HOW THE ARMY SAW JERUSALEM
Of the weary days passed by Richard Longsword while his wound was
healing, of how Sebastian and Herbert bled him, poulticed him with
poppy leaves, and physicked him with sage, there is no time to tell.
Neither is there space to relate the lesser misfortunes that befell
the Crusaders, after the greatest misfortune at the hands of Kerbogha
had been escaped through Heaven's mercy. For in the days that the army
waited in Antioch a great plague fell upon it, which swept away all
the weak and aged the famine had spared. Chief amongst those taken was
Bishop Adhemar, who was not permitted in this mortal body to see the
triumph of the cause he loved so well. There were quarrels and
desertions amongst the chiefs. Hugh of Vermandois went away to
Constantinople and returned no more. Raymond of Toulouse, and
Bohemond, who took Antioch for his own principality, were at strife
unceasing,--once passing the lie before the very altar. Thus the
season was wasted, and the host frittered away its time around
Antioch. Richard recovered and grew mightily impatient. To Jerusalem
he must go, or the blood of Gilbert de Valmont must rest upon his
soul. Long since the desire of knightly adventure had been fully
sated. But his northern determination was unshaken as ever. His heart
was always running ahead of the loitering host. To sweeten his delay,
a letter had come through a Jew merchant from Tyre. Musa's tale had
been received in Kerbogha's camp; he had been kindly entreated, but he
had at once obtained transport to Tyre, whence he expected a ship for
Egypt. Mary was well. In Egypt she would await the end of the war.
Then, however Allah might rule the issue, Richard would be free to
return homeward, and could receive back Mary safe and spotless from
his brother's care.
So Richard took courage, and counted the days till once more he could
see the pleasant hills of Auvergne, the teeming valley; and dreamed of
the hours when he would sit in the castle halls, with Mary at his
side, and how they would fleet the days under the ancient trees beside
the green-banked fosse, forever, forever. But those blessed days could
not come till the Holy City was ransomed; and no spirit was gladder
than Longsword's when the host started southward in the long-awaited
springtime.
At last the army had begun its final march, not an emir drawing sword
against it; for the fear of Frankish valor had spread over all Islam.
None of the host had desire for besieging any city save Jerusalem, and
when they sat down before Archas they met only discomfiture. But while
before Archas, Peter Barthelmy, puffed with pride, vowed he would
silence those who ventured--after safe lapse of time--to doubt the
miracle of the holy lance. Waxing confident, and boasting new visions
from St. Andrew, he offered himself for the ordeal. In the presence of
the whole host he passed down a lane of blazing fagots. None denied
that he left the flames alive; but a few days later he was dead.
"Impostor," cried the Northern French, who said the fire smote him, as
being a deceiver. But the Provençals called him a martyr, having
passed through the flames unhurt, but trampled down by his enemies in
the throng when he came forth from the fire. As for Sebastian, he
would only cock one eye, when asked of the miracle of the lance, and
keep silence. Once Theroulde said to his face:--
"Father, were you a sinful man, I should say you were itching to
peddle forth a good story."
But the story Sebastian never told.
* * * * *
Soon enough poor Barthelmy's fate was forgotten. For the host was now
treading a soil made sacred by the steps of prophets and apostles and
holy men of old. The Franks forgot weary feet, the long journey and
all its pains, when the march wound under the rocky spurs of Lebanon,
and by the green Sidonian country. From Tyre they saw the blue sea,
behind whose distant sky-line they knew beloved France was lying. They
traversed the plain of Acre, climbed Carmel's towering crest. And now
the swiftest marching seemed feeble. Jerusalem was nigh--Jerusalem,
the city of God, goal of every hope, for whose deliverance myriads had
laid down their lives. The toilsome way through Illyria, the
passage-at-arms at Dorylæum, the march of agony through "Burning
Phrygia," the starving, the death grapple in battle, and the
pestilence at Antioch--all forgotten now! "God wills it! To
Jerusalem!" was the cry that made the eager steps press onward from
sun to sun; and men found the summer nights too long that held them
back. A strange ecstasy possessed the army. Without warning whole
companies would break out into singing, clashing their arms and
running forward with holy gladness.
"God is with us! The saints are with us! Jerusalem is at hand!" was
the shout that flew from lip to lip, as the host passed Sharon, and
prepared to strike off from the coast road for the final burst of
speed across the Judean plains to the Holy City. Richard rode on, as
in an unearthly dream. Half he thought to see legions of angels and
hoary prophets rise from behind each hilltop. When he set eyes on a
great boulder, a thrill passed at the thought, "Jesus Christ doubtless
has looked on this." Almost sacrilege it was for Rollo to pound the
dusty road; blessed dust--had it not felt the mortal tread of fifty
holy ones, now reigning in eternal light?
So the march hastened. When the dusty columns tramped through Lydda,
every man beat his breast, and said his _Pater noster_, in memory of
St. George the warrior, who there had won his martyr's crown. At Ramla
they halted to adore the very ground where Samuel the Prophet of God
had been born.
And now at the end of a day's march they were only sixteen short
miles from Jerusalem, and the leaders held a council. For some who
even to the last were faint-hearted wished to march past Jerusalem and
strike Egypt, since it was said water and provisions were failing
about the Holy City. But Godfrey, standing in the assembly, said after
his pure, trustful manner:--
"We came to Palestine, not to smite the Egyptian kalif, but to free
the tomb of Christ. Bitterly reduced as we are in numbers, let us only
go straight on. Will God, who plucked us out of the clutch of Kilidge
Arslan and Kerbogha, suffer us to fail at the last? Up tents!
weariness, away! and forward this very night!"
Then all the braver spirits cried with one voice: "We will not fail!
God wills it!" So the order spread through the camp, though hardly yet
pitched, to march forward at speed; and when the army heard it they
blessed God, and each man strode his swiftest to be the first to set
eyes on Jerusalem.
It was the evening of the ninth of June in the year of grace one
thousand and ninety-nine; three years and a half since the great cry
had swelled around Urban at Clermont, that the Christian army set out
for this last march to the Holy City. The Christian army--alas! not
the army that had ridden forth from France,--that had arrayed itself
so splendidly on the plains of Nicæa! For of the hundred thousands,
there were scarce fifty thousand left; and of these, twelve thousand
alone were in full state for battle. The bones of the martyrs lined
the long road from the Bosphorus to Judea. Many had fallen behind,
sick; many had turned back craven. But the head of an army dies
hardest; of the twelve thousand warriors that pricked their weary
steeds across the arid Syrian land, not one but was a man of iron with
a soul of steel. Bohemond and Hugh and Stephen of Blois had deserted;
but Robert the Norman was there, with Raymond of Toulouse, Tancred,
and Godfrey, bravest of the brave.
A little after nightfall they struck camp, with the bright eastern
stars twinkling above them. As they marched, they saw before them all
the plains and mountains ablaze, where the commandant of Jerusalem
was burning the outlying villages, to desolate the country against
their coming. Richard Longsword, who rode with Tancred and a picked
corps sent ahead to seize Bethlehem, heard the tales of the despairing
native Christians who came straggling in to greet their deliverers.
They blessed the saints in their uncouth Syriac for the help they had
awaited so long, and bade the Franks be speedy with vengeance; for the
Egyptian governor was breathing out cruelty against the servants of
Christ.
"And who may this commandant be?" demanded the Norman of an old
peasant who spoke a little Greek.
"Iftikhar Eddauleh, once of the cursed Ismaelians, lord," answered the
fugitive, whimpering when he glanced toward his blazing vineyard. "Oh!
press on, for the love of Christ! The Egyptians have driven my son and
my daughter like sheep inside of Jerusalem, to hold as hostages. They
say that the emir even threatens to destroy the tomb of Our Lord in
his mad ragings!"
Richard thundered out a terrible oath.
"Now, by the Trinity and Holy Cross, God do so to me if Iftikhar
Eddauleh long escape the devil! He, emir of Jerusalem! Praised be
every saint, we shall yet stand face to face!"
And under the starlight Rollo, as if knowing that the last stretch of
the weary road had come, ran onward with his long, unflagging gallop.
It was very dark; but the red glare of the villages was sure beacon.
Once Rollo stumbled and barely recovered. Longsword dropped his
companions one by one. A single thought possessed him now,--over those
dark, low-lying hills, barely traced under the stars, lay
Jerusalem--City of God on earth! And in Jerusalem waited his mortal
foe, and the vengeance he had wooed so long! Vengeance, sweet as the
kiss of Mary Kurkuas; sweeter, if so might be. In his revery, as he
galloped, he saw neither hills, nor stars, nor road; he dreamed only
of Trenchefer carving its way through the Ismaelian.
Vengeance, the clearing of his vow, return to France, to love--all
these just on before! Richard was lost in the vision. Suddenly the
click and thunder of a steed at headlong pace shook him from the
revery. What rider this, that gained on Rollo? A voice through the
darkness:--
"Ho! friend; why so fast? Your company!"
It was the voice of Godfrey. Richard had reined instinctively. The
Duke was beside him.
"By St. George, fair lord," cried the Norman, "where is your own
corps? Why ride you here alone?"
Godfrey laughed under his helmet.
"Could I leave Tancred the glory and the boast, 'I first set eyes on
the Holy City'? Under cover of the dark I left Baldwin du Bourg to
bring up my men, and spurred forward. I knew that with me would ride
one whose right arm is none the weakest."
"Forward, then!" returned Richard; "I have joy in your company, my
lord."
"Please God, we shall meet a few infidels and avenge the burned
villages," muttered Godfrey, as they flew on. "Ten paynims to one
Christian are fair odds with Jerusalem so nigh!"
But the wish was unrealized. They rode for a while in silence; met no
more fugitives, nor any of the garrison. Presently the horses fell to
a walk. The light of the burning hamlets died away. Very dark--only in
the farthest east there was a dim redness. No smouldering farmhouse, a
light brightening slowly, slowly. A soft warm southern wind was
creeping across the plain. To the left the twain just saw black cedars
massed in a dark ravine. There was an awe and hush on all the earth.
Behind came the clink of arms, the click of men and steeds; but from
Tancred's company drifted no murmur. Who craved speech at such an
hour? Slower the steps of the horses. A hill slope extended before--a
blank form in the dark. The wind seemed to hush as they advanced.
Richard knew that never in all life had awe possessed him more
utterly. He heard the water trickling in a hidden brooklet. Out of a
tamarisk whirred a wild partridge. How great the noise! Did Rollo
know he trod down holy ground, his great feet fell so softly? The sky
grew brighter--rocks, trees, hillocks springing to being; the
blackness was gray, the gray was tinged with red, the stars were
fading.
Godfrey whispered softly to Richard:--
"From what the pilgrims say, we now climb the Mount of Olives. Before
us lies the chapel of the Ascension, beyond--Jerusalem! Let us kneel
and pray that God make us worthy to behold His Holy City."
The two knights dismounted, fell on their knees, their hearts almost
too full even for silent prayer. "So many agonies, so bitter loss, so
many days! At last! At last!" This was all Richard Longsword knew. He
tried to confess his sins; to say _mea culpa_, but his one thought was
of thanksgiving. With Godfrey he rose and led Rollo by the bridle
upward. They ascended slowly, reverently, counting each rock and
nestling olive tree. And with their mounting, mounted the light. Now
Richard looked back--a wide, dim landscape faded away into the rosy
east, peaks and plain, more peaks all desolate, and farthest of all a
little steel-gray shimmer, where he knew the Dead Sea lay. Still the
light strengthened, making all the landscape red gold; the naked chalk
rock to the west lit with living fire. Behind hasted the whole
van--footmen running abreast of the horsemen, priests outstripping the
warriors, and one priest speeding before all--Sebastian. He overtook
the two knights, breathless with his speed; but the new light not
brighter than the light in his eyes. He said nothing. The three
pressed forward. Four and twenty hours, barely halting, all had
advanced, but who was weary?
Suddenly the host behind broke forth chanting as they toiled
upward,--the psalm tenfold louder in the morning stillness:--
"Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised
In the city of our God, in the mountain of His holiness.
Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth,
Is Mount Zion, on the sides of the north,
The city of the great King."
The chant went up to heaven and seemed to call forth more light from
the glowing east. Suddenly every voice hushed,--silence as never
before. For all thoughts went deeper than word or cry. The last mist
stole upward, a thin gray haze; the sun-ball hung behind the highest
peak of Moab. His tip crept above it; Longsword glanced back. A cry
from Sebastian recalled him.
"Jerusalem!"
It came as a great cry and sigh in one from the priest. He had cast
himself on the bare summit and kissed the holy rock.
Richard and Godfrey looked westward, and bathed in the dawn--_they saw
the Holy City_. They saw gray walls and a dim brown country, naked
almost of tree or shrub, and white houses peering above frowning
battlements. Dominating over all they saw the dome of the mosque on
the Sacred Rock,--token of the enemies of Christ. What mattered it
now?
"Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" the cry was passing down the line, and made
the climbing easy as though on eagle's wings.
"Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" Richard saw strong men falling on their faces,
as had he. And his and every other's cheek was wet, for tears would
come,--no shame when they looked upon the city of their risen Lord!
Gray stones and brown cliffs, thorns and thistles, dust and drought,
naked plains, burned by blasting heat; so be it! This their goal, the
object of an untold agony! Could human hearts be filled so full and
not break? Godfrey flung his arms about Richard, and their iron lips
exchanged the kiss of awful gladness. Words they had none, save that
one word. They named the Holy City a thousand times: "Jerusalem!
Jerusalem!" And men prayed God then and there to die, for already
their souls were wrapt to heaven. Tancred the haughty, who had just
come up, saw at his side a simple man-at-arms, a plodding peasant's
son; but the great Prince had forgotten all, save that for both one
Saviour died.
"My brother! My brother in Christ!" Tancred was pleading, as he gave
the kiss of love, "Pray for me! pray for me! I am a very sinful man!"
They remained thus upon the mountain, weeping and laughing and
stretching forth their hands, till the sun had risen far above the
mountains. Had the Egyptians sallied forth to smite, scarce a sword
would have flashed, so dear seemed martyrdom. But at length the hour
of transfiguration was past. Godfrey had risen for the last time from
his knees. He mounted and pointed with his good sword to the minarets
and the clusters of spears upon the lowering battlements.
"Forward, Christians!" rang the command; "the infidels still hold the
City of God! Forward! there is yet one fight to be won in Our Lord's
dear name!"
Then another cry thundered from the army, each blade leaping from
scabbard:--
"God wills it! God wills it!" And the unbelievers must have seen the
Mount of Olives a sea of flashing steel, while the bulwarks of Zion
rang with the shouting.
"Yes," Richard heard from Sebastian, bowing low his head, "this truly
is the will of God! The hour of my deliverance from this evil world is
nigh."
The ranks closed, and as the host marched down the slopes of Olivet,
the priests sang, advancing:--
"Blessed City, heavenly Salem,
Vision dear of Peace and Love,
Who of living stones art builded,
Art the joy of Heaven above,
And with angel cohorts circled,
As a bride to earth doth move!"
Then the whole army rolled out the mighty _Gloria_:--
"Laud and honor to the Father!
Laud and honor to the Son!
Laud and honor to the Spirit!
Ever Three and ever One!
Con-substantial, Co-eternal!
While unending ages run!"
So the cliffs echoed back the singing, the Christian host moved
onward, driving the last squadrons of the Egyptians inside the walls,
and sending divisions southward to raise Tancred's standard over
Bethlehem. All that day the Crusaders streamed over the heights of
Emmaus, raising the song of Isaiah:--
"Awake, awake, O Jerusalem: break forth into joy: put on thy
beautiful garments: for the Lord hath comforted His people: He
hath redeemed Zion."
But Richard had driven Rollo close to the Gate of St. Stephen, mocking
a cloud of infidel arrows, and on the walls directing the garrison, he
had seen a figure in gilded armor he would have known among ten
thousand. That night, if his vows against Iftikhar Eddauleh had been
strong, they were threefold stronger now.