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.