CHAPTER XLIV
HOW MORGIANA BROUGHT WARNING
How, as related in his letter, Musa had entered the camp of Kerbogha, made his guileful tale believed, and escaped safely with Mary Kurkuas to Tyre, we have no need to tell. When the Spaniard was landed at that city, he dreamed unwisely that his troubles were at an end. An easy voyage to Damietta, an easy journey to Cairo, and at Cairo a spacious palace awaited him as emir in service to the Fatimite Mustaali. There the Greek could spend the time in quiet and luxury until the Crusade had run its course. But, again, Musa was to learn that the book of doom contains many things contrary to the wish of man. While at Tyre a letter came from the omnipotent grand vizier, Al Afdhal, ordering him to hasten at once to Jerusalem and assume the post of second in command. A high honor; and the vizier added that the Spaniard had been given this signal trust, both because all in Cairo had learned to put confidence in his valor and discretion, and because the Christians would be sure to reach the city soon, where the defenders should be familiar with their warfare.
Musa spent half a day in vain maledictions over this letter. By refusing the kalif's daughter he had put his neck in peril once; to decline this second honor would be to invite the bowstring. Hardly could he bring himself to lay his dilemma before the Greek. She had been lodged with all honor in the harem of the Egyptian governor of the city, for Musa had passed her before the world as his own Christian slave. When the Spaniard came to her, he professed himself willing to throw over his position in Egypt and fly to Tunis, if she bade him. But Mary only smiled and shook her head. "Dear friend," said she, "you shall go to no more pains on my behalf. The Holy Mother knows I spend many an evening crying when I think of all the brave men, just and base, who have died or run perils for my sinful sake."
"Then what am I to do?" protested the Spaniard, with one of his eloquent gestures. "Go to Jerusalem?"
Mary was silent for a long time; then said directly:—
"Ah, Musa, I am Christian bred, but were all Moslems like you, I could hate none. Leave that to the priests, like Sebastian! If you go to Jerusalem and the Christians attack, as attack they will, you will defend the city, will fight to the last?"
Musa nodded soberly. "Would to Allah I could do anything else! But Jerusalem is scarce less sacred to my people than to yours. To us it is 'El Kuds,' the 'Sanctuary of Allah'; and even I"—and he smote his breast—"must die in the breach or on the walls before an armed Frank enter!"
Mary looked at him, and saw by his face more than by the words that he would indeed die if put to the last gasp.
"Musa," she said softly, throwing that grave light into her eyes which had made Richard cry he saw all heaven therein, "you speak truly. God keep you safe; but, Christian or Moslem, you must follow the path that duty opens. You must go to Jerusalem, for so your Allah clearly wills!"
"And," protested the Spaniard, "I shall send you to Cairo? You will be lonely in the great harem of my palace, with only servants and eunuchs to wait on you. For I must conform to the customs of my country, and let no lady in my care wander forth."
Mary shook her head in violent dissent.
"Why should I not go with you to Jerusalem? If the city falls, will not my husband be at hand to receive me? If the defence is made good,"—she stared hard at the pavement,—"I know my Richard Longsword will not live to see defeat; and then—"
She broke short; her eyes were bright with tears.
"Wallah! what may I say to comfort you?" cried the Andalusian, in distress. But Mary sprang from the divan and stood before him, eye meeting eye.
"Musa," she said quietly, "I am a woman, and Heaven gives me a few wits. I know well what Richard said to you that moment he drew you aside before we were parted near Antioch."
The Spaniard reddened and stirred uneasily. As if by sympathy, the Greek flushed also; but she continued:—
"Dear Musa, we can best speak plainly one to another. Whether you have ever borne love for woman as Richard has borne love for me, I greatly doubt. Strange man, once I was angry, even while I blessed you, that when so many professed love, your only word was friendship. But all that is past now. I am the wedded wife of your dearest comrade. If he die, save Baron Hardouin in Provence, I have no other friend in the wide earth but you. If Richard dies, and Heaven is kind, I shall not live long. But people cannot die when they wish. If my husband is taken away, it is right that you should possess me. I cannot give you the deepest love; nor expect it from you. But so long as you live, I shall be content—for, saving Richard Longsword, you are the purest, noblest—Christian or Moslem—who treads God's earth."
Mary outstretched her hand to the Spaniard, who did not take it, but knelt and kissed the hem of her dress.
"Star of the Greeks," he said, smiling after his soft, melancholy way, "how good that we can look into one another's eyes and see 'trust' written therein. May the All-Merciful put far the day that will make you other than my brother's wife! But you shall go to Jerusalem."
Mary pressed her hands to her forehead.
"Holy Mother," she cried, "is it mercy to send Richard and Musa both to Jerusalem, where one must surely die!"
The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders. "If the Most-High watch over my brother, waste no tears in fear for me. I shall live or die, as is fated, and the day of death is fixed, be a man on battle-field or on his bed."
"Your destiny is cruel," declared the Greek. But Musa answered, "Destiny is the will of Allah, and even the hard things from Him are sent in mercy."
So Mary fared by easy journeys to Jerusalem, and not to Cairo. In the Holy City they said the lieutenant-commandant kept a lady in his harem, but that wakened no comment. Musa had means and rank to secure a comfortable house on the north of the city, by the Gate of Herod; to fit it with all needful luxury, to provide Nubian eunuchs and Syrian serving-maids. The Greek had learned at Aleppo to be content with the close harem life, and Musa went to all lengths to please her. When he could spare time, he read and sang to her all day long; played chess and backgammon; matched her in contests of verse; repeated his jugglery tricks. He provided books in plenty—the Arabian histories; Macoudi's "Prairies of Gold," the great geography; and Greek manuscripts—Homer, Sophocles, Plato, and more. The Spaniard loved to sit at Mary's feet, hearing her read in her own rich native accent the hexameters that throbbed with the wrath of Achilles, and all the other stories of the old pagan world so long departed. Mary took all his attention with a kind of mute wonder, having long since ceased to marvel at his devotion. "Am I not utterly in his power?" she would say to herself. "Could he not take me forever from Richard Longsword by his mere wish?" So she would be silent, admiring the friendship that could go to lengths like this. For though they constantly talked of the Norman, Musa never breathed a word that was not to Richard's praise—of his valor, purity, steadfastness, and lofty purpose, telling Mary often that she was wedded to the noblest cavalier in Frankland or Islam.
So for Mary at Jerusalem, as for Richard at Antioch, the slow winter crept by. And in the spring came the news that the Christian host was coming southward by forced marches. Musa's face was sad when he brought Mary the tidings, though it was only what each had expected. But neither was prepared for the sudden thunderbolt that crashed upon them just as the Christians broke camp before Archas. A messenger came into the city from Cairo, bringing word that Iftikhar Eddauleh, the one-time Ismaelian chief, had landed at Alexandria, been received with high favor by the kalif and vizier, appointed to the chief command at Jerusalem, and was on his way thither with heavy reënforcements for the garrison. Musa—ran the vizier's orders—was to retain his post as second; and with two such officers, so well schooled in the Christians' mode of warfare, the kalif made no doubt of a successful defence.
No opportunity for drawing back now. A new embassy was being sent to the Franks to try to halt their march by a peace at the last moment. But Musa feared to intrust it with a letter for Richard, as the members were all appointed by Iftikhar himself, who arrived in Jerusalem almost as soon as the first messenger. The Spaniard presented himself to his chief at the Castle of David, the mighty stronghold on the western wall of the city. When the two cavaliers met face to face, without a word to Musa, Iftikhar ordered every guard and slave out of his presence, and the twain stood staring hard at one another for a long time in silence. Presently Musa said simply:—
"Cid Iftikhar, we have been personal enemies, and owe each other many a grudge; but this is no time nor place for private broils. I am your lieutenant, ready to die in defence of El Kuds. Command me in anything touching my duty as a soldier, and I obey to the last."
Iftikhar's face was very stern when he answered:—
"You say well, my Lord Musa. At a convenient time Allah grant that I may reckon with you. Only with Richard the Norman have I an account that is longer. But to-day let us toil as one man for the defence of Jerusalem; for, as the All-Just reigns, we have no light task before us!"
"Then," asked the Spaniard, "until the city is saved we are at truce?"
"At truce," assented Iftikhar, nodding. But he would not accept Musa's proffered hand. And when the Spaniard went back to Mary he cautioned her gravely to remain close in the harem. Likewise he sent many of his servants out of the city, retaining only those most trusty; admonishing all not to breathe on the streets or to their gossips that a Grecian lady was lodged in his palace.
But now came a series of days, each more terrible for Mary than the one before. Musa would have told her little, but he found that keeping back the news made her grieve yet more; therefore he related all. As the Franks advanced, Iftikhar had sent out his squadrons and laid waste the country for leagues about, filling up the wells, scarce leaving one house standing, that the Christians might find no comfort or provision. On this work Musa had ridden, though he loved it little.
At last the Christians were at hand; and Mary, looking from her harem balcony, saw the hills covered with the familiar Frankish armor and the white-stoled priests and the forest of tossing lances. But though the eunuchs and city folk cowered and whimpered, Mary knew the Egyptian garrison was made of stouter stuff,—not blind fanatics, like the Ismaelians, but men who would defend the walls to the last.
On the next day Mary was fain to lie in her chamber, stopping her ears, and pleading with every saint; for the Christians were assaulting. Then at evening came silence. Musa returned, dust-covered, his cheek bleeding where an arrow grazed, but safe; and Mary knew the onslaught had failed. With her own hands she stripped off the weary Spaniard's armor.
"The Christians rush on ruin," was his bitter tale. "With only one ladder they tried to scale. With a second they might have mastered. They endured our rain of bolts, stones, and Greek fire as if pelted by dry leaves. They have perished by hundreds. Well that Allah is all-wise; He alone knows the need of this war!"
"And Richard?" asked Mary, scarce venturing the word.
"I saw him all reckless, in his open steel cap! My heart turned to ice when he began to climb the ladder with Trenchefer in his teeth. He laughed at our arrows. A stone overturned the ladder; he fell, then rose unhurt from under a heap of slain, and was about to mount once more when a priest—Sebastian, doubtless—dragged him out of view."
Mary blessed the saints for this mercy, and was constant in prayer; for women could only pray while strong men had the easier deeds of fighting and dying. While the Christians were building their siege engines, there were no more assaults. But this only postponed the days of evil. Mary could see that Musa was laboring under extreme excitement. In her presence he affected his old-time gayety and playful melancholy. But once she caught him in an unguarded moment, gazing upon her so fixedly, that had he been Iftikhar, she would have thrilled with danger; and once she overheard him in his chamber crying aloud to Allah as if beseeching deliverance from some great temptation, and from the evil jinns that were tearing his breast.
"Dear Musa," said Mary, "what is it that makes you grow so sad?"
But the only answer was the gentle laugh, and the remark, "Wallah,—and with your Christians pressing us night and day, and all preparing for the death grip, will you marvel I am not always merry?"
"True," she replied; "but I know it is not the siege that darkens you."
Musa said nothing. In fact she saw him seldom. The wretched Jerusalem Christians were kept at forced labor on the walls, and sight of their piteous state made Mary hate all Moslems save the Spaniard. Presently rumor had it the Franks had completed their engines. Mary saw the great procession around the city, after the fashion of the Israelites around Jericho,—the priests, the knights, the men-at-arms, a great company that marched from the valley of Rephaim, beside Calvary, to the Mount of Olives, where they halted for exhortings to brave deeds, by the chieftains and priests. The hymns and brave words Mary did not hear; but she did hear the blasphemies of the Moslems, as from the walls they held up crosses in the sight of all the Christians, heaping filth upon them, and shouting, "Look, Franks, look; behold the blessed cross!" But the Greek knew deep down in her heart that they blasphemed to their own destruction; and Musa half shared her thought, when that night he parted from her to go upon the walls.
"Star of the Greeks," he said, salaaming, "the Christians' engines are ready, and their host in array to attack with the morning. Allah alone knows what we shall see by another sunset. Keep close within the harem. I cannot return until about this time to-morrow evening."
And he was gone, leaving Mary to pass a sleepless night with awaking to a wretchedness she had never felt before. Not dread for herself this time. Richard would be face to face with death—and Musa! What if both should be cut down! Then let Iftikhar Eddauleh or any other demon in mortal guise possess her; this world would be one blackness, and trifles would matter little. She tossed on her pillow till daybreak, then rose to greater misery. What mockery to pray; to cry to God and the saints! If they were all righteous, why had they created in her that stubborn will which would not bow to their decree? Under her lattice in the narrow dirty streets the corps of the garrison were rushing to and fro. She could see the ebon Ethiopians clashing their huge targets and sabres as they ran toward the walls, while the war-horns and kettledrums blared and boomed unceasingly.
"This way, true believers!" came the shout. "The Franks are advancing. He who speeds one Christian to hell blots out ten thousand sins!" But over the din of arms sounded the cry of the muezzins from the Mosque el-Aksa, and all the other lesser fanes, calling the people to prayer. Looking up at a minaret close by, Mary could see the pigeons still nesting under the balcony; and when the waves of clangor hushed an instant, she could hear the coo, coo, of mate to mate, as if the brown earth were calm and peaceful as the azure dome.
So the day commenced. As the sun climbed higher, the rock on which Jerusalem was founded trembled under the crash of bursting war. Mary, sitting upon the house roof, could hear all the tumult in the city streets, and see the garrison massing on the battlements by the Gate of Herod.
How long a day! The eunuchs, timorous as their mistress, gave her little heed. But a few grapes and figs were all the food the Greek cared to touch. About the third hour of the morning she knew the conflict was joined. From that time till sunset the roar of assault and defence went up to heaven as one continuous thunder. The shouts of Christian and Moslem; the crash of mangonel and catapult; the hurtling of myriad arrows and stones,—all these made a raging babel that spoke but a single word—"Death!" For Mary, it was one long-drawn terror. Long since had she, with her woman's heart, ceased to care whether the blessed Christ or Allah reigned within the bulwarks of the Holy City. She only knew that her husband and a man who had become dearer to her than a brother were in the midst of that chaos. Again and again she heard a mighty crash from the battlements, sounding above the unending din, that told of a triumph won by besiegers or besieged. Twice her heart leaped to her throat, as shrieking men flew down the street, calling on Allah to "have mercy; the city was taken." And twice again others passed, bawling out their Bismillahs, telling how the Franks had been utterly crushed. It was noon, and still the thunders grew louder. The third hour after noon; were the heavens of adamant that they did not crack asunder at the roaring? The fourth hour, and under the balcony galloped an Egyptian officer.
"Allah akhbar! Rejoice, O Moslems! The Christians have been repulsed on all hands!" he was proclaiming; "they will never assault again. The Lord Iftikhar has made a sally from the breach, and all their engines are burning!"
"Victory for the true faith! Allah akhbar!" shouted the squadrons that raged after him. "To the gates! a sally! cut off the Franks ere they can flee to the hills!"
Mary bowed her head. The Franks repulsed, defeated, scattered; the Crusade lost, and Richard Longsword,—never, the Greek knew well, would her husband turn back from a stricken field to breathe out his fiery spirit on his bed. But the clangor of arms and shouting did not die away. The sun was dropping lower now, but the battle seemed blazing hotter than when the day was young. In the street women and city-folk ran this way and that. From their cries Mary knew not what to think. To remain longer on the housetop she could not, though Musa commanded a thousand times. She must know the worst or die. The cowering maids and eunuchs gave her never a thought. She cast a veil about her face and rushed down into the street. The way was plain before her. In a great press of soldiers, citizens, and shrieking women, she was swept on toward the Gate of Herod, scarce knowing whither she went. As she moved on blindly, jostled and thrust about by rude hands, she knew that the din was lessening, the thunder from the walls intermitting. Now, as she looked toward the battlements, she could see the engineers making fast the machines, the archers running from the towers. Through the gate was pouring a cavalry corps, the horses bleeding and panting, the men battered and bleeding also. Many bore shivered lances; many brandished red blades; many toiled wearily on foot. It needed none to tell her that the sally had failed, else why did the great gate clash to in a twinkling the instant the last rider passed under? And in through the closing portal rang the good French war-cry, almost at the riders' heels, "Montjoie St. Denis!" So the Franks had been repulsed, but not scattered. The leaguer had not been raised. There must be other days of horror.
"St. Theodore guide me!" prayed Mary to herself, "I must be back instantly. Musa would be justly angry if he found me in this throng." And she turned from the gate, thankful, yet fearful. What had befallen Richard and Musa that day of blood? The multitude surged backward, carrying her toward the inner city. In the rude press the veil was swept from her face. She knew that soldiers were pointing at her, and passing the word "Look—a houri!" But she heeded little, only forced her way up the narrow street to regain the house. The throng made space for her, for they knew she was an emir's lady, and many improper deeds were forgiven on a day like this. She reached the friendly portal; reëntered the harem. The cowering maids and eunuchs stared at her dishevelled hair and dress, but hardly knew that she had been gone. Mary returned to her post on the housetop, and from the shouting in the street below learned that the Christian attack on the walls had been entirely repulsed, but that Iftikhar had lost many men in the sally. Just after sunset came a cavalryman with a note scribbled on a bit of dirty vellum.
"Musa to the ever adorable Star of the Greeks. Allah has kept Richard Longsword safe through battle. I also am well. I think the Christian machines so wrecked by our Greek fire, no assaults will take place for many days. I will come to you before midnight. Farewell."
A brief letter, but it made the dying light on the western clouds very golden to Mary Kurkuas. So Richard lived, and Musa also. What thoughtfulness of the Spaniard to imagine her fears and send reassurance! The buzzing streets grew calmer. She heard the muezzins calling the evening "maghreb prayer" over the city. The eunuchs had so far awakened from their terror as to be able to bring her a few sweet cakes and some spiced wine. The Greek felt little weariness, despite her sleepless night. She would await Musa, hear from him the story of the battle, and how he knew Richard was well. With a quieting heart she left the roof balcony, ordered a lamp in her harem chamber, opened the book-closet and began to unroll her Pindar. She was just losing herself in the rhythm and splendor of a "Nemean" when a eunuch interrupted with his salaam.
"A woman to see the Citt Mary,—who will not be denied." Before Mary could answer, the curtain had been thrust aside, and she saw in the dim glint of the lamp the face of Morgiana!