"To do a great right, do a little wrong."
The ill-fated expedition had not long set sail before the king
discovered its insufficient numbers, and in all haste he ordered Dom
Joao to equip himself and follow his brothers to Ceuta. Joao, to do him
justice, was perfectly ready to do so, and in a very short time set sail
with a fair number of troops, hoping to join them before they could
leave Ceuta, and, had they waited for a reinforcement, all might have
been well.
He had not calculated on their over-haste. The vessel bearing the fatal
news crossed him on the way; and when he arrived at Ceuta he was greeted
with the story of the defeat of the army, of the detention of Fernando,
and of the serious illness of Enrique, who, completely overcome by
mortification and anguish of heart, had fainted on reaching his ship,
and had been carried on shore at Ceuta, unable to exert himself further.
All was in confusion; but Dom Joao wasted no time in reproaches or
regrets; but after giving a few necessary orders, and encouraging the
troops to look for better times, he went at once to his brother's
lodging.
Enrique was recovering a little from the violence of the fever that had
seized on him, and was dressed and lying on a couch; but when he saw his
brother he rose up, weak as he was, and threw himself on his knees
before him, covering his face.
"Alas, my brother! how can I look on you?" he cried. "I have been the
worst enemy of my country and of the Church and of my most dear
brothers!"
"It has all gone very ill," said Joao. "We must seek for a remedy.
Rise up, my brother; you shame me. This from you to me!"
"Ah, could I but find a harder penance!" sighed Enrique; but he allowed
Joao to help him back to his couch, and began to tell him how it had all
chanced, and to ask what had brought him there in such good time.
"Duarte has troubled much about Fernando," said Joao; "how was it with
him when you left him?"
But the attempt to speak of Fernando threw Enrique into such an agony of
weeping that Joao was obliged to cease questioning him, beginning to
perceive how terrible must have been the experience that had thus
prostrated one of such resolute will and power of endurance.
"Courage!" he said; "a better day must dawn. Fernando will soon be
restored to us; and though we yield Ceuta nominally, it shall go hard
but we will soon win it back again. For that object a war will cause no
difference of opinion."
Enrique made no answer. He lay silent for some moments, then turned and
looked up at his brother. "We were eating our horses before we yielded,
and there was no water, and no hope. That must soon have killed him and
all the poor fellows whom we have led to ruin."
"You would have been fools to hold out," said Joao, bluntly. "But what
is to be done now? Here am I, with six thousand at my back--"
"Here? Fresh troops?" cried Enrique, starting into animation. "Then
what is to hinder one more effort? Let us go back to Tangier, and win
it, or die!"
"But the treaty?" said Joao.
"The treaty! That does but hold Fernando fast. We gave no pledge not
to continue the war on another footing. And they harassed our rear
enough as we retreated to show how far they care to keep their word. I
am another man, now you give me hope."
Joao was not altogether averse to the proposal, and Enrique, with
reviving spirits, recovered his natural ascendency; and arrangements
were made for Joao to return home with the sick and wounded, while
Enrique, with the fresh troops, marched again on Tangier. No second
brother, he said, should be thus risked. His first care, however, was
to put Ceuta into a complete state of defence; and while he was thus
engaged came first the news that the fleet which he had sent home
immediately after the retreat from Tangier had met with a violent storm
and been wrecked on the coast of Andalusia, where the Castilians had
showed great kindness to the distressed sailors. Next arrived a
peremptory despatch from the king, ordering both his brothers to return
at once, and to make no further effort to continue the war for the
present. Enrique was bitterly disappointed, though he felt that he
could not wonder at the king's doubt of his judgment.
"I cannot look him in the face," he said; "I cannot see his grief. Go
you to Lisbon, and I will hide myself in Sagres, and pray for pardon."
The king convoked the States-General of Portugal, and a great council
was held to decide on the next step. The Pope was again written to for
his opinion, and the discussion began with all the ardour and heat
attending a question where good men see, strongly, different sides of
the right. For Duarte himself it was a time of agonising doubt. His
peculiar tenderness for Fernando made the thought of his loneliness and
suffering, of his possible hardships and of the loss of his daily
presence, haunt him by night and day. Every feeling of his heart urged
him to give up the city and win this beloved brother back. But then, he
looked on himself but as the steward who must give an account of his
kingdom. Ceuta, Portugal itself, were not his to yield. What right had
he to give back one acre of Christian land to the realm of darkness--to
let the consecrated soil be profaned once more by the accursed faith of
Mahomet? What life, what love, was too precious to be sacrificed to
save the souls of the Christians of Ceuta? This was one side of the
question; and perhaps it is hardly possible in these days to realise how
powerful this obligation seemed to such a prince as Duarte. On the
other hand, it was urged that it was a foul shame to grudge any
fortress, however valuable, for the life of a prince of Portugal, who
had voluntarily offered himself, trusting in the honour of his country,
and also that, after all, they had given their word to cede Ceuta, and
were bound to redeem it, even to an infidel power. These were the
nobler views on either side. Of course the party who contended for the
retention of Ceuta contained many who cared nothing for the religious
question, but who declared openly that the great sea-port was worth far
more to the state than the precarious life of a prince who had never
been able to make himself prominent or useful, while many of those who
wished to yield it cared little for Fernando, and less for the pledge,
but were only anxious to avoid the expense of a war.
But between the right on either side Duarte's scrupulous conscience
wavered with agonising uncertainty; though with his deep love for his
brother, and his instinctive preference for the simpler, more immediate
duty, he inclined somewhat to the view of yielding the city. Pedro and
Joao spoke in the council with no uncertain sound. A treaty should be
kept, they said, and their dear brother's life saved at all costs. No
sacrifice could be too great to make. Then let them go to war with
every resource at their command, and win Ceuta back, and Tangier, too.
Their words had great weight; but the Archbishop of Braga, a powerful
ecclesiastic, spoke on the other side, all the other bishops agreeing
with him, declaring that one man's life must not be considered in
comparison with a whole city.
The Pope's letter came in support of this view. The war had been
undertaken in defiance of his wishes, and had led to an unhappy result.
Certainly, Christian land must not be given up to an infidel power; but
he offered the much-desired full of Crusade, and recommended Duarte to
go to war to deliver his brother. All this time Enrique had remained at
Sagres and made no sign, only trusting that the matter might be settled
without his intervention. But now, Duarte wrote, summoning him to
Lisbon, assuring him of his forgiveness and affection, and desiring to
hear his view of the question.
The time had gone by for the wild anguish with which Enrique had met
Joao; but when he came into Duarte's presence, and kissed his hand, ten
years might have passed over the heads of them both since they parted.
Duarte's gentle cheerfulness had faded, and all the fire had gone out of
Enrique's great grey eyes, and his manner was subdued and spiritless.
Duarte made him sit beside him, and for a long time they were silent,
holding each other by the hand. Then Enrique said--
"My brother, you can forgive?"
"We suffer together," said Duarte. "Enrique, you know what our brothers
say in this matter, and the contrary opinion of the Pope. How does your
conscience speak?"