God Wills It! Part 39

"Holy St. Maurice," one was muttering, "may I not be the first to tell the tale to my lord!"

"Fellow!" thundered Richard, bursting into the little group, and clapped a hand heavy as a millstone on the man-at-arms's shoulder.

"Rascal! Speak! Speak! What is this? Dumb as a mute? Why no banner?

The tents in disorder? Where is--" But the words came not, for his dry tongue clove fast in his mouth.

No answer. The retainer turned as pale and quaking as if the devil's self had accosted him.

"Speak! speak!" raged Richard, making his victim writhe under his iron grip. Still nothing. He looked at those around; silent all. He was too fearful to be angry.

"Mary! Mary de St. Julien!" cried he, finding the name at last; "if you are here,--one word,--or I am in perdition!" Still silence. He saw one of the men-at-arms crossing himself; he saw that the pavilion where he had left his wife was half overturned; he saw lying across the entrance a dead body, and the firelight showed the white dress and the red girdle and shoes.

"For the love of Christ!" was his plea, "will no one speak? or must I kill you all?" In his frenzy he half drew Trenchefer. And just as all gave way, when they saw the moonlight waver on the blade still red, there was a step, and a voice--Sebastian's voice--spoke:--

"Sweet son, bow to the will of G.o.d. Listen! I have just returned to the camp with Herbert and the rest. Mary Kurkuas is not here.

Theroulde will tell all."

They heard a groan from Richard, that none forgot to his dying day. A javelin was lying against a tent-pole; as Theroulde stepped reluctantly out from the silent circle, the Baron sent the dart whistling past his head.

"Die!--coward! traitor!" then Longsword cursed terribly when the cast missed and flew into the dark.

Sebastian had him by the arm.

"Gilbert de Valmont!" whispered he, never trembling when Richard raised his fist to strike. "Remember him! Add not one sin to another!

Listen to Theroulde!"

"Traitor!" stormed Richard, but the priest held him fast. "Why could you not die defending your mistress?"

"Hearken, my Lord de St. Julien, then call me traitor and coward if you will!" cried the minstrel, brave at last. "And see if there be no worse traitors than I? Would G.o.d you had listened to the warnings of us all against that smooth-tongued Hossein,--as if Christian faith could ever lurk beneath so swart a skin."

Richard had steadied himself.

"Go on, my man," he said, very quietly now, yet in a tone that set all a-quaking; for they could not comprehend. They only knew a strong spirit was in agony.

"Lord," said Theroulde, "if one jot of what I say be other than truth, so smite me dead, and let Satan own me forever. As we lay in the camp after you had led forth most of the fighting-men, soon we heard the rush and roar of battle, and presently some came flying, who said the cavaliers were hard pressed, and many slain. And all the time my lady sat before the tent upon the rugs we laid for her, resting her chin on her hands, and saying nothing. Yet she was not tearful nor pale, at which we marvelled, for we knew she thought that every roar and shout might betoken your fall, and her mind had only room for that. Then after the battle had raged long, and stragglers and wounded began coming in with tales that grew ever blacker, I said to Hossein, who sat by me, 'Brother, go to the edge of the camp, see if the St. Julien banner still towers high, and bring back word to my lady.' For I did not intend to quit her side, and was glad to have him gone. So he went without delay and was gone a long time, while the din of battle continually grew louder and nearer. Yet when he returned, he said, 'I went so close to the battle lines that--see! two arrows grazed me!'

Then to your wife, 'Most august mistress, your lord's banner is not in sight; but fear nothing. He is not slain, they tell me, but has ridden to summon help from Duke G.o.dfrey.' Then my lady's cheeks began to glow, and I imagine she was thinking of your return and the victory."

"For Our Lord's sake, no more of what you imagine!" came from Richard.

"Tell only what you _know_!"

"Scarce had he returned"--went on Theroulde, his voice faltering--"when we heard a frightful clamor from the rear and flank of the camp by the river and marsh. Soon grooms and women ran by crying, 'The infidels are on us, slaying all!' And sooner than thought, we beheld the Seljouk hors.e.m.e.n, sword in hand, das.h.i.+ng among the tents, cutting down old man, priest, and woman, without quarter.

Then I laid hands on a crossbow. 'Hossein,' cried I, 'if you are true Christian, die with me for our mistress!' But he only smiled, and drawing his cimeter, gave a mighty howl that rose above all other din.

Ere I could look upon my lady, lo,--there were hors.e.m.e.n by our tents--Arabs--not Turks--in white, with red girdles; and Hossein shouted in their speech, 'This way, Cid Iftikhar; here is the Star of the Greeks!' And I saw Iftikhar Eddauleh himself upon a splendid horse, in flas.h.i.+ng armor. Then I sped a crossbow bolt through one of his riders, cut down a second with my sword, and struck at Hossein, thinking to end his treachery. But Iftikhar swung once at me,--I knew no more. When I came to myself I found that I was under the wreck of the tent. Hours had sped; the battle had drifted away. The emir's sword had turned in his hand; the blunt edge smote me. I had a mighty blow, but will be none the worse--praise the saints! I looked for my lady--gone! All the grooms and varlets are slain, and old Sylvana the nurse. Hossein gone--and the devils ride with him! And for me, my Lord de St. Julien, if I have been coward or traitor, strike off my head.

You are my judge."

Richard tore from his neck his heavy gold chain.

"You are a right valiant man, Theroulde, and no boaster. I believe your tale," said he, throwing him the gold links; "and now a horse--a fresh horse!"

Sebastian still held him.

"Madness!" cried the priest; "it is dark; you have been up since before dawn! For what is this horse?"

"To ride after Iftikhar Eddauleh," came from between Richard's teeth; "and if I find him not--to slay as many of his cursed race as I may; and then to curse G.o.d and die!"

While he spoke the moonbeams rested full on his face, and all beholding saw that it had aged in one hour; the lines wrought on it by the death of Gilbert were still there--and more. Had his hair shone white, none would have been amazed. "Christ pity him!" muttered old Herbert, the most fervent prayer of the veteran for many a wicked day.

But Sebastian would not let Richard go.

"As you fear G.o.d," commanded the priest, "be quiet; do not fling your life away!"

"I fear G.o.d no longer," was Richard's cry. "I only hate Him!"

Sebastian led him into the tent, with a touch soft and tender as a woman's. "Dear lad," he said gently, "G.o.d will not be angry unduly with you for what you have just said, though its sin is very great.

You think, 'How can this thing be and G.o.d be still good?' Remember the words of holy Anselm of Canterbury, 'I ask not to understand that I may believe; but I believe that I may learn to understand.'"

"Father," said Richard, with a terrible calmness in his voice, "if for my own sins I had been doomed to some great woe, I could say '_mea culpa_,--merciful chastis.e.m.e.nt'; but since the chief suffering will be that of as pure a saint as ever breathed this air, I cannot endure without a groan. I only know that the hand of G.o.d is exceeding heavy upon me, and my burden is more than I can bear." Then, to the infinite relief of Sebastian and the rest, he let them take off his blood-soaked armor and s.h.i.+rt, and stanch the wounds, which were none very deep, but so many that he was weak from loss of blood. Presently Herbert came in and reported: "Little lord, our men took thirty Turks prisoners when the camp was stormed; shall we keep them to put to ransom?" Richard was not too feeble to leap from the rugs. "Kill!

kill!" he foamed out; "if Satan wait long for their souls, let him have mine too!"

Herbert smiled grimly and went out of the tent.

"_Ai_," cried Longsword to Sebastian, when the priest forced him to lie down once more, "I do well to be cruel,--for there is no sweet angel now to teach me mercy. G.o.d reward me double beyond present griefs, if I slay not my share of the infidels! Therefore let me grow pitiless and terrible."

"You should hate and slay the Lord's enemies, dear son," said Sebastian, crossing himself; "yet beware lest you fight for your own revenge, and not for the glory of G.o.d."

"Enough if I slay them!" was the answer. Then Richard took food and drink, and toward morning slept.

So ended the day of Dorylaeum, the battle where, as the pious chronicler puts it, "by the aid of St. James and St. Maurice the Christians had a great deliverance from their enemies, and twenty-three thousand infidels were sped to perdition; such being the singular favor of G.o.d."

CHAPTER XXVII

HOW THE ARMY CAME TO ANTIOCH

To the surprise and joy of Sebastian and Herbert, Richard recovered from his wounds with miraculous rapidity. When the host marched again, many a voice cheered him. But those who loved him best saw the stony hardness of his face, beyond anything that came after the great stroke at St. Julien. No ragings and thunders now, but a calm and fearful laugh that made men s.h.i.+ver. He led a band of picked knights after the Seljouks, no more reckless cavalier in all the host than he. The Turks had been utterly routed. Two days' marches from the battle Richard found horses ridden dead by their panic-struck masters. Of all the prisoners taken Longsword had only one question, "Whither fled Iftikhar and his band?" But no prisoner could tell--they were only ignorant hordesmen. So Richard rode on, and only G.o.d knew what pa.s.sed in his heart.

The army, now in one huge column, commenced the march across Phrygia, which journey, of all the unforgetable scenes of that Crusade, those who survived it were least likely to forget. Richard remembered the tales told by old Manuel Kurkuas, and laid in what provision he could for his men. Those of his friends who heeded him did likewise. But the mult.i.tude--n.o.ble and villain, creatures of a day--scarce stuffed their wallets, and went forward, little dreaming of the things in store. For the march was one long horror. Kilidge Arslan had ridden ahead with a band that still remained by him. If he could not stamp out the Christians with his hordes, at least he could make famine and thirst fight against them. He burned harvests; he devastated cities; the wretched inhabitants he hurried into exile,--with Phrygia, Pisidia, Cappadocia, to the gates in Mount Taurus, one desert for the bears and the wolves to hunger in. As the Crusaders advanced, they saw only fields seared and black, roofless houses, with swallows flitting above them; and forth from the caves in the hills crept gaunt, starved wretches, praying for a bit of bread in the name of Our Lord or Allah.

The host climbed on the first day the crest of the "Black Mountains,"

fit presage for the blacker things before; so far as eye could stretch there was utter desolation. And on the next they entered the terrible valley called Malabyumas, and were there many days, hemmed in by precipices and beetling crags, while the great snake of the column dragged its slow length along. At first, while there was yet water on the hillsides and food in the wallets, the host toiled on with only the pitiless summer sun for foe; then, as the little streamlets grew rarer, the dry, dark crags pressed closer, and the food was failing, the misery began. Misery past imagining! for if it is terrible for one mortal to suffer and go out in agony, what is it when hundreds of thousands suffer? when horses and mules are falling like flies by the roadway; when men and women trudge onward like dogs, with their tongues hanging from their mouths; when the sun hangs, from morn till evening, a flaring, coppery ball, bright and merciless, drying up all the sap of life; while against the blue ether show the countless flocks of crows, that whir and caw as they pounce upon the dying ere the breath has sped or the living marched away?

The very hugeness of the host hindered its hasting through this land of torment. One Sunday five hundred persons fell down and perished with thirst, and those who toiled on called them happy; for in heaven one never dreams of cool fields and sweet, cold water, yet all the time is burned within by fire unquenchable. When a tiny stream was reached--what was it among so many? Women fell dying, with their babes sucking at their b.r.e.a.s.t.s; and the host pressed on, for help there was none from man!

The horses, poor brutes, died by scores; knights wept when they saw their _destrers_--often better loved than brothers--sink down; saw their dear falcons and hunting dogs perish. Yet who could think of beasts, where men were staggering with open mouths, gasping for each breath of wind to lighten their burning torments? Still the host pressed on, though, far back as eye might scan, the carca.s.ses and the crows marked out the line of marching.

On and on! and in the midst of the torment there were strange hours of ecstasy, of rapture over visions pa.s.sing human ken. Men raved of angels and a heavenly city, and streets of gold and living fountains; and the last word of the dying was "Jerusalem!" while the shout that went down the parching host when the sun beat fiercest and all the watercourses were dust, was, "G.o.d wills it! Jerusalem!" So the march kept on; and though thousands fell, none turned back, nor would have, had the backward track been of less peril than that before.

Richard bore the privations with a steadiness which made good the opinion of his followers that his frame was built of iron--not of flesh and blood. Yet his heart was cut, as never in this way before, to see his men dying before his face, and he unable to aid. Many a poor Auvergner called to his lord, and bade him tell some mother or wife or sweetheart in far St. Julien that he had struggled hard to gain the Holy City, but G.o.d had willed otherwise; and the seigneur would bear witness that he had been a faithful va.s.sal and true Christian.