In vain shall try me!
When thou art fish, I'll fisher be
And fish for thee!"
But, bewitching little maiden though she was, the fair young Isabelle had
no thought of becoming a fish. She had now found something more absorbing
than the song of the troubadour.
"Nay, my lord, rather let me try the gittern," she said. "See, now will I
charm this snaily from its cell with the air that Rene taught _me_," and
together the two heads bent over one of the vicious little "desert snails
of Egypt," which young Isabelle of Tyre had found crawling along the
casement of the palace.
"Snaily, snaily, little nun,
Come out of thy cell, come into the sun;
Show me thy horns without delay,
Or I'll tear thy convent-walls away,"
sang the girl merrily, as she touched the strings of her gittern. But his
snailship continued close and mute, and the boy laughed loudly as he
picked up the snail and laid it on his open palm.
"'T is in vain, Isa," he said; "this surly snail is no troubadour to come
out at his lady's summons. Old Hassan says the sluggards can sleep for
full four years, but trust me to waken this one. So, holo! See, Isa, there
be his horns--ah! oh! the Forty Martyrs grind thy Pagan shell!" he cried,
with sudden vehemence, dancing around the room in pain, "the beast hath
bitten me! Out, Ishmaelite!" and he flung the snail from him in a rage,
while Isabelle clung to the casement laughing heartily at her cousin's
mishap.
But the snail flew across the room at an unfortunate moment, for the arras
parted suddenly and a tall and stalwart man, clothed in the coarse woollen
gown of a palmer, or pilgrim to Jerusalem, entered the apartment just in
time to receive the snail full against his respected and venerated nose.
"The saints protect us!" exclaimed the palmer, drawing back in surprise
and clapping a hand to his face. "Doth the king of Jerusalem keep a
catapult in this his palace with which to greet his visitors?" Then,
spying the two young people, who stood in some dismay by the open
casement, the stranger strode across the room and laid a heavy hand upon
the boy's shoulder, while little Isa's smothered laugh changed to an
alarmed and tremulous "Oh!"
"Thou unmannerly boy," said the palmer, "how dar'st thou thus assault a
pilgrim to the holy shrines?"
But the lad stood his ground stoutly. "Lay off thine hand, sir palmer," he
said. "Who art thou, forsooth, that doth press thy way into the private
chambers of the king?"
"Nay, that is not for thee to know," replied the palmer. "Good faith, I
have a mind to shake thee well, sir page, for this thy great
impertinence."
But here little Isa, having recovered her voice, exclaimed hurriedly: "O
no,--not page, good palmer. He is no page; he is----"
"Peace, Isa," the lad broke in with that peculiar wink of the left eyelid
well known to every boy who deals in mischief and mystery. "Let the gray
palmer tell us who _he_ may be, or, by my plume, he goeth no farther in
the palace here."
The burly pilgrim looked down upon the lad, who, with arms akimbo and
defiant face, barred his progress. He laughed a grim and dangerous laugh.
"Thou rare young malapert!" he said. "Hath, then, the state of great King
Godfrey fallen so low that chattering children keep the royal doors?"
Then, seizing the boy by the ear, he whirled him aside and said: "Out of
my path, sir page. Let me have instant speech with the king, thy master,
ere I seek him out myself and bid him punish roundly such a saucy young
jackdaw as thou."
"By what token askest thou to see the king?" the boy demanded, nursing his
wounded ear.
"By this same token of the royal seal," replied the palmer, and he held
out to the lad a golden signet-ring, "the which I was to show to
whomsoever barred my path and crave due entrance to the king for the gray
palmer, Conradin."
"So, 't is the queen-mother's signet," said the boy. "There is then no
gainsaying thee. Well, good palmer Conradin, thou need'st go no farther.
_I_ am the King of Jerusalem."
The palmer started in surprise. "Give me no more tricks, boy," he said,
sternly.
"Nay, 't is no trick, good palmer," said little Isabelle, in solemn
assurance. "This is the king."
The palmer saw that the little maid spoke truly, but he seemed still full
of wonder, and, grasping the young king's shoulder, he held him off at
arm's length and looked him over from head to foot.
"Thou the king!" he exclaimed. "Thou that Baldwin of Jerusalem whom men do
call the hero of the Jordan, the paladin of the Sepulchre, the young
conqueror of Bostra? Thou--a boy!"
"It ill beseemeth me to lay claim to hero and paladin," said young King
Baldwin, modestly. "But know, sir pilgrim, that I am as surely King
Baldwin of Jerusalem as thou art the palmer Conradin. What warrant, then,
hast thou, gray palmer though thou be, to lay such heavy hands upon the
king?" And he strove to free himself from the stranger's grasp.
[Illustration: "THOU THE KING!" HE EXCLAIMED; "THOU THAT BALDWIN OF
JERUSALEM WHOM MEN DO CALL THE HERO OF THE JORDAN!"]
But the palmer caught him round the neck with a strong embrace. "What
warrant, lad?" he exclaimed heartily. "Why, the warrant of a brother, good
my lord. Thousands of leagues have I travelled to seek and succor thee.
Little brother of Jerusalem, here am I known only as a gray palmer at the
holy shrines, but from the Rhine to Ratisbon and Rome am I hailed as
Conrad, King of Germany and Holy Roman Emperor!"
It was now the boy's turn to start in much surprise. "Thou the great
emperor--and in palmer's garb?" he said. "Where, then, are thy followers,
valiant Conrad?"
"Six thousand worn and weary knights camp under the shadow of Acre's
walls," replied the emperor, sadly, "the sole remains of that gallant
train of close on ninety thousand knights who followed the banner of the
Cross from distant Ratisbon. Greek traitors and Arab spears have slain the
rest, and I am come, a simple pilgrim, to do deep penance at the holy
shrines, and thereafter to help thee, noble boy, in thy struggles 'gainst
the Saracen."
"And the King of France?" asked Baldwin.
"King Louis is even now at Antioch, with barely seven thousand of his
seventy thousand Frankish knights," the emperor replied. "The rest fell,
even as did mine, by Greek craft, by shipwreck, and by Infidel device."
It is a sad story--the record of the Second Crusade. From first to last it
tells but of disaster and distress amidst which only one figure stands out
bright and brave and valorous--the figure of the youthful king, the boy
Crusader, Baldwin, of Jerusalem. It was a critical time in the Crusader's
kingdom. The old enthusiasm that had burned in Duke Godfrey's followers
had been dulled by forty years of Syrian listlessness. Fierce foes without
and treacherous feuds within harassed and weakened the Christian kingdom.
Edessa, its strongest outpost, fell before the Saracens. Jerusalem was
threatened. The Holy Sepulchre was in danger; and though King Baldwin was
a valiant lad the old Bible saying was fast being proved: "Every kingdom
divided against itself is brought to desolation." France and Germany,
roused at last to action by the glowing eloquence of St. Bernard, poured
their thousands eastward, and Europe felt again the tramp of armies
marching under the Red-Cross banner on a new Crusade. But from Hungary to
Syria disaster followed disaster, and of the thousands of knights and
spearmen who entered the Crusade only a miserable remnant reached
Palestine, led on by Conrad, Emperor of Germany, and Louis, King of
France. The land they came to succor was full of jealousy and feud, and
the brave boy king alone gave them joyful welcome. But young Baldwin had
pluck and vigor enough to counterbalance a host of laggards.
"Knights and barons of Jerusalem," he said, as he and the pilgrim emperor
entered the audience-hall, "'t is for us to act. Lay we aside all paltry
jealousy and bickering. Our brothers from the West are here to aid us. 'T
is for us to wield the sword of Godfrey and raise the banner of the Cross,
and marching in the van deal death to the pagan Saracen. Up, guardians of
the Holy Sepulchre, strike for the Kingdom and the Cross!"
The Syrian climate breeds laziness, but it also calls out quick passion
and the fire of excitement. Catching the inspiration of the boy's earnest
spirit, the whole assemblage of knights and barons, prelates and people,
shouted their approval, and the audience-chamber rang again and again with
the war-cry of the Crusaders, "_Dieu li volt! Dieu li volt!_"[M]
Erelong, within the walls of Acre, the three crusading kings, the monarchs
of Germany, of France, and of Jerusalem, resolved to strike a sudden and
terrible blow at Saracen supremacy, and to win glory by an entirely new
conquest, full of danger and honor--the storming of the city of Damascus.
Oldest and fairest of Syrian cities, Damascus, called by the old Roman
emperors the "eye of all the East," rises from the midst of orchards and
gardens, flowering vines, green meadows, and waving palms; the mountains
of Lebanon look down upon it from the west, and far to the east stretches
the dry and sandy plain of the great Syrian desert. Full of wealth and
plenty, deemed a paradise by Saracens and Christians alike, the beautiful
city offered to the eager crusading host a rich and wonderful booty.
With banners streaming and trumpets playing their loudest, with armor and
lance-tips gleaming in the sun, the army of the Crusaders, a hundred
thousand strong, wound down the slopes and passes of the Lebanon hills and
pitched their camp around the town of Dareya, in the green plain of
Damascus, scarce four miles distant from the city gates. Then the princes
and leaders assembled for counsel as to the plan and manner of assault
upon the triple walls.
The camp of King Baldwin and the soldiers of Jerusalem lay in advance of
the allies of France and Germany, and nearer the beleaguered city, as the
place of honor for the brave young leader who led the van of battle. From
the looped-up entrance to a showy pavilion in the centre of King Baldwin's
camp, the fair young maiden, Isabelle of Tyre, who, as was the custom of
the day, had come with other high-born ladies to the place of siege,
looked out upon the verdant and attractive gardens that stretched before
her close up to the walls of Damascus. A lovelier scene could scarcely be
imagined, and to the Crusaders, wearied with their march, under a burning
July sun, across the rugged and tedious steeps of Lebanon, the rich
landscape, bright with golden apricots, brilliant pomegranate blossoms,
full-leaved foliage and flowering vines, all springing from a carpet of
living green, was wonderfully attractive. To the little Lady Isabelle the
temptation was too strong to be resisted, and she readily yielded to a
suggestion from young Renaud de Chatillon, a heedless and headstrong
Frankish page, who "double-dared" her, even as boys and girls do nowadays,
to go flower-picking in the enemy's gardens. Together they left the
pavilion, and, passing the tired outposts unperceived, strolled idly down
to the green banks of the little river that flowed through the gardens and
washed the walls of Damascus. The verdant river-bank was strewn thick with
flowers and the fallen scarlet blossoms of the pomegranate, while luscious
apricots hung within easy reach, and the deep shade of the walnut trees
gave cool and delightful shelter. What wonder that the heedless young
people lost all thought of danger in the beauty around them, and,
wandering on a little and still a little farther from the protection of
their own camp, were soon deep in the mazes of the dangerous gardens.
But suddenly they heard a great stir in the grove beyond them; they
started in terror as a clash of barbaric music, of cymbals and of atabals,
sounded on their ears, and, in an instant, they found themselves
surrounded by a swarm of swarthy Saracens. The Lady Isabelle was soon a
struggling prisoner, but nimble young Renaud, swifter-footed and more wary
than his companion, escaped from the grasp of his white-robed captor,
tripped up the heels of a fierce-eyed Saracen with a sudden twist learned
in the tilt-yard, and sped like the wind toward King Baldwin's camp,
shouting as he ran: "Rescue, rescue from the Infidels!" Out of the
Crusader's camp poured swift and speedy succor: a flight of spears and
arrows came from either band, but the dividing distance was too great, and
with a yell of triumph the Saracens and their fair young captive were lost
in the thick shadows. Straight into King Baldwin's camp sped Renaud, still
shouting: "Rescue, rescue! the Lady Isabelle is prisoner!" Straight
through the aroused and swarming camp to where, within the walls of
Dareya, the crusading chiefs still sat in council. Down at King Baldwin's
feet he dropped, and cried breathlessly: "My lord King, the Lady Isabelle
is prisoner to the Saracens!"
"Isa a prisoner!" exclaimed the young king, springing to his feet.
"Rescue, rescue, my lords, for the sweet little lady of Tyre! Let who
will, follow me straight to the camp of the Unbelievers!"
There was a hasty mounting of steeds among the Crusader's tents; a hasty
bracing-up of armor and settling of casques; shields were lifted high and
spears were laid in rest, and, followed by a hundred knights, the boy
Crusader dashed impetuously from his camp and charged into the thick
gardens that held his captive cousin. His action was quicker than
Isabelle's captors had anticipated; for, halting ere they rode within the
city, the Saracens had placed her within one of the little palisaded
towers scattered through the gardens for the purpose of defence.
Quick-witted and ready-eared, the little lady ceased her sobs as she heard
through the trees the well-known "_Beausant!_" the war-cry of the Knights
of the Temple, and the ringing shout of "A Baldwin to the rescue!" Leaning
far out of the little tower, she shook her crimson scarf, and cried
shrilly: "Rescue, rescue for a Christian maiden!" King Baldwin saw the
waving scarf and heard his cousin's cry. Straight through the hedgeway he
charged, a dozen knights at his heels; a storm of Saracen arrows rattled
against shield and hauberk, but the palisades were soon forced, the
swarthy captors fell before the levelled lances of the rescuers, the lady
Isabelle sprang from the grasp of a Saracen rider to the arms of the king,
and then, wheeling around, the gallant band sped back toward the camp ere
the bewildered Saracens could recover from their surprise. But the
reaction comes full soon, and now from every quarter flutter the white
_bournous_, the striped _aba_, the red and yellow _keffiah_ of the Saracen
horsemen. They swarm from garden, and tower, and roadway, and through the
opened city gates fresh troops of horsemen dash down the wide causeway
that crosses the narrow river. With equal speed the camp of the Crusaders,
fully roused, is pouring forth its thousands, and King Baldwin sees, with
the joy of a practised warrior, that the foolish freak of a thoughtless
little maiden has brought about a great and glorious battle. The rescued
Isabelle is quickly given in charge of a trusty squire, who bears her back
to camp, and then, at the head of the forward battle, the boy Crusader
bears down upon the Saracen host, shouting: "Ho, knights and barons,
gallant brothers of the Cross, follow me, and death to the Infidel."
The battle is fairly joined. The great Red-Cross banner flames out upon
the breeze; behind it stream the black war-flag of the Temple and the
eight-pointed Cross of the Hospital; right and left press the Oriflamme of
France and the Imperial Eagle of Germany, while above the tossing mass of
spears and pennons and mail-clad knights rise the mingling war-cries of
"_Beausant!_" "St. Denys!" and "St. George!" and the deeper and more
universal shout of the Crusaders' battle-cries: "_Christus vincit!_" and
"_Dieu li volt!_"[N]
Rank on rank, with spears in rest and visors closed, the crusading knights
charge to the assault. Fast behind the knights press the footmen--De
Mowbray's English archers, King Louis' cross-bowmen, Conrad's spearmen,
and the javelin-men of Jerusalem. Before the fury of the onset the mass of
muffled Arabs and armored Saracens break and yield, but from hedge and
tower and loop-holed wall fresh flights of arrows and of javelins rain
down upon the Christian host, and the green gardens of Damascus are torn
and trampled with the fury of the battle. Above King Baldwin's head still
streams the sacred banner; his cross-handled sword is dyed with Saracen
blood, and his clear young voice rings loud above the din: "Christian
warriors; generous defenders of the Cross; fight--fight on as fought our
fathers!"
"_Beausant!_" rings the cry of the Templars; "A Baldwin--a Baldwin for
Jerusalem!" shout the boy king's knights. The "_Allah il Allah!_" and the
wild war-shouts of the Saracens grow less and less defiant; the
entrenchments are stormed, the palisades and towers are forced, the enemy
turn and flee, and by the "never-failing valiancy" of the boy Crusader and
his followers the gardens of Damascus are in the hands of the Christian
knights.
But now fresh aid pours through the city gates. New bodies of Saracens
press to the attack, and, led in person by Anar, Prince of Damascus, the
defeated host rallies for a final stand upon the verdant river-banks of
the clear-flowing Barada.
Again the battle rages furiously. Still Baldwin leads the van, and around
his swaying standard rally the knights of Jerusalem and the soldier-monks
of the Temple and the Hospital. Twice are they driven backward by the
fury of the Saracen resistance, and young Renaud de Chatillon, battling
bravely to retrieve his thoughtless action, which brought on the battle,
is forced to yield to another lad of eleven, a brown-faced Kurdish boy,
who in after years is to be hailed as the conqueror of the
Crusaders--Saladin, the greatest of the Sultans. The battle wavers. The
French knights can only hold their ground in stubborn conflict; the
heathen mass grows denser round the Red-Cross banner, the soldiers of
Jerusalem are thrown into disorder, and the boy-leader's horse, pierced by
a spear-thrust, falls with his rider on a losing field. "_Allah il
Allah!_" rings the shrill war-cry of the Turkish host, and the Crescent
presses down the Cross. But hark! a new cry swells upon the air. "A
Conrad! Ho, a Conrad! Rescue for the Cross!" and through the tangled and
disordered mass of the cavalry of France and Palestine bursts the stalwart
German emperor and a thousand dismounted knights. The Saracen lines fall
back before the charge, while in bold defiance the sword of the emperor
gleams above his crest. As if in acceptance of his unproclaimed challenge,
a gigantic Saracen emir, sheathed in complete armor, strides out before
the pagan host, and the fiercely raging battle stops on the instant, while
the two great combatants face each other alone. Their great swords gleam
in the air. With feint and thrust, and stroke and skilful parry the
champions wage the duel of the giants, till suddenly, in one of those
feats of strength and skill that stand out as a marvellous battle-act,
the sword of the emperor with a single mighty stroke cleaves through the
Saracen's armor-covered body, and the gigantic emir, cut completely in
twain, falls bleeding at his conqueror's feet. The Turks break in dismay
as their champion falls. Young Baldwin rallies his disordered forces, the
war-cries mingle with the trumpet-peal, and, on foot, at the head of their
knights, the two kings lead one last charge against the enemy and drive
the fleeing host within the city walls. With shouts of victory, the
Christian army encamp upon the field their valor has conquered, and
Damascus is almost won.
Within the city, now filled with fears of plunder and of death,
preparations for flight were made, and in the great mosque women and
children invoked the aid of Mahomet to shield them from an enemy more
relentless than Arab or Saracen--a host whose banner-cry was dark and
terrible: "Cursed be he who does not stain his sword with blood." The city
seemed doomed to capture. But--"there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and
the lip." In the camp of the Crusaders the exultant leaders were already
quarrelling over whose domain the conquered city should be when once its
gates were opened to Christian victors. The Syrian princes, the great
lords of the West, the monkish Knights of the Temple and of the Hospital,
alike claimed the prize, and the old fable of the hunters who fought for
the possession of the lion's skin even before the lion was captured was
once more illustrated. For, meantime, in the palace at Damascus, the
captive page Renaud stood before the Saracen Prince Anar, and the Prince
asked the boy: "As between thine honor and thy head, young Christian,
which wouldst thou desire to keep?"
"So please your Highness," replied the wise and politic young page, "my
honor, if it may be kept with my head; but if not--why then, what were
mine honor worth to me without my head?"
"Thou art a shrewd young Frank," said the Prince Anar. "But thou mayst
keep thy head and, perchance, thine honor too, if that thou canst hold thy
ready tongue in check. Bear thou this scroll in secret to the Nazarene
whom men do call Bernard, Grand Master of those dogs of Eblis, the Knights
of the Temple, and, hark ye, see that no word of this scroll cometh to the
young King Baldwin, else shall the bow-strings of my slaves o'ertake thee.
Go; thou art free!"
"My life upon the safe delivery of thy scroll, great Prince," said young
Renaud, overjoyed to be freed so easily, and, soon in the Crusaders' camp,
he sought the Grand Master and handed him the scroll in secret. The face
of the Templar was dark with envy and anger, for his counsels and the
claims of the Syrian lords had been set aside, and the princedom of
Damascus which he had coveted had been promised to a Western baron.
"So," said the Grand Master, as he read the scroll, "the Count of Flanders
may yet be balked. What says the emir? Three casks of bezants and the
city of Caesarea for the Templars if this siege be raised. 'T is a princely
offer and more than can be gained from these Flemish boors."
"Gallant lords and mighty princes," he said, with well-assumed candor,
returning to the council. "'T is useless for us to hope to force the gates
through this mass of gardens, where men do but fight in the dark. Rather
let us depart to the desert side of the city, where, so say my spies, the
walls are weaker and less stoutly protected. These may soon be carried.
Then may we gain the city for the noble Count of Flanders, ere that the
Emir Noureddin, who, I learn, is coming with a mighty force of Infidels,
shall succor the city and keep it from the soldiers of the Cross."
This craftily given advice seemed wise, and the crusading camp was quickly
withdrawn from the beautiful and well-watered gardens to the dry and arid
desert before the easterly walls of the city. Fatal mistake! the walls
proved stout and unassailable, the desert could not support the life of so
large an army, whose supplies were speedily wasted, and through the
gardens the Christians had deserted fresh hosts of Arabs poured into the
city. Victory gave place to defeat and rejoicing to despair. Days of
fruitless assault were followed by nights of dissension, and finally the
crusading host, worn by want and divided in counsel, abruptly ended a
siege they could no longer maintain. But in the final council young
Baldwin pleaded for renewed endeavor.
"And is it thus, my lords," he said, "that ye do give up the fairest prize
in Syria, and stand recreant to your vows as valiant soldiers of the
Cross?"
[Illustration: Conrad the Emperor quitting the Crusade.]
"King Baldwin," said Conrad, "thou art a brave and gallant youth, and were
all like thee, our swords had not been drawn in vain. But youth and valor
may not hope to cope with greed. We are deceived. We have suffered from
treason where it should have least been feared, and more deadly than
Saracen arrows are the secret stabs of thy barons of Syria."