Free A Wind From the North by Ernle Bradford

delay the ships, and they reached the city in three days. At the sight of the Portuguese sails lifting over the horizon, the Moors lost heart. Prince Henry, who was this time accompanied by his young brother John, now aged eighteen, had the satisfaction of raising the seige and reinforcing the garrison. But it was a satisfaction that was mingled with disappointment, for the Moors withdrew at once. Henry found himself in command of a fleet and a body of trained soldiers, and no enemy to engage.
    The idea of attacking Gibraltar immediately suggested itself and, had he been king, there is no doubt that this would have been his next move. But his father was growing old and consequently less ambitious. He had foreseen that—finding nothing to do at Ceuta—Prince Henry would turn to Gibraltar. Orders were sent for the Portuguese fleet to return home immediately. King John no longer required additional proofs of his country’s ability in war, and he still feared Castile. He knew that the capture of Gibraltar would seem a provocative act to the King of Castile—who no doubt preferred an inactive Moorish garrison on the Rock to an active army under the command of Prince Henry, the son of his old enemy.
    This second expedition was a stimulant to Henry’s interest in Africa. He had spent three months in Ceuta after the city had been relieved, and it was probably during this time that he first made acquaintance with some of the desert Arabs. There were captives from the army of Fez, and there were still some traders who had dealings with the city that had once provided their principal market. These men had information of value: tales to tell of the direction in which caravan routes ran inland after leaving the coastline; gossip, fact and fiction, inextricably interwoven about the interior of the continent. Henry now learned the feel of Africa—the blinding sun at noon, the hot dusty streets, the shuttered houses, the bite of the sand when the wind comes off the desert, and the extraordinary clarity of the nights. Then, when the desert suddenly shudders to an icy coldness—within an hour of sundown—the stars seem big as brilliants.
    On his return, Prince Henry’s fame was such that the kings of Europe vied with each other to secure his services. It was now widely known that he had been the driving force behind the original capture of the city, and the alacrity with which he had just come to its relief was taken as further evidence of his ability. At twenty-four he was governor of Ceuta, and—by merit alone—one of the first dukes in Portugal.
    The ambassadors of the various powers resident at Lisbon confirmed all that rumor said. This prince, they reported, possessed his father’s military prowess and astuteness. More than that, he was a man who seemed impervious to the weaknesses of the flesh. In an age of license, he was chaste. In an age when noblemen habitually befuddled themselves, he drank little or nothing. In an age when the letter of the Church was obeyed, but not its spirit, he was ascetic. Mindful of all the Christian observances, he spent many hours of the week in solitary prayer. Such a strange, if somewhat disturbing, paragon of virtue could hardly fail to impress. The Pope, Martin V, invited him to take command of the Greek armies of Emperor Manuel II Palaeologus in the war against the Turks. Sigis-mund, Emperor of Germany, offered him the command of his army in the field. Even the King of Castile, his father’s former enemy, asked for help in ridding Granada of the Moors.
    Henry V of England, whose ideal was a Christian hero and leader like King Arthur, offered him command of the English armies in a war against the infidel. Henry V (whose last wish was that he might live to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem) saw perhaps in his Portuguese cousin the qualities that he respected more than any other. If one were searching for a parallel character in British history to Henry of Portugal, Henry V is perhaps as close