SEBASTIAN’S suspence did not continue long: one night he was summoned to meet Aziek in the labyrinth.
It was nearly midnight when his listening ear caught the sound of her unsteady and hurried steps; she came leaning on her confidential maid: her veil was down, and he could not therefore behold any peculiar emotion in her countenance, but he perceived it in her air and voice.
She answered his salutation in broken accents, then sitting down at some distance from him, was awhile silent.
The green, and now fading lamps, with which the subterraneous passage was illuminated, cast a melancholy light over the veiled figure of Kara Aziek; her silence, and the rapidly apprehensive mind of Sebastian contributed to agitate him beyond measure: he approached her with extreme solicitude.
“Allow me a little emotion,” she said faintly, averting her head, “I believe we are about to part for ever! thou art the only friend Kara Aziek ever had reason to esteem and to regret—ah! if thou shouldest forget her entirely!”
She stopped, momentarily overcome, affording the King an opportunity for uttering an exclamation of surprize and of affectionate reproach: “Prince! she faultered out, thou art free; tomorrow thou mayest return to Portugal.”
Uncertain whether he had heard aright, Sebastian repeated her words, conjuring her to say if his senses had deceived him: her answer transported him to throw himself at her feet; he did not speak, but joy triumphed on his face, and burnt in the kiss which he imprinted on her trembling hands.
This excess of joy was what Aziek had thought herself prepared to meet, yet now it distracted her resolutions, and half-maddened her to exclaim, “Ah, ungrateful man, is it thus that my friendship is returned!”
Liberty, home, happiness, every dear and oft-remembered object was now present to the ardent imagination of Sebastian; the names of his country and of his mistress were the only sounds that escaped his lips: they penetrated the heart of Kara Aziek: she strove to extricate herself from the transports of his gratitude and rapture, for, alas! their impassioned expressions glowed more from anticipated emotions, than from any that she herself excited.—Faultering and tearful, she besought him to let her depart.
“Depart!” he repeated, (roused from his selfish delirium) “depart so soon, when we are to meet no more! Do not poison the felicity you give, by making me fear that you think me indifferent to the future fate of my benefactress! You tell me, Aziek, that it is to your intreaties I am indebted for this blessing, but you do not say how it was granted—whether you did not incur some wrath.”
Aziek hastened to assure him that she had secured her father’s assent without incurring his displeasure: “Thy freedom was unexpectedly offered, upon a condition which I need not detail, as it does not relate to thee. Take thy liberty, prince! and be convinced that though these eyes shall never more behold thee, thine image—the memory of thy misfortunes—thy virtues—thy delightful converse, will exist in my heart, while life and memory—”
Tears interrupted the sentence, and she cast herself back upon the bosom of Benzaide.
Vehemently agitated by her emotion, Sebastian pressed her to trust herself to his honour, and to quit Africa with him: he promised her the friendship of his Gonsalva, and protection in the exercise of her own religion; he urged to her the delights of polished society; and perhaps Aziek would not have resisted his pleadings had they been seconded by vows of love; but now she was able to feel and to avow the strong claim of filial obligation.
Her refusal to desert her father was grounded on arguments which the King wished, but was not able to shake; “Yet I will not say farewel for ever!” he said, “were I able to do so, Kara Aziek, I should abhor myself: you are dear to me as a sister, you are the object of the tenderest and truest gratitude that ever penetrated a human heart,—how then can I consent to forego all thought of beholding you again? If Providence permit me to regain my former power, the Moors will no longer find me their enemy: for your sake I will court their friendship, and when in amity with their Xeriff, may tempt my Gonsalva to cross the sea in search of her Sebastian’s guardian angel.”
Kara Aziek did not reply; she was overcome by recollection of the price she must pay for his deliverance, a price which would remove her far from the seducing prospect he pictured; formed with all the weakness and strength of woman’s mixed character, she could command her actions but not her emotions; she could constrain every selfish consideration for the sake of another, though she knew not how to conceal the grief such sacrifices cost her: her fast-falling tears now fell without interruption.
Shocked and afflicted at her excess of sorrow, the young monarch scarcely knew how to suppose that it originated solely in the regret of parting from him; indeed he wished to believe otherwise, and suffering his imagination to take a new direction, importuned her to say whether she had not heard distressing intelligence of Gaspar, or of some of his dearest friends in Portugal.
Aziek hastened to relieve his apprehensions, and by exerting herself to do so, gradually recovered her own composure.
Having succeeded in calming him, she held out a letter, conjuring him not to open it till he should be restored to Donna Gonsalva; “In it thou wilt find a braid of Kara Aziek’s jetty hair;” she said, striving to smile, “thou wilt sometimes look at it, and remember her who gave it thee: perhaps thou wilt contrast it with the golden tresses and ivory skin of thy beloved; ah! tell her, as thou dost so, that the heart of Kara Aziek is fairer than her face.”
As she spoke, she lifted her veil, and fixed on Sebastian her lovely eyes, now swimming in tears; the look they gave entered his soul: neither time nor distance ever effaced their impression.—Thrilled with pity, admiration, and regret, he could only faulter out a repetition of his hope that they were not parting for the last time; Aziek faintly repeated that hope, adding, they must now separate, to allow him some repose ere he began his journey.
“Hafiz is instructed to provide for thy accommodation,” she continued, “he has my father’s commands.—Adieu, Prince!—friend!—instructor!—light of my once dark mind!—may thy prophet, may my prophet conduct thee, not merely to thy throne, but to the hearts of thy people!”
She turned aside her head while she spoke, and stretched out her hands to him; the half-distracted and bewildered Sebastian made a movement as if he would have thrown himself at her feet, but the feelings of nature triumphed over every idea of established customs, and he found that he had pressed her to his heart, instead of distantly saluting her hand.
In a tumult of new emotions, Kara Aziek gently pushed him from her, “Leave me, leave me, Prince!” she exclaimed faintly,—“think of me in Portugal—remember me there, as the mutual friend of thee and thy Gonsalva.”
At that name the agitated monarch recovered from a moment’s oblivion; he fixed his eyes earnestly upon her lovely figure, then lifted them to heaven, as if invoking blessings on her, and hurried from the grotto.
Occupied with contradictory feelings, the King reached his own apartment: to sleep was impossible; he walked up and down, watching the dawn of that day which was either to restore him to liberty, or to crush him with disappointment. The capriciousness of the Moorish character made him dread some change in the sentiments of El Hader; yet hope preponderated, and the joyful tone now given to his mind, dissipated those fears for Gaspar and Gonsalva which had before tormented him.
How rarely does our reason behold any object uncoloured by the medium of passion! not a single circumstance had arisen to warrant a change of opinion, yet Sebastian now banished every suspicion of his people’s infidelity and his relations unkindness; he recollected the timid spirit of his uncle, which might have procrastinated, without wishing to frustrate measures, and warm with present happiness, confidently anticipated superior felicity in the future.
Giving himself up to the most gratifying anticipations, he rapidly sketched out plans for times remote, and these still included Kara Aziek and the benevolent Abensallah:—to Sebastian’s ardent romantic heart, every thing it wished seemed probable.
An hour after sun-rise Hafiz appeared: he came to inform the Portuguese that their illustrious master, Mahommed El Hader, had generously granted his freedom, and that he might depart immediately. At this confirmation of what he had been so long and apparently so confidently expecting, Sebastian’s emotion rendered him speechless: meanwhile Hafiz poured forth a most pathetic lamentation.
It was some time ere the King could comfort him sufficiently to obtain information about his route: his sole aim was to travel expeditiously and safely towards some Christian settlement; this was an object not easily attained. Unless under the protection of natives or licensed merchants, a liberated captive was but too likely to fall into a second captivity: Hafiz knew no way for his friend to avoid such a mischance, except by joining a party of travelling traders from Syria, who were going that very day from Mequinez to a Moorish port, between Tangier and Ceutah. From this port a passage might easily be obtained in one of those vessels employed in carrying on a contraband trade with the coast of Spain, or the King might hazard a short expedition alone, and strike across to the Christian town.
The journey from Mequinez was indeed long and fatiguing, but it would be performed leisurely, and as the road lay near Benzeroel, would afford Sebastian an opportunity of ascertaining whether Abensallah were yet alive. After settling this important point, a most momentous consideration remained: how were the expences of this journey to be defrayed! happily the Almoçadem had given orders that the Christian should be conveyed whither he chose, at his cost, and therefore nothing now remained but to take leave of his fellow prisoners.
Never before had the King; felt so acutely for his brethren in affliction; the alteration in his own situation appeared to deepen the misery of theirs: he parted from them with many expressions of sympathy, charged with commissions to various quarters of the globe, and promising faithfully to have them all executed.
From the slave-court Sebastian returned through the gardens, bidding a joyful farewel to every structure and every plant that his labour had formed or fostered: yet regret mingled with gladness, for these gardens were the peculiar property of Kara Aziek, and her gentle image appeared to rise at every turning to reproach him.
Hafiz had obtained permission to attend his favorite slave to Mequinez: as they mounted their mules at the great gate of the Cassavee, Sebastian recalled the last time he had passed those gates after his fruitless attempt at escape; he was then returning he believed to eternal thraldom; but four months had elapsed since, and as if by miracle his chains were broken!
The mules were swift of foot, and well acquainted with their road; when they had conveyed their riders to the top of an eminence leading from the valley, Sebastian turned round to take a farewel look of the habitation that contained Kara Aziek. The gilded pinnacles of her apartment glittered above rows of tall cypress trees; he breathed unnumbered blessings on her, fixed his eyes for some moments upon that quarter of the Cassavee, then spurred his mule down the opposite side of the declivity.
An arrangement with the merchants was quickly made by Hafiz, who paid beforehand the charges of his companion’s journey; at parting, the good-natured man shed tears, which Sebastian repaid by sincere expressions of esteem and everlasting sense of obligation: he was preparing to commence his journey, when one of the Syrians brought him a packet which Hafiz had instructed him to deliver when he should be on his return; the King took, and eagerly opened it.
Its contents were a purse containing several gold sequins, some valuable jewels, and a number of those small shells which then passed current through Africa, and are still known there by the name of Barbary money; upon them lay a slip of vellum, with these words written on it—“Unforeseen accidents may render this purse of use to the friend of Kara Aziek.”
This fragment of her hand-writing made the amiable Moor almost present to Sebastian; he looked intently on the characters, sighed and sighed again, for memory too forcibly told him, that in striving to succour him she had lost her own peace. Closing the packet with a mixture of gratitude and regret, he mounted the animal provided for him, and began his route.
The men with whom he travelled, were too much occupied in calculations of profits and losses to interrupt their companion’s reveries; they were furnished with an order from the Almoçadem, purporting that Fabian his slave was going on business to the sea-coast, and therefore not to be detained on suspicion of being a runaway: in consequence of this, their progress was unmolested, and they continued journeying on slowly, but safely.
The traveller’s road lay near Alcazar; it crossed that fatal plain, where, above twelvemonths before, the King of Portugal, at the head of a few gallant troops, had rashly braved the whole force of Morocco: what were his emotions when he now entered on it!
The meridian sun blazed over its broad and arid surface, marking with a glaring light every spot affecting to memory: Sebastian transiently closed his eyes, as if to shut out a picture, that, alas! was painted yet stronger on his mind. That dismal plain covered with dead, such as he had seen it with Abensallah, was even more present to him than the one he actually saw: Stukeley, De Castro, the young Braganza, every dear and lamented associate, pressed upon recollection; those deep wounds of the heart which new anxieties had closed, now opened afresh, and he became once more the prey of profound though unavailing remorse.
Given up to gloomy retrospects, Sebastian sought to indulge them alone and at liberty; for this purpose he took advantage of his companion’s halting for refreshment, and went to visit the tower where Sir Thomas Stukeley fell. His path was whitened with human bones! he trod amongst them hastily, yet apprehensively, for whether these were the last mortal relics of Moors or Portuguese, they were still the relics of men.
Seen under the cheerful light of day, the broken watch tower was not in itself so dreary an object as it had appeared by the glimmering of moon-light, but Sebastian viewed it with still drearier reflections: time had altered his sentiments, and taught him to consider the blood shed under those walls, as blood shed uselessly and madly; but for his fanatic enthusiasm, Stukeley might have been then living honored and happy.
Struck with this thought he slowly approached the ruins, that he might look for the last time on the spot where he had found his friend’s body; as he advanced, two men issued from the shattered gateway, and passed him; one of them started as he passed, and stopped—Sebastian moved on, thoughtless of personal danger. He had gained the place he sought, and had stood sadly contemplating it, when, on raising his eyes, as he turned away, they were arrested by the sight of faces peeping at him through the lower branches of some trees: in one of these he recognized the dark scowl of Ben Tarab.
Instinctively he grasped the head of a loaded pistol which he wore in his girdle; this action, and the sudden blaze of his eyes, made the cowardly Moor relinquish his hold of the tree, its boughs closed as he let them hastily out of his hand, preventing Sebastian from seeing which way he went.
Somewhat disturbed at this unexpected rencontre, the young monarch stood for a moment to determine on his future movements, he was too conscious of Ben Tarab’s animosity not to apprehend its effects, and therefore thought it best to rejoin his companions without incurring fresh risk by attempting alone to find the cave of Abensallah: regretting this necessity, he hastened from the ruins, and looking back, beheld Ben Tarab and his comrade stealing between the trees and the wall in the same direction with himself.
Once more he turned round and stopt, determining to accost the Moor and be satisfied if the meeting were accidental; but on seeing him pause, Ben Tarab again retreated and concealed himself among the broken walls: Sebastian then resumed the road to his friends.
The travellers had pitched a tent on the plain, and were therefore visible at a great distance: through the loop holes of the tower Ben Tarab now watched the course of the King, and saw him enter their tent; he then descended, and rejoicing at the chance which had led him to this spot for temporary shelter from the heat, called his associate and ran off to the town of Alcazar.
On rejoining the merchants, Sebastian thought it best to speak of his adventure and the apprehension he grounded on it: one of the Syrians to whom Hafiz had peculiarly recommended his favorite, proposed immediate departure; if Ben Tarab wished to cast obstacles in their way, he might easily find means for doing so, by questioning the freedom of Sebastian, or by informing some of the Emperor’s officers in Alcazar, who would then seize him for their master’s service. Under this idea it was fit the whole party should hasten to get the start of the Moor.
Their tents were now struck, their camels re-loaded, and bidding adieu to the pleasing hope of seeing Abensallah, Sebastian mounted a swift horse and resumed his journey.
They had scarcely passed the boundaries of the plain, when a party of horsemen from Alcazar, overtook and detained them: the King gave himself up for lost; but he dissembled this despair, and met the scrutiny of the Moorish soldiers with apparent composure. Surrounded by armed guards, Ben Tarab could rail and threaten with impunity: he accused Sebastian of being a runaway slave; to oppose this assertion, the principal merchant simply produced the writing and signet to the Almoçadem, purporting that the Christian who accompanied them was a servant of his, bearing important dispatches to the Alcayde of Kouf.—At sight of this convincing testimony, the Moors began to excuse themselves, and were about to depart, when Ben Tarab called their captain aside and said a few words to him in a low, furious tone; the officer directly countermanded his men, telling the merchants that as they were going to travel through a Cavila then in a state of insurrection, he would honour the Almoçadem’s messenger by escorting him to the Alcayde and afterwards protecting him back to Mequinez.
At this masterly trick of Ben Tarab’s the blood forsook the face of Sebastian, but it rushed indignantly back, while haughtily braving his fate he told the Moorish captain to lead on.—Ben Tarab eyed his changing countenance with a doubtful look;—
“If thou art not a runaway,” he said, “thou and thy master will thank us for this safe guard; and if thou art deceiving us, thy punishment will not wait for the sentence of El Hader, whose signet thou must have stolen; the Alcayde of Kouf will doom thee to death immediately.”
“Thou art not my judge,” replied the King, directing a withering glance towards him: intimidated by former scenes, the malicious wretch nimbly fell into the ranks of his military comrades, and proposed advancing in their journey; the merchants acquiesced. None but the acquaintance of Hafiz knew the real destination of Sebastian, and they were therefore pleased to find, that instead of being detained by this adventure, it would expedite and protect them: they proceeded on their way, headed and flanked by the soldiers, who were content to observe the object of their suspicion riding in the centre:—
While Ben Tarab was exulting in an accidental meeting, which had thus enabled him at least to annoy, if not to frustrate the supposed design of his former enemy, Sebastian was ruminating upon some mode of escape: not one presented itself: he must either confess that he was made free, and going to embark for Portugal, or try a bold experiment on the Alcayde.
To dare the former, would be madness, because all Christian captives above the rank of artizans or peasants, belonged by law to the Xeriffs; Ben Tarab could therefore plausibly question El Hader’s right to liberate him, until his true rank were ascertained, and such a scrutiny would be destruction: he then resolved to hazard a suddenly-conceived stratagem.
During the time in which they halted for the night, he selected a superb diamond from the jewels of Kara Aziek, and placing it in the embroidered purse by itself, folded it in a piece of brocade after the Moresco fashion, and deposited it in his breast. The character of the Alcayde had been given him by Hafiz’s friend, to whom he communicated his plan, and upon that he built for success.
After some days of wearisome travelling, and days full of agitation, the cavalcade came in sight of the chief town in the province of Kouf; the merchants were suffered to pursue their way to the port they sought, leaving Sebastian, whom they dared not attempt detaining, solely to fortune and his guards.
Ben Tarab’s ferocious eyes glared with satisfaction as he followed his unprotected victim into the Alcayde’s house; disdaining to notice him, Sebastian calmly proceeded.—while passing from the court to the audience-hall, his upright mind shrunk from unmanly deception; he was tempted to risk the truth, though convinced it would throw him again into slavery; but his country, his duties, his beloved, all tugged at his heart-strings, and aided by the universal toleration of stratagem under circumstances like his, weakened every other impression: he sighed over the bitter necessity of the act, besought Heaven to pardon it if really culpable, then entered the hall.
His fate was quickly decided: the gem he brought, appeared an undeniable proof that he came direct from El Hader; he presented it in his master’s name, alledging that the Almoçadem had sent it as a friendly token, requiring from his relation in return only a satisfactory account of the province he governed, as it was said at Mequinez, to be ripe for revolt.—The credulous Alcayde readily promised to give him every information on the morrow; and immediately issued orders, for the guards from Alcazar to be refreshed in his house, and lodged there during their stay.
Sebastian now carelessly told him the story of their officious protection, at which the foolish Alcayde laughed heartily, though he deigned to say, they had not acted amiss; and telling the Christian to repose himself wherever he chose, left him for the night.
It was quite dark at this time, and the room in which Sebastian remained, opened into a piazza on the outer side of the house: the sound of laughter and voices, mixed with the sharp notes of a tabor, and the ringing of drinking cups, assured him that Ben Tarab and his followers were already relaxing from their watchings, among the domestics of the Alcayde.—The Syrian had hastily sketched out to him the site of a neighbouring village, from whence he might possibly cross to Spain, (for to reach Ceutah or Tangier undiscovered, was out of the question) and by the rocks he saw towering before him, he knew the village must be at hand: now then was the moment for flight. He felt in his sash to ascertain if the remainder of Kara Aziek’s present was safe, and feeling it under his hand, he pushed open a latticed door, and sprung into the piazza.
A short winding path brought him to a slanting defile of rocks, whose feet were washed by the united seas of the Atlantic and Mediterranean; the sublime sound of their waves, first quickened the motion of Sebastian’s heart and steps; he rushed forwards, and their vast volume of waters, heaving under a clouded sky, burst upon his view.
Joy unnerved him; he stood rivetted for awhile, straining his eager eyes towards the shore of Spain. Through the dusky night, the lofty rock of Gibraltar (towering like some fabled giant) was alone dimly discernible; its watch-fires cast a sullen gloom above the horizon, now ascending steadily, now blown by sudden gusts along the air, roused by the creaking of vessels, the King started from his trance, and hurried to the village.
It consisted of a few fishing-huts, and except an old man and his son who were busy in towing their bark to shore, all its inhabitants were gone to rest. There was just light enough for these men to see in the hand of Sebastian, a heap of sequins, with which he tempted them to put off immediately for any port on the opposite coast: they hesitated only a short time; his ardent intreaties and persuasive manner, but above all, his gold, decided them to incur any risks, they once more hoisted their sail, he leaped into the bark, and in a few minutes they were far out at sea.
Is there a heart to which liberty is sacred, to which a country and a home are dear, that does not throb with anxiety for Sebastian? and if that heart has known the bitterness of long and hopeless exile from these blessings, will it not paint his feelings only too faithfully?—
As the little boat flew direct before the wind, and the waves roared and foamed round its slender keel, the King of Portugal sat motionless, like one stunned; his eyes indeed moved; they roved over every object again and again, to impress their reality upon his mind with that assurance he felt it needed: doubtfully he hearkened to the splashing of the sea, mistrusting the evidence of every sense, and unable to steady or to compose his thoughts.
Assuredly joy overcomes us more frequently than sorrow: perhaps it is because we arm ourselves against the latter, and abandon ourselves to the former without reserve.
While myriads of bright visions were passing and repassing through Sebastian’s entranced imagination, the fisherman and his son were shifting their sail and tacking about with plodding indifference; they neither observed nor shared their royal companion’s emotion.
The wind continued favorable, the coast of Africa receded, and the fertile mountains of Grenada and Andalusia advanced from the horizon: the vessel now ran into a creek, and disembarked her crew.
The moment Sebastian’s foot pressed Christian ground, he threw himself down and embraced it; gratitude and adoration locked up the powers of speech; so much pain and pleasure melted his heart, that it was too big for utterance, and he wept. His companions did not long allow him an indulgence of this honorable weakness, their voices made him start from the earth, he flung them their reward, and then they hastened away.