The Talisman_The World's Greatest Books — Volume 08

"The Talisman," the most famous of Scott's "Tales of the

Crusaders," was written 1824-25, when the fortunes of its

author were already threatened. The building of Abbotsford was

finished, and the heavy financial losses which fell on Sir

Walter, and drove him to write at a speed fatal to his genius,

soon followed. "The Talisman" and "The Fair Maid of Perth,"

which appeared three years later, are the only two of the

Waverley Novels published in those later years which are

worthy of their author's fame. The Talisman itself has always

been deservedly popular. It is full of colour, mystery, plot,

and counterplot, and Sir Kenneth's performances in

withstanding the jealous enemies of Richard Coeur-de-Lion glow

with life. Conrade of Montserrat, Richard's opponent in the

armies of the Crusaders, was a well-known figure in the wars

against the Saracens, and when he perished at their hands, it

was said that Richard instigated his death.

_I.--The Knight of the Leopard_

The burning sun of Syria had not yet attained its highest point when a

Knight of the Red Cross was pacing slowly along the sandy deserts in the

vicinity of the Dead Sea. At noon he joyfully hailed the sight of two or

three palm trees, and his good horse, too, lifted up his head as if he

snuffed from afar off the living waters which marked the place of repose

and refreshment. But a distant form separated itself from the trees, and

advanced towards the knight at a speed which soon showed a Saracen

cavalier. The Crusader, whose arms were a couchant leopard, disengaged

his lance, and well acquainted with the customs of Eastern warriors,

made a dead halt, confident that his own weight would give him the

advantage if the enemy advanced to the actual shock; but the Saracen,

wheeling his horse with inimitable dexterity, rode round the Christian,

who, constantly turning, frustrated his attempts to attack him in an

unguarded point, until, desirous to terminate the elusory warfare, the

knight suddenly seized the mace which hung at his saddle-bow, and hurled

it at the head of the Emir, who, though beaten to the ground, instantly

sprang again into his seat and regained the advantage, enlarging his

circles, and discharging arrows. At the seventh, the Christian knight

dropped heavily to the ground, and the Saracen dismounting to examine

his fallen foe, suddenly found himself in his grasp. He unloosed the

sword belt in which the Knight of the Leopard had fixed his hold,

mounted, and again rode off. But the loss of his sword and quiver of

arrows seemed to incline the Muslim to a truce; he again approached the

Christian, but no longer menacingly.

"There is truce betwixt our nations," he said. "Let there be peace

betwixt us."

"I am well content," answered he of the couchant leopard, and the late

foes, without an angry look or a gesture of doubt, rode side by side to

the palm trees; where each relieved his horse from saddle, bit, and

rein, and permitted them to drink ere they refreshed themselves. As they

sat down together on the turf, and proceeded to their scanty meal, they

eyed each other with curiosity, and each was compelled to acknowledge

that had he fallen in the combat, it had been by a noble foe. The

warriors arose from their brief rest, and courteously aided each other

while they replaced the harness of their trusty steeds, and pursued

their way, the Saracen performing the part of guide, to the cavern of

the hermit, Theodorich of England, with whom Sir Kenneth was to pass the

night in penitence and prayer.

_II.--Richard Coeur-de-Lion_

The scene must change to the camp of King Richard of England, who,

afflicted with a slow and wasting fever, lay on his couch of sickness,

loathing it as much in mind as his illness made it irksome to his body.

"Hark, what trumpets are there?" he said, endeavouring to start up. "By

heaven! the Turks are in the camp, I hear their lelies!" Breathless and

exhausted he sank back. "Go, I pray thee, De Vaux, and bring me word

what strangers are in the camp." Sir Thomas de Vaux had not made many

steps from the royal pavilion when he met the Knight of the Leopard,

who, accosting him with formal courtesy, desired to see the king; he had

brought back with him a Moorish physician, who had undertaken to work a

cure. Sir Thomas answered haughtily that no leech should approach the

sick bed without his, the Baron of Gilsland's, consent, and turned

loftily away; but the Scot, though not without expressing his share of

pride, solemnly assured him that he desired but the safety of Richard,

and Saladin himself had sent thither this Muslim physician. Sir

Kenneth's squire had been suffering dangerously under the same fever,

and the leech, El Hakim, had ministered to him not two hours before, and

already he was in a refreshing sleep.

"May I see your sick squire, fair sir?" at length said the Englishman.

The Scottish knight hesitated and coloured, yet answered at last:

"Willingly, my lord of Gilsland, but I am poorly lodged," and led the

way to his temporary abode.

"This is a strange tale, Sir Thomas," said the king, when he had heard

the report. "Art thou sure that this Scottish man is a tall man and

true?"

"I cannot say, my lord," replied the jealous borderer; "I have ever

found the Scots fair and false, but the man's bearing is that of a true

man, and I warrant you have noted the manner in which he bears himself

as a knight. He hath been fully well spoken of."

"And justly, Thomas," said the king. "Yes, I have indeed marked the

manner in which this knight does his devoir, and he had ere now tasted

your bounty but that I have also marked his audacious presumption."

"My liege," said the Baron of Gilsland, "your majesty will pardon me to

remind you that I have by mine office right to grant liberty to men of

gentle blood, to keep a hound or two within the camp, and besides, it

were a sin to harm a thing so noble as this gentleman's dog, the most

perfect creature of heaven, of the noblest northern breed."

The king laughed.

"Well, thou hast given him leave to keep the hound, so there is an end

of it. But to this piece of learned heathenness--say'st thou the Scot

met him in the desert?"

"No, my liege, the Scot's tale runs thus: He was dispatched to the old

hermit of Engaddi--"

"'Sdeath and hell!" said Richard, starting up, "by whom dispatched, and

for what? Who would send anyone thither when our queen was in the

convent of Engaddi?"

"The Council of the Crusade sent him, my lord," the baron answered, "but

for what purpose he declined to account to me."

"Well, it shall be looked into," said Richard. "So this envoy met with a

wandering physician at Engaddi, ha!"

"Not so, my liege, but he met a Saracen Emir, who understood that

Saladin should send his own leech to you. He is attended as if he were a

prince, and brings with him letters of credence from Saladin."

Richard took the scroll and read.

"Hold, hold," he said. "I will have no more of this dog of a prophet.

Yes, I will put myself in charge of this Hakim--I will repay the noble

Soldan his generosity--I will meet him in the field as he proposes.

Haste, De Vaux, fetch the Hakim hither."

Scarcely had De Vaux left the royal pavilion when the king, to soothe

his impatience, sent a messenger to command the attendance of the Knight

of the Leopard, that he might obtain an account of the cause of his

absence from the camp.

"Hark thee, Sir Knight," said the king, "I require you to remember that,

as a principal member of the Christian League, I have a right to know

the negotiations of my confederates. Do me, therefore, the justice to

tell me the purport of thine errand."

"My lord," replied the Scot, "I will speak the truth. Be pleased,

therefore, to know my charge was to propose through the medium of the

hermit--a holy man, respected and protected by Saladin himself--the

establishment of a lasting peace, and the withdrawing of our armies from

Palestine."

"Saint George!" said Richard. "Ill as I have thought of them, I could

not have dreamed of such dishonour. On what conditions was this hopeful

peace to be contracted?"

"They were not entrusted to me, my lord," said Sir Kenneth. "I delivered

them sealed to the hermit. Might I so far presume, my lord king, this

discourse but heats your disease, the enemy from which Christendom

dreads more evil than from armed hosts of infidels."

"You can flatter, Sir Knight," said the king, "but you escape me not. Saw

you my royal consort at Engaddi?"

"To my knowledge, no, my lord," said Sir Kenneth in some perturbation.

"I beheld a choir of ladies do homage to a relic of the highest

sanctity, but I saw not their faces."

"I ask you," said Richard, raising himself on his elbow, "as a knight

and a gentleman, did you or did you not, know any lady amongst that band

of worshippers?"

"My lord," said Kenneth, not without much hesitation, "I might guess."

"And I also might guess," said the king, frowning sternly. "But it is

enough. Leopard as you are, Sir Knight, beware o' tempting the lion's

paw. Enough--begone!--speed to De Vaux and send him hither with the

Arabian physician."

Richard, when the physician, accompanied by the Grand Master of the

Templars, Montserrat, with De Vaux and the Knight of the Leopard,

entered his apartment, immediately exclaimed:

"So, ho, a goodly fellowship come to see Richard take his leap in the

dark. My noble allies, I greet you as the representatives of our

assembled league--De Vaux, lives he or dies he, thou hast the thanks of

thy prince--There is yet another--What, the bold Scot, who would climb

heaven without a ladder? He is welcome, too. Come, Sir Hakim, to the

work, to the work."

The physician now felt the king's pulse for a long time, then filled a

cup with water, and dipt in it a small red purse, which he took from his

bosom. He was about to offer it to the king, but he prevented him,

saying:

"Hold an instant, let me lay my finger on _thy_ pulse."

The Arabian yielded his hand without hesitation.

"His blood beats calm as an infant's; so throbs not theirs who poison

princes," said the king, "De Vaux, whether we live or die, dismiss this

Hakim with honour. Commend us, friend, to the noble Saladin."

He then took the cup, and turning to the Marquis of Montserrat and the

grand master: "Mark what I say. To the immortal honour of the first

Crusader who shall strike lance or sword on the gate of Jerusalem and to

the eternal infamy of whomsoever shall turn back from the plough on

which he hath laid his hand." He drained the cup and sank back as if

exhausted.

The hour had arrived when the royal patient might be awakened with

safety. The fever had entirely left him, and King Richard sitting up and

rubbing his eyes demanded what present store of money was in the royal

coffers.

"Be it greater or smaller," he said, "bestow it all on the learned leech

who hath given me back to the service of the Crusade."

"I sell not the wisdom with which Allah has endowed me," said the Arab.

"It is reward enough for me that so great a king as Melech Ric should

thus speak to his servant. But now let me pray you to compose yourself

again on the couch."

"I must obey thee, Hakim," said the king. "But what mean these shouts

and distant music in the camp?"

The Marquis of Montserrat at that moment entered.

"Honoured prince," he said, "I delight to see your majesty so far

recovered, and that is a long speech for me to make who has partaken of

the Duke of Austria's hospitality."

"What, you have been dining with the Teutonic wine skin!" said the

monarch. "And what frolic hath he found to cause all this disturbance?

Truly, Sir Conrade, I wonder at your quitting the revel."

"What the Archduke does," said Conrade de Montserrat, not heeding De

Vaux's sign, "is of little consequence to anyone; yet to say truth, this

is a gambol I should not like to share in, since he is pulling down the

banner of England, and displaying his own in its stead."

"_What_ say'st thou?" exclaimed Richard, springing from his couch and

casting on his clothes with marvellous speed. "Speak not to me--I

command thee, speak not a word to me--Hakim, be silent I charge thee!"

And with the last word he snatched his sword and rushed out. Conrade

held up his hands as if in astonishment. De Vaux pushed rudely past him

calling orders in haste to the equerries, which, imperfectly heard,

spread an alarm as general as the cause seemed vague, through the whole

British forces.

Without regarding the tumult, Richard pursued his way, followed only by

De Vaux and a few servants; but the Knight of the Leopard, as they

passed him, aware that danger must be afoot, snatched his sword and

shield, and hastened to share it. Richard burst his way through a crowd

of the Archduke's friends and retinue, pulled up the standard-spear,

threw the Austrian banner on the ground, and placed his foot upon it.

"Thus," said he, "I trample on the banner of Austria!"

A Hungarian nobleman struck at the king a blow that might have proved

fatal had not the Scot intercepted it, while Richard glanced round him

with an eye from which the angry nobles shrank appalled, until the King

of France, whose sagacity Richard much respected, came and remonstrated.

The duke at last said he would refer his quarrel to the General Council

of the Crusade.

Richard listened to Philip until his oratory seemed exhausted, then said

aloud:

"I am drowsy--this fever hangs upon me still. Brother of France, know,

at once, I will submit a matter touching the honour of England neither

to prince, pope, nor council. Here stands my banner--whatever pennon

shall be reared within three butts' length of it--shall be treated as

that dishonoured rag."

Philip answered calmly he would have no other strife between the Lions

of England and the Lilies of France than which should be carried deepest

into the ranks of the infidels. Richard stretched out his hand, with all

the frankness of his rash but generous disposition, and replied:

"It is a bargain, my royal brother! Here, Thomas of Gilsland, I give

thee charge of this standard--watch over the honour of England."

"Her safety is yet more dear to me," said De Vaux, "and the life of

Richard is the safety of England. I must have your highness back to your

tent without further tarriance."

"Thou art a rough and peremptory nurse, De Vaux," said the king, and

then addressing Sir Kenneth: "Valiant Scot, I owe thee a boon; and I

will repay it richly. There stands the banner of England! Watch it as a

novice doth his armour. Stir not from it three spears' lengths, and

defend it with thy body against injury or insult--Dost thou undertake

the charge?"

"Willingly," said Kenneth, "and will discharge it upon penalty of my

head. I will but arm me and return thither instantly."

Those whom the disturbance had assembled now drew off in various

directions, and the Marquis of Montserrat said to the Grand Master of

the Templars:

"Thou seest that subtle courses are more effective than violence. I have

unloosed the bonds which held together this bunch of sceptres and

lances--thou wilt see them shortly fall asunder."

_III.--Richard and Sir Kenneth_

It was about sunrise when a slow armed tread was heard approaching the

king's pavilion and De Vaux had time to do no more than arise when the

Knight of the Leopard entered, with deep gloom on his manly features.

Richard, awaking on the instant, exclaimed:

"Speak, Sir Scot, thou comest to tell me of a vigilant watch?"

"My watch hath been neither safe, vigilant, nor honourable," said Sir

Kenneth. "The banner of England has been carried off."

"And thou alive to tell it?" said Richard. "Away, it cannot be. There is

not even a scratch on thy face. It is ill jesting with a King--yet I

will forgive thee if thou hast lied."

"Lied, Sir King!" returned the knight with fierce emphasis. "But this

also must be endured. I have spoken the truth."

"By God and St. George!" said the king with fury. "De Vaux, go view the

spot. This cannot be. The man's courage is proof--it cannot be! Go

speedily--or send, if--"

The King was interrupted by Sir Henry Neville, who came, breathless, to

say the banner was gone, and there was a pool of blood where the

banner-spear lay.

"But whom do I see here?" said Neville, his eyes suddenly resting upon

Sir Kenneth.

"A traitor," said the king, seizing his curtal-axe, "whom thou shalt see

die a traitor's death." And he drew back the weapon as in act to strike.

Colourless, but firm as a marble statue, the Scot stood before him, his

head uncovered, his eyes cast down. The king stood for a moment prompt

to strike, then lowering the weapon, exclaimed:

"But there was blood, Neville--Hark thee, Sir Scot, brave thou wert

once, for I have seen thee fight. Say thou hast struck but one blow in

our behalf, and get thee out of the camp with thy life and thy infamy."

"There was no blood shed, my lord king," replied Kenneth, "save that of

a poor hound, which, more faithful than his master, defended the charge

he deserted."

"Now, by St. George," said Richard, again heaving up his arm, but De

Vaux threw himself between him and the object of his vengeance. There

was a pause.

"My lord," said Kenneth.

"Ha! hast thou found thy speech?" said Richard. "Ask grace from heaven,

but none from me. Wert thou my own and only brother, there is no pardon

for thy fault."

"I speak not to demand grace of mortal man," replied the Scot. "I

beseech your grace for one moment's opportunity to speak that which

highly concerns your fame as a Christian king. There is treason around

you."

"Treason that will injure thee more deeply than the loss of a hundred

banners. The--the--the Lady Edith--"

"Ha!" said the king, "what was she to do with this matter?"

"My lord," said the Scot, "there is a scheme on foot to disgrace your

royal lineage, by bestowing the hand of the Lady Edith on the Saracen

Soldan, and thereby to purchase a peace most dishonourable to

Christendom."

The mention of his relative's name renewed the King's recollection of

what he had considered extreme presumption in the Knight of the Leopard,

even while he stood high on the rolls of chivalry, and now appeared to

drive the fiery monarch into a frenzy of passion.

"Silence," he said, "infamous and audacious. By heaven, I will have thy

tongue torn out with hot pincers for mentioning the very name of a noble

damsel! With lips blistered with the confession of thine own

dishonour--that thou shouldest now dare--name her not--for an instant

think not of her."

"Not name--not think of her?" answered Sir Kenneth. "Now by the cross on

which I place my hope, her name shall be the last word in my mouth. Try

thy boasted strength on this bare brow, and see if thou canst prevent my

purpose."

"He will drive me mad," said Richard, once more staggered by the

dauntless determination of the criminal.

A bustle was heard and the arrival of the queen was announced.

"Detain her, Neville," cried the king. "Away with him, De Vaux; let him

have a ghostly father--and, hark thee, we will not have him dishonoured;

he shall die knight-like in his belt and spurs."

The entrance of Queen Berengaria was withstood by the chamberlain, and

she could hear the stern commands of the king from within to the

executioner. Edith could no longer remain silent:

"_I_ will make entrance for your grace," she said, putting aside the

chamberlain.

On their sudden entrance Richard flung himself hastily aside, turning

his back to them as if displeased.

"Thou seest, Edith," whispered the queen, "we shall but incense him."

"Be it so," said Edith, stepping forward. "I--your poor kinswoman, crave

you for justice rather than mercy, and to that cry the ear of a monarch

should be ever open."

"Ha! our cousin Edith!" said Richard, rising. "She speaks ever

king-like, and king-like I will answer her."

"My lord," she said, "this good knight whose blood you are about to

spill hath fallen from his duty through a snare set for him in idleness

and folly. A message sent to him in the name of one--why should I not

speak it?--it was in my own--induced him to leave his post."

"And you saw him then, cousin?" said the king, biting his lips to keep

down his passion. "Where?"

"In the tent of her majesty, the queen."

"Of your royal consort! Now, by my father's soul, Edith, thou shalt rue

this thy life long in a monastery."

"My liege," said Edith, "your greatness licences tyranny. My honour is

as little touched as yours, and my lady, the queen, can prove it if she

thinks fit. But I have not come here to excuse myself or inculpate

others--"

The king was about to answer with much anger, when a Carmelite monk

entered hastily, and flinging himself on his knees before the king,

conjured him to stop the execution. It was the hermit of Engaddi, and to

the king's fierce refusal to listen, he said with irritation:

"Thou art setting that mischief on foot thou wilt afterwards wish thou

hadst stopped, though it had cost thee a limb. Rash, blinded man,

forbear!"

"Away, away," cried the king, stamping. "The sun has risen on the

dishonour of England, and it is not yet avenged. Ladies and priests

withdraw, for by St. George, I swear--"

"Swear _not!_" said the voice of one who now entered--

"Ho! my learned Hakim," said the king, "come, I hope, to tax our

generosity."

"I come to request instant speech with you--instant."

"Retire then, Berengaria," said the monarch. "Nay, renew not thy

importunities--nay, this I give to thee--the execution shall not be till

high noon. Edith, go--if you are wise."

The females hurried from the tent, and El Hakim made his humble prayer

for the knight about to die. The king hardening himself as the leech

assumed a more lofty tone:

"Know, then," he said, "that through every court of Europe and Asia will

I denounce thee as thankless and ungenerous."

Richard turned fiercely from him.

"Hakim, thou hast chosen thy boon, and I may not, king-like, refuse

thee. Take this Scot, therefore, use him as thy bond-slave if thou wilt,

only let him beware how he comes before the eyes of Richard. Is there

aught else in which I may do thee pleasure?"

"Let me touch that victorious hand," said the sage, "in token that

should Adonbec El Hakim hereafter demand a boon of Richard of England,

he may do so."

"Thou hast hand and glove upon it, man," replied Richard.

"May thy days be multiplied," answered the Hakim.

"Strange pertinacity," said the King, gazing after him as he departed,

"in this Hakim to interfere between this Scot and the chastisement he

has merited so richly. Yet, let him live! there is one brave man the