"For there is no way out of pain and trouble but only to endure them."
A party of travellers had come to a halt in the shade of a clump of
trees, which pleasantly varied the monotony of the rough, sandy plains,
covered with long grass, through which the road lay between Arzella and
Fez. A weary journey, under the blasting winds and blazing sun of a
North-African May. The sun was sinking now, and the wind was calm, and
the Moorish cavalry, with their white turbans, flashing weapons, and
beautiful steeds, brought to a halt on the small spot of grass, stood
out picturesque and bright under the dear, rosy sky, a subject for a
picture; the foil to these splendid soldiers being the coarsely-clad
prisoners, or perhaps slaves. Prisoners, for how could they escape from
their well-mounted guards? Slaves, for they ran hither and thither,
fetching and carrying, rubbing down the horses, and bringing them water
from a spring at hand, their steps, if lagging, hastened often by blows,
and their answers, if sullen, met by rough jests or curses. And very
various was their demeanour. Some fierce, and evidently stung to the
quick, glanced up at their tyrants with muttered curses, and eyes of
wrath and scorn; some sulkily did as little as they could; some stumbled
through their work in utter weariness and pain, others hurried over it
with officious readiness, humbled into an effort to avoid offending
their terrible masters. It is not noble blood alone that can give a man
patience, dignity, and courage, when called to lead the life of a slave.
One there was who, a little apart from the rest, was tending a splendid
charger, black as jet, and with large, gentle eyes. The beautiful
creature stood patient and still, as slowly, as if from fatigue and
weakness, but with no apparent reluctance, and with more than one gentle
word and caress, his delicate-handed attendant washed the sand from his
hoofs, and gave him food and drink. As the prisoner turned somewhat
feebly to lift a heavy skin of water, one of his fellow-slaves flung
down his own burden, and, lifting the skin, held it to him on his knee,
kissing the hand that took it.
"My lord, my lord, to see you serving that accursed brute?"
"Nay, my friend; thanks for your help; but do not call the good horse
names. My brother, the king, has none such in his stable. I think I
have something of his love for noble horses," said Fernando, with a
smile. "But finish your own task, Manoel, or Moussa-ben-Hadad will give
you the rough words you like so little."
"No matter, if I can aid your highness."
"I have finished," said the prince; "and our hour of rest is coming."
As he spoke, a tall Moor came up and struck young Manoel a rough blow,
bidding him not to linger, but to bring him the water for his horse at
once. Fernando did not interfere; perhaps experience had taught him
that it was useless; but his brow contracted, and he bit his lip hard.
A little later, and while the Moors were taking their evening meal, the
Christians, with whom of course they might not eat, sat together apart,
eating the coarse black bread provided for them. It was their most
peaceful moment, for they could then talk freely with each other.
The prince was one of the last to join them, and as he came up slowly
and wearily, several sprang up to meet him, trying to form a couch for
him with their rough garments, and offering to bathe his feet, which
were bruised and dusty.
Fernando accepted their services gently and gratefully, asking them how
they had fared during the day.
"As ill as usual, my lord," said one sulkily; "and small prospect of
anything better at Fez. But the infidel dogs might beat my brains out
ere I would consent to fawn and crouch and feign compliance, as Dom
Francisco did but now. I scorn it!"
"Scorn will not give us a better supper than black bread; see, here are
dates, to flavour it," said Dom Francisco, while the first speaker, an
older man, snatched the gift from his hand and flung it away; and there
was a disproportionate outcry of annoyance and vexation. Worn-out
nerves and tempers were easily raffled, and the men who had resigned
themselves to lose their freedom could ill bear the loss of a handful of
dates.
"Ah, hush, my friends," said Fernando; "worse than blows without are
quarrels within."
"Now, now, my sons," said Father Jose, who had come up unperceived,
"that was ill done. Now, if my lord of Viseo will not fling them away,
here are oranges and a piece of dried goat's flesh, given me by that lad
in a green caftan, who has, methinks, a less hard heart than the rest.
And it has struck me, my children," proceeded the good father, "that the
blessed Paul and Silas would not have converted their jailer had they
bickered with each other, or grumbled at the prison fare, instead of
singing Psalms in the darkness of the night. Wherefore, as singing
causes the Moslems to blaspheme, I propose, while we divide the goat's
flesh, to recite a portion of the Psalter."
Father Jose was a powerful though elderly man, and as he had never been
accustomed to a luxurious life, he was able to endure the privations and
hardships of his captivity better than most. He was good-tempered, too,
and cheerful, and was without the heart ache that almost all the others
carried about with them for near and dear ones, lost, it seemed, for
ever. And, more than all, his faith was strong and clear, and a real
support to the failing hearts of others.
Fernando's weak health caused him to suffer far more physically than any
of his companions: he had been very ill at Arzella, and was even now
hardly able to bear the fatigue of each day's journey. Nor did the
blood either of Avis or Plantagenet run so tamely as to make insults
easy of endurance; he pined for his brothers, and felt every trouble of
his comrades as if it were his own. But then, too, he was able to feel
the comfort of their love and devotion. As he lay on the ground, too
weary to eat or take much share in the conversation, his face, worn as
it was, had not its old restless look, and his eyes as they watched the
sunset, were full of peace. It was not only that he had lost the sense
of an unfulfilled desire; not only that he felt that his sufferings
_did_ serve the cause that he loved so well; better still than this, the
passionate will that could see but one way of serving had learnt to
submit at last, till he could take each trial patiently as it came from
the Hand that sent it, and--completest victory of all--accept also each
alleviation. The evening air and the fair landscape, the interval of
rest and quiet, were really soothing to him, and there was something in
this peacefulness which drew all his comrades to his side, each with his
tale of trouble, or with the offer of some little service as comforting
to himself as to the prince.
"We are still together," was a consolation even in the midst of their
suffering.
Alas! it was soon the only one left them. Too soon they looked back on
that hard journey as a period of comparative happiness. When they
reached Fez their masters changed. Whether the sea-port towns had been
considered as too unsafe in case of a siege, or whether the African
Moors had been enraged by the strong representations of the Moorish king
of Granada--that, under all the circumstances, the heavy ransom ought to
have been accepted,--Zala-ben-Zala sent his prisoners into the domains
of Abdallah, the young king of Fez, whose prime minister was named
Lazurac, and was one of the most savage monsters of history.
The unhappy prisoners were driven, with stripes and curses, through the
streets of Fez, the dark-faced Moors flinging rude words, and even
stones, at them as they passed.
"_One_ bore His Cross through a raging multitude, and for us!" said
Fernando to Manoel, who was near him; but as he spoke they came close
under the frowning towers of the Darsena, a kind of castle, which
guarded the town. Here they hoped at least for rest and shelter; and it
was with almost a sense of relief that they were driven through the
gates and into the inclosure of the castle, and on--through a long
passage, down--down a sort of rough slope, through some great doors,
which were locked and barred behind them, leaving them, in an utter
blank of darkness, they knew not where.
Utter darkness--not a ray of light penetrated their prison. As they
sank down, wearied, they could not see each other; when they put out
their hands they could feel nothing near; all was silent and black as
the grave.
"Let us pray," said Father Jose, and began, "Out of the deep have I
called unto Thee, O Lord."
It was the deep indeed--the very depth of misery; and as they began to
recover from the fainting weariness of their terrible march the horror
of the darkness struck them more forcibly, and they were afraid to move,
lest they should lose each other in unknown depths, till Fernando
proposed that the least exhausted should try in a body to reach the wall
of their prison, but never going beyond easy recall from himself and one
or two others, who were completely spent.
They found that their dungeon was of considerable extent, but they were
afraid then to penetrate all across it. It was damp, too, and bitterly
cold, and no provision of food or drink seemed to have been made for
them. It seemed like the intentional ending of their sorrows; and numb,
stupefied, and utterly hopeless, they crowded together on the cold floor
of their dungeon, unknowing whether minutes, hours, or days passed over
them, till suddenly their door was opened, and a man with a basket and a
dim lantern in his hand was allowed to enter.
"Prisoners," he said, in broken Portuguese, "I am a Majorcan merchant,
and am allowed to sell bread to the prisoners."
"For the love of Heaven, a light," cried Manoel, "that we may see our
misery."
The merchant came towards them, and turned his flickering light on the
face of Fernando, who lay, almost senseless, in Father Jose's arms.
"We have no money to buy of you, good friend," said the priest; "but if
of your charity you could give us a drop of wine for our dear Lord--"
The Majorcan knelt down, put his lamp into the hand of Manoel, and
pouring out a little wine, held it to the prince's lips; and as it
touched them he opened his eyes and looked round, as if bewildered. The
merchant had a good grave face, and, when they repeated that they could
not buy of him, he smiled and said, "Still, he came there to trade with
prisoners," and put his provisions down beside them; and he also left
them the means of making a light; but this he advised them to use
secretly and at rare intervals, as for that he had no leave. He showed
them the extent of their prison, and left them two or three sheepskins
to form a bed. Whether at this time Lazurac really cared if his
prisoners perished or not, or whether he intended to force the prince
into entreating his brother to deliver him at any cost, certain it is
that the few visits of this good Samaritan were all that kept hope, nay,
life itself, in the wretched prisoners. The hopeless darkness, the
terrible inaction, and the damp, dark atmosphere, broke down both health
and spirits. Some, to add to the misery, were seized with fever, and
lost their senses, raving wildly; and though Fernando was saved from
this, he was never able to raise himself from the ground, and suffered
terribly from pain and weakness. But through the three long months of
that terrible trial he never uttered a complaint, save of his
companions' sufferings; and little as he could do for them, there was an
influence of peace in the touch of his hand and the sound of his voice.
There were times when, treated like brutes as they were, the animal
nature awoke within them, and they were ready to tear each other to
pieces in the bitterness of their despairing fury; other times, when
they sought a kind of relief in wild ribald jests, and many long
intervals of sulky, faithless despair; when even Father Jose's prayers
and encouragements were unavailing. Then the voice that was always
gentle, the words that were always pure, the faith that saw beyond the
dungeon walls, would woo them to a better mind; and the love they bore
him helped them to hold to the love of God; and when, now and again, by
the faint light of their little lamp, Father Jose took of the good
Majorcan's bread and wine, and celebrated the Holy Eucharist, as long
ago it had been celebrated by martyrs and confessors in dens and caves
of the earth, they felt the power of that Holy Presence, and attained to
something of the martyr's spirit as well as the martyr's fate.