HOW IFTIKHAR SAID FAREWELL TO SICILY
Richard Longsword spent the winter in Palermo. There had come a letter
oversea from his grandfather, old Baron Gaston of St. Julien in
Auvergne, beseeching his daughter to send to France her son, who, fame
had it, was a mighty cavalier. He was needed to set right his barony,
for he himself grew weak and his vassals quarrelsome. But though
Richard's eyes danced when he thought of France, and he won from Musa
a pledge to postpone any Egyptian service till the new adventure was
well over, he lingered in Sicily. For the life of Cæsar Manuel that
winter ebbed fast. In early spring came a stately dromon streaming
with purple flags, to bear him back to Constantinople, and a great
letter in vermilion ink sealed with gold, pledging the favor of
Alexius to his "dear cousin," and entreating his return to the palace
by the Golden Gate. But on the day the imperial messenger landed, they
were bearing Manuel Kurkuas to his last rest. The Greek Bishop of
Palermo was there, also Count Roger, Tancred, and many seigneurs. Then
when it was over, and Mary had seen all and done all, with the white
face and dry eyes of those true women who can weep for little things
but not for great, she found herself alone in the world and utterly
desolate. The house of Kurkuas had been a decaying stock. Even at
Constantinople her relatives were distant. Only in Provence, at La
Haye, dwelt her uncle, whom she had never seen,--brother of her
long-dead mother. Either she must go to him or return to
Constantinople, where were many ministers and admirers, but only the
Princess Anna to be her true friend. Yet Mary would not leave
Monreale. The Palace of the Diadem was hers. All day long she would
sit in its twilight courts beside the fountain, reading or trying to
read, with only Sylvana for companion. When Richard or Musa went each
day to ask for her, she would send kind greetings; but said she could
not see them. Sylvana, however, was a wise woman as became her years;
and one day, behold! Musa was led into the court of the fountain
unheralded, and the princess must needs speak with him.
"Ah! Sir Spaniard," said she, with a wan smile, "for my father's
memory I would have bidden you stay away. I am in no mood for your
songs of the orange groves by the Darro. Yet"--and here flashed forth
her old arch brightness--"now that Sylvana has circumvented me, I am
very glad you are here!"
Musa smiled sweetly and gravely.
"Dear lady, would that all your sorrows were but monsters, that I
might slay them. What may I proffer you,--music? But your heart is too
heavy. Words? The lips are but unskilful revealers of the soul. And
mine,"--he added with a sincere glance, "is very full for you."
"Do as you will!" cried the lady, suddenly; "say as you will. Look! My
father is dead; at Constantinople I have few that love me. What
matters it what befall me? I am alone--alone; and to whom am I a
care?"
"Brightness of the Greeks," replied the Andalusian, "say not, you are
alone; say not, you are a care to none. To me you are a friend,
and"--he went on quite steadily--"much more than a friend to another."
And Mary looked at him very steadily also, when she replied: "It is
true. When Richard Longsword comes to me, I will have something to
say."
* * * * *
Musa rode from Monreale at a racing gallop that afternoon. All the
staid Moslem burghers stared at him as he pounded up the city streets;
and just as the sun was sinking Richard Longsword was leaping from the
steaming Rollo without the gate at the Palace of the Diadem. When
Bardas led him within, he heard the princess's little wind-organ
throbbing and quavering. He stood in the court, and saw her bending
over the keys, while all the silver pipes were ringing. The notes,
marked red and green on the parchment, were spread before her. Sylvana
had her hand on the bellows, as her mistress sang the mad old pagan
chorus of Euripides:--
"O Eros, O Eros, how melts love's yearning
From thine eyes when the sweet spell witcheth the heart
Of them against whom thou hast marched in thy might!
Not me, not me, for mine hurt do thou smite,
My life's heart-music to discord turning.
For never so hotly the flame-spears dart,
Nor so fleet are the star-shot arrows of light,
As the shaft from thy fingers that speedeth its flight,
As the flame of the Love-queen's bolts fierce burning,
O Eros, the child of Zeus who art!"
Richard stepped softly across the rugs. The bell-like voice died away,
the organ notes wandered, were still. Mary rose from the music.
Flushed indeed was her face, but her voice was steady.
"I have sent for you, Sir Richard!" she said. "I am glad you have
come."
But Richard, foolish fellow, had run to her, and crushed her to his
breast in his giant arms, and was trying to say something with his
lips very near to hers. And Mary felt his touch and kiss as blest as a
heaven-sent fire.
"O sweetest of the sweet!" he was crying, "what have I done that I
should have such joy? For one such touch from you, I would have beaten
down a thousand De Valmonts."
"And do you think, Richard," said she, piteously, "that all I love in
you is this?"--and she pressed her hand around the knotted muscles of
his arm. Then she began to weep and laugh at once, and they both wept
and laughed, like the children that they were; and Sylvana smiled
softly to her sly old self, and bore away the organ.
"And what was in your heart, Mary," cried the Norman, when he found a
steady tongue, "that night when you held the goblet to my lips at
Cefalu?"
"And what was in yours when you drank? Oh, I was all madness that
night. I said to myself, 'Here is the kind of man I would fain be
born,--with a twinkling eye and an arm like iron.' Had not my father's
gaze been on me, St. Theodore knows what I would have done! What with
your head so close to mine, and the wild deeds of the day making us as
friends for a thousand years! But now," and she began to laugh again
softly, "you will have to tame me a great deal. I may look a
wood-dove, but I have the heart of a hawk. It will be a long time
before I can be content to obey any one;" then with a naughty toss of
her pretty head,--"even you."
"Ah!" exclaimed Richard, "it is I that need the taming; I, whose wits
are in my hands, who love the ring of good steel better than all
Musa's roundelays."
"Let us not settle too much of the future," answered she, pertly; "we
shall perhaps know each other better as time speeds." So they
twittered and laughed, till long after the last bird-song had died
into silence, the last bulbul had folded his weary head under a wing.
A full moon was overhead when Richard swung onto the back of Rollo.
His lips were still sweet with the nectar of a warm kiss; the wind was
just creeping over the orange grove, which was whispering softly. Here
and there the fireflies flashed out tiny beacons. Rollo threw up his
great muzzle, and shook his raven mane, as if he knew, rascal that he
was, of the joy in his master's heart. Then, swift as the north wind
he flew toward Palermo, and for Richard, as he rode, the night shone
as a summer's morn.
* * * * *
The gossips at Palermo bandied the tale about, almost before those
concerned in it knew it themselves. No one marvelled; all said that
Richard Longsword had fairly won his prize, and Mary Kurkuas would
never have shame for her lord. Only the Emir Iftikhar communed darkly
with his own heart, and with certain sworn followers of his in the
Saracen guard. The good syndic Al-Bakri was a mighty newsmonger. A
certain neighbor brought him a story; he in turn dealt it out to Musa;
and the Spaniard gave Richard Longsword strong reasons for wearing
his Valencia mail shirt under his bleaunt. Baron William had returned
to Cefalu. But when a letter came from his son, the seigneur sent
straightway, bidding Richard come home, and bring with him Mary
Kurkuas, who it was not meet should remain alone, with only Sylvana
and the serving-men and maids at Monreale. Richard, hasty mortal,
would have had her to church before setting out. But Mary shook her
head. The turf was not yet green over the grave of the Cæsar, and she
owed a duty to her mother's kinsfolk in Provence. If Richard was to go
to Auvergne, she would go with him to La Haye, the barony of her
uncle, and there might be the wedding. So with Sylvana as duenna, away
they went to Cefalu. There dear Lady Margaret opened her heart wide to
the motherless Greek; and they spent many a merry day, with guests and
good company coming from far and near to drink at the Baron's board,
and to pledge the health of "the peerless lady, Mary Kurkuas, the
fairest of her age in all Sicily and France." Day after day Richard
and Mary rode forth together; for the Greek was as mad a rider as
though born on the saddle. The white falcon was on her wrist; they
chased the luckless quarry over thicket and brake, while Longsword
laughed as he saw how Mary dashed beside him. And there were long
evenings, when in the soft gloaming, and no other was near, they could
sit in Lady Margaret's bower outside the castle walls, with the
sleeping flowers clinging all about, and a little stream tumbling
gently in the ravine below. Here every breath was eloquence, every
word a poem, and the voice of Mary sweeter than Musa's lute. Only
Mary,--for Richard was all blind these days,--noticed that Musa and
Herbert were ever watchful; that Musa always insisted that his friend
wear the Valencia shirt; that even when the lovers rode off seemingly
alone, there would be Musa or Herbert or Nasr riding within bowshot.
All the castle had opened its heart to Mary,--even Sebastian; though
the churchman did not capitulate without a struggle.
"Lady," said he once to her, "you Greeks are in peril of your souls.
You communicate with leavened, not unleavened, bread, for which you
may all go to perdition; and in your creed you do omit _Filioque_, in
speaking of the Holy Ghost, which I do conceive is the sin whereof Our
Lord speaks, saying, 'He that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost
hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation.' And
for this sin Pope Leo Third had your patriarch excommunicated, and
delivered over to be buffeted by Satan."
But Mary only answered very gravely:--
"Are not men created in God's image?"
"Certainly, daughter," replied Sebastian, soberly.
"And is Nasr, the abominable devil-visaged Saracen here, a man?"
"A man," began poor Sebastian, wavering, "yet created for--"
"Surely," cried Mary, cutting him short, "God has a strange image, if
it is like Nasr. Unless, indeed, he be of the race Vergilius the
heretical philosopher describes: born in the Antipodes, not descended
from Adam, and for whom no Redeemer died."
"Daughter, daughter," protested Sebastian.
"Do not be angry," came the reply, "only I will answer for my heresy
when you explain concerning Nasr." And with this Sebastian was content
to drop the encounter.
Then of a sudden came a day when the even flow of life at Cefalu was
rudely shaken. Richard and Mary had ridden with some retinue to games
which Baron William's neighbor, the Lord of Pollina, had been holding.
The jousts had been hot, though not so fierce as to be bloody. Richard
had refused to ride, for all the country-side stood in some awe of
him. Musa had won the hearts of all the ladies, as he ever did, by his
dashing horsemanship and grace. Evening was beginning to fall. They
were still two miles from Cefalu, and before them opened a long,
shaded avenue of holm-oak and cypress, through which shimmered the
failing light. Mary touched whip to her fleet palfrey. The good horse
shot forward, and beside her raced Richard, leaving the rest behind.
They had swung into the avenue, the steeds were just stretching their
necks for a headlong pace, when lo, as by magic, behind a thicket rose
three men, and in a twinkling three arrows sped into Longsword's
breast! The clang of the bow and Mary's cry were as one. But even as
Richard reeled in the saddle, Musa and Nasr were beside him, at a
raging gallop. The Norman shivered, sat erect. One arrow was quivering
in his saddle leather, two hung by the barbs from his mantle.
"You are wounded!" was the cry of the Greek. But Richard put her by
with a sweep of the hand.
"For me as for you, Musa, this Spanish mail is a guardian saint. The
arrows were turned. I am unhurt."
"Mother of God!" Mary was crying, all unstrung, "what has befallen
us!"
But Nasr and Herbert had shot ahead. They could hear horses crashing
through the thickets; other men plunged in after them on foot. Then a
great shout, and forth they came, haling two very quaking and
blackguardly-looking Egyptians, in the hands of one a strong bow.
"By the glory of Allah!" Nasr was swearing, "these men are of the Emir
Iftikhar's guard. We shall have a tale to tell when next we fare to
Palermo."
They dragged the wretches into the light. Nasr's identification and
their guilt were beyond dispute. Their comrade had made his escape.
But when Musa began to question them as to who prompted their deed,
they had never a word, only cried out, "Have pity on us, O Sword of
Grenada; like you, we are Moslems, and we sought an infidel's life!"
"By the beard of the Prophet!" protested the Spaniard, "good Moslems
you are in truth. Well do you remember Al Koran, which saith, 'He that
slayeth one soul shall be as if the blood of all mankind were upon
him;'" and he added cynically, "Console yourselves, perchance you will
be martyrs, and enter the crops of the green birds in Paradise."
"Mercy, mercy, gracious Cid!" howled the Egyptians.
"Away with them!" cried Richard, who saw that Mary was very pale and
trembled on her horse. "At Cefalu we have for them a snug dungeon,
thirty feet underground, with straw beds floating in water. There they
can recollect, if Iftikhar Eddauleh put this archery in their heads!"
So Herbert and Nasr trotted the prisoners away, strapped to the
saddles. That night, after Sebastian had said mass in memory of the
merciful preservation of his "dear son," Baron William and Herbert
taught the Egyptians how Normans were accustomed to eke out meagre
memories. They began by sprinkling salt water on the prisoners' feet,
and letting goats lick it; and then, as Sebastian aptly expressed in
his Latin, _sic per gradus ad ima tenditur_, they at last called for
red-hot irons. In this way, though the Egyptians were stupid and
forgetful at first, in time they remembered how Iftikhar had sent them
to Cefalu, to do what, except for the Valencia mail, they nearly
accomplished. They had acted in a spirit of blind obedience, fully
expecting to be captured and to suffer; and when they heard Baron
William ordering the gallows, they only blinked with stolid Oriental
eyes, for they saw that groanings availed nothing.
Very early the next day a messenger flew post haste to Palermo, with a
formal demand from Baron William that the High Mufti, who judged all
the Saracens of Sicily, should hear charges against the Emir Iftikhar.
But the messenger was late. The third assassin had secured a fast
horse, and outstripped him by half a day. Iftikhar was already out to
sea, bound, it was said, for Damietta.