God Wills It! A Tale of the First Crusade

"Fellow! fellow!" began Tancred, pricking up his ears, "a Christian, and yet the private messenger of the infidels?"

"Yes, Cid," was the ready answer, "I have, alas!"—another great sigh—"been false to my faith and apostatized; yet I said in my heart, 'Let me go with these messengers, and by betraying them to the Franks, undo my own sin and gain liberty among Christian people.'"

"By St. Theodore," swore Tancred, "you speak smoothly; if it is as you say, you shall not go unrewarded, and Bishop Adhemar shall give you full absolution."

"Even so, Cid," replied the Arab, whose hands Richard had set at liberty, but who made no effort to fly. "Put to torture this Turk, my companion; he will confess all that I have told."

"You are a stout-limbed varlet," commented Bohemond, the sly-eyed Prince of Tarentum; "you shall serve with me in my suite as guide and interpreter, for language and country you must know well." But the Arab only bowed, and answered:—

"My lord is a fountain of generosity, yet it is my desire to seek service with the husband of that very noble lady the Princess Mary Kurkuas, who it is told is the great emir, Richard Longsword."

"St. Michael," burst out Richard, "I am he! Yet why do you call my wife by name?"

The stranger salaamed almost to the dust.

"God is gracious beyond my sins in granting so noble a lord as husband of the daughter of my dear master. Know that fifteen years past, before the Moslems took Antioch, I was house-servant to Manuel Kurkuas, 'domestic' of Syria. Oftentimes have I held the very august princess on my knee, and even in her childhood all declared she was of beauty passing St. Thecla."

Richard had only to hear one praise Mary Kurkuas to become that man's friend straightway. And he put his hand on the hilt of Trenchefer, taking oath upon the relics that if the stranger, who called himself Hossein, told an honest tale, he should never lack a patron. Only Tancred, viewing the Arab with his sea-green eyes, was heard to remark, "This fellow invokes the saints glibly, but his faith has more profession in it than is to my liking."

However, when they brought the two before Duke Godfrey and threatened the Turk with torture, he broke down and told the interpreter a tale exactly like Hossein's—that Kilidge Arslan waited in the mountains with a great host and would fall on the besiegers the next day. So the Arab's credit was high when Richard brought him to the tent of his wife. Hossein cast one glance upon her, and fell upon his knees, kissing her robe and crying:—

"Praises, praises to St. John of Damascus! I behold the daughter of my beloved lord Manuel, and God has verily clothed her as an angel of light!"

"Good man," said the Greek, a little confused, "I know you not. When have you served my father?"

"O preëminently august lady!" broke forth the Arab again. "Do you not remember Hossein, who was in the Cæsar Manuel's palace at Antioch? How he told you the tales of his people and sang you the wondrous song of Antar, and the stories of the jinns and the spirits of the air?"

"I was indeed in Antioch when my father ruled the city, but I was very young. I recall nothing," replied Mary.

"Alas! I had hopes your memory had not failed," declared Hossein, still kneeling; "yet it is true, O noblest of the Greeks, you were very young. Enough; my devotion can repay the daughter what I owe to the father. For the most excellent Cæsar saved me from cruel death at the hands of the infidels, my fellow-countrymen."

"You are an honorable man," said the lady, touched at his demonstration, "to discharge a debt incurred so long ago. Perhaps"—and she ran over all her early girlhood in her memory—"I recall something of you, yet my father had many servants. I crave pardon if I forget. And how have you fared all this while among the Turks?"

Whereupon Hossein flew into the most pitiful tale as to his life of captivity and persecution, so that the lady's eyes grew wet, and her heart right sore.

"Good Christian," said she, at last, "surely you have endured much for your faith. God grant that under like persecution I do not apostatize more deeply. And what may I do for you? Have you home, friends, kin?"

"Alas! most august princess, Heaven has taken all away. Let me be your slave, your bodyguard, and sleep without your tent by night with a naked sword. Perilous times await, and"—here he choked in his speech—"the foe shall only touch you by stepping across my poor body!"

"You are a noble and pious man," said Mary, smiling. "It shall be as you say. I will ask the Baron to make you my guardsman." Whereupon Hossein invoked all the saints of the calendar to witness his delight; and the princess had her varlets and maids clothe and feed him. When Herbert and Theroulde came to look at him, however, they wagged their heads; and Sylvana, the nurse, who went wherever her mistress went, came boldly to Mary, saying:—

"Save for his pious talk, we all swear this man is infidel. I knew all your father's servants at Antioch, and he was not of them."

But Mary answered her sharply:—

"Must one have a white skin to love Our Lord? No man could come before me with such a lie. Your memory fails you. The Cæsar had a great household. Besides, this Hossein has just revealed all the plots of Kilidge Arslan, and my husband says he is to be trusted." The word of Richard Longsword was not to be contradicted before his wife, as Sylvana knew well; so she held her peace. Only Theroulde arranged with Herbert that one of them should always watch their lady's tent along with the suspected Hossein.

But the Arab's revelations proved true to the letter. On the next day, while Raymond of Toulouse with the rear of the Provençals was making his way to camp, three huge bands of Seljouk cavalry swooped down on them and on the forces of Duke Godfrey. Then followed a battle of the true knightly sort, the Turks trying what they became too wise to attempt again,—to ride down the Franks in fair onset, with sheer weight of numbers. Long and fierce the struggle; every Christian chief proved a paladin. Generalship there was not; every baron and his knights fought his own little battle with the hordesmen confronting. Then in the end the surviving Seljouks were driven from the field like smoke; the heads of their fallen comrades slung into Nicæa by the engines, forewarning of what awaited the garrison. There were masses for the Christian dead, the first martyrs; Te Deums for the victory. Richard Longsword, men cried, had slain as many infidels as Duke Godfrey's self. When he stood in his bloody hauberk before Mary that night, she cast her arms about him and kissed him, saying: "O sweet lord, how beautiful you must be in battle! How God must rejoice in your holy service!"

"Dear life," answered Longsword, pressing her to his mailed breast, "it is when I think of the pure saint on earth who is praying for me that my arm grows strong."

"Then it must be very strong, Richard," said she, with half a laugh, half a sob, "for I love you more than words may tell; and my prayers are many and all for you."

So they were glad that evening,—at least all who had not lost a friend. But when Mary had gone to rest, Herbert talked gravely with Richard.

"Little lord," said he, affectionately, "put no trust in this Hossein. The saints are on his tongue, yet he stumbled when Sebastian tried to make him say the Creed, even in his own Arabic; and Theroulde swears that to-night when he thought none watched, he knelt toward Mecca in Moslem fashion, as if to pray, and muttered the incantations of their Al-Koran."

Richard laughed. "Theroulde smells danger at all times; and Sebastian thinks, to speak Arabic is to squint toward perdition. Hossein has revealed a secret which has given the infidels the mightiest stroke that was theirs since Charlemagne marched to Spain. And yet you accuse him of being one of them? Have shame for your suspicions on a persecuted fellow-Christian! Treat him as a brother, and pray that your own souls be in no greater peril than his."

"Nevertheless—" began Herbert.

"I hear no more," replied his master, abruptly; "I must go to rest. A cursed story told by Count Renard's jongleur runs in my head;—how Robert the Norman and his father, King William, once fought hand to hand, helmets closed, and Robert nigh killed his father ere they knew one another. St. Michael, what if Musa and I should meet thus! But I must sleep."

Herbert grumbled long to himself, and Theroulde and he renewed their vow never to leave Hossein a moment alone to work his own devices.

CHAPTER XXV

HOW DUKE GODFREY SAVED THE DAY

The host lay before Nicæa many a weary day before the starved and despairing garrison declared for Emperor Alexius and the Franks saw the Greek standards floating from the battlements. Loud was the rage against this trick that robbed them of the plunder of so fair a city. "Back to Constantinople!" howled the men-at-arms and petty nobles. "The Greeks are schismatics and scarce better than Moslem!" But the judicious presents of Alexius silenced the cries of the chiefs, and they in turn controlled their people, though from that hour little love was wasted on the Emperor. On the twenty-fifth day of June the Army of the Cross struck its tents about Nicæa, and set out for the march across Phrygia, through the heart of the dominions of Kilidge Arslan.

Soon after starting the host divided; for water and forage would be none too plentiful, the guides said, in the plains and mountains before, and to keep together might mean ruin. So Duke Godfrey led away the larger half of the army with Raymond, Adhemar, and Hugh the Great; while the second corps followed Bohemond, Tancred, and Robert of Normandy. Being himself Norman, Longsword went with this last division, although he would gladly have kept company with the Duke of Bouillon. He was ill pleased to see with how little order each host marched, and how scant was the effort to keep close enough each to the other for help in case of need. Still, for a day or two, all went well. They passed through a pleasant rolling country, with abundant grass and water. All the villages, to be sure, had been burned by the Turks, and scarce a peasant met them. But around them like an invisible net the Sultan's light-horsemen hovered, and now and then the long line of baggage mules and plodding infantry would be attacked, a few beasts hamstrung, a few footmen wounded, before the knights could charge out and chase the Seljouks over the hills. On the third day, however, the attacks grew more violent. Longsword had been sent back by Bohemond to cover the trailing rear-guard, where were the staggering sick, the defenceless jongleurs, and the women in heavy carriages. As the afternoon advanced, he sent a message to the Count of Chartres that unless he had speedy succor his St. Julien men could not hold back the thickening squadrons; and quick as the reënforcements came, there was a sturdy mêlée—lance to lance, sword to cimeter—before the Turks broke. When at last they were flying, Richard pushed the sure-footed Rollo up a hill where any horse saving he would have stumbled; and behold, from the hilltop Longsword could see a score of heavy dust clouds rising, north, south, east, west,—cavalry galloping. When he rode down he met Tancred himself.

"Fair lord," was his report, "the infidels surely plan to attack us in force to-morrow. If my eyes are good, there are thousands of Turkish horse around us. Kilidge Arslan must have called round him all his easternmost hordes, and intends battle. I advise that before nightfall a strong escort be sent to Duke Godfrey, bidding him hasten to our relief."

"By the Mass!" swore Tancred, his knightly honor touched. "Of all men, you, De St. Julien, should be the last to cry 'Rescue!' We are well able to scatter Kilidge Arslan's thousands, and Godfrey shall rob us of no glory."

So Richard held his peace, though for some strange reason his heart was not as gay as it should have been when about to engage in glorious battle with the infidel. He accompanied the rear as it toiled into the encampment, already plotted by the van. Longsword saw with anxiety that, though the camp was protected in the rear by a reedy marsh, and on one side by a shallow stream, no palisades were being raised, nor any other defences. The weary men set their tents as they might, lighted fires, feasted, and were asleep, heavy with the toilsome march. Mary Kurkuas stood at the tent door as was her wont, and greeted her husband.

"You ran more than your share of peril to-day. The fighting was hard. Ah! I was frightened."

"Ai!" cried Richard, taking off his heavy helm, "if I never come nearer death than to-day, like a stork I shall live to be a thousand. But there is a bandage on your wrist—what? blood?" and his face grew troubled.

"Yes," answered Mary, smiling now, and holding up the wrist. "While you were so valiantly guarding the rear, a squadron of Turks flew out of a defile just before us, and ere Prince Bohemond could ride up with his knights, had charged very close, shooting arrows."

"Mother of Mercies, you were in danger! But were you frightened?"

"Not till it was all past. For Hossein sprang in front of me, at his own peril, and covered me with his target, catching three shafts upon it otherwise meant for me. Then the Prince flew up with his band and chased the Turks away; and I found that my wrist was bleeding where a barb had scratched."

"Ha, Herbert!" cried his master, "will not my lady make a noble cavalier? She wins honorable wounds; she shall have lance and hauberk, and ride beside me. As for Hossein, what do you say? Be he Moslem or Christian, he has shielded your mistress at risk of life." The man-at-arms scratched the thin hairs on his crown.

"True; perchance I have wronged him. Yet yesterday we could not persuade him to taste a bit of pork, and he has that cast of eye which 'wise women' call malignant."

"You are all suspicions and jealousy," declared Mary, pouting. "Did I let you, I believe you would clap Hossein in fetters."

"I would I saw them on his wrists!" muttered the veteran, as he went away to his supper. But Richard and Mary sat a long time before their tent, sipping the spiced wine of Lesbos they had brought from Constantinople, and watching the stars peep out one by one from the deepening sky. The camp buzzed all about, yet dimly, as if each man was in love with quiet. It was very warm, and the soft wind bore the scent of drying wild-flowers and parching heather, as it crept down from the sun-loved uplands. It was a sweet and peaceful hour, one which stayed as a pure and holy vision in both their minds for many a long, sad day.

"Sweetheart," said Richard, when they grew tired of counting the budding stars, "though Prince Tancred and the rest will not hear it, there will be a mighty battle to-morrow. I have seen Kilidge Arslan's hosts all around us. We shall fight in the morning as never at Nicæa."

"Ah! Richard," answered Mary, still in laughing mood, "you must let me ride with you. See!"—and she caught the dagger from his belt—"can I not strike as manfully as any dapper little squire, and make the infidels flee before me, as ever did your Frank hero, great Roland?"

"Verily," cried her husband, his eyes on her face, "I think if the Moslems saw you coming, they would drop every man his sword,—your darts would pierce them."

"My darts?" asked she.

"Yes, truly,—these," and he laid his fingers on her eyes.

"No," was the answer, and she shook him off. "Listen: my eyes are my sorrow,—first, because they captured the Baron de St. Julien, who deserves no such bondage;" then, more gravely, "next, because they nigh undid Louis de Valmont; and last—O Richard! still I have mighty fear of Iftikhar Eddauleh; he is seeking your life, and God knows whether his unholy passion for me is still in his heart! Swear, swear to me, Richard, that rather with your own hands you will take my life than suffer me to fall into that man's power. He is Moslem, but on that account I do not hate him; yet death were better than to be his bride!"

Richard was accustomed to these changing flashes of gay and grave; but he knew there was no common ring of entreaty in Mary's last words, and he answered very soberly:—

"Heart of my heart, I am here in all my strength, with Trenchefer at my side, and around are thousands of good Christian knights. When they are all slain, and I also, then you may fear Iftikhar Eddauleh. Till then, think of likelier things to dread."

Mary was silent, watching the stars for a moment, then replied:—

"You say well, Richard, you are very strong. I am proud of you. Yet I have a strange fear that all your strength cannot shield me from Iftikhar. But no more of my folly,—perchance I am moonstruck. Let me go to the tent, to say one prayer to the Holy Mother to keep you safe to-morrow, and then to sleep, to dream how happy we shall be when we go back to France."

So he kissed her; and when the flaps of the tent had closed behind her and her maids, he called Hossein.

"Good fellow, to-morrow we expect battle. To-day you have been a gallant guard of the princess. Remain by her to-morrow; defend her with your life. As I live, if you do your duty, reward shall not fail."

"Cid," answered the Arab, kissing the Baron's feet, "I hear and obey. I swear, on my head, no unfriendly hand shall touch your very noble wife."

As Richard looked about, he saw Theroulde standing in the firelight. "And you, too, Sir Minstrel," said he, "shall stand guard with Hossein over your lady." As he spoke, he thought he heard a low curse, "Eblees confound him!" burst from under Hossein's breath. "Ha! What said you, Arab?" asked Longsword.

"I was but sighing as I thought of my many sins, Cid," answered the fellow, very dutifully.

Richard did not reply, but repeated to himself ere he fell asleep: "It is as well Theroulde will be with Mary. Despite everything, I mislike this Hossein, for some reason."

Richard slept heavily, and was awakened by a hand on the shoulder. It was the St. Julien knight, De Carnac, who commanded the watch of his baron's command.

"Up, fair lord!" the warrior was urging, "the Seljouks are closing round. Our sentinels are being driven in. I am bidden summon you to council with the Prince of Tarentum." And with this Richard staggered to his feet and stared around. It was very dark in the tent as he put on hauberk and helmet. Without there was hum of many voices, distant shouting, baggage cattle chafing and clinking their chains, and presently a clear French war-cry, doubly piercing in the night, "Montjoye Saint Denis!" A moment later a trumpet blared out, then another and another.

Richard stepped from the tent; the sky was graying in the east; encampment—men, horses, all—were vague black shadows just visible. He was buckling fast Trenchefer when the flaps of the next tent parted, and forth came a figure—his wife. In the dim twilight he could only see the whiteness of her bare throat and the soft, unbound hair, waving on forehead and shoulders. She came to him, and embraced him without a word. Then at last she said, "Now, dear life, you must ride out and fight God's battle, and if I cannot gallop at your side, you shall know that my heart and my prayers ride with you; and you must be very brave and very strong, and I will wait here and be brave also."

"Ah! beautiful," answered he, before he swung into the saddle of the waiting Rollo, "God will have pity on me for your dear sake. You know no words can tell you all I feel."

"Our Lord be with you!" and with that word upon her lips she kissed him; and he mounted, took lance, and rode away, with all the St. Julien men saving a few grooms, also Theroulde and Hossein, who were to remain by the tents.

With the breath of the last kiss on his lips, and his head held very high, Richard Longsword led his troop out of the gray maze of the encampment. Battle was before him—a great battle against countless infidels, such as he and his peers had often made merry to think of; yet Longsword felt no joy that morning. Fear for himself he had none; the battle might sweep over him, the war-horns blow his funeral mass—what matter? Yet in a way his heart was sad. It would have been better had Mary remained at La Haye; better were he to fight for himself and the cause of Christ alone. But he knew not why he should grieve. That the Seljouks should so prevail over the soldiers of the Cross as to menace the encampment, scarce entered his head. Only he had been happier, could he have recalled his command to Hossein, taken the Arab in his troops, left another to guard the lady. But the fellow had twice proved his devotion. Why mistrust? And all such thoughts sped from his mind when he saw, dimly ahead, armed cavaliers sitting on their tall destrers, and Prince Bohemond's voice called:—

"Who rides? De St. Julien?"

"The same, my lord prince; what news?"

"Praise St. Michael, you are here! We need all our wits. The infidels are closing round, and dark as it is we can hear the hoof-beats of tens of thousands. We must prepare for battle with the dawn."

"And have you taken my advice, my Lord Tancred," asked Richard, "and sent messengers to the Duke?"

"Two knights and ten men-at-arms have ridden an hour since," replied Tancred, for he was among the horsemen. "Yet I would vow Our Lady two gold candlesticks, were I sure they could get through the hordes. You may mock me, De St. Julien, if you will, for not heeding your warning last evening."

"Mockery is of little profit this morning, my lord," said Richard, soberly; "how may I serve you?"

But at this moment came another cavalier, in armor that gleamed in the wan light, and behind him a great train.

"Hail, fair Duke Robert!" cried Bohemond; "what news do your outposts bring you?"

The son of William the Conqueror swore a deep Norman oath, and replied: "In my quarter arrows pelt like hailstones; all the fiends are broke loose. They only wait the light to strike us. God grant we are all well shriven, for we may sleep with the saints ere another morning!"

"Fair lords," said Tancred, "we must go to our posts and array the battle. De St. Julien, bid the varlets and footmen place the baggage wagons round the camp, to make what barricade they may. After that, put your men at my right, for by the Virgin, we shall see stout fighting!"

So the council broke up, there being nothing to advise save to fight heartily. Richard sent the heralds through the camp and, with cry and trumpet, roused the sleeping host, though the alarms of the night already had waked many. A great confusion there was: a thousand voices shouting at once, women wailing, war-horns blaring, wheels creaking, all trebly loud in the murk of the breaking day. Long before the wagon barrier, also, was as it should be, a great cry began to swell: "The foe! the foe!" and the infantry commenced to bang their shields and clatter their pike-staffs, for discipline was none the best. Richard rode away with his hundred St. Julien troopers,—men that he could trust to the last pinch,—and drew them up beside the personal command of Prince Tancred. Prince Bohemond and the Norman Duke had arrayed their mailed cavalry in a solid rank, the line stretching far down the plain, every man in complete armor, with a good horse between his knees. As the light strengthened, Richard could see the long files of lances, ten thousand bright pennons whipping the wind, and the new sun shone on as many burnished casques and flashing targets—noble sight; yet not so strange as that which he beheld when he looked northward just east of the little town called Dorylæum. The hills, so far as eye could reach, were covered with an innumerable host, thousands on thousands, and all on horseback. He could see the gay red and green turbans, the bright scarfs and mantles, pennons, banners—past counting; and even as the sun lifted above the hills, and sent its weird red light over the valley, a mighty roar of tambour, kettledrum, and cymbal came rolling from the foe, and a shout from myriad throats, wild, beastlike, shrill as the winter wind. With the shout, as if at magician's wand, all the hills seemed moving; and the Seljouk hordes charged straight upon the Christian lines.

It was a wondrous spectacle; far as the eye might pierce, only horsemen, and more horsemen, speeding at headlong gallop. "Christ pity us!" more than one bronze-faced cavalier muttered in his beard. And some cried, "Charge!" But Tancred held them steady. The hordes swept on as one man, nearer, so near that the dust-cloud blew in the Christians' faces; and all braced themselves for the shock. But just as the crash was about to tremble on the air, lo! the foremost Turks had wheeled like lightning, and arrows flew out that darkened the sky by their number. And as the first horde rolled off to one flank, still shooting, the next, the next, and yet another whirled past, pouring forth their volleys.