HOW RICHARD WON THREE FRIENDS
Little heeded Richard Longsword the warnings of priest or mother, as
with a good horse between his knees, a stout shield tossed over his
back, and the white hawk blinking under her hood and perched upon his
shoulder, he spurred ahead of his troop, leading their mad gallop. One
thought, be it confessed, was uppermost in his mind,--the Greek lady
with the yellow veil and red ribbons,--she the booty of Berber
raiders, while he was near by with a keen sword in his scabbard! St.
Maurice forbid! So furious was his riding that the Baron, who was
foaming behind, must needs shout to him not to outpace the company.
The ground sped fast under the flying hoofs. A fair and fruitful
country it was, had he given it heed: fields of cotton, orchards of
orange and lemon, flower masses scattered here and there bright as the
rainbow, and the great mountains swelling up above all, with Pizzo
Antenna and San Salvadore in the background, their mighty summits
standing forth as brown and green crystal against the azure.
There was a kind, sweet wind creeping in from the sea, bearing a
breath of the pure brine; and to the sea were threading the silver
rivulets from the meadows, the racing brooks from the mountain sides.
Small place had all this in the young Norman's mind. Already as they
cantered westward toward the foothills, his keen eye had lit on a
sluggish column of smoke, at sight whereof he gave his flying steed
another thrust with the rowels; and all the riders at his back, when
they saw, set up one gleeful yell,--they were on track of the
raiders. Now frightened Moslem or Greek peasants scampered past them,
too scared to whimper out more than a word as to where the foe
awaited. Then as they swung round a turn in the road, and cleared a
clump of manna trees, a woman came flying to meet them,--old, but
decently dressed, and throwing up her hands she gave one mighty howl
to Richard.
"Oh! Sir Frank; rescue, rescue for my dear mistress! Save her from the
Hagarenes!" For so the Greeks called all the race of Ishmael.
Richard bent low in his saddle. "Never fear, good woman; where are the
raiders? I will rescue your lady!"
"There!" cried the old woman, screaming again. "Oh! they will kill us
all! St. Irene, St. John, St. Basil--"
But Longsword did not wait for her to finish her adjuration. Right at
the turn in the road were advancing a knot of men in bright barbaric
dresses with tossing spears and brandished cimeters. When they caught
sight of their galloping pursuers, they set up a hideous din from
horns and cymbals and tabors; and the shout of the Baron's party was
met by a louder from fourfold as many throats.
The Baron had pricked up abreast of his son, and one sweeping glance
over the freebooters' array told the story.
"Nigh two hundred," he muttered under his helmet, "and think
themselves too strong to be molested. We have met them as they return
to their ship. Berbers mostly, but I see the fair skins of some
Christian renegadoes. They have captured some horses, and their
prisoners are strapped to them, in the centre of the band. By the
peacock! it will be a pretty fight ere we get at them! But we have our
mounts, and one rider matches ten on the ground."
The pirates stood on a little clearing flanked by vineyard hedges; and
a low stone wall lay betwixt them and their assailants. The horde were
drawing up in close mass: the best-armored men without, bowmen within,
prisoners and booty in the centre. A tall mounted African in a
splendid suit of silvered armor and in gilded casque was wheeling
about, ordering, brandishing his long cimeter,--evidently the chief.
Just before the pirates lay the wall, which a mounted enemy must clear
at a bound to strike them. Baron William turned to Herbert.
"Ready, my men?"
"Ready, lord."
Then again the Baron wound the horn, and the restless horses felt no
spur when the whole band as one swept forward. Right as they came to
the leap of the wall a deadly arrow fire smote them. Three steeds went
down: four riders reeled; but the others took the bound and crashed
upon the Berbers. Four and five to one were the odds, but not a rider
that had not slain his tens and scattered his hundreds; and the weight
of the Norman sword and axe the luckless raiders felt with cost. Like
a sledge shattering the wood the impact smote them: there was one
struggle, one wild push and rally to maintain the spear hedge. It was
broken, and the Baron's men were cutting hand to hand, and hewing down
the Berbers. Loud ran out the Norman war-cry, "_Nostre Dame, Dieu ay
nous ade_," and the very shout struck terror to the hearts of the
quaking pirates. An instant of deadly fencing man to man, and they
were scattered. Like rats they were breaking through the thickets and
dashing down the hillside; close on their heels flew Nasr and his
Saracens, shooting and hewing with might and main.
But Richard had higher foes in view. The instant the pirates
scattered, their six riders had struck out boldly, pushing their
beasts over the walls and through the groves and hedges, all flying
northward toward their only safety,--the ships. Now behind each of
four riders was strapped a prisoner, and it was on these last that
Richard cast chiefest eye; especially on one, for from the prisoner's
throat he could see trailing red ribbons. Leaving the men to hunt down
the fugitives on foot, he thrust his steed by a long leap over a hedge
and was away after the mounted raiders, little recking whether he had
a follower.
The wind whistled in his teeth as his good horse sped across ploughed
lands, and took ditch or garden wall with noble bounds. Now he was
gaining on the rearmost fugitive, a lean, black African on a stolen
steed, who was weighted in his race by no less a prisoner than the
reverend bishop. Richard laughed behind his helm, as he saw the holy
man writhing and twisting on his uneasy pillion, and coughing forth
maledictions at every jolt in the mad chase. The Norman swung up
abreast the Moor, and struck out with his sword. The raider made shift
to wield his cimeter, but one stroke cleft him down, and as he fell he
dragged the bishop with him, who landed on the crupper with a mighty
thud that made him howl to all the saints.
Richard glanced back; two or three of the Baron's men were in the far
distance, the rest scattered; only Herbert on a well-tried horse flew
close at hand.
"Help, fair son! _Maledicte_, I perish--I die a martyr, butchered by
paynims!" groaned the bishop. But Richard left him to salve his own
bruises, and pricked the faster. Be the foe two or twenty, he would
follow the lady of the red ribbons. Swift as a dream he flew on.
Before him on the greensward lay the old Greek, thrust from the
pillion to lighten the load of his captor. Feebly he struggled to rise
as Richard swept past. "Ah, young Frank, for Christ's dear sake save
my daughter!" was his cry and groan.
"That will I!" snorted the Norman, and he smote his steed's neck with
the flat of his great sword. The bishop, the Greek had vanished;
hedge, ravine, brooklet, he swept through them, over them; nor knew
how often St. George saved him from headlong fall. The Berbers were
lashing and prodding with their cimeter points; but Richard was well
mounted, only the great black horse bearing the captive lady sped
ahead despite all Richard's speed.
A stone wall,--all the fugitives cleared it saving the last, behind
whom was strapped a young man, fast prisoner. As Longsword flew, he
saw this rider miss the leap, crash downward. In a twinkling all the
pursued, save the guard of the lady, wheeled, charged back. But
Richard had reached the wall, passed with a bound, and for a long
instant it was foil and fence, his life dancing on three cimeter
points at his breast. Then, sudden as a thunderclap, there was a new
blade opposed to the Berbers,--the erstwhile captive had burst his
bands, leaped from under the kicking charger, disarmed his guard, and
was in the midst of the fray, giving blow for blow. But at sight of
him, all three pirates forsook the Norman, and rained their blows upon
the prisoner.
"_Allah!_ Hew him down, though we die for it!" was the shout of their
chief. The captive parried all three as one; ere the second stroke,
Richard had sped the first raider past sword-play. His new ally beat
down a second with a sweeping blow. The third cried "Mercy!"--but
neither gave him heed. The released prisoner, a light-skinned young
Moslem of Spain, wiry as a hound, nimble as a cat, had caught the rein
of a fallen Berber, and swung himself into the dead man's saddle,
touching no stirrup, almost ere Richard could admire.
"As the Most High lives," cried the Spaniard, as if rescue were mere
incident, "after the lady! The ship is near!" And ride they did,
though the black horse was far ahead now, despite his burden.
"Ride, Frank, ride!" shouted the other, leaning over his steed's neck,
and seeming to lend speed by very touch and voice. "Allah smite us, if
she is taken!"
Over the foothills, across the rolling country, the feet of their
horses springing like on-rushing winds, raced the twain. They saw blue
water before an orange grove, and not far away the pirate's
refuge,--the ship. And still the black horse held them in chase,
though losing slowly. Richard flung the target from his back, to make
greater speed. He could see the lady struggling on her uneasy pillion.
Her captor with one hand gripped her fast; with the other, smote and
prodded with his cimeter. The flecks of blood were on the black
steed's flanks. The lady plucked at the Berber's throat with strength
born of despair.
"Rescue, rescue, for the love of Christ!" rang her cry; and as if in
answer, the great charger began to plunge in his gallop, nigh casting
his double mount. The Berber wrestled him down, with a mighty strain
on the reins; but in the instant Richard had gained apace. "Ai! St.
Michael!" he thundered, his good sword swung almost in stroke. But at
the shout there was a wild yell from beyond the orange trees, and as
he swept on he saw a score or more pirates rushing with drawn swords
to greet them,--and through the grove the tacklings of the ship.
Straight toward the midst of the Berbers sped the black horse: a
moment,--the lady would be lost indeed!
"Rescue for the love of Christ!" again her wail in reply to the
triumphant howl of her captor. The Norman's hand was on his shoulder;
down he plucked the white falcon, unhooded, tossed in air,--one circle
she cut, then sped straight in the flying raider's eyes.
Vainly he strove to buffet away with a fist; the instant the grip on
the reins relaxed, the black horse was plunging, rearing, and
Longsword was abreast. With one long stroke he smote the Berber from
the saddle; the lady reeled also, strapped fast. But the Norman, proud
in his might, calmed the black horse with one hand on the bits; drew
his blade once across the thong, releasing the captive. The pirate
tumbled to earth with never a groan.
Barely in time--the twenty were all about them now; but Richard
Longsword fought as twenty, the Spaniard as twenty more. "A houri! A
great prize! A great ransom!" howled the raiders, seeking their prey;
but they ran on doom. For the Norman mounted, and in his armor dashed
them down with his heavy sword; and those whom the Spaniard's cimeter
bit never cried more. Yet with all the death twinkling about, Richard
held his steed and mailed breast betwixt the foe and the lady. Even
while he fought, her clear Greek voice encouraged. "Holy Mother, that
was a well-struck blow! Oh, were I but a man with a sword!"
How long the mounted two could have beat back the unmounted twenty
only the wise saints know; for just as Richard's hauberk had turned
the third javelin, and his eyes danced with stars when his helmet
dinted, a new cry rang from behind.
"Forward, brothers! Slay! death!" And a bolt from Herbert's crossbow
crashed through a pirate's target,--herald of the advent of the
man-at-arms and fifteen riders more; at sight whereof the
pirates--guessing at last that it was all over with their comrades who
had gone inland--fled like partridges through the grove, over the
white sands; and before Herbert could rein in his steaming beast, they
heard the blocks creaking, as feverish hands made sail and warped the
ship to sea. Not all thus to escape; for the Normans nipped several,
whom they tugged away, strapped to the saddle-bows, after having
searched them for jewels down to their shoes.
Richard looked about him. The lady, agile as a _fée_, had alighted,
and was standing, clinging with both hands to an orange tree, panting
for breath,--as did all. The Spaniard had dismounted also, and stood
leaning against the saddle.
While waiting breath for speech, Longsword surveyed the rescued,
finding in both need of more than one glance. The costume of the Moor
had been sadly dealt with, but his silken vest and the shawl at his
girdle were of the finest silk, and set off a most shapely frame. He
was tall, wiry, supple as a blooded charger; and no dress would have
concealed a face so intelligent, ingenuous, winsome, that, as Richard
looked thereon, he had but a single thought,--"I would know more of
this man." The countenance was a fine oval, the forehead not high but
prominent; the eye, brilliant, deep, and dark; the small mouth, shaded
by a black curly beard; the skin not swarthy, yet tinged with pale
brown, a gentle bronzing of the sun-loved vegas. But these are parts
only, and the whole--how much fairer was it than any part! For the
face thrilled with eager, active intelligence, and the eyes seemed but
open windows to a soul,--a soul perchance to admire, to reverence, to
love. And as Richard beheld him, he felt a magic current of
fellow-feeling drawing him to the Spaniard, ere they had spoken ten
syllables.
Yet not all the Norman's gaze was for the Moslem--far from it. The
lady no longer wore her yellow veil: the red ribbons were in tatters
round her throat; her blue mantle had many a rent; but of these, who
would think? She stood with her brown hair all dishevelled to the
winds, and underneath the flying tresses one could see those bright
eyes--dark, bright, and very merry; a high, white forehead, small red
lips, and features that seemed smoothed and rounded like some marble
image of the old pagans, which Sebastian had called "a snare of
Satan." But this was no snare; for these cheeks were moulded with a
soft texture and bloom like a pale rose; not quite fair, like Norman
maidens, but just tinted enough to show the breath of the sun. All
this Richard saw, and was not awestruck nor abashed, as in the
presence of many handsome dames; but simply delighted, and, as chance
would have it, the lady herself broke silence.
"By St. Theodore, Sir Frank," quoth she, holding out both hands to
Richard, "will you say again to my face that you can do nothing
brave?" And here she laughed so merrily, that the Norman was laughing
too when he replied, having taken the hands:--
"Ah! dear lady, it is the white falcon you should thank, if any praise
be due."
"And no praise for the falcon's trainer?" quoth she, still laughing;
then with a sudden turn, while the tears almost stood in her eyes,
"_Eu!_ Brave, noble sir, what may I do to repay! Kneel, fall at your
feet, kiss them?"--and half she made to do so, but Richard shrank
back, as if horrified.
"St. Michael forbid!" cried he; "rather this, let me kneel and kiss
your hand, blessing Our Lady she has suffered me to save you!"
"But the peril was very great!" protested the lady, while Richard did
as he wished, and kissed a hand very small and white.
"But the joy of peril is greater in such a cause!" he flashed back,
rising. There was a shadow flitting across that bright face.
"My father?" the question came slowly. "He is--safe?"
"I saw him released; have no fear. I swore to him I would save you."
And the flush of pleasure was Richard's tenfold payment.
"Let us go to him," said the Norman, as he bade one of the men-at-arms
arrange a pillion and ride back with the Greek toward the scene of the
first battle.
"Ah! may all the dear saints bless you and your good men--I would give
my life for my father!" said she.
So while the lady rode ahead, Richard galloped stirrup to stirrup with
the Spaniard. He had needed no words to tell him that the Moslem was a
notable cavalier, and the Spaniard had dispelled all doubts by a frank
declaration of his name and position.
"Know, O Frank, that you have this day won the eternal gratitude of
Musa, son of Abdallah, the late Vizier of Al'mu'tamed, King of
Cordova, though I am better known as 'the Sword of Granada,' for in
that city have I spent much of my life."
And the Christian bowed his casqued head in humblest reverence,
asking:--
"Then truly have I saved that famous knight, who, they say, held the
lists at Toledo, during the truce, against the Cid Campeador and all
his cavaliers?"
"I had that fortune," said the Spaniard, smiling, and returning the
bow; "but," and he spoke lightly, "I would not have you, Sir Frank,
regard me in an awesome fashion; for, believe me, after striking the
blows I saw you give to-day, you may, I think, break lances with the
best, and owe deference to none."
"Ah, my lord," cried Richard, "it has been a great privilege for a
simple 'bachelor' like myself to be of service to so great a warrior."
The Moslem laughed, and made reply: "No, I will not be 'lorded' by
you. I think I know an equal and a friend when I set eyes on him. To
you my name is Musa; and yours--?"
"Richard Longsword," was the answer.
"Then, O Richard, we know one another and are brothers."
Then and there, while the horses were at a merry pace, the two young
men leaned over their saddles and caught one another's hands. And at
that moment was stricken a friendship that was destined to bind with
hooks of steel through more than one fateful year. As if to cement the
tie, Longsword passed the flask at his belt to the Spaniard.
"Drink, friend, for you have seen enough this day to chill your veins,
even if your prophet forbids wine."
"I am but a lax Moslem," replied Musa, with another of his soft
smiles. And taking the flask, he clapped it to his lips. "'Wine of
Paradise'!" cried he, when he took it away. "Ah, an hour since I
expected that I would be soon drinking from the cups of the houris in
the real Paradise, or more likely"--with a sly wag of the
head--"scorching in no gentle fire!"
"Then the raiders sought your life, not your ransom?" asked the
Norman.
"Assuredly; do not think I have lain so hidden here at Cefalu because,
like a dervish or one of your monks, I enjoy solitude. I fled Spain
because my blood is too princely to make my presence safe to Yusuf,
the Almoravide, who has come from Africa to save us Spanish Moslems
from conquest by the Christians, and who has conquered us himself.
When Granada fell and its treasures were scattered as booty to his
rude Berber officers, and when Seville and all Andalusia were in his
hands, imprudently I spoke of the days of our great Kalifs. The words
were remembered by enemies and duly reported. Presently I heard that
Yusuf suspected me of leading a revolt in Cordova against his rule,
and that he keenly desired my head. I will not tell how I escaped to
my Cid Campeador at Valencia, and thence to King Alfonso of Castile.
But the Almoravide's arms are long. Nowhere in Spain would I be safe.
So I came to Sicily, where I have relatives, hoping by lying close to
elude his agents; but in vain, as has just been proved!"
"So," asked Richard, "this raid was on your account?"
"Of course," replied Musa; "I was surprised at the country house of
Hajib this morning, and taken before I could kill more than two of the
pirates. In their chief I recognized a corsair long in the service of
Yusuf. They aimed to bear me in chains to Cordova, that the Almoravide
might gloat over me alive, ere calling the headsman. You saw how they
rained their blows at me, when they saw rescue at hand."
"The saints be praised, I saved you!" exclaimed the Norman. "You were
indeed in the very jaws of death."
"Aye," was the careless answer, "and I owe you all thanks; yet this is
not the first time I have imagined I would see no more mornings."
"Ah, my lord, you are a great cavalier!" cried Richard,
enthusiastically.
The Spaniard shook his hand in warning.
"I am not 'lord' to you, brother! If Allah favors our friendship, what
brave adventures shall we not have together!"
Longsword made no reply. The Moor had captivated him: he felt that he
could ride through a thousand men-at-arms with such a friend at his
side. Presently they drew rein under a wide-spreading, venerable
chestnut tree that bowed over the highway. Here were gathered the
Baron and most of his men: here was my lord bishop sitting on the
ground upon a saddle, still groaning and rubbing his bruised shins,
while two scared priests were shivering beside him, and muttering a
_gratias Deo_ for their deliverance from the infidel. The old Greek
was also there, resting on a saddle-bag; but when the young Norman
galloped up he made shift to rise; and his daughter, who had already
left her pillion, hastened to say:--
"This, my father, is that brave Frankish nobleman to whom we owe so
much," and then to Longsword: "And this is my father, the Cæsar Manuel
Kurkuas, late of Constantinople, but who now is exile, and travelling
to Palermo."
The old Kurkuas, despite his lameness, bowed in the stately fashion of
that ceremonious courtesy which was his inheritance.
"Lord Richard," said he, in his sonorous native tongue, for he already
knew the Norman's name, "the blessings of a father be yours; and if at
any time, by word or deed, I may repay you, your wish shall be my
highest law."
But the daughter broke out, a little hotly:--
"Oh! father, not in so solemn and courtly a manner thank him! We are
not in 'His Divine Majesty's' palace, by the Golden Horn. Take him by
the hand as I have done; tell him that we are his friends forever, and
that if we go back to Constantinople, we will take him with us, and
share with him all the riches and honor that would belong to a real
Kurkuas."
The old man listened to her flow of eager words, half pleased, half
alarmed; then, with a deprecatory shrug, exclaimed:--
"Pardon a thousand times, my lord, if I am too old to speak all that
lies at heart, save in a cold and formal way. Yet pardon, also, my
daughter; for she has so unbridled a tongue that if you come to know
her, strong must your friendship be, or she will drive you from her by
sheer witless chatter."
Whereupon, before Richard could reply, the lady returned to the
charge. "Yes, truly, I am half of Frankish blood myself. And I think
it better to speak from my heart and declare 'I love you' and 'I hate
you,' than to move my lips softly and politely and say things that
mean nothing."
The Greek shrugged again, as if accustomed to such outbursts. "You
have lost your veil," he said gently, raising his eyes.
"Assuredly," was the answer; "nor do Frankish ladies wear them." Then,
turning to Richard, "Tell me, Sir Norman, do you see anything about me
to be ashamed of, that I must veil my face?"
The remark was advanced so naturally, in such perfectly good faith,
that Longsword, without the least premeditation, answered as readily
as if to his sister:--
"I see no reason why you should veil, my lady."
"Then do not speak of it again, dear father," said she.
The mules of the bishop's party, which had been taken when the pirates
fell upon them, had been recovered, and the bishop began to stop
groaning over his bruises. The Baron remarked that, although the
baggage had been retaken, it was too late to repack and make the
journey that day. One and all, they must go back to Cefalu and enjoy
the hospitality of the castle. The bishop demurred, when he saw that
the Moslem Musa was bidden to share the feast; but he was very hungry,
and reflected that Christ and Mohammed were impiously good comrades in
Sicily. He and the priests with the Greek and his daughter mounted the
mules and started away, just as Herbert rode up with the tidings that
the Berbers' ship had long since put to sea. As for the great black
horse that had nigh carried Mary away from her rescuers, the grateful
prelate bestowed him upon Richard. "He was an unruly beast," declared
the bishop, "_furiosus, impetuosus, perditus equus_, in whom a devil
beyond all doubt had entered; and if the Baron's son desired him, he
was welcome, though he feared, instead of a gift, he was bestowing a
cursing." But Richard beheld the huge crupper and chest of the great
beast, watched his mighty stride, and reflected that such a _destrer_
would bear quite as safely in battle as one with the prized white coat
and greyhound feet. Therefore he thanked the bishop and led the horse
away.
So they fared back to the castle, while the Cefalu people gave them
cheers and flowers as they passed along the way; but the fairest
welcome was on Lady Margaret's face when they all pounded over the
drawbridge.