"And how is it with the Star of the Greeks?" repeated Musa, while Richard Longsword's face grew gnarled as a mountain oak. At the Norman's silence, the Arab also became grave as death, and in a whisper that scarce left his throat, he asked:—
"As you are my friend, tell me, was it in the mountains where they say you suffered so from thirst? or in the camp where was the plague and fever?"
Richard shook his head; then at last came the words:—
"She lives—at least I fear so!"
"Allah the Compassionate!" was the Spaniard's cry, "you 'fear' she lives?"
The Norman's casqued head was bent upon the shaggy mane of Rollo; he groaned in his agony:—
"Mother of Christ, pity me, if I be not beyond all pity! In the great battle at Dorylæum, of which you must have heard, our camp was stormed. I was away summoning help from Duke Godfrey. Before the Turks were driven out, they made prisoners."
"Prisoners! Allah pity us indeed!" Musa rocked in his saddle, and pressed his hands to his head. But Richard drove straight forward, having begun his tale. "I continued in the chase of the Seljouks. My horse ran ahead of the rest. I saw a squadron of riders clothed in white, not Turks, but Arabs. I saw that the leader of the band was holding a woman before him on his saddle. I was almost measuring swords with him, when my horse failed. I returned to camp torn with forebodings, and found—" But here he stopped, even he startled at the agony written on the Andalusian's face.
"Tell it all, dear brother," said Musa, raising his head by a mighty effort.
"I found that Iftikhar Eddauleh and a band of his infamous Ismaelians had led the storming of the camps. He had carried Mary away in his flight; and at this moment she is in his harem,—his slave, till God may have pity on her innocency and let her die." Then Richard told Musa why he had pursued Hossein, and the Spaniard called on his men to join in the chase of the fugitive, who had not taken refuge among them, but had flown on as swift as his steed could carry. But the Ismaelian seemed to have bidden the earth open, and it had swallowed him. So after futile search the whole party turned toward Antioch; and Musa explained that he came against the Christians with no hostile intent, but as commander of the armed escort of the embassy the Egyptian Kalif Mustaali was sending the Crusaders. For the Egyptians, as Musa explained, had little love for the Turks, since the Turks were the foes of Ali, successor of the Prophet, whom the Egyptians venerated. Moreover, twenty years before, the Seljouks had plundered to the very gates of Cairo. And now that Mustaali had conquered Jerusalem and Palestine from the Turks, he would be glad to strike hands with the Christians, and grant them free access to the Holy City, if only it could remain in his hands. Therefore he had sent a pompous embassy of fifteen deputies to proffer the Crusaders honorable peace or deadly war. "And do you imagine, O brother," said Richard, when he had heard this, and they were riding on together, "that we Franks will have anything less than the complete mastery of the Holy City, or be turned back by the threats of your kalif?"
"Allah is all-knowing," was the gloomy reply. "I forewarned the Vizier Afdhal that nothing would come of this; for have I not seen your France with my own eyes? But I can only obey. The smooth speeches I leave to the deputies." Then, with a quick turn: "As Allah lives, I can think of nothing but of what you have told me. Mary Kurkuas the slave of Iftikhar,—of Iftikhar! O Allah, if indeed Thou art omnipotent and merciful, why may such things be?"
"Peace, sweet brother," said the Christian, gently. "I am trying to learn to bow to the will of God. Do not make my task harder. Mary Kurkuas was my wife; but what was she to you?"
"What to me?" The words came across Musa's white teeth so quickly that he had spoken ere he could set bridle to his tongue. Then slowly, with a soft rhythm and melody attuned so well by his rich voice, he answered: "What to me? Shall I say it again; are you not my brother, is not Mary the Greek my sister? Are not your joys my joys; your sorrows—what sorrows are they not!—mine? Allah pity me; my heart is sad, sad. And what have you done to seek for her?" So Richard told as well as he might of his questionings of the prisoners, and of the report that Iftikhar had gone to Persia, to Alamont the trysting-place of the Ismaelians. But Musa shook his head at this.
"Either the man spoke false or was ignorant. I am close to the gossip of the court at Cairo. Iftikhar is in Syria. He keeps still, lest he rouse Barkyarok; but I think report had it he was dealing with Redouan of Aleppo."
"Aleppo?" repeated Richard. "I rode close to the city. But it is impossible to gain news. War blocks all roads. These Syrians will lie, though there be a dagger at their throats. Had we but captured Hossein—"
"Forgive that my coming made him escape you," broke in the Spaniard.
"Forgive?" continued the Norman; "what have I to forgive touching you, my brother? Perhaps even Hossein could have told nothing; but vengeance is sweet."
"Wallah, and it shall not be small!" swore Musa.
So the company rode back to the camp of the Christians; and Richard's men were astonished to meet their chief trotting side by side with an unbeliever. But he reassured them, and brought the embassy with all courtesy before Duke Godfrey, who entreated the Egyptians very honorably. Richard, however, took Musa to his own tent, and the two spent together an evening long and sweet. Richard told of the fighting around Nicæa, of Dorylæum, the desert march, the unfruitful siege; and Musa told a story of a campaign in Nubia against negro nomads, and showed the gem-hilted cimeter that the Fatimite kalif had himself bestowed when the Spaniard returned to Cairo victorious. "And I had another reward offered me," continued Musa, smiling. "The kalif said to me: 'Cid Musa, you are a gallant emir. As Allah lives you shall be my son-in-law; you shall have the hand of Laila my daughter; whose beauty is as a fountain bursting under palms.'"
"So you are wedded at last," cried the Norman, and he held up his wine-cup. "To Laila, wife of the great Emir Musa, son of Abdallah!" was his cry. But the Spaniard checked him with a laugh. "No, I put the offer by, though it was not easy to refuse such a gift and yet save my head."
"St. Maurice, you refused!"
"I did; a sly eunuch let me see the princess unveiled. To some men she is beautiful: eyes that need nokohlto deepen, feet too small for silken slippers, her smile that of a lotus-bloom under the sun,—but she was not for me."
"Foolish!" cried the Christian, "you sing love ditties ever, but bear love for none."
"I am yet young. Wait,—in the book of doom what is written is written. Leave me in peace!" was the laughing answer. But neither Norman nor Spaniard laughed in heart when they lay down to sleep that night. Richard knew that Musa had made a great vow; he could nigh guess its tenor, though the Moslem kept his counsel well.
The Egyptian envoys came on a barren embassy; infidels were infidels to the Franks, came they from Bagdad or Cairo. When the ambassadors hinted that the Crusaders would be welcome at the Holy City if they would only enter unarmed, the answer was fiery: "Tell the kalif that we do not fear all the power of Asia or of Egypt. Christians alone shall guard Jerusalem." So the envoys prepared to journey homeward. The Franks were to send with them a counter-embassy, proposing peace if Jerusalem were surrendered; but few expected any good to come of the mission. Yet, despite the brave words, it was a gloomy council of the chiefs that met in Duke Godfrey's tent the night after they had rejected the Egyptian terms. Tancred was not there, nor Richard Longsword. Godfrey's face was careworn as he sat at the head of the table, on his left Raymond, on his right Bohemond.
"Dear brothers," he pleaded, after a long and bitter debate, "we do not fight, I remind you, for gold or glory. Therefore do you, my Lord Raymond, recall your bitter words against Bohemond—Christ is ill served by His servants' wranglings." But Raymond answered haughtily: "Fair Duke, I, too, love Our Lord. But now the Prince of Tarentum comes demanding that whosoever shall take Antioch shall be lord of the city. I sniff his meaning well. His intrigue with Phirous the Armenian who wishes to betray the city is well known. Would God we had Antioch! But I will not sit by and see one man gather all the fruits of our toil when we have labored together as brothers, and poured out blood and treasure; will not see the spoils all go to one who hopes to prosper by base artifice or womanish stratagem."
Bohemond had bounded to his feet.
"Yes, Count of Toulouse, you do well to say Phirous the Armenian will betray Antioch at my bidding, and at none other. Have I put nothing at risk in this Crusade? Have I not played my part at Nicæa, Dorylæum, the battles around the city? If you have a better device for reducing Yaghi-Sian, make use, and win Antioch yourself! They tell that the lord of Mosul, the great Kerbogha, is not many days' march away, with two hundred thousand men, swept from all Mesopotamia and Persia. Will his coming make our task easier? Time presses; to-morrow? Too late, perhaps. Promise me that if I win Antioch I shall become its lord, and Phirous is ready to yield three towers into our hands."
A deep growl was coming from the other chiefs.
"By Our Lady of Paris and St. Denis," swore Count Hugh of the French blood-royal, angrily, "this Prince of Tarentum shall not beard us thus. Let half the army watch Antioch, the rest go against Kerbogha. God willing, we can crush both."
But good Bishop Adhemar interposed.
"To do so were to betray the cause of God. The host is weakened by war and famine. One-half will never suffice to confront Kerbogha; only the saints will give the whole the victory. We cannot raise the siege, nor endure attack from Kerbogha in our camp. Let us not blame the Lord Bohemond. With God's will every prince and baron shall win a fair lordship in this Syria; there is room for all."
Silence lasted a moment; then in turn Robert the Norman cried, "By the splendor of God, my Lord Bohemond, think well if this Phirous has not deceived you!"
"He has not!" attested the southern Norman, hotly.
"Good!" retorted Robert, "he has taken your money and spoken you fair. So? You cannot deny. Nevertheless, fair princes, I have a man here with a tale to tell."
A dozen voices cried: "What man? What tale? Bring him in!"
Two squires of the Norman Duke led in an Arab, muscular, bright-eyed, decently habited. Robert explained that this man had come to him, professing to be a native Christian, well disposed to the Crusaders, and to have just escaped from the city. Through the interpreter he gave his name as Eybek, and answered all the questions flung at him with marvellous readiness and consistency. "Yes, he had ready access to the circle of Yaghi-Sian, and knew that the city was capable of making a very long defence. The emir was looking for help in a very few days. If the Christians did not raise the siege at once and march away, it would need a miracle from St. George and St. Demetrius to save them from the myriads of Kerbogha." Only once, when the fellow raised his head—for he had a manner of holding it down—Bohemond muttered to Godfrey:—
"Fair Duke, I know not when, yet once—I swear it by the thumb-bone of St. Anthony in my hilt—I have seen his face before." But the Duke replied:—
"How before, my lord? Not on the Crusade, surely. Perhaps among the Arabs of Sicily."
Bohemond shook his head. "Not there." And the examination of Eybek went on.
Then the Christian chiefs pressed him closer, and Hugh of Vermandois demanded: "But what of Phirous? For the Prince of Tarentum tells us this Armenian is high in the favor of Yaghi-Sian, that he is a Christian at heart, having been a renegade, and anxious to return to the only true faith."
"Noble lord," replied the Oriental, through the interpreter, "if the Emir Bohemond believes the tales told him by Phirous, he is less wise than I deemed him. Phirous is in the confidence of Yaghi-Sian day and night."
"Ha!" interposed Duke Godfrey, dropping his jaw, and Bohemond's sly face flushed with wrath and incredulity.
"Is it not as I said, fair lords?" cried Robert of Normandy, bringing his fist down upon the long oaken table before him. "What has the Prince of Tarentum been trying to lead toward, save shame and disaster?"
"Insolent!" roared Bohemond, on his feet, with his sword half drawn; "you shall answer to me for this, son of the Bastard!"
Then the Norman Duke's blade started also. But above his angry shout rang the cry of Bishop Adhemar.
"In the name of Christ, sweet sons, keep peace! Sheathe your swords! You, Prince of Tarentum, rejoice if we learn the deceit of Phirous in time. You, Robert of Normandy, do not triumph; for Bohemond has only sought to advance the victory of Our Lord!"
"Fair lords," commanded Godfrey, sternly, "let us save our swords for the unbelievers, and be quiet while we hearken to this Arabian. In truth he appears a pious and loyal man."
Then all kept silence while Eybek continued to explain that Phirous had been all the time in the counsels of the emir, that there was a plot to induce the Christian chiefs to adventure themselves inside the walls by pretending to betray a tower. Once inside, an ambush was to break out, and the flower of the Christians would be destroyed.
Bohemond raged, and stormed, and tried to browbeat the fellow into contradictions. The Prince spoke Arabic and needed no interpreter; but the other clung to his tale unshaken. Only men noticed that he hung down his head, as if afraid to let the red glare of the cressets fall fairly on his face, and that when there was a stir among the lesser chieftains as a certain newcomer took his seat at the foot of the table he averted his gaze yet more. Presently, baffled and willing to own his hopes blasted, the Tarentine turned away.
"St. Michael blot out that Armenian! He has taken my gold and deceived me. This Arab's story clings together too well not to be true." And the Prince started to leave the tent with a sullen countenance, for he had come to the council with swelling hopes.
"The finger of God is manifest in this," commented Godfrey, piously. "Had not Duke Robert brought this man before us we would all, with Bohemond, have stepped into the pit dug by our enemies."
"Verily," cried Adhemar, "this Eybek is a true friend of Christ; his reward shall not fail him."
The Arab bowed low before the bishop and Bouillon, and muttered some flowery compliments in his own tongue.
"Lead him away," commanded Duke Robert to his squires. "In the morning we will question further." As they obeyed, one took a torch from its socket on the tent-pole, and, holding it high, the ruddy light fell full on the face of the Arabian. An instant only, but with that instant came a cry, a shout.
"Hossein!" and Richard Longsword had bounded from his seat as if an arrow dashed from a crossbow. One snatch and the torch was in his hand, held close under the Arab's face. The luckless man writhed in a clutch firm as steel. Richard held up the light so that every feature of his victim lay revealed. "The man!" And at the exclamation, and sight of the iron mood written on Longsword's face, Eybek's bronzed face turned ashen pale.
There was silence in the council tent for one long minute. Then Richard was speaking very calmly:—
"Fair lords, we are all deceived. This man is no Christian escaped from Antioch. What he is, those who know the manner of the captivity of Mary de St. Julien, my dear wife, can tell. On the day of the coming of the Egyptian embassy he was in company with a band of infidel horsemen that I dispersed. The tale he has told you touching Phirous is doubtless a lie, to cast discredit on the Armenian, and bring his scheme to naught, if Yaghi-Sian has not been warned by him already." At Longsword's words a howl of wrath went round the council table.
"Traitor! Dog of Hell!" Duke Robert was threatening; "he shall know what it is to play false with the heir of William the Norman!"
"Te Deum laudemus!" Bishop Adhemar was muttering. "Verily we were all deceived in him, as we believed ourselves deceived in Phirous; yet God has brought the counsels of the crafty to naught; they have fallen in the pit they had digged for others!"
And Duke Godfrey added: "The Prince of Tarentum will thank you for this, De St. Julien. Let this accursed Arabian be led away and fettered."
But Richard held his prey fast. "Fair lords, this is the boon I crave: give me the life or death of this fellow. By Our Lady I swear he shall not find either road an easy one."
Then twenty voices chorussed, "Yes! yes! away with him!" So Richard led, or rather dragged out his victim. Eybek struggled once while they traversed the long tent-avenues of the sleeping camp,—and only once; for he found that in Longsword's hands he was weaker than a roe in the paws of a lion. The Norman did not speak to the captive, or to any in his train, until outside his own tents. The ever watchful Herbert, standing sentry, hailed him.
"Does Musa sleep?" was all Richard said. And in a moment the Spaniard had glided from the tent, and was crouching by the smouldering camp-fire.
"Ever awake?" asked Longsword, wondering; and the reply was, "Allah will not grant sleep when I think of—" But here the Andalusian's ready tongue failed.
"Look!" Richard drew the captive down by the red coals, and whispered his name. Then Herbert gave a great shout, which brought Sebastian, Theroulde, De Carnac, and more from their tents, and they lit many torches.
Now what befell Eybek that night we need not tell. For the ways of Herbert and De Carnac were not those of soft ladies, who embroider tapestry all day in a rose bower; and the Ismaelian was no sleek serving-page, who cried out when the first thorn bush pricked him. But before Richard Longsword lay down that night he had heard somewhat of Iftikhar Eddauleh, and of another more important than Iftikhar, which made his sleep the lighter. At dawn he was outside Godfrey's tent awaiting speech with the good Duke. When Bouillon heard what he was seeking, the Norman was instantly admitted; and Godfrey marvelled and rejoiced at sight of the fire and gladness that shone in Longsword's eyes.
"Well met, and ever welcome, fair Baron," was the Lorrainer's greeting; "and will you ride to-day with your men toward Urdeh, and southward to see if you may sweep in a few droves of beeves and a corn convoy?"
"My Lord Duke," quoth Richard, curtly, "I cannot ride to Urdeh to-day or to-morrow."
The Lorrainer gave him a shrewd glance.
"Fair son," said he, half affectionately, "you have been dreaming on what that captive spy threw out. Do not deny."
"I do not deny, my lord. And now I come to ask you this: Will the cause of Christ suffer great hurt if I ride on no more forays for the week to come, or for the next, or, if God so will,"—he spoke steadily,—"or never?"
The Duke's gaze was more penetrating than before.
"Beware, De St. Julien; you ride to death if you trust the word of that Eybek, even under torture. We only know of him this—the Father of Lies is no smoother perjurer."
Richard answered with a laugh:—
"Eybek has said to me thrice, 'Cid, as Allah lives, I swear I warn you truly,—strike off my head or torture as you will,—know this: you ride to death when you ride to Aleppo.'"
"To Aleppo?" demanded Godfrey.
"At Aleppo Iftikhar Eddauleh holds Mary Kurkuas prisoner, and I go to Aleppo to seek my wife," was Longsword's half-defiant reply.
"Madman!" The Duke struck his heavy scabbard on the ground to double his emphasis.
"'Mad' only as I set the love and joy of one of God's pure saints before peril that no cavalier, who is true to his knightly vows, could have right to shun."
"How will you go? Antioch resists. We can detach no large force. Your own St. Julieners can do nothing."
"My lord," said Richard, steadily, "I shall go alone, save for one comrade—my brother, Musa the Egyptian emir,—who will fail me when God Himself loves evil. He is Moslem, but I would sooner have him at my side than any Christian cavalier from Scotland to Sicily; for what human craft and wit and strength can do, that can he."
The Duke, leaning heavily upon his sword, a smile half sad, half merry, upon his face, slowly replied: "You are both very young; God loves such—whatsoever their faith! You are right, De St. Julien—you must go. I will ask Bishop Adhemar to pray for your safe return."
So Richard returned to his tents and made the last preparations, said farewell to many, and last of all to Sebastian. The priest's heart, he knew, was very full when Richard knelt for the words of blessing, and at the end Sebastian gave him the kiss of peace.
"Go forth, dear son," was the word of Sebastian; "fight valiantly for Christ; fear not death. But by the grace of God bring the lost lamb home. And I—I will wrestle with God, beseeching that Michael and Raphael and Gabriel, the warriors of heaven, may spread their broad shields over you. And may He who plucked the three children from the fire, and Daniel from the paw of the lion, and Peter from the dungeon of Herod, deliver you also, and her whom you seek! Amen."
When Sebastian had finished, Richard mounted Rollo. He wore no armor save the Valencia hauberk beneath his mantle; but Trenchefer was girded to his side. Musa was beside him on a deer-limbed Arabian. They crossed the Orontes on the bridge of boats behind the camp of Duke Godfrey. The tents and bright river orchards were fading from sight; on before lay the sunlit rolling Syrian country. Suddenly the thunder of a charger at speed came up behind them. Richard turned inquiringly. A moment later the strange rider had dashed abreast—had drawn rein; and Longsword rubbed his two eyes, doubting his vision—beside him was Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine.
"My lord—" the Norman had begun. The Duke, he saw, was in no armor, and bore only his sword. Godfrey galloped along beside Rollo.
"Fair son," said he, smiling, "has the noble lady, Mary the Greek, less chance of succor if three cavaliers ride to her aid than if only two?"
"Impossible!" cried Longsword, distrusting now his ears; "it is you that are mad, my Lord Duke. Your position, your duties, the army! Doubtless we ride to death, as you well said."
Godfrey's laugh was merry as that of a boy.
"Then by Our Lady of Antwerp three swords will keep heaven farther away than two! Know, De St. Julien, that to my mind nothing stirs in the camp for the next two weeks. I grow sluggish as a cow, listening to Raymond's and Bohemond's wranglings. Renard will spread in the camp that I have led a foray southward, and let men miss me if they will. Enough to know my arm and wits can do more for once at Aleppo than at Antioch."
"Yet this is utter rashness," urged Richard, in last protest; "to ease my own conscience, turn back—for my sake do it!"
"For your sake," was the smiling answer, "I will keep my Marchegai neck to neck with Rollo. I am not so old a knight that I have forgotten the sniff of an adventure. When I put on the chieftain, I could not put off the cavalier."
Richard did not reply. To shake off Godfrey was impossible. Presently the Norman in his own turn laughed.
"On, then, to Aleppo! To Aleppo, be it for life or death!" cried Musa; and Richard added: "Tremble, Iftikhar,—the three best swords in the wide earth seek you!" Then each gave his horse the head.
In the city of Aleppo, close by the great Mosque Jami' el-Umawi, there stood a warehouse that was more than commonly busy on a certain spring morning. This warehouse was of two stories, built of coarse brown rubble, and only entered from the narrow, dirty street by a plainly arched passageway. Once within, however, the newcomer beheld a large court, surrounded on the lower floor by little shops; and on the upper floor, the whole length of the four sides of the court, ran a wooden gallery, behind which were storerooms and lodgings for the wayfaring merchants, who made this spot a sort of hostelry and rendezvous. The shops below were humming with busy traffic. Here on one side lay thesookof the jewellers, and on the opposite were arrayed the tiny stalls of the dealers in copper wares. The court was crammed with braying donkeys, bright-robed Syrians, and the ubiquitoussakkas, the water-bearers, who for a trifle poured a draught from the camel-skin sacks on their backs, to any who wished. Thesakkaswere jostled by the sellers of orange-flower water; these in turn by the tall, black eunuchs who were clearing the way for a closely veiled lady intent on visiting the jewellers; while through the midst of men and beasts swept a stately, venerable sheik from the college at the mosque, who rained down a curse, devoting toHawiyat, the seventh and nethermost hell, the luckless donkey-boy that had brushed a dirty hand upon the doctor's red silk scarf over his shoulders.
The worthy jeweller Asad, whose shop was on the right side of the court, had long since spread out his array of gemmed rings, silver cups, tiring pins, and Indian necklaces, and sat back in his little niche nodding sleepily, now and then opening one eye to see if the lady who followed the eunuchs was coming to visit him. But the wares of his rival Ibrahīm kept her busy, and Asad contentedly closed his eye, and nodded once more, saying: "Leave to Ibrahīm her trade. To-day his, to-morrow mine. So Allah will prosper us both!" And, despite the fact that one of the serving-lads who followed the sheik was casting a covetous glance upon the handy treasures, the good Asad nearly fell asleep on the mat-covered seat. Presently a question roused him.
"Worthy sheik, can you tell me if you possess any Andalusian corals? If so, be so gracious as to show them. Not that I would buy—" But here Asad, with a keen scent for business, had opened both eyes, and was looking at his inquirer. A well-formed, handsomely featured Arab was standing before him; the lines of the face young, but the hair and beard not a little white. The stranger was dressed decently enough, but the long, looseabaover the jacket was worn and soiled with dust, as were also the white leather shoes. "A Moslem gentleman of good breeding, but perhaps decayed family," was the estimate of the jeweller. And he answered slowly:—
"Be welcome in peace! Sit with me upon the rug! Here, boy, run to the confectioner's and bring us cups of sherbet." So the stranger put off his shoes and crossed his feet on the carpet, facing Asad. The shop was so small that a second visitor would barely have found room. Asad opened a little chest, and brought forth a tray of coral necklaces, which he submitted to his visitor.
"Bismillah!" cried the other, "I feel the water hang on my eyelids when I see this red coral! My heart goes back to my own country I have not seen for many a year."
"Verily," exclaimed the jeweller; "and have you come from Spain? Your speech shows you no Syrian."
"It is true; from Spain. Five years since I left my dear home in Malaga for Mecca, to visit the city of the Apostle—on whom be peace! Allah confound the robbers that stripped me as I returned across the desert! I had taken upon myself a vow not to return until I had gained sevenfold the thousand dirhems with which I set forth. Being nigh penniless, I have wandered far and near,—Medina, Bagdad, Ispahan, Bussorah, Damascus, Cairo,—all I have visited, and little by little Allah blesses me with gain. Now I am in Aleppo seeking to sell some woollen cloaks of Shirāz; but my longing for my own country is so great, I said to myself, 'Let me but spend a trifle on some corals of Andalusia, to remind me of my dear Malaga!'"
"The Most High favor you!" responded the good jeweller, who knew that kind wishes cost nothing. "See,—this necklace—it is worth twenty dirhems—yet receive it as a gift,—it is yours for ten." The Spaniard's only response was a grunt. Then, after long silence: "Have I the treasures of Solomon the Wise? I care little for the coral,—a poor necklace; it were dear at three!" It was Asad that grunted now, but he only answered: "Have I not three wives and seven children? Will you impose on my generosity?" And then both men, knowing perfectly well they were on the highroad to a fair bargain, took the cups which the boy had brought, and began to converse on quite alien matters. "A noble city is this Aleppo," began the Spaniard; "only Cordova and Malaga, saving always Bagdad, are finer!" "Ya!" cried Asad, "you over-praise your Spain. Yet Aleppo is a noble city. Would to Allah we had as noble a prince to rule over it!"
"So!" exclaimed the other; "then Redouan is not loved?"
Asad spat far out into the court to prove his disgust.
"On the last day Sultan Redouan's good deeds will weigh less than an ant's. Hear—three years since he slew his brothers, Bahram and Abouthaleb, as caution against conspiracy. His tyranny drives another brother, Dekak of Damascus, into revolt. He makes Yaghi-Sian of Antioch his enemy. Aboun Nedj'n, his vizier, is all cruelty and beheadings. Last of all, we are delivered over to the clutch of Iftikhar, the Ismaelian, whose evil deeds Allah requite!"
"Iftikhar? I have heard the name."
"Cursed be the day of his birth! The sultan cringes to him as to the very kalif! He has become possessed of El Halebah, the wonderful palace outside the city."
"And he is there now?"
"Yes; though soon he departs. In a few days he will lead off his band of Ismaelians to join the host which Kerbogha of Mosul is leading against the Christians at Antioch. Eblees pluck them also! There is a rumor that if the two overcome the Christians, they turn their arms against the kalif and the arch-sultan next. But woe for us! taxes grow each day. The gatherers are insatiate. Redouan grinds us at Iftikhar's bidding."
"Wallah, I am interested; tell more of this Iftikhar."
"Alas, brother, I know little to tell. These Ismaelians keep too close. They talk only with their daggers." Asad lifted the necklace; the Spaniard eyed it carelessly: "Four dihrems?" suggested he. "I wrong my household; yet say six," was the answer. The other shook his head. Asad dropped the necklace; then cried, "Ya!Khalid, come hither and tell this worthy sheik of Iftikhar Eddauleh!" And at the shout a tall, gaunt Arab in a muezzin's flowing robe and ample green turban came groping through the crowd, dexterously threading his way, though entirely blind. Then there were greetings, and Khalid squeezed himself betwixt the others and was seated.
"Blind?" answered he, in reply to a question. "Yes, blind by the blessing of Allah. Once I had sight and starved as a beggar. Then one day I stole, and the High Kadi put out my eyes. Next, the old muezzin at the great mosque died. They desired a blind man to succeed him, for the minaret is so high those with eyes can peer into the vizier's harem court and squint at his women. So I was chosen, and never since have lacked good bread and a warm sleeping-mat,—thanks to the Compassionate!"
"But I desired to hear of Iftikhar, the Ismaelian," said the Spaniard, smiling.
"Verily," ran on the blind man, "I can tell you a tale concerning him, for there is no gossip in all Aleppo that does not blow into my ears. They say he has a captive of marvellous beauty—a Christian." "A Frank?" was the question. "No, a Greek; more fair than the maids of Paradise, who are tall as palm trees. He has her in the palace El Halebah, and seeks to win her love, so the eunuchs tell."
"Mashallah, I am astonished. Why should he ask her love if once he possessed her?"
The blind man blinked slyly.
"A strange tale; I had it all from Wasik, who was one of the eunuchs that guarded her. It seems the Ismaelian has once been among the Christians (Allah broil all in Gehenna!); there he saw and loved her, but she would have none of him. Then war threw her into his hands, and he moved earth and heaven to make her favor him. Gifts, dresses, fêtes, serving-maids fair as the moon—he gave all, with El Halebah to be her dwelling; and she repaid only pouts and high words. At last he learns that she still sets great store on her husband, a Frankish emir with their host at Antioch."
"Her husband?" asked the Spaniard, carelessly.
"You have heard his name—Richard of the Great Cimeter—a terrible emir who slays his captives ruthlessly."
"I have heard of him; go on."
"Ya!Iftikhar prepares his band to go to Antioch, and swears he will take this houri with him, that she may see the fate of her dear Franks with her own eyes. He vows likewise he will give her Emir Richard's head to fondle, since she loves it so."
"Verily he is a bloody man," commented the Spaniard.
"It is so; yet his captive will find she had best put the clouds from her face and try to please him. He is a man of will harder than Damascus steel."
The Spaniard took up the coral necklace and eyed it critically.
"Five dirhems?" suggested he. "Take it for five, yet count it as a gift. Alas, my profit!" sighed Asad.
The other drew the coins from a lank pouch, waited while Asad bit each to prove it, placed the coral under the folds of his turban, then whispered to the muezzin, "Friend, follow me,"—the same time slipping a coin into his closing palm. Asad's eyes shut in a contented cat-nap when adieus were over; profit enough gained for one day. Khalid followed the stranger into the bustling street.
"Good father," said the stranger, affably, "do you know, this tale of the Emir Iftikhar is most interesting. Why? Because it is most marvellous any prince should go to such lengths to court favor with a mere captive, be she brighter than the sun. But you surely repeat gossip on the streets, you do not know the eunuchs, or have access yourself to El Halebah?"
Khalid chuckled, "I swear by Mohammed's beard there is not a courtyard about Aleppo I may not find and enter, blind though I am. The gate of El Halebah is as open to me as to a glutton the way to his mouth, and I chatter all day with the eunuchs." His questioner began to rattle his money-bag.
"Friend," said the Spaniard, "you appear an honest man. Now swear thrice by Allah the Great that you will not betray me, and to-night you shall count over fifty dirhems."
"Allah forbid!" cried the muezzin, raising his hands in holy horror. "I cannot know what wickedness you desire to make me share."
"And I swear to you I have no attempt against any man's goods, or wife, or life, or honor; and you shall count seventy dirhems?"
"I cannot; how can I go before the Most High on the last day with some great sin on my soul!"
"Ya!Eighty, then?" A long pause; then Khalid answered very slowly, and his seared eyeballs twinkled:—
"Impossible!—yet—a—hundred—"
"They are yours!" was the prompt reply.
"Oh, fearful wickedness! how can I satisfy the Omnipotent? Yet"—and the blind eyes rose sanctimoniously toward heaven—"the divine compassion is very great. Says not Al Koran, 'Allah is most ready to forgive, and merciful'?"
"You will swear, then?" demanded the other, promptly.
"Yes," and Khalid folded his hands piously while he muttered the formula; then added, "Now give me the money."
"Softly, brother," was the reply. "Remember well the other words of the Apostle, 'violate not your oaths, since you have made Allah a witness over you,' The money in due time; now lead me and do as I shall bid, or in turn I swear you shall not finger one bit of copper."
Now it befell that on the afternoon of the day when Khalid the blind muezzin sold his conscience for a hundred dirhems, Hakem and his fellow-eunuch Wasik sat by the outer gate of the great court of El Halebah with amankalahboard between them, busy at the battle they were waging with the seventy-two shell counters. As they played, their talk was all of the languishing state of the Star of the Greeks, and how since her attempted flight to Antioch all the temper seemed to have burned out of her mettle.
"I protest, dear brother," quoth the worthy Wasik, studying the game-board, "doves of her feather cannot perch all day on a divan, saying and doing nothing, and not droop and moult in a way very grievous to Cid Iftikhar."
"The Cid's commands are very strait—refuse her nothing in reason, only make plain to her that he is the master.Wallah, I little like this manner of bird! To my mind there hatches trouble when a woman refuses so much as to rage at you. This very day I said in my heart, 'Go to, now, Hakem; pick a quarrel with the Star of the Greeks; she will be happier after giving a few pecks and claws.' I call the Most High to witness—she submitted to all my demands meekly, as though she were no eaglet, but a tethered lamb! An evil omen, I say. Allah forbid she should die! Iftikhar would make us pay with our heads!"
And Wasik shrugged his shoulders to show agreement with Hakem's last desire. Before he replied there was a loud knocking at the gate; the lazy porter stopped snoring, and began to shout to some one without.
"For the sake of Allah! O ye charitable!" was the cry from outside, evidently of a beggar demanding alms.
"Allah be your help! Go your way!" the porter was replying, and adding: "Off, O Khalid, blind son of a stone-blind hound! Must I again lay the staff across you!"
But a second voice answered him:—
"Not so, O compassionate fellow-believer; will you drive away a stranger whom the excellent Khalid has led here, craving bounty? Allah will requite tenfold any mercy. See, I am but just come from Mecca. Behold a flask of water from the holy well Zemzem, sovereign remedy for the toothache. I ask nothing. Let me but sit awhile in the cool of the porch. I am parched with the heat of the way."
Hakem had reputation for being a pious personage.
"Let the worthy pilgrim come in!" he commanded, the porter obeying. Wasik had his doubts.
"This is Saturday, the most unlucky day; beware!" he muttered.
But Hakem would have none of him. Behind Khalid there entered a tottering fellow, bent with age, gray and unkempt; a patch over one eye, his blue kaftan sadly tattered, his turban a faded yellow shawl. He swung a huge hempen sack over one shoulder and trailed a heavy staff.
"Allah requite you and your house!" was his salutation, as he dropped heavily upon the divan under the shaded arcade.
"And you also," replied Hakem, ever generous at his master's expense. "Be refreshed. Eat this cool melon and be strengthened."
The pilgrim put aside the plate. "Give to Khalid. Alas! I can eat nothing that was not eaten by the Prophet (Allah favor and preserve him!); such is the rule of my order of devotees. And who may say the Apostle did or did not eat the rind of a melon!" The eunuchs laid their heads together.
"A very holy man!" "A most worthy sheik; a true saint; awelee!" their whispered opinions. So they kissed the old man's hand; called him "father"; brought sherbet, dates, and bread. After the stranger had eaten and edified them all by his pious conversation, presently his one eye began to twinkle very brightly, and he started to unpack his sack. Suddenly he drew forth a long iron spike, and plunged it down his throat to the very butt; then drew it out, laughing dryly at the wide eyes of the eunuchs. "Verily," cried he, "I am versed in 'high' magic—the noble art handed by the obedient angels and genii to devout Moslems. I know the 'great name' of Allah, uttering which bears me instantly to the farthest corner of the world; see!" A puff of smoke blew from his mouth; a flash of fire followed. Hakem was all eyes when the sheik rose, drew from his sack a number of brazen pots, placed them on the pavement, blew a spark seemingly from his mouth, and the bowls gave forth a blue aromatic smoke. The eunuchs began to quake under their ebony skins. The sheik turned toward them.
"My sons—I show great marvels; many should see. Your master—away? But are there no 'flowers of beauty' in the harem who would admire the one-eyed Sheik Teydemeh, the greatest 'white' magician in all the land of Egypt?"
Hakem put his mouth to Wasik's ear. "Bring out Morgiana and the Greek. Let them be thickly veiled."
Wasik hesitated. "We are bidden to keep the Greek closely in the harem," he remarked.
"We are bidden to see that she does not pine away with naught but grief to think of. Bring both forth."
Before the magician had finished unburdening his mysterious sack, Wasik led in a lady all buried in silks and muslins. Hardly were her dark eyes visible under the veils. "I bring the Greek," whispered Wasik to Hakem; "she obeyed me like a dumb ox, but Morgiana is in her moods and will go nowhere."
The lady sat upon the soft divan listlessly, hardly so much as rustling her dress. The sheik rose, mumbled words doubtless of incantation, and commenced reeling cotton ribbons from his lips till they littered the floor. Then he drew from his teeth a score of tin disks big as silver coins, again poured water into a borrowed cup, and gave it to Hakem to drink—behold, the water was become sugar sherbet! Then the magician blew on a tiny reed flute a strain so sweet, so delicious, Hakem verily thought he heard the maids of Paradise; and as he sang the sheik began to juggle with balls, first with one hand, tossing three balls; then laying aside the flute he kept six flying, all the time dancing and singing in a low quaver in some tongue that the eunuch did not understand, but thought he had once heard spoken among the Franks of Sicily. Presently the sheik threw up two more balls, making eight speed in the place of six; and he danced faster, spinning round and round amid the smoking bowls, until he came to a stand right before the veiled lady, who was no longer listless now, but sat erect, eager, her bright eyes flashing from beneath her veil, though Hakem did not see—all his gaze was on those flying balls. The sheik halted before her, spinning upon one foot, yet keeping his place. Suddenly he broke off his chant in the unknown tongue and sang in Arabic with clear, deep voice:—
"Sweet as the wind when it kisses the roseIs thy breath;Blest, if thine eyes had but once on me smiled,Would be death.Give me the throat of the bulbul to singForth thy praise,Then wouldst thou drink the clear notes as they springAll thy days;Nard of far Oman's too mean for thy sweetness,Eagle-wings lag at thy glancing eyes' fleetness;By thy pure beauty, bright gems lack completeness,Lady, ah! fairest!"
And Hakem did not see the rustling nor hear the little sigh under the muslin and silk, for the sheik had sped round in his dance once more; again chanting in that foreign tongue some incantation, doubtless to unseen powers to aid him in his art. Then the wonder-worker halted, wiped the foam from his lips, and began new tricks; blowing a little earthen bowl from his mouth,—drawing a live rabbit from one of the smoking bowls,—and performing many marvels more, till the eunuchs showered on him all the small change they had about them, and gave him a great basket of dates and figs to carry to the khan where he said he lodged.
That night as Hakem, with clear conscience, went to bed, he observed to Wasik: "Truly, the visit of the one-eyed juggler was better than fifty elixirs for bringing back bloom to the Star of the Greeks! Surely, if one such mountebank can cheer her thus, she shall be fed on white magic each day. Cid Iftikhar will summon hither every skilful conjurer from Damascus to Bagdad."
And Wasik answered: "By the Prophet, it is true. We are to tameCittMary, but not to break her spirit. Give her mind its food as well as her body. She is not like our Arab maids, whose Paradise a new necklace can girdle!"
So these good servants took counsel.
That night also Richard and Godfrey took their counsel with Musa the Spaniard. Safe hidden in the gloom of a stall that joined the great court of the khan, which stood on the Alexandretta road without the western gate of Aleppo, they had no fear of eavesdroppers. An irksome day it had been for the two Franks. Long since, the sun had burned them bronze as many a Moor, and what with their black dyed hair and their coarse Oriental dress, none had questioned when Musa, who passed himself as a travelling Berber merchant, declared them his body-servants. But Godfrey had little Arabic. Richard's accent would soon betray. Common prudence forced them to sulk all day in the stall of the khan, while Musa went forth to make his discoveries. Now that he was back, their tongues flew fast.
"And have you seen her?" That was Richard's first question.
"Bismillah, I have; or at least two eyes bright as suns, peering from under a great cloud of veils! Recall how I made you think at Cefalu I was possessed by 'sheytans,' because of my art-magic!" answered Musa, laughing in his noiseless fashion. "Ya!When did old Jamī]l at Cordova dream, while he taught an idle student his art, that by it I would earn six dirhems and a mess of figs? I met a mountebank conjurer, bought of him his gear—wretchedly poor tricks they were,—and then found a worthy blind muezzin, in a way I will tell, to get me entrance into the very court of El Halebah. Enough; the good eunuch Hakem thought me a truewelee, and brought out one of his cagelings to see my magic. I was bound to make sure she was trulyCittMary who was pent up in the palace before you and I thrust our necks into peril; also I knew the chance of failure was less if she were warned. So I sang an incantation—in your Provençal, and clapped on to that a verse I composed before her at Palermo. When I saw her muslins and silks all a-flutter, I sang my French again, and it was more of being ready for a visit in the night than of the efreets and jinns that aid a true magician. Therefore I say this: All is ready. To-night the Star of the Greeks says farewell to Iftikhar or—"
But Musa repeated no alternative.
"And the way of escape?" asked Godfrey. "By St. Nicholas of Ghent, this is no bachelor's adventure!"
Musa laughed again.
"Verily, as says Al Koran, 'No soul knoweth what it shall suffer on the morrow, but Allah knoweth;' nevertheless, so far as human wit may run, much is prepared. Understand, Cid Godfrey, that Iftikhar has sent away from El Halebah the greater part of his Ismaelian devotees to join the force of Kerbogha. About the palace lie two hundred at most; a few stand sentry upon the road from Aleppo, a few more lie in the palace; but nearly all have their barrack in the wood beside the Kuweik, some distance northward."
"St. George!" swore the Duke, "how discover all this? Can you see through walls as through Greek glass?"
Musa laughed again: "Allah grants to every man separate gifts! To me to grasp many things with few words and few eyewinks. I am not mistaken."
"It is true, did you but know him, my lord; it is true," added Richard.
Musa continued: "Round dirhems smooth many paths, even amongst the Ismaelians. With the aid of the reprobate muezzin I discovered thatCittMary is held in the westerly wing of the palace, and guarded by Hakem and a few other eunuchs. I ate salt with the chief of the watch on the Aleppo road—a generous man who will take a hint swiftly! He understands I have desire to bear away an Armenian maid belonging to Beybars, the chief steward. When I come up the way in company with two comrades, he and his men are blind. We go up to the palace; we go away; no questions. Beside the highroad to Antioch will be tethered our horses. I have bought in the Aleppo market a desert steed swift as the darts of the sun. We enter the palace with the armed hand—shame indeed if our three blades are no match for the sleepy eunuchs! Once possess her, rush for the horses—then, speed,—speed for Antioch, trusting Allah and our steeds. For as the Most High lives, there will be hot pursuit!"
"There is no better way," commented Richard, drawing up a notch in his sword-belt.
"St. Michael and St. George!"—swore Godfrey again—"a noble adventure! Joy that I came from Antioch!"
"Joy or sorrow we shall know full soon," was Musa's sober reply. "We shall read a marvellous page in the book of doom this night; doubt it not!"
"And we set forth—?" continued Richard.
"At once,—the night grows dark for the eye of an owl," answered the Spaniard. "Darkness is kind; we must not waste it."
"Lead, then," commanded Godfrey. "The horses are ready; there is food in the saddle-bags."
"Follow,—and Allah be our guide!" and the Andalusian took his own steed by the bridle.
There was darkness and silence in the court of the great khan. The arrow-swift horses of a Persian trader slept in one stall; a tall dromedary shook his tether in another. Richard brushed upon a shaggy donkey; trod upon a mongrel dog, that started with a sullen howl. From one remote stall came a ray of torch-light, and the chatter of merchants discussing the profits of the last Oman caravan. A single watchman stared at them when they led their beasts through the wide gate. The three were under the stars. Musa took the bridle of the horse just bought, and the others followed him. Richard trod on as in a dream; twice he passed his hand before his eyes as if to brush away the blackness that was unbroken save for the star mist.
"To-night! To-night!" he was repeating.
"What, to-night?" asked Godfrey.
"To-night I may touch the hair of Mary Kurkuas. Is not that chance worth the hazard of death? But you?"
"I serve Christ best to-night when I serve one so loved by Him as the Lady of St. Julien. Let us hasten."
They said little more. The night was dark indeed, but Musa seemed bat-eyed. He led across the Kuweik, through the orchards—dim and still, until at a tamarisk bush he halted. There they left the horses. Richard made sure that the lady's saddle on the fourth horse was strapped fast. Musa spoke not a word, but led away swiftly. They were entering the wood. Richard was treading at an eager pace, with a swelling heart, when suddenly he heard a sound behind him,—looked back,—and behold, on all sides, as if called from earth by enchantment, were the dim figures of men! And he could see, even in the darkness, that the dress of each was white.
Now what befell came so swiftly that in after days Richard could never tell it all. Sure it is, that had Trenchefer and Godfrey's sword and Musa's cimeter left sheath, there had been another tale. For in the twinkling that Richard cast a backward glance, a noose whistled through the air and closed about the Norman's shoulders, locking his arms helpless. And with the whistling rope came a rush of feet and many hands seizing him. One struggle—he could scarce gather wits to resist; he was helpless as a birdling before the snake. At the same instant came the crash and gasp of two desperate conflicts more—Godfrey and Musa likewise seized. As Richard grasped it, the Spaniard succumbed as readily as he. But the great Duke was not lightly taken. Draw he could not, but his mighty hand tore clear of the rope and dashed more than one assailant down before, with ten upon him, he was mastered. All was done in less time than the telling. Almost before Longsword's soul cried "danger," a torch was flashing in his eyes, and a dozen dark Syrian faces pressing close. The torch was held high, and flashed before him twice. Blinded by the glare, he saw nothing beyond the ring of faces. From the dark shadow came a voice—a voice he had heard before: "Bismillah!The Frank, Richard Longsword, at last!"
The Norman did not cry out. Native sense told him that help there was none, and all the teaching of the stern school wherein he was bred had taught him to bear in silence. All stood while Richard saw the torch carried to the other knots of white-robed men. Then again the voice: "This is the Spaniard, Cid Musa, the son of Abdallah." And now a great shout of triumph: "Praised be Allah, destroyer of His enemies! We take the Emir Godfrey, chief of the Frankish unbelievers!"
Longsword had no need to be told that this was Zeyneb's voice. He was about to break forth with defiance and curses upon the dwarf, when in the torchlight he saw a form taller than the others, the plumes of a haughty helmet, the flash of gilded steel. The captors gave way to right and left as the chieftain—so he clearly was—advanced until face to face with Richard.
"Do you know me? I am the one-time commander of Count Roger's guard, the Egyptian Iftikhar Eddauleh."
The grand prior had spoken naturally, without bravado.
And Richard answered in like vein:—
"I claimed the honor of your friendship once, my Lord Iftikhar. Fate has kept us long asunder."
Iftikhar's plumes nodded.
"And brings us together at last. Doom leads to El Halebah you and the valorous Cid Musa and this noble emir, who is strange to me. The night advances; let us go."
Before his captive could reply, the Egyptian had faded in the dark. An Ismaelian laid his hand on Richard's sword-belt to disarm him. Trenchefer clanked. Iftikhar spoke out of the gloom:—
"Leave the sword, Harun. A Frank cavalier loves better to part with life than with weapon.Wallah!Let them keep their blades and feel them at their sides; but knot fast,—their strength is as seven lions!"
They passed a second cord around Richard's arms, drawing back and pinioning them tight above the elbows. A heavy hand on either shoulder urged him forward. The Norman steeled his muscles, made one effort as never before to snap the bands. Useless; even his giant strength failed. Unresisting he was led blindly on through the gloom, the captors treading rapidly. They were soon in a grove of trees, where the matted leafage cut off the least ray of light. The torch, which only flared when shaken, sank to a glow dim as a firefly. Underfoot Richard could feel dry twigs crack, and he smelt the fresh earthy odor of fern brakes and bird-loved thickets. The only sounds were the footfalls and the chirp, chirp of the crickets. Then a faint gloaming shone where the trees arched and opened: they were again beneath a clear sky. The Norman saw the silver band of a stream creeping to the Kuweik—barely flashing under the starlight, for moon there was none. His guards led forward; under their tread a floating bridge rang hollow, and the water gurgled up around the casks.
For one moment Richard pondered whether he could leap into the water, and drift down-stream with his arms pinioned. Folly—had he not his mail-shirt, and Trenchefer still at his side? A stone would float lighter! They had passed the bridge; again were in the woods. Some uncanny night bird was flapping from bough to bough; he could hear the whir of heavy wings, hoarse cries, blending with the song of the crickets. Did not ravens croak when men drew nigh their dooms? Was it river mist only that was hanging in cold beads upon his brow? Still the white-robed company led onward. Not a word spoken—when might this journey end? Richard listened to the beating of his own heart—merciful saints, why so loudly? Behind he knew were led Godfrey and Musa; they two walking to death, and for his cause! The Mother of Mercies knew it had been by none of his willing. Out of the dark was creeping that vision dreaded so often,—repelled so often,—which he had vainly hoped had faded away forever. Gilbert de Valmont slain beside the altar! Richard looked up at the stars shimmering between the leaves. "Ere these stars fade in sunlight"—spoke a voice (from within or without, what matter?)—"you, Richard de St. Julien, will be accounting to God for the soul of that guiltless boy." And though Longsword thought of the Pope's pledge of absolution, of all the infidels he had himself slain in the name of Christ, of all his sufferings in the chastisement at Dorylæum,—all merit seemed turned to sin, and the word of Urban weak to unlock the mercy of God in His just anger. "Mea culpa! mea culpa! mea maxima culpa!" Other prayers came not, nor did his heart find room for curses against Iftikhar or grief for Mary. He thought of her; but truth to tell he was too numbed to dwell on her agony, on the certitude of her lifelong captivity. And still the white-robed company led him onward, onward.
The grounds were opening before him. The wood broke away to right and left. Richard saw the vague tracery of a wide-stretching palace,—colonnades, domes, pinnacles, all one dim maze in the starlight. For the first time he spoke to his guards.
"This is El Halebah? Tell me—why are our heads not struck off at once?"
"The grand prior wills otherwise," replied Harun, at his side.
"Are we to be put to death speedily, or long reserved?"
The Ismaelian became confidential.
"Cid, you talk as becomes a brave man. I should like to see you with your great sword in battle. Who am I, to know the desire of Iftikhar? Yet I think this: if Christians may enter Paradise, ere midnight you will be sitting at banquet with the maids of pure musk."
"Then why this delay—this endless journey?"
Harun shook his head.
"I am only the grand prior's hands and feet. You will see."
Richard had faced death in battle twenty times and more, and never yet had felt a tremor. But riding to battle was not walking to meet the doom handed down by Iftikhar Eddauleh. The Norman feared not death, but life. Life through the ages of ages! Life shaped for eternal woe, eternal weal, by the deeds of a few earthly moments. Hell earned by that instant at Valmont! Heaven grasped for in the transfiguration at Clermont! And the issue mystery! mystery fathomless! Kept with God, the All-merciful; but behind all, ordering all, His awful righteousness! Richard knew as well as he knew anything that never in earthly body would he see that mist of stars again; he looked up into the violet-black dome, and trembled, for he knew he was drawing near the Almighty's throne.
They trod up the smooth gravel leading to the palace. The great valves of the portals opened noiselessly at some unseen bidding, then closed behind. A single flickering lamp went before, as they glided through long corridors, or under airy domes, where the wan light struggled up to colored vaulting,—gleamed, vanished. The feet touched soft rugs, and clicked on marbles. More doors opened. The Norman was led down stairways, along stone galleries, where the air was foul and chill. Presently there were more lamps ahead, the ceiling was higher. Richard sniffed sweet fresh air. They were in a room of no great size; floor, walls, vaulting, of gray stone; a stone bench running along the walls; one or two niches, where perhaps in daytime a few rays struggled in. Bronze lamps swung from chains, casting a wavering, ghostly light, as they puffed in the wind that crept through the scanty windows.
Others had preceded the captives into this chamber. Two figures advanced to greet them, as the three were halted,—the lofty Iftikhar, the dwarf Zeyneb. It was the latter that first spoke. To Musa he paid an obsequious salaam.
"The peace of Allah be yours, most noble Cid Musa," his greeting.
"And with you, the strife of Eblees!" replied the Andalusian, whose tongue at least was not pinioned.
"O valorous cavaliers!" protested Zeyneb, raising his hands. "What misfortune! Bow to the Omnipotent's will; what is doomed is doomed! It was doomed that I should behold you, son of Abdallah, creeping about Aleppo and El Halebah. Clever disguises,—not my Lord Iftikhar himself could have penetrated so admirable a conjurer. How adorably was Hakem toyed with!Wallah, I could scarce have bettered it myself!"
Musa repaid with one of his softest smiles.
"Were my wealth that of Ormuz, how could I repay your praise, O Kalif of the black-hearted jinns! I equal in guile Zeyneb, the crooked-backed toad of the gallant Iftikhar? Forbid it, Allah!"
Zeyneb laughed, not very easily. He wished Musa's tongue were as fast as his arms. The dwarf salaamed again.
"No more; I leave you to my Lord Iftikhar. Enough, you know it was I—I, Zeyneb the dwarf, the hunchback—who discovered the wiles of Musa the great cavalier; who led him and his two valiant Frankish comrades into my master's power. And remember, Cid Richard, the word on the wall at La Haye: 'Three times is not four. There is a dagger that may pierce armor of Andalus.'" A third salaam, then, "The mercy of Allah be with you; my lord will tell how many moments are left in which to rain curses on your poor slave Zeyneb."
Musa shrugged his shoulders, a gesture more eloquent than any he could make with his hands.
"And think not," he answered still sweetly, "my friends or I have breath or wind to waste cursing such as you. I thank your courtesy; we shall never meet again to requite it."
"Never?" queried Zeyneb, cocking his evil head. "Not on the Judgment Day when, says Al Koran, 'Allah shall gather all men together, and they shall recognize one another'?"
The Spaniard cut him short.
"Fly! Think not the All Just will so much as raise again your soul, even to plunge it into the hell where wait garments of fire. Soul you have not, unless base vermin have. When they rise from the dead, so will you—no sooner!"
Zeyneb would have ventured reply, but Iftikhar pointed down a passage. The dwarf vanished instantly. Musa spat after him. "Purer air, now his stench is not by!" his comment.
Iftikhar, who had been silent, turned to his captives.
"My lords," said he, gravely, speaking Provençal, "we meet again at last, as I have long desired."
"You are wrong, my emir," interrupted Longsword. "At Dorylæum I sought you long and vainly."
"And I think it well," continued the Egyptian, flushing, but not raising his voice, "since we shall not soon meet again, that I say a few things. This Duke Godfrey, as your friend, shall fare as do you."
"Say it out, fledgling of Satan! Say it out," roared the Duke. "You will summon the headsman. By Our Lady of Antwerp, you will find those before Antioch who will not forget!"
"Gallantly done, my lord," taunted Richard. "At Palermo you boasted you loved to talk with a foe over two sword-blades; Syrian nard softens your courage and your arm."
Iftikhar lost control for a moment, and boasted wildly.
"Ya! You may well curse, for I have triumphed. As a lion you have lived; as a dog you shall die. The grudge is old; the vengeance sweetens with the years. Father, brother, mother, sister, I have taken from you. Yes, by the splendor of Allah, your bride also! Mary, Star of the Greeks, is mine! I will place your head before her. I will say, 'See, see, Richard, your lord, your husband.' For I have conquered—have conquered utterly!"
He paused to gather breath. Richard was silent, repeating to himself the proverb that "stillness angers most." The Egyptian recovered his control, and went on. "You, Richard Longsword," said he, "you, Cid Musa, and you, Duke Godfrey, have come to Aleppo to steal away my prize. You fail. You shall, as Allah reigns, count out the price! I designed to start for Antioch to-morrow, intent on taking your heads to the Star of the Greeks. And I should not have failed. Kerbogha's host is but ten leagues from your Christian camp. You know nothing. You will be struck as by a bolt from the clear sky. Knight and villain, you shall die far from Jerusalem,"—the Egyptian broke off in a laugh; for the Duke, steel against his own peril, had turned gray at this tale of danger to the army.
"Ah! my Lord Godfrey," went on Iftikhar, "it matters little to you whether you end all at Aleppo or at Antioch. For on my faith as a cavalier, I swear there shall not one man of all your host escape. Already Kerbogha advances beyond Afrin, and not a Christian dreams. Your scouting parties are gallantly led, fair Franks!"
"Dear God," prayed Richard, "not for our sakes, but for the love of the army of Thy Son, suffer us even now to escape this Thine enemy!" But Iftikhar continued: "I speak too long. Enough that I shall bring you this night before the tribunal of the Ismaelians, since the dagger is only for those whom our judgments cannot otherwise reach. You shall stand before ourDaïs, that is to say the 'masters,' and ourRefiks, that is the 'companions,' and it will be asked you if you sought the hurt of any Ismaelian. Make what defence you may. If the tribunal decide against you, you are delivered over by the court, and the world hears of you no more."
"Spare the mockery," thundered Richard, blazing forth at last. "Slay; but summon no judges who are sworn against all mercy!" Iftikhar's answer was a gesture toward the passage. "Look!" and Richard leaped forward, bound as he was, so fiercely that he nigh flung down the three Ismaelians that held him. Two eunuchs were leading Mary Kurkuas into the chamber. Longsword had never known a moment like this. Then, if never before, he felt the pains of hell. Angry God and angry devil might devise nothing worse. Mary was led before him. She was very white,—white dress, white hands, white face; and her eyes seemed to touch the bare gray room with brightness. They must have told her what awaited, else she had never been so calm and still and beautiful. So beautiful! Was Mary, Mother of God, sitting upon the Heavenly Throne, fairer than she? Blasphemy?—but the thought would come! And she did not moan, nor cry in agony. That was Mary's way,—Richard knew it,—that she was ready to turn Iftikhar's desires against himself, and make her last vision one of strength and of peace. With all the pain,—pain too deep for words,—under the influence of her eyes, he felt a sweet, holy spell creeping over him, and knew that the bitterness of death was past.
The two negroes led her until she stood beside Iftikhar. The Egyptian towered over her, splendid as Satan when robed as angel of light. The grand prior looked upon her face; and Richard knew he saw all the brightness of heaven therein. But a cloud passed across the countenance of Iftikhar, as if in that moment of earthly triumph he felt there was something passing betwixt his captive and his slave which not all the might of the "devoted" could win for his own. The Egyptian pointed from Mary to the Norman—his voice very proud.
"Look, Star of the Greeks, my vow is made good. Behold how Allah has favored Iftikhar Eddauleh. You indeed see Richard de St. Julien, your husband."
Mary was stately as a palm when she answered.
"And do you think, Cid, that you have led me hither to see me kneel at your feet, to hear me moan for mercy for these men? I know you over-well, Iftikhar Eddauleh. No human power can turn that heart of yours when once it is fixed. But God in His own time shall bow you utterly. I do not fear for Richard, for these his friends, for myself. Life sometimes is nothing so precious that it is worth buying with too great a price. For these to whom God says 'Go,' the time will not seem long; and for me, to whom He says 'Stay,'—I shall be given strength to bear your power or that of other demon. But there is greeting in the end with naught to sunder. And to you,—to you,"—her eyes were not lamps now; they were fiery swords, piercing the Ismaelian through,—"God perhaps lengthens out many days of sin and glory, that for every instant on earth there may be an æon hereafter of woe."
Iftikhar's face had turned to blackness. He raised his hand to smite. Richard thought to see him fell the Greek to the stones; but his uplifted arm lowered, the spasm of madness passed.
"Ask anything, anything but the lives of these men!" cried he, half pleading, to turn away the bitterness of her curse; "and as Allah lives I will not deny!"
"Take Richard Longsword, and then take all else. For God and His angels witness, you spread betwixt you and me a sea ten thousand years shall see unbridged!"
"I cannot! I cannot spare!" the words came from Iftikhar as a moan. "Let Richard Longsword live, and I shall win you never!"
And Richard was about to cry that life was worthless if Mary humbled herself in his behalf. But the Greek spoke for him.
"One boon, Cid Iftikhar. I do not plead for these men. I know my husband and Cid Musa would rather die by your cord than see me on my knees before you. Kill or spare, you can never win more of me than my body, held already. But now let me go; I can do nothing here."
Iftikhar motioned to the blacks to lead her away.
"Richard, my husband," said she, softly, "you and Musa and my Lord Godfrey did wrong to come hither; but I love you for it more. God will be kind. You will not find it long to wait for me in heaven."
"May Christ pity you, sweet wife!" answered the Norman.
"He will pity, do not fear." That was all she said. She was gone. Her wondrous eyes lit the room no more; but a peace was lighted in Richard's heart, which naught could take away. Iftikhar turned abruptly the moment the Greek had vanished.
"My friends," declared he, with an ill-assumed irony, "I can do nothing further to serve you. Before midnight our long accounting is ended. Leave to Allah the rest. Others will care for you at the tribunal."
Richard held up his head proudly.