He was only three years old when his father died, and his mother acted as Regent till he was seventeen, when he took over the government himself. An old record tells us that at that time he was “a skilful and valiant knight,” and “of very comely presence.” He had, what is more, the dash and enterprise, the sound judgment, and the grace and courtesy of manner of a born leader of men.
He had already seen a great deal of fighting, and had earned the honour of knighthood when only a little lad of fourteen. The young Count found himself ruler of a land consisting chiefly of mountains, forests, and heaths, and surrounded by enemies. In the north and east he had to fight against the power of Spain, in the south he waged incessant war against the fanatical followers of Mohammed, but he gradually drove them back, till his “heroic exploits were the theme of the wandering troubadour in every Christian Court in western Europe.”
The capture of Lisbon, Santarem, Evora, Beja, and many other towns and strongholds, added more and more to his fame, and it is pleasing to learn that it was by the help of some English Crusaders, who were on their way to the Holy Land, that after several failures he at last succeeded in taking the strong citadel of Lisbon.
As the King advanced in years, he deputed his son Sancho to carry on the fighting, and devoted himself to the internal administration of his country, dispensing justice, granting charters to many of his towns, laying down boundaries, and, in fact, doing all he could to promote the welfare of his subjects.
There is one scene in the life of Alfonso Henriques which I think you would like to hear about—the last great exploit before his death, which occurred the same year.
The Moors had gathered together a vast army, and had besieged Santarem. Sancho and his troops had done their best, there had been many bloody encounters, but at last the overwhelming numbers of the enemy began to tell, and the hard-pressed garrison were on the point of surrendering, when in the distance a large force of mounted men was seen riding furiously to the rescue. Nearer and nearer they came, the well-known banner of many a Christian knight waving in the breeze, and at their head rode the grand old King.
Worn out as he was by years of warfare, bowed down by age, and suffering from the effects of countless wounds received in his country’s cause, this old man of seventy-four, on hearing of his son’s peril, had led his knights by forced marches from the very furthest corner of the kingdom.
With the help of the now rejoicing garrison, who sallied out to join in the fray, he entirely routed the enemy, slew their leader, and drove the scattered host back over the Tagus and across their own frontier.
It is little wonder that with such a leader the people grew into a brave, chivalrous, and self-reliant race.