At Jerusalem
Godwin knew that he lay sick, but save that Masouda seemed to tend him
in his sickness he knew no more, for all the past had gone from him.
There she was always, clad in a white robe, and looking at him with
eyes full of ineffable calm and love, and he noted that round her neck
ran a thin, red line, and wondered how it came there.
He knew also that he travelled while he was ill, for at dawn he would
hear the camp break up with a mighty noise, and feel his litter lifted
by slaves who bore him along for hours across the burning sand, till at
length the evening came, and with a humming sound, like the sound of
hiving bees, the great army set its bivouac. Then came the night and
the pale moon floating like a boat upon the azure sea above, and
everywhere the bright, eternal stars, to which went up the constant cry
of “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! God is the greatest, there is none but
He.”
“It is a false god,” he would say. “Tell them to cry upon the Saviour
of the World.”
Then the voice of Masouda would seem to answer:
“Judge not. No god whom men worship with a pure and single heart is
wholly false. Many be the ladders that lead to heaven. Judge not, you
Christian knight.”
At length that journey was done, and there arose new noises as of the
roar of battle. Orders were given and men marched out in thousands;
then rose that roar, and they marched back again, mourning their dead.
At last came a day when, opening his eyes, Godwin turned to rest them
on Masouda, and lo! she was gone, and in her accustomed place there sat
a man whom he knew well—Egbert, once bishop of Nazareth, who gave him
to drink of sherbet cooled with snow. Yes, the Woman had departed and
the Priest was there.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“Outside the walls of Jerusalem, my son, a prisoner in the camp of
Saladin,” was the answer.
“And where is Masouda, who has sat by me all these days?”
“In heaven, as I trust,” came the gentle answer, “for she was a brave
lady. It is I who have sat by you.”
“Nay,” said Godwin obstinately, “it was Masouda.”
“If so,” answered the bishop again, “it was her spirit, for I shrove
her and have prayed over her open grave—her spirit, which came to visit
you from heaven, and has gone back to heaven now that you are of the
earth again.”
Then Godwin remembered the truth, and groaning, fell asleep.
Afterwards, as he grew stronger, Egbert told him all the story. He
learned that when he was found lying senseless on the body of Masouda
the emirs wished Saladin to kill him, if for no other reason because he
had dashed out the eye of the holy imaum with a lamp. But the Sultan,
who had discovered the truth, would not, for he said that it was
unworthy of the imaum to have mocked his grief, and that Sir Godwin had
dealt with him as he deserved. Also, that this Frank was one of the
bravest of knights, who had returned to bear the punishment of a sin
which he did not commit, and that, although he was a Christian, he
loved him as a friend.
So the imaum lost both his eye and his vengeance.
Thus it had come about that the bishop Egbert was ordered to nurse him,
and, if possible to save his life; and when at last they marched upon
Jerusalem, soldiers were told off to bear his litter, and a good tent
was set apart to cover him. Now the siege of the holy city had begun,
and there was much slaughter on both sides.
“Will it fall?” asked Godwin.
“I fear so, unless the saints help them,” answered Egbert. “Alas! I
fear so.”
“Will not Saladin be merciful?” he asked again.
“Why should he be merciful, my son, since they have refused his terms
and defied him? Nay, he has sworn that as Godfrey took the place nigh
upon a hundred years ago and slaughtered the Mussulmen who dwelt there
by thousands, men, women, and children together, so will he do to the
Christians. Oh! why should he spare them? They must die! They must
die!” and wringing his hands Egbert left the tent.
Godwin lay still, wondering what the answer to this riddle might be. He
could think of one, and one only. In Jerusalem was Rosamund, the
Sultan’s niece, whom he must desire to recapture, above all things, not
only because she was of his blood, but since he feared that if he did
not do so his vision concerning her would come to nothing.
Now what was this vision? That through Rosamund much slaughter should
be spared. Well, if Jerusalem were saved, would not tens of thousands
of Moslem and Christian lives be saved also? Oh! surely here was the
answer, and some angel had put it into his heart, and now he prayed for
strength to plant it in the heart of Saladin, for strength and
opportunity.
This very day Godwin found the opportunity. As he lay dozing in his
tent that evening, being still too weak to rise, a shadow fell upon
him, and opening his eyes he saw the Sultan himself standing alone by
his bedside. Now he strove to rise to salute him, but in a kind voice
Saladin bade him lie still, and seating himself, began to talk.
“Sir Godwin,” he said, “I am come to ask your pardon. When I sent you
to visit that dead woman, who had suffered justly for her crime, I did
an act unworthy of a king. But my heart was bitter against her and you,
and the imaum, he whom you smote, put into my mind the trick that cost
him his eye and almost cost a worn-out and sorrowful man his life. I
have spoken.”
“I thank you, sire, who were always noble,” answered Godwin.
“You say so. Yet I have done things to you and yours that you can
scarcely hold as noble,” said Saladin. “I stole your cousin from her
home, as her mother had been stolen from mine, paying back ill with
ill, which is against the law, and in his own hall my servants slew her
father and your uncle, who was once my friend. Well, these things I did
because a fate drove me on—the fate of a dream, the fate of a dream.
Say, Sir Godwin, is that story which they tell in the camps true, that
a vision came to you before the battle of Hattin, and that you warned
the leaders of the Franks not to advance against me?”
“Yes, it is true,” answered Godwin, and he told the vision, and of how
he had sworn to it on the Rood.
“And what did they say to you?”
“They laughed at me, and hinted that I was a sorcerer, or a traitor in
your pay, or both.”
“Blind fools, who would not hear the truth when it was sent to them by
the pure mouth of a prophet,” muttered Saladin. “Well, they paid the
price, and I and my faith are the gainers. Do you wonder, then, Sir
Godwin, that I also believe my vision which came to me thrice in the
night season, bringing with it the picture of the very face of my
niece, the princess of Baalbec?”
“I do not wonder,” answered Godwin.
“Do you wonder also that I was mad with rage when I learned that at
last yonder brave dead woman had outwitted me and all my spies and
guards, and this after I had spared your lives? Do you wonder that I am
still so wroth, believing as I do that a great occasion has been taken
from me?”
“I do not wonder. But, Sultan, I who have seen a vision speak to you
who also have seen a vision—a prophet to a prophet. And I tell you that
the occasion has not been taken—it has been brought, yes, to your very
door, and that all these things have happened that it might thus be
brought.”
“Say on,” said Saladin, gazing at him earnestly.
“See now, Salah-ed-din, the princess Rosamund is in Jerusalem. She has
been led to Jerusalem that you may spare it for her sake, and thus make
an end of bloodshed and save the lives of folk uncounted.”
“Never!” said the Sultan, springing up. “They have rejected my mercy,
and I have sworn to sweep them away, man, woman, and child, and be
avenged upon all their unclean and faithless race.”
“Is Rosamund unclean that you would be avenged upon her? Will her dead
body bring you peace? If Jerusalem is put to the sword, she must perish
also.”
“I will give orders that she is to be saved—that she may be judged for
her crime by me,” he added grimly.
“How can she be saved when the stormers are drunk with slaughter, and
she but one disguised woman among ten thousand others?”
“Then,” he answered, stamping his foot, “she shall be brought or
dragged out of Jerusalem before the slaughter begins.”
“That, I think, will not happen while Wulf is there to protect her,”
said Godwin quietly.
“Yet I say that it must be so—it shall be so.”
Then, without more words, Saladin left the tent with a troubled brow.
Within Jerusalem all was misery, all was despair. There were crowded
thousands and tens of thousands of fugitives, women and children, many
of them, whose husbands and fathers had been slain at Hattin or
elsewhere. The fighting men who were left had few commanders, and thus
it came about that soon Wulf found himself the captain of very many of
them.
First Saladin attacked from the west between the gates of Sts. Stephen
and of David, but here stood strong fortresses called the Castle of the
Pisans and the Tower of Tancred, whence the defenders made sallies upon
him, driving back his stormers. So he determined to change his ground,
and moved his army to the east, camping it near the valley of the
Kedron. When they saw the tents being struck the Christians thought
that he was abandoning the siege, and gave thanks to God in all their
churches; but lo! next morning the white array of these appeared again
on the east, and they knew that their doom was sealed.
There were in the city many who desired to surrender to the Sultan, and
fierce grew the debates between them and those who swore that they
would rather die. At length it was agreed that an embassy should be
sent. So it came under safe conduct, and was received by Saladin in
presence of his emirs and counsellors. He asked them what was their
wish, and they replied that they had come to discuss terms. Then he
answered thus:
“In Jerusalem is a certain lady, my niece, known among us as the
princess of Baalbec, and among the Christians as Rosamund D’Arcy, who
escaped thither a while ago in the company of the knight, Sir Wulf
D’Arcy, whom I have seen fighting bravely among your warriors. Let her
be surrendered to me that I may deal with her as she deserves, and we
will talk again. Till then I have no more to say.”
Now most of the embassy knew nothing of this lady, but one or two said
they thought that they had heard of her, but had no knowledge of where
she was hidden.
“Then return and search her out,” said Saladin, and so dismissed them.
Back came the envoys to the council and told what Saladin had said.
“At least,” exclaimed Heraclius the Patriarch, “in this matter it is
easy to satisfy the Sultan. Let his niece be found and delivered to
him. Where is she?”
Now one declared that was known by the knight, Sir Wulf D’Arcy, with
whom she had entered the city. So he was sent for, and came with armour
rent and red sword in hand, for he had just beaten back an attack upon
the barbican, and asked what was their pleasure.
“We desire to know, Sir Wulf,” said the patriarch, “where you have
hidden away the lady known as the princess of Baalbec, whom you stole
from the Sultan?”
“What is that to your Holiness?” asked Wulf shortly.
“A great deal, to me and to all, seeing that Saladin will not even
treat with us until she is delivered to him.”
“Does this council, then, propose to hand over a Christian lady to the
Saracens against her will?” asked Wulf sternly.
“We must,” answered Heraclius. “Moreover, she belongs to them.”
“She does not belong,” answered Wulf. “She was kidnapped by Saladin in
England, and ever since has striven to escape from him.”
“Waste not our time,” exclaimed the patriarch impatiently. “We
understand that you are this woman’s lover, but however that may be,
Saladin demands her, and to Saladin she must go. So tell us where she
is without more ado, Sir Wulf.”
“Discover that for yourself, Sir Patriarch,” replied Wulf in fury. “Or,
if you cannot, send one of your own women in her place.”
Now there was a murmur in the council, but of wonder at his boldness
rather than of indignation, for this patriarch was a very evil liver.
“I care not if I speak the truth,” went on Wulf, “for it is known to
all. Moreover, I tell this man that it is well for him that he is a
priest, however shameful, for otherwise I would cleave his head in two
who has dared to call the lady Rosamund my lover.” Then, still shaking
with wrath, the great knight turned and stalked from the council
chamber.
“A dangerous man,” said Heraclius, who was white to the lips; “a very
dangerous man. I propose that he should be imprisoned.”
“Ay,” answered the lord Balian of Ibelin, who was in supreme command of
the city, “a very dangerous man—to his foes, as I can testify. I saw
him and his brother charge through the hosts of the Saracens at the
battle of Hattin, and I have seen him in the breach upon the wall.
Would that we had more such dangerous men just now!”
“But he has insulted me,” shouted the patriarch, “me and my holy
office.”
“The truth should be no insult,” answered Balian with meaning. “At
least, it is a private matter between you and him on account of which
we cannot spare one of our few captains. Now as regards this lady, I
like not the business—”
As he spoke a messenger entered the room and said that the hiding-place
of Rosamund had been discovered. She had been admitted a novice into
the community of the Virgins of the Holy Cross, who had their house by
the arch on the Via Dolorosa.
“Now I like it still less,” Balian went on, “for to touch her would be
sacrilege.”
“His Holiness, Heraclius, will give us absolution,” said a mocking
voice.
Then another leader rose—he was one of the party who desired peace—and
pointed out that this was no time to stand on scruples, for the Sultan
would not listen to them in their sore plight unless the lady were
delivered to him to be judged for her offence. Perhaps, being his own
niece, she would, in fact, suffer no harm at his hands, and whether
this were so or not, it was better that one should endure wrong, or
even death, than many.
With such words he over-persuaded the most of them, so that in the end
they rose and went to the convent of the Holy Cross, where the
patriarch demanded admission for them, which, indeed, could not be
refused. The stately abbess received them in the refectory, and asked
their pleasure.
“Daughter,” said the patriarch, “you have in your keeping a lady named
Rosamund D’Arcy, with whom we desire to speak. Where is she?”
“The novice Rosamund,” answered the abbess, “prays by the holy altar in
the chapel.”
Now one murmured, “She has taken sanctuary,” but the patriarch said:
“Tell us, daughter, does she pray alone?”
“A knight guards her prayers,” was the answer.
“Ah! as I thought, he has been beforehand with us. Also, daughter,
surely your discipline is somewhat lax if you suffer knights thus to
invade your chapel. But lead us thither.”
“The dangers of the times and of the lady must answer for it,” the
abbess replied boldly, as she obeyed.
Presently they were in the great, dim place, where the lamps burned day
and night. There by the altar, built, it was said, upon the spot where
the Lord stood to receive judgment, they saw a kneeling woman, who,
clad in the robe of a novice, grasped the stonework with her hands.
Without the rails, also kneeling, was the knight Wulf, still as a
statue on a sepulchre. Hearing them, he rose, turned him about, and
drew his great sword.
“Sheathe that sword,” commanded Heraclius.
“When I became a knight,” answered Wulf, “I swore to defend the
innocent from harm and the altars of God from sacrilege at the hands of
wicked men. Therefore I sheathe not my sword.”
“Take no heed of him,” said one; and Heraclius, standing back in the
aisle, addressed Rosamund:
“Daughter,” he cried, “with bitter grief we are come to ask of you a
sacrifice, that you should give yourself for the people, as our Master
gave Himself for the people. Saladin demands you as a fugitive of his
blood, and until you are delivered to him he will not treat with us for
the saving of the city. Come forth, then, we pray you.”
Now Rosamund rose and faced them, with her hand resting upon the altar.
“I risked my life and I believe another gave her life,” she said, “that
I might escape from the power of the Moslems. I will not come forth to
return to them.”
“Then, our need being sore, we must take you,” answered Heraclius
sullenly.
“What!” she cried. “You, the patriarch of this sacred city, would tear
me from the sanctuary of its holiest altar? Oh! then, indeed shall the
curse fall upon it and you. Hence, they say, our sweet Lord was haled
to sacrifice by the command of an unjust judge, and thereafter
Jerusalem was taken by the sword. Must I too be dragged from the spot
that His feet have hallowed, and even in these weeds”—and she pointed
to her white robe—“thrown as an offering to your foes, who mayhap will
bid me choose between death and the Koran? If so, I say assuredly that
offering will be made in vain, and assuredly your streets shall run red
with the blood of those who tore me from my sanctuary.”
Now they consulted together, some taking one side and some the other,
but the most of them declared that she must be given up to Saladin.
“Come of your own will, I pray you,” said the patriarch, “since we
would not take you by force.”
“By force only will you take me,” answered Rosamund.
Then the abbess spoke.
“Sirs, will you commit so great a crime? Then I tell you that it cannot
go without its punishment. With this lady I say”—and she drew up her
tall shape—“that it shall be paid for in your blood, and mayhap in the
blood of all of us. Remember my words when the Saracens have won the
city, and are putting its children to the sword.”
“I absolve you from the sin,” shouted the patriarch, “if sin it is.”
“Absolve yourself,” broke in Wulf sternly, “and know this. I am but one
man, but I have some strength and skill. If you seek but to lay a hand
upon the novice Rosamund to hale her away to be slain by Saladin, as he
has sworn that he would do should she dare to fly from him, before I
die there are those among you who have looked the last upon the light.”
Then, standing there before the altar rails, he lifted his great blade
and settled the skull-blazoned shield upon his arm.
Now the patriarch raved and stormed, and one among them cried that they
would fetch bows and shoot Wulf down from a distance.
“And thus,” broke in Rosamund, “add murder to sacrilege! Oh! sirs,
bethink what you do—ay, and remember this, that you do it all in vain.
Saladin has promised you nothing, except that if you deliver me to him,
he will talk with you, and then you may find that you have sinned for
nothing. Have pity on me and go your ways, leaving the issue in the
hand of God.”
“That is true,” cried some. “Saladin made no promises.”
Now Balian, the guardian of the city, who had followed them to the
chapel and standing in the background heard what passed there, stepped
forward and said:
“My lord Patriarch, I pray you let this thing be, since from such a
crime no good could come to us or any. That altar is the holiest and
most noted place of sanctuary in all Jerusalem. Will you dare to tear a
maiden from it whose only sin is that she, a Christian, has escaped the
Saracens by whom she was stolen? Do you dare to give her back to them
and death, for such will be her doom at the hands of Saladin? Surely
that would be the act of cowards, and bring upon us the fate of
cowards. Sir Wulf, put up your sword and fear nothing. If there is any
safety in Jerusalem, your lady is safe. Abbess, lead her to her cell.”
“Nay,” answered the abbess with fine sarcasm, “it is not fitting that
we should leave this place before his Holiness.”
“Then you have not long to wait,” shouted the patriarch in fury. “Is
this a time for scruples about altars? Is this a time to listen to the
prayers of a girl or to threats of a single knight, or the doubts of a
superstitious captain? Well, take your way and let your lives pay its
cost. Yet I say that if Saladin asked for half the noble maidens in the
city, it would be cheap to let him have them in payment for the blood
of eighty thousand folk,” and he stalked towards the door.
So they went away, all except Wulf, who stayed to make sure that they
were gone, and the abbess, who came to Rosamund and embraced her,
saying that for the while the danger was past, and she might rest
quiet.
“Yes, mother,” answered Rosamund with a sob, “but oh! have I done
right? Should I not have surrendered myself to the wrath of Saladin if
the lives of so many hang upon it? Perhaps, after all, he would forget
his oath and spare my life, though at best I should never be suffered
to escape again while there is a castle in Baalbec or a guarded harem
in Damascus. Moreover, it is hard to bid farewell to all one loves
forever,” and she glanced towards Wulf, who stood out of hearing.
“Yes,” answered the abbess, “it is hard, as we nuns know well. But,
daughter, that sore choice has not yet been thrust upon you. When
Saladin says that he sets you against the lives of all this cityful,
then you must judge.”
“Ay,” repeated Rosamund, “then I—must judge.”
The siege went on; from terror to terror it went on. The mangonels
hurled their stones unceasingly, the arrows flew in clouds so that none
could stand upon the walls. Thousands of the cavalry of Saladin hovered
round St. Stephen’s Gate, while the engines poured fire and bolts upon
the doomed town, and the Saracen miners worked their way beneath the
barbican and the wall. The soldiers within could not sally because of
the multitude of the watching horsemen; they could not show themselves,
since he who did so was at once destroyed by a thousand darts, and they
could not build up the breaches of the crumbling wall. As day was added
to day, the despair grew ever deeper. In every street might be met long
processions of monks bearing crosses and chanting penitential psalms
and prayers, while in the house-doors women wailed to Christ for mercy,
and held to their breasts the children which must so soon be given to
death, or torn from them to deck some Mussulman harem.
The commander Balian called the knights together in council, and showed
them that Jerusalem was doomed.
“Then,” said one of the leaders, “let us sally out and die fighting in
the midst of foes.”
“Ay,” added Heraclius, “and leave our children and our women to death
and dishonour. Then that surrender is better, since there is no hope of
succour.”
“Nay,” answered Balian, “we will not surrender. While God lives, there
is hope.”
“He lived on the day of Hattin, and suffered it,” said Heraclius; and
the council broke up, having decided nothing.
That afternoon Balian stood once more before Saladin and implored him
to spare the city.
Saladin led him to the door of the tent and pointed to his yellow
banners floating here and there upon the wall, and to one that at this
moment rose upon the breach itself.
“Why should I spare what I have already conquered, and what I have
sworn to destroy?” he asked. “When I offered you mercy you would have
none of it. Why do you ask it now?”
Then Balian answered him in those words that will ring through history
forever.
“For this reason, Sultan. Before God, if die we must, we will first
slaughter our women and our little children, leaving you neither male
nor female to enslave. We will burn the city and its wealth; we will
grind the holy Rock to powder and make of the mosque el-Aksa, and the
other sacred places, a heap of ruins. We will cut the throats of the
five thousand followers of the Prophet who are in our power, and then,
every man of us who can bear arms, we will sally out into the midst of
you and fight on till we fall. So I think Jerusalem shall cost you
dear.”
The Sultan stared at him and stroked his beard.
“Eighty thousand lives,” he muttered; “eighty thousand lives, besides
those of my soldiers whom you will slay. A great slaughter—and the holy
city destroyed forever. Oh! it was of such a massacre as this that once
I dreamed.”
Then Saladin sat still and thought a while, his head bowed upon his
breast.