CHAPTER XLV
HOW RICHARD HAD SPEECH WITH MUSA
In the days that the Christians lay about Jerusalem, after the first assault had failed, Richard learned to know every ring on that gilded coat of armor which shielded the commandant of Jerusalem. Iftikhar had borne a charmed life those four and twenty days of the siege; a thousand bolts had left him unscathed; his voice and example had been better than five hundred bowmen at a point of peril. Along with Iftikhar, Richard noted a second mailed figure upon the walls, more slender than the emir, nimble in his sombre black mail as a greyhound; and his presence also fired the Egyptians to fight like demons. Longsword bore about in his heart two resolves, to lay Iftikhar Eddauleh on his back (of this he was trebly resolved) and to discover who this black-armored warrior might be. Had he never seen that graceful figure make those valorous strokes before? So Longsword nursed his hate and his curiosity, and threw all his energy day and night into the siege works.
In the days that came it pleased Heaven to put a last test upon the faith and steadfastness of the army. Not even in burning Phrygia had they parched more with thirst. Midsummer, a Syrian sun, a country always nearly arid, and all the pools stopped by Iftikhar, ere he retired within the city;—no wonder there was misery!
"O for one cooling drop from some mountain stream of France!" Had the army joined in one prayer, it would have been this. For a skinful of fetid water, brought far, fetched three deniers, and when the multitude struggled around the one fountain Siloam, often as the scanty pool bubbled, what was it among so many? To secure water to keep the breath in Rollo, Richard went nigh to the bottom of a lightened purse; and still the heavens would cloud and darken and clear away, bringing no rain, but only the pitiless heat.
In Phrygia, and even at Antioch, men had been able to endure with grace. But now, with victory all but in their grasp, with the Tomb of Christ under their very eyes, how could mortal strength brook such delay? Yet the work on the siege engines never slackened. A rumor that a relieving army was coming from Egypt made them all speed. Out of the bare country Northern determination and Northern wit found timbers and water and munitions. They built catapults to cast arrows, mangonels to fling rocks. Gaston of Béarn directed the erecting of three huge movable towers for mounting the ramparts. There were prayers and vows and exhortations; then on Thursday, the fourteenth of July, came the attack—the repulse.
It must have been because Mary Kurkuas's prayers availed with God that Richard did not perish that day. If ever man sought destruction, it was he. When he saw the stoutest barons shrinking back, and all the siege towers shattered or fixed fast, he knew a sinking of heart, a blind rage of despair as never before. Then from the Gates of Herod and St. Stephen poured the Egyptians in their sally to burn the siege towers. Longsword was in the thickest of the human whirlpool. When he saw the garrison reeling back, and Iftikhar Eddauleh trying vainly to rally, he pressed in mad bravado under the very Gate of Herod, casting his war-cry in the infidels' teeth. But while a hundred javelins from the walls spun round him, of a sudden he heard a name—his own name, shouted from the battlements; and the blast of darts was checked as if by magic. The chieftain in the sombre armor had sprung upon the crest of the rampart, had doffed his casque, and was gesturing with his cimeter.
"Musa!" cried the Norman, falling back a step, scarce knowing what to hope or dread.
The Spaniard, while ten thousand stared at him, friend and foe, bowed and flourished in salutation, then, snatching up a light javelin, whirled it down into the earth at Longsword's feet.
"Death to the infidel!" the Christian crossbowmen at Richard's heels were crying as they levelled. But the Norman checked them with the threat:—
"Die yourselves if a bolt flies!"
Then he drew the dart from the ground, and removed a scrap of parchment wrapped round the butt.
"Be before the Gate of Herod two hours after sunset. Bear the shield with the St. Julien stag, and the sentinels will not shoot. Your wife is in the city and is well."
And while Richard read, the Spaniard had saluted the wondering Christians once more and vanished behind the rampart. The Norman walked away with a heart at once very light and very heavy. Musa in Jerusalem, Mary in Jerusalem, Iftikhar in Jerusalem! A great battle waged all day, and to all seeming lost,—the Crusade a failure! He heard men, who all those awful years had never blenched, whispering among themselves whether they could make their way to Joppa and escape to France, since God had turned His face away. As he passed through the camp, Tancred and Gaston both spoke to him, asking whether in duty to their men they ought to press the siege longer. Should they wait, the great Egyptian army would come, and not a Christian would escape. But Richard, with his vow and the blood of Gilbert de Valmont on his soul, replied:—
"Fair lords, answer each to your own conscience; as for me, I will see the Cross upon the walls of Jerusalem to-morrow, or die. There is no other way."
And both of these chieftains, who had been hoping against hope, answered stoutly:—
"Our Lady bless you, De St. Julien! You say well; there is no other way for those who love Christ!"
So Richard waited outside the Gate of Herod during the soft gloaming, while the night grew silent, and when, after the searchers for the dead and dying had gone their rounds, naught was heard save the whistling of the scorching wind as it beat against the walls and towers, laden with the dust and blight from the desert. No soldiers' laughter and chatter from the camp that night; no merriment upon the battlements. The Christians were numbed by their defeat; the Moslems knew the storm had not passed.
Then, when it had grown very dark, he heard a bird-call from the gateway,—a second,—and when he answered, a figure unarmed and in a sombre caftan drew from the blackness. The Norman and the Spaniard embraced many times in profoundest joy.
They sat together on the timber of a shattered catapult, and told each other the tale of the many things befallen since they parted on the hill before Antioch.
"And Mary?" Richard would ask time and again.
"She is more beautiful than the light, after the tempest passes and the rainbow comes. We talk of you daily, and of her joy and yours when the Crusade is ended."
Richard groaned from the bottom of his soul.
"Would God," he cried, "my own fate were woe or weal to me, and not to another. It must have been sinful to keep her love after I took the cross. For how can I have joy in heaven, if"—and he crossed himself—"I am ever worthy to pass thither, thinking that Mary is in tears?"
Musa pressed his hand tighter.
"You are sad to-night. Why not? I know the stake you set on the Crusade, yet bow to the will of Allah. What is destined is destined by Him; what is destined by Him is right. Cannot even a Christian say that? You have done all that mortal man can; the task is too hard. Your vow is cleared. Return to France. Mary shall go with you. Have joy in St. Julien, and think of Musa, your brother, kindly."
But Richard had leaped to his feet.
"No, as God lives and reigns!" he cried, "I will not bow. We have endured a great defeat. You know all; I betray no trust. Our towers are nigh wrecked, our throats are burned with drought, half our fighting-men are wounded, you have two warriors in the city to one in our camp. But know this, brother mine that you are: we Franks differ from you Moslems. For in the face of disaster you cry 'Doom,' and bend your necks; but we hold our heads proudly and cry 'On, once more!' And so we master very doom; for there is no doom to strong men who forget that black word 'fate'!"
Musa put his hand affectionately around the Norman's ponderous shoulders.
"Verily, O Richard, I think if the rebel jinns were to gather a squadron of Franks about them, they could shake even the throne of Allah!"
"I am in no jest," replied Richard, and his tone told that he spoke true. But Musa said, doubting:—
"I cannot believe you can attack again before the Egyptian army comes. It is right to fight so long as there is hope. Allah never commands men to invite death."
"Then answer this," demanded the Christian, hotly; "if you lay in my tent, would you turn back and hear all France say, 'This is one of the cavaliers who rode to Jerusalem, found the paynim arrows bitter, and rode away'? By the splendor of God, you would die ten thousand deaths before! You dare not deny; I know you well."
"No, my brother," said Musa, very simply, "I do not deny. But for Mary's sake do not throw your life away."
The Norman laughed bitterly.
"By your 'doom' I perish as soon over my cups at St. Julien as on the siege tower at Jerusalem. God knows what comes to-morrow. Tell Iftikhar Eddauleh that I ask no greater favor from Heaven than to meet him once more face to face. Yet after his craven flight at Antioch I wonder he has courage to bear himself so valiantly on the walls."
"I will tell him; and believe me, he was no coward, as I hear, at Antioch. From his own lips to-day I learned he wishes nothing better than to meet you."
"And you will guard Mary from him?—ever?"
"While Allah grants me breath."
"You are a true brother, Musa, son of Abdallah!" cried the Norman, pressing the other's hand in a grasp that brought pain even to those fingers of steel. "Sometimes I think you are a better friend to me than I to myself."
"And no message for Mary?" asked the Spaniard, softly.
Richard drew his hand across his face. He did not speak for a long while. Then the words came very slowly:—
"Either to-morrow at this time we are masters of the city, or you can know that I am discharged forever of all vows and warfare. Does Mary know what we said together, at parting at Antioch?"
"She knows. And she accepts."
"That is well. Tell her I can leave only this message: 'I have from the hour I left her carried myself as became a Christian cavalier. I have prayed for grace to live and grace to die. I know that after the first pain is past she will wonder why she ever had love for the rude Frankish baron, when she has the favor of the most gallant emir, the most courtly prince, the purest-hearted man, Christian or Moslem.' For though you cannot yearn for her with the fire that burns in me, I can trust you never to let her grow hungry for love."
"Yes: but—" Musa laughed a little nervously—"but if the city is taken? What of me? Will you lead me in fetters back to St. Julien?"
Richard saw the implication.
"No, by St. George," he protested, "you shall not die! I will go to every friend, and I have many, and beseech them if we conquer to spare you."
Musa only laughed again.
"And where you would scorn to live, I must hold back?"
Both were silent; for they saw the inevitable issue. Then Musa spoke again: "Again I say it, what is doomed, is doomed. We are in the Most High's hands. So long as you bear your St. Julien shield I shall know you, and if we meet no blows shall pass. But wear a closed helmet. I quaked when I saw you mocking the arrows in your open casque."
Both were standing. There was nothing more to say. Richard's heart was very sad, but Musa comforted.
"No fears—is not Allah over us both? Will He not dispose all aright,—to-night,—to-morrow,—forever,—though we may not see the path?"
The two men embraced; and, without another word, Richard saw the form of Musa vanish into the darkness.
Of all the councils of the chiefs, none at Antioch was so gloomy as the one held the night after that day of battle and defeat. Duke Robert the Norman spoke for all when he cried in his agony:—
"Miserable men are we! God judges us unworthy to enter His Holy City!"
"Have we endured all this pain in vain?" answered Godfrey. "Unworthy we are, but do we not fight for the glory of Christ?"
"We have fought stoutly as mortal men may!" groaned the son of William the Bastard. "Twice repulsed, half our men slain, our towers wrecked. Where are my brave cavaliers from Rouen and Harfleur? Dead—dead; all who were not happy and died on the march!"
Then silence, while the red torches in Godfrey's tent flickered. Robert the Norman bowed his head and wept, sobbed even as a child.
But Robert, Count of Flanders, broke out madly:—
"By St. Nicholas of Ghent, why sit we here as speechless oxen? Let us either curse God and the false monks who led us on this devil's dance, and every man speed back to his own seigneury, if so Satan aid him; or let us have an end of croaks and groans, bear our hurts with set teeth, and have Jerusalem, though we pluck down the wall with our naked hands." But not an answer or token followed his outburst; and after a pause he added bitterly: "Yes, fair lords; my cousin of Normandy speaks well; we are unworthy to deliver the Holy City. Let us go back to dear France, and think of our sins." Still silence; and then, with an ominous tread, Gaston of Béarn entered, in full armor and with drawn sword.
"Good brothers," quoth he, gazing about a little blankly, and meeting only blank helplessness, "I, who hold the lines while you counsel, have only one word—speed. The rumor passes that the siege is to be raised, the Crusade abandoned. Half the army is ready to fly. Breathe it once, and the shout will be, 'For France!'—and the host scatters like sheep toward Joppa; while those more devoutly minded will cast their naked breasts on the Moslems' spears to earn martyrdom in place of victory."
Godfrey roused himself by a great effort.
"As God lives," he protested, "we cannot suffer the Crusade to fail. We cannot say to all the widows and orphans of France, 'Your husband, your father, died like headstrong fools.'"
"We have wrought all that the paladins of Charlemagne wrought, and more," tossed back Robert the Norman, hopelessly.
A voice lower down amongst the lesser chiefs interrupted:
"You are wrong, my lord of Normandy."
The Conqueror's son rose in his dignity.
"Wrong? Who speaks? I will not have my honor questioned."
The others saw Richard Longsword rising also. His face was very set and stern, he held his head proudly.
"I say it, 'You are wrong.' No man has done all that the paladins of old have done until, like them, he stops prating of the anger of God, and dies with his face toward the paynim and twenty slain around. Take heed, my lords, lest we think too much of our unworthiness, too little of the captivity of the Tomb of Our Lord; and how in freeing it the price of all our sins is paid. I did not come to council to learn how to lead my men to Joppa, but how we were one and all to mount the breach, or perish in the moat."
There was a ring in Richard's voice hard as the beaten anvil; and, before Robert could reply, more than one voice cried: "So say I! And I! Never can we slink back, and look in the eyes of the women of France!"
"I cry pardon, fair lords," said Longsword. "I am a young knight to instruct my betters." But Godfrey answered him:—
"There is none of us too great to listen to brave words like these;" and Tancred, leaping up, added: "Yes, by God's help I will make it good on my body against any who cry 'backward,' till the city be won. Away with all these bats of darkness that are lighting on our heads! How does the night advance?"
"By the stars, midnight," answered Gaston, just entered.
"Good," ran on the Prince, sweeping all before him. "Pass the word through the host that we assault at dawn. Let every spare hand work to repair the towers. Let the rest sleep. We can make shift to move my Lord Godfrey's tower. If we have suffered without the walls, rest assured the infidels have splintered some bones within." The ebb tide had turned. The flood ran swiftly now.
"God wills it! Attack with the morning!" the two Roberts were crying, as loud as the rest. And others shouted:—
"An end to divisions. Let us have one leader! Let us proclaim Godfrey king. To-morrow we will crown him in Jerusalem!"
But the pure-hearted Duke beckoned for silence, and answered: "God forbid, dear brothers, that I should be styled 'sire,' and wear crown of gold, where my Saviour was spit upon and crowned with thorns. We have one work now—to storm the city."
"The infidels are attacking the machines!" thundered Raimbaud of Orange, from the tent door. "To the rescue, fair lords!"
"Rescue! Rescue!" cried all, flying forth with drawn swords. And while Raymond and Tancred went to beat back the sally, Richard found himself close to Godfrey. "Our Lady bless you, De St. Julien," said Bouillon, grasping Richard's hand. "It was only a word you said; but a word in season will raise or pluck down kingdoms. How shall I reward you? I was near despair when I saw the gloom settling ever blacker over the council."
"Only this, fair Duke, that I may be in the front of the assault."
"Rashest of the rash! Some day the saints will grow weary of protecting you, and you will be slain."
"What matter, if all else is well?"
So Richard hastened off into the night, found his own encampment in the maze of tents, and told his men there was to be no retreat—that with the morning the storm would be renewed.
"And will you follow your seigneur, now as ever?" was his question to the fifty gaunt, mailed figures (all of his five hundred that were left) that grouped before the dying camp-fire.
"Through all hell,—though each Moslem were a thousand devils!" answered De Carnac; and every St. Julien man roared forth "Amen!"
"Good!" returned their lord. "And by St. Michael, you shall have chance to prove your vow!"
Then, having heard that the sortie was repulsed, Richard went to his own tent. He found Sebastian sitting by the doorway. As the young Baron entered, the priest without a word arose and kissed him gently on either cheek. And even in the dim firelight Richard could see a wonderful glow of peace and joy upon the face of the ascetic. "Dear father," said he, wondering, "what happiness has come, that you seem so glad? And why is it thus you kiss me?"
Whereupon Sebastian put his arm about Richard's neck, stroking his hair with the other hand, and at last said very softly, "I have had a vision."
"A vision?" And Richard smiled amid the darkness, for Sebastian's visions came every other night. But the priest only continued, guessing his thought: "No, your lips need not twitch. For this vision was of a manner different from any that I have ever seen before. As I lay here, of a sudden I woke, and saw the dim camp-fire and stars glitter as I see now, and heard the chatter and groaning of the men. But of a sudden a youth, clothed in a whiteness passing snow, bright and with wings, stood by me, and said most gently, 'Sebastian.' And I answered: 'Yes, Lord. What may I do in Thy service?' And he replied: 'Be of good cheer. God hath seen thy good works, and how thou hast crucified the flesh and all carnal lusts, and knowest how thou hast wrestled in prayer. Now rejoice; the end of thy toil in this evil world draws nigh. But before thou shalt see with the eyes of the spirit the heavenly Jerusalem and the blessed host, with thy mortal eyes thou shalt see the Cross triumphant on the walls of the earthly Jerusalem. And this hour comes quickly.' Then while I lay in bliss unspeakable he had vanished." Richard was very grave.
"Dear father, you do not long for heaven so much that you would leave me?"
But Sebastian answered softly: "It shall be as God wills. You will be comforted. It is written, 'He giveth His beloved sleep'—sleep after the toil and the pain and the crushing of sinful self. And then to wake and see our dear Lord's blessed face! You would not grudge me that?"
"No, dear father," said Richard, submissively; "but yet I pray God will ordain otherwise." Sebastian only kissed him again, lay down on the hard earth, and was soon in quiet sleep. Longsword went to his men, told them to sleep also, for they must rise with dawn. But as for himself his eyes were not heavy, despite the terrible day. As Herbert lay dozing, he heard from his master's tent the ominous click, click, of a whetstone. "The 'little lord' is sharpening Trenchefer," muttered the man-at-arms. "The devil help the Moslems who stand in his path to-morrow. The devil help Iftikhar Eddauleh if the two come face to face."
Richard sat in the dark, the great sword across his lap, handling it lovingly, smoothing each rust-speck that touched his finger's nail, making the long blade razor-keen. And had a lamp flashed on his face, his features would have showed harder than his blade. His heart was at peace—at peace with an awful gladness. Father, mother, sister, brother, were all to be avenged on the morrow when he fronted Iftikhar Eddauleh. That some saint would aid him to meet the Egyptian he did not doubt. And then? But Richard never so much as wondered what would befall, after Trenchefer had smitten once and fairly on that gilded mail.