HOW THE ARMY CAME TO ANTIOCH
To the surprise and joy of Sebastian and Herbert, Richard recovered
from his wounds with miraculous rapidity. When the host marched again,
many a voice cheered him. But those who loved him best saw the stony
hardness of his face, beyond anything that came after the great stroke
at St. Julien. No ragings and thunders now, but a calm and fearful
laugh that made men shiver. He led a band of picked knights after the
Seljouks, no more reckless cavalier in all the host than he. The Turks
had been utterly routed. Two days' marches from the battle Richard
found horses ridden dead by their panic-struck masters. Of all the
prisoners taken Longsword had only one question, "Whither fled
Iftikhar and his band?" But no prisoner could tell--they were only
ignorant hordesmen. So Richard rode on, and only God knew what passed
in his heart.
The army, now in one huge column, commenced the march across Phrygia,
which journey, of all the unforgetable scenes of that Crusade, those
who survived it were least likely to forget. Richard remembered the
tales told by old Manuel Kurkuas, and laid in what provision he could
for his men. Those of his friends who heeded him did likewise. But the
multitude--noble and villain, creatures of a day--scarce stuffed their
wallets, and went forward, little dreaming of the things in store. For
the march was one long horror. Kilidge Arslan had ridden ahead with a
band that still remained by him. If he could not stamp out the
Christians with his hordes, at least he could make famine and thirst
fight against them. He burned harvests; he devastated cities; the
wretched inhabitants he hurried into exile,--with Phrygia, Pisidia,
Cappadocia, to the gates in Mount Taurus, one desert for the bears and
the wolves to hunger in. As the Crusaders advanced, they saw only
fields seared and black, roofless houses, with swallows flitting above
them; and forth from the caves in the hills crept gaunt, starved
wretches, praying for a bit of bread in the name of Our Lord or Allah.
The host climbed on the first day the crest of the "Black Mountains,"
fit presage for the blacker things before; so far as eye could stretch
there was utter desolation. And on the next they entered the terrible
valley called Malabyumas, and were there many days, hemmed in by
precipices and beetling crags, while the great snake of the column
dragged its slow length along. At first, while there was yet water on
the hillsides and food in the wallets, the host toiled on with only
the pitiless summer sun for foe; then, as the little streamlets grew
rarer, the dry, dark crags pressed closer, and the food was failing,
the misery began. Misery past imagining! for if it is terrible for one
mortal to suffer and go out in agony, what is it when hundreds of
thousands suffer? when horses and mules are falling like flies by the
roadway; when men and women trudge onward like dogs, with their
tongues hanging from their mouths; when the sun hangs, from morn till
evening, a flaring, coppery ball, bright and merciless, drying up all
the sap of life; while against the blue ether show the countless
flocks of crows, that whir and caw as they pounce upon the dying ere
the breath has sped or the living marched away?
The very hugeness of the host hindered its hasting through this land
of torment. One Sunday five hundred persons fell down and perished
with thirst, and those who toiled on called them happy; for in heaven
one never dreams of cool fields and sweet, cold water, yet all the
time is burned within by fire unquenchable. When a tiny stream was
reached--what was it among so many? Women fell dying, with their babes
sucking at their breasts; and the host pressed on, for help there was
none from man!
The horses, poor brutes, died by scores; knights wept when they saw
their _destrers_--often better loved than brothers--sink down; saw
their dear falcons and hunting dogs perish. Yet who could think of
beasts, where men were staggering with open mouths, gasping for each
breath of wind to lighten their burning torments? Still the host
pressed on, though, far back as eye might scan, the carcasses and the
crows marked out the line of marching.
On and on! and in the midst of the torment there were strange hours of
ecstasy, of rapture over visions passing human ken. Men raved of
angels and a heavenly city, and streets of gold and living fountains;
and the last word of the dying was "Jerusalem!" while the shout that
went down the parching host when the sun beat fiercest and all the
watercourses were dust, was, "God wills it! Jerusalem!" So the march
kept on; and though thousands fell, none turned back, nor would have,
had the backward track been of less peril than that before.
Richard bore the privations with a steadiness which made good the
opinion of his followers that his frame was built of iron--not of
flesh and blood. Yet his heart was cut, as never in this way before,
to see his men dying before his face, and he unable to aid. Many a
poor Auvergner called to his lord, and bade him tell some mother or
wife or sweetheart in far St. Julien that he had struggled hard to
gain the Holy City, but God had willed otherwise; and the seigneur
would bear witness that he had been a faithful vassal and true
Christian.
Rollo, great steed, endured the thirst with a quiet fortitude that let
him survive when half the cavaliers of the army were bestriding mules
and oxen. Sebastian, too, bore up, shrewdly remarking, as was his way,
that his life of fast and abstinence had advantages in this world as
well as in the world to come. Herbert, too, seemed unconquerable; but
what with the losses at Dorylæum and the thirst, Richard saw his
company thinned in a way to make his heart sick, even had this been
all.
Finally, one day, when the last watercourse was dried up and death
stared all in the face, certain knights saw their dogs slinking into
camp, and behold, sand on their coats and mud on paws! Keen eyes
tracked them; and, hid behind the bleak mountains, the searchers found
a river, broad, still, stately, sweeping through its narrow gorge.
Hither rushed all the host, soldier and beast. Had the Seljouks been
by then, they could have slain their foes to a man, for the Christians
forgot all save water--water!--sweeter, more precious, than spiced
wine. They drank till from very surfeit they fell down stricken; and
three hundred died, slain by the element of life.
This was the end of the great horror. They found new streams; the
parching valleys began to sprinkle with green; they saw once more
fields and trees and vineyards. "I, the Lord, will open rivers in high
places and fountains in the midst of valleys; I will make the
wilderness a pool of water and the dry land springs of water;" so
repeated good Bishop Adhemar, the father of the army; and all who
heard cried "Amen." And the cry was again, "God wills it! To
Jerusalem!" not despairing now, but rejoicing, confident; for after so
great a trial to their faith, need the Most High prove them more? Then
the march quickened, the _jongleurs_ played merrily, there were jests
and tales around the camp-fires; and they began to hope for one more
passage-at-arms with the infidel before taking the Holy City--as if
Heaven had not saved them once already! Yet there was a tone of
sadness in the host, for the line was much shorter now. Where was he
who had left no friend on those burning sands or at Dorylæum? Troopers
were trudging on foot; extra arms and baggage had been thrown to the
wolves long ago; not a man in the army that had not grown a dusty
beard. Once when Richard polished his shield so that it shone as a
mirror, he saw his face upon it. He scarce knew himself, what with the
stiff beard and the fresh scars of the battle, and those lines drawn
above the eyes.
"_Héh_," cried he, forcing a jest to Theroulde, who sat by the tent
mending a crossbow, "how would the fair ladies at Palermo who danced
with me after the tourney regard me now?"
Theroulde tugged at the hairs on his own chin.
"If we see no razor ere long, fair lord, we may swear by our beards as
did Charlemagne, were they but whiter, and, as the song has it, of two
hundred years' growth."
"Verily," answered Richard, making shift to keep a merry face, "I
think I have lived two hundred years in the past month; and if
troubles make white hairs, the saints know I am like to become most
venerable."
Theroulde said no more, and Richard, looking into the shield, thought
in his heart, "Were Mary to see me now, would she still love me?"
But the answer came, "Though your face were changed black as an
Ethiopian's, yet she would love you!" Then the further thought, at
which Richard's soul grew black as night: "Should he never--never in
this world--set eyes on Mary again? Why had God dealt with him thus?
Why should she suffer for his sin,--even if it had not been purged at
Clermont?" Each day Richard's face grew more terrible; men feared him
and praised his holy zeal against the infidels.
Thus the host came to the pleasant city of Antiochetta. Time would
fail to tell of all their later troubles: how Tancred and Baldwin,
brother of Godfrey, took Tarsus and quarrelled over its mastery; how
Baldwin seized Edessa and founded there a principality; how the great
army trudged its weary way across Lycaonia and mounted the rugged
steeps of the "Mountain of the Devil." Many a stout man-at-arms died
by the way, of sheer weariness; but the host pressed on. "God wills
it! To Jerusalem!" was still the cry, and the ranks closed up.
Then leaving Marash and descending Taurus, they met new foes: no more
Turks, but bronzed Arabs on roe-limbed steeds, men armed with cimeters
of Damascus, and bright with the silks and cottons of Ispahan and
Bussorah. Richard was a busy scout-master now, for he and the few
other Christians who came from Sicily alone could speak the Arabic,
and need not trust to uncertain interpreters. So he rode before the
host with his forty knights, no spirit madder than he,--a very St.
George when he fell upon the Moslems.
When they were close to Artesia on their way to invest Antioch,
several Arab riders fell into Richard's hands, and he put to them the
inevitable question:--
"Dogs,--can you tell me if Iftikhar Eddauleh, one time emir in Sicily,
is in Syria, and where did he part company with Kilidge Arslan?"
And the men answered, all trembling:--
"Mercy, O Cid! Your slaves only know that the Emir Iftikhar is great
among the Ismaelians. Report has it that he has now gone to Alamont to
see his lord Hassan-Sabah."
"And you know nothing--nothing--" words spoken with awful
intensity--"of a certain Christian lady, his captive?"
The men saw he had gladly paid them their weight in gold, if they
could have told aught; but they dared not lie.
"Nothing, lord;--we are of the following of Yaghi-Sian of Antioch, and
know of the Emir Iftikhar only by name."
"_Fiat voluntas Tua_," muttered Richard, and he sent the prisoners to
the rear to be further questioned by Duke Godfrey. But he was more
reckless now in the forays and skirmishes than ever. All men said he
was seeking death; and Sebastian gave him warning:--
"Son, you are a chosen warrior of Our Lord. His cause is not served by
throwing your life away. Beware lest, in running into peril, you do
great sin!"
"Ah, father!" was the response, "what have I left save to slay as many
infidels as I can and die! Yet you are right; die I must not, until I
have struck down Iftikhar Eddauleh and avenged--" but he did not speak
the name.
The next day Richard led his men under the city of Aleppo, and
scattered some of the best of the light horse of Redouan, the local
emir. But the walls were high. Report had it there was plunder in the
palaces without the walls; some of the knights wished to attack. "We
fight for Christ, not for gold and jewels!" said Richard, sternly,
and led away.
And now they were in Syria. Before them lay a rolling green country,
fairer than Sicily even,--a deeper blue, a brighter sun, than in
Provence. The warm wind bore to them the sniff of the sand-dunes,
spiced groves, and genii's islands far to southward. They trod a
strange soil, strange flowers underfoot, strange birds in the air,
strange leaves on the trees. All the sunshine, however, did not
brighten Richard Longsword. Gone! Parents, brother, sister,--ah, God!
wife also, and only knightly honor and revenge left. Let him slay
Iftikhar and see the cross above Jerusalem, and then! but he fought
back the black thoughts, as he had many a time before. Day and night
he rode at the head of his men, who whispered his bones were steel, he
was so tireless.
Then the host drew close to the great city of Antioch, the first
Moslem stronghold to resist since the fall of Nicæa. And noble
adventure awaited when the Norman Duke led the van to force the "Iron
Bridge" which spanned the Orontes, key to the northern approach of the
city. Long and stoutly did Yaghi-Sian's horse-archers and infantry
dispute the passage, but Robert's mad knights swept all before them.
"With an hundred and thirty knights Roger won all Sicily at Ceramis!"
cried the valorous Duke. "Shall we fail now with St. Michael and Our
Lady to aid?"
So forward it was; and the Saracens heard the great "_God wills it!_"
rolling down the Christian line,--that battle-cry which made the fight
blaze tenfold fiercer, and which infidels so learned to dread. A great
victory, but something better for Richard. In the press he and De
Valmont fought side by side; and when a sling-stone laid Louis prone,
Longsword had stood above him, covering with his shield, and saved the
Auvergner from the tramplings of friend or foe. Then when they cried
"Victory!" and the scared infidels raced for their lives to get behind
the walls, Richard bore Louis to his own tent; for the Auvergner's was
far to the rear.
"Ah, Richard," said De Valmont, when they had pitched after the
battle, "you would not have stood above me thus in Sicily."
"No, fair knight," answered Richard, frankly; "but God has seen the
sins of us both, and we are rewarded."
"Come," cried the Provençal, firing, for he had a good heart under a
haughty shell; "we swore forgiveness at Clermont; let us swear
brotherhood, for we know each other now. We both are valiant men; we
two fought with honor at least, though to my cost,--shall we not be as
strong in friendship as in hate?"
So Richard took the Auvergner's hand, and gave him the kiss, not of
peace, but of brotherhood. And when Sebastian, coming by, saw them, he
smiled:--
"You do well, dear sons, for two friends have the strength of four
apart, and true affection is of God!"
As soon as Louis was well enough to ride once more, the twain were
ever together. And the companionship of Louis was an unspeakable boon;
for to one whom he held his equal, De Valmont was a frank,
open-hearted, merry-tongued fellow, the very comrade to chase off the
imps of gloom that had of late encamped round Longsword's soul. But as
they scoured the country, bringing in forage and seeking news of the
enemy, Richard always had the same question for any prisoners:--
"Do you know aught of the Emir Iftikhar Eddauleh?" And when they told
him no, he was most likely to give a nod to Herbert, which meant that
the captives' heads were forfeit. Louis pitied him from the bottom of
his soul.
"Dear friend," said the Provençal once, when they waited without Duke
Godfrey's tent to report a skirmish, "you let this loss of Mary
Kurkuas eat your heart away. Believe me, I loved her once as much as
you, and yet--" here he laughed at memory of his own discomfiture--"I
am still a very merry man. Are you angry?" Richard shook his head.
"Then hear me out. Your Greek beauty was a very _fée_, as Roland's
Aude. But hers are not the only bright eyes and red cheeks in the
world. Cannot the Lord of St. Julien have the best and the
fairest?--in Sicily, in France, in Syria? Mark what I have done,--my
heiress in Toulouse could hold her head beside the Greek, and no shame
to either. Say to yourself, 'The saints are unkind; I will not let
them make me pout forever. Another cast of the dice, and better
fortune--'" But here he stopped, for on the face of Richard was, not
indeed rage, but a darkening of passion that Louis knew he had scarce
dreamed of. And Richard answered very gently:--
"Sweet knight, we have sworn brotherhood; I know you speak out of the
goodness of your heart. When you say, 'Once I loved Mary Kurkuas as
much as you,' and then boast your happiness, and add that she is not
alone fair, you show but this,--you loved her eyes and her hair, but
not her true self, as do I. As for what more you say, I only answer
thus: I have sworn that henceforth I will look in love on no woman, if
not on her, but will fight as best I can for God and Holy Church, and
trust that after the sacred city is taken Our Lord will admit me into
His peace. Till then let me be a good friend, and as merry as I may."
While he spoke, the tent doors flapped aside, and Duke Godfrey himself
strode forth. There was strength and joy by merely glancing into the
eyes of that noble man. He put his hand on the shoulder of Richard,
and said as a father to his son: "Richard de St. Julien, fear not that
God is unmindful of your sorrow and prayers. We all, who love and
honor you, have shared your grief, and He who loves you more than we,
must share the most. Be strong, and either He will give you the desire
of your heart, or you shall enter into the peace no mortal man may
know." There was a ring and sweetness in the words of the mighty Duke
which no priest could fuse into his speech, for Richard knew that
Godfrey himself had walked through the moil and toil of life, and was
crowned already victor.
"I will trust in God!" he said, when he left the Duke.
At his tent he sat a long time with Louis over some rare wine they had
taken that day; called for a backgammon board, and played against
Louis, winning seven games running. Herbert, who was standing by, was
glad when he heard his lord give a hearty, unforced laugh--not of the
fearful kind which had been his custom before. When Richard prayed
that night, he put forth a new petition: "Master, if I have been
chastened sufficiently, and it is Thy will, grant that I may see Musa
once more, for next to one whom clearly Thou willest I should not
possess, I desire him beyond all the world."
And this prayer he repeated night after night. Louis de Valmont was
grown a dear friend,--but the Spaniard! Richard never dreamed of
making the Auvergner a rival. "Musa! Musa!" The longing to see him was
too deep for words.