HOW RICHARD REGAINED HIS BROTHER
When the Christians sat down before Antioch in the autumn time, the
delights of the country--the abundance of provisions and drink, the
dark eyes of the sinful Syrian maids who swarmed to the camp--made the
Franks intent on everything save warfare. The massy walls mocked all
storming; and though Bohemond blockaded from the east by the Gate of
St. Paul, Count Hugh on the north, and Godfrey and Raymond on the
northeast, the south was open to every wind, and provisions entered
the city freely. Much ado had Richard to keep discipline amongst his
own men. "My merry masters," said he once, when even De Carnac
clamored for a carouse over some skins of heady Laodicean, "whether we
see the heavenly or the earthly Jerusalem, let us see it with pure
hearts and pure bodies." And with Trenchefer he slit all the
wine-skins. So that night, at least, the St. Julieners kept sober.
But the tide soon turned. A miserable winter it was; chill rains; the
ill-placed camps swimming in water. Swords rusted in a night. There
was hardly an hour when the heavens did not pour down their floods,
until scarce a dry back was in the army. And as the floods continued,
the provisions, once squandered so recklessly, began to fail.
Longsword rode forth with Bohemond and Robert the Norman to sweep the
country, and too often met only roving Saracen horse, who gave them
hard blows and little booty. Then at last came the inevitable
pursuer,--pestilence! and men began to die by scores; their faith all
gone, cursing God and the saints, and the folly that drove them from
lovely France on a fool's own errand. Evil tidings came in daily.
Sweno the Dane, it was told, who was leading fifteen hundred horsemen
across Cappadocia, had been overwhelmed by the Seljouks. And other ill
news flowed fast as the rain torrents. Even the stoutest began to
think more for their own lives than for ever seeing the Holy City.
Some fled to Baldwin at Edessa; others to Cilicia. Duke Robert went to
Laodicea, and only returned when admonished thrice in the name of Our
Lord. William de Melun, the mightiest battle-axe in the whole army,
fled away,--the infidels he did not fear, but who was proof against
famine?
Yet many did not falter; Tancred did not, nor Count Raymond, nor
Godfrey who, before all others, was the reproachless warrior of his
Lord. Bishop Adhemar thundered against the vice in the camp, holding
up the fate of Babylon and of pagan Rome, mother of harlots. Stern
measures were taken against sins of the flesh. Blasphemers were
branded with a hot iron. When some of Yaghi-Sian's spies were taken,
Bohemond had them butchered and cooked, to spread the tale in Antioch
that the Christians ate their captives, and that those who came after
be discouraged.
But when Peter the Hermit took flight by stealth, the whole army raged
in despair.
"If he flee, whom may we trust? Sooner expect a star fall from
heaven!" was the cry. Tancred pursued after and brought him back.
"Father," quoth the Prince, "do you well to lead Christians into a
strait like this,--then valorously depart?"
"Alas!" moaned the one-time prophet, "the flesh is weak, though the
spirit willing! Would I had never preached the Crusade! When I see the
sins of the army, I fear lest I am 'that Egyptian,' as St. Paul was
accused, 'who led forth into the wilderness four thousand men that
were murderers.'"
"Hark you, father," cried the Prince, with a bitter laugh. "I am a
warrior and no churchman; but I think it shame for knight or villain
to call the devil above ground, and then cry because he has a sting in
his tail! Back you shall go, will you, nill you; and let us have no
more long chatterings about the sinful sloth of the warriors of France
until the praters themselves rule their lives by their own gospel."
So they fetched Peter again to Antioch. Before all the army he swore
an oath on the Scriptures that he would never desert. And to his honor
be it said, this lapse was his last. In the after days he won yet more
glory and confidence, despite this showing of human frailty.
Thus the winter wasted. With the spring came better food and more
fighting. Richard had kept his men in moderate health and spirits;
first by his iron discipline, second because he remembered a hint
given by Manuel Kurkuas on Eastern campaigning, and had pitched his
tents on a plot that was sheltered by a hill from the malarial winds
of the lowlands. Now rumors began to come into camp that great
preparations were making among the Moslems for sending a huge host to
the relief of Antioch. As the sun smiled warmer, the hearts of the
Crusaders lightened. Their camp beside the green-bowered Orontes was a
noble sight,--one sea of pennons and bright pavilions,--and all about
a wide moat and a palisade. The knights rode in their tourneys, and
tinkled their lutes in praise of some maiden in far and pleasant
France. But still Yaghi-Sian made Antioch good, and Jerusalem seemed
very far away.
Richard told himself that even Mary would not know him now,--what with
the thinness of his cheeks and his beard that almost brushed his
breast. The first bitterness of his loss was beginning to pass. Mary
had doubtless become wise, and submitted to her lot. Iftikhar, he
knew, would give her every sensuous delight. He prayed that she might
learn to be reconciled. As for himself, there was much work to do. Men
honored his great sword. Though his seigneury was small, the greater
lords called him to their council, because he spoke the infidels'
tongue, because his heart was in the Crusade and not in worldly
advantage; above all, because in him they saw a born leader. He was
still the reckless and headlong cavalier whose squadrons could scarce
keep Rollo in sight when their chief was in the saddle.
"Beware, De St. Julien," said Godfrey, one day, while it was arranged
that Richard should lead a picked band of forty down toward the port
of St. Simeon to cut off some Arab skirmishers. "Life is not to be
thrown down like a cast of dice. Remember Oliver's warning in the
tale:--
"'Valor and madness are scarce allied;
Better discretion than daring pride.'"
"True," answered Richard, smiling, while his eye wandered vacantly
over the fine-wrought "life of Moses" pictured on the tapestries
lining the good Duke's tent. "But were I struck dead as I stand, who
would feel a pang? My old watch-dogs, Herbert and Sebastian, Theroulde
the minstrel, Rollo, my horse--who more, my Lord Duke?"
Godfrey touched the young knight's hair gently when he answered: "Fair
son,--for so I will call you, if you take no offence,--all are put in
this world for some great and glorious work,--and to us especially is
granted the task of wresting Christ's own city from the unbelievers.
You would not shun your task. Is it not as wrong to fling life away as
to turn the back on the foe in fair battle? And if aught befell you,
say not that none would mourn. Believe me, we all love and honor you;
for we see that in your heart burns a rare and mighty love for Christ,
and your fall were a grievous loss."
"You say well, my lord," said Richard, bowing; "and were I to fall,
men would mourn 'another stout swordsman and good lance gone'; for I
am honored for my strong arm. But that might be cut off, yet I were
still Richard Longsword; then who would care if I died a thousand
deaths!"
"As Our Lord lives, not so bitterly!" remonstrated the good Duke. But
Richard only replied as he went out, "I thank your kindness; but if I
meet the infidels to-day, let the saints judge between us, and we
shall have a noble battle!"
"By Our Lady," swore Godfrey, when Richard departed, "I have great
sorrow for that lad; for lad he is, yet with so old a face!"
And Bishop Adhemar, who had stood by after the council broke up,
replied: "And I too am torn for him. For his sorrow is beyond human
comfort. Alas! poor baroness! I met her often on the march. May she
and he alike learn to bow to the will of God!" But Richard had flown
back amongst his men, and called loudly, "To horse!"
"_Laus Deo! Gloria! Gloria!_" he shouted to Herbert; "as you love me,
saddle with speed. Scouts bring in that a squad of the emir of
Emessa's cavalry lurk around the port. I ride to cut them off."
"Horse and away, then!" bawled the man-at-arms. "Yet why so merry?"
And Richard answered, laughing:--
"I know not, dear fellow; yet I feel as if some angel had said to me,
'Richard Longsword, some great joy to-day awaits!'"
"And what joy?"
"By St. Maurice, I know not, and care less; most likely I shall slay
twenty infidels, and be slain by the twenty-first!"
"The saints forbid!"
"The saints forbid nothing. I have said in my heart, 'Ill-fortune,
enough of you! Begone!'" And the others marvelled at Longsword's merry
mood. "Forward, and St. Michael with us!" his command. "Forward!
forward!" came from all the rest, for they sniffed adventure when
Richard Longsword led.
Richard gave Rollo a little tap on the flank, that sent the huge brute
racing better than any spur, and they plunged away at a brisk gallop.
Very fair that spring day. Underfoot the wild flowers were springing;
the turf had a fresh green, and all the silver poplars and oaks were
putting on young leaves. When the troop watered their steeds by a
tinkling brook, they saw the water strewn with scattered apple
blossoms. Everything was sweet, balmy, and kind. Who under such a sun
could keep sad, and grimace at God and His world? Not Richard
Longsword. He broke into a gay battle-song of Theroulde's; then the
others took it up, and they made the myrtles and oleanders quiver with
their chorus as they rode along.
"Surely the saints are with us this day!" cried Richard, when the last
catch died on the air. They were skirting the Orontes, now hidden by
the trees, now riding by its bright current, and watching the swans
spread their white sails to the soft east wind. But Longsword had not
forgotten the more serious duty that called him afield.
"You, De Carnac, and two more, dismount. Walk to the crest of this
hillock, and get a long sweep of the valley," was his order.
Presently the three came back with tidings that there was a company of
horsemen, Saracens presumably, camped in the meadow just beyond a
little terebinth grove.
Richard drew up his men with the promptness born of a score of like
encounters.
"God wills it! At them!" such his shout. And the forty, all as one,
swept from their covert over the grassy savannah--were round the grove
and upon the infidels before one could count an hundred. Easy victory;
for the Moslems, perhaps three score, had many of their horses
picketed, and were preparing a meal. The false Prophet had beguiled
them into setting no sentry.
"Strike! Strike!" the Christians were riding them down in a twinkling;
a dozen were crushed before they could rise from the ground; others
drew, and made some slight defence; more stood dazed, and while
calling on Allah were made prisoners. Richard was reining in Rollo,
and growling that he had not struck a single fair blow, when a cry
from Herbert startled him.
"By the Mass! Look! Hossein, as I am a sinner!"
And Richard saw before his eyes a white-robed, catlike Arab, swinging
upon a picketed chestnut charger. No need to glance twice to know the
traitor--Longsword could have singled his face from ten thousand. But
as he gazed a flash of the Arab's dagger had cut the lariat;--a
whistle to the high-bred desert steed, and the splendid creature shot
away, fleet as a startled hart.
"For the love of God, shoot down the horse!" thundered Richard, making
Rollo leap under the spur. Herbert levelled, and sent a crossbow bolt.
Too hasty,--long range, and he missed. And every twinkling was making
the distance grow long between the rider in the white dress and the
Christians.
"Chase! Ride!" rang Longsword's command. "A hundred byzants to take
him alive!" But Rollo himself was soon heading all the forty. Never
had Richard ridden as now, never had Rollo felt the spur so deep; but
the speed of Borak, steed of the lightning, was in the mount of
Hossein. Seldom had Rollo so nearly met his match. Almost before one
dreamt it, the forty were specks in the rear.
"Faster, faster, dear Rollo!" urged Richard, for his voice was ever
the keenest spur to the great brute. And Rollo indeed ran faster, but
the desert steed faster too; and for a long time the distance between
neither waxed nor waned. Grove, thicket, gully, fallen log (for their
way lay along none the most beaten road), the kind Powers led them
past, when a stumble would have dashed rider and steed to certain
death. Richard pressed Rollo again, and the huge horse putting forth
all his powers began slowly as a snail, yet steadily, to gain on the
Arabian. For some moments they raced thus; then the road became
clearer, shut in on either side by trees that arched down, and slapped
their green banners in the riders' faces. Who recked? Already Richard
could see Hossein swaying in the saddle, clearly deliberating whether
he could slacken to dismount and speed up the hillside. But the
Arabian was running for dear life now, and though his rider tugged at
the bit, he hardly swerved. Rollo, black monster, was coming up bound
upon bound. Richard dropped his lance into rest. He would have Hossein
at mercy before one could say three _Credos_. Was his hand steady
enough to pin the Arab through the thigh where flesh was thick, and so
take him prisoner? For Hossein's life would be precious--for a while.
"Ah, traitor!" cried Longsword in Arabic, "call on Allah now!"
The only answer was a fresh bound from the chestnut charger, a final
burst of speed that carried him ahead for a moment. Then the steady
gallop of Rollo told once more--another furlong, and the Ismaelian
would face his doom.
"_La ilaha ill' Allah!_" broke forth from the fugitive; and half
involuntarily Richard drew rein, while the prey nigh in his hands flew
onward. For lo! in the road directly ahead was a company--horse and
foot, in Oriental dress,--advancing rapidly, not a bowshot away!
Richard wavered for an instant. He saw a horseman in flashing armor
and blood-red turban come pricking toward them. Almost ere the thought
could speed through his mind, Hossein was among the newcomers, and a
score more came dashing forward to confront the solitary Christian. A
glance back--not one of his men in sight! Rollo blown and panting!
Escape up the hillside--impossible!--he in armor, and the Moslems
nimble as rats!
"God wills it!" Richard's soul cried. "This is the good fortune; to
ride down the foe, fight valiantly, die gallantly, and then
peace--rest--peace!" He threw down the lance, and drew forth
Trenchefer. "The last time you will strike for a Longsword, good
friend!" quoth he, with a loving eye on the keen blade, "and you shall
not strike in vain!" Then he pressed Rollo once more, "On again, my
horse!" And the huge brute caught the hard road under his hoofs and
went forward at a headlong pace. Richard could see the leading
warrior, a splendid figure on his steed, coming on with drawn
cimeter--a noble comrade in death! He would strike him first. And
Richard made Trenchefer dance high while he flew.
"God wills it! St. Julien and Mary Kurkuas!"
So the woods rang with his battle-shout. He could see the Moslems,
staring half amazed, as he came on headlong, one against their scores;
saw bows bend; heard the arrows scream past. The leader he had singled
as his prey was dashing down the road to meet him. How fair a combat!
"God wills it! St. Julien and Mary Kurkuas!" Richard gave it as his
last battle-cry, and swung Trenchefer to beat through the Moslem's
guard; when lo! the strange warrior had dropped cimeter and
shield--reined short--and from him, as if by echo, there came: "Mary
Kurkuas! _Allah akhbar_, you are Richard Longsword!" And Richard let
Trenchefer clatter in the dust. "Musa! my brother!"
Then, all in armor as they were, they flung their mailed arms about
one another for very joy, and cried, shedding great tears, as do only
strong men when moved too deep for speech. For a moment the other
Moslems, as they swarmed about, were ready to run Richard through,
thinking he had taken their chief captive by some magic art. But Musa
motioned them aside. When the two again found words, the first
question from the Spaniard was, "And how is it with the Star of the
Greeks?" But at this, the face of Richard grew dark.