"Against injustice, fraud, or wrong,
His blood beat high, his hand waxed strong."
Twelve or thirteen years after the taking of Ceuta a little group was
assembled in the central court of a handsome house in Lisbon. This open
space was indeed the summer sitting-room of the family; the sleeping
apartments and the great entrance hall opened into it. Large orange,
citron, and pomegranate-trees, were ranged round the marble pavement,
and filled the air with their fragrance, while in the centre was a
little fountain falling into a carved basin. An awning was palled
across the top to exclude the sun, and a few seats and coaches were
arranged round the fountain. On one of these sat a tall man in the
prime of life dressed in deep mourning. Several women, one prepared for
a journey, were standing near, and also a couple of men-servants. In
front of the gentleman, hand-in-hand stood two little girls of seven or
eight years old. They were dressed in black, with little black hoods
tied over their light-brown hair, which hang down in long curls beneath;
they had fair, rosy faces and large grey eyes, out of which they were
staring with an expression of alarmed solemnity. Poor little things!
They were as merry-hearted a pair as ever made home cheerful, by chatter
and laughter and pattering feet; but life looked very serious to them
then, for they were about to be sent away from home, their mother's
recent death having left them with no efficient female protector.
The gay young Walter Northberry, who had been attached to Dom Enrique's
suite at the time of the taking of Ceuta, had some time after married
Mistress Eleanor Norbury, a lady whose father, like his own, had
followed Queen Philippa from England; and on her death he had resolved
on sending her little twin daughters to be educated by his English
relations. His own habits were not such as made it easy for him to
bring up his little girls at home, and he was jealous enough of their
nationality not to wish to send them to any of the Lisbon convents,
where all their training must have been Portuguese. So having received
affectionate offers from his brother, who represented the old family in
England, the little maidens were to be sent under fitting escort to
Northberry Manor House, in Devonshire. Communications were frequent
between the two countries, and there was no difficulty in arranging for
their journey.
"Well, Kate and Nell," the father said, "it's a hard matter to part with
you after all, my pretty blossoms. Be good maids, and obey your aunt,
and soon, maybe, I'll come and see you, and my father's country too."
"We want to stay at home," said Nell, with a pout, and with a tone of
decision.
"Father, keep us?" said Kate more softly, with her big eyes full.
"No, no, my pretty ones," said Walter Northberry, wiping his own eyes;
"'tis a fine place you are going to see; come along."
He held out his arms, and the two little black-frocked things sprang
into them, clinging round his neck and crying.
"Come--come. Is the litter ready, else I shall be too late to get you
aboard Dom Manuel's ship? But hark! who comes? 'Tis my lord the
Infante himself."
Sir Walter set down his daughters, who retreated, hand-in-hand, under a
great orange-tree; while their father rose and went to the door, as he
heard horses stopping without. In a few moments he returned,
accompanied by a tall, slender young man, dressed in black velvet, with
a red cross on his breast. Fernando of Avis, as he was called, since,
like his father, he was Grand-Master of the Order of Avis, had led,
during the twelve years since the taking of Ceuta, neither an idle nor a
useless life, but his boyish ambition was still unsatisfied; he had
struck no blow against the Infidel power, led no armies to battle, and
won no triumphs. His health had always been so delicate, and he was
subject to such long attacks of illness, that it was only at intervals
that he could indulge in his taste for military towards which, however,
his natural impulse was so strong that he had no inconsiderable skill in
riding, fencing, and tilting. The delicate Fernando was more
essentially a soldier than any of his powerful brothers; he longed with
a more ardent desire for knightly glory--a longing hitherto perforce
suppressed; but it was for glory to be won by that chivalrous self
sacrifice which formed the ideal of the Middle Ages, however seldom it
was put in practice. And Fernando's dreams were of personal distinction
only in one cause--the cause of the Church; he had therefore gladly
accepted the control of one of these military orders which, somewhat
similar in character to the Knights Templar, were so common in Spain and
Portugal. The vows of these orders pledged their members to the most
perfect devotion and purity of life. They did not always preclude
marriage; and where celibacy was their rule, dispensations were
obtainable, as in the case of King Joao himself; and their great
revenues formed an ample provision for princes of the blood, and were
applied by Dom Enrique--who was head of the Order of Christ; Dom Joao,
who was Master of that of Saint James; and by Dom Fernando himself--to
many useful and charitable ends.
Fernando was thus pledged to the life of a soldier-saint. He could not
be a soldier, and with the discontent of his ambitious and ardent nature
he daily felt himself still less of a saint. But those who watched his
deep religious fervour, his constant self-denials, and his untiring
patience, thought differently; still more those who felt his kindly
charity and his unfailing sweetness of temper and warmth of heart. He
still possessed the fair colouring regular features of his English
cousins, but his blue Plantagenet eyes had a softened, wistfulness as of
unsatisfied desires.
He had always shown marked friendship to Sir Walter Northberry, and was
fond of the little twin maidens, to whom he would bring toys and
comfits.
"You are better, I trust, my lord, as I see you abroad," said
Northberry.
"Thanks, Sir Walter--yes, I am better, and I came to bring a parting
gift to the children. Here, Mistress Eleanor and Mistress Kate--are not
those the English titles?--come here and choose."
He held out two little jewelled copies of the cross of his order as he
spoke, and the little girls approached him, well pleased; but Eleanor
said--
"We are Leonor and Catalina. I will not kiss any one who calls me
Eleanor."
"Fie, little one!" said her father; "it would become you better to ask
my lord for his blessing on your journey."
"If I could help it I would not go," said Leonor; while the gentler
Catalina was silent, and softly stroked the fur trimming of Fernando's
mantle.
"See, now," he said, coaxingly, "my brother Dom Pedro has been in this
terrible England, and he liked it well. Why, the little King Harry is
my cousin, and he has made my brother Knight of the Order of the Garter.
We have all cousins in England." Leonor appeared somewhat consoled.
"And besides, do you not know," said the Prince more gravely, "that
wherever God may send us, He will be with us--ay, in a desert or a
dungeon? Then surely in a strange country, where He will send you kind
friends."
Catalina looked at him with eyes of deep earnestness. Nell said
frankly, "My lord Dom Pedro has come safe home again."
"Yes, little one, and soon we shall see his marriage with Dona Blanca of
Urgel. My brother Dom Pedro has been a great traveller. He tells us
wonderful things. You, my little maidens, will see some of them."
By this cheerful view of the subject, Eleanor--or, as her mother had
loved to call her by an English name soft enough for Portuguese lips,
Nella--and Catalina were lifted into their litter in much better spirits
than might have been expected, and, accompanied by their nurse and by
two stout soldiers belonging to Northberry's household, were put on
board the ship bound for England; while their father, thus set free from
fears for their welfare, turned his attention to the military matters in
which he excelled.
It was the eve of the Duke of Coimbra's wedding to Dona Blanca of Urgel,
and once again the five princes were gathered in the little marble court
under the orange-trees, as when, long ago, they had discussed the
question of how their knighthood might best be won. Well and fully had
they all answered that question; and long as had been the separations
which the work of life had made between them, the bond that united the
eager lads was no way loosened between the grown men who had held so
staunchly to the high aims of their boyhood.
Fernando was resting on some cushions placed on the broad shallow steps,
and close by him sat Enrique. Long ago Fernando had learnt that his
life could not be passed side by side with this most dear brother, but
the intervals that they passed together were his happiest hours, much as
he owed to the more constant and as tender companionship of Duarte,
whose duties kept him more continually in Lisbon. But Duarte only tried
to make life easy to Fernando, regarding him as one to be shielded from
every vexation. Enrique alone of all the brothers sympathised with his
longing for the struggle of active work. Joao had grown into a stern,
resolute person, of great courage and decision of character; but Pedro,
as he looked at his brothers almost with a stranger's eye, thought that
none of them equalled the majestic dignity of Enrique's grave, ardent
countenance, and great strength and size. Pedro was himself a very
splendid figure, the gay attire proper to a bridegroom elect contrasting
with the grave semi-religious habits of the three grand-masters.
Enrique and Joao had come to Lisbon for the wedding, and this was the
first meeting of the five.
"And among all these adventures and these foreign scenes, brother," said
Duarte, "what has struck you most with admiration? What is there to be
learnt for the good of our country?"
"Much," said Dom Pedro, "that I hope to tell my father at leisure. And,
Enrique, in the great naval cities of Venice and Genoa, I saw much that
I hope may be applied for the good of your sailors. But I saw no one
who, to my mind, equalled our cousin King Harry, now alas! taken from
his kingdom: God rest his soul! I felt that he was of our kin, for he
had our blessed mother's face, whom I think Fernando favours most of us
all. And a king more beloved was never lost to his people; nor a more
winning friend and kinsman."
"It is indeed grievous," said Duarte, "to think of two great kingdoms--
France and England--left thus to a helpless child."
"If our cousin had lived to fulfil his purpose of proclaiming a general
crusade, we might have seen great results," said Enrique.
"The conquest of France stood in his path," said Joao.
"Ah," said Fernando, "that was a glorious purpose--for all the princes
of Europe to lay aside their selfish quarrels, and purified by one great
aim, to unite in winning back the Holy Sepulchre! Where would then be
room for ambition and intrigue?"
"In former crusades there was a good share of both. You are a dreamer,
Fernando," said Joao.
"Nay," said Enrique, "Fernando is right. There is no purification like
a high purpose; but we must pursue it in the teeth of intrigue and
ambition; it will not sweep them away."
"True, for they spring from the selfish desires of the heart," said
Pedro, rather sententiously.
"We are not all free," said Duarte thoughtfully, "to devote our lives to
_one_ aim, be it ever so high: for our duties are many. And so it was,
I suppose, with our cousin King Harry."
"Nay, the golden lilies had a tempting flash," said Joao, laughing.
"Well, and I will not say, having seen much of good and ill government,
that to pacify the unhappy kingdom of France was not as good an aim as
any. But how is it with your purposes, Enrique? I half feared to find
you bound for some savage island in the midst of the sea of darkness."
"No," said Enrique; "but there is light in the darkness now. Come with
me to Sagres so soon as our fair bride can spare you, and see the
observatory I have built--the calculations that I have made. This is a
much wider world than our fathers thought, Pedro, and one day there
shall be known Christian lands which the Mussulman has never polluted;
and where the simple natives will know no faith but that of Christ."
"There are other dreamers here besides Fernando," said Pedro, with a
smile.
"No," cried Enrique, eagerly; "it is no dream. I will show you grapes
grown in our new found island, such as Spain cannot beat, and the
inhabitants listen willingly to Christian teaching. If I can but
perfect our compasses and other instruments, we can penetrate the sea
still further--already have we reached the African coast--and then a
Christian kingdom behind Barbary and Morocco, and Christian lands to the
far west. Look you, Pedro," and Enrique sprang up and came over to him,
laying both hands on Pedro's shoulders, and looking in his face, "your
mathematics were used to be more perfect than mine. You must come to
Sagres and help me."
"Willingly," said Pedro; "you shall explain your problems to me."
"I owe much to Duarte," said Enrique, "in such matters; and he has
studied so thoroughly the courses of the heavens, and can so well judge
of fair or foul weather, he should have been a sailor born. Then I
purpose to bring some of my natives hither, that they may return to
their own country good Christians and civilised men. They trust my
sailors as if they were messengers from Heaven. See what a power it is
for good. Whole islands--nay, Pedro, I sometimes think whole
continents, may owe to us their salvation."
So spoke the great Enrique of Avis, in the young days of the modern
world, he who was at once a great soldier and a devoted son of the
Church, the priestly knight of the Middle Ages, who helped the new
learning many miles on her way, to whom astronomy and physical science
began to open their treasures; while in his breast burnt the same fire
of adventure, the same longing for discovery, that in our day has
penetrated Arctic seas and African deserts, fulfilling the command to
replenish the earth and subdue it. But, prince though he was, Enrique
met with scant sympathy beyond the limits of his family, in designs
which the world had not yet learnt to understand. And little did he
dream of how much misery Christian men would bring to those unknown
lands, after which his heart hungered; or that his earnest desire to
bring his islanders to a sight of the blessings of Christianity should
be quoted as a precedent and justification for all the horrors of the
slave trade.
Pedro had enough of the same power to understand his efforts, and he was
beginning a sympathetic reply, when one of Fernando's attendants came
towards them telling him that Sir Walter Northberry desired to speak
with him.
"Ask him to come hither," said Fernando; and even as he spoke,
Northberry, with a pale and disturbed countenance, came hurriedly
towards the brothers.
"Alas! my lord!" he said, with a hasty reverence, "I have the worst of
ill news. I am a miserable man. The ship in which my little daughters
sailed him been attacked by Moorish pirates. There was a vessel bound
from France to Lisbon came to the rescue, and beat them off; but oh, the
saints pity us! the cursed villains carried with them my little Kate.
Woe's me that ever I let them go."
Northberry covered his face with his hands, unable to repress his
despairing grief; while the princes pressed round him, full of sympathy
and indignation.