HOW RICHARD CAME TO ST. JULIEN
Now at last they were drawing near to St. Julien, whither Richard sent
advance messengers. And as he saw how, despite the rocks and the
ragged landscape, fair meadow valleys began to spread out, and wide
fields bursting with their summer fatness, he grew still more elated
and arrogant in soul. How many gallant adventures awaited beyond those
hills! How he would rule with a strong hand his grandsire's seigneury!
Nay more, he would do better: he would some day ride over this road
with Mary Kurkuas at his side, and hear knight and villain hail him,
"Richard, by the Grace of God, Count and Suzerain of all Auvergne."
With only five horsemen had Robert Guiscard left Normandy, and when he
died, half Italy and nigh all Sicily were at his feet; and should not
Richard of Cefalu do better, with a fair, rich barony to build upon?
Presently, after a long day's ride, the young knight's company came
forth from the last pass amongst the hilltops, and before them--St.
Julien. Richard could see the tall square towers of the distant castle
shining yellow gray in the dying sun; he could see the long reaches of
ploughed land, the glebe of the Abbey of Our Lady of St. Julien, to
whose abbot the local baron paid each year six bunches of wild
flowers, token of nominal fealty. Far away were the dun masses of the
monastery's many roofs and walls; about the castle nestled the
thatches of a little town, a fair stream ran through the valley, and
all around the beetling mountains kept watch.
"A goodly land," cried Sebastian, shading his eyes with a gaunt hand;
"a goodly land; ah, dear Christ, grant that the hearts of the men
within it be as pure as thine own heavens above!"
"And have I done wrong," declared Richard, pointing from corn-land to
castle, and thence to river, "to come so far to possess it? Does not
God will rather that I should play my part here, than throw away life
and love in a mad wandering to Jerusalem?"
But Sebastian shook his head.
"They say the devil can appear as an angel of light; God forfend that
the earthly beauty of this country breed perdition for your soul."
So they went down the hillside, laughing and singing, and pricking on
their flagging steeds, though Richard saw that Musa was only half
merry.
"Tell me, brother mine," said he, "why are you not gay? Do you envy me
my first inheritance?"
The Spaniard threw up his hands in inimitable gesture.
"_Wallah_; is not your joy my joy, soul of my soul!" cried he,
earnestly. "Not gay? Allah forbid that there be truth in portents. As
at noon we rested, and I slept under the trees, I dreamt that I was
grievously plucked by the hair."
"And that forbodes--?"
"That some calamity or ill news comes either to me or to some dear to
me. So our Arabian diviners interpret dreams, and so some years since
Al-A[=a]zid, my master at Cordova, instructed me."
"Christ defend us!" quoth Richard, crossing himself. He was not
imagining ill for himself nor for Musa, but for Mary Kurkuas.
"Be not troubled," continued the Spaniard; "the surest presages often
fail." Richard rode on in silence. The melancholy of his friend was
contagious. A cloud drifted over the sun; the bright landscape
darkened. As they passed by a wayside cross on the hillside, a
skeleton swung from an oak in the hot wind--some brigand or villain,
who had enraged the seigneur. A wretched beggar met them, just as
they plunged into the trees to enter the valley.
"Alms! alms! kind lord," he croaked, his face red with bloody patches;
and as he spoke he lay on the ground, and foamed as if grievously ill.
"Away with you!" growled Sebastian, angrily; "you have smeared blood
on your face, and there is a bit of soap in your cheeks."
So they left, and heard his shrill curse, when he saw Richard tossed
forth never a _denier_.
"No good omens," muttered Herbert, in his beard.
"Ride faster," commanded Richard, touching spur to Rollo.
So they hastened, while above them the canopy of leaves grew denser,
and more clouds piled across the dimming sun. Then as they swung round
a turn, they came upon a man with a great load of fagots on his
back,--a tall, coarse-faced fellow, with a shock head and unkempt
beard, hatless, dressed in a dirt-dyed blouse held by a leathern belt,
woollen trousers, and high, rude boots.
Herbert rode up to him, as he stood staring with dazed, lack-lustre
eyes at the company.
"Ho, sirrah; and are we on the Baron of St. Julien's land?" No answer;
then again, "Are we on the Baron of St. Julien's land?" Still no
answer, while the scoundrel gazed about like a cornered cat, looking
for chance to escape. Herbert grasped his ear in no gentle pinch.
"I work miracles," bellowed he. "I make the dumb speak!" Then as he
twisted the ear, the man howled out:--
"Yes, this is his land."
"And why not all this before?" roared Herbert.
"I love my lord," growled the fellow; "how do I know but that you seek
his ill? Sorrow enough he has, without need of more."
"Ha!" exclaimed Richard, "what is this? Speak out, my man. I am his
friend and yours!"
But before he could get answer, the pound, pound, of several horsemen
was heard ahead. And they saw in the road four riders, two accoutred
men-at-arms, two others, by their dress and steeds evidently gentlemen
of the lesser sort. One of these, a tall young man of about Richard's
age, spurred ahead; and as he drew near, he dropped his lance-head in
salute.
"Noble lord," said he, "do I speak with Richard Longsword of Cefalu,
grandson of the Baron of St. Julien?"
"I am he, fair sir," replied Richard, with like salute.
"I am rejoiced to see your safety. Your messengers have arrived. We
expected your coming. Know that I am Bertrand, squire of the Baron,
your grandfather; and this is his good vassal the castellan, Sir
Oliver de Carnac; in our Lord's name we greet you well and all your
company."
So Richard thanked them for their courtesy, and then questioned:--
"And is my lord the Baron well?"
But at his words a great cloud lowered on the face of the squire, and
he turned to De Carnac; and that stern-faced knight began to look very
blank, though saying nothing. Then Bertrand began hesitatingly:--
"It grieves me, fair lord; but the Baron is very ill just now; the
skill of the monks of St. Julien does nothing for him."
"Ha!" exclaimed the Norman. "I give him joy; I have here a famous
Spanish knight, who, besides being a mighty cavalier, knows all the
wisdom of the paynim schools, which, if very bad for the soul, is
sovereign for the body."
"No skill avails, lord," said Bertrand, looking down. "He is blind."
"Blind!" came from Longsword. "When? how? he did not write."
"No, fair sir; three days since it happed; and I have a sorry tale to
tell."
"Briefly then." Musa saw the Norman's face very calm and grave, and he
shuddered, knowing a mighty storm was gathering.
"Lord," said Bertrand, "over yonder mountain lies the castle of
Valmont: its seigneur, Raoul, has for years been at feud with your
grandfather, my lord. Much blood has flowed to neither's advantage.
When Louis went away, the two barons made a manner of peace; but of
late they quarrelled, touching the rights to certain hunting-land. The
suzerain, Count Robert of Auvergne, is old; he gave judgment against
Raoul, but had no power to enforce. Four days since Baron Gaston went
upon the debatable land to lay a hound; with him only Gaspar, the
huntsman. Raoul and many men meet them; high words, drawn swords; and
after our Baron had slain three men with his own hands, the 'Bull of
Valmont' takes him. Raoul is in a black rage, and his enemy in his
power."
Richard's face was black also, but he was not raging.
"Go on," said he, very calmly.
"Raoul says to my lord, 'It is a grievous thing to take the life of a
cavalier, who cannot defend himself. I will not do it, yet you shall
never see that pleasant hunting-land more.' Then he calls John of the
Iron Arm, a man-at-arms and chief devil at Valmont, who is after his
own heart, and bids him bring the 'hot-bowl.'"
"The 'hot-bowl'?"
"Yes, lord; a red-hot brazier, which they passed before our Baron's
eyeballs, until the sight was scorched out forever."
Richard was turning very pale. "Mother of God!" muttered he, crossing
himself; but Bertrand went on:--
"Then Raoul struck off Gaspar's right hand, and bade him lead his
seigneur home with the other, and let them remember there was brave
hunting on the Valmont lands."
"And what has been done against Raoul?" asked Richard.
"Nothing, lord. De Carnac is our chief; but when we knew you were
coming, and heard how you had laid the Bull's brother, Louis de
Valmont, on his back, great knight that he was, we waited; for, we
said, 'When Sir Richard comes, we shall be led by one of St. Julien's
own stock, and we shall see if he loves Raoul more than do we.'"
"You have done well, dear friend," said Richard, still very quietly.
"Now tell me, how is my grandfather; well, save for his eyes?"
"Alas! he was nigh dead when he came back, and to-day the monks
declared he would slip away; only desire for revenge keeps his soul in
him."
"I must see him," said Longsword, simply; then to Musa, "Ha! my
brother, will you be at my side in this adventure?"
"_Allah akhbar_," cried the Spaniard, his eyes on fire, "that Raoul
shall feel my cimeter!"
"Softly, softly, dear son," quoth Sebastian, who had heard all,
"_Omnia licent, sed omnia non expediunt!_"
"No Latin now, good father," was the Norman's prompt retort, and he
turned to Bertrand: "To the castle with speed!"
Forward they rode through the squalid little village, where ragged
peasants and slatternly women opened their eyes wide, and crossed
themselves as their eyes lit on the "Saracen devils"; then they
clattered onto the stone bridge, and past the toll-keeper's booth at
the drawbridge in the middle span. Before them across a stretch of
cleared land rose the castle: not a curiously planned system of
outworks, barbicans, baileys, and keeps, as Richard saw in his older
days, but a single massive tower, square, built from ponderous blocks
of black basalt that could mock at battering-ram. It perched upon a
rocky rising, at the foot a moat, deep, flooded by the stream, where
even now the fish were leaping; outside the moat, a high wooden
stockade; within this, the stables. From the crest far above, the eye
could sweep to the farthest glens of the valley. Ten men could make
good the hold against an army; for where was the hero that could mount
to the only entrance--that door in the sheer wall thirty feet above
the moat, and only a wooden drawbridge to reach it, which pulleys
could lift in a twinkling?
Richard looked at the castle and shrugged his shoulders. "Is the hold
of Raoul de Valmont like to this?" he asked.
"As you say, lord; only the outer wall is higher," replied Bertrand,
while they left their steeds at the foot of the dizzy bridge. Richard
blew through his teeth. "St. Michael," cried he, "there will be a tale
to tell ere we get inside!"
When they came within the great hall, dark and sombre, with slits for
the archers its only windows, there were all the castle servants
waiting to do Richard honor, from the gray old chamberlain and the
consequential cellarer to the "sergeants" that kept the guard. But
Longsword would have none of their scrapes and bows.
"Take me to my grandfather," he commanded, after turning down a horn
of mead. So they led him up blind ladders to a room above. Here the
windows were scarce larger; there was a great canopied bed, a
_prie-dieu_ chair, two or three clothes-presses; on the floor new,
sweet rushes. The day was sultry, but there was a hot fire roaring in
the cavernous chimney-place. The glowing logs sent a red glare over
all the room; in every corner lurked black shadows. Before the fire
stretched two enormous wolf-hounds, meet hunters for the fiercest
bear. There was a huge armchair deeply cushioned before the fire, the
back toward the doorway. As Richard entered, the hounds sprang up,
growling, with grinning teeth, and a sharp brattling voice broke
out:--
"Out of the room, pestilent monk. Away to perdition with your
cordials, or I set the dogs on you. Give me the head of Raoul de
Valmont, then stab me if you will!"
"Grandsire, it is I!" cried Richard, and ran beside the chair, and
fell on his knees. A great hairy hand reached out for him, and he saw
a face, hard as a knotted old oak, beaten by storm, scorched by
lightning. Strength was there, brute courage, bitter hate, and an iron
will. Only the lips now were crisped, the white beard was singed to
the very jowl, and across the eyes was drawn a white bandage, stained
with blood.
"Mother of God!" moaned the old man, groping piteously. "Is this the
welcome that I give you, sweet grandson?"
But Richard, who thought it no shame to weep, held the mighty hand to
his lips and sobbed loudly, while "the water of his heart" ran down
his cheeks.
"_Ai_, dear grandsire," said he, when he had his voice, "it is well I
have come. I too bear no love for the race of Valmont."
The old Baron felt for the Norman's arm; caught it; ran his hands from
wrist to shoulder; gripped tight on the iron muscles.
"It is true, it is true!" he half laughed; "you are of my stock, and
your father was a mighty cavalier. You will be worthy to have the
barony."
"Say it not, sweet sir," cried Richard; "please God, you will yet live
many a year!"
"Ho!" roared the Baron, in anger, "would you have me live as a blind
cow! What is life without hawks or hounds or tourneys or war! God
willing, I shall die soon. Hell were nothing worse than this. I do not
fear it!"
"Christ forbid you should speak sincerely!" protested Richard,
crossing himself.
"No; it is true," raged the old man; "there is good company down
below. Do not say Bernard the Devil is not there, these seven years,
and he was my good friend. I am as bad as he. Fire can't hurt a man,
if he can only _see_. What have I to do with your saints and prayers
and priests' prattle! Heaven for them; and for men who love good
sword-play and a merry lass--"
But Richard cut him short.
"Don't blaspheme! How know you that this is not a reward for all your
sins?"
"Raoul used by the saints to reward me? Ha, ha--" and the Baron this
time bellowed a wild laugh in earnest.
"Grandfather," said Richard, very gently, "you are in no mood for
further talk. I will leave you, and come again."
"Come, and say that Raoul has gone to the imps!" raged the Baron;
then, as Richard's steps sounded departing, "and if you take John of
the Iron Arm, Raoul's chief under-devil, alive, give him a bath in
boiling lard to remind him of what awaits him yonder!"
Barely had Richard reached the great hall when Bertrand was at him
again:--
"Their reverences, the abbot of Our Lady of St. Julien, the prior, and
the sub-prior, come to see your lordship."
So the three monks in their black Benedictine habits came in before
Richard, who bowed very low, remembering the wise maxim: "Honor all
churchmen, but look well to your money." The abbot was short and fat,
the prior short but less fat, the sub-prior leaner still. Otherwise
they seemed children of one mother, with their pale, flabby faces,
their long gray beards, and black cowls and cassocks.
"_Benedicte_, fair son," began the abbot; "we trust the true love of
God and Holy Church is in your heart."
"Of God and Holy Church," repeated the prior.
"Of God and Holy Church," chanted the sub-prior.
"I am a great sinner, holy father," quoth Richard, dutifully, "yet I
hope for forgiveness. What may I do for you?"
Then the abbot ran off into a long, winding discourse as to how the
barons of St. Julien had ever been the protectors and "advocates" of
the abbey, and how of late "that man of Belial, Raoul de Valmont," had
oppressed the monks in many ways. "And even now God has mysteriously
deigned," continued the prelate, "that he should commit a sin, the
like whereof have been few since the days of Judas called Iscariot."
"And what may this be?" asked Richard, soberly.
"When our _refectarius_," solemnly went on the abbot, "passed over the
Valmont lands, driving three black pigs, and with twelve fair round
Auvergne cheeses amongst other gifts of the pious in his cart, this
man of blood cruelly possessed himself of the pigs and cheeses,
saying, 'The holy brethren will find prayers rise strongest when they
have pulse in their bellies'--blasphemous sinner!"
"Accursed robber!" cried the prior.
"Friend of the fiends!" echoed the sub-prior.
"And therefore," wound up the abbot, "we do warn you, on the peril of
your soul, to cut off this child of perdition root and branch; to call
forth to arms the _ban_ and the _arrière-ban_; to make his castle a
dunghill and his name a byword and a hissing!"
Richard was smiling. When the abbot finished, he gave the holy fathers
a merry laugh that made them half feel their weighty mission a
failure. But Musa, as he looked upon his friend, trembled, for he did
not like that kind of smile or laugh. Richard flashed forth
Trenchefer, and laid his hand on the knob that contained such holy
relics.
"See you, holy fathers, gentlemen and vassals all. I, Richard
Longsword, setting my hand on the holy relics of the blessed Matthias
and the blessed Gereon, do swear before God Most High, that I will
have the life of Raoul de Valmont, and of every man or lad of his
sinful race; and God and these holy saints do so to me, if I show
mercy!"
And all the men-at-arms, and Bertrand and De Carnac, saw that they had
to do with a born leader of warriors, and cried out "Amen!" with a
mighty shout, so that the solid rafters quaked and reëchoed. But
Sebastian as well as Musa shuddered when he beheld Longsword; for the
Norman's words rang hard and sharp as whetted steel, and the good
churchman's heart was heavy with new foreboding.
"This is a cruel vow, my son," he broke in. "Raoul de Valmont must
suffer for his sin; but Louis,--he whom you spared when at your
feet,--will you seek his life also, and that of the lad Gilbert, the
younger brother?"
But Richard flung out hotly:--
"Silence, Sebastian; cursed am I for sparing Louis de Valmont. Cursed
for sparing an accursed race! I will have the lives of all--all; and
will right my grandsire and myself also. So help me God!"
Sebastian had one last appeal.
"For the sake of Mary Kurkuas, do not rush into this blood-feud. God
will not bless you if you go beyond Raoul!"
Longsword threw back his head.
"I were unworthy of Mary Kurkuas if I yielded a hair! No power shall
shake me! Let Christ pity them; I will not!"
Sebastian turned away.
"Dear Lord," he prayed, "Thou seest how my sweet son is torn by the
fiends who seek his soul; first he forgets Jerusalem, now will dip his
hands wantonly in Christian blood. Spare him; pity him; restore him to
himself."
That night Richard sat at chess with Musa; played skilfully, laughed
loud. His talk was merry, but his face was very hard.