"And I, Richard Longsword, standing in the presence of death, do cite you, Iftikhar Eddauleh, to stand with me before no less a tribunal than the judgment seat of Almighty God. There to answer, not as Moslem to Christian, but as man to man, for the blood you have shed wantonly, the foul deeds you have plotted, the pure women you have wronged, the very saint of God you have brought to agony. At His judgment seat I will accuse you, and you shall make answer to Him and all His holy angels. So say I!"
"And I!" thundered Godfrey.
"And I!" cried Musa.
They saw the Ismaelian's face flush once more. By an effort he reined his curses. Without a word he vanished. Richard turned to his comrades.
"Dear friends, this is the last adventure," said he. "Heaven is witness I did not pray you to go with me to Aleppo."
"You did not," was the answer of both. And Musa added: "My brother and you, fair lord, we are at the end. You are praying to your gentle Issa; I to Allah, the One. Yet our hearts are pure; and be you right or I, do not think God will lift some to Paradise, and speed some to hell, because your mothers taught to call on Christ, and mine to call on Allah."'
The Spaniard fixed his sweet and winning gaze upon the great Duke of Lorraine, upon Godfrey, the chief of the slayers of the infidels; and the Duke answered (only Richard knowing what the words meant from such lips):—
"No, by Our Lady of Pity; be you Moslem, be you Christian, Sir Musa,—I would that many of the army of the Cross stood so blameless as you in the sight of God. For never in all my life have I met more spotless cavalier than you have proved. I am proud to call you comrade."
One of the white-robed Ismaelians had entered the chamber, and uplifted his hand.
"The tribunal waits," he announced. "Come!"
Iftikhar Eddauleh left the gallery in the cellars of El Halebah with a strange storm raging in his breast. Victory, pride, the sense of having at last settled all grudges—in this he exulted. But with it all came the knowledge that the death of Richard Longsword meant the death of the last hope to make Mary the Greek other than his slave. She had truly said,—the Egyptian knew it,—old age might come, æons might speed, but henceforth Iftikhar would be only to her as malevolent jinn. The grand prior cursed himself for the mad folly that had led him to bring Mary and Richard face to face. She had been brought to give agony; she had given strength. Iftikhar knew that the sight of her presence, the sound of her voice, had stolen away the sting of death from the Norman. Likewise he knew that, with all the "devoted," with all the glory of his state, he was weaker than the will of this unshielded woman, that he could put forth all his might to crush that will, and do it in vain. In the eyry apartment of Morgiana, he found the four around whom, next to himself, the life of El Halebah revolved—Mary, Zeyneb, Morgiana, and Hakem. The Greek was standing beside the divan whereon sat the Arabian wife. Her face was very pale, her eyes so bright that their fire seemed not of this world. She was calm, and her words came soft and slow. But not so Morgiana; Iftikhar foresaw the lightnings the moment he entered. He was, however, in no mood to quail. Ignoring the others, he strode to Morgiana, and began half severely:—
"Moon of the Arabs, it is late. I commanded you to retire early."
Morgiana lifted her blue eyes.
"I have heard. Well?"
"Do you disobey before my face?" retorted the grand prior.
The answer came when Morgiana leaped to her feet.
"Away, away, hound of Eblees! Away, away, begotten of the sheytans! Get you gone, or even I shall curse you!"
Iftikhar doubted his ears. Never had Morgiana reviled him thus.
"Silence; my will is law!" And he struck her with his open palm on her mouth. Struck once, then recoiled, for a flame of wrath flashed with the red flush on Morgiana's face, such as the Egyptian had never seen before. Now he saw, and drew back. Morgiana spoke very slowly, sign of deepest anger.
"Strike—strike—again! and by the Great Name of Allah, I swear I will bide my time, and murder you in your bed."
And Iftikhar, man of passion and blood, felt his own blood creeping chill. Half he felt a knife at his throat. His answer died on his lips. Morgiana was speaking rapidly now:—
"Look on the Greek, Iftikhar Eddauleh! Look on the Greek. Do you know what pain is, and agony, beyond your conceiving? See it there—see it there—and tremble! For I say to you, every tear that Mary, the Star of the Greeks, shall shed, every drop her torn heart bleeds, is reckoned against your name in the great book of Allah. Yes; and you, Iftikhar, shall pay the price—the price—the price—through the long years of eternity. Therefore tremble, for earth and sea shall be confounded ere the All-Just forget one pang, one deed of darkness!"
Iftikhar tore the dagger from his belt. He had words at last now.
"You are mad. I will kill you!"
"Kill me?" Morgiana threw back her black hair, and laughed as would an invulnerable jinn. "Kill me? Can you think of nothing worse?" And again she laughed.
The Egyptian shrank back a step or two, as she advanced. Suddenly her laughter ended, her voice became calm.
"Cid Iftikhar," she said quietly, "you see I am in no mood to receive commands to-night. Neither doesCittMary crave your company. You have triumphed, my Cid. Doom favors you. You must not exult mercilessly. Be magnanimous; leave us alone this night."
Iftikhar responded almost perforce to this appeal.
"I grant anything in reason, Morgiana. Rage no more, I will leave you." And he was gone with a low salaam. Zeyneb made to follow him, but his foster-sister recalled.
"Zeyneb," said she, "I wish you to tell us of the state of the prisoners. Will Iftikhar return to see the execution?"
The dwarf showed his white teeth. He marvelled that Morgiana should question thus with Mary present, but, nothing loth, replied: "He will not; he goes to his chamber to sleep. In the morning they bring him the heads."
Mary's white cheeks grew whiter, but the Arabian did not hesitate.
"And when will the execution take place?"
Zeyneb grinned again. "The bells on the water-clock say it is the end of the fourth hour of the night; at the end of the fifth hour, unless the tribunal clears them,"—his grin broadened,—"Harun twists the cord."
Morgiana drew up one little foot on the divan, and clasped it with both hands.
"Wallah!How admirable has been your trap, foster-brother. Mary had told nearly all you had done, before Iftikhar broke in upon us. Woe to us, and joy to you! Allah grant we may have our day also. So it was you alone that penetrated the disguise of Cid Musa. Allah himself might hardly outwit you!"
Zeyneb smiled at the flattery. "I am honored, foster-sister."
"And tell this," demanded she, letting her foot drop to the rugs, "are the faithless sentries warned?"
"Mashallah, no! They think all is well. In the morning they are seized and beheaded. We led the prisoners to the palace by another way."
"What escapes you, my Zeyneb!" cried the other, rising and stepping toward the doorway. "But tell me this,—are the horses of these three adventurers taken?"
Zeyneb gave a start and a curse.
"Blasted am I! Forgotten! Iftikhar left all in my hands. The horses are still where they were tethered. They will be taken by morning. I will go and send for them at once."
Before he could cry out, Morgiana had dashed to the door and shot the bolt.
"Wallah!You rave," howled the dwarf, smitten with fear. "Help, Hakem!" For Morgiana, with arms outstretched, stood before the door, her face flaming defiance.
"Mary," cried Morgiana, "are you very strong? Pluck that adder Hakem round the neck, and hold fast! For the life of Richard Longsword, hold!"
Dwarf and eunuch had sprung on Morgiana, but the Greek also. Right round the body of the effeminate Hakem Mary cast her white arms, caught him, held him; for the strength of an angel was given her, and the eunuch's strength was that of a fatted sheep. Meantime Morgiana and Zeyneb waged their fiercer battle.
"Mad woman!" raged the dwarf, writhing, struggling, snapping as for dear life. "You shall be flogged for this, beheaded, flayed! Release, or you die! Release! Let go, or—" But Morgiana wrested him almost from his feet as they struggled, and every time he saw the terrible purpose in her eyes his heart sank lower. And still they wrestled.
"Help! Rescue!" shrieked the dwarf, feeling himself nigh mastered. Even louder howled Hakem, tight held in the vise of Mary's arms.
Shrill above their cry was the laugh of Morgiana. "Aye, shriek! Call as you will," sped her boast. "Louder!—louder! Call Iftikhar, the eunuchs, the 'devoted.' Far below, none hear. Cry louder—we are alone in the tower of the palace. Call! Call! None hears save Allah, and it is He who fights for me! Call again! Make the stars pity, and rain their aid—naught is nearer!"
Zeyneb wrested one hand free. For a twinkling he brandished a dagger. A second twinkling, it flew from his hand across the room.
"Ya!" rang the shout of his assailant. "See! I am strong, strong, and Allah fights for me,—for Morgiana the blue-eyed maid of Yemen!Bismillah, it is done!"
And with the word Zeyneb's feet spun from beneath him. He fell heavily to the floor; so heavily that despite the rug he was senseless in a flash. Morgiana, with a great cry of delight, bounded after his dagger, secured it, was at Mary's side. Hakem was struggling desperately. He could not shake the Greek's hold, and dared not do her harm. The Arabian held the knife edge to his throat.
"Hakem," came her voice, hard as steel on steel, "let your heart say the 'Great Prayer,' theFat'hah. You are going to die."
"Spare," pleaded the Greek, beginning to tremble, "spare that God may spare us!"
"Dead snakes never bite!" came the answer.
Mary never forgot the terrible glow on Morgiana's face when that deed was done, which made the Greek shiver. The body of the eunuch dropped from her arms, lay upon the rugs, the blood spurting from the neck. The Arabian was kneeling over the prone form of Zeyneb. She thrust away the vest, laid a hand on his heart.
"Living!" whispered she, raising her eyes. "I may do wrong, but he is my foster-brother, and faithful to Iftikhar."
The Greek was too faint to do anything; but Morgiana rapidly plucked the curtain from the doorway, tore into strips, knotted about the dwarf's arms and feet. Then she felt in his bosom and drew forth a small key.
The three bronze lamps high up in the vault were flickering dimly. The shadows of the pillars lay long and dark across the gray slabs of the pavement. Upon the floor in irregular semicircle sat a score of figures in white mantle and turban, red girdle and shoes. The figures were rigid as marble, features moving not, lips speaking not; only the dark eyes flashed back the shimmerings of the lamps. In the centre of the group, and facing the others, another figure was standing, habited like the rest, save that the turban was black, and a great diamond, bright as a tiger's eye, twinkled against it. This figure was speaking.
"Musa, son of Abdallah, and you, Godfrey and Richard, lords of the Franks,"—the words came cold and metallic,—"you have been brought before the tribunal of the holy Order of Ismael. You have been accused of being the foes and plotting the hurt of the Grand Prior of Syria, Iftikhar Eddauleh. Nor have you denied this; you have confessed you desired his hurt, you have boasted you desired his death and dishonor. And now it behooves to ask, were you acquainted with the lot of those who so much as imagine harm to the least 'aspirant,' aLasīkof the sacred Ismaelians, far from comparing such to the vice-gerent of our Lord Hassan Sabah's self?"
Whereupon Musa, facing the semicircle, with Richard and Godfrey at his side, answered in his melodious Arabic:—
"We well understand that he who offends against one of your order shall sooner receive mercy from Eblees than from you. Knowing that, we went forth; knowing that, we stand here. Our foe is Iftikhar Eddauleh. You are his slaves; bought cattle were not his more utterly. Proceed to sentence."
Rain beating an iron wall had made deeper dint than his words on that array of stony features. A long silence—then the former speaker looked upon his colleagues. Slowly he began: "It is the custom, O Ismaelians,—and it is here observed,—that those admitted to the degrees calledTessisandTeevil, the sixth and seventh of our holy brotherhood, shall sit in judgment upon those brought within danger of the cord. You have heard these men and the accusation. The mysteries of our order, the mandate of our Lord Hassan Sabah, are known to you. Yet let me repeat the word of the first of the seven Imams, the Lord Hossein the martyr, as runs the revered tradition, 'He that offendeth the least of you, let him wash away his guilt in his own blood.' Therefore I command that whosoever of you may believe these men cleared and worthy of liberty, let him speak forth; but whosoever thinks they should endure the cord, keep silence. For speech is life, and silence is death. I have spoken."
Silence—while the lamps flickered, flickered, and the shadows swung on floor and walls; and still the chief stood facing the twenty, who moved not, nor gave sound. Then at last—after how long! he spoke,—a voice as from the grave.
"There is no word. Let the law be fulfilled. Judgment is pronounced. The cord!" The chief seated himself and there was stillness as before, until a distant bell pealed out, once, twice, thrice, four times,—five! With noiseless step, the tall Harun glided from behind a pillar and plucked Musa's elbow.
"Doom!" Harun held up a silken noose, plaited tight, and pointed to the floor. "Kneel," he commanded softly; "you are Moslem, I grant you this joy, you shall not see your friends die."
Musa turned to the Franks. Their hands were bound, but their eyes could greet.
"Sweet friends," said he, smiling as ever in his gentle, melancholy way, "we must part. But my hope in Allah is strong. We shall meet before His throne!"
"God is with us all!" answered Richard. "He is very pitiful."
But Godfrey did not speak. Longsword knew his thoughts were not of Musa, nor of the tribunal, nor even of the shadow of death; but of the Christian host surprised by Kerbogha, and of the Holy City left in captivity.
"I am ready," said Musa to Harun; and he prepared to kneel.
A tremor, a wind of the spirit, seemed passing over all those chiselled faces. Musa and all others heard music,—a song,—quavering, sighing, throbbing melody, wafted down the long underground galleries from very far away. At first no clear word was borne to them, but the sweetest note Richard in his life had heard. Was the great change come so nigh that one heard God's white host singing? Musa stood fast. Harun was rooted also, the cord hung limp in his hand, all forgotten, save the wondrous song. Now at last the burden came dimly:—
"Genii who rule o'er the tempest and wind,Peris who tread where red coral lies deep,Show forth your haunt that my fleet foot may findWhere the cool moss caves 'neath the green waves sleep."Lie they under the sea that by Ormuz darkles,Or the broad blue bay of the Golden Isles?Or where breeze-loved haven in far west sparkles,Alight with the sun's ne'er-vanishing smiles?"
"Genii who rule o'er the tempest and wind,Peris who tread where red coral lies deep,Show forth your haunt that my fleet foot may findWhere the cool moss caves 'neath the green waves sleep.
"Lie they under the sea that by Ormuz darkles,Or the broad blue bay of the Golden Isles?Or where breeze-loved haven in far west sparkles,Alight with the sun's ne'er-vanishing smiles?"
The voice swelled nearer; the rhythm was quicker, measure shorter, words stronger. The song became a prayer, a cry.
"Away! away from the grief and jarringOf this toilsome life and its pang I'd be!Forgetting earth and all strife and warring,Wrap me away to the breast of the sea!"Wreathe me chaplets with sea-flowers brightest,With the feath'ry sea-mosses make me dressed!Make my pillow the wind-spray whitest;Rock me to sleep on the storm-waves' crest!"
"Away! away from the grief and jarringOf this toilsome life and its pang I'd be!Forgetting earth and all strife and warring,Wrap me away to the breast of the sea!
"Wreathe me chaplets with sea-flowers brightest,With the feath'ry sea-mosses make me dressed!Make my pillow the wind-spray whitest;Rock me to sleep on the storm-waves' crest!"
Was it day that was dawning on each of those stony faces? Why this whisper; this rustle of white gowns; this mutter "Allah! Allah!" under the snowy turbans? "Truly God's angels come!" Richard's soul cried. He thought to see the vaulting open; the heavens fleeing away as unclean. What angel could sing of paynim genii and peris? But the voice yet approached, ever louder, clearer:—
"Sing, oh, sing, all ye fair, pure spirits!Spirit I, to your band I'd flee;Blest the soul who for aye inheritsTo rove with you through your kingdom free!"
"Sing, oh, sing, all ye fair, pure spirits!Spirit I, to your band I'd flee;Blest the soul who for aye inheritsTo rove with you through your kingdom free!"
Now the song was so near that all eyes ran into the dark for the oncoming singer, and every white robe had risen when the last lines sounded:—
"Clearer, clearer the silvery pealingOf enchanted bells steals my heart afar!Soon I'll see, all the mists unsealing,The genii's lord on his pearl-wrought car!"
"Clearer, clearer the silvery pealingOf enchanted bells steals my heart afar!Soon I'll see, all the mists unsealing,The genii's lord on his pearl-wrought car!"
Silence. They saw a light flash in the low doorway, saw it glisten on jewels, an empress's pride. A woman entered, tall as a spear, stately as a palm, black tresses flowing as a fair vine, and eyes and face to shame the houris. Around her bare throat flashed a great chain of emeralds; there were diamonds and rubies on her coronet; gold and gems on her bare brown arms; gold and gems on her sandals, that hid not the shapely feet. Her robe was one lustrous sea of violet silk, rippling about her as she glided, not walked. And as she came, she spread abroad a new melody; no words now, but only a humming, a soft, witching note, as if bidding all the spirits of the air flit at her footsteps to do her behests. Her left hand upraised the lamp; her right was held high also, and on one finger flashed something that doubled the quivering flame—a ring set with a single emerald.
Onward she came; and right and left the company made way for her. And Harun dropped his cord, began to mutter: "Allah akhbar!The maids of the Gardens of Fountains have come down to dwell amongst men!" But the stranger—spirit or woman, who might say?—came on till she stood before the three captives. At the mandate in her eyes all other eyes followed her. No more she sang, but spoke, proud as the queen of the genii legions.
"Hear! tremble! obey!" She held the emerald higher. At the sight thereof there was a new stir, new whispers; the Ismaelians were bowing to the pavement. "Behold it! The ring of Hassan Sabah, your lord! I say to you, whoever shall disobey the command of the bearer of this ring, be his merits never so great, Allah shall cut him off from the joys of Paradise! Obey! and the honeyed kiss of the daughters of the land of the River of Life is on your lips!"
She swept the flashing ring to and fro before the eyes of the cowering twenty.
"Reverence therefore the will of the bearer of the ring," she ran on; "obey, were it on the camel-driver's finger; obey the more, since it is on mine,—I, at whose word the hosts of the darkness fall trembling, at whose nod the troops of the upper winds fly obedient!"
Needless her exhortation. One cry from twenty: "We obey! We are your slaves, O lady of Allah's own beauty! O empress of genii and men!" And the stranger, scarce pausing, rushed on:—
"See! your judgment is false! See, I am sent by Allah to bring to naught your desires! I command—I, the blue-eyed maid of Yemen, whose walk is with the stars! Release these captives. Their doom is unwritten."
MOUNTING STAIRWAYS"ALL BLINDLY, HE KNEW THEY WERE MOUNTING STAIRWAYS"
Richard had beheld all as does the man treading in a dream; who knows he dreams, yet cannot waken. Dreaming, he had seen this strange spirit enter; dreaming, he heard; dreaming, he saw a quiver, as of resistance, pass round that ring of sculptured faces; the eyes bright as snakes, and more pitiless, questioned once,—once only. The deliverer shot across their company one lightning glance—majesty, supremacy, scorn. Still dreaming, Richard saw in her hand a dagger; and then—dreamt he still?—he felt the bands upon his arms sever. He stood free—and Godfrey and Musa free! But his protectress was speaking again:—
"Behold—I say to you, Allah has cast his mantle over these three to deliver them. Forget this night. Follow me not; for, as the Most High rules, you shall curse disobedience in the quenchless Gehenna! Tremble again—you have seen great things—and now, farewell."
Richard felt her hand upon his arm.
"Come," she said softly, "and Allah will yet aid you!"
The chamber of the tribunal, the semicircle of white robes, Harun and the cord—all were gone. Richard was still in his dream. He trod onward, feeling no floor beneath his feet. The wavering light of his protectress went before him. In the narrow galleries they traversed, the darkness closed after him. All blindly, he knew they were mounting stairways, were gliding through murky passages. Suddenly the air was again sweet; Richard saw around him the dim vista of a line of white columns, and above, the hazy canopy of a great dome.
The woman halted, again upraised her lamp.
"I see Cid Richard Longsword," said she, "and his good comrades, Cid Musa and Cid Godfrey. If Allah favor us, I will now lead you to Mary the Greek!"
At these words Richard knew he dreamed no longer; his belief was—God had already raised him to heaven.
The voice of Musa recalled the Norman to the things of earth. "Citt, protectress sent from Allah!" the Andalusian was crying, "do my ears fail? Is your voice strange? When have I heard it before? In Palermo?"
"In Palermo," reëchoed the stranger, "in Palermo, when by the Most High's favor I warned you against Iftikhar Eddauleh." The name of his enemy roused all the fires in Richard's breast.
"Lead on!" boasted he, nigh fiercely. "Lead on! and in the name of every saint, Trenchefer shall weigh out his price to the Ismaelian to-night!"
His voice was rising to a war-cry, when Musa clapped his hand on his friend's mouth. The lady had upraised a warning finger; a tremor of mingled fear and wrath seemed shaking her.
"Hist, Cid Richard! Are you mad? The palace is full of armed men. Safety is leagues away. And I declare to you, that unless you swear by the great name of Issa you worship, to do Iftikhar to-night no hurt, I will cry aloud, and you perish as surely as by Harun's bowstring."
"Iftikhar?" questioned Richard, in amaze. "Iftikhar? You have given freedom to his arch foe, and yet you say to me, 'Spare'?"
"My lord," said the lady, gently, "Mary the Greek shall tell you why I do this. Swear, if you would see her face—not die." And, conjured by that all-potent name, Richard took a willing oath; Godfrey likewise, and Musa after his manner. The lady raised her lamp once more.
"Follow softly," she warned; "many sleep all about us. I must lead you the length of the palace."
Then came another journey through the enchanted darkness, lit only by the lamp and the gleam of the gems at the strange deliverer's throat. They crossed the great hall, treading gently, Richard's hand on the hilt of Trenchefer, for nigh he expected to see goblins springing from the dark. Once across, the lady halted; opened a door. In the glow of the lamps Longsword saw a giant negro prone upon the rug, at his side a naked sabre. Trenchefer crept halfway from the sheath, as he turned, unfolding his mighty hands. But their guide gave him no heed. The black slumbered on.
The door closed. They sped down a long gallery, swift and silent as flight in a dream; another door, another guardsman. This time the negro was awake, standing at his post.
"Now!" came between Godfrey's teeth; and three swords were ready to flash. The lady smiled, sprang before them. At sight of her the sentry bowed low.
"Habib," said she, gently, "these are they I said I would bring you. Remember—you have for them neither ears nor eyes."
"I am blind and dumb, myCitt," was the answer.
She beckoned, the three followed; the guardsman was lost in the gloom. "I begged his life of Iftikhar a year since," explained the lady, "therefore Habib is grateful."
A second gallery, an open arcade, a sight of the stars twinkling between the plumes of the palm trees, and the puff of the sluggish southern wind. They came to a new door, where a lamp burned low. The door was open. A stairway wound upward lit at intervals by flickering sconces. The lady halted.
"Cid Richard," said she, "you shall go up with me, and take your wife; let these two remain below in the shadow."
Musa smiled and salaamed; Godfrey laughed in his beard. "You need no comrade now, fair knight," said he to Richard.
The Norman's step was on the stairway, as he leaped ahead of the lady. At last! At last! That was all he knew. God had indeed "stopped the mouths of the lions, had quenched the violence of fire!" Three steps Richard had covered with his bound; but at the fourth he was frozen fast. A cry, a cry of terror, of despairing pain, sped down the stairway:—
"Morgiana! Help me, for the love of God!"
Whose voice? Longsword knew it above ten thousand; and with it flew others—curses, howls, cries for help.
"Hakem dead! Zeyneb bound! Rouse Cid Iftikhar! Morgiana,—death to Morgiana!"
Louder the din; Richard turned to his protectress half fiercely: "What is this? Shall I go up?"
She had covered her face with her hands.
"Allah pity! Allah have mercy!" moaned she, quaking with sobs. "He fights against us. Go or stay, we shall soon die."
Now at last leaped forth Trenchefer.
"Follow who will," thundered Richard to Godfrey and Musa, who needed no bidding.
Fast sped they; faster, Richard. Had he wings when he mounted the stairway? A second cry of utter despair, the rush of more feet. Longsword saw the last stair, saw the room, many torches and many forms; black eunuchs all, some clutching at a struggling woman, some bending over a prostrate form, some standing around Zeyneb, whose hands were upraised in malediction.
"Iftikhar! Send for Cid Iftikhar!" he was raging; and every voice swelled the babel.
But above them all pealed the thunder of the Norman. What profit silence now! "God wills it. St. Julien and Mary Kurkuas!"
Eblees leaping from the cloven rock smote no greater terror than Richard bounding upon the blacks. Arms some had, but arms none used; for Trenchefer dashed them down as the flail smites, ere one could raise or draw. Richard sought Zeyneb; but the dwarf, the only one with wits enough to fly, darting through a door, was gone into the darkness. "God wills it! St. Julien and Mary Kurkuas."
Richard again flung out his battle-cry; but none stood against him. He stared about the room, saw the dead form in the corner, a negro dying beside him, a second prone by the head of the staircase, the rest all fled,—all save one.
Richard felt his knees smiting together, and a darkening mist veiling his eyes. He tried to speak; there came no word. Trenchefer fell clanging to the floor. Something was touching him, pressing him. Into the ringing in his ears stole one name, his own; out of the mist before his eyes floated one face. Then God gave back sight and speech.
"Mine for life and for death!" came from his lips.
"What is death if once you kiss me!" flew the answer.
But neither said more, nor thought more. What soul may have thoughts in such an instant! Only Richard knew that never in his whole life had Heaven granted him joy like this.
Mary was laying her warm, smooth hands upon his shoulders. Her lips were close to his own. She was speaking.
"Richard, the peril is very great. You should have fled the moment Morgiana saved you. For my sake you all have committed great sin!"
"And would you not thus have sinned for me?" replied the Norman. Mary did not reply. Her own heart told that Richard spoke well. Then she said softly:—
"Sweet husband, I will not be frightened. I can fear nothing now. Only you must not let Iftikhar possess me again. Holy Mother of God! you must not let him regain me!" And Richard, who knew what she meant (for when did he not read all in her eyes?), answered, holding out Trenchefer:—
"Iftikhar shall not regain you. By the wounds of Christ I swear it. Ah, how Our Lord will welcome a sweet angel like you when you fly up to the gate of heaven!"
And Mary laughed at his words, for many things had become more terrible than death.
"I rejected once the escape of death as a sin," said she, "but I know it will be no sin now. What, with you beside, is there left to fear, living or dying?"
"Living!" cried the Norman, snatching a cloak to cast about her. "God will not suffer the wicked to torture such as you. St. Michael speed my arm with all the strength of heaven!"
He had not seen Godfrey and Musa mounting to the chamber, or Morgiana following. He had not heard the tenfold din rising in the palace and without. But now he heard a howl of fury fit to pass a demon's lips.
"May you scorch forever!" Richard turned. He saw Iftikhar Eddauleh, cimeter in hand, springing through the doorway. The Ismaelian was without armor; he wore the white robe of his order only. Rage unspeakable almost drowned the curses in his throat.
"Die! Die, both of you!" that was his mad cry. Before Richard could grasp Trenchefer the Egyptian was on him, had torn Mary from his arms, was shortening his weapon to run him through. But Longsword needed no weapon. "For Mary's sake!" cried his soul; while one hand caught Iftikhar's sword wrist, the other clutched the Ismaelian's body. A struggle, a crash, and the grand prior measured length on the carpet. Richard bent over him, Trenchefer in hand. One thrust through the body, and Iftikhar Eddauleh would have passed from the wrath of man. The great sword was rising when Morgiana tore at the Norman's arm. "Your oath!" cried she, with livid face; "spare!" Longsword paused. "What is he to you, woman?" demanded he, sternly.
"He is to me as Mary the Greek to you," answered the Arabian, defiantly. Richard withheld his hand. Iftikhar was staggering to his feet, but was weaponless. His conqueror pointed toward the doorway.
"Fair cavalier," said he in Provençal, "get you gone. For sake of my oath to this woman, I spare you once. When we next meet, God judge betwixt us."
The Egyptian drew himself up proudly.
"Do not deceive yourself, Cid Richard. You will be overwhelmed by numbers. Though you spare me, I will not spare you."
Longsword in turn threw back his head.
"Nor do I ask it. We owe each other—nothing. Go!"
And Iftikhar foamed out of the room, gone as suddenly as he had entered. There was silence for a moment.
"My friends," said Richard, "let us make haste. Shall we not fly?" Morgiana laughed, as so often, very scornfully.
"Verily you Franks are fools. Do you say 'go'? Are you angels with swords of fire, that you can blast ten thousand? Hark! fifty approach the door by which we entered! All the Ismaelians about El Halebah are alarmed. Iftikhar boasts well; we are soon hewn in pieces."
There was indeed a din, hundreds of voices, many torches shaking and flitting about the groves, and coming nearer, dogs barking, armor clanging. The whole cantonment of the Ismaelians was astir to avenge the violation of the palace. Musa had bowed his head.
"Alas! dear brother," said he, after his gentle manner, "clearly Allah has written our dooms! We pass from death to death. But we can now die sword in hand!"
Then Richard held up Trenchefer, so that the reddened blade glittered in the lamplight.
"This is no time to die!" cried he; "let others die! Let us do the deeds God has appointed. The life of my wife, the safety of the army of Christ, are at stake, and with Our Lord's help we shall make our boast over Iftikhar!"
The others looked at him. For the first time Mary saw that mad fire in his eyes which once burned the hour when he wrested triumph from death at Valmont—a thing terrible to see, but Mary did not quail. In a strange way the sight of him told her they were then not to die; for a prophet stood before her, a prophet whose evangel would be given that night with steel.
Richard surveyed the room. It was square, of no great size, lighted in day by a high lantern. On his right descended the stairway to the arcade of the palace; before him opened the wide door that led down the dark corridor. The door itself was of wood and weak. The winding stairway was steep and narrow; one man could make good the ascent against a host. But to defend the door was nothing easy. Just beyond it the passage widened, making space for numbers. Longsword turned to Morgiana. "Is there no other door?" he demanded.
She shook her head. "None that will open." She tore back the Kerman tapestry, and revealed a solid door in the wall, barred and bolted into the casement. "This door has been sealed for years; the firm wall is little stronger. It leads to another stairway, but the former masters of El Halebah closed it." Duke Godfrey, who had swept the room with a captain's eye, snorted with satisfaction.
"Good!" cried he, "only two entrances to defend. By St. Michael, thejongleursshall have some brave strokes to sing, before we are amongst the angels!"
Mary looked from one to the other of her terrible protectors. Musa had put off his despair; Richard leaned on Trenchefer, a lion crouching for his spring; Godfrey—terror of the paynims—pranced up and down the doorway, clattering his great blade, and calling on every Moslem devil to draw nigh and be satisfied. Mary knew then, if never before, that to her mighty husband and his peers death was a very pleasant thing, if only it came in knightly guise. There was redoubled din in the passage, more din below the stairway. Richard addressed Musa, "Guard the stairs, the Duke and I can care for the door," and he sprang to Godfrey's side.
The Greek threw her arms about him, beseeching.
"Dear husband, as you love me,—strike once, and free me from Iftikhar forever!" And she held down her head. But Richard laughed, as St. George might, crushing his dragon.
"Yes, by the splendor of God,—as I love you!—I will strike not once, but many times; and Iftikhar shall never touch you!"
He caught her in his giant arms, pressed her to his breast, put her away. "Pray for us!" his words; "your prayers will outweigh Trenchefer!" But Mary only stared about in dread, wishing to cry, to shout, but her voice was frozen. Morgiana's hand plucked her away.
"Back!" commanded the Arabian; "you can do nothing. They are all in Allah's hands. Let us await doom."
Morgiana forced her to a corner of the room, and thrust her upon a divan. Mary heard a thunderous command in the voice of Iftikhar, a rush of many feet, a clash and crash of targets and sword-blades,—then, in mercy, sight and hearing fled.
Down the passage, lit by wavering lamps and flambeaux, charged the white-robed Ismaelians, the commands and curses of the grand prior speeding them. Not a man but was a trained sword hand, and had been in the battle press a score of times. But they never knew before how deep the Frankish bear could bite. Side by side—armed only with their great blades—Godfrey and Richard met them in the passage. Then came the rush, the shock. Godfrey swung to left; to right whirled Trenchefer. Left and right, each felling his man; and cimeters dashed from hands as stubble, shields were smitten through as if of gauze. After the shock came the recoil; new charge and new repulse. The long Frankish swords hewed down the Ismaelians before their short cimeters could strike. There were three corpses before the door, but the two were still standing. Third charge—again flung back! Iftikhar raged at his men.
"Scorpions! Lizards! Will you let two men mock you? Is it thus you earn Paradise?"
"We may fight men, not jinns!" howled an olddaïs. Richard brandished Trenchefer.
"Come you, Iftikhar Eddauleh! The account is long!"
The grand prior forced himself forward.
"It is long!" foamed he. "Eblees pluck me if it is not paid."
"Back, Cid," pleaded the Ismaelians; "they have the might of the rebel efreets!"
"Fools!" thundered Iftikhar, putting all by; "follow, who dares!" His eye lit on Morgiana within. "Allah blast me utterly, wench," rang his menace, "if you see the dawning."
Morgiana's answer was to tear the ring from her finger, and dash it in his face.
"See, see! You have cursed, mocked, triumphed! But I conquer! You shall possess the Greek, never, never!"
Iftikhar cut her short by dashing on Richard as a stone from a catapult. Twice sword and cimeter clashed; thrice, and the Norman's strength dashed through the Ismaelian's guard. Iftikhar fell, but Trenchefer had turned in the stroke. He was not maimed. Ere Richard could strike again, the "devoted," with a great cry, flew after their chief, to drag to safety. Godfrey slew one, but his body became the shield. They plucked Iftikhar from danger. He stood, blaspheming heaven. There was blood on his shoulder, but he snatched for a weapon.
"Allah akhbar!" groaned Morgiana, falling on her face; "he is nigh slain!" Richard laughed in derision.
"Slain? He has strength to kill many good men yet; cursed am I, that my wrist turned."
"Again! Again!" raged the grand prior; and the "devoted" dashed upon the two Franks, but only to be flung back as before. At the narrow stairway, many had tried to ascend; none had passed Musa, "Sword of Grenada."
Mary was awaking from her oblivion. Still the clatter of swords, the howl of the Ismaelians, the loud "Ha! St. Michael!" of the two Franks. Never had she loved Richard Longsword as now, when she saw him standing beside the great Duke—the two o'ermatching the fifty. Heaven was very near, she knew it; but the vision of God's White Throne could hardly be more sweet than the thought—"Richard Longsword is doing this for me, for me!" And the Norman? How changed from the helpless ox the Ismaelians had dragged to slaughter! How the touch of warm breath and soft hair on his cheek, by a great mystery, had sped the might of the paladins through his veins!
The "devoted" renewed the onset. When Iftikhar sought to lead them, they thrust him back. When the Frankish swords proved again too strong, they brought lances and javelins. With darts they would crush down these destroying jinns. But Godfrey plucked up a low ebony table, tore three legs clear, holding the table-top by the fourth before him as a shield, and dashed the other three amongst the foe. A javelin quivered in the casement; he tore it clear, and sped it clean through target and cuirass of a bold Ismaelian. No more darts were flung: to supply weapons to this man were madness. Iftikhar urged yet another attack; he was met by stolidity and silence.
"Sheytans!" howled he, "are you not 'devoted'? Will you pawn Paradise for Gehenna?"
It was Harun the executioner who answered. "My Cid—sweet is Paradise, but the journey these promise is too swift. Strike off our heads at will,—Allah defends your enemies."
Iftikhar laid down his cimeter, and with outstretched arms approached the fateful doorway. The two were awaiting him, blood on their cheeks, their hands, their dress. But he knew their strength was still terrible; in their grasp were those swords,—those swords he in his arrogancy had left them, when he should have disarmed.
Richard bowed and saluted with Trenchefer.
"We are hardly winded, my lord," quoth he, though in truth his breaths came fast. "I reproach the saint that ended our adventure together!"
Iftikhar came a step nearer.
"De St. Julien," said he, in a voice that shook, in mere striving for calmness, "you are indeed a valiant man; and you also, my Lord Godfrey. I honor you, and cry against Allah that we must meet as foes not friends. But you are no jinns, though my cowards bellow it. You have wounds both. You must soon go down. Ten you may slay, but not hundreds. I make you a fair proffer of life and honor"—he dropped his voice—"of life, honor, and safety for the army of the Franks."
Godfrey's hand almost dropped the hilt at this last; but he answered:—
"I am simply companion to my Lord de St. Julien. In this adventure he leads. Make conditions with him."
Iftikhar faced Richard. "Ride free, then," said he; "receive your horses. I swear it is not too late for your host to be warned. My Ismaelians shall conduct you through the net spread by Kerbogha; but on this condition—that you give back to me—" his voice faltered; his eye wandered to the corner of the room within—"give back to me alive the Star of the Greeks."
Richard felt as though dashed by a thunderbolt. Yield Mary to Iftikhar as price of his own life? God knew he never thought on that! But should he set her joy and his before the lives of dear comrades, who had ridden lightly to the jaws of death in his quarrel? Above all, should he peril the army of the Cross because Mary loved peace in heaven rather than the pleasures of El Halebah? No words came to his lips; he turned appealing eyes to Godfrey, who spoke nothing. But in the silence Mary spoke. She had risen, had advanced to the doorway. The two enemies—the Egyptian, the Norman—gazed at her as upon a treasure for which life were a trivial price.
"Dear husband," her voice came, sweetly as bells across the misty sea, "you know what you should say. God will avenge me in His own time, and reward me and reward Iftikhar each according to justice. I have borne so much, I can bear a little more. You must save yourselves, must warn the army. It was a sin to go to Aleppo; now Heaven allows you to ride away scatheless. Do not distrust Iftikhar; he violates no oath."
What might Richard say? His wife before him—in all her beauty! To save her he would have felt it untold joy to die. He knew that she herself loved death more than life in this renewed captivity. And yet there she stood, pleading—pleading, as never before, to be left to her captivity. What might he do? Mother of God, he was of too frail stuff to answer! But the great Duke, whose hand was the heaviest, whose heart the purest, in all broad France, made answer for him. Very gravely he was replying to Iftikhar.
"My lord, I have faith enough in God to believe that He will not suffer His army and His cause to perish, because we withhold this price—the agony of one of His angels. Go back to your men, my lord. We shall hold them at bay as long as He wills. And rest assured that, before they master us, the Lady de St. Julien shall have granted her, as she has prayed, a swift death at our swords, rather than a slow one in your palace."
"Think better, for the love of Christ, my Duke!" pleaded Mary, making to fall on her knees. But Godfrey had spoken; and Richard spoke too and very gently:—
"Sweet wife, you will find heaven no darksome place. Please God I shall be good enough sometime to see you there." Then he turned to Iftikhar, his poise high, his voice hard. "Go back, my lord, uncover the pit, unchain the fiends, lead on your devils! Yet know that the first foe that crosses this threshold will see my wife's dead body!"
"Dear Son of God!" cried Mary, "will you throw your lives away? Musa, you are wise, plead with them."
But the Spaniard, who had been playing a part equal to the others, turned at his post by the stairway, and salaamed after his fashion.
"I have heard my brother and Cid Godfrey. Allah indeed pity us, if we yield the Star of the Greeks!"
Richard raised Trenchefer.
"Now, Iftikhar Eddauleh!" commanded he, "again—begone! Or, unarmed as you are, I kill you!"
The Egyptian knew by his foe's eye it was no idle boast; he knew also that prayers were futile upon the three.
"Brave cavaliers," said he, with a bitter smile, "I can do nothing for you. Wonderful are your Frankish swords and that of Cid Musa. But you shall feel a cimeter that will test their temper, be it never so keen."
He was gone, and disappeared behind the band of Ismaelians who eyed the Franks from a safe distance down the passage. Mary saw him vanish, and turned first to Musa, then to Godfrey, then to Richard, and kissed the first two on the forehead, her husband on the lips.
"Dear friends," she said gently, "you add sin to sin for my sake. The end cannot be far away. But God is very near, and I fear nothing."
Iftikhar had vanished. The Ismaelians on guard had retreated down the long gallery. Musa from his post declared that only a few sentries remained at the foot of the stairs. Morgiana, who had crouched in silence on a divan during the combat, arose, and without a word opened a cupboard in the side of the wall. She drew forth a silver flagon and cups, proffering each of the three combatants a spiced wine that sent new life through their weariness. Godfrey relieved Musa at the staircase, and the Spaniard, going to the open window, leaned forth to espy the next move of Iftikhar. In the starlight he could only see the tracery of the forest of palms, and here and there, ghost-like, a white dress flitting. The lamps in the chamber were flickering low. Morgiana extinguished most, and poured the remaining oil into two,—leaving barely enough light to break the gloom in the vaulted chamber. It had suddenly become very still through the palace. Almost was Richard persuaded that the Egyptian by some magic had departed with all his "devoted." In the oppressive silence none tried speech. Mary had returned to her post on the divan, and Richard knew she was sobbing, though no sound came. Musa stole noiselessly about the room, completing his inspection. Once he paused at the sealed door, and flung himself against it—adamant had scarce seemed firmer. He came to Richard's side and shook his head. "Some new attack is preparing," was his whisper; "in what way, Allah alone knows! I see no road to escape."
"The sealed door?" asked Longsword.
"The spell of Solomon has turned it to iron. We can escape only over the Ismaelians, or on the wings of Roc, the giant bird, whose back upbears an army."
"Then over the Ismaelians be it!" quoth the Norman, laughing grimly; and he added, "Ah, brother, you know well my proverb: 'Easier go through the wall than mount it'!"
But Musa did not laugh in reply.
"Brother mine," said he, "I think you and Cid Godfrey are each mighty as Jalut, whom you call 'Goliath.' But Iftikhar says well; you are no jinns. In the last charge the Ismaelians nearly passed you, and all would have been over."
Richard made an angry gesture.
"Good, then! What is left to fear? I think Trenchefer can still sting before his master's fingers loosen." But his voice grew very grave in turn,—"Were it not for my wife! But we have chosen!"
"We have chosen, my brother. Trusting in Allah we went to Aleppo; trusting in Him let us wait. But we have not struck in vain. Iftikhar shall never set eyes on the sorrow of the Star of the Greeks." A cry from Godfrey brought Musa to his side.
"Now by St. Nicholas of Ghent!" swore the Duke, in Languedoil. "What new devil's devisings? Look, Sir Musa! What do you see in the dark?" He pointed from the casement by the stairs, into the night.
Musa strained his eyes. "I see many men; they are bearing bales, I think; perhaps of straw and grass. They are approaching the door at the stairway." Without a word Godfrey caught a second of the ebony tables,—nothing light,—raised it to the sill—cast it down. A great howl of pain, and many curses; then the rush of a score of feet. The defenders awaited a new attack by the stairs, where Musa's cimeter had already sped three; but the Ismaelians did not ascend. They fled back into the gloom, and an instant later half a dozen arrows twittered in at the window and dashed harmlessly against the wall.
"Cover the lamps!" commanded Godfrey; "they give light to aim." Morgiana hid them behind a curtain. But despite the darkness there came more arrows, and yet more; in vain hopes to harm by a chance shaft.
"They waste bowstrings," muttered the Duke. "Lie close a little longer!" As he spoke a short moan came from Mary's divan. Richard quitted guard, and was beside her instantly. "Lights!" ordered he. And Morgiana brought a lamp, despite the danger. There was an arrow pinning the Greek's left arm just below the elbow to the cushion, and the blood was flowing. Before her husband could cry out, she plucked fourth the shaft with her own hand. There was no tremor, and her lips were firm, though very white.
"It is nothing!" said she, looking upward. "Do you forget my wound the day before Dorylæum?" But Richard was nigh to weeping when he saw the blood.
"Dear God!" cried he, "wilt Thou suffer even this?"
Mary smiled. "Now, by St. Basil, you almost weep, while your own face is all wounds."
"And are not seven drops of your blood seven lakes to me?" declared Richard. The arrows flew past him, but he stood with his mailed body between Mary and the window, until Musa had made a bandage of the tapestry and Morgiana could hide the light. Brave were his wife's words, and brave her face, but Longsword heard her murmur, "Sweet Mother of Jesus—let the next arrow touch my breast, and end there all the pain."
"Ah! little wife," said he, when he kissed her, "I do not think God will vex you much longer. Surely He will save us soon for earth, or for heaven!"
A voice was ringing down the darkened gallery,—Iftikhar's voice. "You Franks and Cid Musa: again, I demand, will you yield the Greek and go free?"
"We will not!" thundered Godfrey, unhesitatingly.
"Bismillah!" came reply. "You have chosen. Behold!"
A kettledrum boomed once, twice; and as a fresh flight of arrows dashed into the room, suddenly lights darted across the palace lawn below. A cry broke from Godfrey:—
"Fire! They have brought straw to the entrance and will so destroy us. Iftikhar is mad thus to ruin his palace!"
Morgiana looked at him quietly.
"He is no more mad than for many a day. You know little his passion for Mary. This wing of the palace is partly severed from the rest; but Iftikhar will burn all El Halebah to destroy us!"
Already below sprang a crackle, a roar, as the night wind caught the flame. In a moment up drifted a puff of smoke, a red glare ever brightening.
"The palace is marble," declared Godfrey, leaning over the parapet, despite the shafts.
"Enough also of wood and stucco to glow like Gehenna!" replied Musa, grimly. "Such is the manner of our palaces."
The smoke blew thicker, the arrows pelted so rapidly that even Godfrey was fain to drop behind the casement. There was another rush of feet in the gallery. Richard bounded to the door.
"Praised be St. Michael!" shouted he; "there is still food for Trenchefer." But the Ismaelians halted at a safe distance; did not advance; only stood with swinging cimeters, as if awaiting attack.
"Hear their feet below!" growled Godfrey; "they bring more fuel! Hark the roar! The very palace burns."
Musa thrust his head into the scorching smoke eddy.
"You say well, Cid Godfrey; we are in Allah's hands, and shall see Him face to face full soon!"
A crash below was followed by a second, a third. Up the stairway shot a wavering shaft of flame; the smoke that had been rising to the vaulted dome began to sink and stifle. Richard turned to Morgiana.
"Lady," he said, while he leaned on Trenchefer, "God may reward you for your deed to-night, but not ourselves. Had not His will been otherwise, you would have saved us. You can do nothing more. Fly down the gallery."
As if in echo came Iftikhar's voice:—
"Morgiana need not think to escape. Verily her body shall scorch now, as her false soul hereafter."
Even at that dread moment Richard shuddered at the passion the Egyptian struck forth from Morgiana's eyes; but her only answer was the cry:—
"Then shall my curse light on you forever!" And at that curse, no blame if Iftikhar trembled.
Thicker the smoke, brighter the glare, higher the flame. They felt the pavement under the rugs grow warm. Iftikhar thundered once more:—
"For the last time—choose life and freedom, or the fire!"
Godfrey had leaped beside Richard.
"Ha! This is the end of the hunting. Well, St. George aid us, we will not be grilled here, with that gallery open and fifty cimeters ready to speed us to heaven!"
Richard cast a look forward,—behind.
"There is nothing else!" said he. But Trenchefer shook in his hands, for Mary was standing at his side.
"Dear lord and husband," said she, once more, "you have promised. I know your arm is strong. Let us go away together,—far away, far away,—to the love and light and peace!"
And she held down her head. But Richard that moment felt his muscles hard as bands of steel. Should she die, with him so strong, with the might of the saints shed over him as never before? Should she die, and by his hand?
"I wait, dear heart," she was saying, "hasten!"
The fire shot up the stairway in one raging, devouring column. But Trenchefer did not strike.
"Morgiana!" was Richard's fierce cry, "if the sealed door were shivered, is there escape?"
The Arabian had crouched upon the floor.
"Yes!" gasped she, "when Allah sends a miracle."
"And that He shall!God wills it!" and Richard sent the Crusader's war-cry out into the smoke and fire. The very shout made his might fivefold.
Through the smoke he bounded to the sealed portal, dashed against it, a lion against his cage. It stood firm; but he felt the bolts give way in their fastenings. A marble pendant hung betwixt the windows. He wrenched it from its mortar setting, swung it on high, and crashed it upon the door. In after days men found this marble in the wreck and marvelled at the might of the Christians. At the first blow the wood and iron sprang inwards as with a groan. Twice!—the stones in the casement crumbled, the pivots started. Thrice!—and before the iron of Richard's north-sprung strength the weaker iron of the door gave way.
"God wills it!" Over the storm of fire again he flung the cry. Iftikhar had seen—the Ismaelians had seen the attack on the door—the miracle! One and all had sped forward,—at the doorway had met Godfrey and Musa, and their tireless blades.
A crash below; the firm floors were shivered; flames leaped between. But the sealed portal—it was sealed no longer! Richard was back in the press at the other door. The marble block was lifted on high, and as it sped from his hand it dashed down the tall Harun, who never felt his hurt. Trenchefer was again flashing in the Ismaelians' faces. They drew back, crying:—
"No deed of man! We may not fight with Allah!" and Iftikhar with them. Three steps forward leaped Richard—not a man loved death enough to meet him face to face. The floor was quaking beneath them.
"Back, back, for the love of Christ!" rang the shout of Godfrey; for Longsword in his pride would have charged them all. It was Musa who plucked Mary in his arms, and bounded through the fire. Morgiana flew across the flame as though on wings. Godfrey caught Richard by an arm, and drew him after. From the new opening Richard glanced backward. Red flames roared betwixt him and Iftikhar. The wreck before him held his gaze as by enchantment, but the others dragged him away. The smoke was eddying after them into the new portal; soon the fire would follow. Haste was still their sole safety. Before them were the dimly lighted rooms of the palace; and Morgiana led their way.
Well that they had such guidance. The command of Iftikhar sounded loudly to cut off the fugitives when they should come forth. But Morgiana sped on before them, swift as the flight of a dream, through dark galleries and under arcades where the flame glared all around. They followed witlessly, not knowing whether she led to life or death. Suddenly, as if by magic, the palace and its blazing battlements were left behind them, their feet trod soft grass; their nostrils drank in the pure air; and above the haze of vapor and sparks glittered the fairer haze of the stars. The Arabian led them far on into the wood.
"Where were your horses tethered?" demanded Morgiana, halting.
"At the tamarisk by the road to the palace," answered Musa.
"Good, then," replied she; "follow this shorter path you see in the starlight. Mount, spur, and Allah spread the cloak of compassion over you. I can do nothing more!"
"St. Maurice!" swore Richard and Godfrey together, "shall we never reward you?"
They could see Morgiana's eyes flash in the firelight. "This will be reward—never again to hear the name 'Mary'!"
Before they could say more the Arabian had flung her arms about the Greek, kissed her once, and vanished in the night.
Despite the danger of pursuit, Morgiana's departure for an instant broke the spell of delirium that had possessed the fugitives for the hour. They were under the canopy of the forest. They heard the roar of the burning, which was dimmed by the dense barrier of the trees. The chamber of judgment; the chamber of battle; the struggle for life and death; Morgiana, their good angel—all had vanished—whither! For a moment the four were silent, drinking deep of the sweet air, their hearts stirred by emotion too strong for words. It was the Spaniard whose wits returned first.
"Allah akhbar!What is this, down the path?" And his whisper plucked back the others to the world of danger. A party of men and horses were coming straight toward them from the palace.
"Now, by St. George!" cried the Duke, "we need our prayers! They have taken horse to follow."
The hoofs were thundering behind them. Richard felt Mary trembling in his arms with mortal dread. To have endured so much and to fail now!
"Holy Mother!" she was crying softly, "are the horses far away?"
But Richard laughed aloud and the others also. Then he trumpeted through his hands, and Godfrey and Musa did likewise. Down the road they heard a stamping and snapping of tether-ropes. And as they ran three great beasts came prancing out of the dark to meet them—Rollo puffing with his huge mouth in his master's face. The others were mounted in a twinkling; but Richard gazed in vain for the Arabian prepared for Mary. There was a crash in the road not forty paces away. Over his head flew many arrows. The grip of his arm about Mary tightened.
"Little wife," spoke he, in her ear, "will you trust Rollo?"
"I will trustyou!" came the answer.
No other way; with his right hand Richard gripped the pommel and leaped with his burden. And at the press of weight, Rollo gave a long leap forward, as close upon them in pursuit swung another, a rider on a tall horse; behind him, a mass of dark forms, sparks striking from the flying hoofs.
Richard felt his wife shrink closer to him, and above the yell of the Ismaelians heard her cry:—
"Carry us safe, dear Rollo, for the love of Christ! The need is great!"
Iftikhar was breasting them, on a steed the pride of El Halebah's stables. The Ismaelian drew bow, and sent a shaft crashing against them. The leathern saddle-flap turned it, and Richard taunted: "Truly you love the Greek! Will you strike her?"
"Better dead than yours!" came back, and with it a second arrow, against Longsword's shoulder. He reeled, but the Valencia mail was not faithless. Tightening his grasp, Richard swung Mary so that his own body was between her and the Egyptian. He drew Trenchefer. Rollo needed no bridle. At touch of the knee, the beast swerved so suddenly that Iftikhar's mount was nigh over-ridden. Before the Egyptian could cast away the bow and draw, the Christian sword fell. The Ismaelian barely shunned it. Not so his horse; for the good sword cleft through the saddle and severed the spine. Iftikhar went down with his falling steed, while Rollo tossed out his heels and flew onward.
But a precious moment had sped, brief though the encounter. Almost as Iftikhar fell, the Ismaelian band closed upon his conqueror. The dawn was strengthening. Richard could see the foe about him—dark Syrians, white-robed, with crooked bows, cimeters, and brass-studded targets. They raised a mighty yell as they saw the prey they had tracked so long locked, seemingly, in their hands. A thousand marks Longsword would have pledged for his good target to cast behind Mary; but his own body was the living shield. No place this, to swing Trenchefer now. Speed, the speed of Rollo,—in that and in Our Lady he trusted.
"Bismillah!Glory to Allah! The Christian jinn is taken!" roared the foremost Ismaelians, with their screaming arrows. One shaft home, and Rollo was crippled. But he, great brute, was wiser than many men. He needed no word, no spur. Close to the ground, after his wont, he dropped his muzzle. Then when he felt the reins slack on his neck and Richard's fingers gently combing his mane, he struck out in a stretch no steed of Fars or Khorassan could outpace. Two bounds, it seemed, plucked him out of that circle of death; with the long way clear, and the press behind. Through eyes half opened, Mary saw hills, rocks, trees, speeding past under the pale light, as though runners in a race. They had left the green wood; were on the highroad, flying westward. Eastward, behind the howling pack, all the sky was bright, but not all the glow was from the dawning. A tower of fire was leaping toward heaven. All the groves were traced darkly against the red glare, but faded swiftly as Rollo thundered westward.
Arrows, or what she deemed arrows, were whistling past her head. There were a score of mad voices close behind: "Shoot! Slay! Strike the horse! The grand prior's houri! A great reward!"
Then more arrows; but it was nothing easy to send a shaft from a plunging saddle into the dimness, and strike a dragon flying as Rollo flew. She heard Iftikhar shout once more—the fall had not harmed him, for he was again mounted—"To every man a hundred dirhems, if you bring down the horse!"
Her fear had become overmastering now. She was frightened as a little child. Her face was very close to her husband's. Despite the pace, she spoke.
"Richard, do not forget. You have promised. Strike, before too late."
The other's answer was a glance behind into the half-light. Mother of Pity, how close the infidels were! Then he bent forward, and spoke to Rollo,—not in Greek, Arabic, or Provençal, but in his own Norman French.
"On, my horse; on, my sweet swallow! Will you be run to death like a fawn? Shall the paynims say, 'There are no steeds like the steeds of the East?' Remember your glory, my Rollo! Remember the lists at Palermo! How you outpaced the winds at Dorylæum. And the brave days at Antioch, gone by! And will you now fail, swiftest of thedestrersof France?"
Did the black brute understand? Did he know that he had been born and bred, that for those few moments, double-mounted as he was, he should speed swifter, ever swifter, beyond range of those shafts whereof one must soon strike home?
But the Ismaelians saw, and Iftikhar saw, who cursed his men by every sheytan, vowing stake and torment if they failed. Longsword still urged:—
"Onward! Onward! thejongleurssing of Ogier's Broiefort, of Bayard the fleet steed of Renaud, but swiftest of all shall they set Rollo bearing master and lady, casting shame on the beasts of the Moslems. Bravely done, yet faster! Faster, and faster yet! See, the arrows are falling short! Hear,—they curse and call on their Prophet vainly for aid. On, Rollo; as I feel your stride, I grow proud, yet you can make it longer. On, Rollo; another such shaft, our riding is ended! On, Rollo; you bear rarer than gold in the saddle now! On, Rollo; God loves a good horse's speed. They shall deck you in ribbons, my Rollo, and Herbert shall kiss your dear black lips when I tell the tale. All the Julieners shall be glad; in old age they shall say, 'No steed now like to Rollo, the great horse of our seigneur.'"
And Rollo? Long had been his stride, longer now; swift, swifter now. No reed-limbed southern-born he; spaniel-sleek, and spaniel-tender. Where the road was rough, his great hoof bit out the rock and sent it flying; where smooth, the Ismaelians saw no wings, but they saw his flight. Godfrey and Musa led the chase, but not as Rollo. No arrows for them; the pursuers knew their prey. The eyes of the Ismaelians' steeds were blood-shot, bits foaming; arrow after arrow sped,—fell shorter. Mary saw yawning before them a wide gully, cut deep by the spring torrent. Life—death—flashed up in an instant. She felt Rollo draw his huge limbs together,—a bound, and cleared; a safe recovery; the horse ran on. Godfrey passed safely. Musa's charger stumbled, but reined up dexterously, recovered, flew on. The Ismaelians struck the gully together; two leaders went down, were trampled out in a breath, horse and man. The rest still spurred after. But Richard, as he counted the ells betwixt him and the black mass of the pursuit, saw the patch of dark road widening slowly, but surely. More arrows now; when these flew very wide, a single rider shot ahead of the rest. In the brightening dawn Richard saw the pursuer prodding with a cimeter-point to add to the spur sting.
Again Richard put his head close to his steed's ear. "Faster again, my Rollo; faster yet, I say! Only a little more. Iftikhar pricks cruelly now, cruelly. When did I that, to give you speed? Ha, we are better friends! You are winning a great race—are heading the fleetest steeds of Fars, of Khorassan. You are winning! I grow more proud—proud of Rollo, king of thedestrersof France!"
The answer was a final burst of speed, and Richard knew he had never ridden so before. Iftikhar's men vainly strove to keep pace with their leader; one after another goaded, dashed forward, dropped from the chase. Musa's peerless Arabian, Godfrey's Marchegai ran neck to neck behind Rollo, but they bore no double burden. Richard's heart went with his eyes when he saw the last effort of the pursuit. For a moment the space betwixt pursued and pursuers lessened,—but only for a moment. Then the precious stretch of road grew wider, ever wider. There came a moment when even the steeds of El Halebah could do no more. Iftikhar still led; but he was not mad enough to pursue alone three such spirits. Richard heard his last curse of bootless rage. There was a last vain flight of arrows: one chance shaft whirled past Rollo's ear; the blood was started. That was all. Musa waved his cimeter as a parting defiance. The Ismaelians had halted. For the first time Mary and Richard had eyes for other things than the flying Rollo. They saw and marvelled that the darkness had gone. The sun had risen and was hanging a ball of red gold on the eastern horizon. Aleppo, El Halebah, and its gardens had vanished, as though but a vision of the night. All about were the rolling, arid Syrian fields.
When Iftikhar returned to El Halebah, the fire had utterly destroyed the wing of the palace containing the harem. Only through desperate efforts by the Ismaelians who had not joined in the pursuit was the remainder of the building saved. The grand prior's first act was to order search to be made for Morgiana. The "devoted" failed in their quest as completely as in the chase of the fugitives. The Arab seemed to have bidden the rock open and receive her. Breathing forth his vows of vengeance, Iftikhar had retired for the evening, before riding to join Kerbogha; but Zeyneb wandered from the half-wrecked palace into the gardens. He was alone in one of the remotest glades, when of a sudden his arm was plucked, and glancing about he beheld in the dimness the face of Morgiana. Where she had hidden, he did not know nor did she tell. He tried to shout; she plucked his throat as fiercely as on the previous night when she had mastered him.