“Nay—you see I am well. And I think of those unhappy ones whose fate hangs on mine. And I thank the merciful Saviour, who lays not the choice on me, but gives me the easier way of submission, and permits my poor life to be a defence to a fortress of Christendom as in no other way it could be. The wish of my heart is given,—may I but tread, in the footsteps of those blessed ones who have endured worse sufferings in the same cause, on honour which myself little deserved?”
Fernando smiled as he spoke, and for a moment Enrique felt that the confusion of good and bad motives, the doubtful self-denial, and still more doubtful justice, that led to the retention of Ceuta, were lifted by his brother’s faith and love into the instrument of a holy martyrdom.
“So,” continued Fernando, “bid Duarte not to grieve, for if I suffer, it is no more than I have deserved, and to suffer, even without choice, for such an end, is too great honour.”
“Duarte is sick with the care and weight of decision,” said Enrique sadly.
“Ah, could I but see him?” said Fernando, suddenly faltering; then, with renewed firmness, “But it cannot be. And you, my Enrique, how changed your face is. You must turn your thoughts again to Sagres and the adventures of your mariners. That is the appointed way in which you must serve. We still work together.”
“And if—if the council and the king resolve to yield Ceuta?”
“Why then—God’s will be done!” said Fernando, “and we may yet clasp hands again. Meanwhile some soul is passing away with the holy rites of the Church, some babe receives Christian baptism—who else were cast into outer darkness. But see; the governor interrupts us.”
“Prince Fernando,” said Zala-ben-Zala, “I trust your entreaties have induced the Duke of Viseo to endeavour to change the mind of the king.”
“The King of Portugal,” said Fernando, steadily, “must act as he thinks well. I have made no entreaties, and shall make none.”
“Know you what you say!” thundered out Zala-ben-Zala, suddenly changing his tone. “Think you that henceforth your life will be easy, as it has been! Shall the forsworn hostage be treated as a king’s son? No! Our prisoner no longer—you are our slave; and when next King Duarte sends envoys, let them see their prince of the blood—their Grand-Master—tending the horses of his Moorish masters as a slave—I say—in fetters and in rags?”