude, the companion of Benzaide (who
had hitherto leaned unnoticed against the dungeon wall) sobbed aloud,
and sunk down upon the floor: in strange alarm Sebastian hastened to
raise her; Benzaide put aside the slave’s veil to give her air, and the
lamp she held, shining directly upon her face, discovered the soft
olive-brown complexion and lovely features of Kara Aziek.
Sebastian’s excess of pleasure was checked by an instinctive conviction
of Kara Aziek’s motive; and now those fervent acknowledgements he would
have lavished upon disinterested benevolence, were stifled by an
apprehension of heightening a sentiment which he could not return: every
animated word he should at this moment address to her, would be treason
against Gonsalva. At that thought he hastily dropped the trembling hand
he was carrying to his lips, and respectfully resigning her to Benzaide,
rose with a dejected air from his kneeling posture.
The gentle Moor wept some time in silence; but how expressive was that
silence! her eyes spoke every feeling of a fond and pitying heart; as
they alternately looked from the dungeon to its noble inhabitant,--to
him whose feet were cut, and bleeding still from the sharp rocks he had
traversed, and whose countenance, though pale and wasted, was yet bright
with unsubdued heroism.
“Ah, Fabian!” she exclaimed at length, in a voice that went to the soul,
“why didst thou do this rash thing? If I should not be able to save
thee?” she stopped at this, unable to conclude the sentence, and the
blood forsook her cheeks.
Wrung with grief, sick, pale, and languid, Kara Aziek could not have
been seen by the man she wished to charm, at a moment more unfavourable
for personal beauty; but there is a beauty of the soul, so transcending
all mortal perfections, that it triumphs over deformity itself: that
beauty now beamed from her tear-dimmed eyes and colourless cheek; it
seemed to shed a glory round her, at once awaking love and veneration.
Sebastian must have yielded to its sweet force, had not his heart been
pledged to another.
The agitated expression of the Christian’s countenance, reminded Aziek
that she was allowing too much of her own emotion to appear; struggling
to conceal it, she proceeded to repeat that he owed her present visit
solely to that sincere friendship which his misfortunes and his virtues
inspired; a friendship that feared not to shew itself in the form of
sympathy and succour. She informed him, that having been taken ill at
Mequinez soon after his flight, she must have remained in ignorance of
his return and fated punishment, had it not been for Hafiz, who secretly
dispatched a message to her, praying her intercession in behalf of his
favourite slave: she had then set off for the valley of palms, but
arriving too late for an interview with El Hader (who was gone to rest)
had ventured to assume a disguise, and pass the prison guards as one of
her own servants.
Aziek anxiously tried to hide from Sebastian the distraction into which
his departure had thrown her, by mentioning her illness as accidental;
native delicacy taught her to conceal the tenderest and purest love that
ever warmed a human bosom; to conceal it because she would owe nothing
to gratitude, nothing to compassion; because his happiness was the first
object of her generous heart.
The enthusiasm of Aziek’s manner while she spoke of pity and
philanthropy, almost persuaded her grateful auditor, that she would
indeed have done as much for any other man under such affecting
circumstances; yet he could not help allowing that the peculiar esteem
she felt for him, gave a charm to her benevolence.
He now blamed his late vain idea’s, and thought, that in El Hader’s
daughter he beheld one who would learn with a sister’s sympathy his
affection for another, and lament with a sister’s sorrow the privations
of his love!--this belief restored him to composure, and after
expressing much of his lively admiration, he ventured to inquire about
Gaspar.
Aziek replied, that Gaspar had so adroitly parried the questions put to
him (during the examination which followed Sebastian’s flight) that the
Almoçadem could find no ground for supposing him privy to the
run-a-way’s escape, especially as it seemed more natural for the former
to have escaped also, than to have remained behind: Gaspar had been
dismissed without censure, and was now occupied as usual under the
indulgent Hafiz.
This information relieved Sebastian’s heart from its heaviest load, and
again he blessed the gentle Being whose humanity imparted some of its
own mercy even to Moors grown old in tyranny.
Benzaide at this period reminded her mistress of the late hour, and of
her indisposition, which rendered rest indispensible; Kara Aziek
reluctantly took her arm: “I am going to leave thee, Fabian,” she said,
“Alla alone knows when and how we shall meet again!--that frantic spirit
of thine makes me tremble. If I should fail of softening my father,
alas, what will become of thee! thy terrible look at this moment answers
me but too plainly.”
Her eyes swimming in tears were now fixed upon his violently agitated
features; Sebastian strove to calm himself for her sake: “I dare not
deceive you, amiable Aziek!” he said, “it is my determination not to
survive disgrace: yet perhaps they will not seek to inflict it. Let your
father change my punishment to the severest penalties of toil, famine,
or imprisonment--let him condemn me to unheard-of sufferings, and I will
consent to live on, in the fantastic hope of being miraculously
delivered at last: but were freedom, and all those blessings comprized
in the dear name of country, to follow the execution of that sentence,
which turns my cheeks to fire while I but think of it, I would abhor
life after such degradation.--No, no, generous Aziek, ask me not to bear
it and to live.”
“I do not ask thee!--I know not what I would ask of thee!” exclaimed the
lovely Moor, in a tone of distraction, “thy life so precious--so
dear--so dear to all thy companions--O Alla! is it to be thus madly
thrown away! I would not have thee live disgraced, yet I would have thee
live. Perhaps if thou wouldest join thy prayers with mine, and humble
thyself to my father--prostrate at his feet, he could not surely----”
“Prostrate at his feet!” interrupted Sebastian wildly, darting on her a
look of indignation. “What! for myself!--for a Mahometan’s
mercy!--No!--I will die as I have lived--a King!”
The magnanimous and proud spirit of Sebastian, yet unsubdued by all his
mortifications, now shone out in full force over his face and figure:
like one awaking from some vanishing dream, Kara Aziek gazed on him,
faintly repeating his last words: she stood transfixed, while thought,
more rapid than light, was destroying every former hope.
If a Christian King, what must be the daughter of a Moorish noble, in
his eyes?--an atom!--a mote in the broad sunshine of regal glory: as
well might she think to scale the immeasurable heavens, as to become the
friend and partner of a King: in one moment she was hurled from him to a
distance so remote, that it seemed madness to hope his heart would ever
again throb with a single feeling answerable to hers.
Shocked, chilled, despairing, she silently tried to cover herself with
her veil, while half sinking in an attitude of reverence, excess of
emotion overcame her, and she was forced to catch at Benzaide for
support.
The heavy sigh which came from Aziek’s heart as she fell on the arm of
her maid, recovered Sebastian from his paroxysm; he now threw himself
before her: “Proud as you may think me, gentle Aziek!” he said, “Behold
the King of Portugal at your feet, soliciting pardon for his
impetuosity: the discovery that fiery hastiness has made, will but
increase your pity for an unfortunate man who, while languishing in
captivity, has so much to lament.”
He stopt, and Kara Aziek extending her hand to him with a varying cheek,
answered faulteringly, “The King of Portugal was said to have fallen at
Alcazar, and to be now buried in his native land--but I believe indeed
that thou art he.--Thou art then that Sebastian I was taught to _hate_!”
A deep but tender sigh burst forth with the last expression: how did
that sigh appear to change the meaning of the word she uttered!--the
touching voice in which she spoke, the tears that floated her
momentarily-fixed, and then suddenly-averted eyes, were only too
expressive of an eternal devotedness; but Sebastian, self-absorbed, saw
nothing; he rapidly recapitulated to her all that he possessed in
Portugal, and was now on the point of abandoning for ever.
On the mentioning of Donna Gonsalva, whom love painted in the most
seducing colours, Kara Aziek’s countenance suddenly changed; it varied
at every word, but she listened in silence: those fond hopes which had
again sprung up, when she saw him at her feet, those hopes which
formerly had been nourished by his tender manner, were now withered;
could she preserve his honour and his life, and after that obtain his
liberty, she would be doing this only to hasten the moment that would
give him to another.
Her pure, impassioned heart almost exclaimed aloud, “Ah, it is not thy
throne I covet to share; thy love alone would be to me a kingdom: with
thee, a desart, or a dungeon, obscurity or poverty would bestow
happiness.”
But though this regret filled her bosom, it could not displace for one
moment, that disinterested generosity which formed the basis of her
noblest qualities; whatever might become of herself she resolved to
renew her endeavour for procuring his release hereafter, should she
succeed in saving him now.
Donna Gonsalva’s beauty appeared from the description of Sebastian to be
that of a Celestial, and her character delineated by the same partial
hand could not fail of impressing Kara Aziek with the conviction that
she was worthy to be adored: to such a rival she yielded with the less
pain.
The King of Portugal was painfully affected by the changes he beheld in
the expressive countenance of his gentle friend; it was impossible for
him not to find his past fears recur, as he witnessed this ill-concealed
emotion: at one moment he repented, at another applauded the disclosure
of those dear engagements which must teach Kara Aziek that he was not
ungrateful in remaining untouched by her tenderness and charms: but his
heart saddened to think what the eventful morrow might prove to her.
Benzaide now warned her mistress that day would soon break and expose
them to the notice of the Moorish guards; Aziek started, and covered
herself with her veil, unwilling to shew Sebastian the extent of her
grief at bidding him farewel: incapable of speaking, she timidly held
out her hand to him; it was cold and trembling--the King put it to his
lips--“adieu matchless creature!” he cried, “may angels benevolent and
pure like yourself, watch over all your days!--were not my heart in
Portugal with her who is mourning for my sake, this transcendant
goodness must either have softened or sharpened the pains of slavery:--I
should have forgotten my fallen state, and dared to love the lovely
Aziek.”--
The last sentence breathed in an agitated whisper over the soft hand he
was pressing to his heart, thrilled through the frame of Aziek; she
blushed, faltered, moved tremblingly away, and seeking the support of
Benzaide, faintly pronounced a parting benediction:--her senses were in
sweet disorder at so delightful and unexpected a confession; next to the
bliss of possessing that noble heart, was the certainty that he believed
her worthy of it. Transported with this assurance, she gave him a last
look filled with gratitude and pleasure, and then departed.--
Compassion heightened by admiration, was the reigning sentiment left in
the heart of Sebastian; long after the departure of his benefactress,
her endearing image solely filled his thoughts:--without a single
moment’s infidelity to the exquisite Gonsalva, he was yet deeply
interested in the happiness of her rival, and could not refrain from
thinking oftener of her than of himself.--Still hoping something from
her interference, he commended himself to Providence, and lay down to
sleep again, upon the floor of his dungeon.
Sebastian had been awake some time the ensuing morning, when he heard a
bell ring; at the sound of which he had been, told to prepare for
punishment: as he listened, the blood forsook his face, and a horrid
chill suddenly ran through his veins:--Kara Aziek had then
failed!--recovering from the shock of disappointment (which had shocked
him only because it was unforeseen) he knelt down with the crucifix
clasped in his hands, fervently breathing over it a solemn supplication
of forgiveness for all his sins and errors.
He prayed the Lord of Heaven to forgive or to enlighten him, if the
resistance he meditated, were an act of impious rebellion; he besought
blessings for his friends and for his enemies; he commended his people
to the protection of Him, who places Kings upon their thrones, and the
names of Gonsalva and Aziek were mingling on his lips, when the prison
door opened, and instead of guards to conduct him to a scene of blood,
he beheld the smiling Benzaide.
Her mission spoke in her face, as she put aside her veil, bidding him
rise and follow her.--Sebastian obeyed: not before he had devoutly
kissed the cross he wore;--boundless gratitude to Heaven, did indeed
swell his heart, as he passed with his companion through the various
courts, leading to Kara Aziek’s apartments: on reaching them, Benzaide
threw a large mantle over him, in which she bade him wrap even his head,
as he would then pass unnoticed by the female servants; at the same time
she deposited a pair of slippers at the entrance, observing, that should
the Almoçadem come and see them, he would retire according to the
Moorish fashion, believing that some neighbouring lady was then visiting
his daughter.
Sebastian learnt from this, that in rendering him such services as
these, Kara Aziek perpetually risked the displeasure of her father: this
thought did but the more enhance the value of her protection.
Upon entering the chamber of Aziek, he found her alone, lying along a
sopha shaded by thin drapery: she spoke to him without altering her
position or uncovering her face, for she was ill, and greatly agitated:
her motive for admitting him to her presence at such a period, was not
merely to see him again, or to receive his thanks, but to soothe him
under a disappointment she had been forced to prepare for him.
El Hader had been previously with her, when she had exerted all her
influence for the pardon of Sebastian: at first he refused to hear his
daughter’s petition, expressing great anger at her partiality to this
ungovernable Christian, on whom so many favors had already been thrown
away; he ridiculed the idea of a slave’s preferring death to a few
strokes of the whip, and told her plainly, that if she continued thus to
protect a Christian, merely because he was of her mother’s country, the
Moors would proclaim her an enemy to the true faith.
Kara Aziek mildly allowed herself to be called foolish and profane, yet
redoubled her intercessions, availing herself of her severe illness to
plead with more earnestness for indulgence: she prayed, she wept, she
embraced her father’s knees, telling him that she had vowed for her
mother’s sake never to cease protecting the two Portuguese, and that
consequently, she could not remain inactive now, without breaking that
inward promise.
Her tears and touching feebleness at length melted El Hader, and he
consented to limit the punishment of Sebastian to a month of the hardest
labour in his quarries: “as the fellow is so strong and ingenious,” he
concluded, “I would not part with him, but his countryman, your other
favorite, shall be sold immediately; he is a sickly, stupid,
good-for-nothing dog, and the sooner he is got rid of the better.--see
that you make no attempt to bring these Christian fools to a
leave-taking--if you do, I swear by the beard of the Prophet, that the
slave Fabian shall pay the price of your fault.”