Richard and his knights, throwing on their armor, mounted their horses
amid a shower of arrows from the Saracens. Hurriedly the king posted his
men to receive the attack. While doing this, he exhorted them to courage
with many brave words.
"Hold out stubbornly," he cried. "It is the duty of brave men to
triumph bravely or to die gloriously! Death threatens, but if it come,
let us receive martyrdom with a thankful mind. But before we die we will
take vengeance, and yield God thanks for granting us the martyr's death!
This is the true reward of our toils,--the end at once of life and
battles!"
Then this heroic Richard, grasping his lance, rode _alone_ across the
whole front of the enemies' lines, defying them to combat; and not one
dared to do battle with him single-handed. But they set his armor as
thick with javelins as "a hedgehog with bristles," and his horse was
soon covered with innumerable arrows sticking to its harness. The Turks,
charging the little band of Christians, fought with desperate bravery.
They made many attempts to slay Richard, ever pressing on by scores
toward his lion-emblazoned banner. But the "incredible valor" and
strength of the king not only preserved his own life, but won the
battle. After hours of conflict, Richard put the Turks to flight.
Now, these Saracens had boasted to Saladin that they would bring him the
captured King of England. After the battle, when they had fled before
Richard, the sultan mockingly inquired of these warriors,--
"Where are those who are bringing me Melek (King) Richard as my
prisoner? Who was first to seize him? Where is he, I say, and why is he
not brought before me?"
The shamefaced Turks were silent at this mockery, until one plucked up
the courage to reply thus:--
"Know, O king, for a surety, that this Melek of whom you speak is not
like other men. Truly, we tried hard to capture him, but all in vain,
for no one can bear the brunt of his sword unharmed; his onset is
terrible, and it is death to encounter him. His deeds are more than
human."
Though unharmed in this battle, as in so many others, the heroic Richard
was soon after laid low by an attack of fever. He grew steadily worse,
and despairing of recovery in the unwholesome air of Jaffa, determined
to leave the city. But the other chiefs refused to try to hold the town
if he should depart. So Richard, not able to fight, was compelled to
make a truce of three years with Saladin. The conditions were that
Ascalon should be abandoned, and Jaffa remain in the possession of the
Christians, who were also to be allowed free access to Jerusalem and the
Holy Sepulchre without payment, and without hindrance from the
infidels.
When this treaty had been concluded, and Richard had recovered, he held
a magnificent tournament at Acre, in celebration of peace. This festival
was attended by many Turks, as well as by Christian knights.
His preparations having been completed, Richard set sail from Acre in
October, 1192, having sent the queens ahead in another vessel. As the
shore of Palestine faded from his sight, Richard prayed: "O Holy Land,
to God I commend thee. May He of his mercy only grant me such space of
life that by His good-will I may yet bring thee aid. For it is my hope
and intention to bring thee aid at some future day!"
Long did the memory of the king thus bidding farewell to the Holy Land
linger in the memory of its people. A hundred years afterwards, the
Saracen mother frightened her child into silence by the words, "Hush,
King Richard is coming!" And if a horse started aside, the rider would
cry, "What! is the King of England in front of thee?"
Perils of battle and sickness had been escaped, but greater dangers were
in store for the returning Crusader. After being tempest-tossed for
weeks, the vessel of Richard was wrecked on the Adriatic coast. Knowing
that the Archduke of Austria had good reason to hate him, Richard tried
to make his way through that country in the disguise of a Templar.
After many adventures, he stopped at an inn near Vienna, and sent his
only attendant, a young boy, to the market to buy provisions. The youth,
in paying, displayed so much money and bore himself so haughtily that he
was arrested. But on telling the magistrate that he was the servant of a
rich merchant, who would not arrive in the city until three days later,
the boy was set free. Returning secretly to the king's retreat, the
youth told of his misadventure, and begged the king to flee. But the
rash Richard, weary and exhausted, decided to risk remaining a few days
longer.
The lad, while visiting the market again, was imprudent enough to carry
under his belt the fine embroidered gloves of his master. Knowing these
gloves could not belong to a merchant, the suspicious magistrates seized
the boy again, and after torturing him, threatened to cut out his tongue
unless he revealed his master's name. On learning the truth from the
frightened lad, they informed the archduke, who sent soldiers to
surround the inn. When the troopers questioned the landlord, he said:--
"There is no one here except a poor Templar, who is now in the kitchen
turning the spit for the cook." Going into the kitchen, the soldiers saw
the Templar sitting before the fire, industriously turning a fowl on the
spit. But one of the soldiers who had been in the Holy Land knew
Richard, and he shouted, "That is the king; seize him!" Richard sprang
up, and using the spit for a weapon, defended himself valiantly; but he
was overcome by numbers, and carried prisoner to the castle of
Tyernstern. There for months he was kept a close prisoner, loaded with
chains. The archduke then gave him up to the German emperor, who
imprisoned him at Trifels.
For a long time no one except his jailers knew where the King of England
was. Berengaria, who had seen a jeweled belt of Richard's on sale at
Rome, knew that some misfortune had happened to him, and she and his
mother, Eleanor, were wild with anxiety.
[Illustration: "There for months he was kept a close prisoner, loaded
with chains"]
Finally, Blondel de Nesle, the minstrel friend, who had been with
Richard on the Crusade, journeyed through Germany, looking for his lost
king. One day, beneath the walls of a castle where he had heard that a
prisoner of rank was held captive, Blondel halted and sang a verse of
a song that he and Richard had composed together:--
"Your beauty, ladye faire,
None views without delight,
But still so cold an air
No passion can excite;
Yet this I patient see,
While _all_ are shunned like me."
Instantly the king's well-known voice took up the strain and sang the
next stanza:--
"No nymph my heart can wound
If favor she divide
And smile on all around,
Unwilling to decide;
I'd rather hatred bear,
Than love with others share!"
Then the overjoyed Blondel hastened back to England, and told the queen
and people of Richard's sad plight and his place of imprisonment.
Berengaria and Eleanor immediately besought the emperor to release
Richard, and also implored the intercession of the Pope and the
sovereigns of Europe. The emperor was at last compelled to bring Richard
before the council of the empire. To these princes and lords he accused
the king of many crimes, among them the murder of Conrade. Richard
defended himself with so much force and eloquence that these groundless
charges were dropped; but the emperor still refused to liberate his
prisoner, except upon payment of a ransom of one hundred and fifty
thousand marks,--nearly a million dollars.
The people of England, who loved their heroic king, gladly raised this
large sum; and in 1194, Eleanor journeyed to Germany, paid the ransom,
and had the happiness of seeing her son set at liberty. She accompanied
her beloved Richard to England, where he was received most joyfully.
After being crowned again in Westminster, the king made a royal progress
through the kingdom. Those nobles who had joined in the rebellion of
John were called to account; but on profession of repentance, all were
generously pardoned. Richard then set out for Normandy to subdue John,
who had fled to that country on receiving King Philip's warning message
after Richard's release, "Look to yourself; the Devil is unchained."
But the craven John dared not battle against Coeur-de-Lion. He came to
meet Richard, and, falling at his feet, implored pardon. The king,
stretching out his hand to the penitent, said,--
"Arise, John, I forgive thee; and may I forget thy misdeeds as quickly
as thou wilt my pardon."
Now, Richard fell in with evil companions in Anjou and lived a very
dissipated life. But at length some good priests moved him to
repentance, and he forsook his evil ways and joined his good Queen
Berengaria, whom he had not seen since his release, though she was at
Poictiers. Berengaria readily forgave his neglect, and, if we may
believe a friendly chronicler, Richard was ever afterwards faithful and
kind to her.
The ill-will that had always existed between Richard and the King of
France now led to constant petty wars between them. To secure his Norman
province, Richard built on its border a splendid fortress, which he
called his Chateau Gaillard,--"Saucy Castle." Amazed and enraged at the
wonderful strength of this stronghold, perched on a rocky mount five
hundred feet high, the French king exclaimed,--
"I would take it if its walls were of iron!"
Richard, with all of his old insolence, retorted, "And I would hold it,
were its walls of butter!"
But the final struggle that both kings were planning never took place.
Richard, who was in much need of money for his army, heard that a
vassal of his had found a hidden treasure of great value, including
twelve gold knights seated around a golden table. This Vidomar, Lord of
Chaluz, when Richard demanded that, according to law, he share the
treasure with his lord the king, replied that nothing had been found
except a pot of ancient coins. The king did not believe this story, and
set siege to the castle of Chaluz, determined to obtain the golden
knights. There Richard was struck down by an arrow from the bow of
Bertrand de Gourdan, a nobleman of Poictiers. The wound proved to be a
mortal one. The king, when assured that he was dying, sent for Bertrand,
for the castle had meanwhile been taken and the knight captured.
"Wretch," said the dying king, "what have I done to thee that thou
shouldst attempt my life?"
"Thou hast had my father and two brothers put to death, and hast
threatened to slay me," replied the undaunted youth. The prostrate king,
looking at him in silence a moment, said,--
"I forgive thee." Then turning to his captain, Richard added, "Let his
chains be removed, set him free, and give him a hundred shillings."
This act of noble forgiveness was the last deed of the erring but
great-hearted king.
The death so often defied on the battlefield, Richard met calmly, with
the courage that had never failed him in life,--that splendid courage
which won for him the heroic title of Lionheart.
RICHARD'S LAMENT
No captive knight, whom chains confine,
Can tell his fate and not repine;
Yet with a song he cheers the gloom
That hangs around his living tomb.
Shame to his friends!--the king remains
Two years unransomed and in chains.
Now let them know, my brave barons,
My English, Normans, and Gascons,
Not one liege-man so poor have I,
That I would not his freedom buy.
I'll not reproach their noble line,
Though chains and dungeon still are mine.
The dead,--nor friends nor kin have they!
Nor friends nor kin my ransom pay!
My wrongs afflict me--yet far more
For faithless friends my heart is sore.
Oh, what a blot upon their name,
If I should perish thus in shame!
Nor is it strange I suffer pain
When sacred oaths are thus made vain,
And when the king with bloody hands
Spreads war and pillage through my lands.
One only solace now remains--
I soon shall burst these servile chains.
Ye troubadours and friends of mine,
Brave Chail and noble Pensauvine,
Go tell my rivals, in your song,
This heart hath never done them wrong.
He infamy--not glory--gains,
Who strikes a monarch in his chains!
_Written by Richard I. while prisoner in Germany._
(_From_ SPOFFORD'S _Library of Historic
Character and Famous Events_.)
THE LAST CRUSADER
Slowly The Last Crusader eyed
The towers, the mount, the stream, the plain,
And thought of those whose blood had dyed
The earth with crimson streams in vain!
He thought of that sublime array,
The hosts, that over land and deep
The hermit marshall'd on their way,
To see those towers, and halt to weep!
Resign'd the loved, familiar lands,
O'er burning wastes the cross to bear,
And rescue from the Paynim's hands
No empire save a sepulchre!
And vain the hope, and vain the loss,
And vain the famine and the strife;
In vain the faith that bore the cross,
The valour prodigal of life.
And vain was Richard's lion-soul,
And guileless Godfrey's patient mind--
Like waves on shore, they reach'd the goal,
To die, and leave no trace behind!
"O God!" The Last Crusader cried,
"And art Thou careless of Thine own?
For us Thy Son in Salem died,
And Salem is the scoffer's throne!
"And shall we leave, from age to age,
To godless hands the holy tomb?
Against Thy saints the heathen rage--
Launch forth Thy lightnings, and consume!"
Swift as he spoke, before his sight
A form flashed, white-robed, from above;
All Heaven was in those looks of light,
But Heaven, whose native air is love.
"Alas!" the solemn vision said,
"_Thy_ God is of the shield and spear--
To bless the quick and raise the dead,
The Saviour-God descended here!
"Ah! know'st thou not the very name
Of Salem bids thy carnage cease--
A symbol in itself to claim
God's people to a house of peace!
"Ask not the Father to reward
The hearts that seek, through blood, the Son;
O warrior! never by the sword
The Saviour's Holy Land is won."
EDWARD BULWER LYTTON
Deep is the bliss of the belted knight,
When he kisses at dawn the silken glove,
And goes, in his glittering armour dight,
To shiver a lance for his ladye-love!
Lightly he couches the beaming spear;
His mistress sits with her maidens by,
Watching the speed of his swift career
With a whispered prayer, and a murmured sigh.
WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED
THE CHEVALIER BAYARD
"_The Adopted Son of Dame Courtesy_"
_and_
"_Le Chevalier sans Peur et sans Reproche._"
"Bayard was perhaps the only hero of the middle ages who deserved the
unmingled praise and admiration bestowed upon him. Simple, modest, a
sterling friend and tender lover, pious, humane, and magnanimous, he
held together in rare symmetrical union the whole circle of the
virtues."
THE CHEVALIER BAYARD
PIERRE BAYARD DE TERRAIL (1476-1523 A. D.)
In the reign of Louis XI. there was born in southern France a little
dark-eyed boy who was destined to be known in all subsequent ages and in
all climes as "the knight without fear and without reproach." Pierre
Bayard de Terrail was his real name, but in song and story and history
we know him as "The Chevalier Bayard."
Bayard was of gentle birth, and had the good fortune to be descended
from a long line of valiant gentlemen who ever held king and country
dearer than self, and honor a thing to die for. He also had a good and
pious mother. If to his knightly forefathers he owed his fearlessness,
it is an everlasting monument to his mother's influence that he lived
without reproach.
He first saw the light in the beautiful Chateau Bayard, in Dauphiny.
Here he spent his boyhood much as other little boys of his time spent
theirs, and soon developed into a sturdy youth.
When Bayard attained his fourteenth year, his father, then nearing
death, called his children around him, and asked each what profession he
wished to choose. The eldest boy spoke first, and said that he preferred
to remain on his father's estates, leading the life of a quiet country
gentleman. But the young Pierre was more ambitious. When it came his
turn to speak, he told his father that there was nothing he so much
desired as to become a soldier and a knight, and to win glory and honor
to the name already made illustrious by his noble ancestors.
His father was much pleased with Pierre's choice, and answered,--
"My son, thou art already very like thy noble grandfather, and I am
rejoiced that thou shouldst choose to follow in his footsteps. I shall
try immediately to place thee as page in the house of some prince, where
thou canst be in training for knighthood."
The father lost no time in fulfilling his promise. The very next day he
sent for his brother-in-law, the Bishop of Grenoble, to ask his advice
about Pierre.
The good bishop came, attended by many noble knights, and a great
banquet was prepared in his honor.
Now, in days of chivalry, a boy's dress and manners were considered of
no slight importance. Indeed, most of his early training was especially
designed to give him ease and grace in the company of great ladies and
gentlemen. As may be easily imagined, the little Pierre's education had
not been neglected. He did not fail to array himself in a manner
befitting the occasion; and at the banquet he served his father's guests
with so much modesty and grace that he drew forth praise from all the
company.
The gratified father then told them of Pierre's ambition to become a
knight, and asked their advice about his education.
Each gave his friendly counsel, and then the Bishop of Grenoble said,--
"Brother, the good Duke of Savoy, who hath ever been friendly to our
house, will be at Chambery to-morrow; and if it please thee, I will ride
thither with my nephew and present him as page to his Grace. I will also
take pleasure in equipping the lad properly, so be at no expense."
Amid the applause of the company, Aymond Terrail presented his son to
the good bishop, and said with tears in his eyes,--
"I give him into thy hands, and pray God that wherever thou place him,
he may do thee honor."
The bishop, true to his promise, provided his nephew with an outfit, and
gave him a well-caparisoned horse. Then they made ready to go to
Chambery to meet the Duke of Savoy.
It was with no little interest that the bishop and his friends watched
the young page mount his new steed, for it was a mettlesome one, and
used only to a man's weight. When Pierre bounded into the saddle, the
horse reared and plunged; but the boy kept his seat, and soon, with the
aid of bit and spur, had the animal under complete control. The guests
praised him greatly, and his father asked him if he felt no fear.
"I hope," answered the young Pierre, "by God's help, to manage my horse
among the enemies of the prince I am going to serve."
Then he bade farewell to father and mother and to home and childhood,
and went forth to enter upon a chivalric career.
Arrived at Chambery, the bishop and his company were graciously received
by the Duke of Savoy. The duke maintained a brilliant court, and was
always the faithful ally of France. He invited the uncle and nephew to
dine with him, and again Pierre's graceful manners commended him to the
notice of his elders. The duke was gracious enough to notice him
especially, and asked who the boy was.
"Sir," said the bishop, "it is my nephew, Pierre de Terrail, whom I have
brought to present to thee if thou shouldst like to have his services."
"I accept him at once," answered the duke. "I should indeed be hard to
please if I declined such a gift."
So it was that Pierre became attached to the household of Savoy. He
remained in the duke's service for some time, and easily surpassed his
fellow pages in all the knightly exercises in which they were being
trained. Yet with all his prowess he was so modest and so manly that he
excited no envy among his companions, and the duke and duchess came to
love him as if he were their own son.
Pierre's chivalric traits won to him the hearts of his fellows and his
patrons; but it was perhaps his personal beauty and his charm of manner
that went furthest toward winning him yet another love--a love that he
valued more than all others. There was in the train of the good duchess
a little maid of honor, whose heart soon went out to the handsome youth.
At service in the same palace, the two saw much of each other, and soon
Pierre had no eyes for any maid but this one.
The little coquette did not fail to make Pierre quite miserable by
repelling his attentions for a time, when she saw that she had won him;
but at length, one day, while not in waiting on her mistress, she was
captured by the little page, and made to listen to the story of his
love.
"I am going to make myself a great knight some day," he declared with
the pride and faith of youth, "and then I am coming back for thee, and
we shall be married."
"Alas," cried the damsel, now quite as earnest as he, "thou art of an
illustrious house, and canst marry some great lady who can advance thee
in the world. I am but a poor maid, and if I accept thy love, I destroy
thy hopes."
"What care I for that?" cried the impatient lover. "The question is,
dost thou _love_ me."
"Yes," she whispered.
"Then I shall not give thee up," he declared, "and I shall tell the
duchess all about it."
The maid was more worldly wise than he, however, and insisted that for
the time they should be only friends. Shortly after this a change took
place in Pierre's affairs,--a change which was to separate him for years
from the maid he loved.
The young page had been with the house of Savoy only six months when it
pleased the duke to pay a visit to King Charles VIII. of France. The
king had moved his court to Lyons--a beautiful city in southeastern
France--and was holding high revel there. When Charles heard of the
approach of his friend and ally, the Duke of Savoy, he sent the Count of
Ligny with a number of attendants to meet him. These met the duke at a
place about two leagues from Lyons, and welcomed him heartily in the
name of the King of France.
Now Pierre was in close attendance on his master, and the Count of Ligny
at once noticed him and remarked to the duke on his good horsemanship.
The duke, much pleased, explained who the boy was, and then called out
to him,--
"Spur, Bayard, spur!"
Without waiting for explanations, Bayard obeyed his master, returning
from his run with his horse completely under control. Afterwards,
Pierre's fine horsemanship won for him the nickname "Piquet"--a spur.
The count was surprised and charmed, and told the duke that the King of
France would be glad to have the boy in his service.
Through the influence of Ligny, the youth was brought to the notice of
King Charles; and the king was so charmed with his manners and his
horsemanship that he at once persuaded the Duke of Savoy to permit the
boy to be transferred to the royal service.
The good duke granted the king's request, for he knew it would be a
great advancement for the lad; and Pierre was placed under the Count of
Ligny for training.
Though Pierre loved the Duke of Savoy, he was very glad of this change
in his own fortunes; for he had all the romantic devotion to king and
country that chivalry was wont to implant in the hearts of men, and he
was first, last, and always a true Frenchman.
The next several years of Pierre's life were spent in service as page to
Ligny; after which the count made him a man-at-arms in his own company
and a gentleman of his household. This meant that the page, Pierre, had
become a knight, and was thenceforth to be known as "the Chevalier
Bayard."
Bayard's first exploit as a knight was to challenge and meet in
tournament the invincible Lord of Vaudray. The young chevalier was then
only seventeen years of age, and was weak and delicate in appearance,
while his opponent was reckoned one of the most powerful knights of the
time.
When the combatants entered the lists, it was easy to be seen that the
yellow-haired, black-eyed knight of seventeen was the one on whom every
lady's glance was bent. Men watched him too, but not on account of his
good looks; they had laughed at him scornfully when he presumed to
strike in challenge the shield of the celebrated Vaudray, and they now
looked to see him ignobly defeated.
To the astonishment of all, however, Bayard won the day. The men said
that he was too bold for one so young; but "the ladies praised him
enthusiastically," and the king exclaimed to Ligny,--
"By my faith, cousin, he hath given us to-day a foretaste of what he
will be as a man!"