out between them. Joao was a fine dark-eyed boy of fourteen,with an exceedingly acute and intelligent countenance. Fernando was twoyears younger, and though tall for his age, was slender and fragile. Hehad the flaxen hair and brilliant fairness of his mother's race, but thelarge blue eyes had the same dreamy intensity that marked Enrique's,with a sweetness all their own. These two were kindred spirits beyondthe bond that united all the five, and never failed them through thelong lives spent in toil and self-denial.
Enrique having parted from the two elder ones came up to the steps, andFernando looked up at him eagerly, while Joao jumped up, announcing thathe knew his lesson, and should go and play.
"But I do not know mine," said Fernando, disconsolately.
Enrique sat down on the step, and drawing the child up to his side,began to translate the Latin for him into French, in which language thePortuguese court, in imitation of the English one, usually conversed.Fernando was so delicate that the strict and severe system under whichthey were all educated was sometimes relaxed in his favour. He was,however, an apt pupil, and presently Enrique closed the book.
"There, now you can go and play."
"No," said Fernando, pressing up to his brother. "Tell me, have youbeen talking about the knighthood?"
"Yes," said Enrique; "we are resolved that if we have to wait for ever,we will not make a pretence of that which should be so great a thing.Not the year of tournaments shall tempt us."
"When I am knighted," said Fernando, "I will go and fight the Moors inAfrica, and destroy the castles where they make good Christians to toilas slaves. Would it not be joy to open the prisons and set them free?"
"Ay," said Enrique, looking straight out of his wide-opened eyes as ifhe saw far away. "Then, too, should we see what lies behind--behindTangiers and Ceuta, beyond the sands. There might we spread the Cross."
"And there maybe are the two-headed giants and the dragons like the oneSaint George of England killed; and magic castles, and fiery pits, thevery entrance of hell. You used to say so."
"Ah, maybe," said Enrique, smiling. "Anyway there is the wide earth,the world that we do not know."
"Then you do not think all the countries are discovered yet?" looking upin his face.
"Nay, surely not," said Enrique, with gathering eagerness. "There,"pointing to the sparkling bay before them, "does that go on for ever,and for ever. Well is the Atlantic called the Sea of Darkness, blue andbright as it may be! But the lost path to the Indies, where is it?Where is that island the Englishman saw in mid-ocean? Where, where?"Enrique paused, his face one unanswered question. "Some day I willknow."
"But in the meantime," said Fernando, "the enemies of the BlessedSaviour are here close by, killing and destroying good Christians?"
"Well," said Enrique, coming out of the clouds, "we will deal first withthem, sooner maybe than you think for! But there are more ways than oneof subduing the world for Christ. You can win your knighthood inBarbary by and by, while _I_ look for the fiery dragons beyond."
He pulled a roughly-drawn map towards him, and began to study it.
"Ah, but not all alone," said Fernando, vehemently; "the fiery dragonsmight kill you, and I could not fight the infidels by myself."
"Not yet," said Enrique, soothingly, "you have to grow strong first."
He stretched himself out, leaning on his elbow, and knitting his browsin absorbed study of the map before him. Fernando sat leaning againsthim in silence. His brothers were all tender and good to him; butEnrique was the best-loved of them all, and the idea that theseeagerly-desired adventures involved a parting had never been realised byhim before. Presently he raised himself, and sat a little apart,looking before him with a face that, with all its fair tinting anddelicate outline, set into lines of remarkable force and firmness.
"Enrique," he said, presently.
"Well?"
"I _will_ go without you to fight the infidel if there is no other way.For we are soldiers of the Cross, and our Blessed Lord is our Captain,and He would be with me. But oh! dear Enrique, I will pray every daythat He will send you too."
"Now, then, mother will be angry," said Enrique, as the excitable boybroke into a passion of tears.
"Did she not say you should not talk of infidels, or Christians either,if it made you cry? I feel sure our uncle Edward did not cry at thethought of the French."
"I am not afraid; it is not that I am afraid," sobbed Fernando,indignantly.
"No, no! I know. See, Fernando, I promise I will go with you when youwin your spurs. Hush, now, it is almost supper-time. Shall I take youto mother first?"
"No," said Fernando, recovering himself. "I will not cry."
"Come then," said Enrique, pulling his long limbs up from their loungingattitude, and holding out his hand. "Come and see the English mastiffs,and some day, maybe, I will tell you a secret."
CHAPTER TWO.
THE DEED OF ARMS.
"I know, Sir King, All that belongs to knighthood, and I love."
The supper was over, and King Joao was seeking for some relaxation fromthe cares of state in the society of his wife and children. He and hisfair English Queen would then sit in their private room, and the fivesons would give an account of their studies, exercises, and amusementsduring the day, or sometimes practise speaking English with theirmother, or receive from her good advice or tender encouragement. TheKing and Queen sat on chairs, the princes stood respectfully near them,when, after a silence, Duarte suddenly advanced and spoke.
"Sire, I and my brothers have a proposal to make to your grace."
"Say on. I am ready to hear you, though I do not promise to find wisdomin the proposals of your rash youth," said Dom Joao, while thefair-haired mother smiled encouragement.
"Sire, it has pleased you to regard without displeasure our wish not toreceive the sacred order of knighthood without some deed of arms thatshould render us worthy of it; and I, and at least my brother Pedro,have waited till the usual age is past, in the hope that some fortunatequarrel would give your highness the power to grant our request."
"My son," said King Joao, "I cannot risk the interests of my subjectsfor your desire of fame. A knight has other duties--to guard theoppressed, to defend the weak, is indeed the calling of princes; but notalways at the point of the sword."
Duarte bowed submissively; but, after a pause, he continued--
"Yet there is one enemy with whom we cannot be said to be either at waror at peace, since there cannot be honourable peace with the enemies ofChrist. Yet Christian nations suffer nests of pirates to dwellundisturbed opposite our very coasts. Our soldiers, our ships, andinnocent children are not safe from the Moors of Africa. When theyswoop down on our shores, it is death or--apostasy for Christian men,and for our maidens slavery and imprisonment. The very key of theirfastnesses is Ceuta. Could we but take that fortress at the point ofthe sword, it would be a deed worthy of Christian princes, of use toyour grace's subjects, and honourable in the eyes of Europe."
Dom Joao looked at his son as if somewhat surprised, to hear soreasonable and well-considered a proposal. His authority was absoluteover his five young sons, and though he could not but be satisfied withtheir progress and development, he had not expected from any of them anindependent opinion.
"Since when have you thought of this expedition?" he said.
"It was suggested to me, sire, by some words of Fernando's," saidDuarte; and Fernando, who had listened with breathless interest, sprangforward, and with more freedom than Duarte had ventured to use,exclaimed--
"Oh, dear father, it is the greatest desire of us all!"
"It would be fitter for you and Joao to pursue your studies at home,"said the King. "Nevertheless, I will consider of this proposal."
The five lads did not shout, as perhaps nature would have inclined themto do, they bowed, and stood silent till their father withdrew, whenthere was a sudden relaxation of their attitude of respectful attention,and they surrounded their mother, pressing up to her
, kissing her hand,and demanding if they had not at last found the right thing to do.
Philippa was a tall, fair woman, with a beautiful Plantagenet face, andan expression at once simple and noble, a fit mother of heroes.
"My fair sons," she said, "it is a noble purpose, an object worthy ofChristian swords. It is good that you should win your knighthood byfighting for Holy Church, rather than for your own vain-glory. If yourfather thinks this attempt wise, it will be well, if not--"
"If not," said Dom Duarte, "I will not consent to the year oftournaments my father proposed for us. It is a mockery, a pretence--Ihate false seeming."
"You do