God Wills It! A Tale of the First Crusade

"Good brothers," quoth he, gazing about a little blankly, and meeting only blank helplessness, "I, who hold the lines while you counsel, have only one word—speed. The rumor passes that the siege is to be raised, the Crusade abandoned. Half the army is ready to fly. Breathe it once, and the shout will be, 'For France!'—and the host scatters like sheep toward Joppa; while those more devoutly minded will cast their naked breasts on the Moslems' spears to earn martyrdom in place of victory."

Godfrey roused himself by a great effort.

"As God lives," he protested, "we cannot suffer the Crusade to fail. We cannot say to all the widows and orphans of France, 'Your husband, your father, died like headstrong fools.'"

"We have wrought all that the paladins of Charlemagne wrought, and more," tossed back Robert the Norman, hopelessly.

A voice lower down amongst the lesser chiefs interrupted:

"You are wrong, my lord of Normandy."

The Conqueror's son rose in his dignity.

"Wrong? Who speaks? I will not have my honor questioned."

The others saw Richard Longsword rising also. His face was very set and stern, he held his head proudly.

"I say it, 'You are wrong.' No man has done all that the paladins of old have done until, like them, he stops prating of the anger of God, and dies with his face toward the paynim and twenty slain around. Take heed, my lords, lest we think too much of our unworthiness, too little of the captivity of the Tomb of Our Lord; and how in freeing it the price of all our sins is paid. I did not come to council to learn how to lead my men to Joppa, but how we were one and all to mount the breach, or perish in the moat."

There was a ring in Richard's voice hard as the beaten anvil; and, before Robert could reply, more than one voice cried: "So say I! And I! Never can we slink back, and look in the eyes of the women of France!"

"I cry pardon, fair lords," said Longsword. "I am a young knight to instruct my betters." But Godfrey answered him:—

"There is none of us too great to listen to brave words like these;" and Tancred, leaping up, added: "Yes, by God's help I will make it good on my body against any who cry 'backward,' till the city be won. Away with all these bats of darkness that are lighting on our heads! How does the night advance?"

"By the stars, midnight," answered Gaston, just entered.

"Good," ran on the Prince, sweeping all before him. "Pass the word through the host that we assault at dawn. Let every spare hand work to repair the towers. Let the rest sleep. We can make shift to move my Lord Godfrey's tower. If we have suffered without the walls, rest assured the infidels have splintered some bones within." The ebb tide had turned. The flood ran swiftly now.

"God wills it! Attack with the morning!" the two Roberts were crying, as loud as the rest. And others shouted:—

"An end to divisions. Let us have one leader! Let us proclaim Godfrey king. To-morrow we will crown him in Jerusalem!"

But the pure-hearted Duke beckoned for silence, and answered: "God forbid, dear brothers, that I should be styled 'sire,' and wear crown of gold, where my Saviour was spit upon and crowned with thorns. We have one work now—to storm the city."

"The infidels are attacking the machines!" thundered Raimbaud of Orange, from the tent door. "To the rescue, fair lords!"

"Rescue! Rescue!" cried all, flying forth with drawn swords. And while Raymond and Tancred went to beat back the sally, Richard found himself close to Godfrey. "Our Lady bless you, De St. Julien," said Bouillon, grasping Richard's hand. "It was only a word you said; but a word in season will raise or pluck down kingdoms. How shall I reward you? I was near despair when I saw the gloom settling ever blacker over the council."

"Only this, fair Duke, that I may be in the front of the assault."

"Rashest of the rash! Some day the saints will grow weary of protecting you, and you will be slain."

"What matter, if all else is well?"

So Richard hastened off into the night, found his own encampment in the maze of tents, and told his men there was to be no retreat—that with the morning the storm would be renewed.

"And will you follow your seigneur, now as ever?" was his question to the fifty gaunt, mailed figures (all of his five hundred that were left) that grouped before the dying camp-fire.

"Through all hell,—though each Moslem were a thousand devils!" answered De Carnac; and every St. Julien man roared forth "Amen!"

"Good!" returned their lord. "And by St. Michael, you shall have chance to prove your vow!"

Then, having heard that the sortie was repulsed, Richard went to his own tent. He found Sebastian sitting by the doorway. As the young Baron entered, the priest without a word arose and kissed him gently on either cheek. And even in the dim firelight Richard could see a wonderful glow of peace and joy upon the face of the ascetic. "Dear father," said he, wondering, "what happiness has come, that you seem so glad? And why is it thus you kiss me?"

Whereupon Sebastian put his arm about Richard's neck, stroking his hair with the other hand, and at last said very softly, "I have had a vision."

"A vision?" And Richard smiled amid the darkness, for Sebastian's visions came every other night. But the priest only continued, guessing his thought: "No, your lips need not twitch. For this vision was of a manner different from any that I have ever seen before. As I lay here, of a sudden I woke, and saw the dim camp-fire and stars glitter as I see now, and heard the chatter and groaning of the men. But of a sudden a youth, clothed in a whiteness passing snow, bright and with wings, stood by me, and said most gently, 'Sebastian.' And I answered: 'Yes, Lord. What may I do in Thy service?' And he replied: 'Be of good cheer. God hath seen thy good works, and how thou hast crucified the flesh and all carnal lusts, and knowest how thou hast wrestled in prayer. Now rejoice; the end of thy toil in this evil world draws nigh. But before thou shalt see with the eyes of the spirit the heavenly Jerusalem and the blessed host, with thy mortal eyes thou shalt see the Cross triumphant on the walls of the earthly Jerusalem. And this hour comes quickly.' Then while I lay in bliss unspeakable he had vanished." Richard was very grave.

"Dear father, you do not long for heaven so much that you would leave me?"

But Sebastian answered softly: "It shall be as God wills. You will be comforted. It is written, 'He giveth His beloved sleep'—sleep after the toil and the pain and the crushing of sinful self. And then to wake and see our dear Lord's blessed face! You would not grudge me that?"

"No, dear father," said Richard, submissively; "but yet I pray God will ordain otherwise." Sebastian only kissed him again, lay down on the hard earth, and was soon in quiet sleep. Longsword went to his men, told them to sleep also, for they must rise with dawn. But as for himself his eyes were not heavy, despite the terrible day. As Herbert lay dozing, he heard from his master's tent the ominous click, click, of a whetstone. "The 'little lord' is sharpening Trenchefer," muttered the man-at-arms. "The devil help the Moslems who stand in his path to-morrow. The devil help Iftikhar Eddauleh if the two come face to face."

Richard sat in the dark, the great sword across his lap, handling it lovingly, smoothing each rust-speck that touched his finger's nail, making the long blade razor-keen. And had a lamp flashed on his face, his features would have showed harder than his blade. His heart was at peace—at peace with an awful gladness. Father, mother, sister, brother, were all to be avenged on the morrow when he fronted Iftikhar Eddauleh. That some saint would aid him to meet the Egyptian he did not doubt. And then? But Richard never so much as wondered what would befall, after Trenchefer had smitten once and fairly on that gilded mail.

CHAPTER XLVI

HOW IFTIKHAR CEASED FROM TROUBLING

When the Arabian's eyes lit upon Mary, Morgiana gave a little cry, ran to the Greek, and caught her in her arms. For a moment the two were so wrapt in the joy of meeting that all else was forgot. But quick as the first flood of gladness passed, Morgiana broke forth with the eager demand:—

"Musa? Musa? where is the Spanish emir?"

"Upon the walls, where are all the chieftains," was the wondering Greek's answer.

"Wallah! and when will he return?" ran on Morgiana, beginning to tremble as Mary held her, as though in some mastering dread.

"I do not know; at any time,—now,—or not till midnight. Dear God—what has befallen? what may I do? You are turning pale, and your hands are cold!"

"Allah have mercy on us both, unless Musa comes! Iftikhar has discovered you!" cried Morgiana, calming herself with a mighty effort. And now it was the Greek's turn to tremble.

"Iftikhar?"—the word came across her pallid lips faint as a dying groan. "How? When? Speak, as you love me—"

Morgiana thrust back the dark hair that had fallen over her eyes, and drew herself up half scornfully.

"Foolish woman! Is there not sorrow enough, that you need make more? Why did you wander into the streets at sundown? Why did you let the veil slip from your face? Zeyneb, my foster-brother, whom the sheytans love and the angels hate, looked on you,—followed you,—saw you enter the house, and sped straight to Iftikhar! Speak—speak—" and the Arabian plucked at Mary's arm fiercely, while in her eyes was again the mad gleam of old. "Why should I not curse you? you who have wronged me, utterly! When I was just winning back Iftikhar's love, and all the evil past was being forgot!—now—now I have lost him once more. And you—you are my ruin. As Allah lives I will curse you, and your lily-white beauty!"

Mary was indeed white as the lily, or whiter, if that may be; but she caught both of Morgiana's wrists and held fast. Under the calm influence shed from her eyes the Arabian's wandering gaze grew steady.

"Enough!"—she cut the other short—"you did not come hither only for maledictions. How have you learned? What will Iftikhar do?"

"Learned?"—Morgiana threw back her head and laughed. "I heard Zeyneb repeating all to Iftikhar. Do? I only saw the Egyptian's face—the passion, the longing, the hate. He will come to seize you without delay. Not even Musa can save you. Is not Iftikhar lord of Jerusalem? I wonder he is not here already, finding I have fled his harem at the Castle of David."

But Mary remained calm.

"Tell me, my sister, what am I to do? You are all wits. Better death by fire than one touch from Iftikhar."

"The Christian camp," pleaded the Arabian. "There are friends, your husband, safety. Oh, were but Musa here, you could be sent without the walls ere it is too late."

"By the water-clock it lacks midnight an hour," said Mary, quietly. "The Spaniard may be here any moment. But I cannot dream that Iftikhar, at a time like this,—with the very city at stake,—will forget all, quit his duty on the walls, to tear a defenceless maid away to his harem."

Morgiana laughed again, very bitterly. "Fool you are, in very truth! Iftikhar cares more for the lashes of your eyes than for a thousand Jerusalems,—for a thousand of his own lives. You will be at his mercy before daybreak, though the Christian cavaliers sack the city."

There was the clatter of hoofs on the pavement, a shouting, a clang of armor and arms. Mary gave a great sigh of relief. "Musa; he has come from the walls with his guard." But Morgiana blasted the hope with one cry: "Hear! The Egyptian's voice!" And Mary reeled as she stood; for she heard a voice she knew right well thundering, "Guard the house about, and down with the door." Then came the resounding knock of a cimeter-hilt on the portal. The Greek sprang to the lattice over the street. In the narrow way below were fifty Soudanese negroes, with ruddy torches, tossing their spiked flails and spears; while beating at the door was a lordly figure in gilded armor—Iftikhar himself.

Morgiana saw Mary trying to speak to her; at least the lips moved. The blows on the portal redoubled.

"Open, open, or I kill you all!" rang Iftikhar's command, sounding above his own strokes. The eunuchs and maids of the household ran chattering and screaming from the lower rooms, as if they might find protection beside their mistress.

"There is no hope," said Morgiana, sullenly, holding down her face; "we have both played our game, and we have lost."

And the Arabian, all the fire and steel gone out of her, fell to her knees, cast her mantle over her head, shaking with sobs and groans. Mary trod proudly toward the head of the stairway leading to the lower court. Over her head hung a great bronze candelabra. She knew the light fell full upon her; she was sure she was never more beautiful than at that instant, when her face was bloodless as Parian marble. One resolve was in her heart—to let Iftikhar gather no sweets by her vain agony and tears. She was the great Greek princess, with the blood of Cæsars in her veins, never more conscious of her dignity and pride.

The weak house door had shivered. There was a heavy step in the court below, a voice commanding: "I will enter alone. Let the rest stand guard." Mary saw Iftikhar at the foot of the stairs; his gilded mail twinkling, his naked cimeter in hand, his black-plumed casque thrust back so that the face was bare. How splendid, almost how beautiful, he was, striding on in the pride of his power! But when he saw the white face and burning eyes of the Greek looking down upon him, even his wild spirit was reined for an instant. And while he halted on the first stair, Mary spoke, in tones cold as the winter wind.

"You come as ever, my Lord Iftikhar, unbidden, and with a naked sword. Are the cavaliers who saw your back at Antioch hidden in this house, that you must burst in to beard them?"

The sting of her words was as salt on a wound. The answer was a curse upon jinns and angels who should stand between him and his prey. His feet flew up the stairway, but the Greek remained steadfast.

"You see, Cid Iftikhar, I am weak, and with empty hands. But without the walls is Richard Longsword, who will speak to you in my behalf. This is your night, my lord; but in the morning—"

"Leave the morning to the rebel jinns!" rang the Egyptian's cry. "To-night, to-night,—I possess you. To-night! To the castle with all speed!" He snatched her in his impure arms. He crushed her to his breast, and pressed on her cold cheeks burning kisses. Mary neither struggled nor moaned. What she said in her heart was heard only by God. In his delirium Iftikhar saw neither Morgiana nor any other. He leaped down the stairs three at a bound,—his captive in his arms.

"Allah akhbar!" went his shout through the lower court. "I have won; the stars fight for me. Mine, to do with as I will!" And he kissed her again on lips and neck. Then of a sudden he stopped motionless, as though a charmer had made him stone, for outside in the street was sounding an angry command to the Soudanese to make way—the voice of Musa.

The grasp of the Egyptian on his prey never weakened, though his weapon was out once more. Yet Mary, in his grasp, for the first time began to struggle,—helpless as bird in the snare,—but her call sped out into the street shrilly: "Rescue! Rescue, for the love of God!"

For reply she saw the Soudanese by the door dashed to one side like shapes of wood, and across the threshold strode Musa, in no armor, but his cimeter also in hand. A glance, and the Spaniard knew all. He took one step toward Iftikhar, as if to cross swords without passing a word. Then, with point outstretched, he spoke, but mildly, as if in grave irony.

"Cid, is this the manner of Egyptian emirs in keeping truce?" Iftikhar's only response was to make his grip of Mary's arm so vise-like that she cried out with pain.

Musa spoke again, still gently. "Cid, this is my own house, my own harem. For what cause is it surrounded by your negroes, and violated?"

Iftikhar pointed toward the door with his cimeter. "I made truce with you," he retorted defiantly, "not with her." And he glared madly at the Greek. "Away, or the Soudanese strike off your head!"

The Spaniard calmly let his weapon sink to the pavement, and smiled as he leaned upon it. "Good emir, we have our hands busy—as Allah knows—to defend El Kuds. Do we well to nurse private lusts and hates, while the jewel of Islam trembles in the balance?"

"Off!" came the hot reply. "Off, or you die this instant!"

Musa lifted his eyes from the floor, and gave the Egyptian glance for glance. "I do well to tremble!" was his answer, the voice higher now, with a ring of harshness. "I do well to tremble! Remember the tourney at Palermo, my lord emir! Was it Iftikhar Eddauleh who crowned his turban with the prize?" And he stood on guard across the door. "Remember a night like this at Monreale."

The face of Iftikhar was black with his fury. For an instant there was a grating in his throat, thickening every word. "Ya! Dogs from Nubia, smite this mutineer down! Hew him down, or I hang you all!"

The Soudanese stared at him, rolling the whites of their great eyes, but not a spiked flail rose, not a foot crossed the threshold.

"Are you, too, rebels?" howled the Egyptian, his breath coming fast.

Musa had turned to the fifty.

"Hear you, Moslems. In an hour like this, with the Sacred City at stake, shall your emir or another dip hands in a private quarrel? What do I, save defend my own house, and my own harem? Have I not wrought on the walls manfully as Iftikhar? Dare any deny it?"

A shout came from the Soudanese:—

"You say well. You have been the sword and shield of Jerusalem, no less than the emir!"

"Hounds of Eblees! Will you not hew him down?" raged Iftikhar.

A gray-headed negro, captain of the fifty, fell on his knees before the Egyptian. "Cid, command, and we follow through the Christian camp; but we are the slaves of Kalif Mustaali, Commander of the Faithful, not yours for private feud. We cannot obey."

"Traitors!" the veins in Iftikhar's forehead were swollen now. "Know that this is no slave of Musa, son of Abdallah, but the wife of Richard Longsword, a chief of the Franks. You aid the infidels in saving!" But the Soudanese did not stir.

"And where reads Al Koran," retorted Musa, "'Thou shalt possess thyself of thine enemy's wedded wife'? For the sake of peace and El Islam leave the Greek till the siege be ended."

"For the sake of El Islam suffer me to depart with her unhindered." Iftikhar cast the woman across his left arm as though a toy, and swinging his blade, sprang toward the portal.

"Make way!" rang his last warning.

"Then let Allah judge the wrong!"

Musa was before the entrance, his cimeter waving. Iftikhar knew well he had no light combat in store. He cast Mary from him as he might a stone, and sprang to his work.

"I am not balked, as at Monreale!" he hissed from his teeth.

"No, Bismillah! I can kill you now!" flew the answer.

The steels rang sharp, stroke on stroke. Musa was without armor; but he had torn his cloak from his shoulders and covered his left arm. The cimeters were of equal length, and every time they clashed there flashed fire. Musa sprang aside from the doorway at the first blow, and worked his way into the middle of the court, where the light was stronger and there was ample space. This was no duel with long swords, as between Richard and Louis, where sledge-hammer strength was victor. The Spaniard's blade was both sword and shield. Again and again the Egyptian gave a sweeping stroke, a lunge, and felt his "Damascus" parried by the turn of a wrist, or to pierce only the air. Well that he wore armor! Time and again Musa's weapon clashed on his hauberk, making the chain mail ring and its wearer reel. Click, click, sang the blades, and so the two fought on.

"Allah!" the Soudanese would cry every time the Spaniard seemed ended by some downright stroke. Yet he never bled, but paid blow for blow. It was a marvel to see them. What Musa lost for lack of arms, was half returned in nimbleness. The Egyptian twice staggered in his armor, twice recovered. Musa had pricked him upon the neck, and the blood was running over the gilded shirt. But the fury of a thousand jinns was in his arm; still he fought.

Mary stood against the pillar by the upper stair, watching the combat as if through a mist. Deeds and words had flown too fast for catching. She was nigh asking herself: "Why this stamping? Why this ring of steel? What is this to me?" She saw Iftikhar shoot his point squarely toward the Spaniard's breast. Before the horror could be felt, Musa had doubled like a snake. The blade flew over him. At his counter-stroke there was more blood on the Egyptian's cheek. For an instant he winced, then rushed to the attack with redoubled fury. Twice more around the court they fought. And then there was a strange thing: for Morgiana, with hair flying and eyes bright as meteors, sped down the stairs. One moment she stood, as if terror froze her; then with a fearful moan ran straight toward the fighters. "As Allah lives, you shall not slay Iftikhar!" she shrieked, and snatched Musa behind, holding fast by the girdle. Only for an instant, for the Spaniard dashed her from him with a fist. But she was back, snatched again, and clung, despite the blows, while all the time Iftikhar pressed harder.

"Die you, die we, but not Iftikhar!" she screamed once more. Another twinkling, and the emir would have driven home. But in that twinkling the Greek found strength and wit. The Mother of God doubtless sped down the strength by which she tore loose Morgiana's hold. The Arabian writhed in her tight embrace; struggled with feet, nails, teeth, like a frenzied tigress at bay. "Allah! Allah!" came her moan; "you shall not, you must not, hold me! Let us all die, but not Iftikhar! Not he! None, none shall kill him!"

Mary trembled at the horror graven on Morgiana's face; but her arms held strong as steel.

"Release! Release!" pleaded Morgiana, piteously now; "he is my all, my all. Not Allah's self shall kill him!"

But Mary shut her eyes and held tighter. The Arabian might smite, bite, tear; she could not shake that hold. Only the terrible monotony of the combat seemed unending. Click—click—went the blades; the two were still fighting. How much longer could she hold fast? A cry of terror from Morgiana made her fingers weaken. The Arabian slipped from them at a bound.

"Allah! He reels!"

Morgiana had flown to pluck the Spaniard's girdle. Too late! The Greek saw Iftikhar tottering as the tall pine totters at its fall. And just as Morgiana touched Musa, his long blade swept down the Egyptian's guard, and caught the neck just above the mail. There was a thundering shout from the Soudanese. Iftikhar slipped, made one faint effort to lift his point; slipped once more; fell with clash of armor; and with a fearful cry his wild spirit sped—whither? God is not judged.

There was silence,—silence in which they heard the slow night wind creeping by in the street. Iftikhar had stretched his length. He lay without stir or groan. Morgiana had recoiled from Musa as if from the death angel. Mary saw her standing motionless as the stucco pillar, looking upon the face of the dead. The Spaniard, steaming and panting, pressed his red blade into the sheath, and caught at a pillar, saying never a word. Then when the stillness had grown long, Morgiana gave a little cry and sigh, more of surprise than of dread, and stepped softly until she stood close beside the dead. Iftikhar's casque had fallen from his head; his face was fixed in an awful smile; he looked straight upward with glassy eyes and opened teeth. When Morgiana gazed down upon him, she was still once more. Then came a scream of agony. She fell upon her knees; she lifted that motionless head. Though the blood flowed from the great wound all over her delicate hands, she tore loose the hauberk, and laid the head in her lap, staring hungrily for some sign.

"Iftikhar! Iftikhar!" she cried, as if perforce to make the deaf ears hear. "Do you not see? Do you not know? It is I, Morgiana, your blue-eyed maid of Yemen, who have toiled for you, grieved for you, joyed for you,—yes, will die for you! Speak! Speak one word, and say you are still here!"

She raised her head as if to listen for the voice that would never come.

"O Iftikhar, soul of my soul, light of my eyes, joy of my joy! have you not one word for me,—for me who have clung fast to you these many years through all? Speak, though it be but to curse me! Speak, though it be of love for the Greek! You will not, cannot, go out now and leave me here alone,—alone, alone!"