University of Virginia Library

12. XII.

A feeling of absolute pleasure rose in the bosom
of Pelayo as this conflict proceeded. Yet it was not
that he found a pleasure in the strife itself, or desired
the shedding of a brother's blood; but, regarding the
mental apathy of Egiza as, in great part, the consequence
of his bodily inaction, he supposed it not improbable
that any circumstances which could bring his
blood into exercise, and prompt a return to the wonted
thoughts of his mind, would necessarily have the effect
of bringing him back to the performance of those duties,
his neglect of which he could not but consider as
the foulest treachery and the most bitter dishonour.
This sluggishness, it is true, had been most conspicuous
since his first interview with Cava; but Pelayo, as yet
insensible to the tender emotion himself, was disposed
to regard the passion into which Egiza had fallen for the
damsel as an effect of his apathy rather than its occasion.
Believing this, it was his confident hope that any strong
provocation, which would stimulate him into unmeasured
anger, would break the chains of that apathy which had
so completely fettered his spirit and enfeebled his resolves;
and it was his no less confident hope that the
wily bondage of Cava would also be severed, as a necessary
consequence of the overthrow of that other
domination, which had placed him within her seductive
influence, and made him so susceptible of spells which,
to the mind of Pelayo, were so very unimposing. Once
fairly aroused, he did not dread that his brother would
readily sink back into the lulling and unmanly sluggishness
from which he had been so rudely awakened,

and his satisfaction arose much more from this belief
than from any desire to inflict a punishment, however
deserved, upon his brother for his defection and default
hitherto. The night was one of a clear starlight, and
they could behold each other distinctly, and well discern
the movements, not less of their hands and weapons,
than of the muscles of their several faces. That of
Egiza was full of anger: his cheek was flushed with
the glowing and irritated blood; his eye darted forth the
most angry fires, and his lips were fast riveted together
and bound by his compressing teeth, until the blood
started from their pressure. The countenance of Pelayo,
on the other hand, wore quite another expression.
An air of pleasantness and satisfaction overspread it;
and, though full of that decisive character which distinguished
all his actions, it could yet be seen that its resolve
was softened by good-humour, and that nothing
of malice, and but little of anger, was at that moment in
his bosom. Egiza could not help perceiving this, and
the discovery, if possible, increased his own indignation.
His blows were seriously given, and with momently increasing
rapidity. But Pelayo did not seem to heed
the earnestness of his brother's hostility. No movements
could have been more cool and temperate than
those which he made; and Egiza chafed like a caged
animal when he found all his efforts ineffectual to set
aside the guard of his opponent, and win the opportunity
of the stroke. To increase his rage, Pelayo encouraged
him with humorous language to increase his
efforts, even as a strong man trifles with the anger of a
froward boy, and stimulates, by petty taunts, his feeble
and impotent hostility.

“Wilt go with me, Egiza?” said he, in the midst of
the sharp controversy; “'twere better—the same good
blows which thou expendest most idly upon me would
not fall so harmlessly upon the crest of a soldier of
Roderick.”

“They shall not always prove idle or harmless upon
thee, Pelayo,” responded the other, as he redoubled his
efforts, and renewed the assault with greater energy.

“Thou art rash, my brother, and the time is come
for thy better teaching,” said Pelayo, in reply; and the
smile passed from his face as he spoke, and his lips
were now closed, and such was the stern, strong glare
that then shot forth from his eyes, that Egiza faltered in
his assault.

“I will teach thee thy feebleness, Egiza,” said Pelayo,
“and will trifle with thee no longer. Look now to
thy guard, for, unless thou makest better play than thou
hast done, I will take thy weapon from thy hands in
spite of thee.”

The swords clashed as he spoke, and that of Pelayo
seemed to cling to the opposing blade as if it were
welded upon it. Egiza beheld in an instant the difference
now between his brother's blows and those which
had before been given; but he had very little time for
reflection, for, in another instant, his weapon was twisted
from his hand, and whirled from him as if by the stroke
of an enchanter. He stood with undefended bosom
beneath the sword-point of Pelayo.

“Strike,” he sullenly exclaimed—“thou hast striven
hard to shame me in the eyes of others, and thou hast,
at length, disgraced me in my own. What more
wouldst thou wish, Pelayo, than my life? What more
canst thou take? Strike, and let me suffer no longer
from thy hate and my own humiliation.”

He folded his arms as thus he spoke, and looked
with comparative calm upon his brother, expecting his
instant death. But the mood of Pelayo was subdued,
and the uplifted sword-point fell to the ground. With a
voice full of mournfulness and anguish, quite unlike that
which he commonly employed, he thus replied to the
speech of Egiza:

“Egiza—oh Egiza! wherefore hast thou so far humbled

both of us, as to compel me to bestow this so
severe lesson upon thee? Why hast thou fallen from
thy noble thoughts and from thy sacred duties? Why
wouldst thou make our father's memory a thing of
scorn and thy own name a word of infamy? Why degrade
thy own brother to an executioner? for”—and he
concluded solemnly—“even upon this errand have I
come.”

“Strike!” was the response of the other, still more
sullenly than before—“do thy errand.”

“Require me not, Egiza, but go with me. Upon
my knees, my brother and my sovereign, I do implore
thee. Go with me—seek our men. Declare thyself
their king—their true and loyal king—ready to lead
them to the enemy; forgetting all the errors of the past,
thy weakness, and thy unresolve—forgiving all the rashness
of Pelayo.”

“What if I tell thee no—and do not go?”

“Then here thou stay'st for ever—here I slay thee.
I've sworn it, brother. Thou shalt go with me and see
our men, or I will smear my weapon with thy blood, and
show thy fate and my own firm resolve writ on the face
of the same sudden messenger in the same letters.”

“If I do go, Pelayo, it will be but to show thy followers
how idle would be the struggle with Roderick,
and to withdraw myself from a strife so hopeless,” said
Egiza.

“I care not what thou tell'st them, so that thou goest,
and will approve all the performances to which, when
thy mood was more valorous and less reluctant, thou
didst set me to. Thy presence before them will acquit
me to them of all that I have said for thee; and they
may then order it as it may seem best to them or to
thee afterward.”

“I will go with thee, Pelayo; yet think not that I go
because of thy threat to slay me: what I resolve, I resolve
in proper reason, and not in fear.”

“As thou wilt, for whatever reason may seem best
to thee—I care not, so that thou goest. Thou shalt do
thy duty, and fulfil thy promises to the men who are
doomed as traitors and ready to die for thee. When
thou hast seen them, thou wilt, I think, be willing to
draw sword and lead them; and if not—”

“What then, Pelayo?” demanded the other, finding
that he came to a pause before finishing the sentence.

“Why, then, may God always make thee as ready to
die as I found thee but now, Egiza. Take thy sword,
my brother, it lies before thee.”