"My Arthur, whom I shall not see
Till all my widowed race be run."
Many miles inland, out of sight of the blue sea, on the other side of
which was home and freedom, the Portuguese captains waited at Arzella
for the news of their deliverance. They had been hurried away from
Tangier almost immediately after the Portuguese had embarked, and though
no positive cruelties were inflicted on them, the Moorish promises of
courteous treatment did not prevent their escort from making their
journey as wretched as they could. Intentional forgetfulness of needful
comforts, rude jests, over-haste, and much ill-temper, tried the hot
spirits of the Portuguese nobles sorely, and they were less wretched now
that they remained under the charge of Zala-ben-Zala, and were allowed a
certain amount of freedom and solitude, during which they could solace
themselves with speculations as to the turn events were taking in
Portugal, and how soon Ceuta would be handed over to the Moors. The
prince never joined in these discussions, and when they were urged upon
him would reply gravely--"As God wills;" though he sometimes endeavoured
to pass the time by tales of the old Crusaders, of the sufferings they
endured, and of the support which was granted to them. And once, when
some of the younger nobles repeated to him the insulting language used
towards them by their jailers, he pointed to a gang of slaves who were
toiling over some of the fortifications of Arzella.
"So suffer our fellow-Christians," he said.
"They are not peers of Portugal," said the young man, sullenly.
"Stripes wound and blows hurt, be they who they may," said Fernando.
"We can but endure; but oh, my friends," he added with tears in his
eyes, "would that I were alone to suffer!"
"Alas, sir!" cried the young man, yielding, "it is your indignities that
cut us the most."
It was after some weeks of dreary waiting that the prisoners became
aware that envoys had arrived from Portugal and had been brought under a
safe-conduct to Arzella, where Zala-ben-Zala was to discuss with them
the terms of their deliverance, and one day the prince was summoned
alone to meet them.
Fernando turned as he left his companions and said, in a tone of
peculiar earnestness--
"My friends, remember, were we free, we would all give our lives to save
Ceuta to the Church of Christ."
Fernando was conducted from the fortress where he had been lodged across
the town of Arzella to the governor's palace, and ushered with much
state and ceremony into the great hall, where stood Zala-ben-Zala,
surrounded by a crowd of Moorish nobles and officers in their splendid
dresses of state; opposite them a few Portuguese in full armour, and in
front Dom Enrique himself, also armed, his dark surcoat giving
additional dignity to his great height and stately presence, he was
bareheaded, and as pale as death.
"You are at liberty to speak with one another," said Zala-ben-Zala.
"Maybe the interview may change the mind of your highness."
"I speak the mind of the council of Portugal," said Enrique, in a voice
of deep sadness. Then he stretched out his arms: "Oh, my Fernando, the
choice was not for me," he said.
Fernando held him fast for a moment, all the surroundings forgotten; and
then they sat down together on a great divan and looked into each
other's face, and Fernando knew that Enrique had not brought his
freedom.
"Come," he said, "tell me your errand."
"They will not yield the fortress," said Enrique. "They offer any
ransom, and the Moors accept none."
"As God wills," said Fernando, but he tightened his grasp of Enrique's
hand.
"My most dear brother, Pedro and Joao would have freed you; but I--that
Christian town; and now I see the council risks your life--not for the
Church, but for selfish power, and _I_--I lent my voice to theirs."
"I, too, have thought much on it," said Fernando, steadily; "of the
obligations of the treaty, however ill our enemies have kept the lesser
provisions of it."
"What, they ill-use you?"
"Nay--you see I am well. And I think of those unhappy ones whose fate
hangs on mine. And I thank the merciful Saviour, who lays not the
choice on me, but gives me the easier way of submission, and permits my
poor life to be a defence to a fortress of Christendom as in no other
way it could be. The wish of my heart is given,--may I but tread, in
the footsteps of those blessed ones who have endured worse sufferings in
the same cause, on honour which myself little deserved?"
Fernando smiled as he spoke, and for a moment Enrique felt that the
confusion of good and bad motives, the doubtful self-denial, and still
more doubtful justice, that led to the retention of Ceuta, were lifted
by his brother's faith and love into the instrument of a holy martyrdom.
"So," continued Fernando, "bid Duarte not to grieve, for if I suffer, it
is no more than I have deserved, and to suffer, even without choice, for
such an end, is too great honour."
"Duarte is sick with the care and weight of decision," said Enrique
sadly.
"Ah, could I but see him?" said Fernando, suddenly faltering; then, with
renewed firmness, "But it cannot be. And you, my Enrique, how changed
your face is. You must turn your thoughts again to Sagres and the
adventures of your mariners. That is the appointed way in which you
must serve. We still work together."
"And if--if the council and the king resolve to yield Ceuta?"
"Why then--God's will be done!" said Fernando, "and we may yet clasp
hands again. Meanwhile some soul is passing away with the holy rites of
the Church, some babe receives Christian baptism--who else were cast
into outer darkness. But see; the governor interrupts us."
"Prince Fernando," said Zala-ben-Zala, "I trust your entreaties have
induced the Duke of Viseo to endeavour to change the mind of the king."
"The King of Portugal," said Fernando, steadily, "must act as he thinks
well. I have made no entreaties, and shall make none."
"Know you what you say!" thundered out Zala-ben-Zala, suddenly changing
his tone. "Think you that henceforth your life will be easy, as it has
been! Shall the forsworn hostage be treated as a king's son? No! Our
prisoner no longer--you are our slave; and when next King Duarte sends
envoys, let them see their prince of the blood--their Grand-Master--
tending the horses of his Moorish masters as a slave--I say--in fetters
and in rags?"
"The princes of Portugal do not yield to threats," said Fernando,
calmly.
"I am but a mouthpiece," said Enrique, as steadily as he could.
"Go home and tell what you have seen," said the Moor, roughly.
The coarse threats stood the two princes in good stead, for their pride
nerved them to a firm and silent farewell, though Enrique's heart was
ready to break as he passed out of the hall with the officers who
accompanied him, and left Fernando standing alone among his captors.
A short while afterwards, as the Portuguese nobles were eagerly watching
for the prince's return, or for a summons to join him, their prison was
suddenly entered by a party of Moorish soldiers.
"Now, Christian dogs, our turn has come," roughly shouted the foremost;
and seizing on the Portuguese nearest to him he tore off his velvet
mantle, flung it aside, and forced him down while he fastened fetters on
his wrists. Resistance was vain, and with blows and curses the whole
party, the old priest included, were loaded with chains, and dragged
through the streets to the courtyard of the governor's palace.
There stood their beloved prince in a rough dress of common serge,
fetters similar to their own on his wrists, and his chained hands on the
rein of Zala-ben-Zala's beautiful Arab horse. He stood with his head up
and his lip curled, with a sort of still disdain. At that moment the
Portuguese envoys, with Dom Enrique at their head, passed with their
guards through the court, and Zala-ben-Zala advanced to mount his horse
with a rude gesture to the prince who held it.
Fernando bowed with knightly courtesy, and, advancing, held his stirrup,
as if it were a graceful service rendered by a younger to an elder
noble; then looked up and smiled in his brother's face.