claim I may not disprove by words; for here have been strange and secret
doings. But for the honor of my country and my crown I may not idly
listen to thy condemning speech. I dare thee to the battle-test, emperor
and champion though thou be. Conrad of Germany, there lies my gage!"
"Brave youth," said Conrad, picking up the boy's mailed glove, so
impetuously flung before him, and handing it to Baldwin with gentle
courtesy, "this may not be. For even did not our vows under the 'Truce of
God' forbid all personal quarrels, it is not for such a noble-hearted lad
as thou to longer stand the champion for traitors."
So the victory, almost assured by the intrepidity of the boy Crusader, was
lost through the treachery of his followers; but it is at least some
satisfaction to know that the betrayers were themselves betrayed, and that
the three casks of golden bezants proved to be when opened but worthless
brass.
King Louis and Conrad the Emperor returned to their European dominions in
anger and disgust.
The Second Crusade, which had cost so terribly in life and treasure, was a
miserable failure, with only a boy's bravery to light up its dreary
history. Sadly disappointed at the result of his efforts, young Baldwin
still held his energy and valor unsubdued. For years he maintained his
kingdom intact in the midst of intrigue and corruption, and, victorious
over the Saracens at the battle of the Mount of Olives and at the Siege of
Ascalon, he proved his right to be entitled a successful leader and "the
model knight."
Free-handed, chivalrous, handsome, brave, and generous, he is a pleasant
picture to contemplate amidst the darkness, distrust, and greed of those
old crusading days. Beloved by all alike--Saracen as well as
Christian--his name has come down to us as that of "the most high-minded
of the Latin kings of Jerusalem."
Poisoned by his Arab physician, who loved the young king while hating so
stout a foe to the cause of Mahomet, he died at thirty-three, mourned by
all Jerusalem; even his generous foe, the Saracen Noureddin, refusing to
take advantage of his rival's death. "Allah forbid," said this chivalrous
Oriental, "that I should disturb the proper grief of a people who are
weeping for the loss of so good a king, or fix upon such an opportunity to
attack a kingdom which I have now no reason to fear."
The history of the Crusades is the story of two hundred years of strife
and battle, relieved only by some bright spots when the flash of a heroic
life lights up the blackness of superstition and of cruelty. And among its
valiant knights, equal in honor and courage and courtesy with Godfrey and
Tancred and Richard of England and Saladin and St. Louis, will ever stand
the name and fame of this gallant young ruler of the short-lived Latin
kingdom of Jerusalem--Baldwin, the Boy Crusader.
FOOTNOTES:
[M] "It is the will of God!"
[N] "Christ conquers," and "It is the will of God."
[Illustration]
VI.
FREDERICK OF HOHENSTAUFEN: THE BOY EMPEROR.
(_Afterward Frederick the Second, Emperor of Germany._)
[A.D. 1207.]
Gleaming with light and beauty, from the wavy sea-line where the blue
Mediterranean rippled against the grim fortress of Castellamare to the
dark background of olive groves and rising mountain walls, Palermo, "city
of the golden shell," lay bathed in all the glory of an Italian afternoon
one bright spring day in the year 1207.
Up the Cassaro, or street of the palace, and out through the massive
gate-way of that curious old Sicilian city,--half Saracen, half Norman in
its looks and life,--a small company of horsemen rode rapidly westward to
where the square yellow towers of La Zisa rose above its orange groves.
Now La Zisa was one of the royal pleasure-houses, a relic of the days when
the swarthy Saracens were lords of Sicily.
In the sun-lit gardens of La Zisa, a small but manly-looking lad of
thirteen, with curly, golden hair and clear blue eyes, stood beneath the
citron trees that bordered a beautiful little lake. A hooded falcon
perched upon his wrist, and by his side stood his brown-skinned attendant,
Abderachman the Saracen.
"But will it stay hooded, say'st thou?" the boy inquired, as he listened
with satisfaction to the tinkling bells of the nodding bird which
Abderachman had just taught him to hood. "Can he not shake it off?"
"Never fear for that, little Mightiness," the Saracen replied. "He is as
safely blinded as was ever the eagle of Kairewan, whose eyes the Emir took
for his crescent-tips, or even as thou art, O _el Aaziz_,[O] by thy barons
of Apulia."[P]
The look of pleasure faded from the boy's face.
"Thou say'st truly, O Abderachman," he said. "What am I but a hooded
falcon? I, a king who am no king! Would that thou and I could fly far from
this striving world, and in those great forests over sea of which thou
hast told me, could chase the lion like bold, free hunters of the Berber
hills."
"Wait in patience, O _el Aaziz_; to each man comes his day," said the
philosophic Saracen. "What says the blessed Koran: 'Allah is
all-sufficient and propitious to such as put their trust in him.'"
But now there was heard a rustle of the citron hedge, a clatter of hoofs
rang on the shell-paved roadway, and the armed band that we saw spurring
through Palermo's gates drew rein at the lake-side. The leader, a burly
German knight, who bore upon his crest a great boar's head with jewelled
eyes and gleaming silver tusks, leaped from his horse and strode up to the
boy. His bow of obeisance was scarcely more than a nod.
"Your Highness must come with me," he said, "and that at once."
The boy looked at him in protest. "Nay, Baron Kapparon,--am I never to be
at my ease?" he asked. "Let me, I pray thee, play out my day here at La
Zisa, even as thou didst promise me."
"Tush, boy; promise must yield to need," said the Knight of the Crested
Boar. "The galleys of Diephold of Acerra even now ride in the Cala port,
and think'st thou I will yield thee to his guidance? Come! At the palace
wait decrees and grants which thou must sign for me ere the Aloe-stalk
shall say us nay."
"Must!" cried the boy, as an angry flush covered his face; "who sayeth
'_must_' to the son of Henry the Emperor? Who sayeth 'must' to the
grandson of Barbarossa? Stand off, churl of Kapparon! To me, Sicilians
all! To me, sons of the Prophet!" and, breaking away from the grasp of the
burly knight, young Frederick of Hohenstaufen dashed across the small
stone bridge that led to the marble pavilion in the little lake. But only
Abderachman the Saracen crossed to him. The wrath of the Knight of
Kapparon was more dreaded than the commands of a little captive king.
The burly baron laughed a mocking laugh. "Well blown, _ser Sirocco_!"[Q]
he said, insolently, "but for all that, your Mightiness, I fear me, must
bide with me, churl though I be. Come, we waste words!" and he moved
toward the lad, who stood at bay upon the little bridge.
Young Frederick slipped his falcon's leash. "Cross at thy peril, Baron
Kapparon!" he cried; "one step more, and I unhood my falcon and send him
straight to thy disloyal eyes. Ware the bird! His flight is certain, and
his pounce is sharp!" The boy's fair face grew more defiant as he spoke,
and William of Kapparon, who knew the young lad's skill at falconry,
hesitated at the threat.
But as boy and baron faced each other in defiance, there was another stir
of the citron hedge, and another rush of hurrying hoofs. A second armed
band closed in upon the scene, and a second knightly leader sprang to the
ground. A snow-white plume trailed over the new-comer's crest, and on his
three-cornered shield was blazoned a solitary aloe-stalk, sturdy, tough,
and unyielding.
"Who threatens the King of Sicily?" he demanded, as, sword in hand, he
stepped upon the little bridge.
The German baron faced his new antagonist. "So! is it thou, Count
Diephold; is it thou, Aloe of Acerra?" he said. "By what right dar'st thou
to question the Baron of Kapparon, guardian of the king, and Chief
Captain of Sicily?"
"'Guardian,' forsooth! 'Chief Captain,' say'st thou?" cried the Count of
Acerra, angrily. "Pig of Kapparon, robber and pirate, yield up the boy! I,
who was comrade of Henry the Emperor, will stand guardian for his son. Ho,
buds of the Aloe, strike for your master's weal!"
There is a flash of steel as the two leaders cross ready swords. There is
a rush of thronging feet as the followers of each prepare for fight. There
is a mingling of battle-cries--"Ho, for the Crested Boar of Kapparon!"
"Stand, for the Aloe of Acerra!"--when for the third time the purple
citron-flowers sway and break, as a third band of armed men spur to the
lake-side. Through the green of the foliage flashes the banner of
Sicily,--the golden eagle on the blood-red field,--and the ringing voice
of a third leader rises above the din. "Ho, liegemen of the Church! rescue
for the ward of the Pope! Rescue for the King of Sicily!"
The new-comer, Walter of Palear, the "fighting Bishop of Catania" (as he
was called) and Chancellor of Sicily, reined in his horse between the
opposing bands of the Boar and the Aloe. His richly broidered cope,
streaming back, showed his coat of mail beneath, as, with lifted sword, he
shouted:
"Hold your hands, lords of Apulia! stay spears and stand aside. Yield up
the king to me--to me, the Chancellor of the realm!"
[Illustration: "CROSS AT THY PERIL, BARON KAPPARON," CRIED FREDERICK OF
HOHENSTAUFEN.]
"Off now, thou false Chancellor!" cried Count Diephold. "Think'st thou
that the revenues of Sicily are for thy treasure-chest alone? Ho, Boars
and Aloes both; down with this French fox, and up with Sicily!"
"Seize the boy and hold him hostage!" shouted William of Kapparon, and
with extended arm he strode toward poor little Frederick. With a sudden
and nimble turn, the boy dodged the clutch of the baron's mailed fist, and
putting one hand on the coping of the bridge, without a moment's
hesitation, he vaulted over into the lake. Abderachman the Saracen sprang
after him.
"How now, thou pig-headed pirate of Kapparon," broke out Count Diephold;
"thou shalt pay dearly for this, if the lad doth drown!"
But Frederick was a good swimmer, and the lake was not deep. The falcon on
his wrist fluttered and tugged at its jess, disturbed by this unexpected
bath; but the boy held his hand high above his head and, supported by the
Saracen, soon reached the shore. Here the retainers of the Chancellor
crowded around him, and springing to the saddle of a ready war-horse, the
lad shouted: "Ho, for Palermo, all! which chief shall first reach St.
Agatha's gate with me, to him will I yield myself!" and, wheeling his
horse, he dashed through the mingled bands and sped like an arrow through
the gardens of La Zisa.
The three contesting captains looked at one another in surprise.
"The quarry hath slipped," laughed Count Diephold. "By St. Nicholas of
Myra, though, the lad is of the true Suabian eagle's brood. Try we the
test, my lords."
There was a sudden mounting of steeds, a hurrying gallop after the flying
king; but the Chancellor's band, being already in the saddle, had the
advantage, and as young King Frederick and Walter the Chancellor passed
under St. Agatha's pointed arch, the knights of the Crested Boar and of
the Aloe-stalk saw in much disgust the great-gate close in their faces,
and they were left on the wrong side of Palermo's walls,--outwitted by a
boy.
But the baffled knights were not the men to give up the chase so easily.
Twenty Pisan galleys, manned by Count Diephold's fighting men, lay in the
Cala port of Palermo. That very night, they stormed under the walls of
Castellamare, routed the Saracens of the royal guard, sent Walter the
Chancellor flying for his life toward Messina; and, with young Frederick
in his power, Diephold, the usurping Count of Acerra, ruled Sicily in the
name of the poor little king.
In the royal palace at Palermo, grand and gorgeous with columns and
mosaics and gilded walls, this boy of thirteen--Frederick of Hohenstaufen,
Emperor-elect of Germany, King of Sicily, and "Lord of the World"--sat,
the day after his capture by Count Diephold, sad, solitary, and forlorn.
The son of Henry the Sixth of Germany, the most victorious but most cruel
of the Hohenstaufen emperors, and of Constance the Empress, daughter of
Roger, the great Norman King of Sicily, Frederick had begun life on
December the twenty-sixth, 1194, as heir to two powerful kingdoms. His
birth had been the occasion of great rejoicings, and vassal princes and
courtier poets had hailed him as "the Imperial Babe, the Glory of Italy,
the Heir of the Caesars, the Reformer of the World and the Empire!" When
but two years old he had been proclaimed King of the Romans and
Emperor-elect of Germany, and, when but three, he had, on the death of his
father, been crowned King of Sicily and Apulia, in the great cathedral of
Palermo.
But in all those two sovereignties, no sadder-hearted nor lonelier lad
could have been found than this boy of thirteen, this solitary and
friendless orphan, this Frederick of Hohenstaufen, the boy emperor. In
Germany his uncle, Philip of Suabia, disputed with Otho of Brunswick for
the imperial crown. And beautiful Sicily, the land of his birth, the land
over which he was acknowledged as king, was filled with war and blood.
From the lemon groves of Messina to the flowery slopes of Palermo, noble
and priest, Christian and Saracen, French and German, strove for power and
ravaged the land with fire and sword. Deprived sometimes of even the
necessities of life, deserted by those who should have stood loyal to him,
often hungry and always friendless, shielded from absolute want only by
the pity of the good burghers of Palermo, used in turn by every faction
and made the excuse for every feud, this heir to so great power was
himself the most powerless of kings, the most unhappy of boys. And now, as
he sits in his gleaming palace, uncertain where to turn for help, all his
sad young heart goes into an appealing letter which has come down to us
across the centuries, and a portion of which is here given to complete the
dismal picture of this worried young monarch of long ago:
"To all the kings of the world and to all the princes of the universe, the
innocent boy, King of Sicily, called Frederick: Greeting in God's name!
Assemble yourselves, ye nations; draw nigh, ye princes, and see if any
sorrow be like unto my sorrow! My parents died ere I could know their
caresses, and I, a gentle lamb among wolves, fell into slavish dependence
upon men of various tribes and tongues. My daily bread, my drink, my
freedom, all are measured out to me in scanty proportion. No king am I. I
am ruled, instead of ruling. I beg favors, instead of granting them. Again
and again I beseech you, O ye princes of the earth, to aid me to withstand
slaves, to set free the son of Caesar, to raise up the crown of the
kingdom, and to gather together again the scattered people!"
But it is a long lane that has no turning, and before many months another
change came in the kaleidoscope of this young king's fortunes. Pope
Innocent the Third had been named by the Empress Constance as guardian of
her orphaned boy. To him Walter the Chancellor appealed for aid. Knights
and galleys were soon in readiness. Palermo was stormed. Count Diephold
was overthrown and imprisoned in the castle dungeon. Kapparon and his
Pisan allies and Saracen serfs were driven out of Sicily, and the "Son of
Caesar" reigned as king once more. Then came a new alliance. Helped on by
the Pope, a Spanish friendship ripened into a speedy marriage. Frederick
was declared of age when he reached his fourteenth birthday, and a few
months after, on the fifteenth of August, 1209, amid great rejoicings
which filled Palermo with brilliancy and crowded its narrow and crooked
streets with a glittering throng, the "Boy of Apulia," as he was called,
was married to the wise and beautiful Constance, the daughter of Alfonso,
King of Arragon. This alliance gave the young husband the desired
opportunity; for, with five hundred foreign knights at his back he
asserted his authority over his rebellious subjects as King of Sicily. The
poor little prince, whose childhood had known only misfortune and
unhappiness, became a prince indeed, and, boy though he was, took so manly
and determined a stand that, ere the year was out, his authority was
supreme from the walls of Palermo to the Straits of Messina.
Meantime, in Germany, affairs had been going from bad to worse.
Frederick's uncle, Philip of Suabia, had been assassinated at Bamberg, and
Otho of Brunswick, head of the House of Guelf, crossed the Alps, was
crowned Emperor at Rome in defiance of young Frederick's claim to the
Imperial throne, and marched into Southern Italy, threatening the conquest
of his boy rival's Sicilian kingdom.
Again trouble threatened the youthful monarch. Anxious faces looked
seaward from the castle towers; and, hopeless of withstanding any attack
from Otho's hardy and victorious troops, Frederick made preparations for
flight when once his gigantic rival should thunder at Palermo's gates.
"Tidings, my lord King; tidings from the north!" said Walter the
Chancellor, entering the king's apartment one bright November day in the
year 1211. "Here rides a galley from Gaeta in the Cala port, and in it
comes the Suabian knight Anselm von Justingen, with a brave and trusty
following. He beareth word to thee, my lord, from Frankfort and from
Rome."
"How, then; has Otho some new design against our crown?" said Frederick.
"I pray thee, good Chancellor, give the Knight of Suabia instant
audience."
And soon, through the Gothic door-way of that gorgeous palace of the old
Norman and older Saracen lords of Sicily, came the bluff German knight
Anselm von Justingen, bringing into its perfumed air some of the strength
and resoluteness of his sturdy Suabian breezes. With a deep salutation, he
greeted the royal boy.
"Hail, O King!" he said. "I bring thee word of note. Otho, the Guelf, whom
men now call Emperor, is speeding toward the north. Never more need Sicily
fear his grip. The throne which he usurps is shaken and disturbed. The
world needs an emperor who can check disorders and bring it life and
strength. Whose hand may do this so surely as thine--the illustrious Lord
Frederick of the grand old Hohenstaufen line, the elect King of the
Romans, the Lord of Sicily?"
Frederick's eye flashed and his cheek flushed at the grand prospect thus
suddenly opened before him. But he replied slowly and thoughtfully.
"By laws human and by right divine," he said, "the Holy Roman Empire is my
inheritance. But canst thou speak for the princes of the empire?"
"Ay, that can I," said the knight; "I bear with me papers signed and sent
by them. We have each of us examined as to our will. We have gone through
all the customary rights. And we all in common, O King, turn our eyes to
thee."
"I thank the princes for their faith and fealty," said Frederick; "but can
they be trusty liegemen to a boy emperor?"
"Though young in years, O King," said the Suabian, "thou art old in
character; though not fully grown in person, thy mind hath been by nature
wonderfully endowed. Thou dost exceed the common measure of thine equals;
thou art blest with virtues before thy day, as doth become one of the true
blood of that august stock, the Caesars of Germany. Thou wilt surely
increase the honor and might of the empire and the happiness of us, thy
loyal subjects."
"And the Pope?" queried the boy; for in those days the Pope of Rome was
the "spiritual lord" of the Christian world. To him all emperors, kings,
and princes owed allegiance as obedient vassals. To assume authority
without the Pope's consent and blessing meant trouble and excommunication.
Frederick knew this, and knew also that his former guardian, Pope
Innocent, had, scarce two years before, himself crowned his rival Otho of
Brunswick as Emperor of Germany.
"I am even now from Rome," replied Von Justingen; "and the Holy Father,
provoked beyond all patience at the unrighteous ways of this emperor,
falsely so called, hath excommunicated Otho, hath absolved the princes
from their oath of fealty, and now sends to thee, Frederick of
Hohenstaufen, his blessing and his bidding that thou go forward and enter
upon thine inheritance."
The young Sicilian sat for some moments deep in thought. It was a tempting
bait--this of an imperial crown--to one who felt it to be his by right,
but who had never dared to expect nor aspire to it.
"Von Justingen," he said at last, "good knight and true I know thou art,
loyal to the House of Staufen, and loyal to thy German fatherland. 'T is a
royal offer and a danger-fraught attempt. But what man dares, that dare I!
When duty calls, foul be his fame who shrinketh from the test. The blood
of kings is mine; like a king, then, will I go forward to my heritage, and
win or die in its achieving!"
"There flashed the Hohenstaufen fire," said the delighted Von Justingen;
"there spoke the spirit of thy grandsire, the glorious old Kaiser Red
Beard! Come thou with me to Germany, my prince. We will make thee Caesar
indeed, though the false Otho and all his legions are thundering at
Frankfort gates."
So, in spite of the entreaties of his queen, and the protests of his
Sicilian lords, who doubted the wisdom of the undertaking, the young
monarch hurried forward the preparations for his perilous attempt. The
love of adventure, which has impelled many another boy to face risk and
danger, flamed high in the heart of this lad of seventeen, as, with
undaunted spirit, he sought to press forward for the prize of an imperial
throne. On March the eighteenth, 1212, the "Emperor of the Romans Elect,"
as he already styled himself, set out from orange-crowned Palermo on the
"quest for his heritage" in the bleak and rugged north. The galley sped
swiftly over the blue Mediterranean to the distant port of Gaeta, and upon
its deck the four chosen comrades that formed his little band gathered
around the fair-haired young prince, who, by the daring deeds that drew
him from Palermo's sun-lit walls, was to make for himself a name and fame
that should send him down to future ages as _Stupor Mundi
Fredericus_--"Frederick, the Wonder of the World!" In all history there is
scarcely to be found a more romantic tale of wandering than this story of
the adventures of young Frederick of Hohenstaufen in search of his empire.
From Palermo to strong-walled Gaeta, the "Gibraltar of Italy," from Gaeta
on to Rome, he sailed with few adventures, and here he knelt before the
Pope, who, as he had crowned and discrowned Otho of Brunswick, the big and
burly rival of his fair young ward, now blessed and aided the "Boy from
Sicily," and helped him on his way with money and advice. From Rome to
Genoa, under escort of four Genoese galleys, the boy next cautiously
sailed; for all the coast swarmed with the armed galleys of Pisa, the
staunch supporter of the discrowned Otho. With many a tack and many a turn
the galleys headed north, while the watchful look-outs scanned the horizon
for hostile prows. On the first of May, the peril of Pisa was past, and
Genoa's gates were opened to receive him. Genoa was called the "door" to
his empire, but foes and hardships lay in wait for him behind the friendly
door. On the fifteenth of July, the boy and his escort of Genoese lancers
climbed the steep slopes of the Ligurian hills and struck across the
plains of Piedmont for the walls of Pavia, the "city of the hundred
towers." The gates of the grand old Lombard capital flew open to welcome
him, and royally attended, with a great crimson canopy held above his
head, and knights and nobles following in his train, the "Child of Apulia"
rode through the echoing streets.