HOW TRENCHEFER WAS BROKEN
Again high noon. The Syrian sun beat pitilessly, but Richard and his
peers thought little of sun or star that Friday as they toiled on the
levers and ropes of the great _beffroi_, the siege tower of Godfrey.
From daybreak they had been urging the ponderous fabric across rock
and ravine, though its three tall stories of rough-hewn timber quaked
and tottered on the rollers, though its facing of undressed hides had
turned a hundred blazing arrows. Half the day they had wrought, while
their crossbowmen vainly strove to quench the showers of missiles the
Nubians rained upon them. Now, with the tower five hundred feet from
its goal, lo! all the sally-ports and the broad gates of Herod and of
St. Stephen were flung wide, and forth sallied the garrison,--ebon
devils whose only whiteness was their teeth.
"At them, Christians! Forward, in Our Lady's name!" rang the cry of
Duke Godfrey. Then all around the tower had surged the battle, the
infidels calling "Fire!" and the Christians struggling to save it; but
in the end the Moslems were flung back, thinned and saddened by
Frankish bolts and blades. Richard, in one moment of the succeeding
calm, breathed a prayer of praise to Heaven, "_Gloria!_ _Gloria!_ At
last! At last!" for he knew that the final hour was drawing nigh. And
in the lead of the Nubians, and last of them to turn back, had he not
seen that figure in gilded mail he had singled for his vengeance? At
the thought of that vengeance even the vision of Mary grew dim, and
the weight of his own sins was forgotten. Therefore of all the mad
spirits, that day of glory and of wrath, none was madder than he, and
none strained the pulleys harder.
Four hundred feet still to cover; four hundred leagues seemingly were
traversed easier! For while the great tower lumbered on, groaning as a
dragon at his death, the unbelievers set new engines on the walls and
smote the Christians, even as God smote Sodom and Gomorrah. After the
arrow hail came the catapult darts of two ells long, and stones of a
man's own weight blew down as snow from the housetops. After the darts
and the stones came things more terrible--glass vessels spitting fire;
whereupon all the ground had turned to flame, and from the tower rose
smoke and the crashing of timbers.
"Greek fire! Hell loosened! Save who can!" went up the wail of the
Christians. But the great Bouillon, treading amid the flames as
through a gentle rain, called above the din: "Christ is still with us!
Forward in His Name!" Then all courage returned. They brought vinegar
and quenched the burning earth. The _beffroi_ shook off the fire and
crept onward.
Three hundred feet now! The tower was swayed each instant by the shock
of the Moslem enginery--darts, stones, fire; it withstood them all.
Around the gilded crucifix, fixed high above the summit, a thousand
screeching arrows of the infidels had sped. It stood unscathed against
the calm blue sky, as amid a realm of eternal peace; and the
Christians, looking upon the image of their Lord, rejoiced and pressed
forward.
Then again the sally-ports were opened; a second sortie more furious
than the last. This time the champion in gilded mail laid about him
among the Christians as if Satan's self were raging against God's
saints. Richard pressed hard toward him to cross swords; but the
strife held them asunder. Gaston of Béarn measured strength with the
arch-infidel, and all the Franks groaned when they saw the Viscount
fall. But his vassals sprang over him, and locked their shields around
him, making the Moslem champion give back. Godfrey, who was cast with
Richard for a moment, asked, "And is this not Iftikhar Eddauleh?" The
answer was a nod of the head, but he heard behind the closed helm
which Longsword, contrary to wont, was wearing, the words muttered,
"Father, mother, sister, brother," and knew the Egyptian would need
all his might that day.
So for a second time they fought, and for a second time, though two
Moslems sallied forth to one of the Christians, the defence found
Frankish steel too keen. Their chief strove to rally them, but in
vain. Only his sweeping blows thrust back the hardy knights, who
followed the unbelievers to the very drawbridge. The gates clanged in
the face of the assault, and again from battlement and flanking tower
pelted the storm of death. But the _beffroi_ still crept on.
Two hundred feet. Tower and wall were so close that the Christian
bowmen on the summit could begin to shed a counter rain of missiles
upon the infidels to quench that dashing from their enginery. Richard,
toiling at the lever, saw a man-at-arms, who was working a catapult,
fall, stricken through by a heavy bolt. The Egyptians raised a yell of
triumph from the walls; the machine stood useless. Instantly out of
the press around the tower rushed a priest--Sebastian! no armor save
the holy armor of his white stole. The paynim shafts buzzed over him;
to flies he would have paid greater heed. Richard saw the man of
fasting and prayer lay the great arrow, draw home the huge bow, press
the lever. There was a howl of rage on the walls,--the tall Ammar had
fallen under the shaft. Richard ran to the priest's side.
"Back, father!" shouted he, "you rush on death!"
The priest left his toil to kneel beside a stricken bowman. None save
the dying heard his voice; but he pointed to the glittering Christ on
the sky-raised crucifix. There was a smile on the face when Sebastian
laid the head of the dead gently down. The priest looked Richard
calmly in the eye, though an arrow flew between them while he spoke.
"I must be about my Father's business," was all he said. Without more
words he was back at the catapult, bending, levelling, shooting more
than one infidel at every bolt. High above the clangor swelled his
voice at each triumph. "Die, Canaanite! die, Amorite! Thou art my
battle-axe and weapons of war! With thee will I break in pieces the
nations! I will break in pieces captains and rulers!"
Richard knew he was in God's hands and left him. The Christian
enginery was at last beginning to tell. Under their missiles he saw
the battlements crumbling; dared he hope he saw the firm curtain-wall
totter? Richard knew it was long past noon. When last had he touched
food or drink or tasted sleep? But when he thought of the deeds to be
done ere sunset, and saw that figure in gilded mail upon the walls, he
dwelt no more on thirst or slumber.
One hundred feet; every finger's length bought with ten lives, but the
price was not in vain. Men were beginning to count the moments before
they could set foot on the rampart. Yet at this point a terrible rumor
flew through the army. "The vinegar fails! We cannot master the fire!"
And as if bad news was borne by the fleeting winds, the Moslems
instantly rained down more flame-pots, then still more, when nothing
quenched them. In a twinkling the rock below the walls seemed burning,
the rawhide facing of the tower scorched, a great cry of agony rose
heavenward from the Franks.
"The devil fights against us!" howled many. But, as before, the word
of Godfrey was better than ten thousand fresh sword-hands. "Stand by!
Christ is greater than the devil!" he commanded. And Renard of Toul
cried, "Forward, cavaliers; now is the time to die!" But Godfrey
answered him, "Now is the time in Christ's strength to live." When the
news came that Raymond's and Tancred's attacks had failed, his only
shout was, "Praised then be St. Michael, for to us is left the
victory!"
Then it was the Franks bore witness to their faith; for even the
Moslems trembled when they saw those terrible knights of the West
standing amid the hail of darts, while the firm soil belched flame,
the tower was wrapped in smoke,--beating the fires with their swords,
casting on earth with their hands, wrestling at the levers, though the
levers themselves were burning, and still forcing the _beffroi_
onward, onward!
For men were past hoping, fearing, suffering, now. In the sweet
delirium their lives went out without a pang, though their bodies were
flaming. And the last sight of the dying was the great crucifix and
the Christ thereon, emblem of sacrifice before which lesser sacrifice
was counted nothing. Not a Christian engine was working; the most were
fast turning to ashes. But the tower, while it blazed, toiled forward.
The burning grass at Antioch had been nothing beside this valley of
death; but the wall was becoming very near. For the thousandth time
Richard was straining at his lever, when Godfrey came to him.
"All is lost, De St. Julien!" came the hoarse whisper.
"Lost? And why lost, my lord?" said Richard, with a dreadful calmness.
"Hist! Look on the ground before; it slopes downward to the moat. The
engineers have blundered. When the tower is tilted its crest will be
below the battlement; we cannot mount upon the wall."
Richard stared upward through the smoke.
"We can beat down the battlement; it is yielding."
"Are you St. George?" cried the Duke; "every mangonel burns."
Longsword pointed to the left. "All burning save one!" his answer.
There was one mangonel so close under the walls that when all its crew
were shot dead no others had ventured to man it.
"As Christ died," came from Godfrey, "put that at the foot of the
walls; find a breach in ten _credos_ or the fire triumphs."
The men of St. Julien followed their seigneur. At last they knew they
should fulfil their vow. The garrison, when it saw them, turned on
their company all manner of fire and death. But the Auvergners who
lived never counted their dead. By main force they tugged the mangonel
up beside the _beffroi_, trampled out the flame for an instant. A
flying stone shivered Longsword's shield; Herbert thrust his own on
Richard's arm, a plain shield with only the red cross of the Crusade.
De Carnac fell while they set the rock of half a mule's weight in
place; their seigneur pressed up the huge counterpoise; drew the rope.
The long arm swept creaking into the air; every war-cry died while the
huge missile sped. The rock smote the battlement where the first
attacks had weakened it. The upper face of the curtain wall crumbled
inward. Out of the wreck a murk of dust was rising. For fifty feet the
battlement had been beaten down far lower than was the summit of the
tower.
"Forward again! For the love of Christ! Forward!" Godfrey's voice; and
it swelled into the sound of ocean waves as ten thousand throats
reëchoed it. The Moslems were uplifting a howl of wild despair. Did
they fight men or sheytans, whose home was flame? But Richard saw the
champion of the gilded mail still on the ramparts. The tower was now
springing toward the wall as if a spirit of life had entered, so many
were the eager hands. The infidel fires were spent. The Christian
bowmen were shooting so pitilessly, not an Egyptian catapult was
working. Up the dizzy ladder on the rear face of the tower Longsword
clambered in spite of armor. The drawbridge at the crest the stones
had long since dashed to flinders; what matter? For Heaven suffered
two long beams from one of the defenders' engines to fall outward. The
Crusaders caught them, laid them side by side,--a bridge with width of
half an ell,--a dizzy height below, but beyond, Jerusalem!
* * * * *
Men tell that it was the end of the third hour of that Friday
afternoon,--at the very moment Jesus Christ cried, on the Cross, "It
is finished!"--that the tower of Godfrey was brought beside the walls;
and the cavaliers, who had faced death so many times that day,
gathered on its summit, to enter the Holy City. To right and left the
walls had been swept bare of defenders by the bowmen. The cry passed
that a warrior in arms of white stood on the Mount of Olives, waving
his shield to urge on God's soldiers,--St. George, patron of holy
victory. But though the other Moslems were fled away, there was one
who remained steadfast. As Longsword gained the crest of the tower, he
saw at the head of the narrow bridge that figure in gilded mail, with
sword bared, helmet closed, twenty Christian bolts glancing off his
panoply while he awaited the first to cross. And every Frankish voice
cried, "Iftikhar, emir of Jerusalem!"
Already upon the crest were standing the great Duke himself and Renard
of Toul, Baldwin du Bourg, and many more. Yet for an instant none
started--for it seemed tempting God to tread that bridge with fifty
feet to the rock-hewn moat below, then meet the thrust of that
cimeter. At Godfrey's call the bowmen threw over the Moslem a cloud of
arrows; but the gilded mail was proof. Still he stood,--then with the
courtliest flourish to his foes, drew back three steps from the head
of the perilous bridge, leaving a foothold for his challenger. Again
he stood guard, and all the Christians shouted, "A gallant knight,
though infidel!" while the Duke bade the bowmen spare him; so notable
a cavalier must die at a cavalier's own hands. There was an eager rush
of those who would cross first, and smite the first blow,--Longsword
eagerest of all. But a stranger knight leaped before him. The Frank
sped over the dizzy path; stood upon the shattered wall. Once the
swords met; but at the second blow the Christian dashed backward into
the empty air--they heard the clang of his armor in the moat below.
"My prey!" pleaded Richard. But to his bitter wrath again, De Valmont
had leaped before him, crossed the bridge, and all men kept silent
while the Auvergner put forth all might and skill. Then of a sudden
they saw the Moslem's thin blade lash under Louis's heavy weapon,
smite full upon the side, and De Valmont went backward also. As he
tumbled, a projecting beam broke his fall. In the moat they saw his
stirrings, and cried out, "Still alive!" Men sought him, exclaiming,
"Miracle!" But a great awe had come on the Christians. Who was this
that could smite Sir Louis at ten passes? Godfrey thrust himself
forward.
"Make way, fair knights! I, myself, will meet this paladin!" But
Richard held him, as he touched the bridge.
"This is my own foe, my lord; your promise!"
Godfrey turned, and Richard shook the lightnings out of Trenchefer, as
he ran across the narrow way. With him went a great prayer half
uttered by the whole host,--"_Dominus tecum!_" as every man saw him
standing with his feet on the brink of death, his face toward the
infidel.
Richard showed naught but calmness. He trod the perilous path quickly
as though he sought his bride. Trenchefer felt light as a rush to his
strong right arm. The wall, the moat, the death below, he never saw;
his eyes were only for that gilded mail--the mail of Iftikhar. This
was the moment for which he had wept, had prayed! Behind that hated
armor he saw forms never again to be met on earth--mother, father,
sister, brother. He thought of the pains of his wife, and his own long
sorrow. He was proud of the splendor, the valor, of the Moslem,--the
greater glory in the victory. God had indeed willed that he should hew
the last of the way to Jerusalem.
[Illustration: "THE INFIDEL GAVE WAY"]
Scarce had he taken stand on the shattered parapet before the infidel
was paying him blow for blow. At the third fence Longsword knew he had
met his match, for no mean cavalier with a cimeter's light blade could
turn a downright stroke of Trenchefer. At the fourth Richard took one
step back--another would have sent him beyond love and hate. But his
rage rose in him; at the fifth the infidel gave way. A great stillness
was around; the sun was sinking in unclouded brightness; the
Egyptians, cowering behind their battlements, bated their prayers to
Allah as they gazed; the Christians forgot to invoke Our Lady.
Richard, finding that a few smith's blows were profitless, fell to a
slow and steady foil and fence; putting forth all his art, and every
pass and feint that had never failed before. But he marvelled as he
fought, seeing his subtlest strokes turned by that thin blade, which
he deemed to have brushed away in a twinkling. Had he never before
fenced with that cunning hand? The Moslem's shield now shattered;
Longsword swept his blade low and parried; in a flash the other passed
his cimeter from right hand to left, and the weapon dashed full upon
the Norman's shoulder, ere he could raise Trenchefer. But the Valencia
"ring-mail"--Musa's gift--was yet proof. Ere the Moslem could strike
twice, Richard recovered, cast away his own shield, and pressed
closer.
At a sweeping stroke of Trenchefer he slipped, and all the Franks
moaned. But the infidel--gallant as his foe--did not press home the
chance. Richard stood again, and struck as never before. "Paladins
both!" rang from the Christians. Now at last men knew Longsword fought
for life, not for vengeance only. Again the Franks began to tremble.
"The Egyptians rally; new companies mount the walls!" thundered Duke
Godfrey; "beat them back or all is lost!"
The crossbowmen stood to their task like good men and true. They swept
away the Nubians clustering on the battlements, but others swarmed
after. A moment more, and not one but a hundred blades would close the
perilous bridge.
"Across with a rush; sweep the champion down!" cried many Christians.
But the great Duke answered, "Either in knightly fashion or not at
all, let us take Jerusalem." His word was scarce spoken before one
vast shout made the tower rock with the quaking earth, "_Gloria tibi,
Domine!_" Trenchefer had sprung aloft; the cimeter flew to parry; the
Norman's blade turned flatwise, but no mortal arm could have borne up
against that stroke. The Christian drove home upon the shoulder,
beating in the armor, though he might not pierce. The Moslem's weapon
flew from his hand; he staggered, fell upon the walls, while past him
and his victor leaped the exulting Franks.
Richard stood erect, but panting, while the brothers Lethalde and
Engelbert of Tournai leaped upon the upper battlement, and with them
Baldwin du Bourg and Reimbault Creton, mighty cavaliers all. A cry
went up that would drown every other din that day of strife, "_God
wills it!_" flung to the bending heavens. The Egyptians upon the
walls fought at bay--how vainly! Richard knew the great day had come;
the Holy City was won, his arch foe smitten; the journey, the agony,
the pouring of the wine of life, had not been vain. God had remembered
the toils of His people. Then, as he looked, he saw Sebastian in his
white robe, leaping across the bridge. But just as his foot touched
the crumbled wall, a chance arrow from some despairing Nubian caught
him fairly on the breast. He fell, the white stole fast turning red.
Richard caught him in his arms.
"Father," he pleaded, "dearest father, you will not die; see, the
victory!"
Sebastian's lips were moving. Richard bent low--a woman's name,
"Philippa." "Philippa?" the name of the priest's boy love? Who might
say? But at this instant Sebastian started from Richard's arms, and
pointed upward. "Look!" and Longsword beheld Godfrey setting the great
crucifix from the tower upright upon the battlement of the Holy City.
Sebastian's face glowed with an awful smile. He had seen it, Gregory's
vision--_the Cross triumphant on the walls of Jerusalem_.
"Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace," came the thin voice,
"according to Thy word, for mine eyes have seen--" but the rest was
heard by the angels about the Throne.
Richard gently lowered the head, stood, and stared about. Already the
slaughter was begun on the walls and in the streets. From the Gate of
St. Stephen thundered the battle-axes of Tancred and his host, whose
strength swelled with the victory. Two thoughts were foremost in
Longsword's mind,--"Mary; the Spaniard." He had not seen Musa on the
walls. What had befallen? They were crying, "No quarter, slay!" He
must act quickly. Suddenly his eye passed from Sebastian to the form
of his victim. Holy Mother! the infidel stirred,--he was not dead! The
casque was slipping back from the Moslem's face. The wounded man half
raised himself, put forth a hand, and pushed away the helmet. Not for
ten kingdoms would Richard have looked upon that face; but he could
not turn away. And when the casque fell, Longsword beheld the face of
Musa, son of Abdallah.
Those passing across the bridge heard a cry of pain that followed them
to their dying bed. They saw Richard Longsword uplift Trenchefer with
both his arms, and dash it upon the rock. Midway the great blade of
the Vikings snapped asunder, and almost with a mortal groan.
"Dear God," called Richard, "is it thus at last the price of Gilbert's
blood is paid!"
Then they beheld that man, who had wrestled with fire and death from
dawn, cast his own helmet away, snatch the infidel in his arms,
soothing and whispering like a woman, while his tears ran freely, as
those of a little child.