God Wills It! A Tale of the First Crusade

Bohemond had bounded to his feet.

"Yes, Count of Toulouse, you do well to say Phirous the Armenian will betray Antioch at my bidding, and at none other. Have I put nothing at risk in this Crusade? Have I not played my part at Nicæa, Dorylæum, the battles around the city? If you have a better device for reducing Yaghi-Sian, make use, and win Antioch yourself! They tell that the lord of Mosul, the great Kerbogha, is not many days' march away, with two hundred thousand men, swept from all Mesopotamia and Persia. Will his coming make our task easier? Time presses; to-morrow? Too late, perhaps. Promise me that if I win Antioch I shall become its lord, and Phirous is ready to yield three towers into our hands."

A deep growl was coming from the other chiefs.

"By Our Lady of Paris and St. Denis," swore Count Hugh of the French blood-royal, angrily, "this Prince of Tarentum shall not beard us thus. Let half the army watch Antioch, the rest go against Kerbogha. God willing, we can crush both."

But good Bishop Adhemar interposed.

"To do so were to betray the cause of God. The host is weakened by war and famine. One-half will never suffice to confront Kerbogha; only the saints will give the whole the victory. We cannot raise the siege, nor endure attack from Kerbogha in our camp. Let us not blame the Lord Bohemond. With God's will every prince and baron shall win a fair lordship in this Syria; there is room for all."

Silence lasted a moment; then in turn Robert the Norman cried, "By the splendor of God, my Lord Bohemond, think well if this Phirous has not deceived you!"

"He has not!" attested the southern Norman, hotly.

"Good!" retorted Robert, "he has taken your money and spoken you fair. So? You cannot deny. Nevertheless, fair princes, I have a man here with a tale to tell."

A dozen voices cried: "What man? What tale? Bring him in!"

Two squires of the Norman Duke led in an Arab, muscular, bright-eyed, decently habited. Robert explained that this man had come to him, professing to be a native Christian, well disposed to the Crusaders, and to have just escaped from the city. Through the interpreter he gave his name as Eybek, and answered all the questions flung at him with marvellous readiness and consistency. "Yes, he had ready access to the circle of Yaghi-Sian, and knew that the city was capable of making a very long defence. The emir was looking for help in a very few days. If the Christians did not raise the siege at once and march away, it would need a miracle from St. George and St. Demetrius to save them from the myriads of Kerbogha." Only once, when the fellow raised his head—for he had a manner of holding it down—Bohemond muttered to Godfrey:—

"Fair Duke, I know not when, yet once—I swear it by the thumb-bone of St. Anthony in my hilt—I have seen his face before." But the Duke replied:—

"How before, my lord? Not on the Crusade, surely. Perhaps among the Arabs of Sicily."

Bohemond shook his head. "Not there." And the examination of Eybek went on.

Then the Christian chiefs pressed him closer, and Hugh of Vermandois demanded: "But what of Phirous? For the Prince of Tarentum tells us this Armenian is high in the favor of Yaghi-Sian, that he is a Christian at heart, having been a renegade, and anxious to return to the only true faith."

"Noble lord," replied the Oriental, through the interpreter, "if the Emir Bohemond believes the tales told him by Phirous, he is less wise than I deemed him. Phirous is in the confidence of Yaghi-Sian day and night."

"Ha!" interposed Duke Godfrey, dropping his jaw, and Bohemond's sly face flushed with wrath and incredulity.

"Is it not as I said, fair lords?" cried Robert of Normandy, bringing his fist down upon the long oaken table before him. "What has the Prince of Tarentum been trying to lead toward, save shame and disaster?"

"Insolent!" roared Bohemond, on his feet, with his sword half drawn; "you shall answer to me for this, son of the Bastard!"

Then the Norman Duke's blade started also. But above his angry shout rang the cry of Bishop Adhemar.

"In the name of Christ, sweet sons, keep peace! Sheathe your swords! You, Prince of Tarentum, rejoice if we learn the deceit of Phirous in time. You, Robert of Normandy, do not triumph; for Bohemond has only sought to advance the victory of Our Lord!"

"Fair lords," commanded Godfrey, sternly, "let us save our swords for the unbelievers, and be quiet while we hearken to this Arabian. In truth he appears a pious and loyal man."

Then all kept silence while Eybek continued to explain that Phirous had been all the time in the counsels of the emir, that there was a plot to induce the Christian chiefs to adventure themselves inside the walls by pretending to betray a tower. Once inside, an ambush was to break out, and the flower of the Christians would be destroyed.

Bohemond raged, and stormed, and tried to browbeat the fellow into contradictions. The Prince spoke Arabic and needed no interpreter; but the other clung to his tale unshaken. Only men noticed that he hung down his head, as if afraid to let the red glare of the cressets fall fairly on his face, and that when there was a stir among the lesser chieftains as a certain newcomer took his seat at the foot of the table he averted his gaze yet more. Presently, baffled and willing to own his hopes blasted, the Tarentine turned away.

"St. Michael blot out that Armenian! He has taken my gold and deceived me. This Arab's story clings together too well not to be true." And the Prince started to leave the tent with a sullen countenance, for he had come to the council with swelling hopes.

"The finger of God is manifest in this," commented Godfrey, piously. "Had not Duke Robert brought this man before us we would all, with Bohemond, have stepped into the pit dug by our enemies."

"Verily," cried Adhemar, "this Eybek is a true friend of Christ; his reward shall not fail him."

The Arab bowed low before the bishop and Bouillon, and muttered some flowery compliments in his own tongue.

"Lead him away," commanded Duke Robert to his squires. "In the morning we will question further." As they obeyed, one took a torch from its socket on the tent-pole, and, holding it high, the ruddy light fell full on the face of the Arabian. An instant only, but with that instant came a cry, a shout.

"Hossein!" and Richard Longsword had bounded from his seat as if an arrow dashed from a crossbow. One snatch and the torch was in his hand, held close under the Arab's face. The luckless man writhed in a clutch firm as steel. Richard held up the light so that every feature of his victim lay revealed. "The man!" And at the exclamation, and sight of the iron mood written on Longsword's face, Eybek's bronzed face turned ashen pale.

There was silence in the council tent for one long minute. Then Richard was speaking very calmly:—

"Fair lords, we are all deceived. This man is no Christian escaped from Antioch. What he is, those who know the manner of the captivity of Mary de St. Julien, my dear wife, can tell. On the day of the coming of the Egyptian embassy he was in company with a band of infidel horsemen that I dispersed. The tale he has told you touching Phirous is doubtless a lie, to cast discredit on the Armenian, and bring his scheme to naught, if Yaghi-Sian has not been warned by him already." At Longsword's words a howl of wrath went round the council table.

"Traitor! Dog of Hell!" Duke Robert was threatening; "he shall know what it is to play false with the heir of William the Norman!"

"Te Deum laudemus!" Bishop Adhemar was muttering. "Verily we were all deceived in him, as we believed ourselves deceived in Phirous; yet God has brought the counsels of the crafty to naught; they have fallen in the pit they had digged for others!"

And Duke Godfrey added: "The Prince of Tarentum will thank you for this, De St. Julien. Let this accursed Arabian be led away and fettered."

But Richard held his prey fast. "Fair lords, this is the boon I crave: give me the life or death of this fellow. By Our Lady I swear he shall not find either road an easy one."

Then twenty voices chorussed, "Yes! yes! away with him!" So Richard led, or rather dragged out his victim. Eybek struggled once while they traversed the long tent-avenues of the sleeping camp,—and only once; for he found that in Longsword's hands he was weaker than a roe in the paws of a lion. The Norman did not speak to the captive, or to any in his train, until outside his own tents. The ever watchful Herbert, standing sentry, hailed him.

"Does Musa sleep?" was all Richard said. And in a moment the Spaniard had glided from the tent, and was crouching by the smouldering camp-fire.

"Ever awake?" asked Longsword, wondering; and the reply was, "Allah will not grant sleep when I think of—" But here the Andalusian's ready tongue failed.

"Look!" Richard drew the captive down by the red coals, and whispered his name. Then Herbert gave a great shout, which brought Sebastian, Theroulde, De Carnac, and more from their tents, and they lit many torches.

Now what befell Eybek that night we need not tell. For the ways of Herbert and De Carnac were not those of soft ladies, who embroider tapestry all day in a rose bower; and the Ismaelian was no sleek serving-page, who cried out when the first thorn bush pricked him. But before Richard Longsword lay down that night he had heard somewhat of Iftikhar Eddauleh, and of another more important than Iftikhar, which made his sleep the lighter. At dawn he was outside Godfrey's tent awaiting speech with the good Duke. When Bouillon heard what he was seeking, the Norman was instantly admitted; and Godfrey marvelled and rejoiced at sight of the fire and gladness that shone in Longsword's eyes.

"Well met, and ever welcome, fair Baron," was the Lorrainer's greeting; "and will you ride to-day with your men toward Urdeh, and southward to see if you may sweep in a few droves of beeves and a corn convoy?"

"My Lord Duke," quoth Richard, curtly, "I cannot ride to Urdeh to-day or to-morrow."

The Lorrainer gave him a shrewd glance.

"Fair son," said he, half affectionately, "you have been dreaming on what that captive spy threw out. Do not deny."

"I do not deny, my lord. And now I come to ask you this: Will the cause of Christ suffer great hurt if I ride on no more forays for the week to come, or for the next, or, if God so will,"—he spoke steadily,—"or never?"

The Duke's gaze was more penetrating than before.

"Beware, De St. Julien; you ride to death if you trust the word of that Eybek, even under torture. We only know of him this—the Father of Lies is no smoother perjurer."

Richard answered with a laugh:—

"Eybek has said to me thrice, 'Cid, as Allah lives, I swear I warn you truly,—strike off my head or torture as you will,—know this: you ride to death when you ride to Aleppo.'"

"To Aleppo?" demanded Godfrey.

"At Aleppo Iftikhar Eddauleh holds Mary Kurkuas prisoner, and I go to Aleppo to seek my wife," was Longsword's half-defiant reply.

"Madman!" The Duke struck his heavy scabbard on the ground to double his emphasis.

"'Mad' only as I set the love and joy of one of God's pure saints before peril that no cavalier, who is true to his knightly vows, could have right to shun."

"How will you go? Antioch resists. We can detach no large force. Your own St. Julieners can do nothing."

"My lord," said Richard, steadily, "I shall go alone, save for one comrade—my brother, Musa the Egyptian emir,—who will fail me when God Himself loves evil. He is Moslem, but I would sooner have him at my side than any Christian cavalier from Scotland to Sicily; for what human craft and wit and strength can do, that can he."

The Duke, leaning heavily upon his sword, a smile half sad, half merry, upon his face, slowly replied: "You are both very young; God loves such—whatsoever their faith! You are right, De St. Julien—you must go. I will ask Bishop Adhemar to pray for your safe return."

So Richard returned to his tents and made the last preparations, said farewell to many, and last of all to Sebastian. The priest's heart, he knew, was very full when Richard knelt for the words of blessing, and at the end Sebastian gave him the kiss of peace.

"Go forth, dear son," was the word of Sebastian; "fight valiantly for Christ; fear not death. But by the grace of God bring the lost lamb home. And I—I will wrestle with God, beseeching that Michael and Raphael and Gabriel, the warriors of heaven, may spread their broad shields over you. And may He who plucked the three children from the fire, and Daniel from the paw of the lion, and Peter from the dungeon of Herod, deliver you also, and her whom you seek! Amen."

When Sebastian had finished, Richard mounted Rollo. He wore no armor save the Valencia hauberk beneath his mantle; but Trenchefer was girded to his side. Musa was beside him on a deer-limbed Arabian. They crossed the Orontes on the bridge of boats behind the camp of Duke Godfrey. The tents and bright river orchards were fading from sight; on before lay the sunlit rolling Syrian country. Suddenly the thunder of a charger at speed came up behind them. Richard turned inquiringly. A moment later the strange rider had dashed abreast—had drawn rein; and Longsword rubbed his two eyes, doubting his vision—beside him was Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine.

"My lord—" the Norman had begun. The Duke, he saw, was in no armor, and bore only his sword. Godfrey galloped along beside Rollo.

"Fair son," said he, smiling, "has the noble lady, Mary the Greek, less chance of succor if three cavaliers ride to her aid than if only two?"

"Impossible!" cried Longsword, distrusting now his ears; "it is you that are mad, my Lord Duke. Your position, your duties, the army! Doubtless we ride to death, as you well said."

Godfrey's laugh was merry as that of a boy.

"Then by Our Lady of Antwerp three swords will keep heaven farther away than two! Know, De St. Julien, that to my mind nothing stirs in the camp for the next two weeks. I grow sluggish as a cow, listening to Raymond's and Bohemond's wranglings. Renard will spread in the camp that I have led a foray southward, and let men miss me if they will. Enough to know my arm and wits can do more for once at Aleppo than at Antioch."

"Yet this is utter rashness," urged Richard, in last protest; "to ease my own conscience, turn back—for my sake do it!"

"For your sake," was the smiling answer, "I will keep my Marchegai neck to neck with Rollo. I am not so old a knight that I have forgotten the sniff of an adventure. When I put on the chieftain, I could not put off the cavalier."

Richard did not reply. To shake off Godfrey was impossible. Presently the Norman in his own turn laughed.

"On, then, to Aleppo! To Aleppo, be it for life or death!" cried Musa; and Richard added: "Tremble, Iftikhar,—the three best swords in the wide earth seek you!" Then each gave his horse the head.

CHAPTER XXXIV

HOW MUSA PRACTISED MAGIC

In the city of Aleppo, close by the great Mosque Jami' el-Umawi, there stood a warehouse that was more than commonly busy on a certain spring morning. This warehouse was of two stories, built of coarse brown rubble, and only entered from the narrow, dirty street by a plainly arched passageway. Once within, however, the newcomer beheld a large court, surrounded on the lower floor by little shops; and on the upper floor, the whole length of the four sides of the court, ran a wooden gallery, behind which were storerooms and lodgings for the wayfaring merchants, who made this spot a sort of hostelry and rendezvous. The shops below were humming with busy traffic. Here on one side lay the sook of the jewellers, and on the opposite were arrayed the tiny stalls of the dealers in copper wares. The court was crammed with braying donkeys, bright-robed Syrians, and the ubiquitous sakkas, the water-bearers, who for a trifle poured a draught from the camel-skin sacks on their backs, to any who wished. The sakkas were jostled by the sellers of orange-flower water; these in turn by the tall, black eunuchs who were clearing the way for a closely veiled lady intent on visiting the jewellers; while through the midst of men and beasts swept a stately, venerable sheik from the college at the mosque, who rained down a curse, devoting to Hawiyat, the seventh and nethermost hell, the luckless donkey-boy that had brushed a dirty hand upon the doctor's red silk scarf over his shoulders.

The worthy jeweller Asad, whose shop was on the right side of the court, had long since spread out his array of gemmed rings, silver cups, tiring pins, and Indian necklaces, and sat back in his little niche nodding sleepily, now and then opening one eye to see if the lady who followed the eunuchs was coming to visit him. But the wares of his rival Ibrahīm kept her busy, and Asad contentedly closed his eye, and nodded once more, saying: "Leave to Ibrahīm her trade. To-day his, to-morrow mine. So Allah will prosper us both!" And, despite the fact that one of the serving-lads who followed the sheik was casting a covetous glance upon the handy treasures, the good Asad nearly fell asleep on the mat-covered seat. Presently a question roused him.

"Worthy sheik, can you tell me if you possess any Andalusian corals? If so, be so gracious as to show them. Not that I would buy—" But here Asad, with a keen scent for business, had opened both eyes, and was looking at his inquirer. A well-formed, handsomely featured Arab was standing before him; the lines of the face young, but the hair and beard not a little white. The stranger was dressed decently enough, but the long, loose aba over the jacket was worn and soiled with dust, as were also the white leather shoes. "A Moslem gentleman of good breeding, but perhaps decayed family," was the estimate of the jeweller. And he answered slowly:—

"Be welcome in peace! Sit with me upon the rug! Here, boy, run to the confectioner's and bring us cups of sherbet." So the stranger put off his shoes and crossed his feet on the carpet, facing Asad. The shop was so small that a second visitor would barely have found room. Asad opened a little chest, and brought forth a tray of coral necklaces, which he submitted to his visitor.

"Bismillah!" cried the other, "I feel the water hang on my eyelids when I see this red coral! My heart goes back to my own country I have not seen for many a year."

"Verily," exclaimed the jeweller; "and have you come from Spain? Your speech shows you no Syrian."

"It is true; from Spain. Five years since I left my dear home in Malaga for Mecca, to visit the city of the Apostle—on whom be peace! Allah confound the robbers that stripped me as I returned across the desert! I had taken upon myself a vow not to return until I had gained sevenfold the thousand dirhems with which I set forth. Being nigh penniless, I have wandered far and near,—Medina, Bagdad, Ispahan, Bussorah, Damascus, Cairo,—all I have visited, and little by little Allah blesses me with gain. Now I am in Aleppo seeking to sell some woollen cloaks of Shirāz; but my longing for my own country is so great, I said to myself, 'Let me but spend a trifle on some corals of Andalusia, to remind me of my dear Malaga!'"

"The Most High favor you!" responded the good jeweller, who knew that kind wishes cost nothing. "See,—this necklace—it is worth twenty dirhems—yet receive it as a gift,—it is yours for ten." The Spaniard's only response was a grunt. Then, after long silence: "Have I the treasures of Solomon the Wise? I care little for the coral,—a poor necklace; it were dear at three!" It was Asad that grunted now, but he only answered: "Have I not three wives and seven children? Will you impose on my generosity?" And then both men, knowing perfectly well they were on the highroad to a fair bargain, took the cups which the boy had brought, and began to converse on quite alien matters. "A noble city is this Aleppo," began the Spaniard; "only Cordova and Malaga, saving always Bagdad, are finer!" "Ya!" cried Asad, "you over-praise your Spain. Yet Aleppo is a noble city. Would to Allah we had as noble a prince to rule over it!"

"So!" exclaimed the other; "then Redouan is not loved?"

Asad spat far out into the court to prove his disgust.

"On the last day Sultan Redouan's good deeds will weigh less than an ant's. Hear—three years since he slew his brothers, Bahram and Abouthaleb, as caution against conspiracy. His tyranny drives another brother, Dekak of Damascus, into revolt. He makes Yaghi-Sian of Antioch his enemy. Aboun Nedj'n, his vizier, is all cruelty and beheadings. Last of all, we are delivered over to the clutch of Iftikhar, the Ismaelian, whose evil deeds Allah requite!"

"Iftikhar? I have heard the name."

"Cursed be the day of his birth! The sultan cringes to him as to the very kalif! He has become possessed of El Halebah, the wonderful palace outside the city."

"And he is there now?"

"Yes; though soon he departs. In a few days he will lead off his band of Ismaelians to join the host which Kerbogha of Mosul is leading against the Christians at Antioch. Eblees pluck them also! There is a rumor that if the two overcome the Christians, they turn their arms against the kalif and the arch-sultan next. But woe for us! taxes grow each day. The gatherers are insatiate. Redouan grinds us at Iftikhar's bidding."

"Wallah, I am interested; tell more of this Iftikhar."

"Alas, brother, I know little to tell. These Ismaelians keep too close. They talk only with their daggers." Asad lifted the necklace; the Spaniard eyed it carelessly: "Four dihrems?" suggested he. "I wrong my household; yet say six," was the answer. The other shook his head. Asad dropped the necklace; then cried, "Ya! Khalid, come hither and tell this worthy sheik of Iftikhar Eddauleh!" And at the shout a tall, gaunt Arab in a muezzin's flowing robe and ample green turban came groping through the crowd, dexterously threading his way, though entirely blind. Then there were greetings, and Khalid squeezed himself betwixt the others and was seated.

"Blind?" answered he, in reply to a question. "Yes, blind by the blessing of Allah. Once I had sight and starved as a beggar. Then one day I stole, and the High Kadi put out my eyes. Next, the old muezzin at the great mosque died. They desired a blind man to succeed him, for the minaret is so high those with eyes can peer into the vizier's harem court and squint at his women. So I was chosen, and never since have lacked good bread and a warm sleeping-mat,—thanks to the Compassionate!"

"But I desired to hear of Iftikhar, the Ismaelian," said the Spaniard, smiling.

"Verily," ran on the blind man, "I can tell you a tale concerning him, for there is no gossip in all Aleppo that does not blow into my ears. They say he has a captive of marvellous beauty—a Christian." "A Frank?" was the question. "No, a Greek; more fair than the maids of Paradise, who are tall as palm trees. He has her in the palace El Halebah, and seeks to win her love, so the eunuchs tell."

"Mashallah, I am astonished. Why should he ask her love if once he possessed her?"

The blind man blinked slyly.

"A strange tale; I had it all from Wasik, who was one of the eunuchs that guarded her. It seems the Ismaelian has once been among the Christians (Allah broil all in Gehenna!); there he saw and loved her, but she would have none of him. Then war threw her into his hands, and he moved earth and heaven to make her favor him. Gifts, dresses, fêtes, serving-maids fair as the moon—he gave all, with El Halebah to be her dwelling; and she repaid only pouts and high words. At last he learns that she still sets great store on her husband, a Frankish emir with their host at Antioch."

"Her husband?" asked the Spaniard, carelessly.

"You have heard his name—Richard of the Great Cimeter—a terrible emir who slays his captives ruthlessly."

"I have heard of him; go on."

"Ya! Iftikhar prepares his band to go to Antioch, and swears he will take this houri with him, that she may see the fate of her dear Franks with her own eyes. He vows likewise he will give her Emir Richard's head to fondle, since she loves it so."

"Verily he is a bloody man," commented the Spaniard.

"It is so; yet his captive will find she had best put the clouds from her face and try to please him. He is a man of will harder than Damascus steel."