This is the prince of leeches; fever, plague,
Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on him,
And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews.
ANONYMOUS.
The Baron of Gilsland walked with slow step and an anxious countenance
towards the royal pavilion. He had much diffidence of his own capacity,
except in a field of battle, and conscious of no very acute intellect,
was usually contented to wonder at circumstances which a man of livelier
imagination would have endeavoured to investigate and understand, or
at least would have made the subject of speculation. But it seemed very
extraordinary, even to him, that the attention of the bishop should have
been at once abstracted from all reflection on the marvellous cure which
they had witnessed, and upon the probability it afforded of Richard
being restored to health, by what seemed a very trivial piece of
information announcing the motions of a beggardly Scottish knight, than
whom Thomas of Gilsland knew nothing within the circle of gentle
blood more unimportant or contemptible; and despite his usual habit
of passively beholding passing events, the baron's spirit toiled with
unwonted attempts to form conjectures on the cause.
At length the idea occurred at once to him that the whole might be a
conspiracy against King Richard, formed within the camp of the allies,
and to which the bishop, who was by some represented as a politic and
unscrupulous person, was not unlikely to have been accessory. It was
true that, in his own opinion, there existed no character so perfect as
that of his master; for Richard being the flower of chivalry, and the
chief of Christian leaders, and obeying in all points the commands of
Holy Church, De Vaux's ideas of perfection went no further. Still, he
knew that, however unworthily, it had been always his master's fate
to draw as much reproach and dislike as honour and attachment from the
display of his great qualities; and that in the very camp, and amongst
those princes bound by oath to the Crusade, were many who would have
sacrificed all hope of victory over the Saracens to the pleasure of
ruining, or at least of humbling, Richard of England.
“Wherefore,” said the baron to himself, “it is in no sense impossible
that this El Hakim, with this his cure, or seeming cure, wrought on the
body of the Scottish squire, may mean nothing but a trick, to which he
of the Leopard may be accessory, and wherein the Bishop of Tyre, prelate
as he is, may have some share.”
This hypothesis, indeed, could not be so easily reconciled with the
alarm manifested by the bishop on learning that, contrary to his
expectation, the Scottish knight had suddenly returned to the Crusaders'
camp. But De Vaux was influenced only by his general prejudices,
which dictated to him the assured belief that a wily Italian priest,
a false-hearted Scot, and an infidel physician, formed a set of
ingredients from which all evil, and no good, was likely to be
extracted. He resolved, however, to lay his scruples bluntly before
the King, of whose judgment he had nearly as high an opinion as of his
valour.
Meantime, events had taken place very contrary to the suppositions which
Thomas de Vaux had entertained. Scarce had he left the royal pavilion,
when, betwixt the impatience of the fever, and that which was natural
to his disposition, Richard began to murmur at his delay, and express
an earnest desire for his return. He had seen enough to try to reason
himself out of this irritation, which greatly increased his bodily
malady. He wearied his attendants by demanding from them amusements, and
the breviary of the priest, the romance of the clerk, even the harp of
his favourite minstrel, were had recourse to in vain. At length, some
two hours before sundown, and long, therefore, ere he could expect
a satisfactory account of the process of the cure which the Moor or
Arabian had undertaken, he sent, as we have already heard, a messenger
commanding the attendance of the Knight of the Leopard, determined to
soothe his impatience by obtaining from Sir Kenneth a more particular
account of the cause of his absence from the camp, and the circumstances
of his meeting with this celebrated physician.
The Scottish knight, thus summoned, entered the royal presence as one
who was no stranger to such scenes. He was scarcely known to the King
of England, even by sight, although, tenacious of his rank, as devout in
the adoration of the lady of his secret heart, he had never been absent
on those occasions when the munificence and hospitality of England
opened the Court of its monarch to all who held a certain rank in
chivalry. The King gazed fixedly on Sir Kenneth approaching his bedside,
while the knight bent his knee for a moment, then arose, and stood
before him in a posture of deference, but not of subservience or
humility, as became an officer in the presence of his sovereign.
“Thy name,” said the King, “is Kenneth of the Leopard--from whom hadst
thou degree of knighthood?”
“I took it from the sword of William the Lion, King of Scotland,”
replied the Scot.
“A weapon,” said the King, “well worthy to confer honour; nor has it
been laid on an undeserving shoulder. We have seen thee bear thyself
knightly and valiantly in press of battle, when most need there was; and
thou hadst not been yet to learn that thy deserts were known to us, but
that thy presumption in other points has been such that thy services can
challenge no better reward than that of pardon for thy transgression.
What sayest thou--ha?”
Kenneth attempted to speak, but was unable to express himself
distinctly; the consciousness of his too ambitious love, and the keen,
falcon glance with which Coeur de Lion seemed to penetrate his inmost
soul, combining to disconcert him.
“And yet,” said the King, “although soldiers should obey command, and
vassals be respectful towards their superiors, we might forgive a brave
knight greater offence than the keeping a simple hound, though it were
contrary to our express public ordinance.”
Richard kept his eye fixed on the Scot's face, beheld and beholding,
smiling inwardly at the relief produced by the turn he had given to his
general accusation.
“So please you, my lord,” said the Scot, “your majesty must be good
to us poor gentlemen of Scotland in this matter. We are far from home,
scant of revenues, and cannot support ourselves as your wealthy nobles,
who have credit of the Lombards. The Saracens shall feel our blows the
harder that we eat a piece of dried venison from time to time with our
herbs and barley-cakes.”
“It skills not asking my leave,” said Richard, “since Thomas de Vaux,
who doth, like all around me, that which is fittest in his own eyes,
hath already given thee permission for hunting and hawking.”
“For hunting only, and please you,” said the Scot. “But if it please
your Majesty to indulge me with the privilege of hawking also, and you
list to trust me with a falcon on fist, I trust I could supply your
royal mess with some choice waterfowl.”
“I dread me, if thou hadst but the falcon,” said the King, “thou wouldst
scarce wait for the permission. I wot well it is said abroad that we of
the line of Anjou resent offence against our forest-laws as highly as we
would do treason against our crown. To brave and worthy men, however, we
could pardon either misdemeanour.--But enough of this. I desire to know
of you, Sir Knight, wherefore, and by whose authority, you took this
recent journey to the wilderness of the Dead Sea and Engaddi?”
“By order,” replied the knight, “of the Council of Princes of the Holy
Crusade.”
“And how dared any one to give such an order, when I--not the least,
surely, in the league--was unacquainted with it?”
“It was not my part, please your highness,” said the Scot, “to inquire
into such particulars. I am a soldier of the Cross--serving, doubtless,
for the present, under your highness's banner, and proud of the
permission to do so, but still one who hath taken on him the holy symbol
for the rights of Christianity and the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre,
and bound, therefore, to obey without question the orders of the
princes and chiefs by whom the blessed enterprise is directed. That
indisposition should seclude, I trust for but a short time, your
highness from their councils, in which you hold so potential a voice, I
must lament with all Christendom; but, as a soldier, I must obey those
on whom the lawful right of command devolves, or set but an evil example
in the Christian camp.”
“Thou sayest well,” said King Richard; “and the blame rests not with
thee, but with those with whom, when it shall please Heaven to raise me
from this accursed bed of pain and inactivity, I hope to reckon roundly.
What was the purport of thy message?”
“Methinks, and please your highness,” replied Sir Kenneth, “that were
best asked of those who sent me, and who can render the reasons of mine
errand; whereas I can only tell its outward form and purport.”
“Palter not with me, Sir Scot--it were ill for thy safety,” said the
irritable monarch.
“My safety, my lord,” replied the knight firmly, “I cast behind me as a
regardless thing when I vowed myself to this enterprise, looking rather
to my immortal welfare than to that which concerns my earthly body.”
“By the mass,” said King Richard, “thou art a brave fellow! Hark thee,
Sir Knight, I love the Scottish people; they are hardy, though dogged
and stubborn, and, I think, true men in the main, though the necessity
of state has sometimes constrained them to be dissemblers. I deserve
some love at their hand, for I have voluntarily done what they could not
by arms have extorted from me any more than from my predecessors, I
have re-established the fortresses of Roxburgh and Berwick, which lay
in pledge to England; I have restored your ancient boundaries; and,
finally, I have renounced a claim to homage upon the crown of England,
which I thought unjustly forced on you. I have endeavoured to make
honourable and independent friends, where former kings of England
attempted only to compel unwilling and rebellious vassals.”
“All this you have done, my Lord King,” said Sir Kenneth, bowing--“all
this you have done, by your royal treaty with our sovereign at
Canterbury. Therefore have you me, and many better Scottish men, making
war against the infidels, under your banners, who would else have been
ravaging your frontiers in England. If their numbers are now few, it is
because their lives have been freely waged and wasted.”
“I grant it true,” said the King; “and for the good offices I have done
your land I require you to remember that, as a principal member of
the Christian league, I have a right to know the negotiations of my
confederates. Do me, therefore, the justice to tell me what I have a
title to be acquainted with, and which I am certain to know more truly
from you than from others.”
“My lord,” said the Scot, “thus conjured, I will speak the truth; for
I well believe that your purposes towards the principal object of our
expedition are single-hearted and honest, and it is more than I dare
warrant for others of the Holy League. Be pleased, therefore, to know
my charge was to propose, through the medium of the hermit of Engaddi--a
holy man, respected and protected by Saladin himself--”
“A continuation of the truce, I doubt not,” said Richard, hastily
interrupting him.
“No, by Saint Andrew, my liege,” said the Scottish knight; “but the
establishment of a lasting peace, and the withdrawing our armies from
Palestine.”
“Saint George!” said Richard, in astonishment. “Ill as I have justly
thought of them, I could not have dreamed they would have humbled
themselves to such dishonour. Speak, Sir Kenneth, with what will did you
carry such a message?”
“With right good will, my lord,” said Kenneth; “because, when we had
lost our noble leader, under whose guidance alone I hoped for victory,
I saw none who could succeed him likely to lead us to conquest, and I
accounted it well in such circumstances to avoid defeat.”
“And on what conditions was this hopeful peace to be contracted?” said
King Richard, painfully suppressing the passion with which his heart was
almost bursting.
“These were not entrusted to me, my lord,” answered the Knight of the
Couchant Leopard. “I delivered them sealed to the hermit.”
“And for what hold you this reverend hermit--for fool, madman, traitor,
or saint?” said Richard.
“His folly, sire,” replied the shrewd Scottish man, “I hold to be
assumed to win favour and reverence from the Paynimrie, who regard
madmen as the inspired of Heaven--at least it seemed to me as exhibited
only occasionally, and not as mixing, like natural folly, with the
general tenor of his mind.”
“Shrewdly replied,” said the monarch, throwing himself back on his
couch, from which he had half-raised himself. “Now of his penitence?”
“His penitence,” continued Kenneth, “appears to me sincere, and the
fruits of remorse for some dreadful crime, for which he seems, in his
own opinion, condemned to reprobation.”
“And for his policy?” said King Richard.
“Methinks, my lord,” said the Scottish knight, “he despairs of the
security of Palestine, as of his own salvation, by any means short of
a miracle--at least, since the arm of Richard of England hath ceased to
strike for it.”
“And, therefore, the coward policy of this hermit is like that of these
miserable princes, who, forgetful of their knighthood and their faith,
are only resolved and determined when the question is retreat, and
rather than go forward against an armed Saracen, would trample in their
flight over a dying ally!”
“Might I so far presume, my Lord King,” said the Scottish knight, “this
discourse but heats your disease, the enemy from which Christendom
dreads more evil than from armed hosts of infidels.”
The countenance of King Richard was, indeed, more flushed, and his
action became more feverishly vehement, as, with clenched hand, extended
arm, and flashing eyes, he seemed at once to suffer under bodily pain,
and at the same time under vexation of mind, while his high spirit led
him to speak on, as if in contempt of both.
“You can flatter, Sir Knight,” he said, “but you escape me not. I must
know more from you than you have yet told me. Saw you my royal consort
when at Engaddi?”
“To my knowledge--no, my lord,” replied Sir Kenneth, with considerable
perturbation, for he remembered the midnight procession in the chapel of
the rocks.
“I ask you,” said the King, in a sterner voice, “whether you were not in
the chapel of the Carmelite nuns at Engaddi, and there saw Berengaria,
Queen of England, and the ladies of her Court, who went thither on
pilgrimage?”
“My lord,” said Sir Kenneth, “I will speak the truth as in the
confessional. In a subterranean chapel, to which the anchorite conducted
me, I beheld a choir of ladies do homage to a relic of the highest
sanctity; but as I saw not their faces, nor heard their voices, unless
in the hymns which they chanted, I cannot tell whether the Queen of
England was of the bevy.”
“And was there no one of these ladies known to you?”
Sir Kenneth stood silent.
“I ask you,” said Richard, raising himself on his elbow, “as a knight
and a gentleman--and I shall know by your answer how you value either
character--did you, or did you not, know any lady amongst that band of
worshippers?”
“My lord,” said Kenneth, not without much hesitation, “I might guess.”
“And I also may guess,” said the King, frowning sternly; “but it is
enough. Leopard as you are, Sir Knight, beware tempting the lion's paw.
Hark ye--to become enamoured of the moon would be but an act of folly;
but to leap from the battlements of a lofty tower, in the wild hope of
coming within her sphere, were self-destructive madness.”
At this moment some bustling was heard in the outer apartment, and
the King, hastily changing to his more natural manner, said,
“Enough--begone--speed to De Vaux, and send him hither with the Arabian
physician. My life for the faith of the Soldan! Would he but abjure his
false law, I would aid him with my sword to drive this scum of French
and Austrians from his dominions, and think Palestine as well ruled by
him as when her kings were anointed by the decree of Heaven itself.”
The Knight of the Leopard retired, and presently afterwards the
chamberlain announced a deputation from the Council, who had come to
wait on the Majesty of England.
“It is well they allow that I am living yet,” was his reply. “Who are
the reverend ambassadors?”
“The Grand Master of the Templars and the Marquis of Montserrat.”
“Our brother of France loves not sick-beds,” said Richard; “yet, had
Philip been ill, I had stood by his couch long since.--Jocelyn, lay me
the couch more fairly--it is tumbled like a stormy sea. Reach me yonder
steel mirror--pass a comb through my hair and beard. They look, indeed,
liker a lion's mane than a Christian man's locks. Bring water.”
“My lord,” said the trembling chamberlain, “the leeches say that cold
water may be fatal.”
“To the foul fiend with the leeches!” replied the monarch; “if they
cannot cure me, think you I will allow them to torment me?--There,
then,” he said, after having made his ablutions, “admit the worshipful
envoys; they will now, I think, scarcely see that disease has made
Richard negligent of his person.”
The celebrated Master of the Templars was a tall, thin, war-worn man,
with a slow yet penetrating eye, and a brow on which a thousand dark
intrigues had stamped a portion of their obscurity. At the head of
that singular body, to whom their order was everything, and their
individuality nothing--seeking the advancement of its power, even at
the hazard of that very religion which the fraternity were originally
associated to protect--accused of heresy and witchcraft, although by
their character Christian priests--suspected of secret league with the
Soldan, though by oath devoted to the protection of the Holy Temple, or
its recovery--the whole order, and the whole personal character of its
commander, or Grand Master, was a riddle, at the exposition of which
most men shuddered. The Grand Master was dressed in his white robes
of solemnity, and he bore the ABACUS, a mystic staff of office, the
peculiar form of which has given rise to such singular conjectures and
commentaries, leading to suspicions that this celebrated fraternity of
Christian knights were embodied under the foulest symbols of paganism.
Conrade of Montserrat had a much more pleasing exterior than the dark
and mysterious priest-soldier by whom he was accompanied. He was a
handsome man, of middle age, or something past that term, bold in the
field, sagacious in council, gay and gallant in times of festivity; but,
on the other hand, he was generally accused of versatility, of a narrow
and selfish ambition, of a desire to extend his own principality,
without regard to the weal of the Latin kingdom of Palestine, and of
seeking his own interest, by private negotiations with Saladin, to the
prejudice of the Christian leaguers.
When the usual salutations had been made by these dignitaries, and
courteously returned by King Richard, the Marquis of Montserrat
commenced an explanation of the motives of their visit, sent, as he said
they were, by the anxious kings and princes who composed the Council of
the Crusaders, “to inquire into the health of their magnanimous ally,
the valiant King of England.”
“We know the importance in which the princes of the Council hold our
health,” replied the English King; “and are well aware how much they
must have suffered by suppressing all curiosity concerning it for
fourteen days, for fear, doubtless, of aggravating our disorder, by
showing their anxiety regarding the event.”
The flow of the Marquis's eloquence being checked, and he himself thrown
into some confusion by this reply, his more austere companion took up
the thread of the conversation, and with as much dry and brief gravity
as was consistent with the presence which he addressed, informed
the King that they came from the Council, to pray, in the name of
Christendom, “that he would not suffer his health to be tampered with
by an infidel physician, said to be dispatched by Saladin, until the
Council had taken measures to remove or confirm the suspicion which they
at present conceived did attach itself to the mission of such a person.”
“Grand Master of the Holy and Valiant Order of Knights Templars, and
you, most noble Marquis of Montserrat,” replied Richard, “if it please
you to retire into the adjoining pavilion, you shall presently see what
account we make of the tender remonstrances of our royal and princely
colleagues in this religious warfare.”
The Marquis and Grand Master retired accordingly; nor had they been
many minutes in the outward pavilion when the Eastern physician arrived,
accompanied by the Baron of Gilsland and Kenneth of Scotland. The baron,
however, was a little later of entering the tent than the other two,
stopping, perchance, to issue some orders to the warders without.
As the Arabian physician entered, he made his obeisance, after the
Oriental fashion, to the Marquis and Grand Master, whose dignity was
apparent, both from their appearance and their bearing. The Grand Master
returned the salutation with an expression of disdainful coldness, the
Marquis with the popular courtesy which he habitually practised to men
of every rank and nation. There was a pause, for the Scottish knight,
waiting for the arrival of De Vaux, presumed not, of his own authority,
to enter the tent of the King of England; and during this interval the
Grand Master sternly demanded of the Moslem, “Infidel, hast thou the
courage to practise thine art upon the person of an anointed sovereign
of the Christian host?”
“The sun of Allah,” answered the sage, “shines on the Nazarene as
well as on the true believer, and His servant dare make no distinction
betwixt them when called on to exercise the art of healing.”
“Misbelieving Hakim,” said the Grand Master, “or whatsoever they call
thee for an unbaptized slave of darkness, dost thou well know that thou
shalt be torn asunder by wild horses should King Richard die under thy
charge?”
“That were hard justice,” answered the physician, “seeing that I can but
use human means, and that the issue is written in the book of light.”
“Nay, reverend and valiant Grand Master,” said the Marquis of
Montserrat, “consider that this learned man is not acquainted with our
Christian order, adopted in the fear of God, and for the safety of His
anointed.--Be it known to thee, grave physician, whose skill we doubt
not, that your wisest course is to repair to the presence of the
illustrious Council of our Holy League, and there to give account and
reckoning to such wise and learned leeches as they shall nominate,
concerning your means of process and cure of this illustrious patient;
so shall you escape all the danger which, rashly taking such a high
matter upon your sole answer, you may else most likely incur.”
“My lords,” said El Hakim, “I understand you well. But knowledge hath
its champions as well as your military art--nay, hath sometimes had its
martyrs as well as religion. I have the command of my sovereign, the
Soldan Saladin, to heal this Nazarene King, and, with the blessing
of the Prophet, I will obey his commands. If I fail, ye wear swords
thirsting for the blood of the faithful, and I proffer my body to your
weapons. But I will not reason with one uncircumcised upon the virtue
of the medicines of which I have obtained knowledge through the grace
of the Prophet, and I pray you interpose no delay between me and my
office.”
“Who talks of delay?” said the Baron de Vaux, hastily entering the tent;
“we have had but too much already. I salute you, my Lord of Montserrat,
and you, valiant Grand Master. But I must presently pass with this
learned physician to the bedside of my master.”
“My lord,” said the Marquis, in Norman-French, or the language of
Ouie, as it was then called, “are you well advised that we came to
expostulate, on the part of the Council of the Monarchs and Princes
of the Crusade, against the risk of permitting an infidel and Eastern
physician to tamper with a health so valuable as that of your master,
King Richard?”
“Noble Lord Marquis,” replied the Englishman bluntly, “I can neither use
many words, nor do I delight in listening to them; moreover, I am much
more ready to believe what my eyes have seen than what my ears have
heard. I am satisfied that this heathen can cure the sickness of King
Richard, and I believe and trust he will labour to do so. Time is
precious. If Mohammed--may God's curse be on him! stood at the door of
the tent, with such fair purpose as this Adonbec el Hakim entertains,
I would hold it sin to delay him for a minute. So, give ye God'en, my
lords.”
“Nay, but,” said Conrade of Montserrat, “the King himself said we should
be present when this same physician dealt upon him.”
The baron whispered the chamberlain, probably to know whether the
Marquis spoke truly, and then replied, “My lords, if you will hold your
patience, you are welcome to enter with us; but if you interrupt, by
action or threat, this accomplished physician in his duty, be it known
that, without respect to your high quality, I will enforce your absence
from Richard's tent; for know, I am so well satisfied of the virtue of
this man's medicines, that were Richard himself to refuse them, by our
Lady of Lanercost, I think I could find in my heart to force him to take
the means of his cure whether he would or no.--Move onward, El Hakim.”
The last word was spoken in the lingua franca, and instantly obeyed by
the physician. The Grand Master looked grimly on the unceremonious old
soldier, but, on exchanging a glance with the Marquis, smoothed his
frowning brow as well as he could, and both followed De Vaux and the
Arabian into the inner tent, where Richard lay expecting them, with that
impatience with which the sick man watches the step of his physician.
Sir Kenneth, whose attendance seemed neither asked nor prohibited, felt
himself, by the circumstances in which he stood, entitled to follow
these high dignitaries; but, conscious of his inferior power and rank,
remained aloof during the scene which took place.
Richard, when they entered his apartment, immediately exclaimed, “So ho!
a goodly fellowship come to see Richard take his leap in the dark.
My noble allies, I greet you as the representatives of our assembled
league; Richard will again be amongst you in his former fashion, or ye
shall bear to the grave what is left of him.--De Vaux, lives he or dies
he, thou hast the thanks of thy prince. There is yet another--but this
fever hath wasted my eyesight. What, the bold Scot, who would climb
heaven without a ladder! He is welcome too.--Come, Sir Hakim, to the
work, to the work!”
The physician, who had already informed himself of the various symptoms
of the King's illness, now felt his pulse for a long time, and with deep
attention, while all around stood silent, and in breathless expectation.
The sage next filled a cup with spring water, and dipped into it the
small red purse, which, as formerly, he took from his bosom. When he
seemed to think it sufficiently medicated, he was about to offer it to
the sovereign, who prevented him by saying, “Hold an instant. Thou hast
felt my pulse--let me lay my finger on thine. I too, as becomes a good
knight, know something of thine art.”
The Arabian yielded his hand without hesitation, and his long, slender
dark fingers were for an instant enclosed, and almost buried, in the
large enfoldment of King Richard's hand.
“His blood beats calm as an infant's,” said the King; “so throbs not
theirs who poison princes. De Vaux, whether we live or die, dismiss this
Hakim with honour and safety.--Commend us, friend, to the noble Saladin.
Should I die, it is without doubt of his faith; should I live, it will
be to thank him as a warrior would desire to be thanked.”
He then raised himself in bed, took the cup in his hand, and turning
to the Marquis and the Grand Master--“Mark what I say, and let my royal
brethren pledge me in Cyprus wine, 'To the immortal honour of the first
Crusader who shall strike lance or sword on the gate of Jerusalem; and
to the shame and eternal infamy of whomsoever shall turn back from the
plough on which he hath laid his hand!'”
He drained the cup to the bottom, resigned it to the Arabian, and sunk
back, as if exhausted, upon the cushions which were arranged to receive
him. The physician then, with silent but expressive signs, directed
that all should leave the tent excepting himself and De Vaux, whom
no remonstrance could induce to withdraw. The apartment was cleared
accordingly.