God Wills It! A Tale of the First Crusade

Now the chamberlains who were at the foot of the throne had motioned to the Franks to bow down, and kiss the carpet before Kerbogha; but the three stood like statues. When the silence was long, Kerbogha spoke forth, not veiling impatience.

"Fools, how long will you carry yourselves so arrogantly? It is yours to humble yourselves, not play the part of lords. A strange embassy this—who are you? What do you seek?"

And Harluin respectfully, but firmly, answered:—

"Lord, we are the envoys of the princes in Antioch; and this venerable hermit named Peter will speak for us."

A thousand eyes were on the little monk when he stepped forward. There was no sign of fear, his own eyes were very bright; he returned the haughty gaze of Kerbogha as if he were himself arbiter of life or death. Harluin strove to interpret for him; but Peter had recalled his Syriac learned on the pilgrimage, and some angel gave him the gift of tongues. Then right in the teeth of Kerbogha and the emirs the tattered monk flung his challenge:—

"Your Highness, the assembly of the chiefs shut up in Antioch have sent me to you to bid you cease from this siege of the city which the mercy of God has restored to us. The blessed Peter, prince of the Apostles, has by virtue of the will of God plucked it from you, never to return. Now, therefore, take choice: raise the siege of this city without delay, or prepare for instant battle. If you will, send any number of champions into the lists, and let them meet an equal number of our own; but if you will not—know that God is preparing to cut your host short in its sins! Nevertheless, our word is still—peace. Return to your own country, the Christians will not molest you. We will even put up prayers that your hearts may be touched with the Gospel and your souls delivered from perdition. Sweet indeed to call you brethren, to conclude betwixt Frank and Turk abiding peace! Otherwise, let there be war; and let the just God of battles judge between us! Surprise us, you cannot; neither will we steal victory. But in fair field, man to man, will we meet you,—with few or with many,—and teach your haughty mouths the taste of Christian valor!"

When the monk had finished, there ran a low growl and bitter laugh amongst the emirs and guardsmen, while Iftikhar laughed loudest of them all.

"Ha! noble monk!" he cried in French, "and you, my Lord de St. Julien, one would never think such bold words could flow out of such empty bellies!"

Richard made him no answer. He saw Kerbogha's right hand twitch, as if to sweep it from left to right, the sign for instant decapitation of the envoys,—an order that fifty eager negroes would have fulfilled. But the general frowned on his guards who started forward, and reined in his fury.

"Peter, take back to Antioch the only resolution left to you and your starving host, whose feasts are on grass and vermin. Let the beardless youth deliver themselves up to me, and I will let them live as my slaves, and of my friends and vassals. Let the young girls come out,—they shall be kept safe in our harems; they say the Frankish maids are fair. As for all those with beards or white hair, it shall rest with me to put them all to the edge of the sword, or slay some, and load the rest with chains;" and as he spoke he pointed to the leg irons and manacles which lay in great heaps all about the pavilion, ready for the Christian captives. "Yield now, and to some I may show mercy. Let not your babbling priests deceive you. Allah has turned against you. Where are your crucified Messiah and your false apostles, that they let you perish like gnats? Yield now; the axe is kinder than death by starving. To such as become Moslem, Al Koran commands to show compassion; for the rest, they must yield themselves into my hands, and take what I will. Do not wait until to-morrow; if you are taken then, cry on your God, who could not save even himself from the cross, to save you from my fury!"

When Kerbogha was finished, a great shout went up from the Moslems. "Allah akhbar! Away with the infidels!" and there was a rush, as if to hew the three in pieces then and there. But the general motioned them to keep peace, and Peter, whose daring passed a lion's, flashed back his reply:—

"To-morrow, lord of Mosul, you shall judge whether Mohammed, the false prophet, can prevail against the crucified Christ."

"Away! They rush on ruin!" shouted Kerbogha. "Back to the city with them!"

The little monk cast one last glance of defiance at the figure on the throne, and with a slow and steady step the three Christians turned their backs on the gorgeous company, unheeding a thousand threats that buzzed around their ears. Last of all went Richard, and, as he went, a voice called after him in French:—

"Ho! Richard Longsword, stay!"

The Norman halted; he was face to face with Iftikhar Eddauleh. The Ismaelian had thrown back his helmet, so that the gilded plates no longer concealed his face, which wore a very ugly smile. His teeth shone white and sharp as a tiger's, but his poise was lordly as ever.

"I am at your service, my lord!" said the Christian.

Iftikhar dropped his voice to a whisper:—

"You are well fed in Antioch! Your cheeks are thinner than on the day you held the lists at Palermo!"

"And I have done many things since then, my lord, as have you," came the answer. Iftikhar's eyes seemed hot irons to pierce through his enemy, when he replied:—

"Between us two lies so great a hate, that if we were both in Gehenna, I think we would forget our pains in joy of seeing the other scorching."

"That is well said, my lord. But why detain me? I know all this."

Iftikhar's voice sank yet lower, that none of the great company might hear. "You had your day at Aleppo, but to-day is mine. Kerbogha holds your host in the hollow of his hand, yet at my word he will let you march unhindered to Jerusalem."

"I do not follow you, Cid Iftikhar."

The voice became a mere whisper, but how hoarse! "Deliver up to me Mary Kurkuas safely, and I will swear by Allah the Great, that Kerbogha raises the siege!"

Richard laughed in his turn now, for it was joy to see his enemy's pain. "My lord, you cannot tempt me! Praise God Mary Kurkuas is anywhere but in Antioch among our starving host!" But even the Norman almost trembled when he saw the storm of blind fury on the Ismaelian's face.

"Where, as Allah lives,—where is the Star of the Greeks?" raged Iftikhar, his voice unconsciously rising.

"Not all your deaths and torments in the dungeons of El Halebah will wring that from me."

"Then by the Apostle of Allah!" foamed Iftikhar; and he clutched at the Norman's arm, while seeking his own hilt. Kerbogha cut him short:—

"Cid Iftikhar, the Christians are madmen; yet respect the embassy. Let this fellow go!"

Iftikhar flung the arm from him.

"Go then, go," rang his threat in Arabic, which a hundred heard. "To-morrow we will clear the reckoning. It grows ever longer. Do you know," and he showed his white teeth, "I have killed your sister Eleanor with my own hand?"

Richard bowed in his stateliest fashion.

"My lord," said he, "my sister was long since worse than dead; I did not know she was in El Halebah when I came to Aleppo, or I might have rescued. Our Lady is merciful; she has peace. And as for me—ask your own heart if I am a harmless foe; remember you fell at Aleppo twice, thrice, and by my strength! So let God judge us, and give fair battle!"

"Let Him judge!" retorted Iftikhar, turning, and Kerbogha shook out his handkerchief, the signal for the breaking up of the assembly.

So the three Christians were led away, and they did not quail when wild desert dervishes flourished bare cimeters over their heads, and chanted from Al Koran:—

"Strike off their heads and strike off their fingers!

"They shall suffer because they resisted Allah and his apostle!

"Yea, the infidels shall suffer the torment of hell fire!"

While Richard heard Peter muttering softly to himself:—

"Happy shall he be who rewardeth thee, as thou hast served us!

"Happy shall he be that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones!"

At last, despite the curses, the three were again safe and sound before the Bridge Gate. They entered, and were surrounded by a vast crowd demanding the result of the embassy. When Peter wished to tell the people of the threats and ragings of Kerbogha, Duke Godfrey, who had been the first to hear, feared lest any should be discouraged. So Peter merely declared that Kerbogha wished instant battle, and was taken before the chiefs. There he and Longsword told of the might and splendor and insolence of the Moslems, how Kerbogha had blasphemed the name of Christ and breathed forth cruelty against the besieged. Then even among the chieftains, despite the miracle of the lance, a few faint hearts trembled. But Bishop Adhemar, standing up, lifted his eyes to heaven and recited solemnly:—

"This is the word of the Lord concerning Kerbogha, as once against Sennacherib, king of Assyria:—

"'Whom hast thou reproached and blasphemed? and against whom hast thou exalted thy voice, and lifted up thine eyes on high? even against the Holy One of Israel.

"'But I know thy abode, and thy rage against me.

"'Because thy rage against me and thy tumult is come up into mine ears, therefore will I put my hook in thy nose, and my bridle in thy lips, and I will turn thee back by the way thou camest.

"'For I will defend this city, to save it, for mine own sake and for my servant David's sake!'"

When Adhemar had spoken, there was only one thought at the council,—battle on the morrow! and the heralds-at-arms went through the city, bidding every man prepare to march with the dawn. It was very late, but no man sought his bed. Richard was long with Bohemond, Tancred, Duke Robert, and Godfrey, telling all that he had seen in the Moslem camp: how that despite the numbers and the splendor, discipline seemed lax, and the divisions very ill placed.

Even while the chiefs were in council, all Antioch was rejoicing over a great boon—another favor of Heaven. A secret magazine of corn had been discovered; and a meal of good food was set before every man that night, something that was priceless gain to those who were to struggle for their lives at cockcrow.

There was no despairing now; no helpless lethargy, no longing for "gentle France." One had thought the victory already gained, to go among the host and hear everywhere the Te Deums in honor of the Holy Lance and the battle-cry,—so cheerful now,—"God wills it! To Jerusalem!"

The whole host made ready for battle that night with prayer and sacrament. The priests went their rounds through the army, confessing each man; and many a hardened sinner, who had taken even the cross lightly, had his heart melted when his comrades were exchanging the kiss of love, and saying, "God keep us all, dear brothers; who knows but that to-morrow night we shall be sitting with the angels!"

It was almost the gray of dawn when Richard went among his men. He found them cheerful, arms ready, anxiously awaiting the signal for battle.

"My good vassals," said the Norman, "we all stand in the presence of God, seigneur and peasant. You have been faithful vassals to me, and I have tried to be a kindly and just lord to you. Yet if any man have a grievance against me—say on! Let all hear him."

But many voices answered, "You have been a father and elder brother to us, lord; may we all die for you if need be!"

"And I for you!" replied the Baron, deeply touched. Then, after a pause, "Now, my men, are we prepared—body and soul—for victory on earth, or the sight of God the Father?"

"Ready," gruffly replied Herbert; "Sebastian has made us all spotless as young lambs."

"You have many sins to confess, brother," slyly hinted Theroulde. "Sad if you have forgotten some odd killing, that will rise up for judgment!"

"Think of your own lies and cheating," snapped the man-at-arms.

But Sebastian only cried, "Peace! peace!" and told how the meanest villain who died fighting on the morrow was sure of a heavenly throne and a kingdom greater than that of Philip of France. If their past had been wicked, here was an easy penance—given by Bishop Turpin at Roncesvalles, "to smite their best against the infidels"; and always let them remember that all the angels clapped their hands when an unbeliever fell under the sword, and there was joy unspeakable in the heart of God.

With a vast company the St. Julieners marched through the Bridge Gate at red dawn. "God wills it!" arose the shout from thousands on thousands, while the monks and priests upon the walls began to thunder forth the great psalm:—

"Let God arise: let His enemies be scattered!"

There was a terrible gladness in all hearts—they must fight paynims unnumbered; defeat was death. But death meant welcome to Christ's right hand; victory, the spoiling of Kerbogha.

CHAPTER XLI

HOW LIGHT SMOTE DARKNESS

Now the full story of the battle of Antioch can be told only by that strong angel in whose book are treasured the records of the brave deeds done in faith. When that awful book is unsealed, it will be known why the spirits of evil beguiled Kerbogha into sitting idly in his tent at chess, while the Christian host was issuing from Antioch; why the two thousand Turks who held the head of the Iron Bridge scattered like smoke at the Crusaders' first bolts, to let the starving Franks lead their twelve "battles" across the river, and put them in close array confronting the Moslem line. Long, however, before the grapple came, Kerbogha and his atabegs had taken the saddle, and the Christians saw arrayed against them horse and foot innumerable; a wide sea of flashing steel, of bright turbans and surcoats, tossing pennons and lances on plunging desert steeds. From the extreme left wing with the Holy Lance as special talisman borne by Raymond of Agiles where Bishop Adhemar commanded, to the right of the long line where Hugh of Vermandois led, there ran a thrill, and each man whispered to his neighbor "Now!" and steeled his muscles for the shock. No jests and laughter as often before a battle; not a soul now had heart for that. But every eye was bright, every lip firm, and the breath came quick and deep. There was dead hush when Adhemar in mitre and stole went down the line followed by a great company of priests bearing smoking censers, and in their midst a high crucifix. And when he spoke each casqued head bowed, each knee was bent. At the sight even the Moslems seemed to keep silence.

"The peace of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost be in your hearts and keep you. And in the name of the Holy Trinity do battle. Amen!"

So sounded the great benediction. When all rose to their feet, and were locking close the spear hedge, Richard Longsword, one of the few mounted knights who rode as guard around the Holy Lance, heard as it were the roaring of a tempest coming down the wind from the host of Kerbogha, a wild clangor of atabals and kettledrums, and the clash of myriad cymbals, and higher and shriller than all, the yell from the mad devotees of Arabia and Khorassan:—

"La ilaha ill' Allah! La ilaha ill' Allah!"

The cry pealed from a hundred thousand throats; and the stoutest soldier of the Cross felt a shiver and a tingling, though he were veteran from many a well-fought field. Now, at last, was the issue left to their good swords and God!

But while the Moslem war-shout rent the cloudless dome of morning, an answering echo rolled onward from the Christians, and as if the very shout were the signal, the long line rushed forward, the thousands moving as one.

"God wills it! Death to the unbelievers!"

The lines sprang toward each other like lions of the waste; the broad plain country that stretched northward from the river grew narrow under their swift feet. Then avalanche smote avalanche, light wrestled with darkness!

No horseman's and archer's battle as at Dorylæum; no passage at arms between chieftains while the hosts stood by! But man to man they fought; the starving Franks looking into swarthy faces, where black eyes glanced fire and white teeth flashed hate. So for a moment the Turkoman cavalry strove to break through the Christian spear hedge,—for few French fought mounted that day. But the blooded chargers recoiled from the dense line of lances, and swinging swords, and battle-axes, as from a barrier of live fire, and reeled back to leave the plain red with dying steeds and stricken riders.

The first blood only. For when Kerbogha saw that his horsemen could not ride down the defiant foe at will, he flung forward his archers and javelin-men, until the air grew dark with flying death that searched out the stoutest armor. Then while the arrows yet screeched, and men were falling fast, the Arabians and Turks charged home. Charged—but though the spear wall wavered, it was not broken—while above the shouts and howls of the infidels beseeching Allah, sounded the chanting of the psalm from the priests who stood behind the men-at-arms:—

"Let God arise, let His enemies be scattered; let them also that hate Him, flee before Him!"

So for the second time the Moslems reeled back. And when Kerbogha, sitting in the midst of his guard at the rear of the battle, saw it, he tore his beard in rising fury, and bade Kilidge Arslan the Seljouk lead his squadrons in circuit to fall on the Christians' rear. Now a third time the Moslems came forward, slowly now, horse and foot, their imams and ulamas crying to them to remember the beauty of the houris, the joys of martyrdom, and to hew in pieces the blasphemers of the Prophet.

At this Richard, who knew Arabic and the fury of the unbelievers, called to his men to lock close about the Holy Lance, for now indeed was the fated hour. Then the Christians heard, outrunning the breeze, the wild howl of the dervishes, to whom death was more welcome than a quiet sleep:—

"Hell and Eblees are behind you! Victory or Paradise before you! Forward!"

"Stand fast, men of Auvergne!" rang the Norman's command; and every lance was braced when the third shock smote them. No charging, recoiling, countercharging, in this supreme wrestle between Christ and Mohammed. The dead piled themselves higher, higher. The desert steeds were spitted like birds on the Frankish lances. The stoutest spears shivered like reeds, and targets were cleft as wicker; but the hand-to-hand combat never slackened. Kerbogha was throwing into the press all his numbers. Again and again Richard Longsword, with Gaston of Béarn, the Count of Die, and Raimbaut of Orange, who fought under Adhemar's banner, charged out, and did deeds of valor to be forgotten only with the last jongleur. Each time, as the foe gave way, the hard-pressed Christians set up their Laus Deo, dreaming they had the victory. But each time the infidels surged back to the onset; pressing closer, smiting harder, and drowning the Crusaders' prayer to Our Lady with their mad "Allah! Allah!"

Richard, who fought about the Holy Lance, twice saw it reel in the hands of Raymond of Agiles, as fifty unbelievers pressed close. But the Christian footmen around it were a living wall, and not a dervish who put out his hands to grasp the lance turned back alive. Still the battle wavered. Rumors came down the line, now that Godfrey on the centre was victorious, now that Bohemond was desperately beset by Kilidge Arslan. Richard looked to his men; gaps in the lines. Brave fellows whom he loved well were moaning or speechless under those red heaps. But the infidels were still thronging in. The gaps were closed. The fight raged as though the blood spilled were but oil cast into a furnace.

And presently as Richard fought around the lance, he saw a stately figure in gilded armor that he knew well despite the closed helmet,—saw it come pressing through the ranks of the Moslems.

"Ho! Iftikhar Eddauleh," rang the Norman's challenge, as the roar of the conflict lulled for a twinkling, "face to face, and man to man!"

The only answer by the Ismaelian was a lowered lance, and Rollo flew out to greet the charge. For a moment those standing by gave place. They met unhindered. Under the shock each lance flew to splinters, and the good steeds were flung on their haunches.

"Again!" burst from the emir, as his cimeter glanced in the sun. "Again!" And Richard with Trenchefer rode straight at him, the unspeakable hate blinding to all things save his foe. Three times they fenced, and the sparks flew at every stroke. With the fourth, Trenchefer sheared off the black plumes on the Ismaelian's crest. A sweeping blow from Iftikhar answered, but Richard's stout shield parried it.

"God wills it! St. Julien and Mary Kurkuas!" shouted the Norman, flinging his old battle-cry in the face of his mortal foe. But the ruling powers would not let these mad spirits fight longer. Suddenly, in a way none could foresee, the line of battle, as it will, swayed in a great shock; and here Moslems were thrown back, here forward, and comrades were torn asunder. The two were caught in the eddy and whirled wide apart, bitterly against their wills.

"The lance! The lance is in danger!" the Christians were shouting; and Richard saw the holy standard sink out of sight in the seething vortex of battling men and beasts.

"Rescue, rescue, Christian cavaliers!" Bishop Adhemar was moaning; and all unarmed as he was, the prelate was about to thrust himself from behind the protecting shield wall into the death-press. But Gaston of Béarn and Die and Orange, as well as Longsword, were before him. Richard saw Gaston snatch the lance out of the clutch of two Turkomans who grasped it, and hew down both—a blow for each. Then the lance was raised once more, and all Crusaders praised God, and fought more stoutly.

So for long the battle raged; no man knowing how it had fared farther down the line, having wits only for his own struggle, and fighting even that blindly. But suddenly upon the wind black smoke came driving down upon the Christians. At first they scarce knew it in the fierce delirium. Then the smoke came denser, hotter; dimming their eyes, and setting all a-gasping. And almost sooner than the telling, the very grass under their feet was in a flame, fanned onward by a breeze that dashed the fire in their faces, while the deadly blast swept away from the Moslems. Whereupon, for the first time that day, a terrible panic fell on the Christians, as even the dead soil seemed thus to rise up and war against them. Men cast down their swords to flee,—all the horses plunged wildly; while with a shout of triumph, the infidels, blessing their Prophet, pressed on to snatch the victory.

But at the very moment when all the world seemed turned to ruin, Bishop Adhemar ran down the line up-bearing the crucifix. A hundred paynim arrows sped toward him; not one flew true, for some angel turned all aside.

"See!" was his cry above the howls of the dervishes. "See, Christians, the sufferings of your Lord! Stand fast, if you would prove that Christ died not in vain!"

And when the Franks thought of their God upon the tree,—of the Holy Agony,—their own agony was forgot. Wounded men, whose life was running out in blood, sprang to their feet and fought like Roland's peers; those who had turned to flee, looked back, ran again into the press through the mad flames, and gave the Moslems blow for blow.

Yet this could not last forever; the limit to what human might could do was very near. Denser the smoke, hotter the fire. Barely with all his strength could Richard now hold Rollo, and he knew while yet he fought, that unless the smoke were turned, the boast of Kerbogha would not be vain. A wail of despair was rising from the Christians: "Kyrie eleison! Kyrie eleison!" and the triumphant "Allah akhbar!" of the Moslems seemed the sole answer.

Then, even with his sinful and corporeal eyes, each Crusader had proof that on his side strove the Lord of Battles! For as the smoke blew blinding, with a great gust the wind changed, and the fire that Kilidge Arslan had lit for his foes' destruction turned to his own. Strong and fresh from the west came a piping sea-breeze, and the smoke swept in one heavy cloud into the faces of the infidels! So sudden the deliverance, that the Franks stood speechless, marvelling at this great act of God. And while thus they stood, Bishop Adhemar pointed with his staff toward the northern hills.