"'Look, my lord, my dear lord! the hound hath found water!' cried Sigier!"
"O Christ, save Thy people," he prayed devoutly. Suddenly the hound of his faithful squire, Sigier, bounded into the tent and threw himself upon his master, who stood in sad silence near Godfrey.
"Look, my lord, my dear lord! the hound hath found water!" cried Sigier; and, in truth, the paws of the dog were covered with wet sand.
Already, ere the two could step outside, they heard the wild shouts and tumult of the people, racing madly in the tracks of the dogs. It was in vain that Godfrey and the other leaders strove to check that multitude. Dashing to the brink of the river so opportunely found by the dogs of the camp, thousands threw themselves bodily into the water, many drinking so greedily that they perished. Yet the timely discovery saved the army from total destruction.
At last the almost exhausted host reached Antiochetta,—a city in a fertile plain, where the Christians were kindly received. Here they rested and regained the strength lost during their long and perilous journey. Many of the surrounding cities sent supplies to Godfrey and the other princes, and swore obedience to them.
In the midst of these pleasant happenings thearmy narrowly escaped a terrible loss. Godfrey and a few companions went hunting one day, taking their falcons and dogs. While the duke was riding in advance of his comrades, he heard savage growls, then piteous cries of distress, "Help, help, for the love of God!"
Galloping in the direction of the sounds, Godfrey soon came upon a pilgrim engaged in a struggle with a huge bear. The poor man was about to be killed. Drawing his sword, Godfrey spurred his horse fiercely on the bear; but the steed, frightened by the sight of the strange beast and its angry growls, reared back, and threw its rider to the ground. In a moment, however, Godfrey was on his feet, and as the bear turned upon him, met the attack with a mighty blow. Now a fearful struggle took place; but finally, with a fierce thrust of his sword, Godfrey killed the beast, just as Sigier and others, summoned by the pilgrim, came hurrying up.
"Alas, my lord, you are wounded!" cried Sigier; and indeed so badly was the knight hurt that he fainted away and was thought to be dead. The soldiers were grieved beyond measure, and the camp resounded with lamentations; great was the joy when it was found that Godfrey would recover. For weeks, however,he had to be carried on a litter,—saved by a miracle, said the people.
Now came the march over Mount Taurus, which was almost as difficult and dangerous as that through the desert. Over one steep mountain, which the Crusaders called "The Mountain of the Devil," there was only a narrow footpath, up which the soldiers could scarcely scramble in single file. Many horses lost their footing and fell over the precipice. Numbers of the Crusaders became so weary that they threw away their arms; and many were left to perish by the wayside, though Godfrey strove to have the weak and exhausted carried forward by the strong.
But still struggling on bravely, the Christian host at last found themselves before the rich and splendid city of Antioch. It was strongly fortified with high walls and more than four hundred towers. Many of the leaders thought that it would be prudent to wait to besiege the place until spring, when new Crusaders were to arrive, and when the army would not be exposed to famine and to the rains and tempests of the winter season now approaching. But Godfrey spoke eloquently against this delay.
"Why," said he, "should we wait for othersto come and share the glories of this army without having shared its labors and dangers? It is an insult to the army of Jesus Christ to think that they cannot endure cold and rain and famine. Are we like those birds of passage which fly away and conceal themselves on the approach of the bad season? Moreover, abundance awaits us in the city of Antioch, which will soon open its gates to us."
Moved by these brave words, the princes decided to begin the siege at once. But the city held out; and when the winter came, the army suffered most fearfully. A pestilence broke out, and thousands died of disease, in addition to those who perished of hunger or were killed in daily battles with the Turks.
The Crusaders had not time or space to bury their dead. Many deserted the army. Peter the Hermit could not bear the hardships, and reproaches of the suffering, and fled from the camp. He was pursued and brought back by Tancred; and the soldiers, who had been as much astonished by Peter's desertion as if "the stars had fallen from heaven," made him swear on the Bible not to abandon them again.
Godfrey and the good Bishop of Puy strove earnestly to put heart into the soldiers.
"God will soon deliver us," said the duke. "He has sent these afflictions upon us because we took merit to ourselves for the victory of Dorylæum and gave not all the glory to Him." But in vain his hopeful words; the army gave way to despair.
Long days of misery, each more wretched than the last, dragged slowly by, when suddenly the courage of the Crusaders was revived by a great victory. A body of the troops who had gone to the seaport of St. Simeon to buy provisions was unexpectedly attacked by a body of Turks and compelled to retreat. Godfrey, hearing of the battle, sallied forth and defeated the enemy, but was attacked by a large force sent out from Antioch. Then Turks and Crusaders battled desperately beneath the very walls of Antioch and in sight of the people on its ramparts. The fight was man to man, without order or plan. The Christian leaders all performed wonderful deeds. Godfrey seemed to possess more than mortal strength and valor. No enemy could stand against his attack; and before the terrible stroke of his great sword, lances, helmets, and armor flew to pieces.
A bold Saracen offered battle to Godfrey, and with the first blow dashed to pieces the shield ofthe Christian knight. Enraged, Godfrey rose up in his stirrups, and with all his force delivered such a mighty blow on the shoulder of the Turk as to divide his body into two parts. One fell to the ground, while the other part remained upright in the saddle. The frightened horse rushed back into the city, where the horrible sight added to the terror of the inhabitants.
So great was the number of Turks slain in this battle, that the people of Antioch were greatly cast down, while the Crusaders renewed their assaults with fresh vigor and spirit. Daily conflicts were fought, in which many women took part. Even the children formed companies, and challenged the Turkish boys to combat. These battles of the children were watched with fierce interest by the Saracens on the city walls and the Crusaders in their camp, each party cheering on its small champions. At last the city became so reduced that it would doubtless soon have surrendered had not the Crusaders imprudently consented to a truce.
While this truce was in force the soldiers gave themselves up to rioting, and the Christian princes disputed among themselves, for there was a spirit of rivalry among them, and some were haughty and quarrelsome.
Bohemond received by mistake a magnificent tent sent by an Armenian prince to the Duke of Lorraine. The Prince of Tarentum was very avaricious and pretended that the gift was intended for him. Now the Duke of Lorraine, though gentle and generous, and never haughty in his bearing toward the other princes, was not at all meek, nor inclined to suffer any trespass upon his rights or dignity. He at once demanded his property of Bohemond in peremptory terms, and when refused, would have seized it by force of arms, had not the prince, seeing that all sided with Godfrey, reluctantly delivered the tent to him, its rightful owner.
While these disputes were going on, the people of Antioch had received fresh supplies of provisions and arms, and now, refusing to surrender, again resumed the conflict. Bohemond, however, had found a traitor within the walls. This man, Phirous, had formerly been a Christian, but had become a Mohammedan. He told Bohemond that Jesus Christ had appeared to him and commanded him to betray the city into the hands of the Christians. The leaders of the Crusade were not willing to win the city by treachery, and for some time rejected the offer of Bohemond to lead them into it by the aid of Phirous. But at last,in June, 1098, the rumor that a vast army of Turks was approaching, led the princes to consent to the stratagem.
On the night appointed by Phirous to admit the Crusaders, rain poured in torrents, peals of thunder shook the air, lightning flashed continuously, and the entire western sky was strangely illuminated. But the Crusaders were undaunted by the storm. They even deemed it an omen of success when a fiery comet flamed across the heavens. Silently, stealthily, the appointed soldiers crept up close to the wall; but when they found the frail rope-ladder, let down by Phirous, dangling against the wall, a strange fright seized upon them. Not one made a move toward it; all hesitated to dare the ascent. But Bohemond, as daring as he was crafty and ambitious, soon shamed his men by setting foot on the ladder. All followed and scrambled up to the tower where Phirous awaited them. He yielded it to them, and then pointed out a gate that could easily be forced. Into the city poured the Crusaders; and the people of Antioch, waking in terror, were slaughtered or made prisoners. The city was soon in the hands of the Crusaders, though the citadel, a strong tower on a steep hill in the center of the town, could not be taken.
But scarcely had the victors ceased to rejoice over their conquest, when they found themselves besieged in turn by an immense army under the command of Kerbogha, Sultan of Mossoul, a celebrated Turkish warrior. Then the Christians, with an enemy in their city and surrounded by countless enemies without, endured the most dreadful hardships. Food became so scarce that even the horses were eaten. Godfrey generously shared his means with his soldiers, and was finally compelled to kill his favorite war-horse for food. So wretched were the Christians that many threw themselves over the battlements. Others deserted to the enemy, letting themselves down at night by cords from the city walls. These latter traitors were cursed most bitterly by their indignant comrades for such base cowardice and were called in derision "Rope-dancers." But truly it was only the stoutest hearts and strongest bodies that could stand the misery to which the Crusaders were now reduced. In spite of the brave efforts of Godfrey and some of the other princes, most of the wretched people gave up all hope. They hid themselves in their houses to await the end, and the silence of death settled down upon the stricken city.
It is said that several of the leaders proposed to secure their own safety by fleeing in the night from the beleaguered city, and were only prevented from taking this step by the appeals of Adhemar and Godfrey, who represented to them in strongest terms the everlasting disgrace that such a step would bring upon them. Kerbogha had scornfully refused any terms of surrender except "Death or captivity for all," and it seemed that such must be the fate of the Crusaders, when the aspect of affairs was suddenly changed by a miracle.
A priest, Bartholomew by name, announced that Saint Andrew had appeared to him three times, saying,—
"Go to the church of my brother Peter in Antioch. Dig up the earth near the altar, and there you will find the head of the lance that pierced the side of our Redeemer. This sacred sign borne at the head of the army shall deliver the Christians and pierce the heart of the infidels."
All the army believed in this vision, and after three solemn days of fasting and praying, Bartholomew, in the presence of twelve priests and knights, directed the workmen where to dig beneath the altar of the church. All day the digging went on, while the great crowd outsidewaited in silent impatience. At midnight, Bartholomew threw himself into the hole, and soon reappeared, bearing a spear-head in his hand. The joy of all was frantic, for they firmly believed that this holy relic would insure them a victory. Famine and fear were forgotten! All demanded to be led at once against the enemy.
The next day the gates of Antioch were thrown open, and the army marched forth in solemn and imposing procession. At the head walked the priests, bearing aloft the holy lance, and chanting, "Let the Lord arise and let His enemies be scattered." The army followed in twelve divisions, each led by one of the princes in such state as he could muster. Godfrey had given away his all and rode a horse borrowed from the rich Raymond. Many of the soldiers were without weapons and were so weak from want of food that they could scarcely walk; yet their faith gave them courage, and they surveyed the vast army of the Saracens with calm confidence in victory,—for was not God himself with them? Not a sound was heard in the ranks.
The Saracens, seeing this strange procession, at first supposed that the Christians had come out to surrender; but soon perceiving their error, they let fly a shower of arrows. A strong windblew back these infidel darts and seemed to the Crusaders yet another sign of heavenly favor; and they awaited with renewed confidence the attack of the Turks. It soon came. The bodyguard of Kerbogha, three thousand strong, both man and horse clad in complete steel armor, hurled themselves against the Christian ranks, beating down the soldiers with ponderous clubs armed with steel points. Behind these warriors followed the immense host of Saracens. The battle raged for some time without decided advantage on either side, but the Sultan of Nice at last ordered burning flax to be thrown among the bushes and grass of the plain. At once the blaze and smoke surrounded the Christians. Stifled and confused, they fell back, and the sultan was about to drive them from the field, when suddenly a body of soldiers was seen descending the mountain-side, led by three knights in glittering white armor.
"Behold," cried the Bishop of Puy, "the holy saints, George, Demetrius, and Theodore, come to fight for us!"
To the Christians this sight gave irresistible valor. With a mighty shout, "God wills it!" the army hurled itself as one man against the Saracens. Nothing could withstand that inspired charge.The Turks fell back, broke their ranks, and fled in terror, leaving a hundred thousand dead.
Their camp was found rich in treasures of all kinds. The gorgeous tent of Kerbogha, arranged in streets, like a city, lavishly decorated with gold and jewels, and large enough to shelter two thousand men, was captured by Bohemond. This vast pavilion was sent to Italy, where it was an object of even greater wonder and admiration to the Italians than it had been to the Crusaders. The leaders now found themselves rich, and for some time remained in peace at Antioch, enjoying the relief from want and warfare.
But again a pestilence broke out, and carried off thousands. Among these victims was the good and beloved Adhemar, Bishop of Puy. The soldiers believed that God was angry because of the inaction and delay of the princes that were sworn to deliver the sepulchre of Christ. Then news came that Jerusalem had been taken from the Turks by the Khalif of Egypt, and the Christians were struck with deep remorse that the Holy City had been again captured, and not by the followers of Christ. Ashamed of their delay and forgetfulness of their sacred mission, the Crusaders resumed their march to the Holy City, eight months after the capture of Antioch.
But the army lacked some of its former leaders. Count Stephen, of Chartres, and the Count of Vermandois, weary of hardships, had returned to France,—there to face the bitter scorn of all Europe. Bohemond remained in Antioch as ruler of the city his cunning had won. Baldwin, who had established himself as prince of the rich city, Edessa, thought no more about Jerusalem. This conduct of Baldwin grieved his brother deeply, and it was with a saddened heart that the pious Godfrey now led his army toward Jerusalem.
Marching along the coast, the Crusaders soon neared Ptolemais. The emir of that city sent them supplies, and promised to surrender it to them as soon as they should conquer Jerusalem. The princes had not intended to attack Ptolemais and were delighted at this unexpected promise. But the falseness of the Mohammedan was soon revealed to them in a strange way. For soon after, while the army was encamped near Cæsarea, the Bishop of Apt, sitting before his tent one day, saw a large falcon in pursuit of a dove. Fluttering swiftly downward, the tiny bird escaped the claws of its pursuer and fell at the feet of the bishop. The kind priest picked it up carefully, and was tenderly smoothing its ruffledplumage when he saw a letter tied under its wing. Setting the trembling bird free, the bishop hastened to the tent where the princes were holding council. Godfrey broke the seal, and with an exclamation of surprise read the letter aloud.
It was from the Emir of Ptolemais to the Emir of Cæsarea, and ran thus:—
"The cursed race of Christians have just passed through my territory, and will soon reach thine. Let the chiefs of all the Mussulman cities be warned of their approach and let them take measures to crush our enemies."
"The cursed race of Christians have just passed through my territory, and will soon reach thine. Let the chiefs of all the Mussulman cities be warned of their approach and let them take measures to crush our enemies."
The princes were much astonished on hearing this, and Godfrey exclaimed,—
"Surely we cannot doubt that God is with us, since He sends the birds of the air to reveal to us the secrets of our enemies!"
So said all the soldiers when the letter was read to them, and they pursued their journey with new enthusiasm and stronger hope.
On a night not long after, the Crusaders were watching with awe an eclipse of the moon. Suddenly the momentary darkness passed away, and the lurid light of ablood-redmoon shone down. But their terror at this strange sight was changed to joy when "those familiar with the signs of the stars" said,—
"This doth portend the fall of the infidels and the triumph of Christ's army!"
The following day, at sunrise, the Crusaders climbed to the summit of the hills of Emmaus, when—
"Lo! Jerusalem appears in sight. Lo! every hand points out Jerusalem. Lo! a thousand voices are heard as one in salutation of Jerusalem!"
After the first moment of pure gladness, a feeling of deep awe and great sorrow came over the Crusaders as they gazed at the city where Christ had suffered and died for their redemption. Following the example of their loved Godfrey, the Christians laid aside with tears and sighs their gay scarfs and glittering ornaments of knighthood; barefoot, in token of humility and reverence, they traveled the road once trodden by the feet of their Lord. And as they marched, they sang the words of Isaiah:—
"Jerusalem, lift up thine eyes and behold the liberator who comes to break thy chains!"
At last the pilgrims were encamped before the city of their pious hopes and dreams. But only a small remnant of the once magnificent army was left,—a weak body of perhaps forty thousand, lacking provisions and all machinery of war.
A few days after encamping, the Crusaders made a fierce assault on Jerusalem, but having no engines of attack and no scaling ladders, they were beaten back.
Realizing that the city could never be taken without these machines, Godfrey set the army at work to construct them. But it was with the greatest difficulty that wood, iron, and stone for making towers, ladders, and catapults could be procured. Soon the soldiers suffered the agonies of thirst, for most of the springs had been choked up or poisoned by the enemy. A less determined army would have given up the siege in despair. But though a few weak ones, unable to stand the hardships, deserted, nothing could daunt the courage or lessen the zeal of the greater part of the army.
When at last some reinforcements and supplies arrived, all the army, women and children as well as men, set to work again with the greatest spirit to build engines of war and to prepare for the assault. Godfrey, Raymond, and Tancred constructed three movable towers, each higher than the city wall. Godfrey's had three platforms, and on the topmost one a drawbridge to be let down upon the wall.
After four weeks of hard labor, Godfrey decided that the attack could be made. Three days the army fasted and prayed. Then all the Crusaders, in full armor, led by the priests praying and chanting, marched around Jerusalem, viewing with awe the holy places of the Lord's pilgrimage. On the mount whence Christ ascended to heaven, the priests absolved and blessed the multitude.
Meanwhile the Egyptians and Turks on the city walls mocked at these ceremonies. The infidels raised crosses and spat upon them, insulting in every way the symbol of Christ in the sight of His followers. Peter the Hermit, on seeing this sacrilege, cried aloud to the Crusaders,—
"I swear to you by your faith that to-morrow these proud blasphemers of Christ shall be frozen with fear! Their mosques shall become temples of the Lord, and Jerusalem shall hear only the praises of the true God!" At these words the whole army shouted with joy and triumph.
That night the wise Godfrey, with great labor and difficulty, removed his immense engines of war to another position, where the Saracens had not made such great preparations for the defence of the walls.
Then Godfrey and the other leaders planned the attack. Raymond was to assault the southernwall; Godfrey himself the northern; and between them the two Roberts and Tancred were to be stationed.
At daybreak, the Count of Toulouse came to Godfrey's tent. After greeting Godfrey, Raymond exclaimed in surprise,—
"How is this, my Lord? Where is thy strong breastplate and the rest of thy steel armor? Why hast thou put on this weak suit? Don thy vantbrace and helmet, and thy steel casque, and mask thy face. Do not risk thy life thus rashly."
But Godfrey replied calmly,—
"When Pope Urban girt this blade on me at Clermont, and bade me perform the duties of a true knight of Christ in this divine Crusade, I made a secret vow that on this day I would not fight as a prince and leader, but would assume the arms and armor of a common soldier. I shall station my men and see to all things as a general should; then, in this light armor of a foot-soldier, I shall strive to plant the banner of the cross on the ramparts of Jerusalem. God will protect my life."
When Raymond heard this resolution, he protested no more, but hastened away and told the other princes, who all quickly decided to follow Godfrey's example of brave humility.
Soon everything was in readiness, and from all quarters of the camp the drums and trumpets sounded.
With a mighty shout, the army rushes to the assault. The engines of war are all put in motion at the same moment. Bands of men, under cover of their upraised shields, drag the rams close to the wall. With these battering-rams they hammer at the wall, while stones and arrows hurtle down on their steel roof. Other companies rush intrepidly forward with long scaling-ladders, and strive to hook them to the top of the wall. The Saracens, with equal energy and courage, labor to cast them down. If perchance a ladder be fixed, men swarm up, undaunted by the weapons hurled at them. Scores, struck dead or wounded, loosen their hold and fall to the ground; but as many more clamber over their dead bodies and spring to their places. If a knight but reach the top of the ladder, he is cut down by the scimitars of the Egyptians.
Huge stones, showers of sharp flints, and heavy beams cast from mangonels and catapults, fly through the air in every direction, crushing Saracens or Christians. The great towers, alive with soldiers, roll forward nearer and nearer tothe city wall, though its defenders fight desperately to stay the advance of the dreaded machines,—casting blazing arrows and balls of fire against the towers, aiming countless weapons at the Christians upon them. Women and children mingle in the fray, bringing missiles for the machines, or food and water for the soldiers. They lay hold on the towers and help to drag them forward.
On the tallest tower, high above all, stands Godfrey, fighting furiously, and urging his men to yet more heroic efforts. Above all tumult—shouts of defiance and cries of triumph, shrieks of mortal anguish, din and clatter of arms, and hissing of arrows—rings out his battle-cry: "Christ and the Holy Sepulchre! God wills it!"
Now Christians raise a shout of joy as they gain the wall; now infidels howl in derision as the besiegers are driven back. Through the smoke and flame and flying weapons the horrified Crusaders behold two hideous witches on the highest rampart. Their hair and garments stream in the wind. With horrid curses and impious cries, they call upon the demons of earth and air to smite the Crusaders. But their sorcery does not avail to save themselves fromdeath; pierced by countless Christian arrows, they fall headlong from the battlements. With wilder zeal the exultant Crusaders battle, and with greater fury the enraged infidels.
Hours pass. The tower of Raymond is set on fire, and the long flames shoot up to heaven and brighten the darkening sky. Night falls, and Jerusalem is still in the hands of the unbelievers. Exhausted and bleeding, the Christians draw back from the walls; but it is not of their suffering and losses they think. One long wail goes up from those bursting hearts:—
"Alas! God has not yet thought us worthy to enter His Holy City!"
But those stout hearts are not long cast down. At daybreak the Christians once more hurl themselves against the battered walls of Jerusalem—with tenfold fiercer determination than before. Infidels and Christians know that one or the other will this day be swept from the face of the earth. The Christian leaders fight as even these knights of the cross have never fought before. The veteran Raymond is on foot in the midst of his men. He urges them against the wall where stands the Emir of Jerusalem, and bids them aim their darts at the Egyptian prince, whose splendid armor flashes golden in the sunlight. But though the arrows fall thick about him, Iftikhar stands haughtily erect, and continues to direct the efforts of his men.
Tancred and the two Roberts exhaust their arrows and at last stand motionless on the tower, awaiting with fierce impatience the moment, fast approaching, when they can pierce with lance or cut down with sword the Saracens on the city wall, now almost within reach.
But the conflict centers about the great tower of Godfrey. If only that tower reach the wall! On the summit shines a great cross of gold, and beneath its arms stands Godfrey, his brother Eustace, his cousin, Baldwin du Bourg, Sigier, and other knights. The sight of the sacred symbol of Christ throws the followers of Mohammed into a frenzy of impious rage. They hurl showers of blazing arrows, stones, and balls of fire against its defenders. Godfrey remains unhurt, but the faithful Sigier falls beside him. Slowly but surely the tower creeps nearer the wall. The Saracens redouble their efforts. They throw down between the wall and the tower, pots of burning oil, blazing wood, and Greek fire. They fortify the wall with mattresses of lighted straw until it seems one sheet of flame. The tower approaches this barricade of fire, but thesmoke and flame stifle the Crusaders. They falter and fall back.
The Crusaders on all sides begin to waver, and the infidels shout for joy. But at this moment a knight in glittering white armor appears on the Mount of Olives, and waves his fiery shield toward the Holy City. Godfrey, first to behold the strange warrior, shouts exultantly,—
"Saint George! Saint George to our aid!"
At the same moment a strong wind suddenly blows the flame away from Godfrey's tower and back upon the infidels, who stagger and retreat from the fiery blast. Now is the Christians' opportunity. One mighty effort, and the tower is within reach of the wall. The bridge of the tower falls with a crash, and the Christian knights spring upon it. A brief, fierce struggle,—and then, with a glad shout, "God wills it!" Godfrey de Bouillon stands triumphant on the walls of Jerusalem!
It is Friday,—the day and the very hour of the death of his Lord.
The city was won. Animated by Godfrey's triumph, beholding him plant the banner of the cross on the wall of Jerusalem, Raymond and Tancred redoubled their efforts. Soon from allpoints of attack the victorious Crusaders poured into the city. Maddened by battle and the remembrance of the cruel persecutions their brethren had suffered, the Crusaders massacred all in their way.
Very rarely, in those fierce days, was mercy shown to a defeated foe; and the Crusaders, fully persuaded that the slaughter of infidels is pleasing to the Lord, shouted, while hewing down the Saracens, "God wills it!"
But the merciful Godfrey did not take part in this bloody work. With three companions he stole away from the army; and clothing himself in a pure white robe, barefoot, and without arms, he sought the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There he worshiped at the tomb of Christ, and gave thanks that it had been rescued from the infidels. When the other Crusaders heard of this pious act, all followed Godfrey's example, and offered up prayers at the Holy Sepulchre. But their piety did not soften their hearts. For a week they hunted down and killed the Mohammedans and the Jews of the city.
At last, when weary of slaughter, the Crusaders turned their attention to matters concerning the safety and welfare of the city they had so hardlywon. It was decided to elect a king who should remain in the Holy Land, and protect the city against the attacks of the infidels. After long consideration, prayer, and inquiry into the private character of the various princes, Godfrey de Bouillon was chosen as possessing in the highest degree the requisite qualities of virtue, piety, wisdom, and valor. In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, before the assembled Crusaders, Godfrey took an oath to rule justly and to defend with his life the Holy City. But so great was his piety and humility that he refused to be crowned, saying,—
"Never will I wear a crown of gold in the place where the Saviour of the world wore a crown of thorns!" Nor would he be called king, but took the title of "Baron and Defender of the Holy Sepulchre." Yet in history he is called the first King of Jerusalem, and never was there a more kingly man, one more fitted to wear a crown.
Scarcely had Godfrey taken the vow to defend Jerusalem when he was called upon to fulfill it. Tidings came that an immense army of Egyptians and Turks was advancing upon the city. Realizing that Jerusalem could not hold out ifbesieged, Godfrey wisely and boldly marched out to meet the enemy, though both Raymond and Robert of Normandy refused to go with him, affecting not to believe in the reported approach of the infidels. But after Godfrey's departure these princes yielded to the prayers of the people, and joined him at Ascalon.
There, countless thousands of the infidels were completely crushed by Godfrey. He captured the sword and great standard of Afdhal, the Egyptian leader, and hung them up as trophies in the Church of the Sepulchre.
Godfrey soon conquered many parts of the surrounding country. During his siege of Asur, a conquered city that had rebelled against him, Godfrey inspired a touching act of heroism. He was advancing to attack the city walls when a knight, Gerard of Avesnes, who had been left there as a hostage by Godfrey, was bound by the Turks to a long pole and fastened to the wall in such a manner that he must be killed by the weapons of Godfrey's men should the assault be made. When Godfrey drew near, the poor knight cried aloud with tears,—
"Godfrey, for the love of Christ, pity thy wretched friend. Alas! do not cause me to die in this shameful way,—like a miserable felon,bound and helpless! I do not fear death, but would fain die like a true knight, sword in hand, on the battlefield!"
But Godfrey, though moved to the heart by the sad plight and piteous appeals of Gerard, did not falter or fail in his hard duty. With tears in his eyes, he besought the unfortunate knight to resign himself bravely to the fate of a martyr.
"It is not in my power to save thee," said he. "The city must be taken. If my own brother were in thy place I could not deliver him from death. Die, then, illustrious and brave knight, for the safety of thy brethren and the glory of thy Lord Jesus Christ!"
Inspired by these noble words, Gerard found the faith to meet death with a splendid courage. He begged that his armor be offered up at the Holy Sepulchre, and that prayers be said there for the repose of his soul. Then bidding his friends farewell, he urged on their attack, and died without a murmur under a shower of darts from their hands.
Many chiefs of the Turks visited Godfrey during this siege, and were surprised to find the great prince living as simply as the poorest soldier, without luxuries of any kind, his bed a pallet of straw. But he gained the respect andadmiration of these barbarians by showing them his great strength and skill in arms. The fame of his valor traveled over the land, and many emirs came of their own accord to swear fealty to the ruler of Jerusalem.
The wisdom of Godfrey was as great as his bravery. He called a council of the wise men of the kingdom, and with their help drew up good and just laws for the government of the people. Not long after these laws were drawn up and deposited in the Church of the Resurrection, Godfrey was called to the help of his friend Tancred, ruler of Galilee, who had been attacked by the Saracens. Godfrey quickly defeated this army, and was on his way back to Jerusalem when he was met by the Emir of Cæsarea, who made him a present of some fruit. Godfrey ate only one cedar-apple, but was at once taken very sick, and his friends believed that he had been poisoned by the emir. Though suffering greatly, the stricken hero hastened on to his beloved city.
On the anniversary of the taking of Jerusalem, in that Holy City so dear to his heart, the greatest of the Crusaders calmly passed away, and "The Lord received him into Paradise."
Near the sacred tomb of his divine captain, the body of this true and loyal soldier of Christ waslaid to rest. Never had he wavered in his devotion to the cause of his Lord. Hardships of desert and mountain, suffering by pestilence and famine, agonies of thirst, labors and perils of the battlefield,—all had failed to daunt this soldier of the Cross. What matter if his ideals of duty and religion seem fantastic to our modern minds? He gave his life for them; and so long as men admire the brave deeds of a fearless heart, so long as they reverence a pure and selfless purpose, so long will they honor the name and fame of The Great Crusader.
Gaily the Troubadour touched his guitar,As he was hastening home from the war,Singing, "From Palestine hither I come,—Ladye-love, ladye-love, welcome me home!"She for her Troubadour hopelessly wept,Sadly she thought on him whilst others slept,Sighing, "In search of thee, would I might roam,Troubadour, Troubadour, come to thy home!"Hark! 'twas the Troubadour breathing her name,As under the battlement softly he came,Singing, "From Palestine hither I come,Ladye-love, ladye-love, welcome me home!"Old Song.
Gaily the Troubadour touched his guitar,As he was hastening home from the war,Singing, "From Palestine hither I come,—Ladye-love, ladye-love, welcome me home!"
She for her Troubadour hopelessly wept,Sadly she thought on him whilst others slept,Sighing, "In search of thee, would I might roam,Troubadour, Troubadour, come to thy home!"
Hark! 'twas the Troubadour breathing her name,As under the battlement softly he came,Singing, "From Palestine hither I come,Ladye-love, ladye-love, welcome me home!"
Old Song.
Fly away to my native land, sweet dove,Fly away to my native land,And bear these lines to my ladye-love,That I've traced with a feeble hand.She marvels much at my long delay,A rumor of death she hath heard,Or she thinks, perhaps, that I falsely stray—Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!I shall miss thy visit at dawn, sweet dove,I shall miss thy coming at eve,But bring me a line from my ladye-love,And then I shall cease to grieve.No friend to my lattice a solace brings,Except when your voice is heard,As you beat the bars with your snowy wings,Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!Oh! fly to her bower and say the chainOf the tyrant is over me now,That I never shall mount my steed again,With helmet upon my brow.I can bear in a dungeon to waste away youth,I can fall by the conqueror's sword,But I cannot endure she should doubt my truth,Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!Old Song.
Fly away to my native land, sweet dove,Fly away to my native land,And bear these lines to my ladye-love,That I've traced with a feeble hand.She marvels much at my long delay,A rumor of death she hath heard,Or she thinks, perhaps, that I falsely stray—Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!
I shall miss thy visit at dawn, sweet dove,I shall miss thy coming at eve,But bring me a line from my ladye-love,And then I shall cease to grieve.No friend to my lattice a solace brings,Except when your voice is heard,As you beat the bars with your snowy wings,Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!
Oh! fly to her bower and say the chainOf the tyrant is over me now,That I never shall mount my steed again,With helmet upon my brow.I can bear in a dungeon to waste away youth,I can fall by the conqueror's sword,But I cannot endure she should doubt my truth,Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!
Old Song.
'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound!And the Knight looked down from the Paynim's tower;As a Christian host, in its pride and power,Thro' the pass beneath him wound."Cease awhile, clarion! clarion, wild and shrill!Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!"I knew 'twas a trumpet's note!And I see my brethren's lances gleam,And their pennons wave by the mountain stream,And their plumes to the glad wind float.Cease awhile, clarion! clarion, wild and shrill!Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!"I am here with my heavy chain!And I look on a torrent sweeping by.And an eagle rushing to the sky,And a host to its battle plain.Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill!Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!"Must I pine in my fetters here?With the wild waves' foam, and the free bird's flight,And the tall spears glancing on my sight,And the trumpet in my ear?Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill!Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!"They are gone! they have all passed by!They in whose wars I have borne my part,They that I loved with a brother's heart,They have left me here to die!Sound again, clarion! clarion, pour thy blast!Sound, for the captive's dream of hope is past!"Felicia Hemans.
'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound!And the Knight looked down from the Paynim's tower;As a Christian host, in its pride and power,Thro' the pass beneath him wound."Cease awhile, clarion! clarion, wild and shrill!Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!
"I knew 'twas a trumpet's note!And I see my brethren's lances gleam,And their pennons wave by the mountain stream,And their plumes to the glad wind float.Cease awhile, clarion! clarion, wild and shrill!Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!
"I am here with my heavy chain!And I look on a torrent sweeping by.And an eagle rushing to the sky,And a host to its battle plain.Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill!Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!
"Must I pine in my fetters here?With the wild waves' foam, and the free bird's flight,And the tall spears glancing on my sight,And the trumpet in my ear?Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill!Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!
"They are gone! they have all passed by!They in whose wars I have borne my part,They that I loved with a brother's heart,They have left me here to die!Sound again, clarion! clarion, pour thy blast!Sound, for the captive's dream of hope is past!"
Felicia Hemans.
Honor enough his merit brings,He needs no alien praiseIn whose train, Glory, like a king's,Follows through all his days.Itinerarium Regis Ricardi.
Honor enough his merit brings,He needs no alien praiseIn whose train, Glory, like a king's,Follows through all his days.
Itinerarium Regis Ricardi.
There was once a prince of England who was married when only five years old. This youthful bridegroom was Richard, the son of Henry II. and Eleanor of Aquitaine; and his bride was a maiden of three, Alice, daughter of Louis VII. of France. The ceremony was a curious one, for of course such babies could not really take the marriage vows. But the parents of the small couple made the required vows in the name of their children, and solemnly promised that the little prince and princess should marry as soon as they were old enough. Though the children were too young to understand the meaning of the ceremony, it was considered as binding upon them as if they had been a man and a woman.
It seems strange for such babies to be married, but it was the custom in those days for kings to arrange marriages for the royal children in orderto increase their own power and dominions, or for other reasons connected with the welfare of the country. Thus Henry II., by this marriage, obtained possession of lands in France, and the City of Gisors, given by Louis as a dower to Alice. The little girl and her lands were placed in the hands of Henry to be guarded for Richard until the boy should be old enough to claim his bride.
Doubtless the tiny bride of three and her little groom played together happily after their marriage, with little thought of the imposing ceremony; for it meant nothing to them then, though destined to have sad consequences for both in later years. But not for long were the married children together. Alice was taken to England, while Richard spent most of his early life in France. He was destined to be duke of his mother's French province of Aquitaine; and it was thought best that he should be educated in the country of which he would be ruler.
Richard was a sturdy, bold, and adventurous lad. He engaged in all the boyish sports of the day, and later in those chivalric pastimes that formed part of the training of a noble youth. He was taught every accomplishment deemed necessary for a knight,—to ride like a centaur,to cast a lance, to wield the sword, and to swing the battle-axe. He even learned to bend the great cross-bow, the weapon of the English peasant, and could send an arrow straight to the mark. These exercises were severe training for the young prince, but they developed the prodigious strength and skill in arms that later made him the greatest warrior of his age.
In addition to these knightly accomplishments, Richard learned to read and write,—not such common acquirements in those days as now. From his brilliantly educated mother the prince inherited a taste for literature, poetry, and music. It was an age of poetry, and poets were held in much honor, influencing men to great deeds by their stirring songs. Richard took great delight in the songs of the troubadours of Aquitaine and Anjou. Several of these poets, especially Blondel de Nesle, were his warm friends, and taught him the arts of verse-making and music, in which Richard acquired admirable skill.
In the rich land of Aquitaine, with its gay, pleasure-loving people, Richard was surrounded by luxury and splendor, but, alas! not by an atmosphere of peace or love. His mother was a frivolous woman, and his father, Henry, a violent-tempered, despotic, and wicked man.The two did not love each other, and when together quarreled continually in the most violent manner. So Richard and his brothers—Henry, Geoffrey, and John—passed their youth in an atmosphere of strife; and all that was violent and contentious in their natural dispositions was fostered by their home life and the bad example of their parents.
The princes quarreled among themselves, and as they grew older, naturally took part in the bitter disputes continually taking place between Henry and Eleanor. As Geoffrey once said, it was their inheritancenotto love one another. The princes were all proud, headstrong, and selfwilled, and hence little disposed to obey their imperious father; and Henry, though in some ways weakly indulgent to his sons, was most autocratic in disposition. As his sons became young men, he gave them certain provinces in France to rule. But he would allow them no real power, and the proud young princes were determined not to submit to their father's authority, but to be rulers in fact as well as in name. So they rebelled against Henry time and again, and fierce wars took place between the father and his sons.
Their mother, Eleanor, encouraged the princes in their attitude of rebellion against Henry, forhe had long treated her with great indignity. He neglected his wife for other fair ladies, and at last put her in prison, where she remained nearly sixteen years. This severe treatment of Eleanor served to enrage her sons and to alienate them still more from Henry; for they loved their mother dearly in spite of all her faults. So the strife continued in the royal family until two sons, Henry and Geoffrey, died while at enmity with their father. Then a reconciliation took place between the other members of the family; but it lasted only a short time.
Richard, who was then of age, wished to claim and really marry his child-bride, Alice; but Henry made excuse after excuse for not giving up Alice to his son, though he maintained that Richard was legally bound to her and could not marry any other woman.
It is said that the wicked old man had himself fallen in love with Alice, and intended to obtain a divorce from Eleanor and marry the young princess. Whether this be true or not, it is certain that Richard's demands to be given his bride, or else to be declared free to marry whom he pleased, were treated with contempt by the old king. Meanwhile the gallant and handsome young prince had met at the court of Navarrethe Princess Berengaria, daughter of King Sancho, and had been much charmed by her beauty and grace; but the entanglement with Alice prevented a serious love affair.
At last Richard became weary of his absurd position,—supposed to be married and yet without a wife.
He appealed to the brother of Alice, Philip of France, who readily consented to aid him. The two demanded of Henry that he give up Alice to Richard, and also acknowledge him as heir to the English throne, for they feared that Henry purposed to leave that kingdom to John. During an interview between Henry and Richard, at which Philip was present, Richard demanded that his father recognize him, the elder son, as the future King of England. Henry made an evasive reply, whereupon, referring to the rumor thatJohnwould be heir to the English crown, Richard exclaimed passionately,—
"Then I am compelled to believe that which I before had believed impossible!" and ungirding his sword and handing it to Philip, he knelt to him and said,—
"To you, Sire, I commit the protection of my rights, and to you I now do homage for all my father's dominions in France!"
Philip accepted his homage, and gave to Richard all the cities taken from Henry. Naturally, that king was enraged when his son thus haughtily renounced allegiance to him, and war soon followed. Henry was defeated several times, and many of his barons left him to join the cause of Richard. Finally, the king was forced to make peace with his rebellious son on very hard conditions; and this mortified his kingly pride so sorely that he fell ill of grief and rage. During this sickness, he could think of nothing save his own defeat, and raved constantly, "Shame, shame on a conquered king!" When he learned that his best-beloved son, John, had been a party to Richard's rebellion, the blow was too severe for the old king's broken strength. He died of grief, cursing his rebellious sons with his last breath.
No sooner had the fierce but affectionate Richard heard of his father's death at Chinon than he was overcome with sorrow and remorse. He came to take leave of the king's body, but as he drew near the bier, blood gushed from the eyes and mouth of the dead man. Richard was horror-stricken, and rushed away, exclaiming,—
"I have murdered him; his blood accuses me!"
The repentant son caused the corpse to beburied with due ceremony at Fontevraud, the ancient burial-place of the Norman kings, and he showed many signs of penitence for his unfilial conduct.
As soon as the unhappy old king had been laid away, Richard's thoughts turned to his mother, Eleanor, who had been for many years a state prisoner in Winchester Castle. Sending at once to England, he ordered that the queen be released, and appointed regent of the kingdom. Indeed, Richard was always a tender and dutiful son to his mother, who calls him, "My brave, my generous, my high-minded, my all-worthy son, Richard." If he were not a good son to his father also, it is some excuse that Henry was a most unpleasant, tyrannical man, whose treatment of his wife and children was not such as to beget love and dutiful conduct.
After tarrying some months in France, attending to matters in his provinces of Anjou, Poitou, Normandy, and Aquitaine, Richard crossed over to England. There he was received most joyfully by his new subjects.
In Westminster Abbey, on Sept. 3, 1189, his coronation took place with great splendor. It is the first coronation ceremony of an English king fully described by eye-witnesses.
The Archbishop of Canterbury and other bishops, richly robed, and carrying the cross, holy water, and censers, led the stately procession that escorted the king from his palace to the Abbey. After these dignitaries of the Church, came four barons in court dress, bearing each a golden candlestick; then four earls, carrying the king's cup, the golden spurs, the scepter of state, and the royal rod of majesty—a mace adorned with a golden dove. Four great earls walked next, brandishing aloft their glittering swords; and behind these noblemen marched six more, as bearers of the royal robes and regalia. William, Earl of Essex, proudly carried the gold and jeweled crown immediately before Richard himself, who walked beneath a magnificent canopy of state, upheld by richly clad nobles.
Before the brilliant assemblage of lords Richard took the solemn oath to be a just and righteous ruler. Then after the archbishop had anointed him with holy oil, shoes of golden tissue were put on the king's feet, the golden spurs were buckled on, and he was clad in the vestments of royalty and led to the high altar. There he promised to be faithful to his kingly oath, and was crowned with the royal diadem and given the scepter and rod of office.
So Richard Plantagenet became King of England. No one beholding the proud bearing of the new monarch would have supposed that his family emblem, the lowly broom-plant (Planta genista), from which came the name Plantagenet, had been adopted by an ancestor of Richard's in token of humility. For, in very truth, the Plantagenets were an arrogant race, and Richard was the proudest of his line.
As he strode down the aisle of Westminster in all the glittering and jeweled splendor of his coronation robes, Richard's appearance was truly royal. He looked every inch a king. The people gazed with delight on his tall, powerful frame, graceful and strong as that of Mars himself; on his proudly poised head, whose red-gold curls waved beneath the jeweled crown; on the fair, haughty face with its square, determined jaw, aquiline nose, full, proud lips, and fierce, restless blue eyes. Heartily the multitude admired Richard's manly beauty, his lordly air; and with a right good-will they shouted joyously: "Long live the king! Long live our Richard Lionheart!"
Before his accession to the throne, Richard had determined to go as a Crusader to the rescue of the Holy Land. From his mother,who had herself taken part in the Second Crusade, he had heard many stories of the East,—that land of wonders and marvelous adventures. Richard was by nature a rover, a warrior, a knight-errant. So it seemed to him a most delightful prospect to travel, to see strange lands and peoples, to fight in a holy war; and thus to indulge his own love of adventure and of battle while advancing the glory of God. Nay, to do him justice, Richard was religious too, in the strange fierce fashion of those days,—days when one could be pious without being good; when the warrior prayed and fought with equal zeal, deeming both acts of equal merit in the sight of heaven; when the Christian believed the slaughter of infidels well-pleasing to God; when the knight of the Cross was confident that Christ pardoned all sins to the warrior who did battle for His Holy Sepulchre. So Richard, though far from pious or exemplary in his daily life, was moved by a genuine and fervent desire to deliver Jerusalem from the infidels, into whose hands it had fallen again after its conquest by Godfrey de Bouillon.
When all the tedious and costly preparations necessary for the Crusade had been completed, Richard sent his fleet around by the Strait ofGibraltar. He himself crossed over to France with the troops, intending to march through that country to meet his ships at Marseilles, and there to embark for Palestine.
At Vézelai, Richard met Philip of France, who had agreed to join him in the Crusade. The two kings and their great armies marched together for some distance, but finally separated, and proceeded southward by different routes,—the French to Genoa, the English to Marseilles.
When Richard reached that seaport, he was much disappointed to find that the fleet had not arrived. Leaving the main body of troops there to await the arrival of the vessels, he procured a ship, and proceeded on his way by sea, sailing along the coast of France and Italy. He stopped at many cities, and sometimes traveled on land with only a few attendants, like a simple knight-errant.
When he reached the Gulf of Salernum, Richard was joined by his fleet, and sailed toward Messina, a coast town of Sicily, where he was to meet Philip. On approaching the city, Richard ordered every trumpet to be sounded. The people, rushing to the walls, beheld with surprise the great fleet of England, manned by thousands of steel-clad warriors, and flying the red cross of Saint George, the lion-emblazoned banner of Richard, and hundreds of gay baronial flags. The arrival is thus described:—