God Wills It! A Tale of the First Crusade

Mary's eyes were fastened on the silver cups; were they brimmed with nectar of the old Greek gods that they should charm her so? She heard her heart-beats, and bated her breath while Morgiana continued: "You wish to be free. So do I. Life is terrible to you; only when you sleep is there peace, fair visions, joy. Do you know, I had resolved, when I learned Iftikhar was bringing you to Aleppo, that you should drink of sherbet from my hands the first night of all; and wake—where even Iftikhar's eagle eye could never follow you?"

"Holy Mother! why did you spare me?" came across Mary's teeth.

"Why? Because, when I saw you pure as a lily of the spring, and so fair that the rose blushed in redder shame before you, and knew that your sorrow passed mine,—I had no will to kill you. Yes, your very love for death disarmed my hate. And now?"—she pointed to the cups.

Mary felt herself held captive as her spellbound gaze followed Morgiana.

The Arabian knelt by the marble slab; took up the two cups; held them forth.

"Mary, Star of the Greeks," said Morgiana, looking straight into the Christian's eyes, "you believe in God; that He is good; that He orders all things well. Be it so. Then either He ordains that you spend your life the slave of Iftikhar, or that you be free. Either He ordains that I should possess Iftikhar, and he me—me only, or that I should flit far hence, where pang and remembrance of my loss can never follow. Therefore I say this. Here are two cups, alike as two drops of the spraying fountain. In one,—but I say not which,—I have placed the pellet of the Indian drug. The cups I cannot tell apart, save as I remember. You shall take the cups. I leave the room. You shall place them where you will, only so that I may forget which has received the magic pellet. I will then return. You shall drink of one, whichever you choose,—I the other. We shall kiss one another three times, lie down on the divan, and rest. Whom Allah wills, shall awake beyond the stars; whom Allah wills, shall awake in El Halebah! All is left to God. There is no taste, no pang; only sleep, sweet as a child on its mother's arm. For every day my love for you grows; but every day my heart says, 'Except Mary the Christian and Morgiana the Moslem be sundered by seven seas, woe—only woe—for both!'" Still the Greek did not reply. What were these visions flitting before her eyes? Not the birds; not the feathery palm groves waving beneath the palace walls. All her past life was there,—her father's stately house in Constantinople; the glory of the great city; the wild scenes of the escape to Sicily; Richard Longsword plucking her from the Berbers; the tourney—De Valmont in his blood; the hour when Richard touched her lips with the first kiss; the marriage; the last sight of her husband in the morning twilight at Dorylæum. Scene upon scene, a wild, moving pageant; yet behind all seemed to hover the shadow of Iftikhar—Iftikhar, the cause of sorrow and tears unnumbered. Still Morgiana held out the cups. "Taste!" she was saying. "You cannot tell. All is in the hands of God,—whether you bow your head to your fate, or to-night the moonbeams are your pillow; or whether I am escaped from all my heartache; can flit over your couch on unseen wing, and teach you to endure, as best you may, till the hour comes when hand in hand we can fly up the path of the sun and join in the dance of the winds."

As bidden, Mary touched her finger first in one cup then in the other, placing each drop in turn on her lips. The same—she might have drained both goblets and known no difference. Truly the issue was with God! And still Morgiana proffered.

"Take; we have been dear sisters together. How can I bless Allah when I desire to love you so, yet know that your life is misery to me, as misery to you? You have many times said you prayed for death."

And then Mary spoke, a wondrous spell binding her:—

"Not so, Morgiana,—unfair. Why should I live and you die? Let me drink alone of this blessed drug that makes the heart cease bleeding. And you may live—live and be glad with Iftikhar."

Morgiana shook her raven-black hair, and spoke with an awful smile.

"Always is death sweet—I will not shun it, if Allah so wills. All I know is, we twain cannot live together; not in this world. Perhaps it is the Most High's will that I should go out, and you remain to give joy to Iftikhar. We leave all to Him. Then let us drink; and each await the other. Therefore—take." Mary had received the cups. "Place them where and as you will; I return speedily." And Morgiana was gone. The Greek gazed on the magic liquor as though on her lover's face. Almost she seemed to feel herself transformed, transfigured; clothed with wings white as swans' sails, and soaring upward, upward into perfect freedom. She saw her father, her mother,—that fair angel face of childish years. She thought of Richard Longsword. There would be no time for her, while awaiting the golden morning when her husband could look upon her face with naught to dread. Did thus God will? She had set the cups on the railing by the windows. "Come back!" was her call to Morgiana. The Arab glided straight to the cups; took one; lifted to her lips. "Let Allah have pity on one of us!" her words. But as Mary's hand stretched out to do the like, she gave a mighty cry. Her goblet fell: the other was dashed from Morgiana's hand.

"Dear God! What do we?" cried the Greek. "Spare me this temptation! Nor do you commit this wickedness. Never shall we so tempt God. Though the grief be a thousand times more great, yet will I trust His mercy. I am a Christian, and Our Lord did not hang on the tree in vain to make us strong to bear. Death would be sweet. But had we God's wisdom, our present pangs would seem nothing, hid in the speeding ages of joy. Let us, each after our manner, call on God to show us pity. But never shall one of us stand before His face unsummoned, and cry, 'I am too weak to bear what Thou appointest!'"

Morgiana's face flushed livid; she staggered back.

"Then let Allah, if He may, have mercy; our need is great!"—such her cry from twitching lips. But as the words came, Mary saw the Arab's eyes set in a glassy stare; the lithe form fell heavily. Mary caught her round the waist, and laid her on the marble floor by the fountain; then dashed water in her face, and shouted for help.

Help came—the under-eunuchs, Hakem, Zeyneb; and finally Iftikhar, lordly and splendid, in a suit of perfectly plain black armor with two white hawks' wings nodding on his helmet, spurred and girded as for a foray. The eunuchs brought cordials, strong waters, and pungent perfumes. But Iftikhar first knelt by Morgiana's side, drew forth the little red vial, and laid the magic, fiery drops upon her tongue. The Arab shook herself; her form relaxed; the eyes opened. They bore her into a room leading from the aviary, and propped her on the divan cushions. Not till then did Iftikhar speak a word. Now one gesture sent all save the two women and Zeyneb from the chamber, when the emir broke forth:—

"In the name of Allah Omnipotent, what means this, Morgiana? I demand it; speak!"

And the Arab answered with her gaze full on Iftikhar.

"Cid, I asked Mary the Greek to drink out of one of two goblets, in one of which was a sleeping potion from which the sleeper awakens never. She refused, saying it were better to endure than to tempt the Most High. That is all."

A flash of terrible rage crossed the emir's face. "Witch! sorceress! Have you sought to make the Greek take her life? As the Most High lives, you shall be impaled!"

"Peace, master," said Mary, gently. "I have refused her proffer. Be assured I will find strength to bear until I see once more my true husband, or having endured your unholy will, in God's own time I die."

But at the word the face of Iftikhar was blackened with yet deeper fury. "Your husband!" came thickly. "Yes, master," answered the Greek; "for, living or dying, Richard de St. Julien is my true husband."

Iftikhar cut her short: "Dying? What if dead?"

A frightful suspicion crossed Mary's mind. It was her face that was pallid now. But Iftikhar reassured her with a forced laugh: "Ya, how easy to tell you, 'Richard, the Frankish barbarian, whose sport is slaying guileless boys, has gone to his long account in the fighting around Antioch.' But I say to you, he lives, and I go to Antioch to seek his life."

The Greek was herself once more. Very steadily she answered: "Master, let God judge Richard de St. Julien for slaying Gilbert de Valmont, since Zeyneb I see has learned and told the tale. But let God also judge Iftikhar Eddauleh, who is mightier with the dagger of his underlings than with his own sword, and who finds iron lances as light in his hand as those of reed."

The words of the Greek were slingstones whirled in the emir's face. In the blindness of his fury he sprang toward her, and struck. The woman tottered, recovered; then tore back the muslin from her neck and shoulders:—

"Strike!" cried she, "strike again! Are you not master? Are you not lord of this body of mine you so lust after? What is a little pain, a few blows, beside what I ever bear!"

Iftikhar's muscles grew tense as springing steel when he reined in his passion. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky: "Woman, you drive me to all bounds. You do well to call me 'master.' Truly I am, as you shall own with sorrow, if not with joy. But two evenings past you were queen, with the heir of Hassan Sabah your slave. But now—" he was silent, but broke forth again—"my pledge to you is at an end. You are mine. I will break your will, if I may not win it. You still hold the face of Richard Longsword dear?"

"Yes, by every saint!" flashed the defiant Greek.

"Hark, then," was the laugh of hate; "I go soon to Antioch in company with the great host Kerbogha of Mosul gathers to rescue Yaghi-Sian besieged by the Christians. I go second in command, with the twelve thousand 'devoted' of Syria, to whom death is less than sleep, who can stanch thirst with the vapor from the sunburned sand, whose steeds find food sniffing the desert blast. We will gird round the Franks tight as a ring girds the finger. I know the bull valor of your Christians. But they shall die as die the flies, or fall one and all our prey—prisoners. And Richard Longsword—"

"Look him fairly in the face—as at Dorylæum!" cried the Greek, in hot scorn. "As at Dorylæum!"

"And Richard Longsword," continued Iftikhar, still steadily, "as surely as the sun moves from east to west, I will slay in battle, or, taking alive, you shall see him my captive. Yes; by the brightness of Allah! When I go to Antioch, you go also; with your own eyes you shall see the fate of those Franks you love. You shall see Richard borne asunder on the cimeters of the 'devoted' or haled fettered before me."

He paused, expecting an outburst. None! The Greek was standing proudly, her head poised high, eyes very bright.

"And at the end you shall indeed touch the head of your Richard. The head,—for you shall hear the crier traverse the city, proclaiming, 'He who would amuse himself, come to the great square,—the body of Richard the Frank is exposed to the dogs!'"

Mary took two steps toward the Ismaelian; her voice was low; she was pale, but did not tremble.

"Lord Iftikhar, if God suffered and you placed even now the head of Richard Longsword in my arms, rest assured I would kiss it with never so much love. For I would know a brave and noble spirit waited on high till it were granted me to stand at his side, all his sins washed white by God's mercy. But, my Cid, better to think of bearding the lion than of celebrating the hunting. For, hear my word; go to Antioch, you, the 'devoted,' the hordes of Kerbogha,—go all, and meet there men with a love for God in their hearts, a heaven-sped strength in their good arms. Not with dagger and stealth shall you meet; but man to man, breast to breast, sword to sword,—and Christ shall conquer!"

"Silence!" tossed out the emir, losing self-control.

"Well you cry 'silence'! First silence your own dark soul—silence reproach for blood spilled wantonly, for tears your deeds have made to flow. At heart you Ismaelians believe in no God! Believe then in devils; tremble! For many await you! And this you shall find: men can die for Christ no less than for Allah! Aye, and can live for Christ; by His strength, make you Moslems die! As for me I shall not die; in some strange way, by some strange voice, I am warned God will save me utterly; and I shall see you blasted, stricken, accursed—and that were joy of joys!"

Mary's voice had risen higher, fiercer; her hands outstretched in imprecation. Before the wild gust of her passion Iftikhar had shrunk back like a timid beast. For a moment the Greek was master, queen as never before. Then sudden as the flame had flashed, it died. Mary stood with drooping head, silent, statue-like.

"Away! From my sight!" commanded Iftikhar. His captive did not move. Hakem had reëntered.

"Take her away," cried his master; "keep her close,—let her lack nothing; but as Allah lives, her will shall bow. Let her go to Antioch when I go; but I will not see her face again until I can show her Richard Longsword dead or my captive. And now—begone!"

Mary followed the eunuch with never a word. But Morgiana, silent long, broke forth:—

"Cid—seek no more blood in private quarrel. Keep the Greek. I do not pray for her or for me. But for your own sake—for you who are still the light of my soul, despite all the wrongs—do not go to Antioch. Ruin awaits you there. Even the 'devoted' shall fail. True is Citt Mary's warning. Allah will fight with the Christians. Leave Kerbogha to the decree of doom; leave to doom Richard Longsword. I have said it—ruin, woe awaits at Antioch. I have said it, and my warnings never fail!"

Iftikhar swore a great oath.

"Then by Allah that liveth and reigneth ever, they shall fail now! Let doom decree what it will, to Antioch I go, and to Gehenna speeds Richard Longsword!"

He turned on his heel, while she made no reply.

"Zeyneb," quoth he to the ever ready dwarf, "in your head are hid half my wits. You are a faithful servant. In my cause you would outwit Eblees' self. I declare, by the great name of Allah said thrice, when they proclaim Iftikhar the kalif, they shall proclaim Zeyneb the vizier."

The dwarf wagged his ears after his wont, to show how highly he prized such praise.

"In a few days," continued the grand prior, "I go to join Kerbogha. You know all my plans, my secrets. While at Antioch there may come to El Halebah from Alamont and our other strongholds messages needing instant despatch. You must answer. I give you this signet: seal them in Hassan Sabah's own name."

Iftikhar drew from his bosom a tiny silk bag, and took forth a ring set with a single emerald, worth an emir's treasure house.

"The ring of Hassan Sabah!" exclaimed the dwarf.

"Mashallah! is it not a talisman?" came the reply. "Graven with the sign of the 'dirk and the cord,' no Ismaelian dare refuse anything commanded by the bearer, whosoever he be, under pain of forfeit of the pearl-walled pavilion of Paradise. Even the bidding of a grand prior, except he be present in person to order otherwise, is over-ridden by a fisherman wearing this ring. Therefore guard as the apple of your eye. Place it in the strong box where I keep my gems; only wear the key about your neck."

The dwarf knelt and kissed his master's robe.

"Cid, you overwhelm me with your confidence! How may I requite?"

Iftikhar only laughed carelessly; the dwarf's eye roved round the room.

"Morgiana has seen and heard," suddenly he whispered.

The grand prior's answer was a second laugh. Then he added: "Morgiana? She would shed half her blood before twittering such a secret. Smell out greater dangers, my Zeyneb!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

HOW EYBEK TURNED GRAY

"And how is it with the Star of the Greeks?" repeated Musa, while Richard Longsword's face grew gnarled as a mountain oak. At the Norman's silence, the Arab also became grave as death, and in a whisper that scarce left his throat, he asked:—

"As you are my friend, tell me, was it in the mountains where they say you suffered so from thirst? or in the camp where was the plague and fever?"

Richard shook his head; then at last came the words:—

"She lives—at least I fear so!"

"Allah the Compassionate!" was the Spaniard's cry, "you 'fear' she lives?"

The Norman's casqued head was bent upon the shaggy mane of Rollo; he groaned in his agony:—

"Mother of Christ, pity me, if I be not beyond all pity! In the great battle at Dorylæum, of which you must have heard, our camp was stormed. I was away summoning help from Duke Godfrey. Before the Turks were driven out, they made prisoners."

"Prisoners! Allah pity us indeed!" Musa rocked in his saddle, and pressed his hands to his head. But Richard drove straight forward, having begun his tale. "I continued in the chase of the Seljouks. My horse ran ahead of the rest. I saw a squadron of riders clothed in white, not Turks, but Arabs. I saw that the leader of the band was holding a woman before him on his saddle. I was almost measuring swords with him, when my horse failed. I returned to camp torn with forebodings, and found—" But here he stopped, even he startled at the agony written on the Andalusian's face.

"Tell it all, dear brother," said Musa, raising his head by a mighty effort.

"I found that Iftikhar Eddauleh and a band of his infamous Ismaelians had led the storming of the camps. He had carried Mary away in his flight; and at this moment she is in his harem,—his slave, till God may have pity on her innocency and let her die." Then Richard told Musa why he had pursued Hossein, and the Spaniard called on his men to join in the chase of the fugitive, who had not taken refuge among them, but had flown on as swift as his steed could carry. But the Ismaelian seemed to have bidden the earth open, and it had swallowed him. So after futile search the whole party turned toward Antioch; and Musa explained that he came against the Christians with no hostile intent, but as commander of the armed escort of the embassy the Egyptian Kalif Mustaali was sending the Crusaders. For the Egyptians, as Musa explained, had little love for the Turks, since the Turks were the foes of Ali, successor of the Prophet, whom the Egyptians venerated. Moreover, twenty years before, the Seljouks had plundered to the very gates of Cairo. And now that Mustaali had conquered Jerusalem and Palestine from the Turks, he would be glad to strike hands with the Christians, and grant them free access to the Holy City, if only it could remain in his hands. Therefore he had sent a pompous embassy of fifteen deputies to proffer the Crusaders honorable peace or deadly war. "And do you imagine, O brother," said Richard, when he had heard this, and they were riding on together, "that we Franks will have anything less than the complete mastery of the Holy City, or be turned back by the threats of your kalif?"

"Allah is all-knowing," was the gloomy reply. "I forewarned the Vizier Afdhal that nothing would come of this; for have I not seen your France with my own eyes? But I can only obey. The smooth speeches I leave to the deputies." Then, with a quick turn: "As Allah lives, I can think of nothing but of what you have told me. Mary Kurkuas the slave of Iftikhar,—of Iftikhar! O Allah, if indeed Thou art omnipotent and merciful, why may such things be?"

"Peace, sweet brother," said the Christian, gently. "I am trying to learn to bow to the will of God. Do not make my task harder. Mary Kurkuas was my wife; but what was she to you?"

"What to me?" The words came across Musa's white teeth so quickly that he had spoken ere he could set bridle to his tongue. Then slowly, with a soft rhythm and melody attuned so well by his rich voice, he answered: "What to me? Shall I say it again; are you not my brother, is not Mary the Greek my sister? Are not your joys my joys; your sorrows—what sorrows are they not!—mine? Allah pity me; my heart is sad, sad. And what have you done to seek for her?" So Richard told as well as he might of his questionings of the prisoners, and of the report that Iftikhar had gone to Persia, to Alamont the trysting-place of the Ismaelians. But Musa shook his head at this.

"Either the man spoke false or was ignorant. I am close to the gossip of the court at Cairo. Iftikhar is in Syria. He keeps still, lest he rouse Barkyarok; but I think report had it he was dealing with Redouan of Aleppo."

"Aleppo?" repeated Richard. "I rode close to the city. But it is impossible to gain news. War blocks all roads. These Syrians will lie, though there be a dagger at their throats. Had we but captured Hossein—"

"Forgive that my coming made him escape you," broke in the Spaniard.

"Forgive?" continued the Norman; "what have I to forgive touching you, my brother? Perhaps even Hossein could have told nothing; but vengeance is sweet."

"Wallah, and it shall not be small!" swore Musa.

So the company rode back to the camp of the Christians; and Richard's men were astonished to meet their chief trotting side by side with an unbeliever. But he reassured them, and brought the embassy with all courtesy before Duke Godfrey, who entreated the Egyptians very honorably. Richard, however, took Musa to his own tent, and the two spent together an evening long and sweet. Richard told of the fighting around Nicæa, of Dorylæum, the desert march, the unfruitful siege; and Musa told a story of a campaign in Nubia against negro nomads, and showed the gem-hilted cimeter that the Fatimite kalif had himself bestowed when the Spaniard returned to Cairo victorious. "And I had another reward offered me," continued Musa, smiling. "The kalif said to me: 'Cid Musa, you are a gallant emir. As Allah lives you shall be my son-in-law; you shall have the hand of Laila my daughter; whose beauty is as a fountain bursting under palms.'"

"So you are wedded at last," cried the Norman, and he held up his wine-cup. "To Laila, wife of the great Emir Musa, son of Abdallah!" was his cry. But the Spaniard checked him with a laugh. "No, I put the offer by, though it was not easy to refuse such a gift and yet save my head."

"St. Maurice, you refused!"

"I did; a sly eunuch let me see the princess unveiled. To some men she is beautiful: eyes that need no kohl to deepen, feet too small for silken slippers, her smile that of a lotus-bloom under the sun,—but she was not for me."

"Foolish!" cried the Christian, "you sing love ditties ever, but bear love for none."

"I am yet young. Wait,—in the book of doom what is written is written. Leave me in peace!" was the laughing answer. But neither Norman nor Spaniard laughed in heart when they lay down to sleep that night. Richard knew that Musa had made a great vow; he could nigh guess its tenor, though the Moslem kept his counsel well.

The Egyptian envoys came on a barren embassy; infidels were infidels to the Franks, came they from Bagdad or Cairo. When the ambassadors hinted that the Crusaders would be welcome at the Holy City if they would only enter unarmed, the answer was fiery: "Tell the kalif that we do not fear all the power of Asia or of Egypt. Christians alone shall guard Jerusalem." So the envoys prepared to journey homeward. The Franks were to send with them a counter-embassy, proposing peace if Jerusalem were surrendered; but few expected any good to come of the mission. Yet, despite the brave words, it was a gloomy council of the chiefs that met in Duke Godfrey's tent the night after they had rejected the Egyptian terms. Tancred was not there, nor Richard Longsword. Godfrey's face was careworn as he sat at the head of the table, on his left Raymond, on his right Bohemond.

"Dear brothers," he pleaded, after a long and bitter debate, "we do not fight, I remind you, for gold or glory. Therefore do you, my Lord Raymond, recall your bitter words against Bohemond—Christ is ill served by His servants' wranglings." But Raymond answered haughtily: "Fair Duke, I, too, love Our Lord. But now the Prince of Tarentum comes demanding that whosoever shall take Antioch shall be lord of the city. I sniff his meaning well. His intrigue with Phirous the Armenian who wishes to betray the city is well known. Would God we had Antioch! But I will not sit by and see one man gather all the fruits of our toil when we have labored together as brothers, and poured out blood and treasure; will not see the spoils all go to one who hopes to prosper by base artifice or womanish stratagem."