The Banner of Saladin
As the echoes of Hassan’s whistle died away there was a crash amongst
the wooden shutters of the window behind them, and down into the room
leaped a long, lithe figure, holding an axe aloft. Before Sir Andrew
could turn to see whence the sound came, that axe dealt him a fearful
blow between the shoulders which, although the ringed mail remained
unshorn, shattered his spine beneath. Down he fell, rolled on to his
back, and lay there, still able to speak and without pain, but helpless
as a child. For he was paralysed, and never more would move hand or
foot or head.
In the silence that followed he spoke in a heavy voice, letting his
eyes rest upon the man who had struck him down.
“A knightly blow, truly; one worthy of a Christian born who does murder
for Paynim pay! Traitor to God and man, who have eaten my bread and now
slaughter me like an ox on my hearth-stone, may your own end be even
worse, and at the hands of those you serve.”
The palmer Nicholas, for it was he, although he no longer wore the
palmer’s robe, slunk away muttering, and was lost among the crowd in
the passage. Then, with a sudden and a bitter cry, Rosamund swooped
forward, as a bird swoops, snatched up the sword her sire would never
lift again, and setting its hilt upon the floor, cast herself forward.
But its point never touched her breast, for the emir sprang swiftly and
struck the steel aside; then, as she fell, caught her in his arms.
“Lady,” he said, loosing her very gently. “Allah does not need you yet.
I have told you that it is not fated. Now will you pass me your
word—for being of the blood of Salah-ed-din and D’Arcy, you, too,
cannot lie—that neither now nor afterwards you will attempt to harm
yourself? If not, I must bind you, which I am loth to do—it is a
sacrilege to which I pray you will not force me.”
“Promise, Rosamund,” said the hollow voice of her father, “and go to
fulfil your fate. Self-murder is a crime, and the man is right; it is
decreed. I bid you promise.”
“I obey and promise,” said Rosamund. “It is your hour, my lord Hassan.”
He bowed deeply and answered:
“I am satisfied, and henceforth we are your servants. Princess, the
night air is bitter; you cannot travel thus. In which chamber are your
garments?”
She pointed with her finger. A man took a taper, and, accompanied by
two others, entered the place, to return presently with their arms full
of all the apparel they could find. Indeed, they even brought her
missal and the silver crucifix which hung above her bed and with it her
leathern case of trinkets.
“Keep out the warmest cloak,” said Hassan, “and tie the rest up in
those carpets.”
So the rugs that Sir Andrew had bought that day from the merchant
Georgios were made to serve as travelling bags to hold his daughter’s
gear. Thus even in this hour of haste and danger thought was taken for
her comfort.
“Princess,” said Hassan, bowing, “my master, your uncle, sent you
certain jewels of no mean value. Is it your wish that they should
accompany you?”
Without lifting her eyes from her dying father’s face, Rosamund
answered heavily:
“Where they are, there let them bide. What have I to do with jewels?”
“Your will is my law,” he said, “and others will be found for you.
Princess, all is ready; we wait your pleasure.”
“My pleasure? Oh, God, my pleasure?” exclaimed Rosamund in the same
drear voice, still staring at her father, who lay before her on the
ground.
“I cannot help it,” said Hassan, answering the question in her eyes,
and there was grief in his tone. “He would not come, he brought it on
himself; though in truth I wish that accursed Frank had not struck so
shrewdly. If you ask it, we will bear him with you; but, lady, it is
idle to hide the truth—he is sped. I have studied medicine, and I
know.”
“Nay,” said Sir Andrew from the floor, “leave me here. Daughter, we
must part awhile. As I stole his child from Ayoub, so Ayoub’s son
steals my child from me. Daughter, cling to the faith—that we may meet
again.”
“To the death,” she answered.
“Be comforted,” said Hassan. “Has not Salah-ed-din passed his word that
except her own will or that of Allah should change her heart, a
Cross-worshipper she may live and die? Lady, for your own sake as well
as ours, let this sad farewell be brief. Begone, my servants, taking
these dead and wounded with you. There are things it is not fitting
that common eyes should see.”
They obeyed, and the three of them remained alone together. Then
Rosamund knelt down beside her father, and they whispered into each
other’s ears. Hassan turned his back upon them, and threw the corner of
his cloak over his head and eyes that he might neither see nor hear
their voices in this dread and holy hour of parting.
It would seem that they found some kind of hope and consolation in
it—at least when Rosamund kissed him for the last time, Sir Andrew
smiled and said:
“Yes, yes; it may all be for the best. God will guard you, and His will
be done. But I forgot. Tell me, daughter, which?”
Again she whispered into his ear, and when he had thought a moment, he
answered:
“Maybe you are right. I think that is wisest for all. And now on the
three of you—aye, and on your children’s children’s children—let my
blessing rest, as rest it shall. Come hither, Emir.”
Hassan heard him through his cloak, and, uncovering, came.
“Say to Saladin, your master, that he has been too strong for me, and
paid me back in my own coin. Well, had it been otherwise, my daughter
and I must soon have parted, for death drew near to me. At least it is
the decree of God, to which I bow my head, trusting there may be truth
in that dream of his, and that our sorrows, in some way unforeseen,
will bring blessings to our brethren in the East. But to Saladin say
also that whatever his bigot faith may teach, for Christian and for
Paynim there is a meeting-place beyond the grave. Say that if aught of
wrong or insult is done towards this maiden, I swear by the God who
made us both that there I will hold him to account. Now, since it must
be so, take her and go your way, knowing that my spirit follows after
you and her; yes, and that even in this world she will find avengers.”
“I hear your words, and I will deliver them,” answered Hassan. “More, I
believe that they are true, and for the rest you have the oath of
Salah-ed-din—ay, and my oath while she is in my charge. Therefore, Sir
Andrew D’Arcy, forgive us, who are but the instruments of Allah, and
die in peace.”
“I, who have so much to be forgiven, forgive you,” answered the old
knight slowly.
Then his eyes fixed themselves upon his daughter’s face with one long,
searching look, and closed.
“I think that he is dead,” said Hassan. “May God, the Merciful and
Compassionate, rest his soul!” And taking a white garment from the
wall, he flung it over him, adding, “Lady, come.”
Thrice Rosamund looked at the shrouded figure on the floor; once she
wrung her hands and seemed about to fall. Then, as though a thought
struck her, she lifted her father’s sword from where it lay, and
gathering her strength, drew herself up and passed like a queen down
the blood-stained passage and the steps of the solar. In the hall
beneath waited the band of Hassan, who bowed as she came—a vision of
despairing loveliness, that held aloft a red and naked sword. There,
too, lay the drugged men fallen this way and that, and among them Wulf
across the table, and Godwin on the dais. Rosamund spoke.
“Are these dead or sleeping?”
“Have no fear,” answered Hassan. “By my hope of paradise, they do but
sleep, and will awake ere morning.”
Rosamund pointed to the renegade Nicholas—he that had struck down her
father from behind—who, an evil look upon his face, stood apart from
the Saracens, holding in his hand a lighted torch.
“What does this man with the torch?” she asked.
“If you would know, lady,” Nicholas answered with a sneer, “I wait till
you are out of it to fire the hall.”
“Prince Hassan,” said Rosamund, “is this a deed that great Saladin
would wish, to burn drugged men beneath their own roof? Now, as you
shall answer to him, in the name of Saladin I, a daughter of his House,
command you, strike the fire from that man’s hand, and in my hearing
give your order that none should even think of such an act of shame.”
“What?” broke in Nicholas, “and leave knights like these, whose quality
you know”—and he pointed to the brethren—“to follow in our path, and
take our lives in vengeance? Why, it is madness!”
“Are you master here, traitor, or am I?” asked Hassan in cold contempt.
“Let them follow if they will, and I for one shall rejoice to meet foes
so brave in open battle, and there give them their revenge. Ali,” he
added, addressing the man who had been disguised as a merchant’s
underling, and who had drugged the men in the barn as his master had
drugged those in the hall, and opened the moat gate to the band, “Ali,
stamp upon the torch and guard that Frank till we reach the boat lest
the fool should raise the country on us with his fires. Now, Princess,
are you satisfied?”
“Ay, having your word,” she answered. “One moment, I pray you. I would
leave a token to my knights.”
Then, while they watched her with wondering eyes, she unfastened the
gold cross and chain that hung upon her bosom, and slipping the cross
from the chain, went to where Godwin lay, and placed it on his breast.
Next, with a swift movement, she wound the chain about the silver hilt
of Sir Andrew’s sword, and passing to Wulf, with one strong thrust,
drove the point between the oak boards of the table, so that it stood
before him—at once a cross, a brand of battle, and a lady’s token.
“His grandsire bore it,” she said in Arabic, “when he leapt on to the
walls of Jerusalem. It is my last gift to him.” But the Saracens
muttered and turned pale at these words of evil omen.
Then taking the hand of Hassan, who stood searching her white,
inscrutable face, with never a word or a backward look, she swept down
the length of the long hall, and out into the night beyond.
“It would have been well to take my counsel and fire the place, or at
least to cut the throats of all within it,” said the man Nicholas to
his guard Ali as they followed with the rest. “If I know aught of these
brethren, cross and sword will soon be hard upon our track, and men’s
lives must pay the price of such soft folly.” And he shivered as though
in fear.
“It may be so, Spy,” answered the Saracen, looking at him with sombre,
contemptuous eyes. “It may be that your life will pay the price.”
Wulf was dreaming, dreaming that he stood on his head upon a wooden
plank, as once he had seen a juggler do, which turned round one way
while he turned round the other, till at length some one shouted at
him, and he tumbled off the board and hurt himself. Then he awoke to
hear a voice shouting surely enough—the voice of Matthew, the chaplain
of Steeple Church.
“Awake!” said the voice. “In God’s name, I conjure you, awake!”
“What is it?” he said, lifting his head sleepily, and becoming
conscious of a dull pain across his forehead.
“It is that death and the devil have been here, Sir Wulf.”
“Well, they are often near together. But I thirst. Give me water.”
A serving-woman, pallid, dishevelled, heavy-eyed, who was stumbling to
and fro, lighting torches and tapers, for it was still dark, brought it
to him in a leathern jack, from which he drank deeply.
“That is better,” he said. Then his eye fell upon the bloody sword set
point downwards in the wood of the table before him, and he exclaimed,
“Mother of God! what is that? My uncle’s silver-hilted sword, red with
blood, and Rosamund’s gold chain upon the hilt! Priest, where is the
lady Rosamund?”
“Gone,” answered the chaplain in a voice that sounded like a groan.
“The women woke and found her gone, and Sir Andrew lies dead or dying
in the solar—but now I have shriven him—and oh! we have all been
drugged. Look at them!” and he waved his hand towards the recumbent
forms. “I say that the devil has been here.”
Wulf sprang to his feet with an oath.
“The devil? Ah! I have it now. You mean the Cyprian chapman Georgios.
He who sold wine.”
“He who sold drugged wine,” echoed the chaplain, “and has stolen away
the lady Rosamund.”
Then Wulf seemed to go mad.
“Stolen Rosamund over our sleeping carcases! Stolen Rosamund with never
a blow struck by us to save her! O, Christ, that such a thing should
be! O, Christ, that I should live to hear it!” And he, the mighty man,
the knight of skill and strength, broke down and wept like a very
child. But not for long, for presently he shouted in a voice of
thunder:
“Awake, ye drunkards! Awake, and learn what has chanced to us. Your
lady Rosamund has been raped away while we were lost in sleep!”
At the sound of that great voice a tall form arose from the floor, and
staggered towards him, holding a gold cross in its hand.
“What awful words are those, my brother?” asked Godwin, who, pale and
dull-eyed, rocked to and fro before him. Then he, too, saw the red
sword and stared, first at it and next at the gold cross in his hand.
“My uncle’s sword, Rosamund’s chain, Rosamund’s cross! Where, then, is
Rosamund?”
“Gone! gone! gone!” cried Wulf. “Tell him, priest.”
So the chaplain told him all he knew.
“Thus have we kept our oaths,” went on Wulf. “Oh, what can we do now,
save die for very shame?”
“Nay,” answered Godwin, dreamingly; “we can live on to save her. See,
these are her tokens—the cross for me, the blood-stained sword for you,
and about its hilt the chain, a symbol of her slavery. Now both of us
must bear the cross; both of us must wield the sword, and both of us
must cut the chain, or if we fail, then die.”
“You rave,” said Wulf; “and little wonder. Here, drink water. Would
that we had never touched aught else, as she did, and desired that we
should do. What said you of my uncle, priest? Dead, or only dying? Nay,
answer not, let us see. Come, brother.”
Now together they ran, or rather reeled, torch in hand, along the
passage.
Wulf saw the bloodstains on the floor and laughed savagely.
“The old man made a good fight,” he said, “while, like drunken brutes,
we slept.”
They were there, and before them, beneath the white, shroud-like cloak,
lay Sir Andrew, the steel helm on his head, and his face beneath it
even whiter than the cloak.
At the sound of their footsteps he opened his eyes. “At length, at
length,” he muttered. “Oh, how many years have I waited for you? Nay,
be silent, for I do not know how long my strength will last, but
listen—kneel down and listen.”
So they knelt on either side of him, and in quick, fierce words he told
them all—of the drugging, of the fight, of the long parley carried on
to give the palmer knave time to climb to the window; of his cowardly
blow, and of what chanced afterwards. Then his strength seemed to fail
him, but they poured drink down his throat, and it came back again.
“Take horse swiftly,” he gasped, pausing now and again to rest, “and
rouse the countryside. There is still a chance. Nay, seven hours have
gone by; there is no chance. Their plans were too well laid; by now
they will be at sea. So hear me. Go to Palestine. There is money for
your faring in my chest, but go alone, with no company, for in time of
peace these would betray you. Godwin, draw off this ring from my
finger, and with it as a token, find out Jebal, the black sheik of the
Mountain Tribe at Masyaf on Lebanon. Bid him remember the vow he made
to Andrew D’Arcy, the English knight. If any can aid you, it will be
Jebal, who hates the Houses of Nur-ed-din and of Ayoub. So, I charge
you, let nothing—I say nothing—turn you aside from seeking him.
“Afterwards act as God shall guide you. If they still live, kill that
traitor Nicholas and Hugh Lozelle, but, save in open war, spare the
Emir Hassan, who did but do his duty as an Eastern reads it, and showed
some mercy, for he could have slain or burnt us all. This riddle has
been hard for me; yet now, in my dying hour, I seem to see its answer.
I think that Saladin did not dream in vain. Keep brave hearts, for I
think also that at Masyaf you will find friends, and that things will
yet go well, and our sorrows bear good fruit.
“What is that you said? She left you my father’s sword, Wulf? Then
wield it bravely, winning honour for our name. She left you the cross,
Godwin? Wear it worthily, winning glory for the Lord, and salvation to
your soul. Remember what you have sworn. Whate’er befall, bear no
bitterness to one another. Be true to one another, and to her, your
lady, so that when at the last you make your report to me before high
Heaven, I may have no cause to be ashamed of you, my nephews, Godwin
and Wulf.”
For a moment the dying man was silent, until his face lit up as with a
great gladness, and he cried in a loud, clear voice, “Beloved wife, I
hear you! O, God, I come!”
Then though his eyes stayed open, and the smile still rested on his
face, his jaw fell.
Thus died Sir Andrew D’Arcy.
Still kneeling on either side of him, the brethren watched the end,
and, as his spirit passed, bowed their heads in prayer.
“We have seen a great death,” said Godwin presently. “Let us learn a
lesson from it, that when our time comes we may die like him.”
“Ay,” answered Wulf, springing to his feet, “but first let us take
vengeance for it. Why, what is this? Rosamund’s writing! Read it,
Godwin.”
Godwin took the parchment and read: “_Follow me to Saladin. In that
hope I live on._”
“Surely we will follow you, Rosamund,” he cried aloud. “Follow you
through life to death or victory.”
Then he threw down the paper, and calling for the chaplain to come to
watch the body, they ran into the hall. By this time about half of the
folk were awake from their drugged sleep, whilst others who had been
doctored by the man Ali in the barn staggered into the hall—wild-eyed,
white-faced, and holding their hands to their heads and hearts. They
were so sick and bewildered, indeed, that it was difficult to make them
understand what had chanced, and when they learned the truth, the most
of them could only groan. Still, a few were found strong enough in wit
and body to grope their way through the darkness and the falling snow
to Stangate Abbey, to Southminster, and to the houses of their
neighbours, although of these there were none near, praying that every
true man would arm and ride to help them in the hunt. Also Wulf,
cursing the priest Matthew and himself that he had not thought of it
before, called him from his prayers by their dead uncle, and charged
him to climb the church tower as swiftly as he could, and set light to
the beacon that was laid ready there.
Away he went, taking flint, steel, and tinder with him, and ten minutes
later the blaze was flaring furiously above the roof of Steeple Church,
warning all men of the need for help. Then they armed, saddled such
horses as they had, amongst them the three that had been left there by
the merchant Georgios, and gathered all of them who were not too sick
to ride or run, in the courtyard of the Hall. But as yet their haste
availed them little, for the moon was down. Snow fell also, and the
night was still black as death—so black that a man could scarcely see
the hand he held before his face. So they must wait, and wait they did,
eating their hearts out with grief and rage, and bathing their aching
brows in icy water.
At length the dawn began to break, and by its first grey light they saw
men mounted and afoot feeling their way through the snow, shouting to
each other as they came to know what dreadful thing had happened at
Steeple. Quickly the tidings spread among them that Sir Andrew was
slain, and the lady Rosamund snatched away by Paynims, while all who
feasted in the place had been drugged with poisoned wine by a man whom
they believed to be a merchant. So soon as a band was got
together—perhaps thirty men in all—and there was light to stir by, they
set out and began to search, though where to look they knew not, for
the snow had covered up all traces of their foes.
“One thing is certain,” said Godwin, “they must have come by water.”
“Ay,” answered Wulf, “and landed near by, since, had they far to go,
they would have taken the horses, and must run the risk also of losing
their path in the darkness. To the Staithe! Let us try Steeple
Staithe.”
So on they went across the meadow to the creek. It lay but three
bow-shots distant. At first they could see nothing, for the snow
covered the stones of the little pier, but presently a man cried out
that the lock of the water house, in which the brethren kept their
fishing-boat, was broken, and next minute, that the boat was gone.
“She was small; she would hold but six men,” cried a voice. “So great a
company could never have crowded into her.”
“Fool!” one answered, “there may have been other boats.”
So they looked again, and beneath the thin coating of rime, found a
mark in the mud by the Staithe, made by the prow of a large boat, and
not far from it a hole in the earth into which a peg had been driven to
make her fast.
Now the thing seemed clear enough, but it was to be made yet clearer,
for presently, even through the driving snow, the quick eye of Wulf
caught sight of some glittering thing which hung to the edge of a clump
of dead reeds. A man with a lance lifted it out at his command, and
gave it to him.
“I thought so,” he said in a heavy voice; “it is a fragment of that
star-wrought veil which was my Christmas gift to Rosamund, and she has
torn it off and left it here to show us her road. To St.
Peter’s-on-the-Wall! To St. Peter’s, I say, for there the boats or ship
must pass, and maybe that in the darkness they have not yet won out to
sea.”
So they turned their horses’ heads, and those of them that were mounted
rode for St. Peter’s by the inland path that runs through Steeple St.
Lawrence and Bradwell town, while those who were not, started to search
along the Saltings and the river bank. On they galloped through the
falling snow, Godwin and Wulf leading the way, whilst behind them
thundered an ever-gathering train of knights, squires and yeomen, who
had seen the beacon flare on Steeple tower, or learned the tale from
messengers—yes, and even of monks from Stangate and traders from
Southminster.
Hard they rode, but the lanes were heavy with fallen snow and mud
beneath, and the way was far, so that an hour had gone by before
Bradwell was left behind, and the shrine of St. Chad lay but half a
mile in front. Now of a sudden the snow ceased, and a strong northerly
wind springing up, drove the thick mist before it and left the sky hard
and blue behind. Still riding in this mist, they pressed on to where
the old tower loomed in front of them, then drew rein and waited.
“What is that?” said Godwin presently, pointing to a great, dim thing
upon the vapour-hidden sea.
As he spoke a strong gust of wind tore away the last veils of mist,
revealing the red face of the risen sun, and not a hundred yards away
from them—for the tide was high—the tall masts of a galley creeping out
to sea beneath her banks of oars. As they stared the wind caught her,
and on the main-mast rose her bellying sail, while a shout of laughter
told them that they themselves were seen. They shook their swords in
the madness of their rage, knowing well who was aboard that galley;
while to the fore peak ran up the yellow flag of Saladin, streaming
there like gold in the golden sunlight.
Nor was this all, for on the high poop appeared the tall shape of
Rosamund herself, and on one side of her, clad now in coat of mail and
turban, the emir Hassan, whom they had known as the merchant Georgios,
and on the other, a stout man, also clad in mail, who at that distance
looked like a Christian knight. Rosamund stretched out her arms towards
them. Then suddenly she sprang forward as though she would throw
herself into the sea, had not Hassan caught her by the arm and held her
back, whilst the other man who was watching slipped between her and the
bulwark.
In his fury and despair Wulf drove his horse into the water till the
waves broke about his middle, and there, since he could go no further,
sat shaking his sword and shouting:
“Fear not! We follow! we follow!” in such a voice of thunder, that even
through the wind and across the everwidening space of foam his words
may have reached the ship. At least Rosamund seemed to hear them, for
she tossed up her arms as though in token.
But Hassan, one hand pressed upon his heart and the other on his
forehead, only bowed thrice in courteous farewell.
Then the great sail filled, the oars were drawn in, and the vessel
swept away swiftly across the dancing waves, till at length she
vanished, and they could only see the sunlight playing on the golden
banner of Saladin which floated from her truck.