HOW PETER BARTHELMY HAD A DREAM
On Saturday, the fifth day of June, in the Year of Grace one thousand
and ninety-eight, Kerbogha appeared before Antioch with a countless
host. On the Saturday following a small loaf of bread sold among the
Christians for a gold byzant; an egg was worth six deniers; a pound of
silver was none too much for the head of a horse. Men who had endured
bitter sieges in the home-land, who had marched across the parching
deserts of Isauria without a groan, now at last began to confess their
sins to the priest, and to prepare to die. For help seemed possible
from none save God--and God was visibly angry with His servants for
the blood and passion at the city's sack.
On the day after his entrance, Richard Longsword showed three red
shields on the minaret, and after a little, to his unspeakable joy,
there were three lances with red pennons set close together before the
Gate of St. George. Mary and Musa were safe in the camp of Kerbogha,
and Richard blessed St. Michael and our Lady ever Virgin. Yet for a
while he was angry with Heaven. If he had entered the city so easily,
might not Mary have come in at his side? What need of parting? But he
did not keep these feelings long; and his thankfulness was deep when
he knew that at least his wife was not seeing gallant seigneurs, even
the very Count of Flanders, begging in the city streets for a bit of
bread, nor was herself enduring the awful hunger.
For the famine was the last stroke of the wrath of God upon His
unworthy people. Thousands had died when the first hordes, led by
Peter the Hermit and Walter Lackpenny, had been cut off by Kilidge
Arslan; thousands more at Dorylæum; tens of thousands when they
tracked the desert and besieged Antioch. But this was the crowning
agony. When the news came that Kerbogha was approaching, the princes
had indeed done what they could. Messengers had rushed down to the
coast to bring up provisions landed by the friendly Italian merchants;
foraging parties had been sent to sweep the country. But nine months
long Syria had been harried by the armies. In a few days all the
Christians were face to face with starvation. Pleasanter far to spend
their last strength in the daily battles with Kerbogha, who ever
pressed nearer, than to endure the slow agony in the city. Yet the
infidels won success upon success. The Moslem garrison of the castle
made continual sorties; the outlying forts of the Christians were
defended gallantly, but in vain. Each day drifted into the starving
city some tale of the pride and confidence of Kerbogha--how when
squalid Frankish prisoners were haled before him, his _atabegs_ had
roared at his jest, "Are these shrunken-limbed creatures the men who
chatter of taking Jerusalem?" and how he had written to the
arch-sultan: "Eat, drink, be merry! The Franks are in my clutch. The
wolf is less terrible than he boasted!"
In the city the cry again was, "God wills it!" But the meaning was,
"God wills we should all perish or become slaves;" and on every hand
was dumb lethargy or mad blasphemy.
New misfortunes trod upon old. In a sortie Bohemond the crafty and
brave was wounded; Tancred's and Godfrey's valor ended in repulse. The
foe pressed closer, damming the last tiny stream of provisions that
trickled into the doomed city. Boiled grass, roots, leaves, leathern
shields, and shoes; the corpses of slain Saracens--the Franks had come
even to this! Richard feasted with Duke Godfrey on a morsel from a
starved camel. The good Duke sacrificed his last war-horse except
Marchegai, and then the lord of Lorraine was more pinched for food
than the meanest villain on his distant lands. As day passed into day
despair became deeper. Many, once among the bravest, strove to flee in
the darkness down to the port of St. Simeon and escape by sea. Many
went boldly to the Moslem camp, and confessed Islam in return for a
bit of bread. "Rope-dancers," howled the survivors, of those who by
night lowered themselves from the walls. And Bishop Adhemar talked of
the fate of Judas Iscariot. But still desertions continued, from the
great counts of Blois and of Melun down to the humblest.
One day Richard was cut to the quick by having Prince Tancred, who
kept the walls, send him under guard one of his own St. Julien men,
who had been caught while trying to desert. Richard had prided himself
on the loyalty of his band, and his fury was unbounded.
"Ho! Herbert, rig a noose and gibbet. Turn the rascal off as soon as
Sebastian has shriven him!" rang his command.
To his surprise a murmur burst from the men-at-arms about, and he
surveyed them angrily.
"What is this, my men? Here is a foul traitor to his seigneur and his
God! Shall he not die?"
Then a veteran man-at-arms came forward and kissed Richard's feet.
"Lord, we have served in the holy war leal and true. But it is plain
to all men that God does not wish us to set eyes on Jerusalem! We have
parents and wives and children in dear France. We have done all that
good warriors may, now let us go back together. To-night lead us
yourself along the river road, and let us escape to the port of St.
Simeon."
No thundercloud was blacker than Richard Longsword's face when he
answered, hardly keeping self-mastery:--
"And does this fellow speak for you all?"
"For all, lord," cried many voices. "Did you not promise to bring us
home in safety, to lead us back safe and sound to Nicole, and Berta,
and Aleïs? Surely we did not take the cross to die here, as starving
dogs. Let us die with our good swords in our hands as becomes
Christians, or in our beds, if God wills."
Richard had drawn out Trenchefer, and swept the great blade round. "My
good vassals," he said in the lordly fashion he could put on so well,
"you know your seigneur. Know that he is a man who has thus far gone
share and share to the last crumb with his people, and will. Does not
my belly pinch? do not I live without bread? But I say this: this man
shall die and so shall every other die a felon's death who turns
craven, or I am no Richard, Baron de St. Julien, whose word is never
to be set at naught."
There was a long silence among all the company that stood in the broad
court of the Antioch house. They knew well that Richard never made a
threat in vain. They did not know how great was the pain in the heart
of their seigneur. There was silence while the body of the deserter
was launched into eternity.
"Amen! Even so perish all who deny their Lord!" declared Sebastian.
Richard's heart was very dark when he visited Rollo that day. Thus
far, by great shifts, he had secured forage. All the other St. Julien
beasts had perished; men muttered at Longsword for sparing the horse.
But after that ride from Aleppo he would sooner have butchered
Herbert.
But was this to be the end of the Crusade? of the outpouring of the
Holy Spirit at Clermont? of the agony of the march? Better if all had
ended with the bowstring at Aleppo. No, not better; for Mary was
saved.
A gloomy council came that afternoon at the Patriarch's palace, under
Godfrey's presidency; no hope--the Greek Emperor they had awaited was
reported retreating! The iron men at the council groaned. Guy, brother
of Bohemond, cried out against God Himself.
"Where is Thy Power, now, Lord God?" rang his despairing blasphemy.
"If Thou art all-powerful, why dost Thou let these things be? Are we
not Thy soldiers, and Thy children? Where is the father or the king
who would suffer his own to perish when he has power to save? If now
Thou forsakest Thy champions, who will henceforth fight for Thee?"
"Peace!" interrupted Bishop Adhemar; "is not God angry with us enough
already? Will you rouse Him further by your blasphemies?" And Guy
retorted madly:--
"Angry, _Sanctissime?_ Look on our faces, my lord bishop. Do they look
as if we had feasted? There are mothers lying dead in the street this
moment, with babes sucking at their milkless breasts. I say we have
nothing more to fear from God. He has shown us His final anger; mercy,
indeed, if with one great clap He could strike us all dead and end the
agony. What is to be done, if not to die, one and all, cursing the day
we put the cross upon our breasts?" And the speaker almost plucked the
red emblem from his shoulder. Adhemar did not reply, and Raymond of
Toulouse asked very gravely, turning to Godfrey:--
"Have you sent the heralds to Kerbogha, as the council agreed,
offering to yield the city and return home, on sole condition that our
baggage be left to us?"
Godfrey's face was even darker than before when he replied: "Yes, Lord
Count; there is no need of many words, nor to examine the heralds.
Kerbogha will listen to only one surrender--submission at
discretion--after which he will decide which of us he will hale away
into slavery, which put to death."
The Norman Duke and Gaston of Béarn had risen together.
"Fair princes," cried the latter, "we are at our wits' end. There will
soon be no strength left in a man of us to strike a blow, and the
Moslems will take us with bare hands. Dishonor to desert, and we will
never separate. Yet let us bow to God's will. His favor is not with
the Crusade. Let us cut our way down to the port, and escape as many
as can."
"And so say I," called Duke Robert. "And I," came from Hugh of
Vermandois. "And I," shouted many of the lesser barons. But Tancred,
bravest of the brave, stood up with flashing eyes. "I speak for
myself. I reproach no man, seigneur or villain. But while sixty
companions remain by me, of whatever degree, I will trust God, and
keep my face toward His city!"
"There spoke a true lover of Christ," cried Adhemar, his honest eyes
beaming; and Godfrey's haggard face brightened a little. "You are a
gallant knight, my Lord Prince," said he. "These others will think
differently when they have slept on their words. Better starve here
than return to France, if return we can. We have asked Kerbogha's
terms--we have them. 'The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel,' as
says Holy Writ. How can we return with all the paynim nations jeering
at us, crying, 'See! See the boasted Frankish valor!' We can do no
more to-day; let us meet again to-morrow."
"To-morrow we shall be yet hungrier," muttered Guy of Tarentum, as he
went out at Longsword's side. "Except a miracle come of God, Kerbogha
has us." "Except a miracle!" repeated Adhemar. Richard carried home
the words. Had God turned away His face from His children? Were the
brave days when the Red Sea swallowed Pharaoh's myriads, when four
lepers delivered starving Samaria from the Syrian hosts but as
_jongleurs'_ tales of things long gone by? He told Sebastian what had
passed among the chieftains, and Sebastian only answered with a
wandering gaze toward heaven.
"These are the days of God's wrath! Now appears the host foretold in
the Apocalypse--the four angels loosed from the river Euphrates, come
forth with their army of horsemen, two hundred thousand, and for an
hour, and a day, and a month, and a year, shall they slay the third
part of mankind."
"Father," said Richard, "do you know what the princes say? 'Except a
miracle, we are delivered to Kerbogha.' Are the days of God's mercy
spent? Were the Jews more righteous than we, that they should be saved
by wonders from heaven, and we perish like oxen? I speak not for my
own sake--though the saints know it is hard to keep a stout heart over
a nipping belly--but for my men, for the whole host. Pestilence is
treading behind the famine. This day five thousand have died in
Antioch--cursing the hour they took the cross and the God who led them
forth. I say again: How can these things be--God sit silent in yonder
blue heaven, and still be good?"
Sebastian brushed his bony hand across his face as though driving away
a mist, and ran on wildly:--
"Kerbogha is the beast foretold in the beginning! The beast and the
false prophet, which is Mohammed, have deceived those who have the
mark of the beast; and all such with those that have worshipped his
image shall share with the beast and the false prophet in the lake of
fire, burning with brimstone."
"Yes, dear father," said Richard, simply; "but the vengeance of God is
long delayed!"
Sebastian gave no answer. All that afternoon he went among the dying,
who lay like dogs in the streets, holding up the crucifix, telling
them of the martyrs' joys; that death by sickness and famine was no
less a sacrifice to God than death by the sword.
"Fear not, beloved," were his words to those whose last speech was of
home and longed-for faces, "you are going to a fair and pleasant
country, very like dear France, only brighter and richer than France,
if that may be. There, as far as you can see, is a plain of soft green
grass, and the sky is always blue; and there is a lovely grove with
whispering trees laden with fruit of gold; and the fountain of 'life
and love' sparkling with a thousand jets, and from it flows a river
broader and fairer than any in the South Country. Here all day long
you will dance with the angels, clothed in bleaunts of red and green,
and crowned with flowers as at a great tourney; and all your friends
will come to you; there shall be love and no parting, health and no
sickness; nor fear, nor war, nor labor, nor death; and God the Father
will smile on you from His golden throne, and God the Son will be your
dear companion."
So many a poor sufferer flickered out with a smile on his wan lips at
Sebastian's words, while he thought he was catching visions of the
heavenly country, though there was only before his dying eyes the
memory of a sunny vineyard or green-bowered castle beside the stately
Rhone or the circling Loire.
Thus Sebastian spent his day. But Richard heard him repeat many
times--"A miracle! except we be saved by a miracle!" And toward
evening the Norman saw his chaplain deep in talk with the half-witted
priest, Peter Barthelmy, and another Provençal priest named Stephen.
* * * * *
Count Raymond sat at the end of the day in his tent before the castle,
and facing him was Bishop Adhemar. There was no hope, no courage, left
in the army at the close of that gloomy day. Bohemond had had to fire
his followers' barracks to drive them forth to fight on the walls.
When the alarm trumpets sounded an attack, men only muttered, "Better
die by the sword than by a month-long death of starving." Gloomy had
been the dialogue, and at last the Count asked:--
"Dear father, have masses been duly said, and prayers offered Our Lady
that she will plead with Christ for His people?"
And Adhemar answered: "Prayer day and night. All night long I and the
Bishop of Orange lay outstretched after the form of the cross,
beseeching Our Lord. The cry rises to heaven unceasingly. But God
remembers all our sins; there is no sign save of wrath."
And the good Bishop was stirred when he saw a tear on the bronzed
cheek of the great Count of the South. "I must go among the men," said
Raymond; "the saints know I can say little to hearten."
But he was halted by his worthy chaplain, Raymond of Agiles, now grave
and consequential. "My Lord Count, and you, your Episcopal Grace,"
began he, importantly, "there has been a notable mercy vouchsafed this
poor army,--a miracle,--a message sent down from very Heaven!"
"Miracle? Miracle of mercy?" cried the Count, banging his scabbard.
"These are strange words, my good clerk; we have none such to hope for
now!"
"Beware," interposed Adhemar, warningly, for he saw that the chaplain
was flushed and excited. "When men's bodies are weak, the devil finds
his darts lodge easily. Beware, lest Satan has cast over your eyes a
mist, and held out false hopes."
But the chaplain would not be denied.
"Noble lords," quoth he, boldly, "here is a man who declares to me,
'St. Andrew has appeared in a dream, saying, "You shall find the Holy
Lance that pierced our dear Lord's side, and by this talisman overcome
the unbelievers!"' Will you not hear his tale?"
"And who is this fellow?" urged Adhemar.
"Who, save the unlettered and humble priest, Peter Barthelmy, whom
your Episcopal Grace knows well."
Adhemar shook his head hopelessly. "There can be no help in Peter
Barthelmy. There are in the host ten thousand saintlier than he, and
wiser, and no vision has come to them."
"Yes, my Lord Bishop," cried the chaplain, eagerly; "but is it not
written, 'Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and
revealed them unto babes?' Cannot God, who made the dumb ass speak,
and who appeared unto the child Samuel and not to the wise Eli, make
His instrument the untaught clerk Peter of Marseilles?"
There was an honest ring in the chaplain's words and a pious faith
behind them, that made Bishop Adhemar grow humble and cross himself.
"_Mea culpa, Domine_," he muttered, "grant that my pride in my own
high estate and wisdom should be rebuked by making this unlearned
priest indeed Thy instrument of deliverance." Then aloud, "Admit this
man; let us question him, and see if he be of God or Satan." So Count
Raymond waited, and his chaplain went forth and led in the priest
Peter Barthelmy.
A rough-featured, heavy-handed peasant's son was this Peter. He had
gone into holy orders, he scarce knew why; his highest hope had been a
little village "cure," where he could tell saints' stories to the
girls, and baptize the new-born babes, and enjoy a pot of wine on
feast-days, and grow old in peace. But men said that he loved to pray,
was very humble, also was fond of having long and circumstantial
dreams. When he found himself before the great Count of the South, and
Adhemar "the Father of the Army," his speech came thickly, and his
knees smote together under his cassock. But Adhemar, whose heart was
compassion to all save infidels, told him not to fear, if he had a
clean conscience, but to tell them boldly; for they would not despise
him, even if poor, untaught, and a villain's son. So Peter found his
tongue, and his tale ran after this wise:--
During the siege of Antioch, one midnight there had been a great
earthquake, and as Peter called to Heaven in his fear, lo, two men in
bright garments stood before him in his hut,--one young and more
beautiful than any born on earth, the other old, with hairs all gray
and white, his beard long and divided, his eyes black, his countenance
very terrible, and he bore a transverse cross. Then the elder man had
said, "What do you?" And Peter, trembling, answered, "And who are you,
good lord?" Then the other replied: "Arise, and fear not. I am Andrew,
the Apostle. Gather the Bishop of Puy, and the Count of St. Gilles and
Toulouse, and say, 'Why does the Bishop neglect to preach and to warn
and to bless the people?'" Then St. Andrew told Peter he would show
him the lance with which the pagan centurion, Longinus, pierced the
side of Christ, and this lance he must give to Count Raymond, for such
was the will of God. So St. Andrew led Peter through the Saracens into
Antioch to the Church of St. Peter by the north gate, and opened the
ground before the steps of the altar and showed him the lance. And
Peter held in his hand the precious metal, with the water and blood
still rusted upon it. St. Andrew commanded him to go to the church
with twelve men, after the city was taken, and dig, and he should find
it. Then the saint replaced the lance, led Peter back to his own hut,
and disappeared.
"But why did you conceal this so long?" asked Adhemar; "why did you
disobey the Holy Saint?"
"Ah, my Lord Bishop," was the answer, "your Grace sees I am a poor,
stammering wretch. Not once, but four times, has the Holy Saint
appeared to me, warning and threatening, because I feared to make bold
and come before the princes and your Grace with my commission." Then
Peter told how he had tried to escape the commands of the saint, and
how the saint had pursued him, until his fear of punishment from
heaven was greater than his fear of the scoffs of man, and thus he had
come to the Count and Adhemar.
When the priest was finished, the Bishop and Count sent him away, and
sat for a long time deep in thought; for whether he spoke out of
malice, or fancy, or inspiration from above, who might say? The
chaplain, Raymond of Agiles, waited without the tent, and received the
decision of Adhemar.
"Let him abide until to-morrow. During the night let us pray again
earnestly, and see if the night and the morning bring any sign that
the wrath of God is turned away."
So the night came, and a thrill went through all the starving city,
when it was rumored that the Bishop would go to the Church of St.
Peter to offer solemn petition for a sign from God, whether He would
vouchsafe a miracle. And as a hundred thousand despairing eyes watched
the heavens, about midnight there came a sortie of the Turks from the
citadel, and there was fighting in the streets. But, lo! just when the
strife was fiercest, and the Christians almost gave way, there was a
rushing noise in the upper heavens; Crusaders and Moslem saw a great
star of glowing fire rush downward, so that the city and the camps of
Kerbogha were lit bright as day. Then the star burst in three pieces
over the paynim camp, as if God were raining down fire upon the
unbeliever, as upon old Sodom; and for the first time in many weary
days the Christians dared to raise their heads, and cry: "God wills
it! He will still have mercy!"
The night passed; and in the morning there came the priest Stephen,
who went before the princes as they sat in council beneath the castle.
And he in turn told a story that made men cross themselves and mutter
their _Glorias_. For according to Stephen's tale, he had gone to the
Church of the Holy Virgin, believing the Turks were broken in, and
wishing to die in God's house. But when the foe did not come, and all
his companions slept, a young man with a blond beard, the most
beautiful form he had ever seen, appeared to him, and a bright cross
shone above the head, token that this was Our Lord. Then while Stephen
adored, Christ said to him, "I am the God of Battles; tell me the name
of the chief of the army." And Stephen replied, "Lord, there is no one
chief; but Adhemar is most revered." Whereupon Our Lord answered:
"Tell Bishop Adhemar to bid the people return unto me, and I will
return unto them. Let the cavaliers invoke my name when they ride into
battle. And after five days, if my commands are obeyed, I will have
pity on my people." Then at Christ's side appeared a lady, more
beautiful than day, who said, "Lord, it is for these folk in Antioch I
have made intercession for Thy favor." So Our Lord and His Blessed
Mother vanished, and Stephen could hardly wait for the day to tell his
story to the army.
Now when the stories of Stephen and Peter Barthelmy had run through
the host, it was a marvel surpassing to see how the skies were
brightened; and if a man doubted, he stifled his doubts within his
breast, as being little less than blasphemy. Richard Longsword in days
to come was accustomed to wonder what it was that Sebastian had said
to the two priests, when they talked so earnestly together. But he
spoke to no man, only gave thanks in silence.
"Let us cast all sin from our hearts," admonished Adhemar in the
council; "for it is manifest God will not keep His anger forever."
Then all the princes took a great oath to remain faithful to the Holy
War; and when the Arabs cried to the sentries on the walls: "Out,
Franks, out! Show us the Christian valor!" the reply came boldly now:
"Patience, Sons of Perdition! The devil double-heats his fires against
your coming!"
So the appointed five days sped, and though many yet died, the very
famine seemed easier to bear. Every gaunt Frank whetted his sword, and
if prayer and vigil avail aught, or one cry to God from thousands on
thousands, it should have availed them. No more blasphemy and
scoffings now; only one desire: "The lance! the lance! Then rush
against the infidel!"
"Sebastian," said Richard, "do you know, if the lance is not found,
the whole host will curse God; perhaps turn infidel for a loaf of
bread?"
"I know it," came the solemn answer; "but it is sin to doubt."
"Yes, but I am weak in faith. How great is the power of Kerbogha!"
Sebastian's answer was an uplifted hand.
"Would God I could do as did Elisha to his servant, and open your
eyes; for now, as then, the host of the ungodly lie round the city,
but behold the mountains are full of horses and chariots of fire to
deliver the Lord's elect!"