The Combat on the Bridge
“Saladin will come,” said Wulf the hopeful, and from the high place
where they stood he pointed to the plain beneath, across which a band
of horsemen moved at full gallop. “Look; yonder goes his embassy.”
“Ay,” answered Godwin, “he will come, but, I fear me, too late.”
“Yes, brother, unless we go to meet him. Masouda has promised.”
“Masouda,” sighed Godwin. “Ah! to think that so much should hang upon
the faithfulness of one woman.”
“It does not hang on her,” said Wulf; “it hangs on Fate, who writes
with her finger. Come, let us ride.”
So, followed by their escort, they rode in the gardens, taking note,
without seeming to do so, of the position of the tall rock, and of how
it could be approached from every side. Then they went in again and
waited for some sign or word of Rosamund, but in vain. That night there
was no feast, and their meal was brought to them in the guest-house.
While they sat at it Masouda appeared for a moment to tell them that
they had leave to ride the bridge in the moonlight, and that their
escort would await them at a certain hour.
The brethren asked if their sister Rosamund was not coming to dine with
them. Masouda answered that as the queen-elect of the Al-je-bal it was
not lawful that she should eat with any other men, even her brothers.
Then as she passed out, stumbling as though by accident, she brushed
against Godwin, and muttered:
“Remember, to-night,” and was gone.
When the moon had been up an hour the officer of their escort appeared,
and led them to their horses, which were waiting, and they rode away to
the castle bridge. As they approached it they saw Lozelle departing on
his great black stallion, which was in a lather of foam. It seemed that
he also had made trial of that perilous path, for the people, of whom
there were many gathered there, clapped their hands and shouted, “Well
ridden, Frank! well ridden!”
Now, Godwin leading on Flame, they faced the bridge and walked their
horses over it. Nor did these hang back, although they snorted a little
at the black gulf on either side. Next they returned at a trot, then
over again, and yet again at a canter and a gallop, sometimes together
and sometimes singly. Lastly, Wulf made Godwin halt in the middle of
the bridge and galloped down upon him at speed, till within a lance’s
length. Then suddenly he checked his horse, and while his audience
shouted, wheeled it around on its hind legs, its forehoofs beating the
air, and galloped back again, followed by Godwin.
“All went well,” Wulf said as they rode to the castle, “and nobler or
more gentle horses were never crossed by men. I have good hopes for
to-morrow night.”
“Ay, brother, but I had no sword in my hand. Be not over confident, for
Lozelle is desperate and a skilled fighter, as I know who have stood
face to face with him. More over, his black stallion is well trained,
and has more weight than ours. Also, yonder is a fearsome place on
which to ride a course, and one of which none but that devil Sinan
would have thought.”
“I shall do my best,” answered Wulf, “and if I fall, why, then, act
upon your own counsel. At least, let him not kill both of us.”
Having stabled their horses the brethren wandered into the garden, and,
avoiding the cup-bearing women and the men they plied with their
drugged drink, drew by a roundabout road to the tall rock. Then,
finding themselves alone, they unlocked the door, and slipping through
it, locked it again on the further side and groped their way to the
moonlit mouth of the cave. Here they stood awhile studying the descent
of the gulf as best they could in that light, till suddenly Godwin,
feeling a hand upon his shoulder, started round to find himself face to
face with Masouda.
“How did you come?” he asked.
“By a road in which is your only hope,” she answered. “Now, Sir Godwin,
waste no words, for my time is short, but if you think that you can
trust me—and this is for you to judge—give me the Signet which hangs
about your neck. If not, go back to the castle and do your best to save
the lady Rosamund and yourselves.”
Thrusting down his hand between his mail shirt and his breast, Godwin
drew out the ancient ring, carved with the mysterious signs and veined
with the emblem of the dagger, and handed it to Masouda.
“You trust indeed,” she said with a little laugh, as, after scanning it
closely by the light of the moon and touching her forehead with it, she
hid it in her bosom.
“Yes, lady,” he answered, “I trust you, though why you should risk so
much for us I do not know.”
“Why? Well, perhaps for hate’s sake, for Sinan does not rule by love;
perhaps because, being of a wild blood, I am willing to set my life at
hazard, who care not if I win or die; perhaps because you saved me from
the lioness. What is it to you, Sir Godwin, why a certain woman-spy of
the Assassins, whom in your own land you would spit on, chooses to do
this or that?”
She ceased and stood before him with heaving breast and flashing eyes,
a mysterious white figure in the moonlight, most beautiful to see.
Godwin felt his heart stir and the blood flow to his brow, but before
he could speak Wulf broke in, saying:
“You bade us spare words, lady Masouda, so tell us what we must do.”
“This,” she answered, becoming calm again. “Tomorrow night about this
hour you fight Lozelle upon the narrow way. That is certain, for all
the city talks of it, and, whatever chances, Al-je-bal will not deprive
them of the spectacle of this fray to the death. Well, you may fall,
though that man at heart is a coward, which you are not, for here
courage alone will avail nothing, but rather skill and horsemanship and
trick of war. If so, then Sir Godwin fights him, and of this business
none can tell the end. Should both of you go down, then I will do my
best to save your lady and take her to Salah-ed-din, with whom she will
be safe, or if I cannot save her I will find her a means to save
herself by death.”
“You swear that?” said Wulf.
“I have said it; it is enough,” she answered impatiently.
“Then I face the bridge and the knave Lozelle with a light heart,” said
Wulf again, and Masouda went on.
“Now if you conquer, Sir Wulf, or if you fall and your brother
conquers, both of you—or one of you, as it may happen—must gallop back
at full speed toward the stable gate that lies more than a mile from
the castle bridge. Mounted as you are, no horse can keep pace with you,
nor must you stop at the gate, but ride on, ride like the wind till you
reach this place. The gardens will be empty of feasters and of
cup-bearers, who with every soul within the city will have gathered on
the walls and on the house-tops to see the fray. There is but one
fear—by then a guard may be set before this mound, seeing that
Salah-ed-din has declared war upon Al-je-bal, and though yonder road is
known to few, it is a road, and sentries may watch here. If so, you
must cut them down or be cut down, and bring your story to an end. Sir
Godwin, here is another key that you may use if you are alone. Take
it.”
He did so, and she continued:
“Now if both of you, or one of you, win through to this cave, enter
with your horses, lock the door, bar it, and wait. It may be I will
join you here with the princess. But if I do not come by the dawn and
you are not discovered and overwhelmed—which should not be, seeing that
one man can hold that door against many—then know that the worst has
happened, and fly to Salah-ed-din and tell him of this road, by which
he may take vengeance upon his foe Sinan. Only then, I pray you, doubt
not that I have done my best, who if I fail must die—most horribly.
Now, farewell, until we meet again or—do not meet again. Go; you know
the road.”
They turned to obey, but when they had gone a few paces Godwin looked
round and saw Masouda watching them. The moonlight shone full upon her
face, and by it he saw also that tears were running from her dark and
tender eyes. Back he came again, and with him Wulf, for that sight drew
them. Down he bent before her till his knee touched the ground, and,
taking her hand, he kissed it, and said in his gentle voice:
“Henceforth through life, through death, we serve two ladies,” and what
he did Wulf did also.
“Mayhap,” she answered sadly; “two ladies—but one love.”
Then they went, and, creeping through the bushes to the path, wandered
about awhile among the revellers and came to the guest-house safely.
Once more it was night, and high above the mountain fortress of Masyaf
shone the full summer moon, lighting crag and tower as with some vast
silver lamp. Forth from the guest-house gate rode the brethren, side by
side upon their splendid steeds, and the moon-rays sparkled on their
coats of mail, their polished bucklers, blazoned with the cognizance of
a grinning skull, their close-fitting helms, and the points of the
long, tough lances that had been given them. Round them rode their
escort, while in front and behind went a mob of people.
The nation of the Assassins had thrown off its gloom this night, for
the while it was no longer oppressed even by the fear of attack from
Saladin, its mighty foe. To death it was accustomed; death was its
watchword; death in many dreadful forms its daily bread. From the walls
of Masyaf, day by day, _fedaïs_ went out to murder this great one, or
that great one, at the bidding of their lord Sinan.
For the most part they came not back again; they waited week by week,
month by month, year by year, till the moment was ripe, then gave the
poisoned cup or drove home the dagger, and escaped or were slain. Death
waited them abroad, and if they failed, death waited them at home.
Their dreadful caliph was himself a sword of death. At his will they
hurled themselves from towers or from precipices; to satisfy his policy
they sacrificed their wives and children. And their reward—in life, the
drugged cup and voluptuous dreams; after it, as they believed, a still
more voluptuous paradise.
All forms of human agony and doom were known to this people; but now
they were promised an unfamiliar sight, that of Frankish knights
slaying each other in single combat beneath the silent moon, tilting at
full gallop upon a narrow place where many might hesitate to walk,
and—oh, joy!—falling perchance, horse and rider together, into the
depths below. So they were happy, for to them this was a night of
festival, to be followed by a morrow of still greater festival, when
their sultan and their god took to himself this stranger beauty as a
wife. Doubtless, too, he would soon weary of her, and they would be
called together to see her cast from some topmost tower and hear her
frail bones break on the cruel rocks below, or—as had happened to the
last queen—to watch her writhe out her life in the pangs of poison upon
a charge of sorcery. It was indeed a night of festival, a night filled
full of promise of rich joys to come.
On rode the brethren, with stern, impassive faces, but wondering in
their hearts whether they would live to see another dawn. The shouting
crowd surged round them, breaking through the circle of their guards. A
hand was thrust up to Godwin; in it was a letter, which he took and
read by the bright moonlight. It was written in English, and brief:
“I cannot speak with you. God be with you both, my brothers, God and
the spirit of my father. Strike home, Wulf, strike home, Godwin, and
fear not for me who will guard myself. Conquer or die, and in life or
death, await me. To-morrow, in the flesh, or in the spirit, we will
talk—Rosamund.”
Godwin handed the paper to Wulf, and, as he did so, saw that the guards
had caught its bearer, a withered, grey-haired woman. They asked her
some questions, but she shook her head. Then they cast her down,
trampled the life out of her beneath their horses’ hoofs, and went on
laughing. The mob laughed also.
“Tear that paper up,” said Godwin. Wulf did so, saying:
“Our Rosamund has a brave heart. Well, we are of the same blood, and
will not fail her.”
Now they were come to the open space in front of the narrow bridge,
where, tier on tier, the multitude were ranged, kept back from its
centre by lines of guards. On the flat roofed houses also they were
crowded thick as swarming bees, on the circling walls, and on the
battlements that protected the far end of the bridge, and the houses of
the outer city. Before the bridge was a low gateway, and upon its roof
sat the Al-je-bal, clad in his scarlet robe of festival, and by his
side, the moonlight gleaming on her jewels, Rosamund. In front, draped
in a rich garment, a dagger of gems in her dark hair, stood the
interpreter or “mouth” Masouda, and behind were _daïs_ and guards.
The brethren rode to the space before the arch and halted, saluting
with their pennoned spears. Then from the further side advanced another
procession, which, opening, revealed the knight Lozelle riding on his
great black horse, and a huge man and a fierce he seemed in his armour.
“What!” he shouted, glowering at them. “Am I to fight one against two?
Is this your chivalry?”
“Nay, nay, Sir Traitor,” answered Wulf. “Nay, nay betrayer of Christian
maids to the power of the heathen dog; you have fought Godwin, now it
is the turn of Wulf. Kill Wulf and Godwin remains. Kill Godwin and God
remains. Knave, you look your last upon the moon.”
Lozelle heard, and seemed to go mad with rage, or fear, or both.
“Lord Sinan,” he shouted in Arabic, “this is murder. Am I, who have
done you so much service, to be butchered for your pleasure by the
lovers of that woman, whom you would honour with the name of wife?”
Sinan heard, and stared at him with dull, angry eyes.
“Ay, you may stare,” went on the maddened Lozelle, “but it is true—they
are her lovers, not her brothers. Would men take so much pains for a
sister’s sake, think you? Would they swim into this net of yours for a
sister’s sake?”
Sinan held up his hand for silence.
“Let the lots be cast,” he said, “for whatever these men are, this
fight must go on, and it shall be fair.”
So a _daï_, standing by himself, cast lots upon the ground, and having
read them, announced that Lozelle must run the first course from the
further side of the bridge. Then one took his bridle to lead him
across. As he passed the brethren he grinned in their faces and said:
“At least this is sure, you also look your last upon the moon. I am
avenged already. The bait that hooked me is a meal for yonder pike, and
he will kill you both before her eyes to whet his appetite.”
But the brethren answered nothing.
The black horse of Lozelle grew dim in the distance of the moonlit
bridge, and vanished beneath the farther archway that led to the outer
city. Then a herald cried, Masouda translating his words, which another
herald echoed from beyond the gulf.
“Thrice will the trumpets blow. At the third blast of the trumpets the
knights shall charge and meet in the centre of the bridge.
Thenceforward they may fight as it pleases them, ahorse, or afoot, with
lance, with sword, or with dagger, but to the vanquished no mercy will
be shown. If he be brought living from the bridge, living he shall be
cast into the gulf. Hear the decree of the Al-je-bal!”
Then Wulf’s horse was led forward to the entrance of the bridge, and
from the further side was led forward the horse of Lozelle.
“Good luck, brother,” said Godwin, as he passed him. “Would that I rode
this course instead of you.”
“Your turn may come, brother,” answered the grim Wulf, as he set his
lance in rest.
Now from some neighbouring tower pealed out the first long blast of
trumpets, and dead silence fell on all the multitude. Grooms came
forward to look to girth and bridle and stirrup strap, but Wulf waved
them back.
“I mind my own harness,” he said.
The second blast blew, and he loosened the great sword in its scabbard,
that sword which had flamed in his forbear’s hand upon the turrets of
Jerusalem.
“Your gift,” he cried back to Rosamund, and her answer came clear and
sweet:
“Bear it like your fathers, Wulf. Bear it as it was last borne in the
hall at Steeple.”
Then there was another silence—a silence long and deep. Wulf looked at
the white and narrow ribbon of the bridge, looked at the black gulf on
either side, looked at the blue sky above, in which floated the great
globe of the golden moon. Then he leant forward and patted Smoke upon
the neck.
For the third time the trumpets blew, and from either end of that
bridge, two hundred paces long, the knights flashed towards each other
like living bolts of steel. The multitude rose to watch; even Sinan
rose. Only Rosamund sat still, gripping the cushions with her hands.
Hollow rang the hoofs of the horses upon the stonework, swifter and
swifter they flew, lower and lower bent the knights upon their saddles.
Now they were near, and now they met. The spears seemed to shiver, the
horses to hustle together on the narrow way and overhang its edge, then
on came the black horse towards the inner city, and on sped Smoke
towards the further gulf.
“They have passed! They have passed!” roared the multitude.
Look! Lozelle approached, reeling in his saddle, as well he might, for
the helm was torn from his head and blood ran from his skull where the
lance had grazed it.
“Too high, Wulf; too high,” said Godwin sadly. “But oh! if those laces
had but held!”
Soldiers caught the horse and turned it.
“Another helm!” cried Lozelle.
“Nay,” answered Sinan; “yonder knight has lost his shield. New
lances—that is all.”
So they gave him a fresh lance, and, presently, at the blast of the
trumpets again the horses were seen speeding together over the narrow
way. They met, and lo! Lozelle, torn from his saddle, but still
clinging to the reins, was flung backwards, far backwards, to fall on
the stonework of the bridge. Down, too, beneath the mighty shock went
his black horse, a huddled heap, and lay there struggling.
“Wulf will fall over him!” cried Rosamund. But Smoke did not fall; the
stallion gathered itself together—the moonlight shone so clear that
every watcher saw it—and since stop it could not, leapt straight over
the fallen black horse—ay, and over the rider beyond—and sped on in its
stride. Then the black found its feet again and galloped forward to the
further gate, and Lozelle also found his feet and turned to run.
“Stand! Stand, coward!” yelled ten thousand voices, and, hearing them,
he drew his sword and stood.
Within three great strides Wulf dragged his charger to its haunches,
then wheeled it round.
“Charge him!” shouted the multitude; but Wulf remained seated, as
though unwilling to attack a horseless man. Next he sprang from his
saddle, and accompanied by the horse Smoke, which followed him as a dog
follows its master, walked slowly towards Lozelle, as he walked casting
away his lance and drawing the great, cross-hilted sword.
Again the silence fell, and through it rang the cry of Godwin:
“_A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!_”
“_A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!_” came back Wulf’s answer from the bridge, and
his voice echoed thin and hollow in the spaces of the gulf. Yet they
rejoiced to hear it, for it told them that he was sound and strong.
Wulf had no shield and Lozelle had no helm—the fight was even. They
crouched opposite each other, the swords flashed aloft in the
moonlight; from far away came the distant clank of steel, a soft,
continual clamour of iron on iron. A blow fell on Wulf’s mail, who had
nought wherewith to guard himself, and he staggered back. Another blow,
another, and another, and back, still back he reeled—back to the edge
of the bridge, back till he struck against the horse that stood behind
him, and, resting there a moment, as it seemed, regained his balance.
Then there was a change. Look, he rushed forward, wielding the great
blade in both hands. The stroke lit upon Lozelle’s shield and seemed to
shear it in two, for in that stillness all could hear the clang of its
upper half as it fell upon the stones. Beneath the weight of it he
staggered, sank to his knee, gained his feet again, and in his turn
gave back. Yes, now it was Lozelle who rocked and reeled. Ay, by St.
Chad! Lozelle who went down beneath that mighty blow which missed the
head but fell upon his shoulder, and lay there like a log, till
presently the moonlight shone upon his mailed hand stretched upward in
a prayer for mercy. From house-top and terrace wall, from soaring gates
and battlements, the multitude of the people of the Assassins gathered
on either side the gulf broke into a roar that beat up the mountain
sides like a voice of thunder. And the roar shaped itself to these
words:
“Kill him! kill him! _kill him!_”
Sinan held up his hand, and a sudden silence fell. Then he, too,
screamed in his thin voice:
“Kill him! He is conquered!”
But the great Wulf only leaned upon the cross-handle of his brand, and
looked at the fallen foe. Presently he seemed to speak with him; then
Lozelle lifted the blade that lay beside him and gave it to him in
token of surrender. Wulf handled it awhile, shook it on high in
triumph, and whirled it about his head till it shone in the moonlight.
Next, with a shout he cast it from him far into the gulf, where it was
seen for a moment, an arc of gleaming light, and the next was gone.
Now, taking no more heed of the conquered knight, Wulf turned and began
to walk towards his horse.
Scarcely was his back towards him when Lozelle was on his feet again, a
dagger in his hand.
“Look behind you!” yelled Godwin; but the spectators, pleased that the
fight was not yet done, broke into a roar of cheers. Wulf heard and
swung round. As he faced Lozelle the dagger struck him on the breast,
and well must it have been for him that his mail was good. To use his
sword he had neither space nor time, but ere the next stroke could fall
Wulf’s arms were about Lozelle, and the fight for life begun.
To and fro they reeled and staggered, whirling round and round, till
none could tell which of them was Wulf or which his foe. Now they were
on the edge of the abyss, and, in that last dread strain for mastery,
seemed to stand there still as stone. Then one man began to bend down.
See! his head hung over. Further and further he bent, but his arms
could not be loosened.
“They will both go!” cried the multitude in their joy.
Look! A dagger flashed. Once, twice, thrice it gleamed, and those
wrestlers fell apart, while from deep down in the gulf came the thud of
a fallen body.
“Which—oh, which?” cried Rosamund from her battlement.
“Sir Hugh Lozelle,” answered Godwin in a solemn voice.
Then the head of Rosamund fell forward on her breast, and for a while
she seemed to sleep.
Wulf went to his horse, turned it about on the bridge, and throwing his
arm around its neck, rested for a space. Then he mounted and walked
slowly towards the inner gate. Pushing through the guard and officers,
Godwin rode out to meet him.
“Bravely done, brother,” he said, when they came face to face. “Say,
are you hurt?”
“Bruised and shaken—no more,” answered Wulf.
“A good beginning, truly. Now for the rest,” said Godwin. Then he
glanced over his shoulder, and added, “See, they are leading Rosamund
away, but Sinan remains, to speak with you doubtless, for Masouda
beckons.”
“What shall we do?” asked Wulf. “Make a plan, brother, for my head
swims.”
“Hear what he has to say. Then, as your horse is not wounded either,
ride for it when I give the signal as Masouda bade us. There is no
other way. Pretend that you are wounded.”
So, Godwin leading, while the multitude roared a welcome to the
conquering Wulf who had borne himself so bravely for their pleasure,
they rode to the mouth of the bridge and halted in the little space
before the archway. There Al-je-bal spoke by Masouda.
“A noble fray,” he said. “I did not think that Franks could fight so
well; Say, Sir Knight, will you feast with me in my palace?”
“I thank you, lord,” answered Wulf, “but I must rest while my brother
tends my hurts,” and he pointed to blood upon his mail. “To-morrow, if
it pleases you.”
Sinan stared at them and stroked his beard, while they trembled,
waiting for the word of fate.
It came.
“Good. So be it. To-morrow I wed the lady Rose of Roses, and you
two—her brothers—shall give her to me, as is fitting,” and he sneered.
“Then also you shall receive the reward of valour—a great reward, I
promise you.”
While he spoke Godwin, staring upward, had noted a little wandering
cloud floating across the moon. Slowly it covered it, and the place
grew dim.
“Now,” he whispered, and bowing to the Al-je-bal, they pushed their
horses through the open gate where the mob closed in on them, thus for
a little while holding back the escort from following on their heels.
They spoke to Flame and Smoke, and the good horses plunged onward side
by side, separating the crowd as the prows of boats separate the water.
In ten paces it grew thin, in thirty it was behind them, for all folk
were gathered about the archway where they could see, and none beyond.
Forward they cantered, till the broad road turned to the left, and in
that faint light they were hidden.
“Away!” said Godwin, shaking his reins.
Forward leapt the horses at speed. Again Godwin turned, taking that
road which ran round the city wall and through the gardens, leaving the
guest-castle to the left, whereas their escort followed that whereby
they had come, which passed along the main street of the inner town,
thinking that they were ahead of them. Three minutes more and they were
in the lonely gardens, in which that night no women wandered and no
neophytes dreamed in the pavilions.
“Wulf,” said Godwin, as they swept forward, skimming the turf like
swallows, “draw your sword and be ready. Remember the secret cave may
be guarded, and, if so, we must kill or be killed.”
Wulf nodded, and next instant two long blades flashed in the moonlight,
for the little cloud had passed away. Within a hundred paces of them
rose the tall rock, but between it and the mound were two mounted
guards. These heard the beating of horses’ hoofs, and wheeling about,
stared to see two armed knights sweeping down upon them like a
whirlwind. They called to them to stop, hesitating, then rode forward a
few paces, as though wondering whether this were not a vision.
In a moment the brethren were on them. The soldiers lifted their
lances, but ere they could thrust the sword of Godwin had caught one
between neck and shoulder and sunk to his breast bone, while the sword
of Wulf, used as a spear, had pierced the other through and through, so
that those men fell dead by the door of the mound, never knowing who
had slain them.
The brethren pulled upon their bridles and spoke to Flame and Smoke,
halting them within a score of yards. Then they wheeled round and
sprang from their saddles. One of the dead guards still held his
horses’s reins, and the other beast stood by snorting. Godwin caught it
before it stirred, then, holding all four of them, threw the key to
Wulf and bade him unlock the door. Soon it was done, although he
staggered at the task; then he held the horses, while one by one Godwin
led them in, and that without trouble, for the beasts thought that this
was but a cave-hewn stable of a kind to which they were accustomed.
“What of the dead men?” said Wulf.
“They had best keep us company,” answered Godwin, and, running out, he
carried in first one and then the other.
“Swift!” he said, as he threw down the second corpse. “Shut the door. I
caught sight of horsemen riding through the trees. Nay, they saw
nothing.”
So they locked the massive door and barred it, and with beating hearts
waited in the dark, expecting every moment to hear soldiers battering
at its timbers. But no sound came; the searchers, if such they were,
had passed on to seek elsewhere.
Now while Wulf made shift to fasten up the horses near the mouth of the
cave, Godwin gathered stones as large as he could lift, and piled them
up against the door, till they knew that it would take many men an hour
or more to break through.
For this door was banded with iron and set fast in the living rock.