God Wills It! Part 59

"We may fight men, not jinns!" howled an old _das_. 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 das.h.i.+ng 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. G.o.dfrey slew one, but his body became the s.h.i.+eld. They plucked Iftikhar from danger. He stood, blaspheming heaven. There was blood on his shoulder, but he s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.dfrey plucked up a low ebony table, tore three legs clear, holding the table-top by the fourth before him as a s.h.i.+eld, and dashed the other three amongst the foe. A javelin quivered in the cas.e.m.e.nt; he tore it clear, and sped it clean through target and cuira.s.s 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 p.a.w.n 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 G.o.dfrey. 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."

G.o.dfrey'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? G.o.d 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 G.o.dfrey, 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. G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sured 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 G.o.dfrey had spoken; and Richard spoke too and very gently:--

"Sweet wife, you will find heaven no darksome place. Please G.o.d 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 G.o.d!" 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 fas.h.i.+on.

"I have heard my brother and Cid G.o.dfrey. 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 pa.s.sage. Mary saw him vanish, and turned first to Musa, then to G.o.dfrey, 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 G.o.d is very near, and I fear nothing."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

HOW ROLLO CARRIED WEIGHT

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. G.o.dfrey 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'!"