"I sent for you, since you and he were ever as one, so that your mind on
this matter will be his."
"So he said."
"Yes, you wrote me his words," said Duarte.
There was long silence, and at last the King spoke again.
"Grieve not so terribly, my brother, speak as your conscience urges.
Alike we love him."
"Alas, yes! Duarte, his one wish was to see those cities Christian.
For that he longed to die. I _know_, he meant that you should hold fast
by Ceuta. And we were bound to that service. Had he died by a Moslem
sword, we must have given thanks for a blessed end. My life--_his_ life
must not be weighed in the balance with Christian souls. Remember our
knighthood. We shame him, if for his sake we tear down the Cross our
father raised, and see the Crescent glittering again on the cathedral of
Ceuta. We dare not put our brethren before our God."
Enrique's faltering voice strengthened, and the colour came back into
his face as he spoke. The terrible anguish of this avowal had been
faced and met; the bitter cross which he had helped to fashion taken on
his shoulders. It had cost many a long hour of prayer and fasting
before he had brought himself to the point of declaring the view that
his inmost conscience had all along suggested, and even now he implored
Duarte to spare him from the necessity of speaking of it in the council.
He could not change his mind; but if the States-General, if Duarte
thought otherwise--
"This was for me only," said Duarte. "No one shall question you. Alas!
your silence might have told me your conviction. I seem to hear him
speak through your lips."
Pedro was less considerate than Duarte. He was indeed too generous to
utter a word of reproach to Enrique for his former disregard of his
opinion, and when, coming in to seek Duarte, he saw his changed looks,
he greeted him with the utmost kindness; but the substance of the
conversation could not be concealed from him, and he said,
sarcastically--
"Well, your conscience may be at ease. There are many in the council
beside you and the Archbishop of Braga, who think our poor Fernando's
life worth less than a valuable fortress. He is sickly, they say, and
of no use to the state, let him pine in exile, we will keep Ceuta safe
while we have it."
"Hush, my brother," said Duarte with his gentle authority. "Well you
know that taunt is out of place."
"I meant no taunt," said Pedro; "but it was one thing for Fernando to
dream of crusading lying here on his couch, or even to lead an army to
the attack, and quite another for him to suffer all the contumely which
Moorish cruelty and spite can suggest, if we do not hold to our side of
the bargain."
"You speak as if we would leave him in their hands without an effort,"
said Duarte. "But, come, the Queen waits for supper for us. My
Enrique, you will be a welcome guest."
Enrique would fain have been spared the supper, though of course no one
but his brothers had a right to question him on his views; but he knew
that it was best that he and the King should be seen together, and came
to the table, though he looked so white and sad that the Queen rallied
him on his unsocial air.
Leonor disliked depression and dull times, and did not see why the
cession of Ceuta should be made a burning question. Dom Pedro, on the
other hand, disliked the Queen's frivolity, so he turned to Enrique and
engaged him in a discussion of the latest calculations, by which his
study of the stars was being reduced to a science useful to mariners;
and that congenial topic brought a little brightness to Enrique's
mournful face, for he and Pedro differed on some nice point, and in
discussing it forgot for a brief moment the dreadful difference that
really lay between them. But the responsibility that rested on his
shoulders never passed from the King's mind. Others thought, argued,
believed, but in the long run he must act.