HOW ROLLO MET INSULT
On the next day Richard rode again to Monreale, this time without
Musa. But on the way, just as his horse brought him clear of the city,
and he was speeding past the straggling Saracen village that stretched
far up the hills to Baidha, the canter of two riders going at a mad
pace thundered behind him, and he saw Louis de Valmont with Iftikhar
Eddauleh close at his heels. The Provençal knight was bravely
accoutred with silk mantle and boots of the latest fashion, and was
bestriding a splendid white palfrey that made Richard shiver the tenth
commandment then and there. The emir was no less gay in flaming
scarlet vest, and trailing to the wind a red and yellow kaftan; while
on his head tossed a great blue turban, whereon the gems were
sparkling. Clearly the two had set forth independently, and had no
mind for comradeship; for Richard soon learned that Iftikhar had put
his horse to his speed to outstrip De Valmont, and the latter had
ridden away from him. When the Provençal drew close upon Richard,
however, the Norman, nowise anxious to be the last, spurred on also,
and soon all three were in the race; which ended by De Valmont
shooting ahead, and leaving the others side by side. As the knight
vanished in a cloud of dust, Iftikhar reined in his good bay, and
turned to Longsword.
"He passes us both, Cid Richard," quoth the emir, showing his white
teeth, while he laughed.
"Truly, emir," was the answer, "they say there is no rider like him in
all the South Country."
The Egyptian grinned again, a little angrily.
"_Wallah!_ Let him go. I will reach Monreale soon enough. Not even
Louis de Valmont shall cross my path save when I choose; neither he
nor any other."
"You wax bold, my lord. And may I ask why you speak thus? Surely, it
is no wound to your honor or mine that he chances to-day to outride us
both."
Iftikhar laughed aloud, was silent a moment, then broke forth.
"Verily, Cid Richard, why ride we all, you, I, De Valmont, to
Monreale! _Ya!_ do you still ask why I say I 'let none cross me'?"
Richard's hand started towards his hilt.
"My Lord Iftikhar, we all seek the good favor of that incomparable
lady, Mary Kurkuas."
The Egyptian's hand was on his cimeter also. "You speak well," came
back his haughty answer; "but I speak to a young cavalier like
yourself this word of warning--do not carry your passion too far. As
for De Valmont, let him know this, good lance that he is: I am as sure
a saddle as he, and I am more." Iftikhar leaned, as he rode, and half
whispered to Richard, "Do you know the brotherhood of the Ismaelians?"
"The secret confederacy among Moslems, whose god is the dagger?"
Iftikhar spoke very low: "Know, O Norman, that I am a grand prior
amongst the Ismaelians. Soon as Allah wills, I return to Syria. At my
nod will be countless devotees, who rush on death as to a feast.
Therefore I am not lightly to be thwarted by De Valmont even. _Ya!_"
And the emir laughed grimly. Richard kept silence, but swore in his
heart that laugh should be like Roland's laugh at Ganelon,--a laugh
that cost Roland his life.
When they came to the Palace of the Diadem, De Valmont was there
before them, and had the lady's ear. He was telling of a marvellous
hunting party that was on foot for the morrow, and how Count Roger's
daughter, the young Countess Blanche, had especially bidden him to
ride with the princess to the chase. And Richard, and Iftikhar also,
had perforce to stand by, while Mary gave the Provençal her sweetest
thanks, and promised him her glove to wear at the next jousting.
Sorry comfort it was to Longsword, especially as the princess gave him
and the emir only enough of the talk to let them know she remembered
they were there. As for Iftikhar, black jealousy drove him forth
quickly. He salaamed himself away, and went tearing down the road to
Palermo, uttering invocations to all the evil jinns, to blast Louis de
Valmont's happiness for many a long year. But Richard would not own to
such defeat; while Louis and Mary bartered merry small talk, he sat
beside the old Cæsar, and found in the noble Greek, after the crust of
dignity was broken, a man of the world who could tell his story.
And Richard found that Manuel had been a mighty warrior in his youth,
though not after the Norman fashion. Richard learned with wonder how
armies were marshalled according to careful rules in the military
books of Nicephorus Phocus and Leo the Wise; how campaigns could be
worked out, and armies shuffled about dexterously as chessmen, instead
of depending on chance _mêlées_ and bull valor. The Cæsar had stirring
tales to tell of wars and paladins Richard had never before heard
of,--Zimiskes and his terrible fight with Swiatoslaf the Russian, when
St. Theodore himself, men said, led the charge through the pagan
spear-hedge; of Basil, the terrible "Bulgarian slayer"; of the
redoubtable champion, Diginis Akritas, grim lord of the Cilician
Marches, the terror of the border Arabs; only Manuel's face clouded
when he spoke of the present darkened fame of his people.
"I was with Romanus Diogenes," said he, bitterly, "at Manzikert, that
fatal day when by the treachery of Andronicus, general of the reserve,
our Emperor and all Asia Minor were betrayed to Alp-Arslan the
Seljouk. Oh! Sir Frank--" and his dim eyes lighted, "never saw I
harder fight than that: all that mortal men might, did we, riding down
the Turkish hordes with sword and lance all day. But at nightfall we
were surrounded, and the hosts rolled in around us. Treason had cut
off our succor. Our divisions perished; our emperor was a prisoner;
and the force that Alexius Comnenus led against you Normans at
Durazzo was a shadow, a mockery, of what had been our army in the days
when the Kalif of Bagdad trembled at the advance of the terrible
Romans!"
When Richard left the palace it was in company with Louis de Valmont.
Mary had been very gracious to the Norman in parting, and Manuel had
urged him to come again. He was an old man, time was heavy on his
hands; he was rejoiced to tell his tales to whoever would listen. But
it was Louis who had the last word with the princess, Louis who
whispered at the farewell some soft pleasantry that had a deeper ring
than the common troubadour's praise and compliment. Longsword and the
Provençal rode back towards Palermo side by side. De Valmont was in a
happy enough mood to be very gracious.
"Heir, of Cefalu," said he, while they cantered stirrup to stirrup, "I
did wrong yesterday. I thought you sought to cross me in a quest--what
shame for me to avow it--after the hand of this lady. But to-day by
your discreet carriage I see you have no such rashness. Who can but
fall at the princess's feet, and sigh with passion! And her father,
though a Greek, must have been a fine man once in the saddle."
The Provençal's words were like flint striking steel; Richard replied
very slowly, sure warning that fire was near at hand.
"Sir Louis de Valmont, with our eyes on the lady, no marvel we possess
only one thought. Yet not I only, but Iftikhar Eddauleh may cry
'Hold!' ere you carry this fair game to an end. The emir this day
boasted to me he was become grand prior of the Ismaelians, the
devotees of the dagger, and that not even so good a lance as you might
cross his road when he minded otherwise."
The knight frowned blackly.
"The emir and I are friends no longer. The princess may love the gems
in his turban, his Arabic verses; but not even here in Sicily will she
wed an infidel. He has more than one woman in his harem in the city.
Over his devotees and his own lance I lose little slumber."
"You say well, fair sir," said Richard; "yet honor forbids me to
conceal it. I think you will not take Mary Kurkuas to the priest
before you have tried the temper of my sword, though Iftikhar do what
he lists."
"Take care, my brave lad!" cried the Provençal, dropping his jaw in a
sneer. "I wish to splinter no lances against such as you."
"By St. Michael, I swear it; aye, and will make it good on my body!"
And Richard raised his hand in an oath.
"Fie!" cried the other, pricking ahead. "In the morning you will
repent of this folly. I can win no glory in a broil with you; which,
if I follow up, will end with your funeral mass."
And before Richard could make reply De Valmont's white palfrey had
swept far in advance, leaving the Norman with only his raging thoughts
for company. In this state he rode into the town, seeking the house of
Al-Bakri. But close by the door a noisy crowd was swelling: Pisan
sailors, Greek peasants come to market, Moslem serving-lads, and chief
of all several men-at-arms in leather jerkins and steel caps, all
howling and shouting in half a dozen tongues, and making the narrow
street and bare gray house-walls ring with their clamors.
"A hair, a hair of the wonderful horse of Cefalu!" was braying one of
the men-at-arms in the very centre of the throng. "Pull out his tail;
let him drag a cart! What knight ever rode such a _destrer_? And this
is the best-loved steed of my Lord Richard! Like master, like horse!"
While others shouted: "Give up the fellow! He is ours! We claim him
for our master, Louis de Valmont. What need has your Lord Richard of a
_jongleur_--mountebank himself?"
And then in the midst of the press, Longsword saw his old retainer
Herbert, sitting upon Rollo; perched behind on the great steed a
small, scared-looking man, with the little bright eyes and peaked nose
of a mouse; with a strange dress of blue and red stripes, and hugging
a great viol under his arm. So far the crowd had confined itself to
noise; but it was pressing so madly around the entrance to the court,
that the porter had hesitated to throw open the gate lest the mob
press in with the rider. There was an angry glint in Herbert's eyes;
and the veteran had his fingers round his hilt with the blade half
drawn, while Rollo had tossed up his great black head, and was
snuffing and pawing as if his hoofs were ready to fly out on his
besetters.
"A thousand fiends!" cried Richard, pushing into the throng, "what
have we here! Dogs, devils, back all of you!" And he struck right and
left with his riding whip, making a red scar on more than one swarthy
cheek. "Out of the way, rascals, or your heads pay for it!"
There was no resisting this menace. Rollo himself had struck out with
his mighty hoofs, and a sailor went down upon the pavement with a
groan. The crowd slunk back, cursing and threatening under breath; but
no man wished to come to an issue with his betters.
"Now, Herbert," cried the Norman, "what means this? Has Satan
uncovered the Pit, and his imps flown out? Who is this man with you?"
"May all the saints blast them!" and here the veteran doomed all his
assailants to pitiless and eternal torment. "To be brief, good lord,
this man is by name Theroulde, a right good fellow; as you see by his
viol, a _jongleur_. Before your father fled England, I knew him well,
when we both were younger. I found him as I rode by the quay, landed
from a Pisan merchantman, and seeking to escape the men-at-arms of
Louis de Valmont, who, seeing him a stranger and likely to prove a
merry fellow, wished to carry him to the castle, willy-nilly, to give
them sport over their cups; and this sailor gang fell in with them.
Then when I saw that he did not like their greeting, and that he
recognized me as an old comrade, I took him up behind me, and rode
away; but this pack," with a contemptuous snap of the finger,
"travelled behind us like the curs they are; and I think they would
have learned how my sword could bite, had you not come up."
"Theroulde? Theroulde?" repeated Richard to the _jongleur_, who had
leaped to the ground and stood bowing and scraping, but still hugging
his beloved viol; "are you not son of that Taillefer, the brave
minstrel to whom Duke William granted that he should ride first at
Senlac, singing of Roland and Roncesvalles, and who died a cavalier's
death that day?"
"I am his son, gracious lord," said the man, with another bow and wide
grimace. "I am Theroulde of Mount St. Michael, and well I loved and
served your father in the brave days of the English war."
"By the peacock," cried Longsword, "and what lucky saint sends you to
Sicily, to enter my father's service once more, if you will?"
"Ah! lord," was the doleful answer, "glad I am to see Sicily; but no
merry thing brings me hither. I was in the service of my dear Lord
Henry, son of William the Bastard, and dwelt in his court at Mount St.
Michael, with a warm nook by the fire and a flagon of good drink
always mine for the wishing. But three years since I was driven out an
exile, when William, the wicked 'Red King,' and Duke Robert besieged
Henry their brother, and took the stronghold. So ever since I have
wandered over Champagne and Burgundy and the Ile de France; and then I
went down to Aquitaine and thence to Dauphiny. But I did not learn to
love the chattering Provençals, who think songs of mawkish love better
than our northern _chansons_ of valorous knights. Then I heard that
your noble father had been blessed with a fair barony here in Sicily;
and hither I came to seek his bounty, though I did not expect to find
in his son so grand a cavalier."
Richard laughed a little sourly. Now he had a new grudge against Louis
de Valmont; to the sins of the master had been added those of the men.
A knight did not always as yet keep squires of as gentle blood as
himself. De Valmont's crew of attendants were but little better than
"villains." The insults to Herbert and Rollo were not to be forgiven
in a moment. And in this new fury Richard rode into the courtyard;
while Theroulde, delighted to be under friendly patronage, rattled on,
rehearsing his wares.
"Know, most valiant sir, that I boast myself versed in all the noble
histories of that wise Trojan priest, Dares, and of the rich Greek
cavalier, Dictys of Crete; I can tell you all their tales of Sir
Hector and of Sir Ulysses and of the fair and never too much praised
Countess Medea. I have set in new verse the whole tale of Roland and
Oliver, and how Count Ganelon betrayed them; and I can tell you the
story of Oberon, king of faery, who was begotten by Julius Cæsar at
the isle of Cephallenia, while he was at war with King Pompey."
So he would have run on forever had not Richard thrust him away and
gone in to Musa, with a face dark as a thundercloud. The _jongleur_
was left to the hospitality of the Moslem servants of Al-Bakri, who
treated him kindly though he eyed them askance; for to his mind they
all were servants of Apollin, the pagan demon of the sun. Presently a
messenger went from Richard to the castle, where De Valmont lay,
bearing a letter,--a letter which demanded of the Provençal that he
either inflict summary chastisement on his men who had insulted
Richard through his favorite horse, or make good the affront by a
meeting face to face.
Richard spent the next two hours in the little court of the syndic,
pacing moodily under the orange trees that stood around the fountain
basin; while Musa lolled on the rugs upon the divan under the arcade,
and tried to persuade his friend to sit down with him at chess.
"By the Mass, Musa," cried the Norman, twisting his mustache with
nervous energy, while his eyes studied the black and white tiled
pavement, "Moslem that you are, I had rather see Mary Kurkuas yours
than De Valmont's. What with all the brave tales you tell of your
sweethearts in Cordova and Granada, you must know the way to a woman's
heart."
"_Allah!_" exclaimed the Spaniard, taking a cushion from the divan and
flinging it merrily at his friend. "Do you not know, I am like the
Arab youth who died fighting at Emesa?" said he. "I see the black-eyed
girls, the houris looking at me; and one for love of whom all the
world would die, beckons me, saying, 'Come hither quickly, for I love
thee.' Not that I would slander the beauty of your Greek; but," with
half a sigh, "he who has seen the maidens of Andalusia can long only
for the houris of Paradise."
"You speak folly," cried the Norman, pettishly. "Where are your eyes?"
But at this moment Hugh, the serving-lad who had gone to the castle
with the cartel, returned.
"A letter from Sir Louis de Valmont," he announced.
It was a roll of parchment, written by some priest or monk, with only
a rude mark over the signature, in another hand; for Louis with all
his "gay" science was no clerk. It ran thus:--
"Louis de Valmont, Knight of Auvergne, to Richard Longsword, greeting:
I am astounded that an unknighted 'bachelor' like yourself, who has
won neither spurs, nor vassals, nor fame in arms, should venture to
address me with such insolence. As for my men they had their frolic,
and only a fool will quarrel about it. As for your defiance, I will
win small honor by slaying a boy like yourself in the lists, as I
could well do, and my honor is in no wise hurt when I say I will not
meet you. Farewell."
Richard tore the parchment into shreds and strode to and fro in
bootless fury.
"By the splendor of God!" cried he, stretching his arms aloft, "the
day shall come when this Louis and all the spawn of his sinful house
shall curse the hour he sent me this. So may Our Lady help!"
Musa could do nothing to comfort. Richard told his trials to
Sebastian, just come down from Cefalu. And in Sebastian he found a
counsellor very like to those of long-tormented Job.
"Ah! dear son, this is because all love is sorrow except it be the
love of heaven. Says not the Apostle, 'Love not the world, neither the
things in the world,'--"
"Not so," broke in Richard; "in loving Mary Kurkuas I love an angel of
light."
Sebastian shook his head solemnly. "Dear son, this is a chastisement
sent on you from heaven for forgetting your vow, now that you are
come to man's estate. Often have I invoked my patron saint, Sebastian,
by the arrows that pierced his side, that you would put by all these
carnal lusts, this friendship for Musa, the paynim, and dedicate life
and might to the freeing of the Holy City."
But Richard was in an impious mood that day. "I was a child when I
took the vow. Let the saints smite me, if they will, only first let me
humble De Valmont!"
"Alas!" came the answer, "they will indeed smite you, until in very
agony for your sin you will plead to go to Jerusalem."