NO sooner did Guy Muschamp find the door of his prison opened, than he rushed out to ascertain the cause of the tumult to which he was indebted for liberty, and he discovered that the camp was deserted and abandoned, save by the wounded and the slain. However, he hastily donned his steel cap, possessed himself of a short sword; and having with little difficulty caught a stray horse, saddled and bridled, he mounted, and rode forth with the idea of following the Crusaders, who by this time were disappearing within the gates of Mansourah.
Fortunately, however, for Guy, he was not destined to share the fate of his gallant countrymen who fell victims to the vain folly of the Count of Artois. Nevertheless, his danger was great. By this time the Count of Brittany and a multitude of warriors were riding towards Mansourah to aid the Count of Artois; and, as the Saracens who came out to oppose their progress rapidly spread over the plain, Guy began to find his position somewhat perilous, and to give himself up for lost. At that moment, however, his eye and his ear were attractedby the gleaming of spears and the ringing of mail to a ruined house; and, cantering thither, he found to his joyful surprise, that the Lord of Joinville and his knights had taken shelter there, to await the arrival of the king, who was still engaged in passing the main body of his army over the Achmoun.
Nor had they long to wait. As with breathless anxiety they watched the Saracens, swarming like bees from their hives, and covering the plain, Louis, having at length crossed the canal, with sound of trumpets and clarions, rode up at the head of his cavalry, and, with a German sword in his hand, halted on an eminence to survey the field. And neither in air nor appearance did Louis, at that moment, look unworthy of the part he was acting as chief of the pilgrim army. His magnificent armour, his gilded helmet, and his noble bearing, gave him the appearance of being taller by the shoulders than any of his companions. As he reined up his white charger—the symbol of sovereignty—and, with the oriflamme displayed before him, endeavoured calmly to estimate the chances of the conflict, the Lord of Joinville and his knights, surrounded as they were with danger, could not but utter exclamations expressive of admiration.
'By St. James,' exclaimed Joinville, 'I never in my life saw a more handsome man under arms.'
'Certes,' replied one of the knights, 'I could almost believe that the angel of battles had come to our aid.'
While the king was still surveying the combat, that every moment became more fierce and sanguinary,the Constable of France rode up to inform him of the peril of the Count of Artois.
'Sire,' said the constable, 'your noble brother is shut up in Mansourah; and, albeit he and his comrades hold out gallantly, they must perish if not aided forthwith.'
'Well, constable,' answered Louis, 'on to the rescue, in God's name, and I will speedily follow.'
The constable, without more words, gave his horse the spur, and dashed towards Mansourah, whither the king and his knights also attempted to make their way. But this was no easy matter. Every moment the Saracens seemed to increase in numbers; and the Crusaders, while struggling bravely not to be overwhelmed by odds, were exposed to terrible hazard. Louis soon found himself in the thick of the fight and environed by foes. Nothing seemed to remain to him but to sell his life dearly; and six Saracens, rushing forward simultaneously, attempted to seize his bridle, and take him captive. But, at that moment, Louis—gentle and saintly as was his nature—used his German sword with a vigour and effect, scarcely excelled by Richard Cœur de Lion at Joppa, when he charged among the Mamelukes of Saladin, or by Edward Longshanks at Kakhow, when the sweep of his sword, and the rush of his grey steed, struck terror into the heart of the host of Bibars Bendocdar. Down before that short German sword went turban and caftan; till the French knights, aware of their king's danger, spurred in to his rescue, and, with a mighty effort, saved him from captivity.
And now another attempt was made to reach Mansourah. But it was too late. All was over with the brave band who had followed the Count of Artois into the city; and every moment the aspect of affairs became more menacing; for Bibars Bendocdar, elate with his victory within the walls, issued from the gate, animating his soldiers with the words—'God is powerful,' and hoping to deal with the French king, as he had dealt with the French king's brother. Nor, at first, did it appear that the Crusaders could escape utter defeat. Not aware what was occurring, and suddenly attacked by a mighty force led by a dauntless chief, they were pressed and whirled about and separated from each other, and forced to encounter countless odds at every disadvantage. Yet even in such circumstances the warriors of France maintained their high reputation for valour; and, as the combat proceeded and became keener and keener, many a strong Saracen went to his account.
On both sides, indeed, great was the display of personal prowess and courage; but there was no generalship. Amidst clouds of dust, and under a glowing sun, Christian and Moslem fought hand to hand, and steel to steel. Helmet and turban mingled confusedly in the struggle; while banners rose and fell, and knights were unhorsed, and saddles emptied. From Mansourah to Achmoun, and from the Nile to the ford pointed out by the Bedouin, the ground, literally covered with combatants, shook with the rush of their horses, and the sky was rent by the opposing war-cries of 'Islam! Islam!' and 'Montjoie, St. Denis!' What with the shouts of the living,the shrieks of the dying, and the yells of the Saracens, as they bore down on their adversaries like hawks on their prey, all was bloodshed, confusion, and clamour, and the carnage was such as few men, who fought on that field and survived it, ever remembered without a thrill of awe.
And as the day sped on and the battle continued to rage all over the plain, and warriors fell in heaps before and around him, Louis became painfully aware that Mansourah could not be reached, and that the Crusaders were no longer fighting to conquer the Saracens but to save themselves. And there was considerable danger of Bibars Bendocdar drawing near to the Achmoun, and cutting off all communication between the camp of the Duke of Burgundy, and the Christian army struggling for existence on the plains of Mansourah. On becoming aware of the danger, the king decided on falling back towards the canal, and, with the oriflamme displayed, moved in that direction.
Unfortunate were the consequences. A report immediately spread that the king was retreating because the Saracens were everywhere victorious, and immediately there was a panic, and several squadrons disbanded and rushed towards the canal. A terrible scene followed, and men and horses were drowned while struggling in the water. Nothing could have exceeded the disorder and dismay. Louis, indeed, made strenuous efforts to restore confidence, but his voice was scarcely heard in the tumult; and he must have rejoiced when night put an end to the conflict, and when Bibars Bendocdar retired to Mansourah, with the determination to attack theCrusaders on another day, as the tiger draws back to make a more terrible spring.
Repairing to Djédilé, Louis dismounted, and took possession of the camp which, at daybreak, had been occupied by the Emir Fakreddin; and when his red tent was pitched there, the Prior of Rosnay presented himself, and kissed the king's hand.
'Sire,' said he, wishing to break the news gently, 'I know not if you have heard tidings of your noble brother, the Count of Artois?'
'I know all,' answered Louis, mournfully.
'Sire,' said the prior, endeavouring to administer consolation, 'no King of France has ever reaped such honour as you have done this day. You have crossed a dangerous river; you have gained a victory; you have put your enemies to flight; you have captured their engines of war; and now you are taking possession of their camp.'
'May God be praised for all that I have, with His aid, been able to do in His cause,' said Louis, with a faltering voice, and tears rolling down his cheeks, as he entered his pavilion.
'On my faith, sir prior,' said John de Valery, with the tone of a man who has a presentiment of coming calamity, 'I marvel how you can speak of this day's work as a triumph of our arms. Often have I fought for victory; but this day I have felt too surely that I was fighting not for victory but for life.'
'In truth,' said the Lord of Joinville, who had joined them, 'I would fain hope for better fortune in the future; for, call this a victory if you will, such another victory would be worse than a defeat.'
WHEN the Constable of France informed King Louis that the Count of Artois was in extreme peril, and when Louis made an effort to go to the rescue of his brother—the Lord of Joinville, having previously left the ruined house, and joined the king, endeavoured to keep in the royal warrior's company. But all efforts with this object proved vain. The Saracens, raising clouds of dust and uttering ferocious yells as they advanced, came down upon the Crusaders with a force that was irresistible. The French were scattered in all directions; and Joinville was separated from Louis some minutes before the person of the saintly monarch was in such imminent danger. But in the meantime the seneschal's band had been reduced to six persons, including Guy Muschamp, who adhered with determination to Joinville's side; and between them and the king, then struggling to save his liberty, intervened thousands of Saracens.
'Impossible for us to make our way through such a crowd,' said Joinville; 'much better, therefore, will it be to wheel round and get on the other side of them.'
Accordingly they wheeled round, and gained the bank of the river, and began to descend. But at this moment the aspect of the field became most alarming to the armed pilgrims. The Crusaders and Saracens met on the banks, and many of the French, attempting to cross and form a junction with the Duke of Burgundy, were drowned; and the river was covered with lances, pikes, shields, and horses and men struggling in vain to save themselves.
By this time the Lord of Joinville, heading his knights, had reached a bridge on one of the roads to Mansourah; and on perceiving the miserable state of the army he halted.
'It is better,' said he, after looking round, 'to remain where we are, and guard this bridge; for, if we leave it, the Saracens may come and attack the king on this side, and, if he is assaulted from two quarters, he will surely be discomfited.'
Accordingly they posted themselves on the bridge which was between the canal Achmoun and the gates of Mansourah, and prepared to defend it against the Saracens. But such was the danger, that Joinville's heart, brave as it was, beat with terror, and he cried aloud for the protection of St. James.
'Good Lord St. James,' exclaimed he; 'succour me, I beseech thee, and come to my aid in this hour of need.'
It seemed to him and his companions that his prayer was answered. Almost as he uttered it, the Count of Soissons, who was his kinsman, appeared riding past the bridge; and Joinville hastened to secure his company.
'Sir count,' said he; 'I beg you to remain with us and guard this bridge; for, should it be lost, the king will have his enemies upon him both in front and rear.'
'Willingly, seneschal,' replied the count; and he placed himself on Joinville's right hand, while a French knight who was with him took his station on the left.
While Joinville and his companions were seated on their horses, prepared to keep the bridge at all hazards against all comers, the Saracens made repeated efforts to drive them from their post. But they remained firm as rocks. Trusting to accomplish by stratagem what they could not do by force, the Saracens attempted to lure them from the spot; and one stalwart horseman, galloping suddenly forward, felled one of the French knights with his battle-axe, and then retreated to his own people, hoping that he would be followed. But Joinville, who comprehended the purpose, would not be decoyed, and resolutely kept his ground, though annoyed and wounded by a rabble of half-armed Saracens, who incessantly threw darts, and large stones, and hard clods.
At length, however, the Saracens began to make themselves much more formidable, and to discharge Greek fire, which threatened to do much mischief, and pressed forward with savage yells.
'On my faith, we must take order with this rabble,' said the Count of Soissons, growing angry.
'As you will,' replied Joinville; and, without further hesitation, they charged the crowd, put them to flight, and resumed their post.
But no sooner did the Saracens perceive that the immediate danger was over, than they turned round, and, keeping at a safe distance, yelled out defiance.
'Heed them not, seneschal,' said the Count of Soissons, who, in the midst of peril, retained all the gaiety of soul which distinguished the French chevaliers from the thoughtful Saxon, and the haughty and somewhat grim Norman. 'Heed them not. Let this rascal canaille bawl and bray as they please. By St. Denis, you and I will live to talk of this day's exploits in the chambers of our ladies.'
'May God and good St. James grant it,' said Joinville, gravely.
'But who comes hither, and in such a plight?' asked the Count of Soissons, suddenly, as a Crusader, mounted on a strong horse, came galloping from the direction of Mansourah—his face wounded, blood gushing from his mouth, the reins of his bridle cut, and his hands resting, as if for support, on his charger's neck.
'In truth,' replied Joinville, after examining the horseman, 'it is the Count of Brittany;' as, closely pursued by Saracens, the wounded warrior gained the bridge, and ever and anon turned round and shouted mockingly to his pursuers.
'By St. Denis,' exclaimed the count, 'one thing is certain: he is not afraid of his pursuers.'
And almost as the Count of Soissons spoke, the Count of Brittany was followed by two warriors, who made their way through the Saracens, literally smiting to the earth all who came in their way.Nothing, it seemed, could resist their progress; and their path was tracked with blood. On they came, scornfully scattering their foes till they reached the bridge, when reining up where the Lord of Joinville was posted, they stopped to take breath, after their almost superhuman exertions. One had in his hand a battle-axe; the other a sword. The battle-axe was stained red with gore; the sword was hacked till it looked 'like a saw of dark and purple tint.' One was Bisset, the English knight, the other was the Grand Master of the Temple. The horses of both were wounded all over; the helmets of both were deeply dinted. Bisset's mail was almost hacked to pieces; the Templar's vestments were torn to rags, his cuirass pierced, and his eye and face wounded and bleeding.
'You bring tidings of woe?' said the Count of Soissons.
'Woe, in truth,' answered Bisset; for the grand master could not even muster voice to speak; 'of all who rode into Mansourah this morning, not a man, save ourselves, lives to tell the tale.'
'And what of the Count of Artois, sir knight?' asked Joinville.
'I know not,' replied Bisset, briefly; 'the count disappeared early, and doubtless died with the comrades of his jeopardy.'
'No,' interrupted the Count of Brittany, faintly, 'he was drowned while attempting to save himself by flight. At least,' added he, 'so I have been told.'
And in truth, to this day it is somewhat uncertain what became of Robert, Count of Artois, though themost probable account is that, seeing all was lost, he turned his horse's head, with a vague hope of reaching the main body of the Crusaders, and, while attempting to cross one of the branches of the Nile, sank never more to rise.
It was about this time that King Louis had moved towards the Achmoun; and the Constable of France, with the king's crossbowmen under his command, just as the sun was setting came to the bridge which had been so bravely defended.
'Seneschal,' said he, addressing Joinville, 'you and your comrades have behaved well in guarding this bridge; and now, all danger being over in this quarter, I pray you to accompany the Lord John de Valery to the king, who is about to go to his pavilion.'
And Joinville went as the constable requested; and while his companions were pursuing their way towards the king's red pavilion—that pavilion in which the Emir Fakreddin had boasted he would dine on the day of St. Sebastian—Guy Muschamp approached Bisset, the English knight, and entreated his attention.
'Sir knight,' said he, 'I would fain enquire if you know what has befallen the English squire, by name Walter Espec?'
'Boy,' replied Bisset, 'I know not what may have befallen him; but, if I were to hazard a guess, I should say that he died, and died bravely. I remember me that he fought to the last; and I hoped that he was destined to escape, as I did; but I grieve to say that he failed so to do.'
'Alas! alas!' said Guy sadly, and he clasped his hands, as if muttering a prayer for his comrade's soul; 'woe is me, that I should live to hear that my brother-in-arms, the good Walter, has fallen.'
'My brave youth,' urged Bisset, kindly, as he observed that the boy's face was suffused with tears, 'death has this day been the portion of many thousands of valiant men; and, for your brother-in-arms, I can testify for your comfort that he fought to the last with the courage of a hero, and I doubt not, that he faced death with the courage of a martyr.'
'And if we are to give the faith which our fathers did to the words of holy men,' added Guy, solemnly, 'the souls of all such as fall, fighting for the Cross, are purified from sin, and admitted straight to Paradise.'
'By the mass, I have heard priests say so,' replied Bisset, after a pause, during which he eyed the boy with evident surprise; 'and mayhap,' continued he, 'in the days of Peter the Hermit, and Godfrey of Bouillon, such was the case. But, credit me, in our day, armed pilgrims are guilty of such flagrant sins during their pilgrimage, and while decked with the Cross, that I hardly deem them likely to get access to Paradise on such easy terms.'
'By St. John of Beverley,' exclaimed the squire, in great astonishment, 'deem you that matters are so much changed, sir knight?'
'So much so,' answered Bisset, shaking his head, 'that seeing, save myself, you are almost the only Englishman left in this army of pilgrims, I am free to confess to you my opinion, that for aught we arelikely to do for the Holy Sepulchre, we might as well have stayed at home, and hunted, and hawked, and held our neighbours at feud. On my life, I have seen enough of this army to feel sure that Blacas, the troubadour knight, is a wise man, when on being asked whether he will go to the Holy Land, answers, that he loves and is beloved, and that he will remain at home with his ladye love.'
And already, forgetting his wounds, and his bruises, his hair-breadth escape, and the terrible scenes in which he had that day acted a part, the knight, as he reached the tent of King Louis, and prepared to dismount, half chanted, half sung, the lines with which Blacas concludes his simple song:—
Je ferai ma pénitence,Entre mer et Durance,Auprès de son manoir.
ON the day when the city of Mansourah witnessed the carnage of the Crusaders under the Count of Artois, and a great battle shook the plain outside the walls, the Egyptians experienced by turns fear and hope, joy and sadness.
On the morning when the camp at Djédilé was taken, and the Emir Fakreddin slain, a pigeon carried intelligence of the disaster to Cairo; and the Egyptian capital was immediately in consternation. Believing that the days of Islamism were numbered, and the empire of the sultan on the verge of ruin, the inhabitants thought of nothing but escape from the danger that impended. Many departed for Upper Egypt, and sorrow reigned in the city—the inhabitants bewailing their misfortunes, and crying that the world was coming to an end. A second pigeon, however, carried thither tidings that the Count of Artois was defeated and slain; and Cairo became the scene of joy and rejoicing. Fear vanished from every face; and the Saracens gratefully extolled the courage of the Mamelukes, and of their chief, Bibars Bendocdar.
At the same time, an arrival of great importance took place at Mansourah. While the battle was raging on the plain, Touran Chah, the new sultan, reached the city, and was received with acclamations by the populace. The emirs, however, regarded the sultan with some suspicion. Unfortunately, Touran Chah did not come alone; and the jealousy of the emirs was aroused by the presence of the favourites who accompanied him from Mesopotamia. If the heir of Saladin could have foreseen what a price he was to pay for the happiness of having his favourites with him, he would doubtless have been discreet enough to leave them behind.
But, in the meantime, it was necessary for the safety and interests both of the sultan and the emirs, that the Crusaders should be destroyed; and Bibars Bendocdar was bent on pursuing his success. In the first place, he made several attempts to recapture the engines of war, and the French were repeatedly roused to defend them at the point of the sword. But these attacks led to a feeling of insecurity, and King Louis deemed it prudent to construct a bridge of wood over the Achmoun, so as to have the means of communicating readily with the Duke of Burgundy's camp. Who at that time could have imagined the mischief of which this bridge was subsequently to be the cause?
Meanwhile Bibars Bendocdar was doing his best to inflame the enthusiasm of the Mamelukes and soldiers. Nor, with that object, was he above practising a little deception. A cuirass covered with fleur-de-lis was publicly exhibited, and declared tobe that of the French king. Heralds proclaimed that the Christian army, deprived of its chief, was like a trunk without a head; and the enthusiasm of the Saracens reached a high pitch. At length, the soldiers began to clamour to be led against the enemy, and Bibars Bendocdar fixed Friday, the 11th of February, as the day on which he would lead them to triumph.
It was the first Friday in Lent; and King Louis, having received warning that an attack was meditated, gave orders for fortifying the camp, and preparing for a conflict. At daybreak, accordingly, the Crusaders were under arms; and, in good time, Bibars Bendocdar appeared on the plain, setting his men in battle order. Placing his cavalry in the van, the infantry behind, and a strong reserve in the rear, the Mameluke chief extended his lines till his forces seemed to cover the plain. Nor was he sorry to observe that there was a prospect of a stern resistance; for the difficulties of his situation increased his importance in the eyes of his soldiers, and every step he took in overcoming perils, from which others shrank, brought him nearer to the object on which his heart was set—that object being neither more nor less than the throne of the sultans.
And now, noon having come, with horns and kettle-drums sounding an onset, Bibars Bendocdar advanced on the Crusaders, and attacked the Count of Anjou, who was at the head of the camp on the side towards the Nile. At first, the French cavalry calmly abided the assault; but they soon found themselves exposed to a kind of attack which theyhad not anticipated. In fact, the Saracen infantry, moving forward, overwhelmed the knights with Greek fire, and threw them into confusion. Surcoats and caparisons blazed, and the horses plunged, broke from the control of their riders, and galloped to and fro. While they were in disorder, Bibars Bendocdar, at the head of the Mamelukes, penetrated within the entrenchments, and the Count of Anjou found himself surrounded by foes.
Ere this, King Louis, aware of his brother's peril, despatched Bisset, the English knight, with a message assuring the count of speedy aid; but, ere the Englishman reached the Count of Anjou, he met the French cavalry flying in disarray. Bisset reined up, and addressed the fugitives.
'Christian warriors,' said he, 'I come from your king to ask whither are you flying? See you not that the horses of the unbelievers are swifter than yours?'
'It is too true,' replied the fugitives.
'Come then,' said Bisset, 'follow me, and I will show you what your king deems a safer road than flight;' and charging among the Mamelukes, in front of the French cavalry, the English knight succeeded in maintaining the conflict, which had commenced so inauspiciously for the French.
And aid was at hand; for Louis did not forget his promise of succour. Shouting his battle-cry, he spurred, lance in rest, to his brother's rescue, and, precipitating himself with his knights on the Moslem warriors, soon redeemed the disaster which had marked the opening of the battle. Nor did thesaint-king exhibit the slightest dread of exposing his royal person. With a shout of 'Montjoie, St. Denis!' he charged into the midst of the foe—his banner flying, and his sword flashing—and by his example inspired the Crusaders with such courage that, after a sanguinary combat, they succeeded in expelling the Mamelukes from the camp, and driving back the infantry that threw the Greek fire.
By this time the battle had become general, and everywhere the Crusaders fought valiantly and well, though they had not always the advantage. In fact, Bibars Bendocdar, as a war chief, possessed such a degree of skill in handling masses of fighting men as neither Louis nor any of the Crusaders could boast of; and the discipline of the Mamelukes was such as to make them terrible foes to encounter.
Nevertheless the Crusaders held their ground, and performed prodigies of valour. At one point the warriors of Syria and Cyprus maintained their ground against fearful odds; at a second, the knights of Champagne and Flanders fought stoutly and well; at a third, such of the Templars as had not fallen at Mansourah, headed by their grand master who had so narrowly escaped the carnage, exhibited the fine spectacle of a handful of men baffling a multitude, and, despite the showers of Greek fire and missiles which fell so thick that the ground was literally covered with arrows and javelins, kept the enemy at bay. Even when the grand master fell mortally wounded, the Knights of the Temple continued to struggle; and when their entrenchments failed, and the Saracens rushed into the camp, the militarymonks closed their ranks and presented a front against which the assailants continued for hours to charge violently, but in vain.
But meanwhile the peril of the Count of Poictiers had been great and alarming. Composed of infantry, his division gave way before the rush of the Saracen cavalry, and dispersed in consternation. Nor was this the worst. The count himself, while endeavouring to rally his forces, was seized, and experienced the mortification of finding himself dragged off as a prisoner. But there was succour at hand.
The Lord of Joinville and his knights were luckily posted near the Count of Poictiers; but having all been so severely wounded in the battle of Shrove Tuesday as to be unable to bear their armour, they could take no prominent part in the conflict raging around them. No sooner, however, did they observe the count's predicament than they deemed themselves bound to interfere at all hazards; and Guy Muschamp, riding to the place where the sutlers and workmen and women of the army were posted, urged them to rouse themselves.
'Good people,' cried the squire, 'the brave Count of Poictiers is being carried into captivity. For our Leader's sake, succour the Count of Poictiers. To the rescue! to the rescue!'
Now the count was highly popular with the persons to whom this appeal was addressed; and no sooner did they learn the prince's danger than they displayed the utmost alacrity to aid him. Arming themselves with axes, and clubs, and sticks, and anything that came in their way, they rushed furiouslyforward, and, led on by the English squire, made so successful an attack that the Saracens were dispersed, and the count was rescued and carried back in triumph.
'Young gentleman,' said the count, gratefully, 'I owe you my liberty. I pray you, tell me to whom I am so deeply indebted.'
'Noble count,' replied Guy, after telling his name, 'I am a squire of England; and, for the present, I serve the Lord of Joinville.'
'Ah,' said the count, smiling, 'the seneschal must give you to me; for I would fain have an opportunity of proving how I can requite such good service.'
By this time Bibars Bendocdar perceived that he was wasting his strength in vain, and sounded a retreat. But the Mameluke chief was not without his consolation. He knew that he had ruined the enterprise of the Crusaders; that they were no longer in a condition to attempt a march to Cairo; and that they knew not on which side to turn.
But when the Saracens retreated towards Damietta, and the danger was over for the time being, the Crusaders were inclined to talk of their successful resistance as a victory; and the knights and barons when summoned that evening to the king's pavilion, went thither with the airs of conquerors.
'My lords and friends,' said Louis, kindly; 'we have much cause to be grateful to God our Creator. On Tuesday, aided by Him, we dislodged our enemies from their quarters, of which we gained possession. This day we have defended ourselves against them, though taken at advantage; many of us being leftwithout arms or horses, while they were completely armed and on horseback, and on their own ground. And since you have all witnessed the grace which God our Creator has of late shown to us, and continues to do daily, I commend you all, as you are bounden to do, to return Him due thanksgiving.'
NO longer could the armed pilgrims, so recently buoyed up with the hope of making themselves famous as the conquerors of Egypt, delude their imaginations with the project of advancing to Cairo.
'It is necessary to retreat to Damietta,' said the wise and prudent.
'A retreat to Damietta in the face of the foe is more than our pride can brook,' exclaimed the haughty and obstinate.
'Let us remain at Djédilé, and trust to the course of events,' suggested the reckless and the irresolute.
At Djédilé, accordingly, the Crusaders remained; and ere long, their calamities began in earnest, and daily increased in magnitude. First came disease; then came famine; and death and despair soon did more than the Saracens could with the utmost efforts have hoped to accomplish.
It appears that, after the two battles fought on the plains of Mansourah, the Crusaders had neglected to bury the slain; and the bodies thrown confusedly into the Achmoun, and floating on the water, stopped before the wooden bridge, and infected the atmosphere.A contagious disease was the consequence; and this, being increased by the abstinence during Lent, wrought such havoc, that nothing was heard in the camp but mourning and lamentation. Louis, sad, but still not in despair, exerted himself to mitigate the sufferings of his army. At length he also fell sick, and, every day, affairs wore a gloomier aspect.
'It seems,' said Guy Muschamp, who lay prostrate with sickness in the tent of the Lord of Joinville, 'it seems that Heaven has abandoned the soldiers of the Cross.'
'Hem,' replied Bisset, to whom this was addressed, 'I see not why Heaven should be blamed for the evils which men bring on themselves by their own folly. I warned you at Damietta what would be the end of all the boastings which were uttered hourly. A haughty spirit goes before a fall. Trust me, we have not yet seen the worst. By the might of Mary, we armed pilgrims may yet find ourselves under a necessity similar to that which made cannibals of the soldiers of King Cambyses when he made war in Egypt!'
'King Cambyses?' repeated Guy, enquiringly.
'Ay,' replied Bisset, 'he was King of Persia, and almost as great a monarch as King Louis; and when he was in this country his provisions ran short. At first his soldiers lived on herbs, roots, and leaves; when they could not get even these, they ate their horses and beasts of burden; and, when the horses and beasts of burden were finished, they began to devour one another; and every tenth man, on whom the lot fell, was doomed to serve as a meal forhis companions. Marry, we are like to be in a similar plight; for famine begins to stare us in the face!'
Guy groaned aloud, and wondered why he had left England; and, at that time, indeed, the new and terrible danger daunted every heart. Resolved to cut off all communication between Damietta and the camp of the Crusaders, the sultan ordered a number of galleys to be transported overland, to form an ambuscade; and many French vessels were intercepted. For a time, Louis could not comprehend how no arrivals took place, and felt the gravest alarm. Ere long, however, one vessel, belonging to the Count of Flanders, escaped the vigilance of the galleys, and brought tidings that the sultan's flag was displayed all along the Nile. The Crusaders received this intelligence with horror; and, in a few days, the evil of famine was added to that of pestilence.
'What is to be done now?' asked they, giving way to despondency.
'It is quite clear,' said Louis, 'that, in order to save ourselves, we must treat with our enemies.'
No time was lost. Philip de Montfort, a knight of renown, was despatched as ambassador to the sultan, and was led to cherish hopes of success. The sultan not only expressed his readiness to treat, but actually nominated commissioners. At first everything went smoothly, and the Saracens appeared reasonable in their demands. But when the question of hostages came to be discussed, a difficulty arose.
'I am empowered to offer the Counts of Poictiers and Anjou as hostages,' said De Montfort.
'No,' replied the Saracens, 'the sultan requires the King of France.'
'You ought to know Frenchmen better,' exclaimed Geoffrey de Segrines, one of the commissioners; 'they would rather die than leave their king in pledge.'
After this, the negotiation was broken off; and the French prepared to cross the Achmoun by the bridge, and deliberate on the propriety of marching back to Damietta. But even the passage of the bridge was not effected without terrible danger and heavy loss. No sooner did the Crusaders begin to move, than the Saracens came down upon them, and made a furious attack; but Walter de Chatillon, a French baron of great fame, led on his companions to the encounter, and after being seconded by the Count of Anjou, succeeded in repulsing the foe. The Crusaders, however, after remaining some days in their old camp, found that they were a prey to the worst calamities, and, no longer hesitating, decided on a day for returning to Damietta.
Unfortunately for the armed pilgrims, their resolution was no secret to the Saracens, and when Touran Chah became aware of their intended movement down the Nile, he devised measures to intercept them. He himself harangued his soldiers, distributed money and provisions, reinforced them with Arabs attracted to his standard by the prospect of booty, and ordered boats with troops on board to descend the river, and join the fleet already there; while bodies of light horse were placed on all the roads by which the Crusaders were likely to make good their retreat.
Nevertheless, the Crusaders, finding their present position desperate, persevered in their resolution, and Tuesday, the 5th of April, was appointed for the perilous enterprise. On the arrival of that day, the sick, the wounded, the women, and the children, were embarked on the Nile, and, at the same time, several French nobles, and the papal legate, got on board a vessel. No doubt seems to have existed that Louis might have saved himself. Even the Arabian historians admit that the French king might have escaped, either in a boat or on horseback, if he would have abandoned his army. But, with characteristic generosity, he distinctly refused to separate his fate from theirs. Anxious about his safety, the soldiers ran along the bank, shouting to the boatmen not to set sail till the king embarked.
'Wait for the king—wait for the king!' cried they.
'No,' said Louis, his heart touched, but his resolution firm; 'go on. I will share weal or woe with my soldiers. I am not such a niggard of life, that I grudge to risk it in such company, and in such a cause.'
And now the boats began to descend the Nile; and at the same time the Duke of Burgundy, having broken up his camp, about nightfall commenced a retreat towards Damietta. But at this stage, the French were guilty of a piece of negligence that was destined to cost them dear. The king had ordered the wooden bridge over the Achmoun to be destroyed. In their agitation and haste, the French paid no attention to the order. In vain Bisset, the English knight, protested against such insane indifference to a manifest peril.
'My masters,' said he, bluntly, 'we can hardly be deemed otherwise than madmen, if we leave that bridge standing as it is, to afford the Saracens a safe passage over the canal, to attack us in the rear.'
'Sir knight,' replied the French drily, for they did not relish an Englishman's interference, 'it is not from that quarter that danger is most to be apprehended.'
'Nevertheless,' urged Bisset.
'We are wasting time to no purpose,' said the French; 'and this day, time is more precious than your counsel.'
'As you will, my masters,' replied Bisset; 'only credit me, that if you leave that bridge behind you to facilitate the operations of your enemies, you will place your army in such a predicament, that neither the craft of Alexander of Macedon, nor William the Norman—could either come from their graves to lead—would avail to save it from destruction ere reaching Damietta.'
And having administered this warning, Bisset withdrew, with the consolation of a man who has done at least his duty, and with the air also of a man much too reckless as to his personal safety to fear much on his own account from the consequences of the blunders and incapacity of others; then, arming himself, he saddled his steed, girded on his sword, hung his battle-axe at his saddle-bow, and went to attend King Louis during the perilous enterprise of marching through a country, with armed foes posted at the turn of every road.
'Hearken to that English tail,' said the Frenchone to another, as Bisset withdrew; 'these islanders are so timid, that they will next be afraid of their own shadows.'
'By the head of St. Anthony,' said a knight, who had been attached to the Count of Artois, 'I hate the tailed English so, that I would leave the bridge as it is, if only to mortify one of them.'
IT was already dark when the pilgrim army commenced a perilous retreat to Damietta, and when the King of France, surrounded by a band of brave knights, undertook the duty of bringing up the rear—on that occasion the post of honour.
But Louis was in no condition to occupy such a position with advantage. He was not fully recovered from his sickness, and so weak, that he could hardly bear the weight of his armour, or support himself on his white charger. Neither helmet nor cuirass wore he; nor had he any weapon save his sword; nor had he sufficient strength to wield his sword to any purpose in the event of a close encounter.
And, as it happened, the post of honour speedily became the post of danger. As Bisset had predicted, the Saracens lost not a minute in availing themselves of the bridge that had been left standing. In an incredibly brief space of time, they contrived to cross the canal in such numbers, that the plain on the Damietta side was covered with turbaned warriors, bent on the destruction of their foes; and, in the darkness of the night, their cavalry chargedconstantly, and with deadly effect, on the retiring and dispirited rear of the Crusaders.
Of course, the plight of Louis and his comrades every hour became more deplorable. They fell into disorder; they ran against and impeded each other; and cries of anger and despair were mingled with the neighing of horses, and the clash of arms. Earnestly they prayed for day, that they might, at least, ascertain their real position; but, when day came, it brought no comfort. In fact, when the rising sun revealed their diminished and diminishing numbers, and the formidable force of enemies who surrounded them—here a handful of men—there a host—the very boldest of the Crusaders gave themselves up for lost, and a simultaneous cry of terror and dismay broke from their scanty ranks.
'Gentlemen,' said Louis, calm in the midst of peril, 'droop not. At the great battle of Antioch, Godfrey of Bouillon, and his companions, had worse odds than we.'
'And they conquered,' said Walter de Chatillon, striving to banish apprehension, 'and we may conquer.'
'Yes,' replied Louis, 'they had faith in God's protection, and confidence in the holiness of their cause; and it seemed to them that while the struggle was well-nigh hopeless, the blessed martyrs—George, Demetrius, and Theodore, came to aid them, and assure them of victory.'
'Ha,' said Bisset, the English knight, as if speaking to himself, 'I have heard that some saw St. George in the air, with an army of white horses; butthese did no doubt look through the spectacles of fancy.'
Louis turned, bent his brow, and darted upon the speaker a glance of keen reproach, which might have found fuller expression in words. But there was no time for argument or admonition; for at that moment the Saracens made one of their fiery charges, and though the French warriors defended themselves and their king with heroism, they could not hope that valour would ultimately save them. While Chatillon and Bisset, now charging singly, now side by side, did wonders in keeping a space clear around the king and the royal standard, Geoffrey de Segrines, adhering to the side of Louis, wielded his sword with such effect that he drove off, one by one, the horsemen who darted forth from the Saracen ranks.
'In truth,' said the brave Frenchman, when complimented by Bisset on his exploits, 'I know not how it is; but to me, it seems that the danger of this day has doubled my strength.'
'On my faith,' replied Bisset, 'I am at a loss whether more to admire your valour or your vigilance. Your care of your good king reminds me of the watchful servant who carefully drives away the flies from his master's cup.'
But brief were the intervals allowed even for such an exchange of sentiments. Now secure of victory, and stimulated by enthusiasm and fanaticism, the Saracens grew bolder and more audacious in their attacks. Urged on by their dervishes and imaums, who had flocked to the host of Saracens to remind them that they were fighting in the cause of theprophet, they became more and more eager for carnage and blood, and the Crusaders less and less capable of a stubborn resistance. At length, on reaching the little town of Minieh, the Crusaders acknowledged that they could no longer continue the retreat; and, halting, they drew up in a body outside the town, with the simple resolution of fighting till they fell.
But by this time Louis was utterly exhausted; and Segrines, conducting him into the court, lifted him from his steed, and carried him, 'weak as a child in its mother's lap,' into a house, expecting every moment to be his last. Nor did the prospects of the Crusaders outside improve in the king's absence. Alarming rumours, vaguely flying about the town, reached their ears and depressed their hearts; and, while they were still in panic and incertitude, the Saracens made an onset with more than their former ferocity. Soon all was confusion and carnage. It seemed, indeed, that nothing but the hearts' blood of the Crusaders would satisfy the vindictive cravings of their foes; and so utterly dispirited by adversity and defeat, and pestilence, were knights formerly renowned as brave among the bravest that they allowed themselves, almost without resisting, to be slaughtered in heaps.
Naturally, however, there were striking exceptions; and none were more remarkable than Chatillon and Bisset; who, when Louis was conducted into Minieh, took up their post hard by an orange grove, and close to a wall at the entrance of the narrow street leading to the house into which Segrines had carried the king.
Nothing could have exceeded Chatillon's fiery valour. At one moment he rushed like lightning among the Saracens, scattered them, and cut them down. Then after reining back to the wall to draw out the arrows and darts that adhered to his cuirass, he returned to the charge, rising in his stirrups, and shouting—'Chatillon, knights—Chatillon to the rescue.'
Meanwhile Bisset exerted himself with no less courage and prowess. Scorning his danger, and scorning his foes, he charged among the Saracens, with shouts of—'Holy Cross, Holy Cross! Down with the pagan dogs! Down with the slaves of Mahound and Termagaunt!' Nothing could resist the vehemence of his attack. In vain were all attempts to drag him from his steed. Before his mighty battle-axe the Saracens seemed to shake and fall as corn before the reaper.
At length Chatillon, mortally wounded, dropt from his horse, and the Saracen who had wounded him springing forward seized the French knight's steed, which was one sheet of blood and foam. Bisset cleft the Saracen's skull to the teeth, and laughed defiantly as he avenged the fall of his comrade-in-arms.
But Bisset was now alone; and his situation was so utterly desperate, that any ordinary man, even in that feudal and fighting age, would have relinquished all hope and yielded to fate. The English knight had no inclination to do anything of the kind. Rapidly his eye measured the ground; as rapidly his brain calculated the chances of reaching the orange grove; and as rapidly he arrived at the conclusion that he could cut his way through the crowd. No soonerhad he settled this than he wasted not a moment in hesitation. Drawing back towards the wall, and halting for a moment, with his face to his foes, to breathe his panting steed, he once more, with battle-axe in hand, charged forward upon his now recoiling foes, but this time not to return. Nothing daunted by the darts and arrows that flew around him, he deliberately pursued the course which his eye had marked out, literally felling to the earth all who attempted to stop his progress, but skillfully avoiding foes whom it was not necessary to encounter. Only a man of the highest courage would have made such an attempt: only a man of the strongest will would have persevered.
Now Bisset had both courage and strength of will, and in spite of all the chances against him, he did reach the orange grove, and making his way through it as well as he could, found himself in the verge of a wood of palms and sycamores. But he himself was wounded; his horse was bleeding in a dozen places; and close behind him were three Saracens, well mounted, and thirsting for his blood. It may seem to the reader, that such being the circumstances, Bisset might as well have fallen at Mansourah or with Walter de Chatillon at the entrance to the narrow street leading to the house to which the king had been carried. But, certainly, that was by no means his view of the case; for he was one of those warriors who never despair; and he turned on his pursuers like a lion at bay.
'Surely,' said he, speaking to himself, 'wounded and weary as I am, I should be but a poor Christianknight if I could not deal with three pagan dogs.'
And terrible, even to brave foes, was the ferocity and fury with which Bisset turned upon the Saracens. Mighty was the force with which he swung a battle-axe, ponderous enough to have served as a weapon to Cœur de Lion. Crushed by one swoop of the axe fell the first of the pursuers—down, as it again swung on high, fell the second, who a moment earlier was uttering threats of vengeance. But the English knight had no inclination to encounter the third antagonist. His horse, as he felt, was sinking; he himself was weakened by loss of blood; and, quick as thought, he turned towards the wood of palms and sycamores.
But a new difficulty presented itself. Between Bisset and the wood was a very deep ditch which at another time would have made him pause. Now, however, he did not hesitate, even for an instant. He touched his steed with the spur; he spoke as if imploring the noble animal to make a last effort; and the result was a gallant bound. But the effort was too much. In exerting itself to scramble up the opposite bank, the good steed broke its back; and the knight, freeing his limbs from its corse, quickly drew his dagger and relieved it from suffering.
The delay, however, had proved dangerous. Even as he gained one bank of the ditch the Saracen was at the other, and preparing to launch a javelin. One moment only intervened between the Crusader and death; but that moment was not neglected. With his remaining strength Bisset raised his battle-axe,whirled it with irresistible force, and, as the weapon whizzed through the air, the Saracen dropped from his horse and rolled into the ditch, the water of which immediately became red with his blood.
Not a moment did Bisset now waste in getting under cover of the wood. For full five minutes he neither halted nor looked behind. At length he stopped under a palm tree; and taking out one of those little crosses which the Crusaders carried with them for purposes of prayer, and which are now symbolised by figures on the shield of many a Crusader's descendant, he knelt before it, and invoked the protection and aid of God and the saints to shield him from danger and restore him to the land of his fathers.
But almost ere the prayer was uttered, Bisset started at the sound of footsteps; and as he turned his head his brain reeled; and, after grasping at the tree for support, he sank motionless on the ground.