NEWS OF DISASTER.
WHILE Louis of France and his nobles and knights were exposed to such
danger at the hands of their enemies, from whom they had no reason to
expect forbearance, Queen Margaret remained at Damietta, with her
ladies, expecting to hear of battles won and fortresses taken. At
length, one morning about sunrise, a strange and heart-rending cry
resounded through the city, and reached the ears of the queen in her
palace. What was it? was it fire? No. Another and another wail of agony.
What could it be? The approach of an enemy? No. It was merely tidings of
the massacre of Minieh!
Margaret of Provence summoned to her presence Oliver de Thermes, whom
King Louis had left at Damietta in command of the garrison.
'Sir knight,' said the queen, 'what is all that noise I hear?'
The warrior hesitated.
'Speak, sir,' said Margaret, losing patience; 'I command you to tell me
what has happened.'
'Madam,' replied the knight, 'the news as yet is but vague and
uncertain.'
'Answer me, directly,' said the queen, speaking in a tone of authority.
'What of the King of France? What of the warriors who marched from
Damietta under the banner of St. Denis?'
'Alas, madam,' replied Sir Oliver, 'I would fain hope that the news is
not true; but it certainly is bruited about that the king is a captive,
and that the warriors of the Cross have fallen almost to a man.'
Margaret did not answer; she did not even attempt to speak. Her colour
went, she shuddered, tottered, and would have fallen to the floor had
not her ladies rushed to her support. It was indeed a terrible situation
for that youthful matron, and--what made matters more melancholy--she
was about to become a mother.
And now Damietta was the scene of consternation somewhat similar to that
which pervaded Cairo, when a pigeon carried thither intelligence of the
victory of the Count of Artois at Djedile. The ladies of the Crusaders,
the Countesses of Poictiers and Provence, and the widowed Countess of
Artois, among the number, bewailed the fate of their lords; the queen
was afflicted to a terrible degree as she thought of the king's peril;
and many people only felt concerned about their own extreme peril. Of
course much selfishness was exhibited under the circumstances; and the
Pisans and Genoese set a bad example by preparing to save themselves,
and leave the city to its fate. But, on hearing of their intention, the
queen ordered that the chief persons among them should be brought to her
presence, and addressed them in a way likely to convince them of the
selfishness of their conduct.
'Gentlemen,' said Margaret, rousing herself from her prostration and
raising her head; 'as you love God, do not leave this city; for if you
do you will utterly ruin the king and his army, who are captives, and
expose all within the walls to the vengeance of the Saracens.'
'Madam,' replied the Pisans and Genoese, utterly unmoved by the loyal
lady's distress, 'we have no provisions left, and we cannot consent to
remain at the risk of dying of hunger.'
'Be under no such apprehension,' said the queen quickly; 'you shall not
die of hunger; I will cause all the provisions in Damietta to be bought
in the king's name, and distributed forthwith.'
The Pisans and Genoese on hearing this assurance consented to remain in
Damietta; and, after an expenditure of three hundred and sixty thousand
livres, Margaret provided for their subsistence. But the men who were
thus bribed to remain as a garrison were not likely to make any very
formidable resistance in the event of an attack taking place; and such
an event was no longer improbable. Indeed rumours, vague but most
alarming, reached Damietta that a Saracenic host was already on its way
to capture the city.
The rumour that the Moslems were actually coming made the bravest men in
Damietta quake, and inspired the ladies who were in the city with
absolute terror. Even the courage of the queen, who had just given birth
to her son John, failed; and her faculties well-nigh deserted her. One
moment her imagination conjured up visions of Saracens butchering her
husband; at another she shrieked with terror at the idea that the
Saracens had taken the city and were entering her chamber. Ever and anon
she sank into feverish sleep, and then, wakened by some fearful dream,
sprang up, shouting, 'Help! help! they are at hand. I hear their
lelies.'
It was while Margaret of Provence was in this unhappy state of mind,
that a French knight, who was eighty years of age, but whose heart, in
spite of his four score of years, still overflowed with chivalry,
undertook the duty of guarding the door of her chamber night and day.
'Madam,' said he, 'be not alarmed. I am with you. Banish your fears.'
'Sir knight,' exclaimed the unhappy queen, throwing herself on her knees
before him, 'I have a favour to ask. Promise that you will grant my
request.'
'I swear, madam, that I will comply with your wishes,' replied the aged
knight.
'Well, then,' said the queen; 'what I have to request is this, that if
the Saracens should take the city, you, by the faith you have pledged,
will rather cut off my head than suffer me to fall into their hands.'
'Madam,' replied the veteran chevalier, 'I had already resolved on doing
what you have asked, in case the worst should befall.'