Times of danger have always, and in a peculiar degree, their seasons
of good-will and security; and this was particularly so in the ancient
feudal ages, in which, as the manners of the period had assigned war
to be the chief and most worthy occupation of mankind, the intervals
of peace, or rather of truce, were highly relished by those warriors to
whom they were seldom granted, and endeared by the very circumstances
which rendered them transitory. It is not worth while preserving any
permanent enmity against a foe whom a champion has fought with to-day,
and may again stand in bloody opposition to on the next morning. The
time and situation afforded so much room for the ebullition of violent
passions, that men, unless when peculiarly opposed to each other,
or provoked by the recollection of private and individual wrongs,
cheerfully enjoyed in each other's society the brief intervals of
pacific intercourse which a warlike life admitted.
The distinction of religions, nay, the fanatical zeal which animated the
followers of the Cross and of the Crescent against each other, was much
softened by a feeling so natural to generous combatants, and especially
cherished by the spirit of chivalry. This last strong impulse had
extended itself gradually from the Christians to their mortal enemies
the Saracens, both of Spain and of Palestine. The latter were, indeed,
no longer the fanatical savages who had burst from the centre of Arabian
deserts, with the sabre in one hand and the Koran in the other, to
inflict death or the faith of Mohammed, or, at the best, slavery and
tribute, upon all who dared to oppose the belief of the prophet of
Mecca. These alternatives indeed had been offered to the unwarlike
Greeks and Syrians; but in contending with the Western Christians,
animated by a zeal as fiery as their own, and possessed of as
unconquerable courage, address, and success in arms, the Saracens
gradually caught a part of their manners, and especially of those
chivalrous observances which were so well calculated to charm the minds
of a proud and conquering people. They had their tournaments and games
of chivalry; they had even their knights, or some rank analogous; and
above all, the Saracens observed their plighted faith with an accuracy
which might sometimes put to shame those who owned a better religion.
Their truces, whether national or betwixt individuals, were faithfully
observed; and thus it was that war, in itself perhaps the greatest
of evils, yet gave occasion for display of good faith, generosity,
clemency, and even kindly affections, which less frequently occur in
more tranquil periods, where the passions of men, experiencing wrongs or
entertaining quarrels which cannot be brought to instant decision, are
apt to smoulder for a length of time in the bosoms of those who are so
unhappy as to be their prey.
It was under the influence of these milder feelings which soften the
horrors of warfare that the Christian and Saracen, who had so lately
done their best for each other's mutual destruction, rode at a slow pace
towards the fountain of palm-trees to which the Knight of the Couchant
Leopard had been tending, when interrupted in mid-passage by his
fleet and dangerous adversary. Each was wrapt for some time in his own
reflections, and took breath after an encounter which had threatened to
be fatal to one or both; and their good horses seemed no less to enjoy
the interval of repose.
That of the Saracen, however, though he had been forced into much the
more violent and extended sphere of motion, appeared to have suffered
less from fatigue than the charger of the European knight. The sweat
hung still clammy on the limbs of the latter, when those of the noble
Arab were completely dried by the interval of tranquil exercise, all
saving the foam-flakes which were still visible on his bridle and
housings. The loose soil on which he trod so much augmented the distress
of the Christian's horse, heavily loaded by his own armour and the
weight of his rider, that the latter jumped from his saddle, and led his
charger along the deep dust of the loamy soil, which was burnt in the
sun into a substance more impalpable than the finest sand, and thus
gave the faithful horse refreshment at the expense of his own additional
toil; for, iron-sheathed as he was, he sunk over the mailed shoes at
every step which he placed on a surface so light and unresisting.
“You are right,” said the Saracen--and it was the first word that either
had spoken since their truce was concluded; “your strong horse deserves
your care. But what do you in the desert with an animal which sinks over
the fetlock at every step as if he would plant each foot deep as the
root of a date-tree?”
“Thou speakest rightly, Saracen,” said the Christian knight, not
delighted at the tone with which the infidel criticized his favourite
steed--“rightly, according to thy knowledge and observation. But my good
horse hath ere now borne me, in mine own land, over as wide a lake as
thou seest yonder spread out behind us, yet not wet one hair above his
hoof.”
The Saracen looked at him with as much surprise as his manners permitted
him to testify, which was only expressed by a slight approach to a
disdainful smile, that hardly curled perceptibly the broad, thick
moustache which enveloped his upper lip.
“It is justly spoken,” he said, instantly composing himself to his usual
serene gravity; “List to a Frank, and hear a fable.”
“Thou art not courteous, misbeliever,” replied the Crusader, “to doubt
the word of a dubbed knight; and were it not that thou speakest in
ignorance, and not in malice, our truce had its ending ere it is well
begun. Thinkest thou I tell thee an untruth when I say that I, one of
five hundred horsemen, armed in complete mail, have ridden--ay, and
ridden for miles, upon water as solid as the crystal, and ten times less
brittle?”
“What wouldst thou tell me?” answered the Moslem. “Yonder inland sea
thou dost point at is peculiar in this, that, by the especial curse of
God, it suffereth nothing to sink in its waves, but wafts them away, and
casts them on its margin; but neither the Dead Sea, nor any of the
seven oceans which environ the earth, will endure on their surface the
pressure of a horse's foot, more than the Red Sea endured to sustain the
advance of Pharaoh and his host.”
“You speak truth after your knowledge, Saracen,” said the Christian
knight; “and yet, trust me, I fable not, according to mine. Heat, in
this climate, converts the soil into something almost as unstable
as water; and in my land cold often converts the water itself into
a substance as hard as rock. Let us speak of this no longer, for
the thoughts of the calm, clear, blue refulgence of a winter's lake,
glimmering to stars and moonbeam, aggravate the horrors of this fiery
desert, where, methinks, the very air which we breathe is like the
vapour of a fiery furnace seven times heated.”
The Saracen looked on him with some attention, as if to discover in
what sense he was to understand words which, to him, must have appeared
either to contain something of mystery or of imposition. At length he
seemed determined in what manner to receive the language of his new
companion.
“You are,” he said, “of a nation that loves to laugh, and you make sport
with yourselves, and with others, by telling what is impossible, and
reporting what never chanced. Thou art one of the knights of France, who
hold it for glee and pastime to GAB, as they term it, of exploits that
are beyond human power. [Gaber. This French word signified a sort of
sport much used among the French chivalry, which consisted in vying
with each other in making the most romantic gasconades. The verb and the
meaning are retained in Scottish.] I were wrong to challenge, for the
time, the privilege of thy speech, since boasting is more natural to
thee than truth.”
“I am not of their land, neither of their fashion,” said the Knight,
“which is, as thou well sayest, to GAB of that which they dare not
undertake--or, undertaking, cannot perfect. But in this I have imitated
their folly, brave Saracen, that in talking to thee of what thou canst
not comprehend, I have, even in speaking most simple truth, fully
incurred the character of a braggart in thy eyes; so, I pray you, let my
words pass.”
They had now arrived at the knot of palm-trees and the fountain which
welled out from beneath their shade in sparkling profusion.
We have spoken of a moment of truce in the midst of war; and this, a
spot of beauty in the midst of a sterile desert, was scarce less dear
to the imagination. It was a scene which, perhaps, would elsewhere have
deserved little notice; but as the single speck, in a boundless
horizon, which promised the refreshment of shade and living water, these
blessings, held cheap where they are common, rendered the fountain and
its neighbourhood a little paradise. Some generous or charitable hand,
ere yet the evil days of Palestine began, had walled in and arched over
the fountain, to preserve it from being absorbed in the earth, or choked
by the flitting clouds of dust with which the least breath of wind
covered the desert. The arch was now broken, and partly ruinous; but it
still so far projected over and covered in the fountain that it excluded
the sun in a great measure from its waters, which, hardly touched by a
straggling beam, while all around was blazing, lay in a steady repose,
alike delightful to the eye and the imagination. Stealing from under the
arch, they were first received in a marble basin, much defaced indeed,
but still cheering the eye, by showing that the place was anciently
considered as a station, that the hand of man had been there and that
man's accommodation had been in some measure attended to. The thirsty
and weary traveller was reminded by these signs that others had suffered
similar difficulties, reposed in the same spot, and, doubtless, found
their way in safety to a more fertile country. Again, the scarce visible
current which escaped from the basin served to nourish the few trees
which surrounded the fountain, and where it sunk into the ground and
disappeared, its refreshing presence was acknowledged by a carpet of
velvet verdure.
In this delightful spot the two warriors halted, and each, after his own
fashion, proceeded to relieve his horse from saddle, bit, and rein,
and permitted the animals to drink at the basin, ere they refreshed
themselves from the fountain head, which arose under the vault. They
then suffered the steeds to go loose, confident that their interest, as
well as their domesticated habits, would prevent their straying from the
pure water and fresh grass.
Christian and Saracen next sat down together on the turf, and produced
each the small allowance of store which they carried for their own
refreshment. Yet, ere they severally proceeded to their scanty meal,
they eyed each other with that curiosity which the close and doubtful
conflict in which they had been so lately engaged was calculated to
inspire. Each was desirous to measure the strength, and form some
estimate of the character, of an adversary so formidable; and each was
compelled to acknowledge that, had he fallen in the conflict, it had
been by a noble hand.
The champions formed a striking contrast to each other in person and
features, and might have formed no inaccurate representatives of their
different nations. The Frank seemed a powerful man, built after the
ancient Gothic cast of form, with light brown hair, which, on the
removal of his helmet, was seen to curl thick and profusely over his
head. His features had acquired, from the hot climate, a hue much darker
than those parts of his neck which were less frequently exposed to view,
or than was warranted by his full and well-opened blue eye, the colour
of his hair, and of the moustaches which thickly shaded his upper
lip, while his chin was carefully divested of beard, after the Norman
fashion. His nose was Grecian and well formed; his mouth rather large
in proportion, but filled with well-set, strong, and beautifully white
teeth; his head small, and set upon the neck with much grace. His age
could not exceed thirty, but if the effects of toil and climate were
allowed for, might be three or four years under that period. His form
was tall, powerful, and athletic, like that of a man whose strength
might, in later life, become unwieldy, but which was hitherto united
with lightness and activity. His hands, when he withdrew the mailed
gloves, were long, fair, and well-proportioned; the wrist-bones
peculiarly large and strong; and the arms remarkably well-shaped and
brawny. A military hardihood and careless frankness of expression
characterized his language and his motions; and his voice had the tone
of one more accustomed to command than to obey, and who was in the habit
of expressing his sentiments aloud and boldly, whenever he was called
upon to announce them.
The Saracen Emir formed a marked and striking contrast with the Western
Crusader. His stature was indeed above the middle size, but he was at
least three inches shorter than the European, whose size approached the
gigantic. His slender limbs and long, spare hands and arms, though well
proportioned to his person, and suited to the style of his countenance,
did not at first aspect promise the display of vigour and elasticity
which the Emir had lately exhibited. But on looking more closely, his
limbs, where exposed to view, seemed divested of all that was fleshy or
cumbersome; so that nothing being left but bone, brawn, and sinew, it
was a frame fitted for exertion and fatigue, far beyond that of a bulky
champion, whose strength and size are counterbalanced by weight, and
who is exhausted by his own exertions. The countenance of the Saracen
naturally bore a general national resemblance to the Eastern tribe from
whom he descended, and was as unlike as possible to the exaggerated
terms in which the minstrels of the day were wont to represent the
infidel champions, and the fabulous description which a sister art still
presents as the Saracen's Head upon signposts. His features were small,
well-formed, and delicate, though deeply embrowned by the Eastern sun,
and terminated by a flowing and curled black beard, which seemed trimmed
with peculiar care. The nose was straight and regular, the eyes keen,
deep-set, black, and glowing, and his teeth equalled in beauty the ivory
of his deserts. The person and proportions of the Saracen, in short,
stretched on the turf near to his powerful antagonist, might have been
compared to his sheeny and crescent-formed sabre, with its narrow and
light but bright and keen Damascus blade, contrasted with the long and
ponderous Gothic war-sword which was flung unbuckled on the same sod.
The Emir was in the very flower of his age, and might perhaps have been
termed eminently beautiful, but for the narrowness of his forehead and
something of too much thinness and sharpness of feature, or at least
what might have seemed such in a European estimate of beauty.
The manners of the Eastern warrior were grave, graceful, and decorous;
indicating, however, in some particulars, the habitual restraint which
men of warm and choleric tempers often set as a guard upon their native
impetuosity of disposition, and at the same time a sense of his own
dignity, which seemed to impose a certain formality of behaviour in him
who entertained it.
This haughty feeling of superiority was perhaps equally entertained by
his new European acquaintance, but the effect was different; and the
same feeling, which dictated to the Christian knight a bold, blunt, and
somewhat careless bearing, as one too conscious of his own importance
to be anxious about the opinions of others, appeared to prescribe to the
Saracen a style of courtesy more studiously and formally observant of
ceremony. Both were courteous; but the courtesy of the Christian seemed
to flow rather from a good humoured sense of what was due to others;
that of the Moslem, from a high feeling of what was to be expected from
himself.
The provision which each had made for his refreshment was simple, but
the meal of the Saracen was abstemious. A handful of dates and a morsel
of coarse barley-bread sufficed to relieve the hunger of the latter,
whose education had habituated them to the fare of the desert, although,
since their Syrian conquests, the Arabian simplicity of life frequently
gave place to the most unbounded profusion of luxury. A few draughts
from the lovely fountain by which they reposed completed his meal. That
of the Christian, though coarse, was more genial. Dried hog's flesh, the
abomination of the Moslemah, was the chief part of his repast; and his
drink, derived from a leathern bottle, contained something better than
pure element. He fed with more display of appetite, and drank with more
appearance of satisfaction, than the Saracen judged it becoming to show
in the performance of a mere bodily function; and, doubtless, the secret
contempt which each entertained for the other, as the follower of a
false religion, was considerably increased by the marked difference of
their diet and manners. But each had found the weight of his opponent's
arm, and the mutual respect which the bold struggle had created was
sufficient to subdue other and inferior considerations. Yet the Saracen
could not help remarking the circumstances which displeased him in the
Christian's conduct and manners; and, after he had witnessed for some
time in silence the keen appetite which protracted the knight's banquet
long after his own was concluded, he thus addressed him:--
“Valiant Nazarene, is it fitting that one who can fight like a man
should feed like a dog or a wolf? Even a misbelieving Jew would shudder
at the food which you seem to eat with as much relish as if it were
fruit from the trees of Paradise.”
“Valiant Saracen,” answered the Christian, looking up with some surprise
at the accusation thus unexpectedly brought, “know thou that I exercise
my Christian freedom in using that which is forbidden to the Jews,
being, as they esteem themselves, under the bondage of the old law of
Moses. We, Saracen, be it known to thee, have a better warrant for
what we do--Ave Maria!--be we thankful.” And, as if in defiance of
his companion's scruples, he concluded a short Latin grace with a long
draught from the leathern bottle.
“That, too, you call a part of your liberty,” said the Saracen; “and
as you feed like the brutes, so you degrade yourself to the bestial
condition by drinking a poisonous liquor which even they refuse!”
“Know, foolish Saracen,” replied the Christian, without hesitation,
“that thou blasphemest the gifts of God, even with the blasphemy of thy
father Ishmael. The juice of the grape is given to him that will use it
wisely, as that which cheers the heart of man after toil, refreshes him
in sickness, and comforts him in sorrow. He who so enjoyeth it may thank
God for his winecup as for his daily bread; and he who abuseth the gift
of Heaven is not a greater fool in his intoxication than thou in thine
abstinence.”
The keen eye of the Saracen kindled at this sarcasm, and his hand sought
the hilt of his poniard. It was but a momentary thought, however, and
died away in the recollection of the powerful champion with whom he
had to deal, and the desperate grapple, the impression of which still
throbbed in his limbs and veins; and he contented himself with pursuing
the contest in colloquy, as more convenient for the time.
“Thy words” he said, “O Nazarene, might create anger, did not thy
ignorance raise compassion. Seest thou not, O thou more blind than any
who asks alms at the door of the Mosque, that the liberty thou dost
boast of is restrained even in that which is dearest to man's happiness
and to his household; and that thy law, if thou dost practise it, binds
thee in marriage to one single mate, be she sick or healthy, be she
fruitful or barren, bring she comfort and joy, or clamour and strife,
to thy table and to thy bed? This, Nazarene, I do indeed call slavery;
whereas, to the faithful, hath the Prophet assigned upon earth the
patriarchal privileges of Abraham our father, and of Solomon, the wisest
of mankind, having given us here a succession of beauty at our pleasure,
and beyond the grave the black-eyed houris of Paradise.”
“Now, by His name that I most reverence in heaven,” said the Christian,
“and by hers whom I most worship on earth, thou art but a blinded and
a bewildered infidel!--That diamond signet which thou wearest on thy
finger, thou holdest it, doubtless, as of inestimable value?”
“Balsora and Bagdad cannot show the like,” replied the Saracen; “but
what avails it to our purpose?”
“Much,” replied the Frank, “as thou shalt thyself confess. Take my
war-axe and dash the stone into twenty shivers: would each fragment be
as valuable as the original gem, or would they, all collected, bear the
tenth part of its estimation?”
“That is a child's question,” answered the Saracen; “the fragments of
such a stone would not equal the entire jewel in the degree of hundreds
to one.”
“Saracen,” replied the Christian warrior, “the love which a true knight
binds on one only, fair and faithful, is the gem entire; the affection
thou flingest among thy enslaved wives and half-wedded slaves is
worthless, comparatively, as the sparkling shivers of the broken
diamond.”
“Now, by the Holy Caaba,” said the Emir, “thou art a madman who hugs
his chain of iron as if it were of gold! Look more closely. This ring
of mine would lose half its beauty were not the signet encircled and
enchased with these lesser brilliants, which grace it and set it off.
The central diamond is man, firm and entire, his value depending on
himself alone; and this circle of lesser jewels are women, borrowing
his lustre, which he deals out to them as best suits his pleasure or
his convenience. Take the central stone from the signet, and the
diamond itself remains as valuable as ever, while the lesser gems are
comparatively of little value. And this is the true reading of thy
parable; for what sayeth the poet Mansour: 'It is the favour of man
which giveth beauty and comeliness to woman, as the stream glitters no
longer when the sun ceaseth to shine.'”
“Saracen,” replied the Crusader, “thou speakest like one who never saw
a woman worthy the affection of a soldier. Believe me, couldst thou
look upon those of Europe, to whom, after Heaven, we of the order of
knighthood vow fealty and devotion, thou wouldst loathe for ever the
poor sensual slaves who form thy haram. The beauty of our fair ones
gives point to our spears and edge to our swords; their words are our
law; and as soon will a lamp shed lustre when unkindled, as a knight
distinguish himself by feats of arms, having no mistress of his
affection.”
“I have heard of this frenzy among the warriors of the West,” said the
Emir, “and have ever accounted it one of the accompanying symptoms of
that insanity which brings you hither to obtain possession of an empty
sepulchre. But yet, methinks, so highly have the Franks whom I have met
with extolled the beauty of their women, I could be well contented to
behold with mine own eyes those charms which can transform such brave
warriors into the tools of their pleasure.”
“Brave Saracen,” said the Knight, “if I were not on a pilgrimage to the
Holy Sepulchre, it should be my pride to conduct you, on assurance of
safety, to the camp of Richard of England, than whom none knows better
how to do honour to a noble foe; and though I be poor and unattended
yet have I interest to secure for thee, or any such as thou seemest, not
safety only, but respect and esteem. There shouldst thou see several
of the fairest beauties of France and Britain form a small circle, the
brilliancy of which exceeds ten-thousandfold the lustre of mines of
diamonds such as thine.”
“Now, by the corner-stone of the Caaba!” said the Saracen, “I will
accept thy invitation as freely as it is given, if thou wilt postpone
thy present intent; and, credit me, brave Nazarene, it were better for
thyself to turn back thy horse's head towards the camp of thy people,
for to travel towards Jerusalem without a passport is but a wilful
casting-away of thy life.”
“I have a pass,” answered the Knight, producing a parchment, “Under
Saladin's hand and signet.”
The Saracen bent his head to the dust as he recognized the seal and
handwriting of the renowned Soldan of Egypt and Syria; and having kissed
the paper with profound respect, he pressed it to his forehead, then
returned it to the Christian, saying, “Rash Frank, thou hast sinned
against thine own blood and mine, for not showing this to me when we
met.”
“You came with levelled spear,” said the Knight. “Had a troop of
Saracens so assailed me, it might have stood with my honour to have
shown the Soldan's pass, but never to one man.”
“And yet one man,” said the Saracen haughtily, “was enough to interrupt
your journey.”
“True, brave Moslem,” replied the Christian; “but there are few such as
thou art. Such falcons fly not in flocks; or, if they do, they pounce
not in numbers upon one.”
“Thou dost us but justice,” said the Saracen, evidently gratified by
the compliment, as he had been touched by the implied scorn of the
European's previous boast; “from us thou shouldst have had no wrong. But
well was it for me that I failed to slay thee, with the safeguard of
the king of kings upon thy person. Certain it were, that the cord or the
sabre had justly avenged such guilt.”
“I am glad to hear that its influence shall be availing to me,” said the
Knight; “for I have heard that the road is infested with robber-tribes,
who regard nothing in comparison of an opportunity of plunder.”
“The truth has been told to thee, brave Christian,” said the Saracen;
“but I swear to thee, by the turban of the Prophet, that shouldst thou
miscarry in any haunt of such villains, I will myself undertake thy
revenge with five thousand horse. I will slay every male of them, and
send their women into such distant captivity that the name of their
tribe shall never again be heard within five hundred miles of Damascus.
I will sow with salt the foundations of their village, and there shall
never live thing dwell there, even from that time forward.”
“I had rather the trouble which you design for yourself were in revenge
of some other more important person than of me, noble Emir,” replied the
Knight; “but my vow is recorded in heaven, for good or for evil, and I
must be indebted to you for pointing me out the way to my resting-place
for this evening.”
“That,” said the Saracen, “must be under the black covering of my
father's tent.”
“This night,” answered the Christian, “I must pass in prayer and
penitence with a holy man, Theodorick of Engaddi, who dwells amongst
these wilds, and spends his life in the service of God.”
“I will at least see you safe thither,” said the Saracen.
“That would be pleasant convoy for me,” said the Christian; “yet might
endanger the future security of the good father; for the cruel hand of
your people has been red with the blood of the servants of the Lord, and
therefore do we come hither in plate and mail, with sword and lance, to
open the road to the Holy Sepulchre, and protect the chosen saints and
anchorites who yet dwell in this land of promise and of miracle.”
“Nazarene,” said the Moslem, “in this the Greeks and Syrians have much
belied us, seeing we do but after the word of Abubeker Alwakel, the
successor of the Prophet, and, after him, the first commander of true
believers. 'Go forth,' he said, 'Yezed Ben Sophian,' when he sent that
renowned general to take Syria from the infidels; 'quit yourselves like
men in battle, but slay neither the aged, the infirm, the women, nor the
children. Waste not the land, neither destroy corn and fruit-trees; they
are the gifts of Allah. Keep faith when you have made any covenant,
even if it be to your own harm. If ye find holy men labouring with their
hands, and serving God in the desert, hurt them not, neither destroy
their dwellings. But when you find them with shaven crowns, they are of
the synagogue of Satan! Smite with the sabre, slay, cease not till
they become believers or tributaries.' As the Caliph, companion of the
Prophet, hath told us, so have we done, and those whom our justice has
smitten are but the priests of Satan. But unto the good men who, without
stirring up nation against nation, worship sincerely in the faith of
Issa Ben Mariam, we are a shadow and a shield; and such being he whom
you seek, even though the light of the Prophet hath not reached him,
from me he will only have love, favour, and regard.”
“The anchorite whom I would now visit,” said the warlike pilgrim, “is, I
have heard, no priest; but were he of that anointed and sacred order, I
would prove with my good lance, against paynim and infidel--”
“Let us not defy each other, brother,” interrupted the Saracen; “we
shall find, either of us, enough of Franks or of Moslemah on whom to
exercise both sword and lance. This Theodorick is protected both by Turk
and Arab; and, though one of strange conditions at intervals, yet, on
the whole, he bears himself so well as the follower of his own prophet,
that he merits the protection of him who was sent--”
“Now, by Our Lady, Saracen,” exclaimed the Christian, “if thou darest
name in the same breath the camel-driver of Mecca with--”
An electrical shock of passion thrilled through the form of the Emir;
but it was only momentary, and the calmness of his reply had both
dignity and reason in it, when he said, “Slander not him whom thou
knowest not--the rather that we venerate the founder of thy religion,
while we condemn the doctrine which your priests have spun from it. I
will myself guide thee to the cavern of the hermit, which, methinks,
without my help, thou wouldst find it a hard matter to reach. And,
on the way, let us leave to mollahs and to monks to dispute about the
divinity of our faith, and speak on themes which belong to youthful
warriors--upon battles, upon beautiful women, upon sharp swords, and
upon bright armour.”