"My father, oh my father, pray for me, for my spirit fails me. I am
unworthy, weak and unworthy still!"
"Well, my dear son, our good Lord knows your weakness, for He has sent
me to be with you to the end."
He raised Fernando in his arms, shocked and grieved at the change since
they had parted, at his wasted frame, and face burning with fever;
while, wretched as had been the food, air, and accommodation of their
former lodging, they were comfortable compared to what he found in this
dark and dismal place.
But Fernando looked up with the old sweet smile.
"See," he said, sadly, "how my faithlessness is rebuked. I feared to
die alone, not trusting in my Saviour, and He sends my best earthly
friend to be with me."
The sufferings of those weeks of loneliness had evidently been most
severe, for the fever that had attacked him frequently confused his
senses and peopled the lonely dungeon with frightful visitants while he
was troubled by a sense of the failure of the trust and faith that had
hitherto supported him.
But the good priest's care lessened somewhat his physical sufferings,
and his prayers and words of comfort brought back once more hope and
peace, and at intervals Fernando had much to say.
"When I think," he said, "of what have been the trials of the saints, I
feel how little I have had to bear. Never have I been without such
loving service as is given to few. Our very jailers have been less
harsh than they might be; some, even, have been kind. Our poor
fellow-slaves have made me happy by saying that my words lightened their
burden, and, though with no choice of mine, my presence here has saved
Ceuta to the Church: and this as a reward for the rash folly that would
choose my own way of service. And now, when my poor weak spirit failed.
I have the blessing of your presence. Our Lord is very merciful; for
such trials as I have read of, I think, would have been more than I
could bear."
"God's grace, my son, is strong enough always to support our weakness,"
said Father Jose, unable to help believing that there was at least as
much saintliness in this humility as in the stern fortitude of a
stronger nature.
"Yes," said Fernando, "that is my one comfort for those I leave behind.
My poor companions! in their love they will grieve for me. You, father,
must be their support, as you are mine."
"My son, they will remember your constancy," said Father Jose, "and--
and--give thanks for your deliverance."
"I would I could see them once more, to bid them take courage."
And when it was indeed certain that the captive prince was dying, this
favour was granted, and his fellow-prisoners were admitted for one last
farewell, their bitter grief hushed, their anger stilled, by the
wonderful peace on his wasted face and the light in his shining eyes.
"My Lord is indeed with me, and has given me the victory," he said. "In
_this_ way, at least, will freedom come to us all."
And then, with much effort, as each knelt beside him, he spoke a word of
the peculiar trials of each, knowing how one shrank from insulting
words, another dreaded bodily hardship, a third pined especially for
home: commending them all to Father Jose's care; and when he saw that
the worst trial for all was grief at his loss, he said, simply, that the
life seemed to have been taken from him with the loss of his dear
brothers; but he had found a Better Friend still, and so would they.
And so, with aching hearts, they left him; and, after a night of
restless pain and fever, a great quiet fell on him, till, towards
evening, as the end drew near, he lay--
"In calmest quiet, waiting his release.
`Lord, now Thou lettest me depart in peace,'
Were the last words which he was heard to say.
Upon his left side turning, as the day
Slow sinking now with more than usual pride,
Streamed through the prison bars a glory deep and wide.
"When the last flush had faded from the west,
When the last streak of golden light was gone,
They looked, but he had entered on his rest;
He, too, his haven of repose had won; -
Leaving this truth to be gainsaid by none,
That what the scroll upon his shield did say,
That well his life had proved--_le bien me plait_."
So died, on the 5th of June, 1443, Fernando of Avis, the Constant
Prince--"So good a man," said the young king of Fez, "that it is a pity
he was not a true Moslem."
And a tall tower was erected over his grave as a monument to his
patience and to the triumph of the Moors over his countrymen.
Years went by, and at last the few poor survivors of that little band,
Father Jose among them, were ransomed and released; but the body of
Fernando still rested in an infidel grave.
His brother Joao was killed in battle. Pedro fell in a civil war, after
a life which, spite of some errors, had, on the whole, been noble,
conscientious, and loyal; and the only survivor of the five loving
brothers was Enrique, the great navigator, the first of the discoverers
of the modern world. The young Alonzo, Duarte's son, grew up into a
brave and prosperous sovereign, and, in another war with Fez and
Morocco, took captive two sons of the king of Fez. Long before this the
memory of the captive Fernando was reverenced as that of a saint and a
martyr by the men whose lukewarmness and indifference had caused his
death; and now the only ransom demanded for the Moorish princes was the
body that, for thirty years, had been in the hands of his enemies.
And so, in 1473, Enrique sailed once more for Ceuta, and there received
from the hands of the Moors the body of the beloved brother of his
youth, which, with solemn funeral services, was shortly laid in the
Abbey of Batalha, where Enrique has rested beside him for many a long
year, while Christian services of prayer and praise have risen from the
city of Ceuta, over which the Crescent has never been lifted again.