"The Royal Banners forward go;The Cross shines forth with mystic glow;Where He in flesh, our flesh who made,Our sentence bore, our ransom paid."O Tree of beauty! Tree of light!O Tree with royal purple dight!Elect on whose triumphal breast,Those holy limbs should find their rest!"
"The Royal Banners forward go;The Cross shines forth with mystic glow;Where He in flesh, our flesh who made,Our sentence bore, our ransom paid.
"O Tree of beauty! Tree of light!O Tree with royal purple dight!Elect on whose triumphal breast,Those holy limbs should find their rest!"
Louder the singing. As the people gave way, the prelates and priests stood at either side, while the Pope ascended the pulpit, at his side Peter the Hermit. First spoke Peter. The little monk was eloquent as never before. He told the familiar tale of the woes of the Jerusalem Christians, so that not a soul was untouched by mortal pang. At times it seemed the multitude must break forth; but no sound came: only a swaying and sobbing as from ten thousand hearts. Then a long silence, when he ceased. It was so still, all could hear the gentle wind crooning over the tree-tops, and when a little child began to wail, its cry was hushed—affrighted at its own clamor.
Then stood forth the Pope. And if it had been silent before, there was deeper silence now. The very wind grew still, and every breath was bated. Far and wide over that mighty throng the pontiff threw his voice, clear as a trumpet, yet musical and soulful. His words were not in the stately Latin, but in the sweet familiar Languedoc, and entered men's hearts like live coals from off the altar.
"Nation of France: nation whose boast it is you are the elect of God, glorious in your faith and love of Holy Church, you I address. For you have heard and your souls are torn with the sorrows wrought at Jerusalem by that race so hateful to God. You have heard, and I know well what moves within your hearts. Shall I repeat the words of this holy hermit? Shall I tell how churches are beaten down, or—Christ forbid—become temples of the accursed worship? Shall I tell how Christians have bathed the very altars in their blood; how your brethren have chosen martyrdom, rather than deny Christ's name? O Holy Cross of Christ, verily thy dumb wood must cry out, nay, the stones break silence if the Christians of the West harden their hearts and will not hear; if no sword flashes forth in vengeance, no army hastes to succor the Sacred City."
And Urban had gone no further when there was again a swaying, throbbing, sobbing in the crowd. For an instant the Pope's voice was drowned, not by outcry, but by one vast murmur. He beckoned; there was silence, then higher rose his voice.
"O saintly spirits of Charlemagne, and of Louis his pious son, scourges of Saracens, why do ye sleep? Awake; awake; tell your children of France that holy war is theirs! O souls of the martyrs, long at rest, awake, awake; stir the cold hearts of these Christians that I may not speak in vain! O Holy Tomb of Our Lord, and thou Calvary, where the price for all our sins was paid, speak forth the sorrows of Christ's servants to these hard Western hearts. Kindle our hearts, O Lord, and grant Thine own spirit, that I may speak as becometh Thee and Thy Holy City—Jerusalem!
"Sweet children in Christ, hear the cry of that city; hear the cry of those holy fields where trod the Son of God; hear the moan of the Christian virgins torn to captivity by paynim hands; hear the cry to God of ten thousand souls whose blood smokes to heaven! How long! O Lord, how long! When will come vengeance on the oppressor!"—Again the multitude were quaking,—a deep roar springing from a myriad throats, and hands were on hilts, and pennons shook madly. But Urban dropped his voice, and again commanded silence.
"Wherefore has God suffered this? Does He take pleasure in the woes of His children? Is He glad when unbelievers pollute His altars, hew in pieces His holy bishops, and cry, 'See how helpless is your crucified Lord!' Ah, sweet children, look into your own hearts, and search if you are meet instruments to do His pleasure. Let us weep, let us weep over Jerusalem! Let us weep, let us weep over our own sins, for each one of us has more than the hairs of his head; and in the sight of God none is worthy even to behold the Holy City from afar; and if not worthy of the earthly city, how much less of the heavenly! All, all have sinned in God's pure sight. I see cavaliers, sworn defenders of Holy Church; your hands are red with Christian blood wantonly shed. I see great prelates, touched with the sacred chrism,—unworthy shepherds of Christ's sheep; you are stained with pride, hypocrisy, lust of power. I see men and women of mean estate; selfishness, lust, unholy hate, are strong within you. All, all have sinned!"
And now strong men were kneeling and groaning, "No more!"—were stretching out their arms to heaven, and moaning, "Mercy! mercy!" and here one man and there another was crying out that he had committed some direful deed, calling on all around to pray God with him for pardon. But Urban kept on.
"Be of good cheer, sweet children; your sins are great, but greater is the mercy of God. For I stand before you clothed with power from on high. Mine are the keys of heaven and earth and hell. And I say to you, despite your sins, you are forgiven. Shed no bootless tears; for deeds, not tears, to-day avail. The heritage of the Lord is wasted; the Queen of cities groans in chains—who, who will spring to her release?
"Warriors who own the name of Christ, you I address,—you, who have slain wickedly in unholy war, rejoice! A holy war awaits! You who have sped fellow-Christians to death, rejoice! God will give you to trample down the alien! Draw forth the sword of the Maccabees, and go forward. To him who lives, God will give the spoils of the heathen for an inheritance; him who dies, Christ Jesus will confess before his Father. Draw forth the sword, Christians of France! Draw forth, and let it flush red in the unbelievers' blood! For this is the Lord's doing, and he who enters upon it, casting out all hate for his brother from his heart, and with the love of Christ strong within, is purged of all sin, be it however great, and his name is written in the book of life!"—A mighty din was rising, but Urban's voice swelled above it all. "Soldiers of Hell, become soldiers of the living God!" was his cry, facing straight upon Richard; "lands, fame, home, friends, love,—put them all by; remember the wounds of Christ, the moans of Jerusalem; for now again Christ says to you, 'He who loveth father and mother more than me is not worthy of me; if any man will come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me—" No more; for there rose a thunder as when storm-driven billows break upon the beach.
"God wills it!" From Richard's lips it had sprung, all unbidden. Godfrey had caught it—Hildebrand's battle-cry. And as if the shout had reached high heaven, that instant the dun clouds parted. The sun streamed on naked swords and tossing lances innumerable; the flashing of the brightness was terrible as celestial light.
"God wills it!"
Every tongue had caught the cry. It swelled forth, unbidden, the voicings of the passion in ten thousand breasts. The sun glanced on the crystal cross in the Pope's hand: those who saw were dazzled, and looked away.
"Yes," cried Urban, across the sea of quivering steel, "God sends His own sign from on high. Truly, thus 'God wills it!' To-day is fulfilled the Saviour's promise, that where His faithful are He will be. He it is that has put these words in your hearts; choose them as battle-cry; for on your side will be the God of battles, and at His will you shall trample down the unbeliever."
Then Urban raised on high the fire-bathed cross. "See," cried he once more, his voice rising above the swelling din, "Christ Himself issues from the tomb, and gives to you this cross. It shall be the sign lifted among the nations which is to gather together the outcasts of Israel. Wear it upon your shoulders, upon your breasts; let it shine upon your arms, surety of victory or palm of martyrdom; unceasing reminder that as Christ died for you, so ought you to die for Him and His glory!"
Again rose the clamor, and until they chanted his death-mass Richard forgot not that hour. One wild cry went up, the scope of heaven shook, the earth quaked; and now the shout was, "The Cross! the Cross! to Jerusalem!" The swords danced more madly, and little Bernard rose from his seat, tossed his tiny fists in the air, and joined the mighty cry. Louis de Valmont, who had stood opposite Richard all the time, and drunk in each word, ran out before all men, flung his mailed arms round Longsword's neck and kissed him, while tears streamed down his face.
"O sweet brother," cried the Auvergner, all melted, "I too have sinned greatly in God's sight. I cannot go to Jerusalem with hate upon my soul. I forgive the death of Gilbert; pray that Our Lord may forgive me!"
The other men who had nursed unholy wrath one to the other began to embrace, and to beg for pardon; and many more kneeling stretched up their arms, calling heaven to witness they would shed no more Christian blood till the Holy City was redeemed. Urban stood upon the platform, silent, and looking out upon the throng with a smile that the beholders thought was not of this world. But when the surgings of the multitude were a little stayed, the Pope again beckoned, and there was great silence. Then Cardinal Gregory came forward, and all knelt and beat their breasts, repeating theConfiteor.
"I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault," repeated the thousands; "therefore I beseech the blessed Mary, ever Virgin, the blessed Michael, the archangel, the blessed John the Baptist, the Holy Apostles, Peter and Paul, and all the saints to pray to the Lord Our God for me."
Then when every casqued head was bowed low, the Cardinal proclaimed in a voice which the most distant might hear, "To as many as shall from pure love of Christ take the cross to go for the deliverance of Jerusalem, the same I do absolve from all their sins, and declare them spotless and perfect, in sight of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. Amen!" And the words fell on Richard's soul like water on fevered lips. Another great cry, "The Cross! the Cross!" and the thousands surged with one impulse toward the pulpit, demanding the sacred token at the pontiff's own hands. And nigh foremost was Richard; not first, for Bishop Adhemar of Puy, his heart burning with holy fire, was already kneeling before the Pope, and Urban was pinning a red-cloth cross upon his shoulder. But Richard had sprung upon the platform and was next.
The Pope smiled when he saw his mighty frame and sinews of iron—a direful foe of the infidels!
"Father, Holy Father, do you not know me?" cried Richard.
"I do not, sweet son," said Urban, pinning fast the cross.
"I am that lad Richard who stood by Pope Gregory's bedside; but I have greatly sinned."
"Be of good cheer!" said the pontiff, gently; "you have remembered your vow. Your sin, however great, is forgotten of God."
So Richard stood back, while Godfrey of Bouillon knelt to receive the cross. At sight of him Urban smiled again, and would have spoken; for he recognized the great Duke. But Godfrey whispered, "Not here, Holy Father, not here; but soon from Metz to Antwerp I will be calling out my vassals to go to Jerusalem." Then Godfrey stepped back, with the red badge upon his breast; after him came Renard of Toul; after him Louis de Valmont; and then the merry priest Raymond of Agiles, merry no longer, but with a grave and consequential cast upon his face. As he knelt before the Holy Father, he said he took the cross both in his own name and in that of his lord and patron Raymond, sovereign Count of St. Gilles and Toulouse, who pledged himself to the war with all his southern chivalry. Then there was more shouting and rejoicing, and it seemed as if the clamor would never end, nor the train of knights and barons cease advancing to kneel before the Pope and receive the cross.
Hour after hour sped by, still Urban stood and gave his blessing, and a brave and pious word to each stout cavalier who came. The priests brought red cloth from the presses in the bishop's palace, and more and more. Still not enough; and gayly dressed knights gave up their scarlet bleaunts for the Holy Father to tear into the sacred emblem. Then at last, when the sun was near its setting and men finally felt a bleak wind biting, the Pope spoke again.
"Dear children," said he in closing, "you have done a great thing this day. What you have promised may cost you dear in blood and worldly estate; yet, remember the warning to him who putteth the hand to the plough and looketh back. I bid any who would withdraw, to do it now; and he commits no sin." Again the cry, "To Jerusalem! God wills it!" and no man stirred. "Then," continued Urban, "let him who hereafter shall turn back, be excommunicate and anathema. Anathema upon him who shall hinder the soldiers of the Cross! Anathema upon him who shall harm their family or estate, while they fight the Lord's battles. Gladly would I go with you to win the crown of martyrdom or of victory, but the Antipope is still in Italy; the Emperor and the king of France still defy Holy Church. Adhemar of Puy I appoint my legate, and under his guidance you shall go forth. And now my blessing and absolution upon you all. Amen."
So the great multitude scattered far and wide; upon the breast of every man a red cross, and in his heart a joy as of another world; for it was as if a voice had spoken to each and all out of a cloud, "Thy sins which are many are forgiven." Richard strode back to his tent with Louis de Valmont beside him; and all the air seemed sweet, and their words came fast, as between two long-time friends, while above in the crisp night the stars burned like cressets lit by the angels.
In later days wise monks wrote that at the moment the great cry went up at Clermont, all the Christians of the world from cold Hibernia to parching Africa thrilled with joy ineffable, and on all the paynims there fell fear and trembling. Be this true or false, from the Pyrenees to the Rhine over wide France ran a fire; from Auvergne to Aquitaine, to Anjou, to the Ile de France, to Normandy.
There were signs and wonders in the heavens—stars fell from the firmament; the clouds pictured armies and knights who wore the red cross on their breasts. The shade of mighty Charlemagne was seen coming forth in his hoary majesty, with sword pointing toward Jerusalem. Not knights only, but women and little children ran after those who preached the gospel of steel and fire. Quiet monks forgot their abbey kitchens; hermits forsook their solitudes on the hills—greater merit to win the pilgrim's absolution! The peasants wandered from their fields in masterless companies, roving on aimlessly, conscious only that Jerusalem lay toward the sun-rising. And bandits left their lairs, confessing their crimes, eager to take the cross. Up and down France went Urban and Peter; at Rouen, at Tours, at Nimes, there were other Clermonts: each bishop called forth his flock. Too often the tales of Eastern gold and of paynim beauties were more enticing to the roistering knights, than summons to holy warfare. But the sense of sin hung heavy on the land. No avarice drove Stephen of Chartres to take the cross, great count that he was with more castles than days in the year; nor did Robert of Flanders pour out his father's princely treasure in hopes of pelf; nor Robert of Normandy pawn his duchy. In the south, Raymond of Toulouse, haughtiest lord in France, whom more lances followed than followed even the king, set forth for Palestine, determined there to leave his bones. With him went his wife, the Princess Elvira of Spain, and at Raymond's back were all the chivalry of the south country, of Gascony, Languedoc, Limousin, and Auvergne, along with Bishop Adhemar, and the great prelates of Apt, Lodève, and Orange. So from the least to the greatest all were stirred; and if King Philip, and William the Red, and Emperor Henry moved not—what matter? For the might of Christendom lay not in its phantom kings, but in its great barons and knights whose good swords would hew the way to Jerusalem. Thus the winter sped, and with the coming of spring France was ready to pour forth her flood of life!
So with France. And how with Richard? He had returned to his tent after the great day at Clermont with a light heart and a merry laugh. Duke Godfrey was with him, and Renard of Toul and Louis de Valmont. They had left little Bernard with his father, and Richard saw the lad no more, until after many years he heard him preaching as never Peter the Hermit preached, and calling on men not to go to Jerusalem, but to cast from their hearts their own dark sins. The night was cold, a keen wind was again whistling from the westernpuys, and Richard brought all his friends with him to his tent, to cement friendship by passing the night in his company. Before the roaring camp-fire they sat a long time, talking of the brave days in store. Godfrey gulped down eagerly all that Louis and Richard had gathered in Sicily of the country and manners of warfare of the infidels, and they knew in turn that a great captain and master-at-arms was speaking with them. Already Godfrey was ordering his campaign.
"And the number of the unbelievers?" he would ask.
"More than the sea-sands," Longsword replied, "and they say they are all light cavalry and archers."
"By Our Lady of Antwerp!" cried the Duke, "we must pray then for a close country and a hand to handmêlée!"
"Ah!" declared Renard of Toul, "what matter how we fight! Is not the Lord on our side, and St. Michael and St. George!"
The Duke laughed merrily.
"You are the same mad Renard as ever," said he. "Is it not written, 'Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God?' But," continued he, gayly, "in good time let me see the Holy City on high; yet not until I have had a good joust, chasing the paynims from that on earth!"
Thus ran the talk, but presently Louis said:—
"And did you, De St. Julien, see in the multitude a certain dwarfish, dark-skinned fellow, who stood right back of you all the time the Holy Father was speaking, his eyes fastened not on the Lord Pope, but on you?"
"I did not; why did you ask?"
"Because, though I was some little way off, I could have sworn that he was Zeyneb, the body-servant of Iftikhar Eddauleh, and he seemed as if devouring you with his eyes."
"Zeyneb? He who gave his master the iron lance instead of the reed, when Iftikhar rode against Musa the Spaniard?"
Louis nodded.
"You are bewitched, fair sir," laughed Richard, gayly; "the rascal was long since in Syria or Egypt." And here his face grew dark, as he thought of the sack of Cefalu, and that Eleanor might be in the clutches of Zeyneb himself that moment. It was well to forgive Christian enemies, but to hate infidel foes took on new merit by wearing the cross, and Richard was not minded to forget Iftikhar Eddauleh.
"On the relics I could swear I saw him!" protested Louis.
"It is true," added Godfrey; "I set eyes on such a knave. Not that I set him down as infidel. But I had little liking to have such a fellow within arm's length; my ribs nigh itched with a dagger at merely seeing him. When he sidled up to us, I gave him a frown that made him hide his black head in the crowd."
"Well, fair Duke," said Richard, "rest assured, he has not come to hear the Holy Father, if this is Zeyneb, the slave of Iftikhar. Bishop Robert wrote something of his coming to France, but entirely doubted the tale."
"By St. Michael of Antwerp," declared Godfrey, "what do infidels at Clermont?"
Richard shook his head, but Herbert, who heard all, came to him only a moment afterwards and led him aside.
"Little lord,—you must wear the ring-shirt."
The Baron resisted. "You grow fearful as an old woman, Herbert. Godfrey and Louis dream, when they say a creature of Iftikhar is in Clermont."
But Sebastian urged as well.
"Theroulde and Herbert have seen him also. As you love our Lord, do not peril your life. Why has Zeyneb come to Clermont, save to do what failed at Cefalu?"
"Faugh!" growled Richard, "will not God despise me, if I shiver at every gust of danger?"
"As you love my Lady Mary, do this!" pressed Herbert shrewdly, and at Mary's name Richard submitted meekly as a lamb. Thus all that evening Longsword grumbled at the precaution, and swore he would wear no more mail till he came face to face with the unbelievers. But he grumbled no longer, for just as the stars told it was past midnight, he was waked from sound sleep by a blow that sent him to his feet blinking and staggering. And lo, the wall of the tent against which he lay was pierced clean through by a dagger that had broken against the Valencia shirt; for a bit of the blade lay on the canvas. Herbert and De Carnac were swearing loudly that they had not closed an eye all night, but it was Louis who darted into the darkness, and came back with a strange fellow held in no gentle grip. He dragged the prisoner to the dying firelight; they saw his coarse villain's blouse, a spine so bent that he was nigh hunchback, a poll of coarse black hair that scarcely came up to Richard's elbow, a face not unhandsome, but with black eyes very small and teeth sharp and white. One shout greeted him, as he was held before the fire.
"Zeyneb! Zeyneb, the slave of Iftikhar Eddauleh!"
The fellow held down his head, and twisted his face as if to defy recognition.
"Ha!" cried Renard of Toul, "he has a dagger-sheath in his belt! Empty? Ah, the crows will love his bones!"
Richard had found his tongue.
"And does my Lord Iftikhar," asked he in Arabic, "think it cavalier-wise to send out assassins like your worthy self, when he cannot reach his foe with his own arm? This and the deeds at Cefalu put me greatly in his debt—let him be well paid!"
"The arm and eye of the grand prior of the Ismaelians reach to farthest Frankland, my Cid," quoth Zeyneb, standing very limp in Louis's clutch.
"And the arm shall be soon lopped off," retorted the Auvergner. But at that instant his firm hold weakened. Untimely slackening! with a lightning twist and turn Zeyneb had slid from De Valmont's clutches, as if of oil; gone in the dark before the knights could cry out. The night swallowed him as if he were a spectre.
"After! after!" thundered Godfrey. "Fifty Tours deniers to him that seizes!"
There was a mighty shout. All the neighboring tents were in uproar. A friendly baron loaned bloodhounds; but which of the many trails was Zeyneb's who might say? All night they beat the camp; a hundred idle knaves were haled before Richard, each one of whom doubtless would have been the better for being knocked on the head; but none was the dwarf. At dawn Richard went wearily to rest, but criers scoured the country, calling on all good Christians to begin the Crusade by catching this infidel assassin. Several townspeople told how the fugitive had come to Clermont a few days since, pretending he was an Eastern Christian exiled by Moslem persecutors. They had given him great compassion, and answered his questions as to the whereabouts of Richard de St. Julien, whom he said he was seeking. But all the search brought nothing.
"Strange," commented Richard, "Iftikhar should use him as agent; his crooked back stops all disguise."
"You do not know him, little lord," answered Herbert. "Satan has given him a heart as darkly crafty as his black eyes. I have heard his fame at Palermo. Undisguised, he is a rat sly enough to creep through a hole too small for a beetle."
And Sebastian piously admonished:—
"Dear son, now that you have taken the cross and your sins are forgiven, great mercy is shown you. Be very humble, for God has some wondrous service in store!"
The admonition Richard treasured in his heart; but he did not so far tempt Providence as to put by the Valencia hauberk, and Herbert kept guard over him night and day. Also a courier speeded to La Haye with a letter bidding Baron Hardouin have a care that Iftikhar did not try to repeat his Cefalu raid, and to leave no Syrian dwarf unhanged in his barony.
A few days thereafter the great gathering at Clermont scattered; and Heaven knew there was much to be done, if the hosts of the Lord were not to set forth with scrip and staff merely! The Duke of Bouillon parted with Richard and Louis as became Christian brothers-in-arms, and went homeward to rouse his vassals. As for De Valmont, he had need to go to Champagne; but Longsword rode straight for St. Julien. Every peasant he met on the road, when they saw he was a gallant knight, begged him to be their leader to Jerusalem. Almost every breast wore the red cross; women bore it, and little children. "God wills it! To Jerusalem!" That was the one cry. Yet Richard was sad at times; for he saw that men acted in ignorance, and that their very zeal would destroy them.
As for Sebastian, he had a word of the prophets at all moments in his mouth, and saw in everything a manifest sign that the days foretold in the Apocalypse were at hand, when "the Beast" and all that served him were nigh their end, and the righteous should rule forever.
"Now is fulfilled the word of the Lord!" was his cry. "Fear not, for I am with thee. I will bring thy seed from the East and gather thee from the West; I will say unto the North, 'Give up,' and to the South, 'Keep not back; bring my sons from far and my daughters from the ends of the earth.'"
Only Richard saw that the shrewd cleric was not lacking in worldly wisdom. When they passed two shouting monks, who were showing their naked breasts on which they had branded the Cross, and whom many were declaring to be saints indeed, Sebastian had only the shake of the head.
"They are blind leaders of the blind," was his comment; "they will suffer pains enough before they see the Holy City to forget all their fiery zeal. The kingdom of heaven is not to be won by tortures inflicted for the praise of men."
When they reached St. Julien, there was work for Richard all that winter. The Baron convoked his "Ost," the fighting-men of the seigneury, and, standing upon the great stone before the castle, told how for his own sins and the souls of his kinsfolk he had taken the cross—"and who would go with him?" Whereupon, as Sebastian declared, "A new pentecostal fire spread among the St. Julieners;" and so many cried they would make the crusade, that Richard had trouble to make it plain, enough must stay behind to care for the aged, the harvests, and the castle, and that no family be left to charity. Up and down the barony went Sebastian, showing his scars inflicted by paynims, drawing all after him. Even the lord abbot was stricken in conscience, confessed his lax rule, and wished to go to Jerusalem. But Sebastian told him God were better pleased to have him remain and teach the brethren fasts and vigils. Yet to the fighting-men the priest had but one message, "that now was come the time for the righteous to wash their hands in the blood of the ungodly." And Richard was busy on his part arranging the seigneury, raising money by sale of rights to pig pasture held on certain lands, and more money by allowing a rich Jew, who dwelt in the barony and now wished to go to Spain, to buy his right of departure; for a rich Jew was a very precious possession to a seigneur, who never let him withdraw, with his wealth—for a trifle.
Richard was happier in this work than he had been for many a long day. The blood of Gilbert de Valmont no longer hung heavy on his soul. Louis de Valmont was his friend. He could look up into heaven and see there only peace and mercy. But he was sad when his thoughts ran to Mary Kurkuas and the many years that might speed before he could call her his bride; for this was no time to think of home and marriage. Even a greater sadness came over him, when he thought of Musa. All his faith, all the teachings of Holy Church and her ministers, left him only the assurance that the Spaniard's soul was doomed to the fire unquenchable. This life so short, the after-life so long, and Musa thus doomed! Why did God create amongst the unbelievers such high manhood, such knightly prowess, and then consign it all to the same torments reserved for the utterly wicked? Yet could he doubt his own religion—he, the ardent champion of the Cross, whose new-found happiness depended on this very belief, that the death of infidels was most pleasing in God's sight?
At times Sebastian could see that his mind was still clouded, and would say:—
"Dear son, do not hide what makes your face so sad."
"Ai, father, I am thinking of Musa, and how I love him, and how terrible is the state of his soul."
"Love him not," Sebastian would cry sternly; "as for his soul, it is given to be buffeted of Satan, at which all good Christians should rejoice."
"But we are bidden to 'love our enemies,' and Musa is no enemy; I count him as my brother."
Then Sebastian would frown more fiercely than ever.
"Yes, love 'our' enemies, not those of Holy Church. Give heed lest to your former sins you add not a greater—that of sinful pity toward the hated of God!"
Long before Assumption Day, the appointed time for setting forth, soon as the balmy spring winds blew, all France was marching. Not the great lords first,—for worldly wisdom was plentiest under gilded helmets,—but the peasants took the road by thousands on thousands. Day after day the long procession by St. Julien, serpent-like, trailed on,—priests and bandits, petty nobles, old crones on crutches, little children on lumbering wagons; for weapons, often only boar spears and wood axes. "And is this fortress not Jerusalem?" the children would often cry when they saw the castle; and their fathers and mothers hardly knew if they ought to tell them nay. Hoary sires crept along on their staffs, followed by sons and sons' sons and daughters also. To each stranger they would cry: "Come! God wills it! Let us die at Jerusalem!" And Richard's heart grew sad, knowing they would indeed die, but far from the Holy City. At first he bade the butler and cellarer open the castle vats, and supply food and drink to all; but those worthies protested that three days of such charity would ruin the fief, and Richard was forced to let the pilgrim hordes roll by, subsisting on what they carried with them. Full soon their means would be at an end; then they must plunder or starve. But Longsword's bounty would have been only a drop in their bucket.
Sometimes, however, there came sturdy bands that clamored at the castle gate, demanding food.
"Food?" roared old Herbert, one such day; "and have you taken nothing in your wallets?"
"No," quoth a hulking peasant, showing an empty pouch; "the priests say, 'God who nourishes the sparrows will not let His dear children suffer;' so we have gone forth trusting in His bounty to feed us."
"Begone!" cried Sebastian, from behind the portcullis; for the pilgrims had begun to threaten. "I also am a priest, and say to you, as says the Apostle, 'If any would not work, neither should he eat.' God has given you better wits than have sparrows. Sin not by misusing them!"
But too often the rascals fell to plunder, and reluctantly Richard sallied forth; slew some, and hanged others for a warning. Very grave grew Longsword when he heard of the outrages wrought through the bands led by Volkmar the priest and Count Emicio in the Rhine cities, for he knew this was no way to win Heaven's blessing. "Their sins are great," commented Sebastian. "God is pleased to lead them to destruction." And of Peter the Hermit, who headed a like band, as not a few had desired Sebastian himself to do, he only prophesied, "He listens to the praise of men; God will abase him!" As indeed came true.
So with the peasants. But at last the seigneurs were moving. Richard rode from St. Julien with five-and-twenty petty nobles, thrice as many full-armored men-at-arms, four hundred stout "villains" on foot; and above his head the great banner of his house, St. Julien's white stag blazoned on a red field. The baron's heart was gay when he saw the long line of casques and lances. But beside them trailed a weeping company; old men and women, who went a little way, making a long farewell.
"Ah, sweet lord," the pretty maids would cry, "how long will it be, ere you ride back with Peter and Anselm and Hugo?" and so with fifty more, wailing out the name of husband, brother, or sweetheart. Then Richard would bang Trenchefer in a way to hearten the most timorous, and swear, "In two years you shall see them all again, and I will make every good man-at-arms a knight!" So when the women saw his bold, brave face, they took courage. But there were tears and to spare, when they came to the last wayside cross, and Herbert went down the line, calling gruffly to every man and maid not bound for Jerusalem to drop from the ranks. So the lines were closed, and the long files of helmets and hauberks went over the mountain side. Many an eye went back to the groups of red, blue, and yellow clustered round the cross; and many an eye was wet that had been seldom wet before, as they saw tottering old Bosso, Sebastian's vicar in the parish, hold up the crucifix, and all the bright gowns bend in prayer. But none fell from the ranks, no step lagged.
Richard nodded to Theroulde, whose mule was plodding beside Rollo. Thejongleurclapped his viol to his shoulder; the trumpets blew; the kettledrums boomed until the crags echoed; and then once more the shout went down the lines as so many times before: "God wills it! To Jerusalem!" Whereupon the drums thundered faster, the feet twinkled more nimbly. When they came to the pass of the mountains, Richard ordered no halt; but he drew rein on Rollo, and let the column swing past. Each man cast one glance over his shoulder; louder the viols, the trumpets, the drums; again the cry: "God wills it! To Jerusalem!" Richard saw the backs of the last rank and turned his gaze toward the valley. There it lay—fair as when, nigh a year before, he had seen it from that same hillside, crowned with the bursting summer. He could see the tower of the great keep, the abbey, the village—all. And in that year what had not befallen! His grandfather dead; Raoul de Valmont dead; Gilbert de Valmont dead; ah! pity, his father, mother, brother—all dead; and his sister worse than dead! And yet the sky could be blue, and God sit calm above it, despite the wickedness of His children! Richard's shield-strap had slipped; in readjusting it he saw his face in the bright steel, clear as a mirror, and he knew lines of pain and grim resolve and deathly battle were marked thereon that would never in this world be smoothed away. Yet he was the same: the same debonair young knight who had laughed when he looked upon this valley, and vowed it should all be one love-bower for Mary Kurkuas. And now he was the stern Baron of St. Julien, at whose nod five hundred fighting-men trembled; who had blood on his hands, and, merciful saints, more blood on his soul, even if the sin were absolved! Mary, the soft, sweet life in Cefalu, the sunlit dreams of one short year ago, of love, of bright tourneys, of victories won without a pang—where were they now?
As he turned, he saw Sebastian riding his palfrey beside Rollo. "Ah, dear father," said the Norman, half sadly, "this is a pleasant country to leave behind. Is Palestine, even with Jerusalem, more fair than Auvergne? When we have taken the Holy City, we will return, and I will pray the Lord Pope to make St. Julien a bishopric, and you shall be thesanctissimusof the country-side!"
Sebastian smiled at this forced banter.
"Dear son," said he, "this is indeed a fair country, as I said when a year ago we first saw it from this height. But something in my heart says to me: 'Sebastian, God is hearkening to your prayers. Your journey in this evil world will some day end. After you have seen the Cross victorious on the walls of the earthly Zion, then you shall straightway behold the heavenly.' Therefore I shall never see St. Julien again."
"These are fancies, father," said the knight, laying his heavy hand affectionately on the priest's tonsured head; "you shall live to a yet riper age. You shall see the Holy City purged of infidels. Then at last it will be no sin to fulfil my dream. Here in St. Julien Mary Kurkuas and I will dwell, and you beside us; and if God bless us with children, what greater joy for you than to teach them all things, as you have taught me, and make them tenfold better (Christ pity me!) than their father."
"Yes, sweet lad," replied Sebastian, gently, "that would indeed be joy; but the will of Our Lord be done. And now let us be about His business." Whereupon he turned his palfrey. Richard cast one glance over mountain, valley, tower, and farm-land—a vision never to fade; then:—
"Come, Rollo!" he urged, and flew after the column. The music crashed ever faster; the marching men raised a mad war-song; Richard's voice rose above them all. As they sang, they struck the downward slope, and the crags hid St. Julien.
Southward they marched; for the Auvergners went in company with Raymond of Toulouse, by the southern route across Italy, though Richard would have desired the German route with Godfrey. At Orange the Norman met the great Count of Toulouse and St. Gilles,—a tall, haughty man, with flowing silver hair and beard; brusque to strangers, but underneath the sternness a high-minded Christian soul. With him was his handsome and valiant friend, Viscount Gaston of Béarn, a winsome cavalier who became Longsword's close friend. At Orange Richard rejoined the band with Raymond of Agiles, Toulouse's chaplain, and found Louis de Valmont. On that spot was cemented a long-time friendship, to be ended only after they had all seen deeds, knight or cleric had never dreamt before.
But while the host lay at Orange, Richard's heart was elsewhere; presently there came a letter that set him to mount and ride right quickly.
"Mary Kurkuas, to her sweet lord Richard: kisses and greetings more than words may tell.
"Dear Heart: I have heard all from Musa, and I may not write how my heart is torn for you. The fiends have been many in your soul, have tempted you grievously, and you have fallen. Do you think I shrink from you, that I bless the saints I am not yet your wife and can escape a hateful bond? Sweet life,—love is not made of such feeble stuff! You do well to go to Jerusalem, but will you go without one word, one look? I have somewhat to say to you, which can only pass when face to face. Come to La Haye. Musa tells me I am still as beautiful as at Palermo, and I hope in your eyes also this will prove true. I think my words, songs, and love will not make you a meaner soldier for Christ. To Him you belong first, but after Him to me. Ride swiftly, for I sit watching to see Rollo coming down the castle road bearing my own true love. So come. Farewell."
Whereupon, when Richard read, all his resolution to go through Provence, turning to neither right hand nor left, sped from him as dust before the south wind. To his surprise Sebastian did not oppose.
"Dear son," said the churchman, "love is of God. There is a love of man to woman; a love of man to the Most High; happy are they to whom the higher and lesser are at one."
"But in former days you did not smile on my suit to Mary."
"Verily," said Sebastian, while Herbert made the horses ready, "I saw in it the hand of Satan to prevent you from going to the Holy City. But now that you have taken the great vow, and I see in your face that you are strong, I have no fear. Yet remember, your duty is to God, and not to women; when you ride toward Palestine, do not leave your soul snared in a silken net in Provence."
"Ah," cried Richard, "you know not what you say. Did you ever have love for a pure and beautiful maid?"
Sebastian's face was very grave.
"Many things have befallen in my life, God is lengthening my days. In the years of my youth—what may not have happened? But she died—she was very young; so was I. I have mastered all earthly lusts, praise be to God!"
And this was the only word Richard had ever heard Sebastian speak, of what befell him before he entered the monastery, and the long shadows of his life's renunciation fell over him. But of more moment was the speech Richard had with Herbert, as they rode along.
"I marvel that no mention was made in the letter of the messages I sent to La Haye, to warn against that dark-faced devil, Zeyneb."
Herbert fell into a long study, his eyes fixed on the way that was gliding by under their merry canter.
"The roads were safe. All the brigands have left their lairs to go to Jerusalem—ha!"—this, with a sly grunt and chuckle. "However, if my lady writes thus three days since, nothing has befallen."
"True," replied the Baron, spurring Rollo more hotly, "yet as I think of it, I begin to misdoubt. Iftikhar Eddauleh is of that accursed brotherhood amongst the infidels—the Ismaelians. Their guile reaches to the ends of the earth. Twice he has sought my life, and only St. Michael saved me. I would I could see that Zeyneb dancing at a rope's end."
"The rope or the axe will be his confessor at last!" muttered Herbert; then they all rode harder.
When Richard came within sight of the towers of the castle of La Haye, not even Rollo's mighty stride made the ground speed swift enough. All around stretched the vineyards and orchard bowers of the pleasant South Country; the wind blew softly over great fields of blossoms; the peasant and wayfarer trudged on peacefully with no sword at his side, and feared not raid nor robbers, for safety and ease reigned everywhere in fair Provence. When they drew near to the castle, they could see a score of bright banners tossing on the rampart, while a great crash of music greeted them; for the Baron of La Haye was a valiant troubadour, and kept as manyjongleursas grooms. But what cared Richard? As he thundered up the way to the drawbridge, he reined in Rollo short, was out of the saddle, and his arms were about some one in white that had run from the orchard to greet him. And he felt a soft breath on his cheeks, soft hands in his hands, soft words in his ear; and his own words came so fast, they would scarce come at all. Then he knew that all the castle folk were standing by, smiling and laughing in friendly manner. Soon Baron Hardouin came down and gave him a stately speech, after the best courtesy of the South Country; and Richard, holding Mary's hand in his own, looked upon all about, and spoke out boldly: "Fair lord and good people, I have no skill in speech, but this I say: the Princess Mary Kurkuas is the fairest and noblest maiden in all the earth, and to him who says me nay, I will make it good upon my body." Whereupon he half drew Trenchefer, but all cried out, "Long life to the valiant Baron de St. Julien! long life to our fairest princess!" And Richard went into the castle with his head in the air, seeing only one face out of the many, and that very close to his own.
Only when Hardouin had feasted his guest, and had made him listen to a dozenjongleursand their minstrelsy, Richard found himself alone with Mary in the castle orchard, just as the long afternoon was spreading out the shadows. They sat on the turf, with a gnarled old apple tree rustling above them. All around the bees were humming over the roses; the birds were just beginning to carol the evening. Then the question was, "And where is Musa?"
Whereupon Mary answered: "He is gone forth hawking; for, said he, 'I think Richard will come to-day; and though I am his brother, there are hours when even brothers are better loved afar off.'"
"What a noble soul he is," said Richard, his eyes wandering dreamily up into the waving canopy of green; "how often I wonder that he has never courted you, nor you given him favor. Almost I love him too well for jealousy."
"But not I!" cried the Greek, firing; then with a laugh: "See, your eyes are open wide, for you are fearful lest I take your words in earnest. Ah, dear life, I can love but one; and with you my heart is a full cup. Yet to Musa I would give aught else—all but love. Yet fear him not. He is the most generous of men. Often as we have been together, his talk has been of you,—praising you after his Arab fashion, till even I cry out at him, 'Richard Longsword is a wondrous knight, yet not so wondrous as you make him!' Then he will laugh and say, 'In my eyes there was never Moslem or Christian a greater cavalier than my brother.'"
"So he has been at La Haye all the winter?"
"Yes; he sent away your Saracens to Sicily; and I need not tell the shifts he had to save their skins, such was the cry against infidels in all the country. But here in Provence, where there are so many Jews and unbelievers, not to speak of the Cathari and other heretics that are so strong, a Moslem knight may dwell without annoy; for I fear my uncle—" and she fetched a sigh—"likes his troubadours and courts of love too well to leave them for the war of the Holy City."
But at the mention of Jerusalem Richard's brow grew dark.
"Dear heart," said he, "what madness to come to La Haye! How may I lift eyes to you, when I belong to the cause of Christ; and what time is this for marriage and giving in marriage! And if God grants that I return alive from Palestine,—and well I know the dangers, if some do not,—how many years for you must it be of weary waiting—years plucked out of the joyousness of your own dear life! Ah, sweetest of the sweet, I hold your hand now, and see heaven in your eyes. But I know you would not have me always thus; we cannot sit beneath the trees forever."
"No, my beloved," said the Greek, very softly, "this is no time for marriage or giving in marriage; yet—" and she spoke still more softly—"shall I not go with you, to nurse the wounded, and give cold water to the sick; to lay a cool hand on you—thus—if you are very weary or tempted? Are there no noble ladies who go with the army,—the Countess of Toulouse, the wife of Baldwin, brother of great Duke Godfrey, and many more? And shall I not be one? Listen: my sins too are very great; yes,"—for Richard was raising a hand in protest; "I am too fond of the pomps and praise of this world, and my heart too often will not bow to the will of God. For my own sins and for the sins of him I love better than self, I would pray at the tomb of Our Lord. Yet I cannot fly out alone—a poor defenceless song-bird, amongst all the crows and hawks. Therefore I have sent to you, that you might hear me say this, 'Let us be wedded by the priest full soon, for the Holy Father has forbidden unprotected maids to go to Jerusalem; but let us not be to each other truly as husband or wife until the Sacred City is taken, and we can kneel side by side at the Holy Sepulchre."
Richard had risen, and as he stood he held Mary's hands in his own, and looked straight into her eyes.