We heard the Techir--so these Arabs call
Their shout of onset, when, with loud acclaim,
They challenge Heaven to give them victory.
SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
On the subsequent morning Richard was invited to a conference by Philip
of France, in which the latter, with many expressions of his high esteem
for his brother of England, communicated to him in terms extremely
courteous, but too explicit to be misunderstood, his positive intention
to return to Europe, and to the cares of his kingdom, as entirely
despairing of future success in their undertaking, with their diminished
forces and civil discords. Richard remonstrated, but in vain; and when
the conference ended he received without surprise a manifesto from the
Duke of Austria, and several other princes, announcing a resolution
similar to that of Philip, and in no modified terms, assigning, for
their defection from the cause of the Cross, the inordinate ambition and
arbitrary domination of Richard of England. All hopes of continuing
the war with any prospect of ultimate success were now abandoned; and
Richard, while he shed bitter tears over his disappointed hopes of
glory, was little consoled by the recollection that the failure was
in some degree to be imputed to the advantages which he had given his
enemies by his own hasty and imprudent temper.
“They had not dared to have deserted my father thus,” he said to De
Vaux, in the bitterness of his resentment. “No slanders they could have
uttered against so wise a king would have been believed in Christendom;
whereas--fool that I am!--I have not only afforded them a pretext for
deserting me, but even a colour for casting all the blame of the rupture
upon my unhappy foibles.”
These thoughts were so deeply galling to the King, that De Vaux was
rejoiced when the arrival of an ambassador from Saladin turned his
reflections into a different channel.
This new envoy was an Emir much respected by the Soldan, whose name
was Abdallah el Hadgi. He derived his descent from the family of the
Prophet, and the race or tribe of Hashem, in witness of which genealogy
he wore a green turban of large dimensions. He had also three times
performed the journey to Mecca, from which he derived his epithet of
El Hadgi, or the Pilgrim. Notwithstanding these various pretensions to
sanctity, Abdallah was (for an Arab) a boon companion, who enjoyed
a merry tale, and laid aside his gravity so far as to quaff a blithe
flagon when secrecy ensured him against scandal. He was likewise
a statesman, whose abilities had been used by Saladin in various
negotiations with the Christian princes, and particularly with Richard,
to whom El Hadgi was personally known and acceptable. Animated by the
cheerful acquiescence with which the envoy of Saladin afforded a fair
field for the combat, a safe conduct for all who might choose to witness
it, and offered his own person as a guarantee of his fidelity, Richard
soon forgot his disappointed hopes, and the approaching dissolution of
the Christian league, in the interesting discussions preceding a combat
in the lists.
The station called the Diamond of the Desert was assigned for the place
of conflict, as being nearly at an equal distance betwixt the Christian
and Saracen camps. It was agreed that Conrade of Montserrat, the
defendant, with his godfathers, the Archduke of Austria and the Grand
Master of the Templars, should appear there on the day fixed for the
combat, with a hundred armed followers, and no more; that Richard of
England and his brother Salisbury, who supported the accusation, should
attend with the same number, to protect his champion; and that the
Soldan should bring with him a guard of five hundred chosen followers,
a band considered as not more than equal to the two hundred Christian
lances. Such persons of consideration as either party chose to invite to
witness the contest were to wear no other weapons than their swords, and
to come without defensive armour. The Soldan undertook the preparation
of the lists, and to provide accommodations and refreshments of every
kind for all who were to assist at the solemnity; and his letters
expressed with much courtesy the pleasure which he anticipated in the
prospect of a personal and peaceful meeting with the Melech Ric, and his
anxious desire to render his reception as agreeable as possible.
All preliminaries being arranged and communicated to the defendant
and his godfathers, Abdullah the Hadgi was admitted to a more private
interview, where he heard with delight the strains of Blondel. Having
first carefully put his green turban out of sight, and assumed a
Greek cap in its stead, he requited the Norman minstrel's music with a
drinking song from the Persian, and quaffed a hearty flagon of Cyprus
wine, to show that his practice matched his principles. On the next day,
grave and sober as the water-drinker Mirglip, he bent his brow to the
ground before Saladin's footstool, and rendered to the Soldan an account
of his embassy.
On the day before that appointed for the combat Conrade and his friends
set off by daybreak to repair to the place assigned, and Richard left
the camp at the same hour and for the same purpose; but, as had been
agreed upon, he took his journey by a different route--a precaution
which had been judged necessary, to prevent the possibility of a quarrel
betwixt their armed attendants.
The good King himself was in no humour for quarrelling with any one.
Nothing could have added to his pleasurable anticipations of a desperate
and bloody combat in the lists, except his being in his own royal
person one of the combatants; and he was half in charity again even
with Conrade of Montserrat. Lightly armed, richly dressed, and gay as
a bridegroom on the eve of his nuptials, Richard caracoled along by
the side of Queen Berengaria's litter, pointing out to her the various
scenes through which they passed, and cheering with tale and song the
bosom of the inhospitable wilderness. The former route of the Queen's
pilgrimage to Engaddi had been on the other side of the chain of
mountains, so that the ladies were strangers to the scenery of the
desert; and though Berengaria knew her husband's disposition too well
not to endeavour to seem interested in what he was pleased either to
say or to sing, she could not help indulging some female fears when she
found herself in the howling wilderness with so small an escort, which
seemed almost like a moving speck on the bosom of the plain, and knew
at the same time they were not so distant from the camp of Saladin,
but what they might be in a moment surprised and swept off by an
overpowering host of his fiery-footed cavalry, should the pagan be
faithless enough to embrace an opportunity thus tempting. But when she
hinted these suspicions to Richard he repelled them with displeasure and
disdain. “It were worse than ingratitude,” he said, “to doubt the good
faith of the generous Soldan.”
Yet the same doubts and fears recurred more than once, not to the timid
mind of the Queen alone, but to the firmer and more candid soul of Edith
Plantagenet, who had no such confidence in the faith of the Moslem as
to render her perfectly at ease when so much in their power; and her
surprise had been far less than her terror, if the desert around had
suddenly resounded with the shout of ALLAH HU! and a band of Arab
cavalry had pounced on them like vultures on their prey. Nor were these
suspicions lessened when, as evening approached, they were aware of
a single Arab horseman, distinguished by his turban and long lance,
hovering on the edge of a small eminence like a hawk poised in the air,
and who instantly, on the appearance of the royal retinue, darted
off with the speed of the same bird when it shoots down the wind and
disappears from the horizon.
“We must be near the station,” said King Richard; “and yonder cavalier
is one of Saladin's outposts--methinks I hear the noise of the Moorish
horns and cymbals. Get you into order, my hearts, and form yourselves
around the ladies soldierlike and firmly.”
As he spoke, each knight, squire, and archer hastily closed in upon his
appointed ground, and they proceeded in the most compact order, which
made their numbers appear still smaller. And to say the truth, though
there might be no fear, there was anxiety as well as curiosity in the
attention with which they listened to the wild bursts of Moorish music,
which came ever and anon more distinctly from the quarter in which the
Arab horseman had been seen to disappear.
De Vaux spoke in a whisper to the King. “Were it not well, my liege, to
send a page to the top of that sand-bank? Or would it stand with your
pleasure that I prick forward? Methinks, by all yonder clash and clang,
if there be no more than five hundred men beyond the sand-hills, half of
the Soldan's retinue must be drummers and cymbal-tossers. Shall I spur
on?”
The baron had checked his horse with the bit, and was just about to
strike him with the spurs when the King exclaimed, “Not for the world.
Such a caution would express suspicion, and could do little to prevent
surprise, which, however, I apprehend not.”
They advanced accordingly in close and firm order till they surmounted
the line of low sand-hills, and came in sight of the appointed station,
when a splendid, but at the same time a startling, spectacle awaited
them.
The Diamond of the Desert, so lately a solitary fountain, distinguished
only amid the waste by solitary groups of palm-trees, was now the centre
of an encampment, the embroidered flags and gilded ornaments of which
glittered far and wide, and reflected a thousand rich tints against the
setting sun. The coverings of the large pavilions were of the gayest
colours--scarlet, bright yellow, pale blue, and other gaudy and gleaming
hues--and the tops of their pillars, or tent-poles, were decorated
with golden pomegranates and small silken flags. But besides these
distinguished pavilions, there were what Thomas de Vaux considered as
a portentous number of the ordinary black tents of the Arabs, being
sufficient, as he conceived, to accommodate, according to the Eastern
fashion, a host of five thousand men. A number of Arabs and Kurds, fully
corresponding to the extent of the encampment, were hastily assembling,
each leading his horse in his hand, and their muster was accompanied by
an astonishing clamour of their noisy instruments of martial music, by
which, in all ages, the warfare of the Arabs has been animated.
They soon formed a deep and confused mass of dismounted cavalry in front
of their encampment, when, at the signal of a shrill cry, which arose
high over the clangour of the music, each cavalier sprung to his saddle.
A cloud of dust arising at the moment of this manoeuvre hid from Richard
and his attendants the camp, the palm-trees, and the distant ridge of
mountains, as well as the troops whose sudden movement had raised the
cloud, and, ascending high over their heads, formed itself into the
fantastic forms of writhed pillars, domes, and minarets. Another shrill
yell was heard from the bosom of this cloudy tabernacle. It was the
signal for the cavalry to advance, which they did at full gallop,
disposing themselves as they came forward so as to come in at once on
the front, flanks, and rear of Richard's little bodyguard, who were thus
surrounded, and almost choked by the dense clouds of dust enveloping
them on each side, through which were seen alternately, and lost, the
grim forms and wild faces of the Saracens, brandishing and tossing their
lances in every possible direction with the wildest cries and halloos,
and frequently only reining up their horses when within a spear's length
of the Christians, while those in the rear discharged over the heads of
both parties thick volleys of arrows. One of these struck the litter in
which the Queen was seated, who loudly screamed, and the red spot was on
Richard's brow in an instant.
“Ha! Saint George,” he exclaimed, “we must take some order with this
infidel scum!”
But Edith, whose litter was near, thrust her head out, and with her hand
holding one of the shafts, exclaimed, “Royal Richard, beware what you
do! see, these arrows are headless!”
“Noble, sensible wench!” exclaimed Richard; “by Heaven, thou shamest
us all by thy readiness of thought and eye.--Be not moved, my English
hearts,” he exclaimed to his followers; “their arrows have no heads--and
their spears, too, lack the steel points. It is but a wild welcome,
after their savage fashion, though doubtless they would rejoice to see
us daunted or disturbed. Move onward, slow and steady.”
The little phalanx moved forward accordingly, accompanied on all sides
by the Arabs, with the shrillest and most piercing cries, the bowmen,
meanwhile, displaying their agility by shooting as near the crests of
the Christians as was possible, without actually hitting them, while the
lancers charged each other with such rude blows of their blunt weapons
that more than one of them lost his saddle, and well-nigh his life,
in this rough sport. All this, though designed to express welcome, had
rather a doubtful appearance in the eyes of the Europeans.
As they had advanced nearly half way towards the camp, King Richard and
his suite forming, as it were, the nucleus round which this tumultuary
body of horsemen howled, whooped, skirmished, and galloped, creating a
scene of indescribable confusion, another shrill cry was heard, on which
all these irregulars, who were on the front and upon the flanks of the
little body of Europeans, wheeled off; and forming themselves into a
long and deep column, followed with comparative order and silence in
the rear of Richard's troops. The dust began now to dissipate in their
front, when there advanced to meet them through that cloudy veil a body
of cavalry of a different and more regular description, completely armed
with offensive and defensive weapons, and who might well have served
as a bodyguard to the proudest of Eastern monarchs. This splendid troop
consisted of five hundred men and each horse which it contained was
worth an earl's ransom. The riders were Georgian and Circassian slaves
in the very prime of life. Their helmets and hauberks were formed of
steel rings, so bright that they shone like silver; their vestures were
of the gayest colours, and some of cloth of gold or silver; the sashes
were twisted with silk and gold, their rich turbans were plumed and
jewelled, and their sabres and poniards, of Damascene steel, were
adorned with gold and gems on hilt and scabbard.
This splendid array advanced to the sound of military music, and when
they met the Christian body they opened their files to the right and
left, and let them enter between their ranks. Richard now assumed the
foremost place in his troop, aware that Saladin himself was approaching.
Nor was it long when, in the centre of his bodyguard, surrounded by his
domestic officers and those hideous negroes who guard the Eastern
haram, and whose misshapen forms were rendered yet more frightful by the
richness of their attire, came the Soldan, with the look and manners of
one on whose brow Nature had written, This is a King! In his snow-white
turban, vest, and wide Eastern trousers, wearing a sash of scarlet
silk, without any other ornament, Saladin might have seemed the
plainest-dressed man in his own guard. But closer inspection discerned
in his turban that inestimable gem which was called by the poets the
Sea of Light; the diamond on which his signet was engraved, and which he
wore in a ring, was probably worth all the jewels of the English crown;
and a sapphire which terminated the hilt of his cangiar was not of much
inferior value. It should be added that, to protect himself from the
dust, which in the vicinity of the Dead Sea resembles the finest ashes,
or, perhaps, out of Oriental pride, the Soldan wore a sort of veil
attached to his turban, which partly obscured the view of his noble
features. He rode a milk-white Arabian, which bore him as if conscious
and proud of his noble burden.
There was no need of further introduction. The two heroic monarchs--for
such they both were--threw themselves at once from horseback, and the
troops halting and the music suddenly ceasing, they advanced to meet
each other in profound silence, and after a courteous inclination on
either side they embraced as brethren and equals. The pomp and display
upon both sides attracted no further notice--no one saw aught save
Richard and Saladin, and they too beheld nothing but each other. The
looks with which Richard surveyed Saladin were, however, more intently
curious than those which the Soldan fixed upon him; and the Soldan also
was the first to break silence.
“The Melech Ric is welcome to Saladin as water to this desert. I trust
he hath no distrust of this numerous array. Excepting the armed slaves
of my household, those who surround you with eyes of wonder and of
welcome are--even the humblest of them--the privileged nobles of my
thousand tribes; for who that could claim a title to be present would
remain at home when such a Prince was to be seen as Richard, with the
terrors of whose name, even on the sands of Yemen, the nurse stills her
child, and the free Arab subdues his restive steed!”
“And these are all nobles of Araby?” said Richard, looking around on
wild forms with their persons covered with haiks, their countenance
swart with the sunbeams, their teeth as white as ivory, their black eyes
glancing with fierce and preternatural lustre from under the shade of
their turbans, and their dress being in general simple even to meanness.
“They claim such rank,” said Saladin; “but though numerous, they
are within the conditions of the treaty, and bear no arms but the
sabre--even the iron of their lances is left behind.”
“I fear,” muttered De Vaux in English, “they have left them where they
can be soon found. A most flourishing House of Peers, I confess, and
would find Westminster Hall something too narrow for them.”
“Hush, De Vaux,” said Richard, “I command thee.--Noble Saladin,” he
said, “suspicion and thou cannot exist on the same ground. Seest thou,”
pointing to the litters, “I too have brought some champions with me,
though armed, perhaps, in breach of agreement; for bright eyes and fair
features are weapons which cannot be left behind.”
The Soldan, turning to the litters, made an obeisance as lowly as if
looking towards Mecca, and kissed the sand in token of respect.
“Nay,” said Richard, “they will not fear a closer encounter, brother;
wilt thou not ride towards their litters, and the curtains will be
presently withdrawn?”
“That may Allah prohibit!” said Saladin, “since not an Arab looks on who
would not think it shame to the noble ladies to be seen with their faces
uncovered.”
“Thou shalt see them, then, in private, brother,” answered Richard.
“To what purpose?” answered Saladin mournfully. “Thy last letter was,
to the hopes which I had entertained, like water to fire; and wherefore
should I again light a flame which may indeed consume, but cannot cheer
me? But will not my brother pass to the tent which his servant hath
prepared for him? My principal black slave hath taken order for the
reception of the Princesses, the officers of my household will attend
your followers, and ourself will be the chamberlain of the royal
Richard.”
He led the way accordingly to a splendid pavilion, where was everything
that royal luxury could devise. De Vaux, who was in attendance, then
removed the chappe (CAPA), or long riding-cloak, which Richard wore, and
he stood before Saladin in the close dress which showed to advantage the
strength and symmetry of his person, while it bore a strong contrast
to the flowing robes which disguised the thin frame. of the Eastern
monarch. It was Richard's two-handed sword that chiefly attracted
the attention of the Saracen--a broad, straight blade, the seemingly
unwieldy length of which extended well-nigh from the shoulder to the
heel of the wearer.
“Had I not,” said Saladin, “seen this brand flaming in the front of
battle, like that of Azrael, I had scarce believed that human arm could
wield it. Might I request to see the Melech Ric strike one blow with it
in peace, and in pure trial of strength?”
“Willingly, noble Saladin,” answered Richard; and looking around for
something whereon to exercise his strength, he saw a steel mace held by
one of the attendants, the handle being of the same metal, and about an
inch and a half in diameter. This he placed on a block of wood.
The anxiety of De Vaux for his master's honour led him to whisper in
English, “For the blessed Virgin's sake, beware what you attempt, my
liege! Your full strength is not as yet returned--give no triumph to the
infidel.”
“Peace, fool!” said Richard, standing firm on his ground, and casting a
fierce glance around; “thinkest thou that I can fail in HIS presence?”
The glittering broadsword, wielded by both his hands, rose aloft to the
King's left shoulder, circled round his head, descended with the sway
of some terrific engine, and the bar of iron rolled on the ground in two
pieces, as a woodsman would sever a sapling with a hedging-bill.
“By the head of the Prophet, a most wonderful blow!” said the Soldan,
critically and accurately examining the iron bar which had been cut
asunder; and the blade of the sword was so well tempered as to exhibit
not the least token of having suffered by the feat it had performed. He
then took the King's hand, and looking on the size and muscular strength
which it exhibited, laughed as he placed it beside his own, so lank and
thin, so inferior in brawn and sinew.
“Ay, look well,” said De Vaux in English, “it will be long ere your long
jackanape's fingers do such a feat with your fine gilded reaping-hook
there.”
“Silence, De Vaux,” said Richard; “by Our Lady, he understands or
guesses thy meaning--be not so broad, I pray thee.”
The Soldan, indeed, presently said, “Something I would fain
attempt--though wherefore should the weak show their inferiority in
presence of the strong? Yet each land hath its own exercises, and this
may be new to the Melech Ric.” So saying, he took from the floor a
cushion of silk and down, and placed it upright on one end. “Can thy
weapon, my brother, sever that cushion?” he said to King Richard.
“No, surely,” replied the King; “no sword on earth, were it the
Excalibur of King Arthur, can cut that which opposes no steady
resistance to the blow.”
“Mark, then,” said Saladin; and tucking up the sleeve of his gown,
showed his arm, thin indeed and spare, but which constant exercise had
hardened into a mass consisting of nought but bone, brawn, and sinew. He
unsheathed his scimitar, a curved and narrow blade, which glittered not
like the swords of the Franks, but was, on the contrary, of a dull blue
colour, marked with ten millions of meandering lines, which showed
how anxiously the metal had been welded by the armourer. Wielding this
weapon, apparently so inefficient when compared to that of Richard, the
Soldan stood resting his weight upon his left foot, which was slightly
advanced; he balanced himself a little, as if to steady his aim; then
stepping at once forward, drew the scimitar across the cushion, applying
the edge so dexterously, and with so little apparent effort, that the
cushion seemed rather to fall asunder than to be divided by violence.
“It is a juggler's trick,” said De Vaux, darting forward and snatching
up the portion of the cushion which had been cut off, as if to assure
himself of the reality of the feat; “there is gramarye in this.”
The Soldan seemed to comprehend him, for he undid the sort of veil
which he had hitherto worn, laid it double along the edge of his sabre,
extended the weapon edgeways in the air, and drawing it suddenly through
the veil, although it hung on the blade entirely loose, severed that
also into two parts, which floated to different sides of the tent,
equally displaying the extreme temper and sharpness of the weapon, and
the exquisite dexterity of him who used it.
“Now, in good faith, my brother,” said Richard, “thou art even matchless
at the trick of the sword, and right perilous were it to meet thee!
Still, however, I put some faith in a downright English blow, and what
we cannot do by sleight we eke out by strength. Nevertheless, in truth
thou art as expert in inflicting wounds as my sage Hakim in curing them.
I trust I shall see the learned leech. I have much to thank him for, and
had brought some small present.”
As he spoke, Saladin exchanged his turban for a Tartar cap. He had no
sooner done so, than De Vaux opened at once his extended mouth and his
large, round eyes, and Richard gazed with scarce less astonishment,
while the Soldan spoke in a grave and altered voice: “The sick man,
saith the poet, while he is yet infirm, knoweth the physician by his
step; but when he is recovered, he knoweth not even his face when he
looks upon him.”
“A miracle!--a miracle!” exclaimed Richard.
“Of Mahound's working, doubtless,” said Thomas de Vaux.
“That I should lose my learned Hakim,” said Richard, “merely by absence
of his cap and robe, and that I should find him again in my royal
brother Saladin!”
“Such is oft the fashion of the world,” answered the Soldan; “the
tattered robe makes not always the dervise.”
“And it was through thy intercession,” said Richard, “that yonder
Knight of the Leopard was saved from death, and by thy artifice that he
revisited my camp in disguise?”
“Even so,” replied Saladin. “I was physician enough to know that, unless
the wounds of his bleeding honour were stanched, the days of his life
must be few. His disguise was more easily penetrated than I had expected
from the success of my own.”
“An accident,” said King Richard (probably alluding to the circumstance
of his applying his lips to the wound of the supposed Nubian), “let me
first know that his skin was artificially discoloured; and that hint
once taken, detection became easy, for his form and person are not to be
forgotten. I confidently expect that he will do battle on the morrow.”
“He is full in preparation, and high in hope,” said the Soldan. “I have
furnished him with weapons and horse, thinking nobly of him from what I
have seen under various disguises.”
“Knows he now,” said Richard, “to whom he lies under obligation?”
“He doth,” replied the Saracen. “I was obliged to confess my person when
I unfolded my purpose.”
“And confessed he aught to you?” said the King of England.
“Nothing explicit,” replied the Soldan; “but from much that passed
between us, I conceive his love is too highly placed to be happy in its
issue.”
“And thou knowest that his daring and insolent passion crossed thine own
wishes?” said Richard.
“I might guess so much,” said Saladin; “but his passion had existed ere
my wishes had been formed--and, I must now add, is likely to survive
them. I cannot, in honour, revenge me for my disappointment on him who
had no hand in it. Or, if this high-born dame loved him better than
myself, who can say that she did not justice to a knight of her own
religion, who is full of nobleness?”
“Yet of too mean lineage to mix with the blood of Plantagenet,” said
Richard haughtily.
“Such may be your maxims in Frangistan,” replied the Soldan. “Our poets
of the Eastern countries say that a valiant camel-driver is worthy to
kiss the lip of a fair Queen, when a cowardly prince is not worthy to
salute the hem of her garment. But with your permission, noble brother,
I must take leave of thee for the present, to receive the Duke of
Austria and yonder Nazarene knight, much less worthy of hospitality, but
who must yet be suitably entreated, not for their sakes, but for mine
own honour--for what saith the sage Lokman? 'Say not that the food
is lost unto thee which is given to the stranger; for if his body be
strengthened and fattened therewithal, not less is thine own worship and
good name cherished and augmented.'”
The Saracen Monarch departed from King Richard's tent, and having
indicated to him, rather with signs than with speech, where the pavilion
of the Queen and her attendants was pitched, he went to receive the
Marquis of Montserrat and his attendants, for whom, with less
goodwill, but with equal splendour, the magnificent Soldan had provided
accommodations. The most ample refreshments, both in the Oriental and
after the European fashion, were spread before the royal and princely
guests of Saladin, each in their own separate pavilion; and so attentive
was the Soldan to the habits and taste of his visitors, that Grecian
slaves were stationed to present them with the goblet, which is the
abomination of the sect of Mohammed. Ere Richard had finished his meal,
the ancient Omrah, who had brought the Soldan's letter to the Christian
camp, entered with a plan of the ceremonial to be observed on the
succeeding day of combat. Richard, who knew the taste of his old
acquaintance, invited him to pledge him in a flagon of wine of Shiraz;
but Abdallah gave him to understand, with a rueful aspect, that
self-denial in the present circumstances was a matter in which his
life was concerned, for that Saladin, tolerant in many respects, both
observed and enforced by high penalties the laws of the Prophet.
“Nay, then,” said Richard, “if he loves not wine, that lightener of the
human heart, his conversion is not to be hoped for, and the prediction
of the mad priest of Engaddi goes like chaff down the wind.”
The King then addressed himself to settle the articles of combat, which
cost a considerable time, as it was necessary on some points to consult
with the opposite parties, as well as with the Soldan.
They were at length finally agreed upon, and adjusted by a protocol in
French and in Arabian, which was subscribed by Saladin as umpire of the
field, and by Richard and Leopold as guarantees for the two combatants.
As the Omrah took his final leave of King Richard for the evening, De
Vaux entered.
“The good knight,” he said, “who is to do battle tomorrow requests to
know whether he may not to-night pay duty to his royal godfather!”
“Hast thou seen him, De Vaux?” said the King, smiling; “and didst thou
know an ancient acquaintance?”
“By our Lady of Lanercost,” answered De Vaux, “there are so many
surprises and changes in this land that my poor brain turns. I scarce
knew Sir Kenneth of Scotland, till his good hound, that had been for a
short while under my care, came and fawned on me; and even then I only
knew the tyke by the depth of his chest, the roundness of his foot,
and his manner of baying, for the poor gazehound was painted like any
Venetian courtesan.”
“Thou art better skilled in brutes than men, De Vaux,” said the King.
“I will not deny,” said De Vaux, “I have found them ofttimes the
honester animals. Also, your Grace is pleased to term me sometimes a
brute myself; besides that, I serve the Lion, whom all men acknowledge
the king of brutes.”
“By Saint George, there thou brokest thy lance fairly on my brow,” said
the King. “I have ever said thou hast a sort of wit, De Vaux; marry, one
must strike thee with a sledge-hammer ere it can be made to sparkle. But
to the present gear--is the good knight well armed and equipped?”
“Fully, my liege, and nobly,” answered De Vaux. “I know the armour well;
it is that which the Venetian commissary offered your highness, just ere
you became ill, for five hundred byzants.”
“And he hath sold it to the infidel Soldan, I warrant me, for a few
ducats more, and present payment. These Venetians would sell the
Sepulchre itself!”
“The armour will never be borne in a nobler cause,” said De Vaux.
“Thanks to the nobleness of the Saracen,” said the King, “not to the
avarice of the Venetians.”
“I would to God your Grace would be more cautious,” said the anxious
De Vaux. “Here are we deserted by all our allies, for points of offence
given to one or another; we cannot hope to prosper upon the land; and we
have only to quarrel with the amphibious republic, to lose the means of
retreat by sea!”
“I will take care,” said Richard impatiently; “but school me no more.
Tell me rather, for it is of interest, hath the knight a confessor?”
“He hath,” answered De Vaux; “the hermit of Engaddi, who erst did
him that office when preparing for death, attends him on the present
occasion, the fame of the duel having brought him hither.”
“'Tis well,” said Richard; “and now for the knight's request. Say to
him, Richard will receive him when the discharge of his devoir beside
the Diamond of the Desert shall have atoned for his fault beside the
Mount of Saint George; and as thou passest through the camp, let the
Queen know I will visit her pavilion--and tell Blondel to meet me
there.”
De Vaux departed, and in about an hour afterwards, Richard, wrapping his
mantle around him, and taking his ghittern in his hand, walked in the
direction of the Queen's pavilion. Several Arabs passed him, but always
with averted heads and looks fixed upon the earth, though he could
observe that all gazed earnestly after him when he was past. This led
him justly to conjecture that his person was known to them; but that
either the Soldan's commands, or their own Oriental politeness, forbade
them to seem to notice a sovereign who desired to remain incognito.
When the King reached the pavilion of his Queen he found it guarded by
those unhappy officials whom Eastern jealousy places around the zenana.
Blondel was walking before the door, and touched his rote from time to
time in a manner which made the Africans show their ivory teeth, and
bear burden with their strange gestures and shrill, unnatural voices.
“What art thou after with this herd of black cattle, Blondel?” said the
King; “wherefore goest thou not into the tent?”
“Because my trade can neither spare the head nor the fingers,” said
Blondel, “and these honest blackamoors threatened to cut me joint from
joint if I pressed forward.”
“Well, enter with me,” said the King, “and I will be thy safeguard.”
The blacks accordingly lowered pikes and swords to King Richard, and
bent their eyes on the ground, as if unworthy to look upon him. In the
interior of the pavilion they found Thomas de Vaux in attendance on the
Queen. While Berengaria welcomed Blondel, King Richard spoke for some
time secretly and apart with his fair kinswoman.
At length, “Are we still foes, my fair Edith?” he said, in a whisper.
“No, my liege,” said Edith, in a voice just so low as not to interrupt
the music; “none can bear enmity against King Richard when he deigns to
show himself, as he really is, generous and noble, as well as valiant
and honourable.”
So saying, she extended her hand to him. The King kissed it in token of
reconciliation, and then proceeded.
“You think, my sweet cousin, that my anger in this matter was feigned;
but you are deceived. The punishment I inflicted upon this knight was
just; for he had betrayed--no matter for how tempting a bribe, fair
cousin--the trust committed to him. But I rejoice, perchance as much as
you, that to-morrow gives him a chance to win the field, and throw
back the stain which for a time clung to him upon the actual thief and
traitor. No!--future times may blame Richard for impetuous folly, but
they shall say that in rendering judgment he was just when he should and
merciful when he could.”
“Laud not thyself, cousin King,” said Edith. “They may call thy justice
cruelty, thy mercy caprice.”
“And do not thou pride thyself,” said the King, “as if thy knight,
who hath not yet buckled on his armour, were unbelting it in
triumph--Conrade of Montserrat is held a good lance. What if the Scot
should lose the day?”
“It is impossible!” said Edith firmly. “My own eyes saw yonder Conrade
tremble and change colour like a base thief; he is guilty, and the trial
by combat is an appeal to the justice of God. I myself, in such a cause,
would encounter him without fear.”
“By the mass, I think thou wouldst, wench,” said the King, “and beat him
to boot, for there never breathed a truer Plantagenet than thou.”
He paused, and added in a very serious tone, “See that thou
continue to remember what is due to thy birth.”
“What means that advice, so seriously given at this moment?” said Edith.
“Am I of such light nature as to forget my name--my condition?”
“I will speak plainly, Edith,” answered the King, “and as to a friend.
What will this knight be to you, should he come off victor from yonder
lists?”
“To me?” said Edith, blushing deep with shame and displeasure. “What can
he be to me more than an honoured knight, worthy of such grace as
Queen Berengaria might confer on him, had he selected her for his lady,
instead of a more unworthy choice? The meanest knight may devote himself
to the service of an empress, but the glory of his choice,” she said
proudly, “must be his reward.”
“Yet he hath served and suffered much for you,” said the King.
“I have paid his services with honour and applause, and his sufferings
with tears,” answered Edith. “Had he desired other reward, he would have
done wisely to have bestowed his affections within his own degree.”
“You would not, then, wear the bloody night-gear for his sake?” said
King Richard.
“No more,” answered Edith, “than I would have required him to expose his
life by an action in which there was more madness than honour.”
“Maidens talk ever thus,” said the King; “but when the favoured
lover presses his suit, she says, with a sigh, her stars had decreed
otherwise.”
“Your Grace has now, for the second time, threatened me with the
influence of my horoscope,” Edith replied, with dignity. “Trust me,
my liege, whatever be the power of the stars, your poor kinswoman will
never wed either infidel or obscure adventurer. Permit me that I listen
to the music of Blondel, for the tone of your royal admonitions is
scarce so grateful to the ear.”
The conclusion of the evening offered nothing worthy of notice.