HOW MORGIANA BROUGHT WARNING
How, as related in his letter, Musa had entered the camp of Kerbogha,
made his guileful tale believed, and escaped safely with Mary Kurkuas
to Tyre, we have no need to tell. When the Spaniard was landed at that
city, he dreamed unwisely that his troubles were at an end. An easy
voyage to Damietta, an easy journey to Cairo, and at Cairo a spacious
palace awaited him as emir in service to the Fatimite Mustaali. There
the Greek could spend the time in quiet and luxury until the Crusade
had run its course. But, again, Musa was to learn that the book of
doom contains many things contrary to the wish of man. While at Tyre a
letter came from the omnipotent grand vizier, Al Afdhal, ordering him
to hasten at once to Jerusalem and assume the post of second in
command. A high honor; and the vizier added that the Spaniard had been
given this signal trust, both because all in Cairo had learned to put
confidence in his valor and discretion, and because the Christians
would be sure to reach the city soon, where the defenders should be
familiar with their warfare.
Musa spent half a day in vain maledictions over this letter. By
refusing the kalif's daughter he had put his neck in peril once; to
decline this second honor would be to invite the bowstring. Hardly
could he bring himself to lay his dilemma before the Greek. She had
been lodged with all honor in the harem of the Egyptian governor of
the city, for Musa had passed her before the world as his own
Christian slave. When the Spaniard came to her, he professed himself
willing to throw over his position in Egypt and fly to Tunis, if she
bade him. But Mary only smiled and shook her head. "Dear friend," said
she, "you shall go to no more pains on my behalf. The Holy Mother
knows I spend many an evening crying when I think of all the brave
men, just and base, who have died or run perils for my sinful sake."
"Then what am I to do?" protested the Spaniard, with one of his
eloquent gestures. "Go to Jerusalem?"
Mary was silent for a long time; then said directly:--
"Ah, Musa, I am Christian bred, but were all Moslems like you, I could
hate none. Leave that to the priests, like Sebastian! If you go to
Jerusalem and the Christians attack, as attack they will, you will
defend the city, will fight to the last?"
Musa nodded soberly. "Would to Allah I could do anything else! But
Jerusalem is scarce less sacred to my people than to yours. To us it
is '_El Kuds_,' the 'Sanctuary of Allah'; and even _I_"--and he smote
his breast--"must die in the breach or on the walls before an armed
Frank enter!"
Mary looked at him, and saw by his face more than by the words that he
would indeed die if put to the last gasp.
"Musa," she said softly, throwing that grave light into her eyes which
had made Richard cry he saw all heaven therein, "you speak truly. God
keep you safe; but, Christian or Moslem, you must follow the path that
duty opens. You must go to Jerusalem, for so your Allah clearly
wills!"
"And," protested the Spaniard, "I shall send you to Cairo? You will be
lonely in the great harem of my palace, with only servants and eunuchs
to wait on you. For I must conform to the customs of my country, and
let no lady in my care wander forth."
Mary shook her head in violent dissent.
"Why should I not go with you to Jerusalem? If the city falls, will
not my husband be at hand to receive me? If the defence is made
good,"--she stared hard at the pavement,--"I know my Richard Longsword
will not live to see defeat; and then--"
She broke short; her eyes were bright with tears.
"_Wallah!_ what may I say to comfort you?" cried the Andalusian, in
distress. But Mary sprang from the divan and stood before him, eye
meeting eye.
"Musa," she said quietly, "I am a woman, and Heaven gives me a few
wits. I know well what Richard said to you that moment he drew you
aside before we were parted near Antioch."
The Spaniard reddened and stirred uneasily. As if by sympathy, the
Greek flushed also; but she continued:--
"Dear Musa, we can best speak plainly one to another. Whether you have
ever borne love for woman as Richard has borne love for me, I greatly
doubt. Strange man, once I was angry, even while I blessed you, that
when so many professed love, your only word was friendship. But all
that is past now. I am the wedded wife of your dearest comrade. If he
die, save Baron Hardouin in Provence, I have no other friend in the
wide earth but you. If Richard dies, and Heaven is kind, I shall not
live long. But people cannot die when they wish. If my husband is
taken away, it is right that you should possess me. I cannot give you
the deepest love; nor expect it from you. But so long as you live, I
shall be content--for, saving Richard Longsword, you are the purest,
noblest--Christian or Moslem--who treads God's earth."
Mary outstretched her hand to the Spaniard, who did not take it, but
knelt and kissed the hem of her dress.
"Star of the Greeks," he said, smiling after his soft, melancholy way,
"how good that we can look into one another's eyes and see 'trust'
written therein. May the All-Merciful put far the day that will make
you other than my brother's wife! But you shall go to Jerusalem."
Mary pressed her hands to her forehead.
"Holy Mother," she cried, "is it mercy to send Richard and Musa both
to Jerusalem, where one must surely die!"
The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders. "If the Most-High watch over my
brother, waste no tears in fear for me. I shall live or die, as is
fated, and the day of death is fixed, be a man on battle-field or on
his bed."
"Your destiny is cruel," declared the Greek. But Musa answered,
"Destiny is the will of Allah, and even the hard things from Him are
sent in mercy."
* * * * *
So Mary fared by easy journeys to Jerusalem, and not to Cairo. In the
Holy City they said the lieutenant-commandant kept a lady in his
harem, but that wakened no comment. Musa had means and rank to secure
a comfortable house on the north of the city, by the Gate of Herod; to
fit it with all needful luxury, to provide Nubian eunuchs and Syrian
serving-maids. The Greek had learned at Aleppo to be content with the
close harem life, and Musa went to all lengths to please her. When he
could spare time, he read and sang to her all day long; played chess
and backgammon; matched her in contests of verse; repeated his
jugglery tricks. He provided books in plenty--the Arabian histories;
Macoudi's "Prairies of Gold," the great geography; and Greek
manuscripts--Homer, Sophocles, Plato, and more. The Spaniard loved to
sit at Mary's feet, hearing her read in her own rich native accent the
hexameters that throbbed with the wrath of Achilles, and all the other
stories of the old pagan world so long departed. Mary took all his
attention with a kind of mute wonder, having long since ceased to
marvel at his devotion. "Am I not utterly in his power?" she would say
to herself. "Could he not take me forever from Richard Longsword by
his mere wish?" So she would be silent, admiring the friendship that
could go to lengths like this. For though they constantly talked of
the Norman, Musa never breathed a word that was not to Richard's
praise--of his valor, purity, steadfastness, and lofty purpose,
telling Mary often that she was wedded to the noblest cavalier in
Frankland or Islam.
So for Mary at Jerusalem, as for Richard at Antioch, the slow winter
crept by. And in the spring came the news that the Christian host was
coming southward by forced marches. Musa's face was sad when he
brought Mary the tidings, though it was only what each had expected.
But neither was prepared for the sudden thunderbolt that crashed upon
them just as the Christians broke camp before Archas. A messenger came
into the city from Cairo, bringing word that Iftikhar Eddauleh, the
one-time Ismaelian chief, had landed at Alexandria, been received with
high favor by the kalif and vizier, appointed to the chief command at
Jerusalem, and was on his way thither with heavy reënforcements for
the garrison. Musa--ran the vizier's orders--was to retain his post as
second; and with two such officers, so well schooled in the
Christians' mode of warfare, the kalif made no doubt of a successful
defence.
No opportunity for drawing back now. A new embassy was being sent to
the Franks to try to halt their march by a peace at the last moment.
But Musa feared to intrust it with a letter for Richard, as the
members were all appointed by Iftikhar himself, who arrived in
Jerusalem almost as soon as the first messenger. The Spaniard
presented himself to his chief at the Castle of David, the mighty
stronghold on the western wall of the city. When the two cavaliers met
face to face, without a word to Musa, Iftikhar ordered every guard and
slave out of his presence, and the twain stood staring hard at one
another for a long time in silence. Presently Musa said simply:--
"Cid Iftikhar, we have been personal enemies, and owe each other many
a grudge; but this is no time nor place for private broils. I am your
lieutenant, ready to die in defence of _El Kuds_. Command me in
anything touching my duty as a soldier, and I obey to the last."
Iftikhar's face was very stern when he answered:--
"You say well, my Lord Musa. At a convenient time Allah grant that I
may reckon with you. Only with Richard the Norman have I an account
that is longer. But to-day let us toil as one man for the defence of
Jerusalem; for, as the All-Just reigns, we have no light task before
us!"
"Then," asked the Spaniard, "until the city is saved we are at truce?"
"At truce," assented Iftikhar, nodding. But he would not accept Musa's
proffered hand. And when the Spaniard went back to Mary he cautioned
her gravely to remain close in the harem. Likewise he sent many of his
servants out of the city, retaining only those most trusty;
admonishing all not to breathe on the streets or to their gossips that
a Grecian lady was lodged in his palace.
But now came a series of days, each more terrible for Mary than the
one before. Musa would have told her little, but he found that keeping
back the news made her grieve yet more; therefore he related all. As
the Franks advanced, Iftikhar had sent out his squadrons and laid
waste the country for leagues about, filling up the wells, scarce
leaving one house standing, that the Christians might find no comfort
or provision. On this work Musa had ridden, though he loved it little.
At last the Christians were at hand; and Mary, looking from her harem
balcony, saw the hills covered with the familiar Frankish armor and
the white-stoled priests and the forest of tossing lances. But though
the eunuchs and city folk cowered and whimpered, Mary knew the
Egyptian garrison was made of stouter stuff,--not blind fanatics, like
the Ismaelians, but men who would defend the walls to the last.
On the next day Mary was fain to lie in her chamber, stopping her
ears, and pleading with every saint; for the Christians were
assaulting. Then at evening came silence. Musa returned, dust-covered,
his cheek bleeding where an arrow grazed, but safe; and Mary knew the
onslaught had failed. With her own hands she stripped off the weary
Spaniard's armor.
"The Christians rush on ruin," was his bitter tale. "With only one
ladder they tried to scale. With a second they might have mastered.
They endured our rain of bolts, stones, and Greek fire as if pelted by
dry leaves. They have perished by hundreds. Well that Allah is
all-wise; He alone knows the need of this war!"
"And Richard?" asked Mary, scarce venturing the word.
"I saw him all reckless, in his open steel cap! My heart turned to ice
when he began to climb the ladder with Trenchefer in his teeth. He
laughed at our arrows. A stone overturned the ladder; he fell, then
rose unhurt from under a heap of slain, and was about to mount once
more when a priest--Sebastian, doubtless--dragged him out of view."
Mary blessed the saints for this mercy, and was constant in prayer;
for women could only pray while strong men had the easier deeds of
fighting and dying. While the Christians were building their siege
engines, there were no more assaults. But this only postponed the days
of evil. Mary could see that Musa was laboring under extreme
excitement. In her presence he affected his old-time gayety and
playful melancholy. But once she caught him in an unguarded moment,
gazing upon her so fixedly, that had he been Iftikhar, she would have
thrilled with danger; and once she overheard him in his chamber crying
aloud to Allah as if beseeching deliverance from some great
temptation, and from the evil jinns that were tearing his breast.
"Dear Musa," said Mary, "what is it that makes you grow so sad?"
But the only answer was the gentle laugh, and the remark,
"_Wallah_,--and with your Christians pressing us night and day, and
all preparing for the death grip, will you marvel I am not always
merry?"
"True," she replied; "but I know it is not the siege that darkens
you."
Musa said nothing. In fact she saw him seldom. The wretched Jerusalem
Christians were kept at forced labor on the walls, and sight of their
piteous state made Mary hate all Moslems save the Spaniard. Presently
rumor had it the Franks had completed their engines. Mary saw the
great procession around the city, after the fashion of the Israelites
around Jericho,--the priests, the knights, the men-at-arms, a great
company that marched from the valley of Rephaim, beside Calvary, to
the Mount of Olives, where they halted for exhortings to brave deeds,
by the chieftains and priests. The hymns and brave words Mary did not
hear; but she did hear the blasphemies of the Moslems, as from the
walls they held up crosses in the sight of all the Christians, heaping
filth upon them, and shouting, "Look, Franks, look; behold the blessed
cross!" But the Greek knew deep down in her heart that they blasphemed
to their own destruction; and Musa half shared her thought, when that
night he parted from her to go upon the walls.
"Star of the Greeks," he said, salaaming, "the Christians' engines are
ready, and their host in array to attack with the morning. Allah alone
knows what we shall see by another sunset. Keep close within the
harem. I cannot return until about this time to-morrow evening."
And he was gone, leaving Mary to pass a sleepless night with awaking
to a wretchedness she had never felt before. Not dread for herself
this time. Richard would be face to face with death--and Musa! What if
_both_ should be cut down! Then let Iftikhar Eddauleh or any other
demon in mortal guise possess her; this world would be one blackness,
and trifles would matter little. She tossed on her pillow till
daybreak, then rose to greater misery. What mockery to pray; to cry to
God and the saints! If they were all righteous, why had they created
in her that stubborn will which would not bow to their decree? Under
her lattice in the narrow dirty streets the corps of the garrison were
rushing to and fro. She could see the ebon Ethiopians clashing their
huge targets and sabres as they ran toward the walls, while the
war-horns and kettledrums blared and boomed unceasingly.
"This way, true believers!" came the shout. "The Franks are advancing.
He who speeds one Christian to hell blots out ten thousand sins!" But
over the din of arms sounded the cry of the muezzins from the Mosque
el-Aksa, and all the other lesser fanes, calling the people to prayer.
Looking up at a minaret close by, Mary could see the pigeons still
nesting under the balcony; and when the waves of clangor hushed an
instant, she could hear the coo, coo, of mate to mate, as if the brown
earth were calm and peaceful as the azure dome.
So the day commenced. As the sun climbed higher, the rock on which
Jerusalem was founded trembled under the crash of bursting war. Mary,
sitting upon the house roof, could hear all the tumult in the city
streets, and see the garrison massing on the battlements by the Gate
of Herod.
How long a day! The eunuchs, timorous as their mistress, gave her
little heed. But a few grapes and figs were all the food the Greek
cared to touch. About the third hour of the morning she knew the
conflict was joined. From that time till sunset the roar of assault
and defence went up to heaven as one continuous thunder. The shouts of
Christian and Moslem; the crash of mangonel and catapult; the hurtling
of myriad arrows and stones,--all these made a raging babel that spoke
but a single word--"Death!" For Mary, it was one long-drawn terror.
Long since had she, with her woman's heart, ceased to care whether the
blessed Christ or Allah reigned within the bulwarks of the Holy City.
She only knew that her husband and a man who had become dearer to her
than a brother were in the midst of that chaos. Again and again she
heard a mighty crash from the battlements, sounding above the unending
din, that told of a triumph won by besiegers or besieged. Twice her
heart leaped to her throat, as shrieking men flew down the street,
calling on Allah to "have mercy; the city was taken." And twice again
others passed, bawling out their _Bismillahs_, telling how the Franks
had been utterly crushed. It was noon, and still the thunders grew
louder. The third hour after noon; were the heavens of adamant that
they did not crack asunder at the roaring? The fourth hour, and under
the balcony galloped an Egyptian officer.
"_Allah akhbar!_ Rejoice, O Moslems! The Christians have been repulsed
on all hands!" he was proclaiming; "they will never assault again. The
Lord Iftikhar has made a sally from the breach, and all their engines
are burning!"
"Victory for the true faith! _Allah akhbar!_" shouted the squadrons
that raged after him. "To the gates! a sally! cut off the Franks ere
they can flee to the hills!"
Mary bowed her head. The Franks repulsed, defeated, scattered; the
Crusade lost, and Richard Longsword,--never, the Greek knew well,
would her husband turn back from a stricken field to breathe out his
fiery spirit on his bed. But the clangor of arms and shouting did not
die away. The sun was dropping lower now, but the battle seemed
blazing hotter than when the day was young. In the street women and
city-folk ran this way and that. From their cries Mary knew not what
to think. To remain longer on the housetop she could not, though Musa
commanded a thousand times. She must know the worst or die. The
cowering maids and eunuchs gave her never a thought. She cast a veil
about her face and rushed down into the street. The way was plain
before her. In a great press of soldiers, citizens, and shrieking
women, she was swept on toward the Gate of Herod, scarce knowing
whither she went. As she moved on blindly, jostled and thrust about by
rude hands, she knew that the din was lessening, the thunder from the
walls intermitting. Now, as she looked toward the battlements, she
could see the engineers making fast the machines, the archers running
from the towers. Through the gate was pouring a cavalry corps, the
horses bleeding and panting, the men battered and bleeding also. Many
bore shivered lances; many brandished red blades; many toiled wearily
on foot. It needed none to tell her that the sally had failed, else
why did the great gate clash to in a twinkling the instant the last
rider passed under? And in through the closing portal rang the good
French war-cry, almost at the riders' heels, "_Montjoie St. Denis!_"
So the Franks had been repulsed, but not scattered. The leaguer had
not been raised. There must be other days of horror.
"St. Theodore guide me!" prayed Mary to herself, "I must be back
instantly. Musa would be justly angry if he found me in this throng."
And she turned from the gate, thankful, yet fearful. What had befallen
Richard and Musa that day of blood? The multitude surged backward,
carrying her toward the inner city. In the rude press the veil was
swept from her face. She knew that soldiers were pointing at her, and
passing the word "Look--a houri!" But she heeded little, only forced
her way up the narrow street to regain the house. The throng made
space for her, for they knew she was an emir's lady, and many improper
deeds were forgiven on a day like this. She reached the friendly
portal; reëntered the harem. The cowering maids and eunuchs stared at
her dishevelled hair and dress, but hardly knew that she had been
gone. Mary returned to her post on the housetop, and from the shouting
in the street below learned that the Christian attack on the walls had
been entirely repulsed, but that Iftikhar had lost many men in the
sally. Just after sunset came a cavalryman with a note scribbled on a
bit of dirty vellum.
"Musa to the ever adorable Star of the Greeks. Allah has kept
Richard Longsword safe through battle. I also am well. I think
the Christian machines so wrecked by our Greek fire, no assaults
will take place for many days. I will come to you before
midnight. Farewell."
A brief letter, but it made the dying light on the western clouds very
golden to Mary Kurkuas. So Richard lived, and Musa also. What
thoughtfulness of the Spaniard to imagine her fears and send
reassurance! The buzzing streets grew calmer. She heard the muezzins
calling the evening "_maghreb_ prayer" over the city. The eunuchs had
so far awakened from their terror as to be able to bring her a few
sweet cakes and some spiced wine. The Greek felt little weariness,
despite her sleepless night. She would await Musa, hear from him the
story of the battle, and how he knew Richard was well. With a quieting
heart she left the roof balcony, ordered a lamp in her harem chamber,
opened the book-closet and began to unroll her Pindar. She was just
losing herself in the rhythm and splendor of a "Nemean" when a eunuch
interrupted with his salaam.
"A woman to see the _Citt_ Mary,--who will not be denied." Before Mary
could answer, the curtain had been thrust aside, and she saw in the
dim glint of the lamp the face of Morgiana!