“Ah, my son!” returned the old man, shaking his grey locks, “dost thou not remember, that when this Peter struck off the ear of Malchus, though in defence of his Lord’s sacred person, thy prophet rebuked his zeal, bidding him put up the sword! How, then, dare the pontiff of Rome turn his sheep-hook into a weapon of offence?”
Struck with the force of this remark, which he was not prepared to answer, and disdaining to parry it, by retorting the bloody intolerance of Mahometanism, Sebastian was silent.
The dervise continued: “But let us not talk of our different creeds at this period; thou art sick and weak, and I should think of thy suffering body.”
The good man then dressed his companion’s wounds afresh, and spread before him palm leaves filled with fruit, together with a cordial drink and some Pharouk bread: by moderately partaking of these, the King was so refreshed, that he found himself able to rise, and walk up and down the cell. As he walked, he conversed courteously with Abensallah, though his discourse was mingled with many sighs, and he frequently lost himself in other thoughts.
The dervise noted his dejected looks with benevolent curiosity. “Thou hast lost, I fear, some dear kinsman in this fatal battle—some brother, or father, perhaps; and thy young heart not yet enured to sorrow.”—
“O, dervise!” exclaimed Sebastian, bursting into an agony of grief, “every living soul in the Christian army were to me like fathers and brothers. My countrymen, my brave countrymen! when you marched on so gallantly, could I have foreseen that I was leading you to——,” he stopped, then suddenly actuated by one of his rash impulses, abruptly added—“Abensallah, you see before you, Sebastian of Portugal.”
The dervise prostrated himself at his feet, “Young monarch, I bow to the lord’s anointed! thy misfortunes are thy security. Let the conduct of Abensallah teach thee hereafter to believe that there may be charity among mussulmen.”
Inexpressibly affected, the King motioned for him to rise, “Abensallah,” he said, squeezing his hand between both his, “Africa has already taught me a lesson I shall never forget: but I did not wage war against your prince from a false notion that he ruled over miscreants. I was actuated by zeal for that religion which, by limiting the prerogative of kings and the obedience of subjects, bestows equal blessings upon both. I would have conquered Africa to have freed her people from tyrannical rulers and tyrannical errors, to have afforded them opportunities of understanding our holy faith; not to have established a new despotism, and swayed with the iron mace of persecution—these ardent hopes are over; you see me here a fugitive, but with God’s leave, a King still.”
As Sebastian spoke the last words, a noble imperiousness sat on his youthful brow, his heart swelled with it, but quickly sunk again at recollection of his companions in arms.
Anxious to learn the fate of Stukeley, he besought the dervise to assist him in ascertaining whether he were dead, or captive; by searching the field of battle he hoped to arrive at some certainty. Abensallah in vain remonstrated against this hazardous enterprize, but no arguments availed with the still imprudent Sebastian; he was therefore reluctantly induced to propose their going on the night of the ensuing day, when all the Moors would be engaged in the celebration of one of their feasts, and the Portuguese monarch might perhaps pass unnoticed in the dress of a servant.