Chapter Twelve
Self Chosen Ways
“I saw the Holy Grail, and heard a cry —
O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me.”
The number of voices raised in favour of the Moorish war concealed the fact of how many regarded it with disapproval. Sir Walter Northberry at once offered himself as a volunteer, and Harry Hartsed, in common with all the members in Dom Fernando’s suite, was hot in the cause, saw no difficulties, and talked as if Tangier were already won, a mode of proceeding provoking to the opposing princes, and to those who thought with them.
No such light-mindedness could be urged against the prince himself. There was, indeed, a light of hope and happiness in his face rarely seen there before; but he spent long hours in prayer, not so much for the success of his undertaking, as that he might be worthy to engage in it, and constantly urged on his followers the necessity of preparing for a holy war by a holy life. He showed no resentment at his brothers’ opposition, merely saying that he did not wonder at their distrust of the views of so inexperienced a person as himself, though he could never be grateful enough to Enrique for his comprehension of them. Enrique had so many other matters in hand, in preparation for his departure, that he had not much time to bestow on the collecting of the forces, and moreover had something of the self-confidence of great conscious power, that anything in which he was engaged could be made to succeed. So that Fernando had it all his own way, and perhaps was hardly the person to realise all the difficulties in his path, since he credited others with his own strong and unwavering zeal.
The war was, on the whole, popular among the clergy, and was approved by the Archbishop of Lisbon; and Father José – who had been Fernando’s confessor and chaplain from childhood, and had constantly listened to his longings for such an opportunity – rejoiced that his dear son, as he regarded Fernando, should at last gain the wish of his heart. But he said much less about triumphing over the Moors, than about the necessity of faith, purity, and holiness in those who would attack them, about the sin of rivalry and contention among men engaged in a holy war, pointing out how self-indulgence and disputes had been the ruin of crusades. No one, he said, who entered on a holy war, in such an unholy spirit, would find the sword of the Moor open to him a passage from earth to Heaven. No one, who, during this period of preparation, fell into mortal sin, neglected his religious duties, or indulged in uncharitable feelings, would be a true crusader, though he bound the cross on his shoulder, and sailed under the authority of a Bull of Crusade.
These truths, however wholesome they might be, and however entirely accepted and enforced by the prince himself, were not always palatable, and Father José’s preaching was often deserted for that of a chaplain belonging to Dom Enrique’s household, named Martin. This priest was instrumental in turning the minds of many towards the war. He preached in glowing terms the glory that was to be won both for earth and Heaven, the certainty of success, the sure path to Paradise; painted vividly the triumph over the conquered city, the splendid spoils that would be the rightful property of the conquering soldiers of the cross, the dreadful fate that would rightly befall the “Pagan hounds,” whom they would destroy; and finally promised absolution and the Church’s blessing to all those who heartily engaged in the contest. This preaching worked up the young nobility to a state of wild enthusiasm, and among others Harry Hartsed, who, though greatly admiring his prince, thought his sentiments rather fine-spun, and that to take arms with a view of revenging the wrong of the Northberry family, and of gaining some spiritual advantages for himself, was quite enough.
All his interest in his little playmate’s lost sister was revived by the intelligence that Sir Walter had declined all offers of marriage for Nella in England, and that in the event of his returning safely from the present campaign he meant her to come to Lisbon and rejoin him. She was now more than sixteen, and her reputation as a beauty had preceded her.
Harry thought that when spoils and honours should enable him to think of a wife, he would like to see Nella’s brave blue eyes, and hear her frank tongue, before he gave his heart away to any dark-glancing, soft-spoken Portuguese.
All through the spring the preparations were pushed forward; and at last, after much delay, came the long-expected answer from the Pope.
He wrote that wars of offence with the Infidel were allowable in resistance to any actual injury committed by them on any particular kingdom, but during a period of entire peace could only be justified by proving that the existence of the infidel power was injurious to Christendom at large, in which latter case the Pope granted a bull of crusade. He could not now perceive that the King of Portugal had received any injuries from the King of Barbary, or that the latter had recently in any way made himself obnoxious to the nations of Christendom. He could not therefore grant the bull of crusade, and recommended King Duarte to abstain from the attack.
This was King Duarte’s own opinion; but he could not read the Pope’s despatch without thinking of the disappointment it would inflict on his ardent brothers; and, alas! of the great unpopularity of disbanding the already impatient army. This difficulty also occurred to Pedro, who blamed Duarte for having allowed the preparations to be begun.
“Look you,” said Duarte, “I shall leave it in their hands. If they can conscientiously disregard the opinion of his holiness, let them make the attempt. It is indeed true that Fernando has never seen warfare. When this is over he will be content, and if Tangier is taken, maybe the Pope will not think the war unjustifiable.”
The Popes of the fifteenth century had not so lived or ruled that their fiat should be accepted with unquestioning respect. It was a hard matter, however, to display the letter to the eager spirits who were staking their all on the attempt.
Fernando turned pale as death, and uttered not a word.
Enrique read through the parchment, and then started up, exclaiming —
“There are things that man must do at his own risk. Who can authorise the inmost promptings of the soul that lead to great ends? The holy father may fear to speak; we will give Tangier to the Church, and win his blessing at the sword’s point.”
So said Enrique, having indeed much experience of the inward promptings of which he spoke; and Duarte was much swayed by his words.
Fernando was still silent. There was the sharpness of a personal wish, both to sway him and to cause a fear of being swayed.
“Let it be as the king will,” he said, slowly; but Duarte had not the heart to accept his submission.
“Matters have gone too far to recede,” he said. “Go, my brothers; I confide in your judgment, and may the blessing of God rest on your arms.”
Fernando bent down and kissed the king’s hand, while Enrique exclaimed —
“Tangier shall be yours, when we meet again.” Dom Joao shrugged his shoulders. “That depends,” he said, “on the number and the condition of your troops.”
All was now hurry and excitement. And between the contending views there was much confusion.
Dom Joao’s opinion on military matters had great weight; and when it was known that he disapproved of the expedition, many held back from it.
The young queen liking the excitement of the start, and the probable glory to Portugal favoured the enterprise; and strangely enough it fell out, that the war was advocated by all the gayer and wilder spirits, while the more sober doubted and held back.
Queen Leonora laughed at her husband for the strange reluctance that he showed to part with Fernando.
“All the – others,” she said, “were constantly absent from him on long and dangerous errands; surely he could let Fernando go for a few months.”
“That is the very thing,” said Duarte sadly; “I have never been parted from him, and this war fills me with anxiety and dread.”
“Why, you grow slow of heart,” said Leonora, laughing. “You did not think so when Ceuta was before you.”
Spite of this rallying, the parting was a cruel one. Although there was a keener sympathy of character and opinion between Enrique and Fernando, Duarte had been to the latter a constant companion and support; and to act against his judgment, and to cause him pain and anxiety, was the first sacrifice in which his project involved him.
Chapter Thirteen
Before Tangier
“Who is there that wishes for more men from England!”
On the 22nd of August the fleet of the Infantes set sail from Lisbon, fourteen thousand men having been decided on as the number necessary for the expedition, and in due course arrived at Ceuta, where Dom Enrique, who had hitherto exercised but little personal superintendence, proceeded to review them, and to examine into their efficiency, Fernando assisting him. The sight of Ceuta recalled to them both that first campaign – so brilliant, so prosperous, so well-planned and executed. It was something to receive the blessing of the Bishop of the city that their father had made Christian, and to see it happy and prosperous under its new rule.
As the day went on, Fernando grew very weary of riding about in the hot sun, and began sadly to discover how unequal his strength was to the fatigues of a campaign. Enrique, perceiving this, sent him back to his lodging, whither he presently followed him in much perturbation.
“Fernando,” he said, “things are against us. My mind misgave me when we landed as to our numbers; and now I find that, instead of the fourteen thousand ordered to embark, we have but eight! Many fell back on hearing the Pope’s decision; many more from respect to Joao’s views. There has been some strange want of common sense in the officers who superintended the embarkation. They say their orders were not precise, and the king’s commands uncertain. Anyhow, we are here with but half our troops?”
“Well, dear Enrique, we who are here must fight the harder!” said Fernando, smiling.
“The commanders wish to send back the fleet for more troops,” said Enrique.
“No! How should we keep up the spirits of those waiting here? What would the king think? And the enemy would get wind of our intentions! We must push on at once, and trust in the force of our onslaught?”
“That is my own view,” said Enrique, “but my mind misgives me!”
“That is the most fatal thing of all. It is too late for misgivings,” said Fernando, resolutely.
“And you – how can you bear the march over these hot sands? You are over-wearied already.”
Fernando winced somewhat, but answered, “You might go by land with the main body of the troops, while I with the rest go to Tangier by sea. I could well do that.”
This plan, after a good deal of discussion, was finally adopted; for Fernando was far from well, and could not have attempted the land march. He was the most cheerful and sanguine of the party; but there was so much difference of opinion, and so much depression at the insufficiency of the forces, that the joyful, resolute spirit of crusaders, seemed far from the rest of the army, and time and energy were wasted in disputes and lamentations. The men had lost confidence in their leaders, every one was of a different opinion as to waiting for fresh troops or pushing on as they were, and instead of prayer, praise, or hopeful anticipation, there was perpetual wrangling.
It was now found that Father José’s teaching had far more effect in softening, these differences than Father Martin’s; for the former led them to dwell on the blessing of a high and earnest purpose, which would consecrate success, and could not be destroyed by failure; while the latter fell in with the popular feeling, by finding fault with the lukewarmness and want of zeal shown by the other Infantes, who had thus risked the success of the expedition. As he belonged to Dom Enrique’s household, he accompanied the land march; while Father José went by sea, in company with all the members of Fernando’s suite.
Harry Hartsed was one of the malcontents. There was something provoking to his common sense in the ill-management of the start; and though he had no expectation of failure, it afforded him great satisfaction to grumble at the princes, and even at the king, by way perhaps of showing that he was not a Portuguese subject. Young Alvarez was more scrupulous and more serious-minded, but he had misgivings as to disregarding the wishes of the Pope; and these two lads represented widespread phases of public opinion.
Fernando heard but little of this. Remembering how easily Ceuta had been won, and feeling the utmost confidence in Enrique’s skill, he did not much fear failure, and bore no grudge against his other brothers for thinking differently from himself. He recovered his strength during the sea-voyage, and as they neared Tangier, and he stood on the deck in full armour with the cross of his order on his breast, the look of hope and joy on his face communicated itself to his followers; and whatever else they differed about, they were all ready to live or die for him.
Under his orders the landing of the troops and the meeting with Dom Enrique’s contingent was safely accomplished, and, in better spirits than they had yet enjoyed, the little army prepared for the attack. They found that their old enemy, Zala-ben-Zala, was in command at Tangier, and soon became aware that the King of Fez was bringing large numbers into the field against them. Before they left Lisbon the king had strenuously advised them not to leave the beach unguarded so that the enemy could cut off their chance of retreat; and he felt the necessity of this so strongly, that he sent an autograph letter to Enrique at Ceuta, entreating him to observe this precaution. Enrique, however, either disregarded it, or found that with his small number it was impossible to spare any from the attack; for there began such a struggle as tried the courage of veterans, and showed the young recruits the face of war in good earnest.
The Portuguese forces marched to the attack in two divisions, commanded by the two princes. Each division fought under the flag of Portugal, and also under that of the order to which its leader belonged, the red cross of Avis, the green cross of the Order of Christ; and on Enrique’s banner was inscribed the motto he had so well earned the right to carry, “Talent de bien faire;” on that of Fernando the humbler legend, “Le bien me plait.”
They fought on through the hot September day, with fresh battalions constantly coming up to the defence, till they became conscious that they were contending against a superiority of numbers such as they had never contemplated. Troop after troop of turbaned soldiers came pouring down upon them; nevertheless, they fought with such ardour, that Enrique’s division pressed right up to the walls of the town and raised their scaling-ladders against them; Fernando’s side having meanwhile been so fiercely attacked, that it was all that he could do to hold his ground. Alas! the scaling-ladders which they had brought were too short to reach the top of the ramparts, and after frightful loss of life, and long hours of vain effort, Dom Enrique was forced to sound a retreat, before the darkness overtook them, at the enemy’s very gates. He reached the camp just as Fernando came up to join him, and the two brothers embraced eagerly, thankful at least to find each other safe.
“You are unhurt?” said Enrique. “Then all is not lost.”
“Oh, yes, I am unhurt,” said Fernando, “and ready for another attempt to-morrow. The odds are great, but our men showed no flinching. I fear me our losses are terrible.”
“So great,” said Enrique with reluctance, “and the odds are so much against us, that there is but one thing left to do, and that is to retreat. We must go back to Ceuta, and wait there for fresh troops and longer ladders.”
Fernando recoiled almost as from a blow.
“What! – have we failed?” he said.
“Well, say we have not yet succeeded. There is no help for it, Fernando; it must be done.”
Enrique was bitterly mortified, and disappointed, and spoke less gently than usual; and perhaps Fernando had never struggled so hard; with himself as before he answered —
“You can judge best, my brother; be it so.”
There was no time to be lost in making the arrangements. The army was to re-embark while sheltered by the darkness, and Fernando went to see how best to transport the wounded; while Enrique held council with the officers, who all agreed with him as to the necessity.
There were loud murmurs, however, among the younger noblemen, and there was a good deal of delay after the first decision before the final start was made. At last all was ready, and Enrique prepared to give the order for the march in the silent night, without banner, shout, or trumpet. How different from that, morning’s approach! What was it moving in front of them, through the purple darkness of the southern night – long, dim, white lines, between them and the sea?
Alas for the disregard of the king’s counsel! They were the white cloaks of the Moorish troops, and the little Christian army was surrounded on all sides.
“Betrayed! betrayed! Caught like mice in a trap!” cried Enrique, losing his self-control. “Where is the false traitor to whom this is owing?”
“Hush!” said Fernando, laying his hand on Enrique’s arm. “Let none see your amazement. The hand of God is against us. We were unworthy of the cause we undertook in self-willed opposition.”
He spoke in a tone of calm, sad conviction, and then, seeing Enrique’s distress, added gently —
“The blame lies on me. I know well that you acted for my sake.”
Enrique shook his head; then, after a moment’s silence, started into energy again.
“Now we must sell our lives hard. There is no choice remaining. We march on the town with the first dawn of light. And now to prayer. May God have mercy on us! we are in evil case. Where is Father Martin?”
“My lord, my lord!” cried young Alvarez, rushing up, “here is a sentinel who declares that in the dusk he beheld Father Martin pass him by, and afterwards a figure steal to the enemy’s lines.”
“Where is the holy father!” said Enrique, calmly disregarding this assertion.
But Father Martin was nowhere to be found, and instead of the proposed solemn services, the whole camp was engaged in a passionate discussion as to whether he had been the traitor or not. Young Hartsed hotly defended him, and he and Alvarez disputed till words almost came to blows.
With the first ray of light the rail to arms was sounded, and several hours were spent in desperate efforts to break through the enemy’s ranks. It was all in vain; and as the shadows of evening fell the recall was sounded, and in humiliation and sorrow of heart the defeated princes sent to offer terms of capitulation, and to ask for what ransom they and their troops would be allowed to depart.
Chapter Fourteen
The Steadfast Prince
“Still to abide ’mid failing hearts high-hearted.”
The two Infantes occupied a tent in the centre of the Portuguese camp, and when their messengers returned they came out to the front of it, and, surrounded by their chief officers, prepared to receive the Moorish delegates who had come to offer them terms of surrender. The wounded had been cared for as well as circumstances admitted, and an attempt had been made to draw up the poor remnant of the troops in good order, so as not to produce an impression of utter defeat. But nothing could alter the dejected countenances and downcast air of the beaten army; the very banners hung listless in the still air of evening, and many a wistful look was cast at the blue sea, so near yet so unapproachable, beyond which lay Portugal and home.
Life had never held so bitter a moment for Enrique of Portugal as when he stood there to receive and not to dictate terms of surrender; and from an enemy whom he regarded with a mixture of contempt and hatred. He was, however, perfectly calm and impassive, not losing the advantage that his splendid presence gave him, and prepared to accede to the demand for a heavy ransom before he and his army were allowed to depart.
Fernando stood beside him; disappointment and self-reproach put aside for the present, he showed himself an equally worthy representative of the honour of Portugal.
The Moorish envoys were exceedingly courteous, and began their interview with many compliments on the valour of their illustrious foes.
Enrique replied, very briefly, that the fortune of war being against them, they must leave it to the King of Fez to name their ransom.
And then, still wrapped in courteous phrases, came the ultimatum. The town of Ceuta must be restored to its former owners, and to insure this one of the Infantes, with a certain number of nobles, must remain as a hostage in the hands of the King of Fez.
“The King of Portugal,” said Enrique, “will be prepared for the payment of any money ransom the King of Fez may demand.”
“The town of Ceuta,” said the chief officer of the Moors, “is the price of your liberty. Otherwise your troops must be put to the sword, and you and your chief nobles retained as prisoners at the king’s pleasure.”
“The King of Fez,” said Fernando, “has a right to impose conditions. I offer myself as the hostage he demands.”
“Fernando – no!” cried Enrique, suddenly losing his self-contained manner, and laying his hand on Fernando.
“The noble Infante,” said the Moorish envoy, “need have no fears. He and his companions will be treated as the guests of the king, and will be released immediately that Ceuta is in the hands of my master.”
Fernando smiled. “I have no fears,” he said, quietly.
“And doubtless,” said the Moor, “the King of Portugal will see that it is consistent with his honour to release his noble brother without delay.”
“The King of Portugal,” said Fernando, “will act as becomes an honourable and a Christian king.”
“I do not consent – I do not consent!” said Enrique, in such agitation that Fernando said —
“We will crave leave to withdraw, and to discuss this matter first with each other and then with our nobles.”
So saying, he moved back into the tent, followed by Enrique, who threw himself into a seat, covering his face.
“I – it must be I,” he said. “I will not leave you. How can I look Duarte in the face?”
“But I could not undertake the command of the troops alone,” said Fernando; “and besides, we will not give them more than they ask.”
Enrique still seemed unconvinced; Fernando sat down beside him and spoke earnestly.
“Look you, Enrique. My self-willed longing to give my life to the cause of Christendom him brought this on us. ‘Behold! to obey is better than to sacrifice;’ but I heeded neither Duarte’s wish nor the Pope’s will, nor our other brothers’ opinion. It is fitting therefore that I should bear the brunt of failure.”
“To demand Ceuta,” cried Enrique; “Ceuta, our one conquest from the realms of darkness! A law, alas! that we – that I should have lost Ceuta to Christendom!”
“That,” said Fernando, very low and tenderly, “will not be for your decision.”
Enrique started, and looked up in his face. Fernando took him by both hands and smiled with wonderful sweetness, while he said —
“When we took Ceuta, my Enrique, and all my joy was gone at the fear of your death, you bade me remember that we would both have given our lives for it in the battle. I bid you think of that now.”
Enrique bent his head down on his brother’s hands and groaned aloud.
“How can I face Duarte – what can I say to him?” he repeated.
“Tell him,” said Fernando, “to remember that both he and I are Christian princes, soldiers of the Cross of Christ. And give him my – my love.” Here he faltered for a moment; then, recovering himself, said, firmly —
“We delay too long. Let us consult with the officers. I cannot, I suppose, remain here alone.” Enrique seemed quite unable to recover himself, and Fernando was forced to take the lead in the discussion that followed. There was no lack of volunteers to share in his self-devotion, nor indeed was there any particular reason to shrink from a temporary detention in an enemy’s country. Several nobles of sufficient station to satisfy the requirements of the Moors were selected, and Father José resolved on accompanying his beloved prince; and this fact a little comforted Enrique, and enabled him once more to meet the Moorish envoys, and to announce to them that he had resolved on accepting the terms proposed, and that his brother, with twelve companions, would remain behind as hostages for the restitution of the town of Ceuta, he himself and the rest of the army being allowed to depart unharmed.
Moussa-Ben-Hadad, the Moorish envoy, was courtesy itself. El Señor Dom Fernando, Infante of Portugal and Grand-Master of Avis, would be the guest of his king, who would be honoured by his presence, and would do his best to make his stay agreeable, short as it would be. He would be allowed free communication by letter with Portugal. A document was prepared and signed by Moussa-Ben-Hadad and by the two Infantes, to the effect that Fernando was to remain a prisoner until such time as Ceuta should be given up.
Alvarez and Harry Hartsed both entreated to remain with him; but he refused steadily, saying that their rank was not sufficient for hostages, and that no unnecessary force should be wasted. Sir Walter Northberry was among the wounded.
All was prepared for the start during the night, and with the first dawn of day this defeated Christians began their retreat, in good order and with banners flying. They had no need to eat their hearts out with mortification and wounded pride, as they noticed the innumerable ranks of the foes between whom their own small force took its way to the beach. Self-reproach and shame was for the leaders, who had so misjudged and mismanaged; and Enrique felt as if the weight bowed him to the earth.
The time for parting came, and the two brothers were alone. It might seem but a formal parting for a short time, but upon them both lay the weight of a conviction which each was too tender to the other to put into words. But the sympathy between them was too deep and keen for any doubt as to the other’s opinion. Fernando laid his hands on Enrique’s shoulders and looked full into his face.
“You are my other self, and you know my heart by your own,” he said. “Courage! for we shall not part for ever.”
Enrique dared not give way. He took Fernando’s hand, and together they went out to the front of the tent – the last one remaining of the little camp – where Enrique’s suite were ready mounted on the one side, and the escort of Moors awaited Fernando on the other.
The brothers embraced each other in silence; Fernando mounted his horse and bowed to the knights and nobles standing round. In the light of the summer morning, with the new sun shining on the red cross on his breast and on his steadfast, smiling eyes, Enrique beheld him; then, mounting his horse, he rode away, and left this well-beloved brother behind.