HOW JOINVILLE KEPT THE BRIDGE.
WHEN the Constable of France informed King Louis that the Count of
Artois was in extreme peril, and when Louis made an effort to go to the
rescue of his brother--the Lord of Joinville, having previously left the
ruined house, and joined the king, endeavoured to keep in the royal
warrior's company. But all efforts with this object proved vain. The
Saracens, raising clouds of dust and uttering ferocious yells as they
advanced, came down upon the Crusaders with a force that was
irresistible. The French were scattered in all directions; and Joinville
was separated from Louis some minutes before the person of the saintly
monarch was in such imminent danger. But in the meantime the seneschal's
band had been reduced to six persons, including Guy Muschamp, who
adhered with determination to Joinville's side; and between them and the
king, then struggling to save his liberty, intervened thousands of
Saracens.
'Impossible for us to make our way through such a crowd,' said
Joinville; 'much better, therefore, will it be to wheel round and get on
the other side of them.'
Accordingly they wheeled round, and gained the bank of the river, and
began to descend. But at this moment the aspect of the field became most
alarming to the armed pilgrims. The Crusaders and Saracens met on the
banks, and many of the French, attempting to cross and form a junction
with the Duke of Burgundy, were drowned; and the river was covered with
lances, pikes, shields, and horses and men struggling in vain to save
themselves.
By this time the Lord of Joinville, heading his knights, had reached a
bridge on one of the roads to Mansourah; and on perceiving the miserable
state of the army he halted.
'It is better,' said he, after looking round, 'to remain where we are,
and guard this bridge; for, if we leave it, the Saracens may come and
attack the king on this side, and, if he is assaulted from two quarters,
he will surely be discomfited.'
Accordingly they posted themselves on the bridge which was between the
canal Achmoun and the gates of Mansourah, and prepared to defend it
against the Saracens. But such was the danger, that Joinville's heart,
brave as it was, beat with terror, and he cried aloud for the protection
of St. James.
'Good Lord St. James,' exclaimed he; 'succour me, I beseech thee, and
come to my aid in this hour of need.'
It seemed to him and his companions that his prayer was answered. Almost
as he uttered it, the Count of Soissons, who was his kinsman, appeared
riding past the bridge; and Joinville hastened to secure his company.
'Sir count,' said he; 'I beg you to remain with us and guard this
bridge; for, should it be lost, the king will have his enemies upon him
both in front and rear.'
'Willingly, seneschal,' replied the count; and he placed himself on
Joinville's right hand, while a French knight who was with him took his
station on the left.
While Joinville and his companions were seated on their horses, prepared
to keep the bridge at all hazards against all comers, the Saracens made
repeated efforts to drive them from their post. But they remained firm
as rocks. Trusting to accomplish by stratagem what they could not do by
force, the Saracens attempted to lure them from the spot; and one
stalwart horseman, galloping suddenly forward, felled one of the French
knights with his battle-axe, and then retreated to his own people,
hoping that he would be followed. But Joinville, who comprehended the
purpose, would not be decoyed, and resolutely kept his ground, though
annoyed and wounded by a rabble of half-armed Saracens, who incessantly
threw darts, and large stones, and hard clods.
At length, however, the Saracens began to make themselves much more
formidable, and to discharge Greek fire, which threatened to do much
mischief, and pressed forward with savage yells.
'On my faith, we must take order with this rabble,' said the Count of
Soissons, growing angry.
'As you will,' replied Joinville; and, without further hesitation, they
charged the crowd, put them to flight, and resumed their post.
But no sooner did the Saracens perceive that the immediate danger was
over, than they turned round, and, keeping at a safe distance, yelled
out defiance.
'Heed them not, seneschal,' said the Count of Soissons, who, in the
midst of peril, retained all the gaiety of soul which distinguished the
French chevaliers from the thoughtful Saxon, and the haughty and
somewhat grim Norman. 'Heed them not. Let this rascal canaille bawl and
bray as they please. By St. Denis, you and I will live to talk of this
day's exploits in the chambers of our ladies.'
'May God and good St. James grant it,' said Joinville, gravely.
'But who comes hither, and in such a plight?' asked the Count of
Soissons, suddenly, as a Crusader, mounted on a strong horse, came
galloping from the direction of Mansourah--his face wounded, blood
gushing from his mouth, the reins of his bridle cut, and his hands
resting, as if for support, on his charger's neck.
'In truth,' replied Joinville, after examining the horseman, 'it is the
Count of Brittany;' as, closely pursued by Saracens, the wounded warrior
gained the bridge, and ever and anon turned round and shouted mockingly
to his pursuers.
'By St. Denis,' exclaimed the count, 'one thing is certain: he is not
afraid of his pursuers.'
And almost as the Count of Soissons spoke, the Count of Brittany was
followed by two warriors, who made their way through the Saracens,
literally smiting to the earth all who came in their way. Nothing, it
seemed, could resist their progress; and their path was tracked with
blood. On they came, scornfully scattering their foes till they reached
the bridge, when reining up where the Lord of Joinville was posted, they
stopped to take breath, after their almost superhuman exertions. One had
in his hand a battle-axe; the other a sword. The battle-axe was stained
red with gore; the sword was hacked till it looked 'like a saw of dark
and purple tint.' One was Bisset, the English knight, the other was the
Grand Master of the Temple. The horses of both were wounded all over;
the helmets of both were deeply dinted. Bisset's mail was almost hacked
to pieces; the Templar's vestments were torn to rags, his cuirass
pierced, and his eye and face wounded and bleeding.
'You bring tidings of woe?' said the Count of Soissons.
'Woe, in truth,' answered Bisset; for the grand master could not even
muster voice to speak; 'of all who rode into Mansourah this morning, not
a man, save ourselves, lives to tell the tale.'
'And what of the Count of Artois, sir knight?' asked Joinville.
'I know not,' replied Bisset, briefly; 'the count disappeared early, and
doubtless died with the comrades of his jeopardy.'
'No,' interrupted the Count of Brittany, faintly, 'he was drowned while
attempting to save himself by flight. At least,' added he, 'so I have
been told.'
And in truth, to this day it is somewhat uncertain what became of
Robert, Count of Artois, though the most probable account is that,
seeing all was lost, he turned his horse's head, with a vague hope of
reaching the main body of the Crusaders, and, while attempting to cross
one of the branches of the Nile, sank never more to rise.
It was about this time that King Louis had moved towards the Achmoun;
and the Constable of France, with the king's crossbowmen under his
command, just as the sun was setting came to the bridge which had been
so bravely defended.
'Seneschal,' said he, addressing Joinville, 'you and your comrades have
behaved well in guarding this bridge; and now, all danger being over in
this quarter, I pray you to accompany the Lord John de Valery to the
king, who is about to go to his pavilion.'
And Joinville went as the constable requested; and while his companions
were pursuing their way towards the king's red pavilion--that pavilion
in which the Emir Fakreddin had boasted he would dine on the day of St.
Sebastian--Guy Muschamp approached Bisset, the English knight, and
entreated his attention.
'Sir knight,' said he, 'I would fain enquire if you know what has
befallen the English squire, by name Walter Espec?'
'Boy,' replied Bisset, 'I know not what may have befallen him; but, if I
were to hazard a guess, I should say that he died, and died bravely. I
remember me that he fought to the last; and I hoped that he was destined
to escape, as I did; but I grieve to say that he failed so to do.'
'Alas! alas!' said Guy sadly, and he clasped his hands, as if muttering
a prayer for his comrade's soul; 'woe is me, that I should live to hear
that my brother-in-arms, the good Walter, has fallen.'
'My brave youth,' urged Bisset, kindly, as he observed that the boy's
face was suffused with tears, 'death has this day been the portion of
many thousands of valiant men; and, for your brother-in-arms, I can
testify for your comfort that he fought to the last with the courage of
a hero, and I doubt not, that he faced death with the courage of a
martyr.'
'And if we are to give the faith which our fathers did to the words of
holy men,' added Guy, solemnly, 'the souls of all such as fall, fighting
for the Cross, are purified from sin, and admitted straight to
Paradise.'
'By the mass, I have heard priests say so,' replied Bisset, after a
pause, during which he eyed the boy with evident surprise; 'and mayhap,'
continued he, 'in the days of Peter the Hermit, and Godfrey of Bouillon,
such was the case. But, credit me, in our day, armed pilgrims are guilty
of such flagrant sins during their pilgrimage, and while decked with the
Cross, that I hardly deem them likely to get access to Paradise on such
easy terms.'
'By St. John of Beverley,' exclaimed the squire, in great astonishment,
'deem you that matters are so much changed, sir knight?'
'So much so,' answered Bisset, shaking his head, 'that seeing, save
myself, you are almost the only Englishman left in this army of
pilgrims, I am free to confess to you my opinion, that for aught we are
likely to do for the Holy Sepulchre, we might as well have stayed at
home, and hunted, and hawked, and held our neighbours at feud. On my
life, I have seen enough of this army to feel sure that Blacas, the
troubadour knight, is a wise man, when on being asked whether he will go
to the Holy Land, answers, that he loves and is beloved, and that he
will remain at home with his ladye love.'
And already, forgetting his wounds, and his bruises, his hair-breadth
escape, and the terrible scenes in which he had that day acted a part,
the knight, as he reached the tent of King Louis, and prepared to
dismount, half chanted, half sung, the lines with which Blacas concludes
his simple song:--
Je ferai ma penitence,
Entre mer et Durance,
Aupres de son manoir.