Pelayo a story of the Goth |
 | 3. |
| 4. |
 | 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. | IX. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 15. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
 | IX. Pelayo |  |
9. IX.
The audience rose as one man to receive the princes,
and a murmur of pleasure ran through the assembly,
mingled with the half-suppressed shoutings of many.
The ear of Egiza, however, could distinguish more frequently
feeling to his brother found due increase from this
circumstance. But he smiled scornfully as he reflected,
for he thought that his brother had been improperly striving
and seeking to supersede him in the estimation of
the people. Pelayo saw his secret thought, and turned
away in bitterness and sadness of spirit from the contemplation
of one having his blood in his veins, yet so unworthy
of it.
“We have waited for thee, Prince Egiza,” said Count
Eudon, speaking for the rest. “We looked to have
found you here in grave preparation, and much has it
grieved us that other matters of moment have made
it needful that you should bestow your time otherwise
than upon your people.”
“Yet have I had no unfitting representative, my Lord
Eudon, in the person of my brother. He, methinks,
has not unworthily fulfilled the trust which I have given
him. He hath laboured with you, if I err not, in this
weighty business.” The speech of Egiza, though uttered
in a bitter mood and with sarcastic reference, was
received in a literal sense by his audience.
“Rightly hast thou spoken, Prince Egiza. Pelayo
has truly fulfilled his trust, and with a diligence and forward
spirit that craved not slumber in the execution of
his duties. Were it possible for a prince to fulfil his responsibilities
to his people through the help of an agent,
none better could have been found for his purpose than
Pelayo. We, who have seen him toiling without craving
rest, moving among his enemies without fear or
precipitation, and devoting every thought and every energy
to the good of his people and of his prince, may
not scruple to confirm thy words, and award him the full
justice which he merits. But we are not willing, Prince
Egiza, to believe that the sovereign may sleep while his
good servant works in his behalf; for then the king becomes
but a shadow, and he who performs his offices
high principles as he may lack the blood of his master.
It were a sad misfortune to the nation of Spain, or to
any nation, if its monarch ruled over its people by a
deputy.”
“My lords, you are about to err in two ways,” said
Egiza, in reply to this reproachful speech. “You would
assume for me, in the first place, the desire to be your
sovereign—”
“And do you not?” cried Lord Eudon, and Count
Aylor and many lords followed him in the demand.
“Hear him not, my lords; how can he gainsay his
blood? How can Egiza refuse to be the King of Spain?
He is bound to you by blood—by his father's name and
bidding—by his own pledges!” exclaimed Pelayo.
“He is bound to obey the National Council of Spain,”
was the solemn response of Count Eudon; “and in its
name, Prince Egiza, I demand of you, what has been
done by you or after your command in the prosecution
of our war against the usurper, Roderick the Goth.”
“Perhaps it were better that you address such demand
to him who has so ably been performing for your
sovereign the duties which should have been his charge.
Pelayo, there, shall answer you.” The cold insolence
of this reply was felt by all of the assembled lords, and
by none more than Pelayo, but he said nothing. Leaning
with his elbow upon the projecting ledge of a rock,
he awaited the further proceedings of the council.
“Prince Pelayo, as it is the will of your brother, we
would hear from you. We would not willingly proceed
in any manner until we shall have been taught as to
your proceedings, lest our several doings conflict unhappily,
and end in peril to our cause. What is the
word from the Lord Oppas?”
In obedience to the commands of Lord Eudon, who
presided over the council, Pelayo advanced from the
the assembly:
“My Lords, Nobles, and Gentlemen of Spain—
“Before I unfold to you my various performances in
behalf of our prince and people, let me say, that from
this moment I surrender up into your hands and the
hands of my brother, from whom it came, all the authority
under which I have toiled; and I would have you
learn that, in all that I have willed or done, I have done
as best it seemed unto a poor mind unskilled in the
great affairs which belong to a nation, but not unmindful
nor wanting in zeal to do that which to it seemed
most necessary and proper to be done. And I give
thanks here to the trusty and brave men, many of whom
I see around me, who have freely seconded my poor
labours, and lent their wise counsels to my assistance.
This is all. I have done with this. I am not apt at
mouth-speech even to speak my courtesy, trusting rather
for its show to the action which speaks ever more than
words. If now the Lord Eudon will propound his
question, I am ready to answer according to my best
capacities.”
Pelayo paused; and after a few words of general
compliment uttered among the nobles, Count Eudon
repeated the inquiry which he had made ere Pelayo
spoke.
“What word from the Lord Oppas?”
“A warm encouragement he sends to you to prosecute
your present goodly enterprise. He has also
placed at your disposal a large amount of money, of
which he prays you to make such disposition as in your
mind may best serve against Roderick. He limits you
to this. He will not give for any other purpose.”
“But comes he not to join us with his household?”
“He does not, my lord, for various reasons. It is
for you to say with what propriety.”
“May they be said, Pelayo?”
“They may, my lord, though it may be I shall not
phrase them so ably as my worthy uncle might have
done. The Lord Oppas loves stratagem, I prefer
open strife. He would do, but he would do secretly;
what I do, that would I do openly. He loves patience,
I prefer liberty. Shall I speak more nicely? Thus,
then. The lord bishop is summoned in close attendance
upon Roderick. He is busy in Roderick's household,
and I have his word that he is serving us ably
with those who are about him. He hath a glozing trick
of speech which I affect not, but which is a strong argument
for right with many; and he promises me that he
will soon be able, by this same trick of speech, to send
us better aid than twice or even thrice the force of his
household in battle. He hath a head full of artifice,
and a tongue which so ably seconds it, that, spite of his
blood relationship to us, he hath won a close confidence
from Roderick, who holds him in long consultation upon
great affairs of the nation.”
“May he not betray us, Pelayo? May he not be
won by Roderick, who but shows him this seeming
confidence the better to practice upon him?”
“I think not, my Lord Aylor. My uncle hath a
trick of the church—he hears confessions, but he makes
none; he is true to us, though it would please me better
if he rode the war-steed Courage instead of the jade
Dissimulation. He will serve us, doubtlessly, quite as
much where he is as where I would have him, though
it would please me better that his word should be more
manful.”
“And what hope is there that Count Julian of Consuegra
will leave the cause of the usurper, and find the
right with us.”
“None! Roderick has bought him to his service,
and he now goes to meet the Saracens who arm against
his government of Ceuta. There is better hope for our
with him a veteran army that might greatly check our
first efforts if employed against us.”
“And of the Jews with whom thou hast made league
—what of the old man, Melchior—the outlaw?”
“He should be here to-night,” said Pelayo, anxiously;
“I wonder that I see him not.”
“Art thou sure of him? If he betray us—” said
Aylor.
“I fear not that,” said Pelayo; “but he hath many
and active enemies in the city of Cordova, even among
his own people, and the price set upon his head by
Roderick makes his dwelling there perilous. I fear
not that he will do us wrong—I only fear for him.”
“What hath he done, Pelayo, so to secure thy confidence?”
“Given up his wealth; provided us with means
we had else wanted; and been a sleepless labourer in
the cause. These arms, my lords,” pointing to the collection
which filled a recess of the cave, “are of his provision
solely; and already he hath shown to me the
names of near a thousand of his people, pledged to join
our ranks when it shall be said we need them. Even
now they assemble in other places, and seek in small
bodies the mountain passes of the Asturias, where I have
sworn to meet them.”
Pelayo then proceeded to unfold the particulars of his
agency, which he related with a strictness, a fulness,
and general regularity of detail which rendered all his
statements perfectly clear to his audience. When he
had done he received the cheering acclamations of the
lords, and then sank back in silence to the place which
he had formerly occupied, leaning upon a projection of
the rock, and awaiting in sadness the further progress
of events.
Meanwhile Egiza said nothing. The Lord Aylor
then addressed him.
“Prince Egiza, the performances of thy brother,
which to us are full of proof that he hath been a strict
and provident servant of thy will, seem not to touch thee.
Thou approvest of them?”
“If they please ye, my lords, what matters it whether
I cheer or chide? Doubtless he hath done well.”
“This is cold courtesy, prince, for noble service;
and thy nobles in council assembled are grieved to behold
a spirit in thee which looks adversely upon thy
brother; and it has been said to us that you are but a
laggard in the good cause which should warm us all—
the cause of your king and country.”
“I am not cold or laggard in the cause,” said Egiza,
“if it were hopeful, my lords; but it were a needless
sacrifice of lie and waste of valour, with our poor
abilities, to strive against Roderick.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Aylor, and his exclamation was
seconded by many. Pelayo started forward.
“My brother would not risk ye, gentlemen—'tis for
your sakes he pauses. But when ye speak, and show
him that you nothing heed the risk, and freely take the
danger to yourselves—”
“Nothing pledge for me,” said Egiza, coldly. Pelayo
persisted, however, and approached him.
“But, brother, when I show you that our force, Count
Julian's being absent, will avail—”
“Show me nothing. You shall not force me at your
pleasure, Pelayo, to do what I refuse.”
“But 'twas your will, my brother.”
“I have changed it,” replied Egiza.
Pelayo turned away indignantly. This little dialogue
had been conducted in under tones, but yet it reached
the ears of the council, particularly the latter sentence
of Egiza; and Count Aylor, as chief of the council,
spoke.
“We do not change so soon in our purposes, Prince
Egiza, nor are we a people bound to submit to such
Assembly of Spain?”
“I hold you so, my lords,” said Egiza, promptly.
“'Tis well; and now, Prince Egiza, it were better
if, to the question I shall now put to thee, thy answer
shall be equally prompt and pleasing. The National
Council of Spain is now assembled to take measures for
the overthrow of her tyrant, for the resumption of her
rights, for the array of her armies. They call upon
thee to help them in this service. Wilt thou, as first of
blood, having a claim of lineage from Recared the
Great, assume their lead? Wilt thou, if so they call,
become their sovereign, bound by their old laws and
pledged to their protection? Art thou ready? Speak!”
A general silence prevailed in the assembly when
this question was put. The members were all anxious
to hear the reply of Egiza, for it had been already said
among them that he shrunk back from the work which
he had been the first to begin, and that he was no longer
willing to risk his life in the cause of the common liberty.
Egiza beheld this anxiety, and he felt the toils
closing around him. He turned and fixed his eyes
upon Pelayo, but his brother was immoveable, and still
stood leaning upon the rock. Egiza could not but see
the anguish which was in his countenance, and he turned
from beholding him with increased disquiet at his heart.
He half believed that Pelayo had striven to drive him
from those regards of his people, which he himself was
now disposed to yield and set aside, and regarded the
present meeting as one calculated rather to entrap him
among enemies than to secure his services and influence
for the nation.
Doubtless there were some in the assembly—perhaps
many—who, if a choice between men were the question,
would unhesitatingly have preferred Pelayo; but they
were desirous of obtaining for their sanction the eldest
son and most obvious successor of their late monarch;
election of Egiza. But the unhappy prince could not
believe this. He was wilful not less than bewildered.
He had promised Cava not to take up arms against her
father, and, by consenting to lead the conspirators, such
an event was, perhaps, unavoidable. But whether he
met with Julian in battle or not, the evil was not the
less great to him, since it could not be supposed that her
father would ever consent to her marriage with one denounced
by his sovereign as a rebel in arms against his
authority. It has been seen that there was no prospect
of persuading Count Julian to adopt the same cause
with himself; and, according to his passionate yet narrow
mode of thinking, he adopted that course which,
while it lost him the regards of the one, failed to secure
him those of the other. Rebellion trusts not the half
resolved, and tyranny is equally exclusive. The lords
assembled in the cavern, and calling themselves the
great council of the nation, were resolved upon having
from him a direct acknowledgment of their authority.
This he could not refuse to do without tacitly declaring
for the usurper, since theirs was the only existing authority
in the country at variance with his. They had
heard vague rumours of his attachment to the daughter
of Count Julian, and they were too jealous of those liberties,
for which they were willing to die, to suffer them to
be the sport of a doubtful leader or an ill-digested design.
Egiza saw, in the countenances of all around him, that
they were men of resolution; that they were well assured
of their own authority, and determined upon its execution.
He saw that they were not less able than resolute, and
he felt that his opposition could only result in his defeat.
Yet how could he yield? He could not. He could
not yield to his own fears what he had refused to the
reasoning of his brother, and the prayers of his brother
and friends alike. Once more he looked upon Pelayo,
and his jaundiced spirit fancied that he detected a smile
correspondence with that of his questioner, Count Eudon.
This resolved him. He looked proudly upon the
chief of the council as he thus replied:
“Methinks, Count Eudon, there is little need that
you should look to me to lead you in these matters.
See I not, in the high thoughts which you all have of the
worth and diligence of my brother, that in truth you look
to him. He is your best servant. He hath no scruples
such as trouble me. A hundred men will suffice
with him to lead against the force of Roderick. I have
no such skill in war. I cannot compass such great
ends as these you design with so scant a provision.
Let Pelayo be your choice, my lords—I will not be your
sovereign.”
“Prince Egiza!” exclaimed Lord Eudon, as the
assembly gathered round, anxious and silent, “know
you not that in the hands of the National Council of
Spain lies the award of life and death, of honour and of
shame, and that to deny their authority and to refuse
obedience to their decree is to provoke their doom?”
“I deny not your authority, my lords; I hold you to
be the National Council of Spain, and, as such, you
have the powers of life and death. I deny not your
authority, and I am willing to submit to your doom,”
calmly and gloomily replied Egiza, who now stood
apart from the rest. Pelayo approached him with rapid
strides.
“Say not so, my brother—recall your words, Egiza,
and speak your readiness to do battle for your people.
Give him time, my lords, press not upon him so. Grave
matters, such as these, call for grave deliberation, and
he should have it. Speak, my brother; declare yourself
ready to lead them against Count Julian.”
“Never! Away—thou hast betrayed me, Pelayo,
and I would not hear thee speak,” said Egiza, scornfully
interrupting him. But Pelayo continued:—
“I forgive thee this too—I forgive thee all, Egiza,
so thou wilt but speak as they would have thee. Thou
art the rightful king—'tis but a word, and a new kingdom
waits thee. A most noble kingdom, too, my
brother—not of the Iberian, not of the Goth, not of the
Roman, but of Spain's mingling people, all thy subjects.
Speak—say, my brother, and the first knee that bends
to thee is the knee of Pelayo.”
“Thy words are hateful to me, Pelayo, for I hold
thee to have brought me with bad design among mine
enemies. Thou wouldst have my blood—thou wouldst
push me from thy way. I know thee, and I scorn to
hear thee speak.”
The ire of Pelayo kindled in his eye, and his whole
frame shook with his suppressed emotion. He drew
back, however, and said no more, but again leaned
against the ledge of the rock. Count Eudon then
spoke.
“It surely needs not much time, Egiza, to resolve
so clear a question. Thou hast had a long season for
thought already; and it should have been a fixed answer
in thy mind before, to say whether thou wilt obey
the council of thy nation or abide its decrees. It calls
upon thee, through me, to lead its armies against the
common enemy—to take its power upon thee, and become,
when they shall have lifted thee upon the shield,
the true monarch of the realm of Spain. Speak I
rightly, my lords—is not this your word?”
“It is—it is,” was the unanimous cry.
“It may not be, my lords! I cannot lead you,” said
Egiza, with a calm, conclusive manner, and with his
arms folded in resignation; but his eye was turned
upon Pelayo in doubtfulness and in ire. Count Aylor
then advanced into the centre, and, lifting his right arm
on high, spoke aloud with a terrible voice.
“My lords and noble gentlemen, the National Council
of Spain—hear me: I do pronounce the Prince
judgment and the doom against him.”
“He is no traitor,” shouted Pelayo, rushing forward
in the face of the assembly, and confronting Aylor.
“He is no traitor, my lords. He hath erred, he still
errs, and his wanderings I may not approve; but he is
noble—noble as any gentleman in Spain. With my arm
will I maintain his worth, and with good blows assert
his truth against any warrior in this high presence.
Who calls him traitor I will prove one, and hold from
this moment my foe.”
While thus generously Pelayo came forward in his
behalf, the unhappy Egiza looked composedly around
him, but said nothing. He seemed stubbornly indifferent
to any direction which the affair might take. The
Lord Aylor, nowise daunted by the rash challenge of
Pelayo, and, indeed, nowise provoked to wrath, replied
gently, but with sufficient firmness to show that he was
neither to be driven from his position nor baffled in his
purpose.
“Thy defiance, Prince Pelayo,” he replied, “in no
manner confounds or offends me. It is worthy of thy
blood that thou shouldst be valiant; it is due to thy kindred
that thou shouldst boldly come forth in defence of
thy brother. I would that he had thus boldly come forward
for himself. It had given better hope to his people
that he was still worthy to lead them to our foe.
But he has no voice; the spirit of valour has gone from
him with the consciousness of virtue; he dares not, because
he does not nobly. If he be no traitor, as I
charge upon him, let him speak—let him strike—let
him go with us in battle—let him approve his faith.”
“He will—in good season will he do this, my lord,”
was the prompt response of Pelayo; “but, I pray you,
noble lords and brave warriors of Spain, bear with me
for a while. I have that to say in your ears which shall,
I trust, acquit my brother of the charges which you so
him of error or of weakness, will at least bring
ye to behold him with a sad reflection, and pity for the
mischance of mind which seems to have befallen him.
You all have seen him, my lords, when he battled first
in the eye of our father, and won his bloody laurels from
the insurgent Basques. That he is brave ye have but
to look back to your memories for his gallant doings
then. He was no laggard in that season, and his froward
valour and his good success won him praises, as
ye well know, from every tongue.”
The reply of Aylor was no less ready than had been
that of Pelayo.
“That we well know, Prince Pelayo; and it is the
greater wonder with us, that, having been so valiant
then, he should prove himself so laggard now. Hence
our unbelief in his virtue, and the reason which he gives
us for thus shrinking from the encounter which is our
aim. We well know that there is nothing coward in his
blood; and we can believe only that he has grown traitorous
to our cause, and is sold to the usurper.”
Egiza grasped the hilt of his sword, and his lip quivered
with his anger; but he closed his lips firmly, turned
half aside from the presence of Aylor, whom he had
angrily confronted while he spoke, and, with difficult effort,
composed himself to silence, while Pelayo replied
to the bitter speech which had so much roused him.
“A cruel thought, Lord Aylor, and most unkindly
uttered; a thought which it would better please me to
meet with strife than other answer, but which I calmly
speak to, as I would not disturb our purpose by show of
that anger which were so much better shown to our enemies.
Let me remind you, then, that the ban of Roderick
is even now upon the head of Egiza. His mercenaries
track our footsteps, and the knowledge of his
place of concealment is fatal to his life. How, then, is
he bought by the usurper? and wherefore should he
Roderick could give him, and far more? and what is
the proud temptation which, in thy thought, has won him
away from the faith which he had pledged to his people,
and the homage which they proffer in return? What is
the mighty bribe which has bought him to such dishonour?”
A grim smile on the lip of Aylor prefaced his reply.
“Thou shalt have my answer but too soon to thy
confident demand, Prince Pelayo; the bribe which has
bought thy brother from his faith is not less known to us
than is his treason. The daughter of Julian of Consuegra
is the prince of his honour.”
Three strides brought Egiza to the place where Aylor
stood, and with a keen eye fixed upon the assailant,
and a demeanour which might have terrified a less determined
foe, he replied in tones of thunder to the
charge.
“Lord Aylor, thou liest in thy throat—my soul is
more free from dishonour, such as thou imputest to it,
than is thine in thy slavish suspicion. I will not deny
to ye, my lords, that I love the Lady Cava, the daughter
of the Count of Consuegra—that I truly love her;
yet with no such passion as would move me to yield in
shameless sacrifice one solitary principle of right, one
pledge of faith or service which I have ever made to ye
or any; nor, let me add, without fear or shame, to what
I have already revealed to ye—that my suit, though well
advanced to the maiden and found gracious in her ears,
is in no wise favoured or accepted by Count Julian.
He, in truth, denies me, and with violence—”
The voice of Pelayo was heard at this moment—
“My lords, thus do I also avouch. I have heard
the language of Count Julian in denial, and have seen
his violence towards my brother.”
The eye of Egiza was fixed scornfully upon him
while he spoke, and his acknowledgments were thus
made when he had concluded:
“My lords, if there be need of other lips to confirm
the truth of what I have said, and would say, to the ears
of this fair assembly, I speak no more. I have already
said but too much for the complexion of mine honour.”
Pelayo advanced, striving with conflicting feelings,
while he gave utterance to the most earnest appeal to
his brother's better feelings and more sober reason.
“Oh, brother,” he exclaimed, “play not so wildly
with thy own fortunes, and the affections which thou so
little knowest to value. Take, I implore thee, a truer
thought to thee of thy duties and of me. Defy not our
love as our hate—beware of such rash defiance. I forgive
thee—I forgive thee thy harsh and idle judgment
of me and of my performances, but I cannot forgive
thee, nor will these around forgive thee, thy most erring
judgment of what should be thine own. Be wise, I
pray thee, for thy own sake no less than for the sake of
our good cause.”
“No words with thee,” was the cold answer. “I
speak but to these noble lords—I have ears for no
other.”
“Thou speakest like a madman or a child,” replied
Pelayo, with a resumption of his former dignity, “and
I regard thee with too much pity to be angry with thee
now.”
The Lord Aylor replied to Egiza after the following
manner:
“So far, 'tis well, Prince Egiza; I bear with thy reproach
of falsehood, since I now have some hope of thy
truth. Having said that Julian denies thee, thou canst
have no hope from him?”
“None!” was the reply.
“What hinders, then, that thou shouldst continue
thy pledges to us? What binds thee to this apathy?
Wherefore wouldst thou withdraw from thy own cause
and ours, and forsake the honourable strife which is to
give us a common liberty?”
“I answer thee,” replied Egiza, sternly, “my own
mood—my free, calm resolve denies thee, and hinders
such pursuit. I am, I trust, the master of my own
mind, and I yield it to no will of thine, Lord Aylor, nor
to that of any other here.”
“Then hear us, Prince Egiza,” replied Aylor, with a
stern solemnity; “if thou, having pledged to us a service
which thou art pleased to withdraw from at thy will,
art thus resolved, it will not offend thee to learn that we
too have a will in this matter; and that the National
Council of Iberia have, in addition to this will, the tribute
powers of life and death, the power of judgment
and doom no less than of reward and elevation. To
their power I now refer thee for thy judgment, for I do,
in Heaven's presence and thine own, pronounce thee
a traitor to their authority not less than to thine own
pledges; and I demand of them the doom upon thee
such as the traitor may deserve—the doom of death, if
they hold thee worthy of the headsman—or, if they
think too meanly of thy valour, and yet distrust thy ambition,
the shaven crown of the monk.”
“I am before ye—in your power—it must be as ye
will, my lords. Ye may destroy me by the axe, or ye
may degrade me in your malice. Be it so! Yet,”
unsheathing his sword as he spoke, “though ye deem
me base, ye will not find me coward! There must be
strife ere ye do your will upon me, and one life or more
shall pay for the doom and the dishonour which ye
meditate.”
Slowly receding as he spoke, he placed his back
against a massive projection of the rock, and prepared
with a manful valour to do battle to the last. His show
of decision, though late, gave pleasure to Pelayo; and
when Eudon, Aylor, and many other lords prepared
with drawn swords to rush upon the refractory Egiza,
Pelayo, also drawing his weapon, placed himself midway
between them.
“Stay, my lords; ere you move in this procedure, I
pray your attention to my words.”
“Not now, Pelayo,” was the prompt reply of Aylor,
who was about to advance. The sword of Pelayo
gleamed before his eyes.
“You hear me or you feel me, Lord Aylor. If you
hear not reason, you are no less enemies to me than ye
are to Egiza. Be not rash like him. What we do we
do as a great people, not as wilful and passionate children.
Hear me speak to you as such; I pray you hear
me. I would resume my argument in behalf of my
brother, and think to render good reasons which shall
bespeak your indulgence for his most erring mood.”
The Lord Eudon, who had officiated as moderator of
the assembly, now prayed the hearing of the lords; and,
having obtained silence, declared for the rest their readiness
to listen. Thus encouraged, Pelayo began as follows,
with an argument in defence of his brother which,
though he urged it with all warmth, it is no disparagement
to his honesty to add, he was not himself altogether
satisfied to believe such as would or should be satisfactory
to them. The tie of kindred gave the impulse
which moved him to the defence, of which a deliberate
reason might well have despaired.
“I have said, my lords,” resumed Pelayo, in defence
of Egiza, “that my brother, when fighting with the insurgent
Basques, approved his valour, which became a
lauded thing, and the theme of praise even among the
bearded warriors of our army—men who had coped
with the Roman legions. Nor in this warfare alone did
he win the applause of our people. When the rebel
Roderick first rose in arms, and we encountered his
fierce lieutenant, the one-armed Palitus, whom he slew,
it was a marvel to all how Egiza fought. The murder
of my father — sad mischance!—then followed; and
though the news spread panic among our followers, so
that they deserted our banner, and fled to the caves and
he kept a strong heart, and his counsel and resolve was
then that we should do battle to the last. He took
heart, even from the heartlessness of those who followed
us, for a new and more desperate war. You all remember
his counsels on the plains of Aurilia?”
Here the Lord Aylor, with a triumphant smile, thus
interrupted him.
“All this but helps, Prince Pelayo, to approve my
words, since it speaks loudly against the present temper
of Egiza. Wherefore this sudden change of mood but
in treason? Wherefore should he shrink now from the
battle which he prayed for then, if he were not false to
the principles for which we have striven in despite of
danger and privation. Thy words but help to his conviction.”
“Nay, be patient,” replied Pelayo, “and thou wilt
hear. Dost think that a natural force could so have altered
him? could so have changed valour into cowardice,
strength to weakness, and the noble into the base
spirit? Impossible! The truth is, my lords, that my
brother suffers from disease; some potent witchery is
working in his brain, so to impair its reason and to enfeeble
the manhood of his soul.”
“Ay, the disease of treachery, Pelayo; the base
malady which made him sell himself to Roderick, and
give up the noble struggle for his own rights, such as
manhood would have taken; preferring, as a boon, the
life which he should rather lose than take at the hands
of him by whose blow his father perished. He suffers
the disease of a base selfishness only, which makes him
heedless of the loss of liberty to his friends—their
hourly risk of life—their long-continued privation, while
he sneaks to base security, and to the womanish enjoyments
which make up all his desire in existence.”
“A while, my lord,” replied Pelayo, with an effort at
calmness which he saw was essential to his success in
said; “a while, my lord, and, ere I pause, methinks I
will give a sufficient answer to your harsh opinion.
Egiza, surely, has not yielded this power to Roderick,
and bows not in obedience to that tyrant without some
recompense. Can ye say what is the pleasant boon
which hath moved him to this baseness? What is the
price of his treachery with which ye reproach him? I
see it not, and, I make bold to say, ye see it not. Well
I know Egiza hath none of it as yet. The countenance
of Roderick hath no smiles for him. The ban of the
tyrant makes him an outlaw no less than ourselves, and
decrees him, if taken, to the same cruel doom. 'Twas
but late that, with mine own eyes, I saw the usurper's
lieutenant with threatening weapon at his breast. Ay,
my lord, the same Count Julian, through whose fair
daughter ye deem my brother to be bought by the tyrant;
his weapon was set in serious anger at the bosom
of Egiza, and their swords clashed, and, but for my arm,
would have clashed fatally, in controversy together.
Smacks this of treachery in Egiza? Looks it like favour
in Julian's sight, or in the sight of Roderick, that
the sword of the lieutenant struck at the rebel? Had
it been that Julian had sent his daughter, with a goodly
dowry and a mighty train to my brother, and he had taken
her, there had been some reason in the thought
which ye hold of his treachery. There is, sure, no
reason now.”
The words of Pelayo were not without some influence
upon the assembly, but they did not satisfy the
stubborn Aylor.
“Wherefore, then,” he demanded, “this sudden
change in his spirit? Why would he forego his hate
to Roderick? Why withhold himself from the goodly
cause in which his friends are yet striving, through peril
but with hope, and deprive us of the valiant arm whose
prowess we have witnessed, and which, in this same
that he hath the tyrant's reward as yet; true, the ban of
outlawry is yet upon him; but have we assurance that it
will be so long? What proof that the price of his treachery
is not already on its way to reward him? We see
no proof against this. We only know that he deserts
our cause, dishonours his own pledges, and, if he be no
traitor, plays a mad game, which gives him all the savour
and countenance of one. Wherefore all this,
Prince Pelayo? Unfold to us the mystery of this reason,
and leave us to think upon it.”
“My Lord Aylor,” replied Pelayo, “this matter is
no less a mystery to me than to you; but enough, as it
is a mystery, that we should take no precipitate measures
upon it which shall mislead our judgment into
wrong. Truth to say, but that I have seen him brave,
his late remissness had moved me to hold him coward;
but that I know him honest, I had been led to think him
base and treacherous, with a suspicion no less conclusive
than your own.”
“Thinking thus, Prince Pelayo,” responded the other,
“yet resolving as you do, is a mystery no less great
to me. How name you, then, this disease of which
you have spoken, and which, according to your thought,
so enfeebles his soul and defeats his present action?”
“Truly, my lord, I have no name for it; but I regard
it as none other than an evil power wrought upon him
by some malignant enemy. We all do know that there
are spirits of evil, which do work, even by Divine permission,
for strange ends, upon the minds and bodies of
men; usurping, in their thoughts, the place which had
else been occupied with wisdom's councils, and infecting
them with unfriendly and peevish moods, which
make their victim no less desperate than erring; till, in
season, he perishes by his own hand, or else gives provocation
to another who shall destroy him. In such extremity
of fortune do I hold my brother a victim—but
but help the cunning purpose of the subtle fiend which
hath so grievously possessed him.”
In a time teeming with superstition, such as necessarily
belonged to that period in the moral world when a
fresher and purer religion is struggling for its place in the
minds of men with those degrading ones which have debased
and kept them down, a faith such as that professed
by Pelayo in this particular was not only not uncommon,
but was, indeed, of very general acceptance even among
the better classes of mankind. The reply of the Lord
Eudon spoke, therefore, the sentiments of all around.
“It may be, Pelayo,” he said, “that such is the cruel
misfortune of the Prince Egiza; and loath, indeed, were
we to execute upon him a decree due more to his infirmity
than to the unhappy victim upon whom it preys. It
better pleases me to believe that such is his misfortune
—though it gives me pain still that he should suffer from
it—than to believe him base, unfriendly to our purposes,
and untrue to the sacred pledges given to his dead father's
memory and to our living liberties.”
“Believe it, my lord, believe it all. He is not untrue,
save as he is for the time the victim to untruth.
He will recover—he will shake the demon from his hold,
and ye shall see him strike, as before ye have seen him,
in the cause of his people and his sire.”
“And yet,” said the Lord Aylor, who presided, “suppose
we deem your reason good, Pelayo, and spare his
life, and withhold the stroke of justice—which, to speak
truth, we had resolved—upon him, what have we to secure
us, that, in his infirmity, under this evil influence as
in his wilfulness, he may not yet undo us by some bad
practice, some unhappy treachery, some wild, perverse
defection? This disease, which has led him thus far,
may yet lead him farther. What pledge canst thou
give us for his truth—for his forbearance of all treachery?”
“My life upon it—I pledge you my head in his behalf,”
was the unhesitating response of Pelayo.
Egiza, who had heard with momently increasing
scornfulness, but without a word, the defence which Pelayo
had made, and the various replies of Eudon, now,
when the former had concluded the dialogue by a solemn
offering of his own life as an assurance of his brother's
truth, could forbear no longer. With an imperious
voice and manner, he advanced from the rock against
which he had leaned the while, and thus interposed:
“I need no pledge for my honour, my lord, and, least
of all, the pledge of one who, to my thinking, has not
always been heedful of his own.”
“I pity thee!” was the involuntary reply of Pelayo.
“And thee I hate!” exclaimed the other, while the
white foam was driven through his gnashing teeth, and
gathered upon his lips, almost stifling their utterance.
“Thy wilful speech, Egiza,” continued Pelayo, calmly,
“and the insane direction of thy mood, do more
than ever confirm me in the thought that thou art the
victim of some unhappy malady. Thou shalt not anger
me.”
Thus speaking, he turned from the really almost insane
youth, and, with a dignified firmness, addressed the
assembly.
“My lords, ye have heard me. If ye deem a pledge
wanting in Egiza's favour, ye have mine. I know him
honest, fear not his treachery, and freely place my head
at your disposition should he err to your injury. In a
little space I trust that his malady will leave him to himself
and to you. You shall then behold his sword
among the foremost, piercing to the core of the usurper's
battle—piercing, Heaven grant it, to his own! Now,
spare him, I pray you, to his own bitter waywardness.
It will give him more sorrow and shame than it will ever
bring suffering to you. Let him go free till it shall
please the good angel which should be his guardian to
power which hath possessed it.”
The appeal was made to them with a manner doubly
touching, when it was remembered how unkindly Egiza
had treated the noble brother who had, in truth, preserved
him.
“What say ye, noble lords?” said Eudon. “Ye
have heard the plea of Prince Pelayo for his brother.
Methinks it is a good one. Wil't please you to give it
your sanction, and grant the prayer which he makes
in his behalf? Our indulgence will, in seasoning time,
bring fit chastisement to the evil mood that preys upon
him, and we may yet have him at our head, as he should
be now, leading us upon the foe, and striking like a
brave prince for the deliverance of his people. What
say you, then? We are strong, and ready to execute,
with rigorous hand, the power lodged within our hands,
and may promptly perform whatever ye resolve on. My
own persuasion would take the argument of Prince Pelayo
for our own, and set Egiza free. Shall we do this,
or obey that sterner rule of the Goth, which dooms to
death the wilful sovereign or subject who dares dispute
our decree? Speak, then, my lords. Shall this man
be free, or shall he die?”
| IX. Pelayo | |