SEBASTIAN had to contend with a strong current, but having stripped off his cloaths and fastened them above his head, he was able to breast the powerful water with equal strength; a few strokes of his nervous arm brought him to the opposite bank; he sprung on land, and shaking off the wet quickly re-dressed himself.
While he was fastening on his rude sandals, he looked up to the Cassavee, from whence he had escaped: the faintly glimmering moon now cast a momentary gleam over its high dome, and silvered part of the line formed by the wall, upon which were seen a few sentinels walking to and fro: one of these men appeared to stop and bend forward; Sebastian glided behind a cluster of sallows; the Moor called out, and receiving no answer, discharged his harquebuss; but whether Sebastian’s profound stillness deceived him into the belief of having mistaken the shadow of a tree for a human figure, or whether he thought all his duty performed by this act, is uncertain,—he waited awhile, then moved away without further scrutiny.
Sebastian crept slowly through the underwood till he found himself in a path gradually declining between tolerably steep hills; no longer afraid of discovery, he rose from his stooping posture, and ran swiftly in a direction leading towards the interior. Happily the moon began to shine distinctly, for a rising east wind scattered the clouds that had before ascended from the west, and now her steady light brightened every hill and every valley.
The royal Portuguese proceeded with rapidity through scenes which increased in wild solitariness; at every step the heights assumed a bolder and steeper form, the thickets of oak and locust trees became more frequent, and except the din of a torrent which grew upon his ear, nothing was heard to startle even momentary apprehension.
Guiding his course by the stars, he continued to advance among the mountains with the utmost celerity: nature and habit had made him capable of bearing great fatigue without injury; he now flew rather than ran, springing over the broad beds of mountain streams, and leaping from point to point of the rocky fissures.
Day dawned on him in these desart places, but neither flocks nor dwellings appeared to warn him from his fellow men: he pressed forward, eager to get the start of his pursuers, and resolved not to rest till he could do so with a prospect of security.
After journeying till mid-day, chance led him to a steep rocky dell so overhung with shrubs and trees, that it appeared to promise a safe resting place; he had to stoop under the pendent branches that shaded its entrance, but after passing through them, the foliage fell down again like a curtain, and secured him from observation.
He advanced to the end of this recess, and sat down on a projecting crag; there, for the first time since his escape, he had leisure to think and to calculate on his future movements: the earliest fruit of those reflections was gratitude to that Almighty Being whose hand had thus conducted him in safety; the next emotion was tender remembrance of Gaspar and Kara Aziek, but while he believed that he was hastening from the latter never to see her again, joy brightened regret, for he was returning to Donna Gonsalva.
Never before had Sebastian been sensible to such a sudden translation from misery to transport: Freedom, man’s greatest blessing, the air he is destined to breathe and to live by, and without which he dies—Freedom, that pure element, which is scarcely felt while it surrounds us, and seldom known but in its privation,—was now his own again; it throbbed in all his pulses, spoke to his senses from every outward object and inward feeling, new-strung his nerves, and turned hopes into certainties.
What bright visions of future happiness, transcending all he had ever yet known, now animated him—in his own person he had acquired a keener relish for the blessings of home and liberty, and he had learned such important lessons as would make him respect those blessings in the persons of others.
Thankful even for captivity, since it had ameliorated his character, he gave no check to sanguine thought: yet thirty leagues of African ground still lay between him and security.
Finding himself faint for want of refreshment, he ate sparingly of his few provisions, and quenched his thirst with the water of a neighbouring spring, then commending himself to the protection of his tutelary saints, laid down to rest.
When Sebastian awoke, he found the day far spent: he had of late abridged his sleep so much, and been so continually anxious, that this first repose, in a scene of comparative freedom, lasted longer than he wished; however, he awoke with renovated strength, and quitting the dell, resumed his former track.
He had not proceeded far, when he came abruptly upon a flock of goats, with a couple of stout Moorish boys watching them; not allowing them an instant to note his dress or face, he darted down a side declivity and flew along, till seeing the hills opening in several directions, he chose one path at a venture, and soon lost himself among thickets and precipices.—At first he heard the boys voices mixed with those of men; but shortly they ceased to reach him, and he then concluded they were seeking him in a different path.
Alarmed by this incident he deemed it best to penetrate further into the mountains, ere he shaped his course downwards towards Massignan, as by so doing he would not be so likely to encounter any Moors but Alarbes, and against meeting them, he must guard as well as possible: it is true that by thus prolonging his journey in desert regions, he incurred the risk of perishing either by famine or by savage beasts; but he believed himself capable of warding off the latter, and for the former he did not fear, as he learned amongst the Alarbes where to find roots and berries fit for sustenance. Putting up a fervent prayer, he resumed his flight.
Night surprized him in a thick forest: to proceed now would have been madness; those enormous serpents and lions with which Africa abounds, were not lightly to be braved in the darkness of vast solitudes; he therefore ascended one of the largest trees, where he watched away the remaining hours.
The awfulness of his present situation, and the alarmed state of his spirits, formed a striking contrast to his late exultation: every thing around was dismal; one of those fierce winds which constantly blow in Barbary from the north-east, in the month of March, was now raving through the forest; this was mixed with the distant roar of lions, and the thrilling yell of hyenas; as each pealing blast shook the very roots of the huge oak in which he lodged, he fancied it the fury of some powerful animal, and prepared himself to encounter it with his hatchet.
Night however passed away, and the rising sun flamed over a track which Sebastian now trod with tranquil thankfulness; the beans of the Alcorabe made his scanty breakfast, as he walked under its umbrageous boughs: trusting that he had now baffled pursuit, he proceeded in a direction which must bring him lower down among the green mountains, and lead directly to the Ardea:—Two hours brought him out into a wide plain skirting their feet; a broad river rolled through this plain, and over it were scattered Alarbe’s tents.
Sebastian’s blood curdled with abhorrence at hearing the tinkling of Zauphens; (a barbarous musical instrument he remembered too well) as he precipitately turned back to retrace his steps, the figures of men crossing from a side eminence forced him to retreat, the men shouted on seeing him, and rushed forwards; others were quickly seen pouring from the tents; some came on foot, some on horseback; they gained upon his steps, till he distinctly recognized the voices of two Moors whom he had known under the roof of El Hader.
Death or slavery was now before him; he flew on the wind, outstripping even their lances and the shot of their harquebusses: the opposite side of the river towards which he made was clothed with woods, could he reach them, (as there was no bridge or boat for the conveyance of his pursuers,) he hoped yet to escape; shaking off his cloak and his baggage, he plunged into the water. Awhile he combatted its rapid current; but alas! former fatigue, anxiety, and intense heat, had nearly forespent his bodily powers: he struggled with the waves till strength was exhausted and consciousness gone: just as he was sinking, an Alarbe dashed into the river, seized his arm, and dragged him to shore.
The rude remedies used by these ferocious people succeeded in bringing their victim to life: Sebastian opened his eyes and beheld himself in the hands of the Almoçadem’s servants, once more a prisoner and a slave.
At that moment it could not be said his fortitude forsook him, though he closed his eyes again with the air of one bereft of hope: on the contrary, he was mentally bowing to the will of Providence, and striving to rein in the phrenzy of extravagant rashness.
Having secured the weapons with which he might have attempted resistance, and seeing him completely enfeebled, the Moors loaded him with abuse; and one of them was on the point of adding outrage to invective, when Sebastian half-started from the ground on which he lay, faintly uttering the name of Kara Aziek; at that sound the Africans shrunk back, staring on each other, and pronouncing the Christian a sorcerer: he had indeed divined the only magic that could save him from an extremity of insult; for on quitting the Cassavee these slaves had been threatened by Hafiz with their lady’s wrath should they injure the Portuguese.
The crowd of Alarbes that had joined El Hader’s servants, forbade any attempt to elude them; Sebastian promised to return quietly, upon condition that they did not fasten his hands like a criminal. After some consultation together, the men at last consented to this. Without allowing him time to recover from his exhaustion, they mounted him upon a horse, and forming a troop of Alarbes around him, proceeded towards the valley of palms.
The uncouth habits and ferocious looks of his mountaineer associates, the mode of his conveyance, joined to the circumstances of his situation, forcibly recalled to Sebastian the period in which he was first carried to the abode of El Hader: thought then flowed back upon the memory of Stukeley and the rare goodness of Abensallah; sigh followed sigh as he remembered them, though he envied the lot of the friend he lamented, who had escaped the galling chains of slavery by a memorable death.
Such reflections as these occupied him so entirely, as to render him insensible to the brutality of his companions, who frequently repeated with grins of horrid triumph, that the Almoçadem had sworn he should be broken upon the wheel.
Advancing in a beaten and direct road lying below the hills he had mounted, Sebastian found that a journey which had cost him two nights and days of wearisome toil, was to be achieved in less than the fourth part of that time: the Moors hurried on, not allowing him any other refreshment than a draught of water, so that when they reached the valley of palms, his strength had completely forsaken him, and he almost dropped from his horse at the great gate of El Hader’s residence.
The Moors conveyed their captive to one of those dungeons where Gaspar had formerly been confined, telling him he must wait there till it pleased their high Lord the Almoçadem to determine upon his punishment: Sebastian gave no answer to their brutal information, throwing himself along the damp earth (his only resting place) regardless of his own fate, alarmed now for that of Gaspar.
It was but too probable that the Almoçadem might have revenged himself upon his innocent head for the flight of his countryman: this fear had not before agitated Sebastian, because he believed Kara Aziek would interfere for the poor soldier, and that indeed El Hader himself was not inclined to cruelty; but the present appearance of severity rendered apprehensions for Gaspar perfectly rational.
This thought gave anxiety a new direction, and kept the unfortunate monarch from reflecting upon his own disappointment; he was now earnestly praying to see, or hear from Kara Aziek, from whom alone he could hope for an account of his friend: but Kara Aziek did not appear, and the King of Portugal counted the tedious hours of night in a dark dungeon, upon the bare ground, alone and unsolaced.
“When the mind’s free, the body’s delicate;” he that had been nursed on the lap of luxury, now suffered every human privation without missing any other comforts than those of freedom and friendship.
Morning was made known to Sebastian merely by the sounds of labour without; no cheering sun-beam penetrated his airless cell; he lay on the unpaved floor, his spirit subdued awhile by past exertion and present disturbance.
Towards evening a Moor whom he had once before seen, came to inform him that it was El Hader’s pleasure he should be brought out the ensuing day into the large slave-court, there to receive a thousand lashes, in the presence of the Almoçadem and all his household.
“Tell your merciless master that I will die first!” exclaimed Sebastian, fiercely starting from the ground.
“Peace! thou art a fool!” returned the phlegmatic Ephra, “how art thou to escape this flogging, when thou hast neither weapons nor strength to put thyself out of the world?”
“I shall then meet death on some of your weapons!” cried Sebastian, whose eyes struck fire as he spoke. “By every saint above, I swear, that while there is life in this body it shall not be dishonoured by a coward’s punishment! The man who would sooner lose life than honour, may find avenues to death at every step. Tell your master—again I say tell him—that I will die resisting his infamous decree!”
“You will die like a lunatic then, as you are,” retorted Ephra, turning to go away, “I can tell you in return, that our master swears he will not abate one jot of your punishment, even to please my lady, his daughter: so don’t reckon upon her interference.—Nay, for that matter, she is lying sick at Mequinez, and will know nothing of this business till it is over.”
Ephra closed the dungeon door as he finished, leaving Sebastian to contemplate the probability of death on the morrow.
It was in vain that the young and ardent monarch strove to reconcile himself to a destiny so inglorious: to perish thus in obscurity among a handful of sordid Moors, without the means of conveying to his people, and his Gonsalva a last blessing, was a thought which drove him to phrenzy; he could not hope for the satisfaction of seeing Gaspar, nor was Kara Aziek to be near, soothing his parting pangs with respect and tenderness.
A confused apprehension that she would too deeply regret his fate, trembled at his heart, softening the wildness of despair;—“Amiable, too tender Aziek!” he exclaimed, “when I am released from earthly sufferings, may some miracle be worked for thee!—may thine eyes be opened to the true faith, and thy days be spent in other scenes than these, so full of horror and iniquity!”
Hope, which hitherto had never completely left the intrepid breast of Sebastian, now fled far away; the absence and sickness of Kara Aziek appeared his death-warrant; he therefore endeavoured to meditate on the probable event of his approaching struggle, with the seriousness it demanded.
It was the middle watch of night, when having fallen asleep after a long train of thought; he was awakened by the sound of the heavy bolts which fastened his prison door; they were withdrawn by feeble hands, for they moved gratingly: at length the door opened, and he beheld two of Kara Aziek’s women.
They advanced timidly, closing the door behind them: the King sprung from the ground; hope once more warmed his heart.—“Your mistress, your angel mistress!” he exclaimed, “does she send you hither?”
“She sends me to reproach you, you rash Christian!” answered the slave, “did you doubt her promise, that you thus rushed upon certain destruction by attempting escape?”
“No, no, Benzaide,” replied Sebastian, “I doubted only her power to serve me.—tell her that if I am to perish tomorrow, my soul will pine in Paradise till it meets again, her pure and benevolent spirit!”
At this passionate burst of gratitude, the companion of Benzaide (who had hitherto leaned unnoticed against the dungeon wall) sobbed aloud, and sunk down upon the floor: in strange alarm Sebastian hastened to raise her; Benzaide put aside the slave’s veil to give her air, and the lamp she held, shining directly upon her face, discovered the soft olive-brown complexion and lovely features of Kara Aziek.
Sebastian’s excess of pleasure was checked by an instinctive conviction of Kara Aziek’s motive; and now those fervent acknowledgements he would have lavished upon disinterested benevolence, were stifled by an apprehension of heightening a sentiment which he could not return: every animated word he should at this moment address to her, would be treason against Gonsalva. At that thought he hastily dropped the trembling hand he was carrying to his lips, and respectfully resigning her to Benzaide, rose with a dejected air from his kneeling posture.
The gentle Moor wept some time in silence; but how expressive was that silence! her eyes spoke every feeling of a fond and pitying heart; as they alternately looked from the dungeon to its noble inhabitant,—to him whose feet were cut, and bleeding still from the sharp rocks he had traversed, and whose countenance, though pale and wasted, was yet bright with unsubdued heroism.
“Ah, Fabian!” she exclaimed at length, in a voice that went to the soul, “why didst thou do this rash thing? If I should not be able to save thee?” she stopped at this, unable to conclude the sentence, and the blood forsook her cheeks.
Wrung with grief, sick, pale, and languid, Kara Aziek could not have been seen by the man she wished to charm, at a moment more unfavourable for personal beauty; but there is a beauty of the soul, so transcending all mortal perfections, that it triumphs over deformity itself: that beauty now beamed from her tear-dimmed eyes and colourless cheek; it seemed to shed a glory round her, at once awaking love and veneration. Sebastian must have yielded to its sweet force, had not his heart been pledged to another.
The agitated expression of the Christian’s countenance, reminded Aziek that she was allowing too much of her own emotion to appear; struggling to conceal it, she proceeded to repeat that he owed her present visit solely to that sincere friendship which his misfortunes and his virtues inspired; a friendship that feared not to shew itself in the form of sympathy and succour. She informed him, that having been taken ill at Mequinez soon after his flight, she must have remained in ignorance of his return and fated punishment, had it not been for Hafiz, who secretly dispatched a message to her, praying her intercession in behalf of his favourite slave: she had then set off for the valley of palms, but arriving too late for an interview with El Hader (who was gone to rest) had ventured to assume a disguise, and pass the prison guards as one of her own servants.
Aziek anxiously tried to hide from Sebastian the distraction into which his departure had thrown her, by mentioning her illness as accidental; native delicacy taught her to conceal the tenderest and purest love that ever warmed a human bosom; to conceal it because she would owe nothing to gratitude, nothing to compassion; because his happiness was the first object of her generous heart.
The enthusiasm of Aziek’s manner while she spoke of pity and philanthropy, almost persuaded her grateful auditor, that she would indeed have done as much for any other man under such affecting circumstances; yet he could not help allowing that the peculiar esteem she felt for him, gave a charm to her benevolence.
He now blamed his late vain idea’s, and thought, that in El Hader’s daughter he beheld one who would learn with a sister’s sympathy his affection for another, and lament with a sister’s sorrow the privations of his love!—this belief restored him to composure, and after expressing much of his lively admiration, he ventured to inquire about Gaspar.
Aziek replied, that Gaspar had so adroitly parried the questions put to him (during the examination which followed Sebastian’s flight) that the Almoçadem could find no ground for supposing him privy to the run-a-way’s escape, especially as it seemed more natural for the former to have escaped also, than to have remained behind: Gaspar had been dismissed without censure, and was now occupied as usual under the indulgent Hafiz.
This information relieved Sebastian’s heart from its heaviest load, and again he blessed the gentle Being whose humanity imparted some of its own mercy even to Moors grown old in tyranny.
Benzaide at this period reminded her mistress of the late hour, and of her indisposition, which rendered rest indispensible; Kara Aziek reluctantly took her arm: “I am going to leave thee, Fabian,” she said, “Alla alone knows when and how we shall meet again!—that frantic spirit of thine makes me tremble. If I should fail of softening my father, alas, what will become of thee! thy terrible look at this moment answers me but too plainly.”
Her eyes swimming in tears were now fixed upon his violently agitated features; Sebastian strove to calm himself for her sake: “I dare not deceive you, amiable Aziek!” he said, “it is my determination not to survive disgrace: yet perhaps they will not seek to inflict it. Let your father change my punishment to the severest penalties of toil, famine, or imprisonment—let him condemn me to unheard-of sufferings, and I will consent to live on, in the fantastic hope of being miraculously delivered at last: but were freedom, and all those blessings comprized in the dear name of country, to follow the execution of that sentence, which turns my cheeks to fire while I but think of it, I would abhor life after such degradation.—No, no, generous Aziek, ask me not to bear it and to live.”
“I do not ask thee!—I know not what I would ask of thee!” exclaimed the lovely Moor, in a tone of distraction, “thy life so precious—so dear—so dear to all thy companions—O Alla! is it to be thus madly thrown away! I would not have thee live disgraced, yet I would have thee live. Perhaps if thou wouldest join thy prayers with mine, and humble thyself to my father—prostrate at his feet, he could not surely——”
“Prostrate at his feet!” interrupted Sebastian wildly, darting on her a look of indignation. “What! for myself!—for a Mahometan’s mercy!—No!—I will die as I have lived—a King!”
The magnanimous and proud spirit of Sebastian, yet unsubdued by all his mortifications, now shone out in full force over his face and figure: like one awaking from some vanishing dream, Kara Aziek gazed on him, faintly repeating his last words: she stood transfixed, while thought, more rapid than light, was destroying every former hope.
If a Christian King, what must be the daughter of a Moorish noble, in his eyes?—an atom!—a mote in the broad sunshine of regal glory: as well might she think to scale the immeasurable heavens, as to become the friend and partner of a King: in one moment she was hurled from him to a distance so remote, that it seemed madness to hope his heart would ever again throb with a single feeling answerable to hers.
Shocked, chilled, despairing, she silently tried to cover herself with her veil, while half sinking in an attitude of reverence, excess of emotion overcame her, and she was forced to catch at Benzaide for support.
The heavy sigh which came from Aziek’s heart as she fell on the arm of her maid, recovered Sebastian from his paroxysm; he now threw himself before her: “Proud as you may think me, gentle Aziek!” he said, “Behold the King of Portugal at your feet, soliciting pardon for his impetuosity: the discovery that fiery hastiness has made, will but increase your pity for an unfortunate man who, while languishing in captivity, has so much to lament.”
He stopt, and Kara Aziek extending her hand to him with a varying cheek, answered faulteringly, “The King of Portugal was said to have fallen at Alcazar, and to be now buried in his native land—but I believe indeed that thou art he.—Thou art then that Sebastian I was taught to hate!”
A deep but tender sigh burst forth with the last expression: how did that sigh appear to change the meaning of the word she uttered!—the touching voice in which she spoke, the tears that floated her momentarily-fixed, and then suddenly-averted eyes, were only too expressive of an eternal devotedness; but Sebastian, self-absorbed, saw nothing; he rapidly recapitulated to her all that he possessed in Portugal, and was now on the point of abandoning for ever.
On the mentioning of Donna Gonsalva, whom love painted in the most seducing colours, Kara Aziek’s countenance suddenly changed; it varied at every word, but she listened in silence: those fond hopes which had again sprung up, when she saw him at her feet, those hopes which formerly had been nourished by his tender manner, were now withered; could she preserve his honour and his life, and after that obtain his liberty, she would be doing this only to hasten the moment that would give him to another.
Her pure, impassioned heart almost exclaimed aloud, “Ah, it is not thy throne I covet to share; thy love alone would be to me a kingdom: with thee, a desart, or a dungeon, obscurity or poverty would bestow happiness.”
But though this regret filled her bosom, it could not displace for one moment, that disinterested generosity which formed the basis of her noblest qualities; whatever might become of herself she resolved to renew her endeavour for procuring his release hereafter, should she succeed in saving him now.
Donna Gonsalva’s beauty appeared from the description of Sebastian to be that of a Celestial, and her character delineated by the same partial hand could not fail of impressing Kara Aziek with the conviction that she was worthy to be adored: to such a rival she yielded with the less pain.
The King of Portugal was painfully affected by the changes he beheld in the expressive countenance of his gentle friend; it was impossible for him not to find his past fears recur, as he witnessed this ill-concealed emotion: at one moment he repented, at another applauded the disclosure of those dear engagements which must teach Kara Aziek that he was not ungrateful in remaining untouched by her tenderness and charms: but his heart saddened to think what the eventful morrow might prove to her.
Benzaide now warned her mistress that day would soon break and expose them to the notice of the Moorish guards; Aziek started, and covered herself with her veil, unwilling to shew Sebastian the extent of her grief at bidding him farewel: incapable of speaking, she timidly held out her hand to him; it was cold and trembling—the King put it to his lips—“adieu matchless creature!” he cried, “may angels benevolent and pure like yourself, watch over all your days!—were not my heart in Portugal with her who is mourning for my sake, this transcendant goodness must either have softened or sharpened the pains of slavery:—I should have forgotten my fallen state, and dared to love the lovely Aziek.”—
The last sentence breathed in an agitated whisper over the soft hand he was pressing to his heart, thrilled through the frame of Aziek; she blushed, faltered, moved tremblingly away, and seeking the support of Benzaide, faintly pronounced a parting benediction:—her senses were in sweet disorder at so delightful and unexpected a confession; next to the bliss of possessing that noble heart, was the certainty that he believed her worthy of it. Transported with this assurance, she gave him a last look filled with gratitude and pleasure, and then departed.—
Compassion heightened by admiration, was the reigning sentiment left in the heart of Sebastian; long after the departure of his benefactress, her endearing image solely filled his thoughts:—without a single moment’s infidelity to the exquisite Gonsalva, he was yet deeply interested in the happiness of her rival, and could not refrain from thinking oftener of her than of himself.—Still hoping something from her interference, he commended himself to Providence, and lay down to sleep again, upon the floor of his dungeon.
Sebastian had been awake some time the ensuing morning, when he heard a bell ring; at the sound of which he had been, told to prepare for punishment: as he listened, the blood forsook his face, and a horrid chill suddenly ran through his veins:—Kara Aziek had then failed!—recovering from the shock of disappointment (which had shocked him only because it was unforeseen) he knelt down with the crucifix clasped in his hands, fervently breathing over it a solemn supplication of forgiveness for all his sins and errors.
He prayed the Lord of Heaven to forgive or to enlighten him, if the resistance he meditated, were an act of impious rebellion; he besought blessings for his friends and for his enemies; he commended his people to the protection of Him, who places Kings upon their thrones, and the names of Gonsalva and Aziek were mingling on his lips, when the prison door opened, and instead of guards to conduct him to a scene of blood, he beheld the smiling Benzaide.
Her mission spoke in her face, as she put aside her veil, bidding him rise and follow her.—Sebastian obeyed: not before he had devoutly kissed the cross he wore;—boundless gratitude to Heaven, did indeed swell his heart, as he passed with his companion through the various courts, leading to Kara Aziek’s apartments: on reaching them, Benzaide threw a large mantle over him, in which she bade him wrap even his head, as he would then pass unnoticed by the female servants; at the same time she deposited a pair of slippers at the entrance, observing, that should the Almoçadem come and see them, he would retire according to the Moorish fashion, believing that some neighbouring lady was then visiting his daughter.
Sebastian learnt from this, that in rendering him such services as these, Kara Aziek perpetually risked the displeasure of her father: this thought did but the more enhance the value of her protection.
Upon entering the chamber of Aziek, he found her alone, lying along a sopha shaded by thin drapery: she spoke to him without altering her position or uncovering her face, for she was ill, and greatly agitated: her motive for admitting him to her presence at such a period, was not merely to see him again, or to receive his thanks, but to soothe him under a disappointment she had been forced to prepare for him.
El Hader had been previously with her, when she had exerted all her influence for the pardon of Sebastian: at first he refused to hear his daughter’s petition, expressing great anger at her partiality to this ungovernable Christian, on whom so many favors had already been thrown away; he ridiculed the idea of a slave’s preferring death to a few strokes of the whip, and told her plainly, that if she continued thus to protect a Christian, merely because he was of her mother’s country, the Moors would proclaim her an enemy to the true faith.
Kara Aziek mildly allowed herself to be called foolish and profane, yet redoubled her intercessions, availing herself of her severe illness to plead with more earnestness for indulgence: she prayed, she wept, she embraced her father’s knees, telling him that she had vowed for her mother’s sake never to cease protecting the two Portuguese, and that consequently, she could not remain inactive now, without breaking that inward promise.
Her tears and touching feebleness at length melted El Hader, and he consented to limit the punishment of Sebastian to a month of the hardest labour in his quarries: “as the fellow is so strong and ingenious,” he concluded, “I would not part with him, but his countryman, your other favorite, shall be sold immediately; he is a sickly, stupid, good-for-nothing dog, and the sooner he is got rid of the better.—see that you make no attempt to bring these Christian fools to a leave-taking—if you do, I swear by the beard of the Prophet, that the slave Fabian shall pay the price of your fault.”
This had been the Almoçadem’s parting command, and Kara Aziek, for Sebastian’s sake, did not venture to disobey,—she detailed her father’s resolution with many sighs and expressions of deep regret: the King turned pale: and an exclamation of grief escaped him; not for himself he grieved, but for the less healthy Gaspar, who had so long been accustomed to receive from him comfort and assistance.—
The distress painted on his manly features, was visible to Kara Aziek through her transparent veil—she hastened to efface it—“I must not detain thee here,” she said blushing, “even now my heart trembles for fear, I have done wrong in admitting thee into these apartments—but I could not deny myself the gratification of telling thee that I will not lose sight of thy poor friend; if money may avail, Gaspar shall regain his freedom, and return to Portugal to prepare the way for thee.—Go Prince! (for I cannot call thee Fabian now) go, and believe that Kara Aziek knows no other bliss on earth than that of trying to resemble the ministering spirits of Heaven. Thy rare example first taught her, that it is noble to live solely for others.”
Sebastian’s heart made a more animated reply to this speech than he suffered to flow from his lips: her disinterested goodness was exalted in his eyes from the very circumstance which threatened to weaken its force: if she loved him, and felt that her peculiar happiness was only to be found in his presence, what heroic generosity was it, thus to sacrifice every selfish consideration, by seeking to procure for him the means of withdrawing to a rival and a distant land.
After expressing some part of his feelings, and tenderly assuring her of his deep concern at her increased illness, he once more wrapped himself in the mantle, and passed with Benzaide through the outer chambers.
On quitting that side of the Cassavee, Sebastian proceeded to see and thank Hafiz, to whom he owed the prompt interference of Aziek: his acknowledgements were received with a mixture of kindness and anger; for Hafiz was to lose his services a whole month, and could not comprehend what he wanted with liberty, when so indulged by him and the Almoçadem. From the gardens the unfortunate monarch proceeded to the scene of new labour; there he toiled under a sky like burning brass, without shelter, almost without sustenance; but his mind was too full of interesting thoughts to leave him time for noticing bodily suffering: Gaspar and far distant freedom, tortured remembrance.
Though the strict command of her father deterred Kara Aziek from attempting to see Sebastian while he wore out his days of penance remote from Hafiz, she contrived to send him every night various refreshments, accompanied sometimes by short billets: in one of these she gave him the unexpected information of Gaspar’s being free, and now on his way to Portugal.
After a cautious negociation through the means of a Jew merchant, she had purchased the poor fellow’s liberty by the sale of a few jewels, and now wrote to animate Sebastian into hopes for himself:—ardent were the hopes her letter awakened! The King could not doubt but that Gaspar, who knew in common with every other Portuguese, his engagements with Donna Gonsalva, would immediately repair to her with the news of his life and captivity, and that consequently her fond zeal would quicken the exertions for his release.
It was not in man, however disinterested, to lament the act which would thus convey to his ministers and his friends the knowledge of his existence: sincere as was his determination of never calling upon his subjects for that succour he had a right to demand of them, he was not insensible to the joy of finding that another was gone to tell the tale of his sufferings, and to plead for his return. If the people of Portugal loved their King well enough to tax themselves for his ransom, he was well inclined to receive that obligation from their affection, which both pride and principle had forbidden him to extort from their duty. Not doubting the general sentiment, he surrendered himself up to delightful anticipations.
But a little while, and he would be free again! As his heart throbbed high at this blissful thought, it naturally turned with warmer gratitude to the generous friend from whom it proceeded. Kara Aziek, still dearer than ever, from her unwearied goodness, was however to be abandoned, and never more beheld! As well might a brother have contemplated the prospect of eternally quitting a beloved sister; Sebastian would not dwell on it, but formed in fancy many romantic plans, each of which had for its foundation the religious conversion of Kara Aziek.
Towards this new and pleasing project, now suddenly conceived, he determined to direct the whole force of his heart, that heart which had never ceased to glow with its original zeal: from this period he devoted his leisure moments to the recollection and arrangement of such arguments in favour of Christianity, as appeared to him the most convincing, and when again brought into the gardens, was enabled to press them upon Aziek in the interviews she frequently afforded him.
Kara Aziek listened with attention and pleasure, for she loved to hear him talk upon any subject, more especially upon one which interested her deeply; but though she afforded Sebastian frequent opportunities for conversation, and almost wished to believe, as he did, her clear reason could not blind itself to the monstrous system of Popery: unhappily the young monarch was not qualified to remove this veil from the simple beauty of Christianity: he had been educated a devoted son of the Romish church, and was incapable of perceiving, that but from its unscriptural authority, and intolerant tenets, Kara Aziek would have ceased to be a Mahometan.
These constant interviews only tended to fix Sebastian more firmly in the heart of the gentle Moor; she felt that they did so, but with an excess of generosity refused to purchase peace for herself, by the sacrifice of his enjoyments: her society was evidently his chief solace, and to her unremitting attention he owed every personal comfort; could she then afflict him by sudden or gradual coldness, by long absences, and assumed indifference? Sebastian knew her only as his friend, and to that disinterested character she was resolved never to lose a claim.
Consonant to this resolution, she accustomed herself to talk with him of Donna Gonsalva, yet at his lover-like description of her rival’s enchantments, she could not controul those tumultuous feelings, of which a love so hopeless and so powerful was but too susceptible.
“Happy, happy creature!” she would often exclaim to herself, “could I believe that thou lovest him, that any one can love him as I do, what should I lament? but who has seen him like Kara Aziek, a prisoner and a slave, alternately the object of terror and admiration, interesting even in his moments of wildest passion, who therefore will ever learn to forget herself and the whole world in him? Alas! how shall I live, when he who is become the very soul of my life, is far from me.”
From that painful question Kara Aziek always turned without delay, striving to be indeed as indifferent as she believed herself, to her own happiness: love, ingenious at deceit, fondly persuaded her that in sighing after the bliss of being united to Sebastian she was actuated solely by this idea, that no one’s affection could equal hers, consequently that no one would ever watch so attentively over his conduct and his comfort.
The King himself, hurried away by an earnest desire for her conversion, no longer saw or thought of her attachment, but dwelt with grateful enthusiasm upon the joy she might bestow on him, would she yield her heart to the doctrines of the church, renounce her infidel country, and consent to become like a sister to his adored Gonsalva. At length he found that no arguments of his availed to convince her of the fallacy of her own religion, she had many specious ones to urge in its defence, but still more to urge against papal Christianity; sorrowing and reluctant therefore, he relinquished his attempt.
Sebastian now counted the days as they passed, welcoming each on its arrival, as the day of freedom: Gaspar had been absent above a month; Kara Aziek had learned at the Moorish court that the Prior of Crato was alive and in Lisbon, therefore the King; reckoned still more confidently upon his release: time, however, wore away; days, weeks, months elapsed; as they fled, still they bore with them some health and spirit from Sebastian; the excuses he mentally made for his people’s delay and hesitation hourly decayed, apprehension and indignation took their place.
Was he to expect succour from his grand uncle, Don Henry? That uncle now knew the gratifications of absolute power, and might not perhaps feel willing to resign them: was he to hope for freedom from the voluntary sacrifices of his people!—those people were the descendants of that pitiless generation who a century before had basely suffered the infant Don Ferdinand to die in captivity. Ferdinand had offered himself to the Moors as a pledge for the fulfilment of a certain treaty, the Portuguese refused to ratify it, and left him to languish out his youth in confinement. Such a precedent might but too fatally influence the present conduct of Portugal.
At this piercing thought, the unhappy monarch lost all self-command, and no longer restrained the expression of his fears. Sometimes Kara Aziek would behold him given up to the bitterest grief, imagining his beloved Gonsalva torn from him by death; at others, she would witness the whirlwinds of his character, while he conceived himself abandoned by his subjects, or his relations: resentment and sorrow then swayed him by turns; and it was only at the sound of her pitying voice, or at the gaze of her imploring eyes, that he would rein in his anger, or check the tide of lamentation.
So tossed by various passions, so agitated with many a fond fear, so surrounded and touched by the ill-disguised tenderness of Kara Aziek, there were moments in which Sebastian felt her excellence so exquisitely, that he doubted whether he could be quite happy even in Portugal with Gonsalva, unless she were there to complete it: his imprudently-ingenuous nature spoke the sentiment as it arose, fatally flattering the young and inexperienced Aziek with ideas she was scarcely conscious of indulging.
The different emotions of each, soon produced a visible effect: Sebastian lost his strength and his looks; Kara Aziek suddenly became languid, sick, and sad: when with the King, her eyes no longer dwelt on him with an apparent forgetfulness of every thing but of that soul whose movements she was tracing through the eloquent countenance; they were tearful and downcast, and that irresistible meltingness which used to make love visible in their floating orbs, was displaced by an expression of troubled anxiety.
Her careless attire, and unusual fits of abstraction, at length led the King to suppose that some domestic distress had a principal share in so painful a change; he interrogated Kara Aziek: as they walked together with Benzaide under the starry sky, while others slept, he gently strove to win from her the secret of her affliction; Kara Aziek alternately blushed and turned pale, sighed and wept, but refused to satisfy him.
Such conduct only stimulated the efforts of a friend whose tenderness was increased by this first call upon its sympathy; but Aziek, mildly inflexible, constantly left him at the usual hour in doubt and conjecture.