And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And, to your quick-conceiving discontent,
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous.
HENRY IV., PART I.
The Marquis of Montserrat and the Grand Master of the Knights Templars
stood together in the front of the royal pavilion, within which this
singular scene had passed, and beheld a strong guard of bills and bows
drawn out to form a circle around it, and keep at distance all which
might disturb the sleeping monarch. The soldiers wore the downcast,
silent, and sullen looks with which they trail their arms at a funeral,
and stepped with such caution that you could not hear a buckler ring
or a sword clatter, though so many men in armour were moving around the
tent. They lowered their weapons in deep reverence as the dignitaries
passed through their files, but with the same profound silence.
“There is a change of cheer among these island dogs,” said the Grand
Master to Conrade, when they had passed Richard's guards. “What hoarse
tumult and revel used to be before this pavilion!--nought but pitching
the bar, hurling the ball, wrestling, roaring of songs, clattering of
wine pots, and quaffing of flagons among these burly yeomen, as if they
were holding some country wake, with a Maypole in the midst of them
instead of a royal standard.”
“Mastiffs are a faithful race,” said Conrade; “and the King their Master
has won their love by being ready to wrestle, brawl, or revel amongst
the foremost of them, whenever the humour seized him.”
“He is totally compounded of humours,” said the Grand Master. “Marked
you the pledge he gave us! instead of a prayer, over his grace-cup
yonder.”
“He would have felt it a grace-cup, and a well-spiced one too,” said
the Marquis, “were Saladin like any other Turk that ever wore turban,
or turned him to Mecca at call of the muezzin. But he affects faith, and
honour, and generosity, as if it were for an unbaptized dog like him to
practise the virtuous bearing of a Christian knight. It is said he hath
applied to Richard to be admitted within the pale of chivalry.”
“By Saint Bernard!” exclaimed the Grand Master, “it were time then
to throw off our belts and spurs, Sir Conrade, deface our armorial
bearings, and renounce our burgonets, if the highest honour of
Christianity were conferred on an unchristened Turk of tenpence.”
“You rate the Soldan cheap,” replied the Marquis; “yet though he be a
likely man, I have seen a better heathen sold for forty pence at the
bagnio.”
They were now near their horses, which stood at some distance from the
royal tent, prancing among the gallant train of esquires and pages by
whom they were attended, when Conrade, after a moment's pause, proposed
that they should enjoy the coolness of the evening breeze which had
arisen, and, dismissing their steeds and attendants, walk homewards to
their own quarters through the lines of the extended Christian camp. The
Grand Master assented, and they proceeded to walk together accordingly,
avoiding, as if by mutual consent, the more inhabited parts of the
canvas city, and tracing the broad esplanade which lay between the tents
and the external defences, where they could converse in private, and
unmarked, save by the sentinels as they passed them.
They spoke for a time upon the military points and preparations for
defence; but this sort of discourse, in which neither seemed to take
interest, at length died away, and there was a long pause, which
terminated by the Marquis of Montserrat stopping short, like a man who
has formed a sudden resolution, and gazing for some moments on the dark,
inflexible countenance of the Grand Master, he at length addressed him
thus: “Might it consist with your valour and sanctity, reverend Sir
Giles Amaury, I would pray you for once to lay aside the dark visor
which you wear, and to converse with a friend barefaced.”
The Templar half smiled.
“There are light-coloured masks,” he said, “as well as dark visors, and
the one conceals the natural features as completely as the other.”
“Be it so,” said the Marquis, putting his hand to his chin, and
withdrawing it with the action of one who unmasks himself; “there lies
my disguise. And now, what think you, as touching the interests of your
own order, of the prospects of this Crusade?”
“This is tearing the veil from my thoughts rather than exposing your
own,” said the Grand Master; “yet I will reply with a parable told to me
by a santon of the desert. 'A certain farmer prayed to Heaven for rain,
and murmured when it fell not at his need. To punish his impatience,
Allah,' said the santon, 'sent the Euphrates upon his farm, and he was
destroyed, with all his possessions, even by the granting of his own
wishes.'”
“Most truly spoken,” said the Marquis Conrade. “Would that the ocean had
swallowed up nineteen parts of the armaments of these Western princes!
What remained would better have served the purpose of the Christian
nobles of Palestine, the wretched remnant of the Latin kingdom of
Jerusalem. Left to ourselves, we might have bent to the storm; or,
moderately supported with money and troops, we might have compelled
Saladin to respect our valour, and grant us peace and protection on easy
terms. But from the extremity of danger with which this powerful Crusade
threatens the Soldan, we cannot suppose, should it pass over, that the
Saracen will suffer any one of us to hold possessions or principalities
in Syria, far less permit the existence of the Christian military
fraternities, from whom they have experienced so much mischief.”
“Ay, but,” said the Templar, “these adventurous Crusaders may succeed,
and again plant the Cross on the bulwarks of Zion.”
“And what will that advantage either the Order of the Templars, or
Conrade of Montserrat?” said the Marquis.
“You it may advantage,” replied the Grand Master. “Conrade of Montserrat
might become Conrade King of Jerusalem.”
“That sounds like something,” said the Marquis, “and yet it rings but
hollow. Godfrey of Bouillon might well choose the crown of thorns for
his emblem. Grand Master, I will confess to you I have caught some
attachment to the Eastern form of government--a pure and simple
monarchy should consist but of king and subjects. Such is the simple and
primitive structure--a shepherd and his flock. All this internal chain
of feudal dependance is artificial and sophisticated; and I would rather
hold the baton of my poor marquisate with a firm gripe, and wield
it after my pleasure, than the sceptre of a monarch, to be in effect
restrained and curbed by the will of as many proud feudal barons as hold
land under the Assizes of Jerusalem. [The Assises de Jerusalem were
the digest of feudal law, composed by Godfrey of Boulogne, for the
government of the Latin kingdom of Palestine, when reconquered from the
Saracens. “It was composed with advice of the patriarch and barons,
the clergy and laity, and is,” says the historian Gibbon, “a precious
monument of feudatory jurisprudence, founded upon those principles
of freedom which were essential to the system.”] A king should tread
freely, Grand Master, and should not be controlled by here a ditch, and
there a fence-here a feudal privilege, and there a mail-clad baron with
his sword in his hand to maintain it. To sum the whole, I am aware that
Guy de Lusignan's claims to the throne would be preferred to mine, if
Richard recovers, and has aught to say in the choice.”
“Enough,” said the Grand Master; “thou hast indeed convinced me of thy
sincerity. Others may hold the same opinions, but few, save Conrade of
Montserrat, dared frankly avow that he desires not the restitution of
the kingdom of Jerusalem, but rather prefers being master of a portion
of its fragments--like the barbarous islanders, who labour not for the
deliverance of a goodly vessel from the billows, expecting rather to
enrich themselves at the expense of the wreck.”
“Thou wilt not betray my counsel?” said Conrade, looking sharply and
suspiciously. “Know, for certain, that my tongue shall never wrong my
head, nor my hand forsake the defence of either. Impeach me if thou
wilt--I am prepared to defend myself in the lists against the best
Templar who ever laid lance in rest.”
“Yet thou start'st somewhat suddenly for so bold a steed,” said the
Grand Master. “However, I swear to thee by the Holy Temple, which our
Order is sworn to defend, that I will keep counsel with thee as a true
comrade.”
“By which Temple?” said the Marquis of Montserrat, whose love of sarcasm
often outran his policy and discretion; “swearest thou by that on the
hill of Zion, which was built by King Solomon, or by that symbolical,
emblematical edifice, which is said to be spoken of in the councils
held in the vaults of your Preceptories, as something which infers the
aggrandizement of thy valiant and venerable Order?”
The Templar scowled upon him with an eye of death, but answered calmly,
“By whatever Temple I swear, be assured, Lord Marquis, my oath is
sacred. I would I knew how to bind THEE by one of equal obligation.”
“I will swear truth to thee,” said the Marquis, laughing, “by the
earl's coronet, which I hope to convert, ere these wars are over, into
something better. It feels cold on my brow, that same slight coronal;
a duke's cap of maintenance were a better protection against such a
night-breeze as now blows, and a king's crown more preferable still,
being lined with comfortable ermine and velvet. In a word, our interests
bind us together; for think not, Lord Grand Master, that, were these
allied princes to regain Jerusalem, and place a king of their own
choosing there, they would suffer your Order, any more than my poor
marquisate, to retain the independence which we now hold. No, by Our
Lady! In such case, the proud Knights of Saint John must again spread
plasters and dress plague sores in the hospitals; and you, most puissant
and venerable Knights of the Temple, must return to your condition of
simple men-at-arms, sleep three on a pallet, and mount two upon one
horse, as your present seal still expresses to have been your ancient
most simple custom.”
“The rank, privileges, and opulence of our Order prevent so much
degradation as you threaten,” said the Templar haughtily.
“These are your bane,” said Conrade of Montserrat; “and you, as well
as I, reverend Grand Master, know that, were the allied princes to be
successful in Palestine, it would be their first point of policy to
abate the independence of your Order, which, but for the protection of
our holy father the Pope, and the necessity of employing your valour in
the conquest of Palestine, you would long since have experienced. Give
them complete success, and you will be flung aside, as the splinters of
a broken lance are tossed out of the tilt-yard.”
“There may be truth in what you say,” said the Templar, darkly smiling.
“But what were our hopes should the allies withdraw their forces, and
leave Palestine in the grasp of Saladin?”
“Great and assured,” replied Conrade. “The Soldan would give large
provinces to maintain at his behest a body of well-appointed Frankish
lances. In Egypt, in Persia, a hundred such auxiliaries, joined to his
own light cavalry, would turn the battle against the most fearful odds.
This dependence would be but for a time--perhaps during the life of
this enterprising Soldan; but in the East empires arise like mushrooms.
Suppose him dead, and us strengthened with a constant succession of
fiery and adventurous spirits from Europe, what might we not hope to
achieve, uncontrolled by these monarchs, whose dignity throws us at
present into the shade--and, were they to remain here, and succeed in
this expedition, would willingly consign us for ever to degradation and
dependence?”
“You say well, my Lord Marquis,” said the Grand Master, “and your words
find an echo in my bosom. Yet must we be cautious--Philip of France is
wise as well as valiant.”
“True, and will be therefore the more easily diverted from an expedition
to which, in a moment of enthusiasm, or urged by his nobles, he rashly
bound himself. He is jealous of King Richard, his natural enemy, and
longs to return to prosecute plans of ambition nearer to Paris than
Palestine. Any fair pretence will serve him for withdrawing from a scene
in which he is aware he is wasting the force of his kingdom.”
“And the Duke of Austria?” said the Templar.
“Oh, touching the Duke,” returned Conrade, “his self-conceit and folly
lead him to the same conclusions as do Philip's policy and wisdom. He
conceives himself, God help the while, ungratefully treated, because
men's mouths--even those of his own MINNE-SINGERS [The German minstrels
were so termed.]--are filled with the praises of King Richard, whom he
fears and hates, and in whose harm he would rejoice, like those unbred,
dastardly curs, who, if the foremost of the pack is hurt by the gripe of
the wolf, are much more likely to assail the sufferer from behind than
to come to his assistance. But wherefore tell I this to thee, save to
show that I am in sincerity in desiring that this league be broken up,
and the country freed of these great monarchs with their hosts? And thou
well knowest, and hast thyself seen, how all the princes of influence
and power, one alone excepted, are eager to enter into treaty with the
Soldan.”
“I acknowledge it,” said the Templar; “he were blind that had not seen
this in their last deliberations. But lift yet thy mask an inch higher,
and tell me thy real reason for pressing upon the Council that Northern
Englishman, or Scot, or whatever you call yonder Knight of the Leopard,
to carry their proposals for a treaty?”
“There was a policy in it,” replied the Italian. “His character of
native of Britain was sufficient to meet what Saladin required, who knew
him to belong to the band of Richard; while his character of Scot, and
certain other personal grudges which I wot of, rendered it most unlikely
that our envoy should, on his return, hold any communication with the
sick-bed of Richard, to whom his presence was ever unacceptable.”
“Oh, too finespun policy,” said the Grand Master; “trust me, that
Italian spiders' webs will never bind this unshorn Samson of the
Isle--well if you can do it with new cords, and those of the toughest.
See you not that the envoy whom you have selected so carefully hath
brought us, in this physician, the means of restoring the lion-hearted,
bull-necked Englishman to prosecute his Crusading enterprise. And so
soon as he is able once more to rush on, which of the princes dare hold
back? They must follow him for very shame, although they would march
under the banner of Satan as soon.”
“Be content,” said Conrade of Montserrat; “ere this physician, if he
work by anything short of miraculous agency, can accomplish Richard's
cure, it may be possible to put some open rupture betwixt the
Frenchman--at least the Austrian--and his allies of England, so that
the breach shall be irreconcilable; and Richard may arise from his bed,
perhaps to command his own native troops, but never again, by his sole
energy, to wield the force of the whole Crusade.”
“Thou art a willing archer,” said the Templar; “but, Conrade of
Montserrat, thy bow is over-slack to carry an arrow to the mark.”
He then stopped short, cast a suspicious glance to see that no one
overheard him, and taking Conrade by the hand, pressed it eagerly as he
looked the Italian in the face, and repeated slowly, “Richard arise from
his bed, sayest thou? Conrade, he must never arise!”
The Marquis of Montserrat started. “What! spoke you of Richard of
England--of Coeur de Lion--the champion of Christendom?”
His cheek turned pale and his knees trembled as he spoke. The Templar
looked at him, with his iron visage contorted into a smile of contempt.
“Knowest thou what thou look'st like, Sir Conrade, at this moment? Not
like the politic and valiant Marquis of Montserrat, not like him
who would direct the Council of Princes and determine the fate of
empires--but like a novice, who, stumbling upon a conjuration in his
master's book of gramarye, has raised the devil when he least thought of
it, and now stands terrified at the spirit which appears before him.”
“I grant you,” said Conrade, recovering himself, “that--unless some
other sure road could be discovered--thou hast hinted at that which
leads most direct to our purpose. But, blessed Mary! we shall become the
curse of all Europe, the malediction of every one, from the Pope on his
throne to the very beggar at the church gate, who, ragged and leprous,
in the last extremity of human wretchedness, shall bless himself that he
is neither Giles Amaury nor Conrade of Montserrat.”
“If thou takest it thus,” said the Grand Master, with the same composure
which characterized him all through this remarkable dialogue, “let us
hold there has nothing passed between us--that we have spoken in our
sleep--have awakened, and the vision is gone.”
“It never can depart,” answered Conrade.
“Visions of ducal crowns and kingly diadems are, indeed, somewhat
tenacious of their place in the imagination,” replied the Grand Master.
“Well,” answered Conrade, “let me but first try to break peace between
Austria and England.”
They parted. Conrade remained standing still upon the spot, and watching
the flowing white cloak of the Templar as he stalked slowly away, and
gradually disappeared amid the fast-sinking darkness of the Oriental
night. Proud, ambitious, unscrupulous, and politic, the Marquis of
Montserrat was yet not cruel by nature. He was a voluptuary and an
epicurean, and, like many who profess this character, was averse,
even upon selfish motives, from inflicting pain or witnessing acts of
cruelty; and he retained also a general sense of respect for his own
reputation, which sometimes supplies the want of the better principle by
which reputation is to be maintained.
“I have,” he said, as his eyes still watched the point at which he had
seen the last slight wave of the Templar's mantle--“I have, in truth,
raised the devil with a vengeance! Who would have thought this stern,
ascetic Grand Master, whose whole fortune and misfortune is merged in
that of his order, would be willing to do more for its advancement than
I who labour for my own interest? To check this wild Crusade was my
motive, indeed, but I durst not think on the ready mode which this
determined priest has dared to suggest. Yet it is the surest--perhaps
even the safest.”
Such were the Marquis's meditations, when his muttered soliloquy was
broken by a voice from a little distance, which proclaimed with the
emphatic tone of a herald, “Remember the Holy Sepulchre!”
The exhortation was echoed from post to post, for it was the duty of
the sentinels to raise this cry from time to time upon their periodical
watch, that the host of the Crusaders might always have in their
remembrance the purpose of their being in arms. But though Conrade was
familiar with the custom, and had heard the warning voice on all former
occasions as a matter of habit, yet it came at the present moment so
strongly in contact with his own train of thought, that it seemed a
voice from Heaven warning him against the iniquity which his heart
meditated. He looked around anxiously, as if, like the patriarch of
old, though from very different circumstances, he was expecting some
ram caught in a thicket some substitution for the sacrifice which his
comrade proposed to offer, not to the Supreme Being, but to the Moloch
of their own ambition. As he looked, the broad folds of the ensign of
England, heavily distending itself to the failing night-breeze, caught
his eye. It was displayed upon an artificial mound, nearly in the midst
of the camp, which perhaps of old some Hebrew chief or champion had
chosen as a memorial of his place of rest. If so, the name was now
forgotten, and the Crusaders had christened it Saint George's
Mount, because from that commanding height the banner of England was
supereminently displayed, as if an emblem of sovereignty over the many
distinguished, noble, and even royal ensigns, which floated in lower
situations.
A quick intellect like that of Conrade catches ideas from the glance of
a moment. A single look on the standard seemed to dispel the uncertainty
of mind which had affected him. He walked to his pavilion with the hasty
and determined step of one who has adopted a plan which he is resolved
to achieve, dismissed the almost princely train who waited to attend
him, and, as he committed himself to his couch, muttered his amended
resolution, that the milder means are to be tried before the more
desperate are resorted to.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I sit at the board of the Archduke of Austria. We
will see what can be done to advance our purpose before prosecuting the
dark suggestions of this Templar.”