When he recovered himself he rode straight to the City Gate, and
commanded the porter to let him in. "Let down the drawbridge," called
he, "and be quick, for time presses." But he forgot that he had
changed his own arms, and had taken instead those of a Saracen;
therefore the porter, seeing a man with a shield and pennon and helmet
that were strange to him, thought he was an enemy, and stood still
where he was. "Begone!" he said to William, "if you approach one step
nearer I will deal you a blow that will unhorse you! Begone, I tell
you, and as quick as you can, or when William Short Nose returns from
the Aliscans it will be the worse for you."
"Fear nothing, friend," replied the Count, "for I am William himself.
I went to the Aliscans to fight the Saracens, and to help Vivian; but
all my men are dead, and I only am left to bring these evil tidings.
So open the gates, for the Saracens are close behind."
"You must wait a moment," answered the porter, and he quitted the
turret and hastened to the Lady Gibourc. "Noble Countess," cried he,
"there knocks at the drawbridge a Knight in Pagan armour, who seems
fresh from battle, for his arms are bloody. He is tall of stature and
bears himself proudly, and he says he is William Short Nose. I pray
you, my lady, come with me and see him for yourself."
The face of Gibourc grew red when she heard the porter's words, and she
left the Palace and mounted the battlements, where she called,
"Warrior, what is your will?"
"Oh, lady," answered he, "open the gate, and that quickly. Twenty
thousand Saracens are close upon my track; if they reach me, I am a
dead man."
"You cannot enter," replied Gibourc. "I am alone here except for this
porter, a priest, a few children, and some ladies whose husbands are
all at the war. Neither gate nor wicket will be opened until the
return of my beloved lord, William the Count." Then William bowed his
head for a moment, and tears ran down his cheeks.
"My lady, I am William himself," said he. "Do you not know me?"
"Saracen, you lie," replied Gibourc. "Take off your helmet and let me
see who you are!"
"Noble Countess," cried he, "this is no time to parley. Look round
you! Is not every hill covered with enemies?"
"Ah, now I know you are not William," answered she, "for all the
Saracens in the world would never have stirred him with fear. By St.
Peter! neither gate nor wicket shall be opened till I have seen your
face. I am alone and must defend myself. The voices of many men are
alike."
Then the Count lifted his helmet: "Lady look and be content. I am
William himself. Now let me in."
Gibourc knew that it was indeed the Count who had returned, and was
about to order the gates to be opened when there appeared in sight a
troop of Saracens escorting two hundred prisoners, all of them young
Knights, and thirty ladies with fair, white faces. Each one was loaded
with chains, and cowered under the blows of their captors. Their cries
and prayers for mercy reached the ears of Gibourc, and, changing her
mind, she said quickly: "There is the proof that you are not William,
my husband, whose fame has spread far! For he would never have
suffered his brethren to be so shamefully entreated while he was by!"
"Heavens!" cried the Count, "to what hard tests does she put me! But
if I lose my head I will do her bidding, for what is there that I would
_not_ do for the love of God and of her!"