Thirty years had passed away since the events recorded in our last
chapter, and the mighty Conqueror himself had gone to render an
account of his stewardship to the Judge of all men.
The thoughts and aspirations of all Christian people were now
attracted to far different subjects from the woes or wrongs of the
English nation. The Crusades had begun. Peter the Hermit had moved
all Christendom by his fiery eloquence, and sent them to avenge the
wrongs the pilgrims of the cross had sustained from Turkish hands,
and to free the holy soil from the spawn of the false prophet.
Since the Caliph Omar received the capitulation of Jerusalem, in
637, and established therein the religion of Mahomed, no greater
calamity had ever befallen Christendom than the conquest of Asia
Minor, and subsequently Syria, by the Turks.
The latter event, which occurred about nine years after the Norman
Conquest of England, transferred the government of Palestine, and
the custody of the holy places, from a race which, although
Mahometan, was yet tolerant, to a far fiercer and "anti-human"
government The "unspeakable Turk" had appeared on the scene of
European politics.
For, under the milder rule of the Fatimite Caliphs, who reigned
over Jerusalem from A.D. 969 to 1076, a peculiar quarter of the
holy city had been assigned to the Christians; a fair tribute
secured them protection, and the Sepulchre of Christ, with the
other scenes identified with the Passion, were left in their hands.
Greeks and Latins alike enjoyed freedom of worship, and crowds of
pilgrims flocked from all the western nations.
Then appeared our Turks on the scene. They first ravished Asia
Minor from the weak grasp of the later Roman Empire, and
established their capital and worship--the abomination of
desolation--where the first great Christian council had drawn up
the Nicene Creed, that is, at Nicaea in Bithynia.
Then, later on, under the Sultan Malek Shah, they attacked Syria
and Egypt, and the Holy Land passed under that blighting rule,
which has ever since withered it in its grasp, with a few brief
intervals.
And now the scene changed: the pilgrims, who through innumerable
dangers had reached the holy city, only entered it to become the
victims of contumely and savage insult, and often perished by
brutal violence before they reached their goal--the Holy Sepulchre.
The very patriarch of Jerusalem was dragged by the hair and cast
into a filthy dungeon, in order to exact a heavy ransom from the
sympathy of his flock, and the tale of his sufferings harrowed all
hearts.
For twenty years all this was borne.
At length came a pilgrim--then unknown to fame. He was a hermit,
named Peter, and came from Picardy in France. He mingled his tears
with those of the patriarch, to whom he obtained access.
"What can we do?" said the poor prelate. "The successors of
Constantine are no match for the fiery Turk."
"I will rouse the martial nations of Europe in your cause," was the
reply.
History tells how Peter the Hermit kept his word: how his fiery
eloquence aroused and kindled all hearts; how Christendom sent
forth her myriads, as under some potent spell.
At the council of Clermont, in November 1095, took place that
famous scene in the presence of Pope Urban, when the cry, "God
wills it," thrilled from myriad lips, and became the watchword of
the Crusaders.
Men sold their estates for mere trifles; kings and dukes, like
Robert of Normandy, mortgaged their very crowns, that they might
fight in so holy a cause; and avaricious, cunning, and greedy
monarchs, like Rufus, stayed at home and bought cheaply.
And as with the monarch, so with the vassal; land was a drug in the
market, and horses and arms went up cent per cent.
The principal leaders of the first great Crusade {xxvi} were
Godfrey de Bouillon (duke of the empire), Hugh of Vermandois,
Robert of Normandy, Raymond of Toulouse, Bohemond and Tancred of
the race of Robert Guiscard, the Norman conqueror of southern
Italy.
Under their leadership, Constantinople was reached in safety. Nicea
was besieged, and taken from the Turkish Sultan, Soliman.
Then they first met the Turks in battle array at Dorylaeum--an
awful conflict which took place on the 4th of July 1097, in which
nearly four hundred thousand Moslems were arrayed against the
Crusaders.
The Sultan evacuated Asia Minor, and the expedition passed through
a wasted land and deserted towns, without meeting a single enemy.
Nine months they were delayed before the city of Antioch, from
October 1097 to June 1098, when the city was taken by storm.
Then they were besieged themselves in that city, by nearly half a
million of Turks, and though reduced to the shadow of their former
strength, they sallied forth and utterly defeated their besiegers,
whose camp fell into their hands. Nothing could stand before the
enthusiasm of the western warriors, who fancied they saw spectral
forms of saints and martyrs fighting by their side.
At length, all obstacles removed, in the month of May, in the last
year of the eleventh century, they entered the Holy Land.
On this sacred soil the action of our tale recommences.
. . . . .
It was a lovely evening in May, and the year was the last of the
eleventh century.
The sun had gone down about half an hour, but had left behind him a
flood of golden light in the west, glorious to behold--so calm, so
transparent was that heavenly after glow, wherein deep cerulean
blue was flecked with the brightest crimson or the ruddiest gold.
The moon had risen in the east, and was shining from a deep
dark-blue background, which conveyed the idea of immeasurable
space, with a brilliancy which she seldom or never attains in our
northern sky.
A group of warriors had kindled a fire beneath the wide-spreading
branches of an immense cedar tree, which had, perhaps, been planted
in the reign of Solomon to supply the loss of those cut down for
the temple by Hiram of Tyre.
The landscape was a striking one.
Above them, in the distance, opened a mighty gorge, through which
flowed the rushing waters of a mountain torrent, one of the sources
of the Jordan, issuing from the snows of Hermon.
Below, the country expanded into a gently undulating plain, studded
with cedars, which resembled in no small degree the precincts of
some old English park.
Let us glance at the warriors, and we shall speedily learn that
they are no natives of the soil.
The armour they have laid aside, the coats of linked mail, with
long sleeves of similar material, the big triangular shields,
plated gauntlets, and steel breastplates, sufficiently bespoke
their western nationality; but the red cross, conspicuous on the
right sleeve, told that they were Crusaders.
Their leader appeared to be a young knight who, one would think,
had scarcely won his spurs, or had but recently done so; and his
retinue was limited to the customary attendance upon a single
"lance," a dozen men-at-arms, completely equipped, and twice that
number of light archers.
Their horses were picketed at a slight distance, so that they might
graze easily, and like their owners, were divested of their
armour--for the steeds also were usually loaded with defensive mail
covering the more vital parts of their frames.
The flesh of a deer was roasting at the general fire, and diffusing
a savoury odour around, and all the members of the company were
intent upon rest and enjoyment.
Apart from them stood their solitary sentinel, looking with dreamy
gaze over the fair landscape, and musing, perchance, of far-off
England--of his distant love, or of wife and children, and
wondering, very likely, whether, the war ended, he would live to
return, with all the prestige of a warrior of the Cross, and tell
of the marvels of Eastern climes to many a rustic audience.
Amidst these musings a sound fell upon his ear, which at first he
did not recognise, but which rapidly assumed the character of that
rumbling, earth-shaking, thunder-like sound which a large body of
cavalry, approaching at a gallop, but yet afar off, would make.
He strained his gaze along the desert wastes, beneath the spreading
branches of many cedars; but as yet no sight met the eye to support
the impressions made already upon the ear.
It was not long, however, before the rapidly approaching sounds
became too distinct to suffer him to hesitate, and he gave the
alarm.
The merry song ceased; the conversation dropped; and in the awful
stillness the senses of each man confirmed the report of the
sentinel.
"They may be friends," said the young knight.
"Friends are scarce in the desert," said an aged man-at-arms, the
Nestor of the expedition; "permit us to arm, my lord."
The word was given, and each man-at-arms hastened to his steed; the
archers--footmen--adjusted their bows, when a troop of wild
horsemen, approaching with the speed of the wind, became visible.
They appeared to number a hundred men, so far as they could be
discerned and their force estimated amidst the dust which they
created, and their ever-changing evolutions. Anon grim forms and
wild faces appeared from the cloud; spears glanced in every
direction--now whirled around their heads, now thrown and caught
with the dexterity of jugglers.
They seemed to manage their horses less by the bridle than by the
inflections of their bodies, so that they could spare, at need,
both hands for combat--the one to hold the bucklers of rhinoceros
skin or crocodile hide, the other to wield spear or scimitar.
Turbans surrounded their heads, and light garments their bodies;
but defensive armour had they none.
"Let them come on," said the young knight; "we would not give way,
though the desert yielded twenty times such scum."
But they knew too well their own inferiority in the charge to
venture upon the steel of their mail-clad opponents. At about a
hundred yards distance from their quarry they swerved, divided into
two parties, and, riding to the right and left of their Christian
opponents, discharged upon them such a storm of darts and arrows
that the very air seemed darkened.
"Charge," shouted the young knight, "for God and the Holy
Sepulchre."
They charged, but might as well have ridden after the mirage of the
desert; the speed of the Arab horses seemed incredible, and they
eluded the charge as easily as a hare might elude that of a
tortoise. The Crusaders returned to their original station around
the cedar.
They looked at each other. Ten bodies, dead or wounded, lay still,
or writhing on the ground; for they had not had time to cover
themselves fully with their defensive armour, ere the storm of
arrows came down upon them, and most of the party were bleeding.
"They are gone," said the young knight.
"Not they, my lord," replied his Nestor; "a hungry wolf does not so
easily satisfy his craving with a mouthful--not they; they will
come again, and in such a fashion, I fear, as to try our strength
rarely. See, they are wheeling round. Let each man look well to his
armour, steady his spear, guard himself well with shield. They may
charge this time, seeing our strength so sadly reduced."
"Hourra! hourra!" rang over the desert, and once more the savage
horsemen came down like eagles swooping upon their prey.
Again they divided; again they passed at a slight interval of
time--just enough to prevent their receiving, on either side, such
arrows from their own brethren as found no sheath in English shield
or flesh--passed like the wind, and the deadly cloud of
death-dealing darts came like the fatal simoon of the desert, upon
their helpless foe.
Nay, not quite helpless; for at least a dozen Arab steeds roamed
the plain riderless. English archers, for they were from England,
were English archers still.
But in so unequal a strife numbers must have finally prevailed.
It was impossible for the English to charge so impalpable an
assailant; all they could do was to protect themselves, as far as
possible, by shield and coat of mail, while behind the living
rampart of steel-clad warriors, the archers returned arrow for
arrow, so far as time and numbers suffered them.
"Shall we not charge?" whispered more than once our boyish knight
to the old warrior, who had fought thirty years before at Hastings,
by whose advice his elders had instructed him to abide in case of
emergency.
"Nay, were we separated, they would find out every joint in our
mail, and riddle us with arrows till we looked like porcupines,
while they would never tarry to abide one honest blow of a
battle-axe. Upon our archers depends our chance."
It would be a waste of time to tell in detail how the assailants
again and again repeated the same manoeuvre, until their Christian
opponents were reduced to a handful, when at length the Turks
changed their tactics and suddenly charged with all their force.
All would have been over with the Crusaders, crushed beneath the
weight of numbers, in spite of their superior weapons, at close
quarters. All seemed ended; the young knight, indeed, protected by
his excellent armour, still fought with all the valour of his
Norman race--fought like a paladin of romance--when--
A sudden cry, "Holy Cross to the rescue!" and a gallant band of
light horsemen charged the Infidels in the rear.
The assailants became the assailed, and fled in all directions.
"Rise up, sir knight--for knight you should be," said a stern manly
voice; and a warrior of noble mien, whose features were yet hidden
behind his visor, raised the youthful hero from the ground.