"Go, bring me showers of roses--bring."
Flowers--flowers everywhere; one blaze of colour through the royal
gardens of Fez. Was not the young King Abdallah about to marry the
Princess Hinda, daughter of a neighbouring potentate, and had he not
vowed that since she loved flowers better than anything in the world,
flowers she should have, specimens of every flower in his dominions!
Lazurac might rule over people and prisoners as he would, but he must
provide flowers for his boy sovereign, and workmen to plant, deck, and
wreathe his gardens within the space of a few hours with every flower
under heaven. Round every column and arch were twined ropes of roses,
oleanders, and arums, in limitless profusion. Crowds of girls tied the
wreaths, while the slaves brought them by hundreds and festooned them
from tree to tree. And so, because hands were short, or perhaps to
insult them still further, the Portuguese prisoners were released from
their dungeon and brought out once more into the light of day, to hang
up rose-wreaths for the king's _fete_.
But although food had been given them and somewhat more decent clothes,
and they had been allowed to wash off their prison-stains before meeting
the eyes of their fellows, they sat blinking at the light and staring at
each other, feeling as if they were the ghosts of the men who three
months before had entered that gloomy dungeon, so terrible had been its
effect on them. As the slave-drivers perceived that even the strongest
of them were really incapable of any active exertion, they were desired
to sort the great heaps of flowers that had been thrown down in a shady
spot, "and to feast their eyes on their master's magnificence." Soon
they were told their work would be daily in the royal gardens.
At another time all would have chafed bitterly at so effeminate an
occupation; but now air, light, and employment of any sort were so
enchanting to them that these bearded European nobles picked away
contentedly at the flowers, and Father Jose sorted the red roses from
the white with positive pleasure, while young Manoel, who had failed
much of late, fell asleep with a smile on his face; and Fernando,
twining the flowers round his fingers, told how his mother, Queen
Philippa, had described to him and to Joao how the maidens of England
would deck a pole with flowers and dance round it on the first of May.
Suddenly rushing out towards them from an inner court, laughing and
chattering, their veils pulled carelessly half over their faces, came a
party of young girls.
"More flowers--flowers! Slaves, bring them hither!" cried the foremost,
imperatively; then as the prisoners rose to comply, she recoiled with a
scream at the ghastly figures that sat among the gorgeous summer
flowers.
"Make your obeisance to me," said a Moor, coming up, as he struck
Fernando across the shoulders with his staff; while Manoel, weak as he
was, sprang at him like a wild cat.
"Ho, fetters here!--Villains, you resist?"
"No no!" cried the lady. "They cannot work so fast in fetters. The
princesses want flowers--more flowers;" and the girls flew back to their
garden, followed by some of the Portuguese.
The seclusion of the Moorish women was not so complete as to forbid
occasional intercourse with the other sex, slaves especially; and
presently the foremost girl came scudding back again to where Fernando
lay, holding something in both her hands.
"Poor Christian," she said, "here is some milk for you. Muley is cruel
to strike you. Shall I ask Princess Hinda to beg the king to cut his
head off?"
Fernando had acquired enough of the Moorish language to understand her,
and negatived this alarming proposal decidedly, while he thanked her for
the milk, saying--
"I would not be so discourteous, lady, as to sit in your presence, but
that I cannot rise."
"I suppose that is because they ill-use you," she said, sorrowfully.
"Look," taking a heap of flowers and laying them beside him, "now Muley
will think you have sorted those. What do they call you?"
"Selim," said Fernando; for though it was well known who he was, like
all the rest he had a slave's name.
"Perhaps you will work for my princess," said the girl; "she will be
kind to you."
"Leila, Leila?" cried a voice, and, snatching up a handful of flowers,
she ran off in haste.
The preparations were soon made, and the _fete_ proceeded, like a dream
of Eastern splendour and profusion. Thousands of lamps, as the twilight
fell, shone among the flowers. The slave-girls danced wonderful and
graceful figures before the guests, and the Portuguese prisoners, with
other slaves, held long garlands in a circle to enclose a space for the
dancers, their pale, haggard faces showing in strange contrast to their
surroundings. Zala-ben-Zala was the chief of the guests. As he walked
round to survey the dancing, he paused opposite to Fernando and
addressed him--
"So, slave?" he said, scornfully, "how like you this work? Is this fit
service for a Prince of Portugal?"
"No," said Fernando; "nor fit treatment for a hostage, nor even for a
prisoner of war, if so you choose to regard me."
"Will you now write and urge on your brother to deliver you--that loving
brother who has let you pine in a dungeon rather than yield a fortress
for your sake?"
"I will urge nothing on the King of Portugal," said Fernando, steadily;
"nor are the sufferings you choose to inflict on me worthy to change the
policy of a nation."
"You know not yet what those sufferings may be."
"Well," said the prince, calmly, "the worse they are, the sooner they
will end in death, when your power ceases. You fear not death,
Zala-ben-Zala, neither do I."
"There are those here that will break your proud spirit yet," said the
Moor fiercely, as he went on.
But the prince's words had not been altogether without effect. If he
died from the cruelties practised on him, the power of his captors was
over, and their last chance of winning Ceuta was gone. Therefore it
became their aim to make his life as wretched and degrading as it could
be, but still a life possible to live; and none of the party could have
borne many more days in their terrible dungeon. A wretched lodging was
assigned to them in Fez, their food was of the coarsest bread, their
clothes of undressed sheepskins, and all day they toiled as common
labourers in the royal gardens, with multitudes of other slaves,
Christians of all nations, degraded by their miseries till their
Christianity and even their manhood was forgotten; while, mingled with
them, were dark-skinned natives from other parts of Africa, ignorant
heathens.
Miserable as this life was, in that beautiful climate it was so great an
improvement on the Darsena, that the poor prisoners, except Manoel,
regained much of their health and strength, and Fernando was usually
able to get through the amount of toil required of him, and even not
seldom to help his unhappy comrades. For the only use he made of the
consideration, which, as far as they dared, all the other slaves showed
him, was to persuade them to live peacefully with each other, to bear
each other's heavy burdens, and not, as some of the poor wretches were
apt to do, curry favour with their masters by complaining of each other.
When they saw Fernando endure blows and curses for neglected work
rather than betray the weakness of those who worked with him, they were
ready to listen to the words he spoke to them of One Who also had
endured insult and cruelty, and Who was with them through all their
weary days, and the first gleam of hope came to many of them from his
voice and smile.
One day Fernando, with several others, had been carrying stones and
earth for an embankment near the ladies' garden. Father Jose at some
little distance was sturdily heaping up the burdens brought by the rest,
murmuring Psalms to himself the while, Manoel slowly helping him. The
times were good, for the mildest of their overseers was in charge of
them, and they had passed the whole day without a blow to hurry their
footsteps.
Presently Fernando beheld, leaning over the garden-wall, the same maiden
who had given him the milk.
"Selim," she called, and Fernando put down his load of stones and came
towards her.
"What is your will, lady?" he said, with an involuntary smile at the
fair, childish face before him.
"My little green parrot has flown away over the wall; it is there by
your working place; I want it back."
Fernando bowed, and returning, caught the parrot with so much ease as to
surprise him, and brought it back to its mistress.
"It is safe, lady," he said.
"I am not a lady, I am a slave too," said the girl, fixing her eyes upon
him.
"But your fetters are but chains of roses," said the prince.
"Tell me," she said, "which of the Portuguese prisoners is Dom
Fernando?"
"He speaks to you now," said Fernando, a little surprised at her
accurate repetition of his title.
Leila, for she it was, coloured deeply, a whole world of memories waking
in her. She put her hand to her bosom and drew out a little ornament,
which she laid on the wall before the prince. It was a gold cross set
with jewels, and Fernando recognised it at once.
"You are Catalina Northberry," he exclaimed, and at the sound of the
name so long unheard, the slave girl burst into tears.
"Oh, I had forgotten--I had forgotten," she cried. "But after the
flower feast I heard the king tell how the Prince of Portugal was now
his slave. And I can remember the fountain, and my lord Dom Fernando,
who gave us the crosses, and Nella--Nella--a little girl like me."
"It is true, Senorita," said Fernando; "long have they wept for you."
"Hush! I am called. I will speak again with you," cried Catalina,
running away hastily, while Fernando hurried back, lest his absence
should be found out, rejoicing at the discovery; for surely he could
manage that some intimation might reach Lisbon of Catalina's existence.
Certainly if deliverance ever came for himself and his friends she might
be included in it.