THE ATTACK.
All day they rode with their faces west, and before nightfall had made a
journey of over forty miles. Then bestowing a largess upon the
men-at-arms, Cuthbert dismissed them, and took up his abode at a
hostelry, his guide looking to the two horses.
Cuthbert was pleased with the appearance of the man who had been placed
at his disposal. He was a young fellow of twenty-two or twenty-three,
with an honest face. He was, he told Cuthbert, the son of a small farmer
near Avignon; but having a fancy for trade, he had been apprenticed to a
master smith. Having served his apprenticeship, he found that he had
mistaken his vocation, and intended to return to the paternal vineyards.
Cuthbert calculated that he would make at least four days' journey to
the south before he could meet with any dangers. Doubtless his exit from
the convent had been discovered, and the moment the gates of the city
were opened the spy would have proceeded south to warn his comrades, and
these would doubtless have taken a road which at a distance would again
take them on to that by which Cuthbert would be now traveling. As,
however, he rode fast, and made long marches each day, he hoped that he
might succeed in distancing them. Unfortunately, upon the third day his
horse cast his shoe, and no smith could be met with until the end of the
day's journey. Consequently, but a short distance could be done and this
at a slow pace. Upon the fifth day after their first start they arrived
at a small town.
The next morning Cuthbert on rising found that his guide did not present
himself as usual. Making inquiries he found that the young man had gone
out the evening before, and had not returned. Extremely uneasy at the
circumstance, Cuthbert went to the city guard, thinking that perhaps his
guide might have got drunk, and been shut up in the cells. No news,
however, was to be obtained there, and after waiting some hours, feeling
sure that some harm had befallen him, he gave notice to the authorities
of his loss, and then mounting his horse, and leaving some money with
the landlord of the hostelry to give to his guide in case the latter
should return, he started at midday by the southern road.
He felt sure now that he was overtaken, and determined to keep his eyes
and faculties thoroughly on watch.
The roads in those days were mere tracks. Here and there a little
village was to be met with; but the country was sparsely cultivated, and
traveling lonely work. Cuthbert rode fast, carefully avoiding all
copses and small woods through which the road ran, by making a circuit
round them and coming on to it again on the other side.
His horse was an excellent one, the gift of the earl, and he had little
fear, with his light weight, of being overtaken if he could once leave
his enemies behind him.
At length he approached an extensive forest, which stretched for miles
on either side.
Half a mile before he reached it the track divided.
He had for some little time eased his horse down to a walk, as he felt
that the wood would be the spot where he would in all probability be
attacked, and he needed that his steed should be possessed of its utmost
vigor.
At the spot where the track branched a man in the guise of a mendicant
was sitting. He begged for alms, and Cuthbert threw him a small coin.
A sudden thought struck him as he heard a rustling in the bushes near.
"Which is the nearest and best road to Avignon?" he said.
"The right-hand road is the best and shortest," the beggar said. "The
other makes a long circuit and leads through several marshes, which your
honor will find it hard to pass."
Cuthbert thanked him and moved forward, still at a walk, along the
right-hand road.
When he had gone about two hundred yards, and was hidden from the sight
of the man he had left--the country being rough, and scattered with
clumps of bushes--he halted, and, as he expected, heard the sound of
horses' hoofs coming on at full gallop along the other road.
"Your master must have thought me young indeed," he said, "to try and
catch me with such a transparent trick as that. I do not suppose that
accursed page has more than ten men with him, and doubtless has placed
five on each road. This fellow was placed here to see which track I
would follow, and has now gone to give the party on the left hand the
news that I have taken this way. Had it not been for him I should have
had to run the gantlet with four or five of my enemies. As it is, the
path will doubtless be clear."
So saying, he turned his horse, galloped back to the spot where the
tracks separated, and then followed the left-hand route.
As he had hoped, he passed through the wood without incident or
interruption, and arrived safely that night at a small town, having seen
no signs of his enemies.
The next day he started again early, and rode on until midday, when he
halted at a large village, at which was the only inn between the place
from which he started and his destination. He declined the offer of the
servant of the inn to take his horse round to the stable, telling the
man to hold him outside the door and give him from a sieve a few
handfuls of grain.
Then he entered the inn and ate a hearty meal. As he appeared at the
door he saw several men gathered near. With a single spring he threw
himself into the saddle, just as a rush forward was made by those
standing round. The man next to him sprang upon him, and endeavored to
drag him from the saddle. Cuthbert drew the little dagger called a
_miséricorde_ from his belt, and plunged it into his throat. Then
seizing the short mace which hung at the saddlebow, he hurled it with
all his force full in the face of his enemy, the page of Sir Philip, who
was rushing upon him sword in hand. The heavy weapon struck him fairly
between the eyes, and with a cry he fell back, his face completely
smashed in by the blow, the sword which he held uplifted to strike
flying far through the air.
Cuthbert struck his spurs into his horse, and the animal dashed forward
with a bound, Cuthbert striking with his long sword at one or two men
who made a snatch at the reins. In another minute he was cantering out
of the village, convinced that he had killed the leader of his foes, and
that he was safe now to pursue the rest of his journey on to Marseilles.
So it turned out.
Without further incident he traveled through the south of France, and
arrived at the great seaport. He speedily discovered the quarters in
which the Earl of Evesham's contingent were encamped, and made toward
this without delay. As he entered a wild shout of joy was heard, and
Cnut ran forward with many gestures of delight.
"My dear Cuthbert, my dear Cuthbert!" he exclaimed. "Can it be true that
you have escaped? We all gave you up; and although I did my best, yet
had you not survived it I should never have forgiven myself, believing
that I might have somehow done better, and have saved you from the
cutthroats who attacked us."
"Thanks, thanks, my good Cnut," Cuthbert cried. "I have been through a
time of peril, no doubt; but as you see, I am hale and well--better,
methinks, than you are, for you look pale and ill; and I doubt not that
the wound which I received was a mere scratch to that which bore you
down. It sounded indeed like the blow of a smith's hammer upon an
anvil."
"Fortunately, my steel cap saved my head somewhat," Cnut said, "and the
head itself is none of the thinnest; but it tried it sorely, I confess.
However, now that you are back I shall, doubt not, soon be as strong as
ever I was. I think that fretting for your absence has kept me back more
than the inflammation from the wound itself--but there is the earl at
the door of his tent."
Through the foresters and retainers who had at Cnut's shout of joy
crowded up, Cuthbert made his way, shaking hands right and left with the
men, among whom he was greatly loved, for they regarded him as being in
a great degree the cause of their having been freed from outlawry, and
restored to civil life again. The earl was really affected. As Cuthbert
rode up he held out both arms, and as his page alighted he embraced him
as a father.
"My dear Cuthbert!" he exclaimed. "What anxiety have we not suffered.
Had you been my own son, I could not have felt more your loss. We did
not doubt for an instant that you had fallen into the hands of some of
the retainers of that villain count; and from all we could learn, and
from the absence of any dead body by the side of that of Cnut, I
imagined that you must have been carried off. It was clear that your
chance of life, if you fell into the hands of that evil page, or his
equally vile master, was small indeed. The very day that Cnut was
brought in I visited the French camp, and accused him of having been the
cause of your disappearance and Cnut's wounds. He affected the greatest
astonishment at the charge. He had not, as he said, been out of the camp
for two days. My accusation was unfounded and malicious, and I should
answer this as well as the previous outrage, when the vow of the
Crusaders to keep peace among themselves was at an end. Of course I had
no means of proving what I said, or I would have gone direct to the king
and charged him with the outrage. As it was I gained nothing by my
pains. He has accompanied the French division to Genoa; but when we meet
at Sicily, where the two armies are to rendezvous, I will bring the
matter before the king, as the fact that his page was certainly
concerned in it must be taken as showing that he was the instigator."
"It would, my lord earl, be perhaps better," Cuthbert said, "if I might
venture to advise, to leave the matter alone. No doubt the count would
say that he had discharged his page after the tournament, and that the
latter was only carrying out his private feud with me. We should not be
able to disprove the story, and should gain no satisfaction by the
matter."
The earl admitted the justice of Cuthbert's reasoning, but reserved to
himself the task of punishing the author of the outrage upon the first
fitting opportunity.
There was a weary delay at Marseilles before the expedition set sail.
This was caused by the fact of the English fleet, which had been ordered
to be there upon their arrival, failing to keep the agreement.
The words English fleet badly describe the vessels which were to carry
the English contingent to their destination. They were ships belonging
to the maritime nations of Italy--the Venetians, Genoese, Pisans, etc.;
for England at that time had but few of her own, and these scarcely
fitted for the stormy navigation of the Bay of Biscay.
King Richard, impatient as ever of delay, at last lost his temper, and
embarked on board a ship with a few of his chosen knights, and set sail
by himself for Sicily, the point at which the two armies of the
expedition were to reunite. A few days after his departure the
long-looked-for fleet arrived, and a portion of the English host
embarked at once, and set sail for Sicily, where they were to be
landed, and the ships were to return to fetch the remaining contingent.
A sea voyage of this kind in those days was a serious matter. Long
voyages were rare, and troops were carried very much upon the principle
of herrings; that is, were packed as close as they could be, without any
reference to their comfort. As the voyages seldom lasted more than
twenty-four hours, this did not much matter, but during long voyages the
discomforts, or as may be said sufferings, of the troops were
considerable. So tightly packed were the galleys in which the English
set sail from Marseilles that there was no walking about. Every man
slept where he sat, and considered himself lucky indeed if he could
obtain room sufficient to stretch himself at full length. Most slept
sitting against bulwarks or other supports. In the cabins, where the
knights, their pages and squires were placed, the crowding was of course
less excessive, but even here the amount of space, which a subaltern
traveling to India for the first time nowadays would grumble at, was
considered amply sufficient for half a dozen knights of distinction. It
was a week after sailing, when Cnut touched Cuthbert's arm as he came on
deck one morning, and said:
"Look, look, Cuthbert! that mountain standing up in the water has caught
fire on the top. Did you ever see such a thing?"
The soldiers crowded to the side of the vessel in intense astonishment
and no little awe. From the top of a lofty and rugged hill, rising
almost straight from the sea, flames were roaring up, smoke hung over
the island, and stones were thrown into the air and rattled down the
side of the hill, or fell into the sea with a splash.
"That is a fearsome sight," Cnut said, crossing himself.
"It looks as if it was the mouth of purgatory," exclaimed another,
standing by.
Cuthbert himself was amazed, for the instruction he had received from
Father Francis was of too slight a nature to include the story of
volcanoes. A priest, however, who accompanied the ship in the character
of leech and confessor, explained the nature of the phenomenon to his
astonished listeners, and told them that over on the mainland was a
mountain which at times vomited forth such masses of stones and of
liquid rock that it had swallowed up and covered many great cities.
There was also, he told them, another mountain of the same sort, even
more vast, on the island of Sicily itself; but that this had seldom, as
far back as man could remember, done any great harm.
Sailing on, in another day they arrived off the coast of Sicily itself,
and sailing up the straits between it and the mainland they landed at
Messina. Here a considerable portion of the French army had already
arrived, having been brought down from Genoa.
There was no news of the King of England; and, as often happens, the
saying "The more haste the less speed," had been verified here.
It was some days later before King Richard arrived, having been driven
from his course by tempests, well-nigh cast ashore, and having besides
gone through many adventures. Three weeks later the whole of the army of
the Crusaders were gathered around Messina, where it was intended to
remain some little time before starting. It was a gay time; and the
kings vied with each other in entertainments, joustings, and
tournaments. The Italian knights also made a brave show, and it might
have been thought that this huge army of men were gathered there simply
for amusement and feasting. In the tournaments every effort was made to
prevent any feeling of national rivalry, and although parties of knights
held their own against all comers, these were most carefully selected to
represent several nationalities, and therefore victory, on whichsoever
side it fell, excited no feelings of bitterness.
Alone, King Richard was undoubtedly the strongest cavalier of the two
armies. Against his ponderous strength no knight could keep his seat;
and this was so palpable that after many victories King Richard was
forced to retire from the lists from want of competitors, and to take
his place on the daïs with the more peace-loving King of France.
The gayety of the camp was heightened by the arrival of many nobles and
dames from Italy. Here, too, came the Queen of Navarre, bringing with
her the beautiful Princess Berengaria.
"Methinks," the Earl of Evesham said to Cuthbert a fortnight after the
arrival of the queen "that unless my eyes deceive me the princess is
likely to be a cause of trouble."
"In what way?" asked Cuthbert with surprise, for he had been struck with
her marvelous beauty, and wondered greatly what mischief so fair a being
could do.
"By the way in which our good lord, the king, gazes upon her, methinks
that it were like enough that he broke off his engagement with the
Prince of France for the sake of the fair eyes of this damsel."
"That were indeed a misfortune," Cuthbert said gravely, for he saw at
once the anger which such a course would excite in the minds of the
French king and his knights, who would naturally be indignant in the
extreme at the slight put upon their princess. As day after day passed
it became evident to all that the King of England was infatuated by the
princess. Again he entered the lists himself, and as some fresh Italian
knights and others had arrived, he found fresh opponents, and
conspicuously laid the spoils of victory at the feet of the princess,
whom he selected as the Queen of Beauty.
All sorts of rumors now became current in camp; violent quarrels between
the kings, and bad feelings between the French and English knights broke
out again in consequence, and this more violently than before.