A Wind From the North (19 page)

The years immediately following Tangier had been a testing ground for his character. The succession of an infant prince and the problems of the regency had greatly weakened the state, and a conflict of interests had brought the country to the verge of civil war.

Queen Leonora’s dislike of Prince Peter was one of the main factors that precipitated the crisis. Peter, whom the people of Portugal would have been glad to see as undisputed regent, found himself opposed at every turn by his sister-in-law. Her claims to the regency were supported by the Count of Barcellos, who for years had been nursing the grievance of his birth. He now found himself in a position where he could play Machiavelli in the politics of the country.

Drawn from his seclusion at Sagres, Henry arrived in Lisbon to attempt the part of peacemaker. The country was divided almost equally between the popular support for Prince Peter and the group of nobles who were pressing Queen Leonora to take the reins into her own hands. The strong reign of King John had kept the nobles in check, and they had not dared challenge King Edward, since he was backed by his four brothers. But things were very different now. Prince Fernando was a hostage in Morocco, Prince John was ill, Prince Henry was living like a recluse at Sagres, and only Prince Peter, the popular choice for regent, stood in their way.

The arrival of Prince Henry temporarily checked the trouble. Although it was an uncongenial task, and very unlike those to which he was accustomed, Henry spent many weeks engaged in the hard task of peacemaker. He endeavored to calm public fears, to appease the power-hungry, and at the same time to ensure that the government of the country was carried on. His solution was to propose a compromise settlement whereby Queen Leonora and Prince Peter should share the regency. The Queen would attend to her children’s upbringing and education, and retain power over all court appointments. Prince Peter, meanwhile, with the title of “Defender of the Realm,” would have equal authority over any decrees that were made. The Cortes were to assemble once a year to give their advice on matters of policy, and Prince John and Prince Henry could be called on whenever necessary.

Like so many political compromises, it was a failure. Prince Henry’s proposals were agreed to, but they did not solve the problem. They seemed logical and reasonable to him, but he failed to take into account the characters of courtiers, prelates, and noblemen for whom worldly power was all-important. His own dreams were so much vaster and more impersonal that he could hardly conceive how men could fight and conspire for the possession of a few more honors, a few acres of land, or an increase in their income. Prince Peter he understood, for he, like Henry, was an idealist and an honorable patriot. But the creatures who infested the court were beyond the comprehension of a man whose eyes were fixed on the Atlantic.

Queen Leonora was well aware that Henry’s advice was disinterested. After a slight delay, she agreed to the proposed terms, and her brother-in-law left for the Algarves. It was not long before his peace was once more disturbed.

The struggle had begun again. Queen Leonora was urged to it by her supporters, and Prince Peter was reluctantly compelled to assert his equal rights in the government of the kingdom. This time Henry threw the weight of his authority wholeheartedly on his brother’s side. He attempted a reconciliation between Peter and the Queen, but Leonora would have none of it. Seeing that the mood of the nation was completely against a shared regency, Henry made it clear that in his view Peter should be sole regent. The man from Sagres was the only one of the brothers with whom the Queen would now have any communication. Henry knew little about women’s emotions. It would have seemed incomprehensible to him that the Queen’s mistrust of Peter stemmed from the fact that she disliked his wife.

Queen Leonora finally overreached herself when in an attempt to win Prince Henry to her side, she wrote saying that Prince Peter was so determined on absolute power that he even intended to have Henry imprisoned. This was unthinkable, and Henry knew it. Peter was his favorite brother, the only one who in any way shared his dreams about the exploration of Africa, and with whom he had often pondered over charts and discussed the existence and whereabouts of Prester John. The bitterness that prompted Leonora’s letter seems at last to have made him aware of the hatred she bore Prince Peter.

He rode north at once. He left behind the level country where he had made his home, with its coastal plains rich in grapes, figs, oranges, lemons, olives, and almonds. Aloes and dates grew there, and even the climate had something North African about it. He knew that warm land as well as he knew the sea surge round the cliffs of Sagres and the sliding panels of the Atlantic. But as he rode north, the hills began to limit the horizon. Trees and vines clung tenaciously along their terraced flanks, and he felt the world closing in on him—that world of conspiracy and intrigue to which he was a stranger. He longed for the time when he need hardly ever come north again.

A few days later he reached Coimbra, the graceful city on the banks of the Mondego. Prince Peter was there to meet him, and Henry hailed him with a laugh.

“See what the Queen writes to me!” he said. “See, brother, how afraid I am of you!”

“Evil times bring forth evil fruit,” Peter answered wryly as he looked at the letter. “At any rate, you will find an honorable prison awaiting you!”

The whole family was assembled to greet Prince Henry. His reluctance to leave his mysterious fortress in the south, and his strange quest for unknown islands and continents, had made him something of a legend even among his relations. The fact that this was the second time within two years that he had hurried north served to emphasize the magnitude of the dangers confronting the kingdom. The esteem in which his father, King John, was known to have held him gave greater weight to his opinions. Even the Count of Barcellos, who was present, together with Prince John, was prepared to listen to his advice. Despite his personal ambitions, he had begun to feel that the present divided state of the nation could continue no longer. The Queen’s growing arrogance—the likelihood that she would not be easy to control if she were sole regent—had disillusioned him.

The man who now added the weight of his authority to their council was in his mid-forties. His white skin, upon which Azurara had commented, was tanned and lined like a sailor’s. His dark eyes were deep-set in a fine mesh of wrinkles.

They were eyes that had grown tired with watching the dazzle of sunlight on ocean rollers, and gazing night after night at the wheeling pattern of the stars. There was self-confidence in his speech and in his movements, but something also a little slow and ponderous. It was as if, grown unused to courts and cities, his nature had changed its rhythm to accord better with the remote world in which he lived. His hair was still dark and thick, but there were touches of gray in it. His shoulders were as broad as ever, and the deep barrel-chest showed where the strength lay that had made him a legend at Ceuta. The hands were strong, lean, and deeply tanned. Unlike his brothers, he wore no jewelry, and the dusty state of his traveling clothes did not seem to worry him. He drank no wine when it was offered, and ate sparingly. Prince Peter’s family gazed with awe at this famous uncle, but with affection too—for his eyes were gentle, and he was notoriously indulgent with children. (In later years it was well known that Prince Fernando, King Edward’s second son, whom Henry had adopted, was outrageously spoiled by his uncle.)

The conference at Coimbra produced the desired result. Queen Leonora, who had refused to come to meet Prince Peter and his brothers, was informed that the Cortes must be summoned immediately. (It was known that they were in favor of having Prince Peter as sole regent of the kingdom.) Soon afterward Lisbon and Porto both came out openly in favor of the same decision. The Count of Barcellos quietly withdrew to his estates and—while still making mischief whenever opportunity was presented—as quietly withdrew his support from the Queen’s party.

Unwilling to accept second place in the kingdom, Queen Leonora retired from Lisbon into the country, and ultimately to Castile. The decision was reached that her two sons, Affonso, the future king, and Fernando, Henry’s heir, should be brought up by Prince Peter as well as by herself. It was agreed that a woman’s schooling was unsuitable for men who must rule a country in a dangerous age. It was this that aroused her impulsive pride. Rather than share the responsibility for her sons’ education and upbringing, she withdrew altogether from their lives. King Edward’s unhappy queen ended her days an exile in Castile.

Whether the successful outcome of the affair owed much to Henry’s intervention at Coimbra is doubtful. It was the popular voice of Lisbon and Porto in demanding a strong regent that really decided the issue. There is no doubt, though, that it was the united front displayed by the three brothers, Peter, Henry, and John, that helped to prevent what might well have turned into a civil war. It convinced the Queen’s party of the futility of their efforts. Perhaps in those difficult days the brothers remembered Queen Philippa’s words: “Take one arrow by itself, and it is nothing… . But if you take many of them together, it is beyond your strength to break them.”

By 1441, the year in which the first Africans were brought back to Portugal and Nuno Tristao in his caravel discovered Cape Blanco, the country’s affairs were becoming stable again. For four years Henry had had little leisure to devote himself to his chosen task. There had been little chance, either, of redeeming the hostage of Tangier.

Prince Fernando had been right when he said that with the death of King Edward his captivity would end only with his life. Although his memory haunted his brothers, they were impotent to help him, particularly when the country was divided over the question of the regency. King Edward in his will had asked that every possible means be used to secure Fernando’s freedom, even to the extent of surrendering Ceuta. There is no doubt that Prince Peter and Prince John were prepared to go to this length. King Edward had been deterred by the unanimous advice of his fellow monarchs and of the Pope that Ceuta should never be surrendered. His two brothers did not feel bound by any similar obligations. Two attempts were in fact made to ransom Prince Fernando, offering Ceuta in exchange, but on both occasions nothing was concluded. The first time, a gale dispersed the ships that had gone to conduct the negotiations, and the second time the Moors themselves were unable to agree about the terms. Prince Henry may well have seen the hand of God in the failure of these two missions.

Condemned to martyrdom, the Constant Prince remained in the hands of the Vizier Lazurac. Day by day his hopes of freedom faded, and day by day Lazurac saw his chances of a rich ransom disappear. The Prince became no more than any other Christian captive—a slave, and not a hostage. Deprived of any concessions to his status or to his royal blood, he was set to work in the gardens of the palace of Fez. Later, when weakness and dysentery had made him unfit for work, he was confined to his cell. His constancy and his resignation remained unchanged, and his uncomplaining nature moved his companions. If they cursed their jailers, Prince Fernando only remarked that no better could be expected of men who had never heard the words of truth. If they called down malediction on all Moors, he reminded them that they ought, rather, to pray for their enemies.

His only comfort during these long years was the companionship of the attendants and friends who had followed him into captivity. For the last fifteen months of his life he was denied even this. Lazurac, discovering what pleasure the Prince found in talking to them when they returned from their work in the evenings, ordered him to be confined in a separate cell. Deprived of companions and of conversation, he was also deprived of light. For more than a year the youngest son of King John lay alone in a windowless cell. His only fault had been that he had hoped, like his brothers, to see the banners wave over a conquered city, and to earn knighthood on the field of battle.

In 1442 Prince John, who had been ailing for many years, finally succumbed to his illness. He had been a constant help and a faithful adviser to his brother Peter during the troubles of the regency. His death increased the burden that lay on the Regent’s shoulders. Henry was too far away, and too little interested in the economy and politics of the country, to be of much assistance. From now on Prince Peter had the heavy task of reigning in his nephew’s stead, and of educating the young Prince, and at the same time avoiding the snares laid for him by friends of the self-exiled Queen, or of the Count of Barcellos.

Prince John’s death increased the hopelessness of Fernando’s position. One brother was fully occupied in the internal affairs of Portugal, and the other was brooding over charts of Africa—still dreaming of a crusade that would deliver all Morocco to him as well as his brother. It was true that Henry would have paid a ransom for Fernando (which would have been acceptable to Lazurac), but Sala-ben-Sala had died. This further confused matters, and Sala-ben-Sala’s brother, who succeeded him as governor of Tangier, was adamant that he would take nothing but Ceuta in return for the Prince.

In the summer of 1443, wom out by illness and privation, Prince Fernando died. He was forty-one years old, and he had been a prisoner for nearly six years. To the end of his life he maintained the nobility and sweetness of disposition that he had possessed in common with his brother King Edward. Even Lazurac was compelled to admit that he had borne his captivity nobly, and declared that had he been a Mohammedan, he would have been called a saint. The Moors blamed Fernando’s family and his country for leaving him to die, unransomed and alone, in a foreign country. His body was disemboweled and hung up at the gate of the city, so that the mob might deride a Christian and a prince.

Prince Fernando paid the price of empire. He was the price of Henry’s failure at Tangier, but he was also the price of Ceuta. The sons whom Philippa of Lancaster bore to King John of Portugal were more than worthy of their grandfather John of Gaunt. They were men in an age when the virtues of manhood were called for among princes, yet they never confused manhood with arrogant self-assertion. In a century when violence and corruption were commonplace, the brothers were unique, and they would be exceptional in any age.