THE TALISMAN

By Sir Walter Scott, Bart.




INTRODUCTION TO THE TALISMAN.

The "Betrothed" did not greatly please one or two friends, who
thought that it did not well correspond to the general title of
"The Crusaders."  They urged, therefore, that, without direct
allusion to the manners of the Eastern tribes, and to the
romantic conflicts of the period, the title of a "Tale of the
Crusaders" would resemble the playbill, which is said to have
announced the tragedy of Hamlet, the character of the Prince of
Denmark being left out.  On the other hand, I felt the difficulty
of giving a vivid picture of a part of the world with which I was
almost totally unacquainted, unless by early recollections of the
Arabian Nights' Entertainments; and not only did I labour under
the incapacity of ignorance--in which, as far as regards Eastern
manners, I was as thickly wrapped as an Egyptian in his fog--but
my contemporaries were, many of them, as much enlightened upon
the subject as if they had been inhabitants of the favoured land
of Goshen.  The love of travelling had pervaded all ranks, and
carried the subjects of Britain into all quarters of the world.
Greece, so attractive by its remains of art, by its struggles for
freedom against a Mohammedan tyrant, by its very name, where
every fountain had its classical legend--Palestine, endeared to
the imagination by yet more sacred remembrances--had been of late
surveyed by British eyes, and described by recent travellers.
Had I, therefore, attempted the difficult task of substituting
manners of my own invention, instead of the genuine costume of
the East, almost every traveller I met who had extended his route
beyond what was anciently called "The Grand Tour," had acquired a
right, by ocular inspection, to chastise me for my presumption.
Every member of the Travellers' Club who could pretend to have
thrown his shoe over Edom was, by having done so, constituted my
lawful critic and corrector.  It occurred, therefore, that where
the author of Anastasius, as well as he of Hadji Baba, had
described the manners and vices of the Eastern nations, not only
with fidelity, but with the humour of Le Sage and the ludicrous
power of Fielding himself, one who was a perfect stranger to the
subject must necessarily produce an unfavourable contrast.  The
Poet Laureate also, in the charming tale of "Thalaba," had shown
how extensive might be the researches of a person of acquirements
and talent, by dint of investigation alone, into the ancient
doctrines, history, and manners of the Eastern countries, in
which we are probably to look for the cradle of mankind; Moore,
in his "Lalla Rookh," had successfully trod the same path; in
which, too, Byron, joining ocular experience to extensive
reading, had written some of his most attractive poems.  In a
word, the Eastern themes had been already so successfully handled
by those who were acknowledged to be masters of their craft, that
I was diffident of making the attempt.

These were powerful objections; nor did they lose force when they
became the subject of anxious reflection, although they did not
finally prevail.  The arguments on the other side were, that
though I had no hope of rivalling the contemporaries whom I have
mentioned, yet it occurred to me as possible to acquit myself of
the task I was engaged in without entering into competition with
them.

The period relating more immediately to the Crusades which I at
last fixed upon was that at which the warlike character of
Richard I., wild and generous, a pattern of chivalry, with all
its extravagant virtues, and its no less absurd errors, was
opposed to that of Saladin, in which the Christian and English
monarch showed all the cruelty and violence of an Eastern sultan,
and Saladin, on the other hand, displayed the deep policy and
prudence of a European sovereign, whilst each contended which
should excel the other in the knightly qualities of bravery and
generosity.  This singular contrast afforded, as the author
conceived, materials for a work of fiction possessing peculiar
interest.  One of the inferior characters introduced was a
supposed relation of Richard Coeur de Lion--a violation of the
truth of history which gave offence to Mr. Mills, the author of
the "History of Chivalry and the Crusades," who was not, it may
be presumed, aware that romantic fiction naturally includes the
power of such invention, which is indeed one of the requisites of
the art.

Prince David of Scotland, who was actually in the host, and was
the hero of some very romantic adventures on his way home, was
also pressed into my service, and constitutes one of my DRAMATIS
PERSONAE.

It is true I had already brought upon the field him of the lion
heart.  But it was in a more private capacity than he was here to
be exhibited in the Talisman--then as a disguised knight, now in
the avowed character of a conquering monarch; so that I doubted
not a name so dear to Englishmen as that of King Richard I. might
contribute to their amusement for more than once.

I had access to all which antiquity believed, whether of reality
or fable, on the subject of that magnificent warrior, who was the
proudest boast of Europe and their chivalry, and with whose
dreadful name the Saracens, according to a historian of their own
country, were wont to rebuke their startled horses.  "Do you
think," said they, "that King Richard is on the track, that you
stray so wildly from it?"  The most curious register of the
history of King Richard is an ancient romance, translated
originally from the Norman; and at first certainly having a
pretence to be termed a work of chivalry, but latterly becoming
stuffed with the most astonishing and monstrous fables.  There is
perhaps no metrical romance upon record where, along with curious
and genuine history, are mingled more absurd and exaggerated
incidents.  We have placed in the Appendix to this Introduction
the passage of the romance in which Richard figures as an ogre,
or literal cannibal.

A principal incident in the story is that from which the title is
derived.  Of all people who ever lived, the Persians were perhaps
most remarkable for their unshaken credulity in amulets, spells,
periapts, and similar charms, framed, it was said, under the
influence of particular planets, and bestowing high medical
powers, as well as the means of advancing men's fortunes in
various manners.  A story of this kind, relating to a Crusader of
eminence, is often told in the west of Scotland, and the relic
alluded to is still in existence, and even yet held in
veneration.

Sir Simon Lockhart of Lee and Gartland made a considerable figure
in the reigns of Robert the Bruce and of his son David.  He was
one of the chief of that band of Scottish chivalry who
accompanied James, the Good Lord Douglas, on his expedition to
the Holy Land with the heart of King Robert Bruce.  Douglas,
impatient to get at the Saracens, entered into war with those of
Spain, and was killed there.  Lockhart proceeded to the Holy Land
with such Scottish knights as had escaped the fate of their
leader and assisted for some time in the wars against the
Saracens.

The following adventure is said by tradition to have befallen
him:--

He made prisoner in battle an Emir of considerable wealth and
consequence.  The aged mother of the captive came to the
Christian camp, to redeem her son from his state of captivity.
Lockhart is said to have fixed the price at which his prisoner
should ransom himself; and the lady, pulling out a large
embroidered purse, proceeded to tell down the ransom, like a
mother who pays little respect to gold in comparison of her son's
liberty.  In this operation, a pebble inserted in a coin, some
say of the Lower Empire, fell out of the purse, and the Saracen
matron testified so much haste to recover it as gave the Scottish
knight a high idea of its value, when compared with gold or
silver.  "I will not consent," he said, "to grant your son's
liberty, unless that amulet be added to his ransom."  The lady
not only consented to this, but explained to Sir Simon Lockhart
the mode in which the talisman was to be used, and the uses to
which it might be put.  The water in which it was dipped operated
as a styptic, as a febrifuge, and possessed other properties as a
medical talisman.

Sir Simon Lockhart, after much experience of the wonders which it
wrought, brought it to his own country, and left it to his heirs,
by whom, and by Clydesdale in general, it was, and is still,
distinguished by the name of the Lee-penny, from the name of his
native seat of Lee.

The most remarkable part of its history, perhaps, was that it so
especially escaped condemnation when the Church of Scotland chose
to impeach many other cures which savoured of the miraculous, as
occasioned by sorcery, and censured the appeal to them,
"excepting only that to the amulet, called the Lee-penny, to
which it had pleased God to annex certain healing virtues which
the Church did not presume to condemn." It still, as has been
said, exists, and its powers are sometimes resorted to.  Of late,
they have been chiefly restricted to the cure of persons bitten
by mad dogs; and as the illness in such cases frequently arises
from imagination, there can be no reason for doubting that water
which has been poured on the Lee-penny furnishes a congenial
cure.

Such is the tradition concerning the talisman, which the author
has taken the liberty to vary in applying it to his own purposes.

Considerable liberties have also been taken with the truth of
history, both with respect to Conrade of Montserrat's life, as
well as his death.  That Conrade, however, was reckoned the enemy
of Richard is agreed both in history and romance.  The general
opinion of the terms upon which they stood may be guessed from
the proposal of the Saracens that the Marquis of Montserrat
should be invested with certain parts of Syria, which they were
to yield to the Christians.  Richard, according to the romance
which bears his name, "could no longer repress his fury.  The
Marquis he said, was a traitor, who had robbed the Knights
Hospitallers of sixty thousand pounds, the present of his father
Henry; that he was a renegade, whose treachery had occasioned the
loss of Acre; and he concluded by a solemn oath, that he would
cause him to be drawn to pieces by wild horses, if he should ever
venture to pollute the Christian camp by his presence.  Philip
attempted to intercede in favour of the Marquis, and throwing
down his glove, offered to become a pledge for his fidelity to
the Christians; but his offer was rejected, and he was obliged to
give way to Richard's impetuosity."--HISTORY OF CHIVALRY.

Conrade of Montserrat makes a considerable figure in those wars,
and was at length put to death by one of the followers of the
Scheik, or Old Man of the Mountain; nor did Richard remain free
of the suspicion of having instigated his death.

It may be said, in general, that most of the incidents introduced
in the following tale are fictitious, and that reality, where it
exists, is only retained in the characters of the piece.

ABBOTSFORD, 1st July, 1832

*


APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.

While warring in the Holy Land, Richard was seized with an ague.

The best leeches of the camp were unable to effect the cure of
the King's disease; but the prayers of the army were more
successful.  He became convalescent, and the first symptom of his
recovery was a violent longing for pork.  But pork was not likely
to be plentiful in a country whose inhabitants had an abhorrence
for swine's flesh; and

"Though his men should be hanged,
They ne might, in that countrey,
For gold, ne silver, ne no money,
No pork find, take, ne get,
That King Richard might aught of eat.
An old knight with Richard biding,
When he heard of that tiding,
That the kingis wants were swyche,
To the steward he spake privyliche--
"Our lord the king sore is sick, I wis,
After porck he alonged is;
Ye may none find to selle;
No man be hardy him so to telle!
If he did he might die.
Now behoves to done as I shall say,
Tho' he wete nought of that.
Take a Saracen, young and fat;
In haste let the thief be slain,
Opened, and his skin off flayn;
And sodden full hastily,
With powder and with spicery,
And with saffron of good colour.
When the king feels thereof savour,
Out of ague if he be went,
He shall have thereto good talent.
When he has a good taste,
And eaten well a good repast,
And supped of the BREWIS [Broth] a sup,
Slept after and swet a drop,
Through Goddis help and my counsail,
Soon he shall be fresh and hail.'
The sooth to say, at wordes few,
Slain and sodden was the heathen shrew.
Before the king it was forth brought:
Quod his men, 'Lord, we have pork sought;
Eates and sups of the brewis SOOTE,[Sweet]
Thorough grace of God it shall be your boot.'
Before King Richard carff a knight,
He ate faster than he carve might.
The king ate the flesh and GNEW [Gnawed] the bones,
And drank well after for the nonce.
And when he had eaten enough,
His folk hem turned away, and LOUGH.[Laughed]
He lay still and drew in his arm;
His chamberlain him wrapped warm.
He lay and slept, and swet a stound,
And became whole and sound.
King Richard clad him and arose,
And walked abouten in the close."

An attack of the Saracens was repelled by Richard in person, the
consequence of which is told in the following lines :-

"When King Richard had rested a whyle,
A knight his arms 'gan unlace,
Him to comfort and solace.
Him was brought a sop in wine.
'The head of that ilke swine,
That I of ate!' (the cook he bade,)
'For feeble I am, and faint and mad.
Of mine evil now I am fear;
Serve me therewith at my soupere!'
Quod the cook, 'That head I ne have.'
Then said the king, 'So God me save,
But I see the head of that swine,
For sooth, thou shalt lesen thine!'
The cook saw none other might be;
He fet the head and let him see.
He fell on knees, and made a cry--
'Lo, here the head!  my Lord, mercy!'"

The cook had certainly some reason to fear that his master would
be struck with horror at the recollection of the dreadful banquet
to which he owed his recovery; but his fears were soon
dissipated.

"The swarte vis [Black face] when the king seeth,
His black beard and white teeth,
How his lippes grinned wide,
'What devil is this?' the king cried,
And 'gan to laugh as he were wode.
'What!  is Saracen's flesh thus good?
That never erst I nought wist!
By God's death and his uprist,
Shall we never die for default,
While we may in any assault,
Slee Saracens, the flesh may take,
And seethen and roasten and do hem bake,
[And] Gnawen her flesh to the bones!
Now I have it proved once,
For hunger ere I be wo,
I and my folk shall eat mo!"'

The besieged now offered to surrender, upon conditions of safety
to the inhabitants; while all the public treasure, military
machines, and arms were delivered to the victors, together with
the further ransom of one hundred thousand bezants.  After this
capitulation, the following extraordinary scene took place.  We
shall give it in the words of the humorous and amiable George
Ellis, the collector and the editor of these Romances:--

"Though the garrison had faithfully performed the other articles
of their contract, they were unable to restore the cross, which
was not in their possession, and were therefore treated by the
Christians with great cruelty.  Daily reports of their sufferings
were carried to Saladin; and as many of them were persons of the
highest distinction, that monarch, at the solicitation of their
friends, dispatched an embassy to King Richard with magnificent
presents, which he offered for the ransom of the captives.  The
ambassadors were persons the most respectable from their age,
their rank, and their eloquence.  They delivered their message in
terms of the utmost humility; and without arraigning the justice
of the conqueror in his severe treatment of their countrymen,
only solicited a period to that severity, laying at his feet the
treasures with which they were entrusted, and pledging themselves
and their master for the payment of any further sums which he
might demand as the price of mercy.

"King Richard spake with wordes mild.
'The gold to take, God me shield!
Among you partes [Divide] every charge.
I brought in shippes and in barge,
More gold and silver with me,
Than has your lord, and swilke three.
To his treasure have I no need!
But for my love I you bid,
To meat with me that ye dwell;
And afterward I shall you tell.
Thorough counsel I shall you answer,
What BODE [Message] ye shall to your lord bear.

"The invitation was gratefully accepted.  Richard, in the
meantime, gave secret orders to his marshal that he should repair
to the prison, select a certain number of the most distinguished
captives, and, after carefully noting their names on a roll of
parchment, cause their heads to be instantly struck off; that
these heads should be delivered to the cook, with instructions to
clear away the hair, and, after boiling them in a cauldron, to
distribute them on several platters, one to each guest, observing
to fasten on the forehead of each the piece of parchment
expressing the name and family of the victim.

"'An hot head bring me beforn,
As I were well apayed withall,
Eat thereof fast I shall;
As it were a tender chick,
To see how the others will like.'

"This horrible order was punctually executed.  At noon the guests
were summoned to wash by the music of the waits.  The king took
his seat attended by the principal officers of his court, at the
high table, and the rest of the company were marshalled at a long
table below him.  On the cloth were placed portions of salt at
the usual distances, but neither bread, wine, nor water.  The
ambassadors, rather surprised at this omission, but still free
from apprehension, awaited in silence the arrival of the dinner,
which was announced by the sound of pipes, trumpets, and tabours;
and beheld, with horror and dismay, the unnatural banquet
introduced by the steward and his officers.  Yet their sentiments
of disgust and abhorrence, and even their fears, were for a time
suspended by their curiosity.  Their eyes were fixed on the king,
who, without the slightest change of countenance, swallowed the
morsels as fast as they could be supplied by the knight who
carved them.

"Every man then poked other;
They said, 'This is the devil's brother,
That slays our men, and thus hem eats!'

"Their attention was then involuntarily fixed on the smoking
heads before them.  They traced in the swollen and distorted
features the resemblance of a friend or near relation, and
received from the fatal scroll which accompanied each dish the
sad assurance that this resemblance was not imaginary.  They sat
in torpid silence, anticipating their own fate in that of their
countrymen; while their ferocious entertainer, with fury in his
eyes, but with courtesy on his lips, insulted them by frequent
invitations to merriment.  At length this first course was
removed, and its place supplied by venison, cranes, and other
dainties, accompanied by the richest wines.  The king then
apologized to them for what had passed, which he attributed to
his ignorance of their taste; and assured them of his religious
respect for their characters as ambassadors, and of his readiness
to grant them a safe-conduct for their return.  This boon was all
that they now wished to claim; and

"King Richard spake to an old man,
'Wendes home to your Soudan!
His melancholy that ye abate;
And sayes that ye came too late.
Too slowly was your time y-guessed;
Ere ye came, the flesh was dressed,
That men shoulden serve with me,
Thus at noon, and my meynie.
Say him, it shall him nought avail,
Though he for-bar us our vitail,
Bread, wine, fish, flesh, salmon, and conger;
Of us none shall die with hunger,
While we may wenden to fight,
And slay the Saracens downright,
Wash the flesh, and roast the head.
With OO [One] Saracen I may well feed
Well a nine or a ten
Of my good Christian men.
King Richard shall warrant,
There is no flesh so nourissant
Unto an English man,
Partridge, plover, heron, ne swan,
Cow ne ox, sheep ne swine,
As the head of a Sarazyn.
There he is fat, and thereto tender,
And my men be lean and slender.
While any Saracen quick be,
Livand now in this Syrie,
For meat will we nothing care.
Abouten fast we shall rare,
And every day we shall eat
All as many as we may get.
To England will we nought gon,
Till they be eaten every one.'"
      ELLIS'S SPECIMENS OF EARLY ENGLISH METRICEL ROMANCES.

The reader may be curious to know owing to what circumstances so
extraordinary an invention as that which imputed cannibalism to
the King of England should have found its way into his history.
Mr. James, to whom we owe so much that is curious, seems to have
traced the origin of this extraordinary rumour.

"With the army of the cross also was a multitude of men," the
same author declares, "who made it a profession to be without
money.  They walked barefoot, carried no arms, and even preceded
the beasts of burden in their march, living upon roots and herbs,
and presenting a spectacle both disgusting and pitiable.

"A Norman, who, according to all accounts, was of noble birth,
but who, having lost his horse, continued to follow as a foot
soldier, took the strange resolution of putting himself at the
head of this race of vagabonds, who willingly received him as
their king.  Amongst the Saracens these men became well known
under the name of THAFURS (which Guibert translates TRUDENTES),
and were beheld with great horror from the general persuasion
that they fed on the dead bodies of their enemies; a report which
was occasionally justified, and which the king of the Thafurs
took care to encourage.  This respectable monarch was frequently
in the habit of stopping his followers, one by one, in a narrow
defile, and of causing them to be searched carefully, lest the
possession of the least sum of money should render them unworthy
of the name of his subjects.  If even two sous were found upon
any one, he was instantly expelled the society of his tribe, the
king bidding him contemptuously buy arms and fight.

"This troop, so far from being cumbersome to the army, was
infinitely serviceable, carrying burdens, bringing in forage,
provisions, and tribute; working the machines in the sieges; and,
above all, spreading consternation among the Turks, who feared
death from the lances of the knights less than that further
consummation they heard of under the teeth of the Thafurs."
[James's "History of Chivalry."]

It is easy to conceive that an ignorant minstrel, finding the
taste and ferocity of the Thafurs commemorated in the historical
accounts of the Holy Wars, has ascribed their practices and
propensities to the Monarch of England, whose ferocity was
considered as an object of exaggeration as legitimate as his
valour.

ABBOTSFORD, 1st July, 1832.

*




TALES OF THE CRUSADERS.    TALE II.--THE TALISMAN.

*



CHAPTER I.

They, too, retired
To the wilderness, but 'twas with arms.    PARADISE REGAINED.

The burning sun of Syria had not yet attained its highest point
in the horizon, when a knight of the Red Cross, who had left his
distant northern home and joined the host of the Crusaders in
Palestine, was pacing slowly along the sandy deserts which lie in
the vicinity of the Dead Sea, or, as it is called, the Lake
Asphaltites, where the waves of the Jordan pour themselves into
an inland sea, from which there is no discharge of waters.

The warlike pilgrim had toiled among cliffs and precipices during
the earlier part of the morning.  More lately, issuing from those
rocky and dangerous defiles, he had entered upon that great
plain, where the accursed cities provoked, in ancient days, the
direct and dreadful vengeance of the Omnipotent.

The toil, the thirst, the dangers of the way, were forgotten, as
the traveller recalled the fearful catastrophe which had
converted into an arid and dismal wilderness the fair and fertile
valley of Siddim, once well watered, even as the Garden of the
Lord, now a parched and blighted waste, condemned to eternal
sterility.

Crossing himself, as he viewed the dark mass of rolling waters,
in colour as in duality unlike those of any other lake, the
traveller shuddered as he remembered that beneath these sluggish
waves lay the once proud cities of the plain, whose grave was dug
by the thunder of the heavens, or the eruption of subterraneous
fire, and whose remains were hid, even by that sea which holds no
living fish in its bosom, bears no skiff on its surface, and, as
if its own dreadful bed were the only fit receptacle for its
sullen waters, sends not, like other lakes, a tribute to the
ocean.  The whole land around, as in the days of Moses, was
"brimstone and salt; it is not sown, nor beareth, nor any grass
groweth thereon."  The land as well as the lake might be termed
dead, as producing nothing having resemblance to vegetation, and
even the very air was entirely devoid of its ordinary winged
inhabitants, deterred probably by the odour of bitumen and
sulphur which the burning sun exhaled from the waters of the lake
in steaming clouds, frequently assuming the appearance of
waterspouts.  Masses of the slimy and sulphureous substance
called naphtha, which floated idly on the sluggish and sullen
waves, supplied those rolling clouds with new vapours, and
afforded awful testimony to the truth of the Mosaic history.

Upon this scene of desolation the sun shone with almost
intolerable splendour, and all living nature seemed to have
hidden itself from the rays, excepting the solitary figure which
moved through the flitting sand at a foot's pace, and appeared
the sole breathing thing on the wide surface of the plain.  The
dress of the rider and the accoutrements of his horse were
peculiarly unfit for the traveller in such a country.  A coat of
linked mail, with long sleeves, plated gauntlets, and a steel
breastplate, had not been esteemed a sufficient weight of armour;
there were also his triangular shield suspended round his neck,
and his barred helmet of steel, over which he had a hood and
collar of mail, which was drawn around the warrior's shoulders
and throat, and filled up the vacancy between the hauberk and the
headpiece.  His lower limbs were sheathed, like his body, in
flexible mail, securing the legs and thighs, while the feet
rested in plated shoes, which corresponded with the gauntlets.  A
long, broad, straight-shaped, double-edged falchion, with a
handle formed like a cross, corresponded with a stout poniard on
the other side.  The knight also bore, secured to his saddle,
with one end resting on his stirrup, the long steel-headed lance,
his own proper weapon, which, as he rode, projected backwards,
and displayed its little pennoncelle, to dally with the faint
breeze, or drop in the dead calm.  To this cumbrous equipment
must be added a surcoat of embroidered cloth, much frayed and
worn, which was thus far useful that it excluded the burning rays
of the sun from the armour, which they would otherwise have
rendered intolerable to the wearer.  The surcoat bore, in several
places, the arms of the owner, although much defaced.  These
seemed to be a couchant leopard, with the motto, "I sleep; wake
me not."  An outline of the same device might be traced on his
shield, though many a blow had almost effaced the painting.  The
flat top of his cumbrous cylindrical helmet was unadorned with
any crest.  In retaining their own unwieldy defensive armour, the
Northern Crusaders seemed to set at defiance the nature of the
climate and country to which they had come to war.

The accoutrements of the horse were scarcely less massive and
unwieldy than those of the rider.  The animal had a heavy saddle
plated with steel, uniting in front with a species of
breastplate, and behind with defensive armour made to cover the
loins.  Then there was a steel axe, or hammer, called a mace-of-
arms, and which hung to the saddle-bow.  The reins were secured
by chain-work, and the front-stall of the bridle was a steel
plate, with apertures for the eyes and nostrils, having in the
midst a short, sharp pike, projecting from the forehead of the
horse like the horn of the fabulous unicorn.

But habit had made the endurance of this load of panoply a second
nature, both to the knight and his gallant charger.  Numbers,
indeed, of the Western warriors who hurried to Palestine died ere
they became inured to the burning climate; but there were others
to whom that climate became innocent and even friendly, and among
this fortunate number was the solitary horseman who now traversed
the border of the Dead Sea.

Nature, which cast his limbs in a mould of uncommon strength,
fitted to wear his linked hauberk with as much ease as if the
meshes had been formed of cobwebs, had endowed him with a
constitution as strong as his limbs, and which bade defiance to
almost all changes of climate, as well as to fatigue and
privations of every kind.  His disposition seemed, in some
degree, to partake of the qualities of his bodily frame; and as
the one possessed great strength and endurance, united with the
power of violent exertion, the other, under a calm and
undisturbed semblance, had much of the fiery and enthusiastic
love of glory which constituted the principal attribute of the
renowned Norman line, and had rendered them sovereigns in every
corner of Europe where they had drawn their adventurous swords.

It was not, however, to all the race that fortune proposed such
tempting rewards; and those obtained by the solitary knight
during two years' campaign in Palestine had been only temporal
fame, and, as he was taught to believe, spiritual privileges.
Meantime, his slender stock of money had melted away, the rather
that he did not pursue any of the ordinary modes by which the
followers of the Crusade condescended to recruit their diminished
resources at the expense of the people of Palestine--he exacted
no gifts from the wretched natives for sparing their possessions
when engaged in warfare with the Saracens, and he had not availed
himself of any opportunity of enriching himself by the ransom of
prisoners of consequence.  The small train which had followed him
from his native country had been gradually diminished, as the
means of maintaining them disappeared, and his only remaining
squire was at present on a sick-bed, and unable to attend his
master, who travelled, as we have seen, singly and alone.  This
was of little consequence to the Crusader, who was accustomed to
consider his good sword as his safest escort, and devout thoughts
as his best companion.

Nature had, however, her demands for refreshment and repose even
on the iron frame and patient disposition of the Knight of the
Sleeping Leopard; and at noon, when the Dead Sea lay at some
distance on his right, he joyfully hailed the sight of two or
three palm-trees, which arose beside the well which was assigned
for his mid-day station.  His good horse, too, which had plodded
forward with the steady endurance of his master, now lifted his
head, expanded his nostrils, and quickened his pace, as if he
snuffed afar off the living waters which marked the place of
repose and refreshment.  But labour and danger were doomed to
intervene ere the horse or horseman reached the desired spot.

As the Knight of the Couchant Leopard continued to fix his eyes
attentively on the yet distant cluster of palm-trees, it seemed
to him as if some object was moving among them.  The distant form
separated itself from the trees, which partly hid its motions,
and advanced towards the knight with a speed which soon showed a
mounted horseman, whom his turban, long spear, and green caftan
floating in the wind, on his nearer approach showed to be a
Saracen cavalier.  "In the desert," saith an Eastern proverb, "no
man meets a friend."  The Crusades was totally indifferent
whether the infidel, who now approached on his gallant barb as if
borne on the wings of an eagle, came as friend or foe--perhaps,
as a vowed champion of the Cross, he might rather have preferred
the latter.  He disengaged his lance from his saddle, seized it
with the right hand, placed it in rest with its point half
elevated, gathered up the reins in the left, waked his horse's
mettle with the spur, and prepared to encounter the stranger with
the calm self-confidence belonging to the victor in many
contests.

The Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an Arab horseman,
managing his steed more by his limbs and the inflection of his
body than by any use of the reins, which hung loose in his left
hand; so that he was enabled to wield the light, round buckler of
the skin of the rhinoceros, ornamented with silver loops, which
he wore on his arm, swinging it as if he meant to oppose its
slender circle to the formidable thrust of the Western lance.
His own long spear was not couched or levelled like that of his
antagonist, but grasped by the middle with his right hand, and
brandished at  arm's-length above his head.  As the cavalier
approached his enemy at full career, he seemed to expect that the
Knight of the Leopard should put his horse to the gallop to
encounter him.  But the Christian knight, well acquainted with
the customs of Eastern warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good
horse by any unnecessary exertion; and, on the contrary, made a
dead halt, confident that if the enemy advanced to the actual
shock, his own weight, and that of his powerful charger, would
give him sufficient advantage, without the additional momentum of
rapid motion.  Equally sensible and apprehensive of such a
probable result, the Saracen cavalier, when he had approached
towards the Christian within twice the length of his lance,
wheeled his steed to the left with inimitable dexterity, and rode
twice around his antagonist, who, turning without quitting his
ground, and presenting his front constantly to his enemy,
frustrated his attempts to attack him on an unguarded point; so
that the Saracen, wheeling his horse, was fain to retreat to the
distance of a hundred yards.  A second time, like a hawk
attacking a heron, the heathen renewed the charge, and a second
time was fain to retreat without coming to a close struggle.  A
third time he approached in the same manner, when the Christian
knight, desirous to terminate this illusory warfare, in which he
might at length have been worn out by the activity of his foeman,
suddenly seized the mace which hung at his saddle-bow, and, with
a strong hand and unerring aim, hurled it against the head of the
Emir, for such and not less his enemy appeared.  The Saracen was
just aware of the formidable missile in time to interpose his
light buckler betwixt the mace and his head; but the violence of
the blow forced the buckler down on his turban, and though that
defence also contributed to deaden its violence, the Saracen was
beaten from his horse.  Ere the Christian could avail himself of
this mishap, his nimble foeman sprung from the ground, and,
calling on his steed, which instantly returned to his side, he
leaped into his seat without touching the stirrup, and regained
all the advantage of which the Knight of the Leopard hoped to
deprive him.  But the latter had in the meanwhile recovered his
mace, and the Eastern cavalier, who remembered the strength and
dexterity with which his antagonist had aimed it, seemed to keep
cautiously out of reach of that weapon of which he had so lately
felt the force, while he showed his purpose of waging a distant
warfare with missile weapons of his own.  Planting his long spear
in the sand at a distance from the scene of combat, he strung,
with great address, a short bow, which he carried at his back;
and putting his horse to the gallop, once more described two or
three circles of a wider extent than formerly, in the course of
which he discharged six arrows at the Christian with such
unerring skill that the goodness of his harness alone saved him
from being wounded in as many places.  The seventh shaft
apparently found a less perfect part of the armour, and the
Christian dropped heavily from his horse.  But what was the
surprise of the Saracen, when, dismounting to examine the
condition of his prostrate enemy, he found himself suddenly
within the grasp of the European, who had had recourse to this
artifice to bring his enemy within his reach!  Even in this
deadly grapple the Saracen was saved by his agility and presence
of mind.  He unloosed the sword-belt, in which the Knight of the
Leopard had fixed his hold, and, thus eluding his fatal grasp,
mounted his horse, which seemed to watch his motions with the
intelligence of a human being, and again rode off.   But in the
last encounter the Saracen had lost his sword and his quiver of
arrows, both of which were attached to the girdle which he was
obliged to abandon.  He had also lost his turban in the struggle.

These disadvantages seemed to incline the Moslem to a truce.  He
approached the Christian with his right hand extended, but no
longer in a menacing attitude.

"There is truce betwixt our nations," he said, in the lingua
franca commonly used for the purpose of communication with the
Crusaders; "wherefore should there be war betwixt thee and me?
Let there be peace betwixt us."

"I am well contented," answered he of the Couchant Leopard; "but
what security dost thou offer that thou wilt observe the truce?"

"The word of a follower of the Prophet was never broken,"
answered the Emir.  "It is thou, brave Nazarene, from whom I
should demand security, did I not know that treason seldom dwells
with courage."

The Crusader felt that the confidence of the Moslem made him
ashamed of his own doubts.

"By the cross of my sword," he said, laying his hand on the
weapon as he spoke, "I will be true companion to thee, Saracen,
while our fortune wills that we remain in company together."

"By Mohammed, Prophet of God, and by Allah, God of the Prophet,"
replied his late foeman, "there is not treachery in my heart
towards thee.  And now wend we to yonder fountain, for the hour
of rest is at hand, and the stream had hardly touched my lip when
I was called to battle by thy approach."

The Knight of the Couchant Leopard yielded a ready and courteous
assent; and the late foes, without an angry look or gesture of
doubt, rode side by side to the little cluster of palm-trees.



CHAPTER II.

Times of danger have always, and in a peculiar degree, their
seasons of good-will and security; and this was particularly so
in the ancient feudal ages, in which, as the manners of the
period had assigned war to be the chief and most worthy
occupation of mankind, the intervals of peace, or rather of
truce, were highly relished by those warriors to whom they were
seldom granted, and endeared by the very circumstances which
rendered them transitory.  It is not worth while preserving any
permanent enmity against a foe whom a champion has fought with
to-day, and may again stand in bloody opposition to on the next
morning.  The time and situation afforded so much room for the
ebullition of violent passions, that men, unless when peculiarly
opposed to each other, or provoked by the recollection of private
and individual wrongs, cheerfully enjoyed in each other's society
the brief intervals of pacific intercourse which a warlike life
admitted.

The distinction of religions, nay, the fanatical zeal which
animated the followers of the Cross and of the Crescent against
each other, was much softened by a feeling so natural to generous
combatants, and especially cherished by the spirit of chivalry.
This last strong impulse had extended itself gradually from the
Christians to their mortal enemies the Saracens, both of Spain
and of Palestine.  The latter were, indeed, no longer the
fanatical savages who had burst from the centre of Arabian
deserts, with the sabre in one hand and the Koran in the other,
to inflict death or the faith of Mohammed, or, at the best,
slavery and tribute, upon all who dared to oppose the belief of
the prophet of Mecca.  These alternatives indeed had been offered
to the unwarlike Greeks and Syrians; but in contending with the
Western Christians, animated by a zeal as fiery as their own, and
possessed of as unconquerable courage, address, and success in
arms, the Saracens gradually caught a part of their manners, and
especially of those chivalrous observances which were so well
calculated to charm the minds of a proud and conquering people.
They had their tournaments and games of chivalry; they had even
their knights, or some rank analogous; and above all, the
Saracens observed their plighted faith with an accuracy which
might sometimes put to shame those who owned a better religion.
Their truces, whether national or betwixt individuals, were
faithfully observed; and thus it was that war, in itself perhaps
the greatest of evils, yet gave occasion for display of good
faith, generosity, clemency, and even kindly affections, which
less frequently occur in more tranquil periods, where the
passions of men, experiencing wrongs or entertaining quarrels
which cannot be brought to instant decision, are apt to smoulder
for a length of time in the bosoms of those who are so unhappy as
to be their prey.

It was under the influence of these milder feelings which soften
the horrors of warfare that the Christian and Saracen, who had so
lately done their best for each other's mutual destruction, rode
at a slow pace towards the fountain of palm-trees to which the
Knight of the Couchant Leopard had been tending, when interrupted
in mid-passage by his fleet and dangerous adversary.  Each was
wrapt for some time in his own reflections, and took breath after
an encounter which had threatened to be fatal to one or both; and
their good horses seemed no less to enjoy the interval of repose.

That of the Saracen, however, though he had been forced into much
the more violent and extended sphere of motion, appeared to have
suffered less from fatigue than the charger of the European
knight.  The sweat hung still clammy on the limbs of the latter,
when those of the noble Arab were completely dried by the
interval of tranquil exercise, all saving the foam-flakes which
were still visible on his bridle and housings.  The loose soil on
which he trod so much augmented the distress of the Christian's
horse, heavily loaded by his own armour and the weight of his
rider, that the latter jumped from his saddle, and led his
charger along the deep dust of the loamy soil, which was burnt in
the sun into a substance more impalpable than the finest sand,
and thus gave the faithful horse refreshment at the expense of
his own additional toil; for, iron-sheathed as he was, he sunk
over the mailed shoes at every step which he placed on a surface
so light and unresisting.

"You are right," said the Saracen--and it was the first word that
either had spoken since their truce was concluded; "your strong
horse deserves your care.  But what do you in the desert with an
animal which sinks over the fetlock at every step as if he would
plant each foot deep as the root of a date-tree?"

"Thou speakest rightly, Saracen," said the Christian knight, not
delighted at the tone with which the infidel criticized his
favourite steed--"rightly, according to thy knowledge and
observation.  But my good horse hath ere now borne me, in mine
own land, over as wide a lake as thou seest yonder spread out
behind us, yet not wet one hair above his hoof."

The Saracen looked at him with as much surprise as his manners
permitted him to testify, which was only expressed by a slight
approach to a disdainful smile, that hardly curled perceptibly
the broad, thick moustache which enveloped his upper lip.

"It is justly spoken," he said, instantly composing himself to
his usual serene gravity; "List to a Frank, and hear a fable."

"Thou art not courteous, misbeliever," replied the Crusader, "to
doubt the word of a dubbed knight; and were it not that thou
speakest in ignorance, and not in malice, our truce had its
ending ere it is well begun.  Thinkest thou I tell thee an
untruth when I say that I, one of five hundred horsemen, armed in
complete mail, have ridden--ay, and ridden for miles, upon water
as solid as the crystal, and ten times less brittle?"

"What wouldst thou tell me?"  answered the Moslem.  "Yonder
inland sea thou dost point at is peculiar in this, that, by the
especial curse of God, it suffereth nothing to sink in its waves,
but wafts them away, and casts them on its margin; but neither
the Dead Sea, nor any of the seven oceans which environ the
earth, will endure on their surface the pressure of a horse's
foot, more than the Red Sea endured to sustain the advance of
Pharaoh and his host."

"You speak truth after your knowledge, Saracen," said the
Christian knight; "and yet, trust me, I fable not, according to
mine.  Heat, in this climate, converts the soil into something
almost as unstable as water; and in my land cold often converts
the water itself into a substance as hard as rock.  Let us speak
of this no longer, for the thoughts of the calm, clear, blue
refulgence of a winter's lake, glimmering to stars and moonbeam,
aggravate the horrors of this fiery desert, where, methinks, the
very air which we breathe is like the vapour of a fiery furnace
seven times heated."

The Saracen looked on him with some attention, as if to discover
in what sense he was to understand words which, to him, must have
appeared either to contain something of mystery or of imposition.
At length he seemed determined in what manner to receive the
language of his new companion.

"You are," he said, "of a nation that loves to laugh, and you
make sport with yourselves, and with others, by telling what is
impossible, and reporting what never chanced.  Thou art one of
the knights of France, who hold it for glee and pastime to GAB,
as they term it, of exploits that are beyond human power.
[Gaber.  This French word signified a sort of sport much used
among the French chivalry, which consisted in vying with each
other in making the most romantic gasconades.  The verb and the
meaning are retained in Scottish.]  I were wrong to challenge,
for the time, the privilege of thy speech, since boasting is more
natural to thee than truth."

"I am not of their land, neither of their fashion," said the
Knight, "which is, as thou well sayest, to GAB of that which they
dare not undertake--or, undertaking, cannot perfect.  But in this
I have imitated their folly, brave Saracen, that in talking to
thee of what thou canst not comprehend, I have, even in speaking
most simple truth, fully incurred the character of a braggart in
thy eyes; so, I pray you, let my words pass."

They had now arrived at the knot of palm-trees and the fountain
which welled out from beneath their shade in sparkling profusion.

We have spoken of a moment of truce in the midst of war; and
this, a spot of beauty in the midst of a sterile desert, was
scarce less dear to the imagination.  It was a scene which,
perhaps, would elsewhere have deserved little notice; but as the
single speck, in a boundless horizon, which promised the
refreshment of shade and living water, these blessings, held
cheap where they are common, rendered the fountain and its
neighbourhood a little paradise.  Some generous or charitable
hand, ere yet the evil days of Palestine began, had walled in and
arched over the fountain, to preserve it from being absorbed in
the earth, or choked by the flitting clouds of dust with which
the least breath of wind covered the desert.  The arch was now
broken, and partly ruinous; but it still so far projected over
and covered in the fountain that it excluded the sun in a great
measure from its waters, which, hardly touched by a straggling
beam, while all around was blazing, lay in a steady repose, alike
delightful to the eye and the imagination.  Stealing from under
the arch, they were first received in a marble basin, much
defaced indeed, but still cheering the eye, by showing that the
place was anciently considered as a station, that the hand of man
had been there and that man's accommodation had been in some
measure attended to.  The thirsty and weary traveller was
reminded by these signs that others had suffered similar
difficulties, reposed in the same spot, and, doubtless, found
their way in safety to a more fertile country.  Again, the scarce
visible current which escaped from the basin served to nourish
the few trees which surrounded the fountain, and where it sunk
into the ground and disappeared, its refreshing presence was
acknowledged by a carpet of velvet verdure.

In this delightful spot the two warriors halted, and each, after
his own fashion, proceeded to relieve his horse from saddle, bit,
and rein, and permitted the animals to drink at the basin, ere
they refreshed themselves from the fountain head, which arose
under the vault.  They then suffered the steeds to go loose,
confident that their interest, as well as their domesticated
habits, would prevent their straying from the pure water and
fresh grass.

Christian and Saracen next sat down together on the turf, and
produced each the small allowance of store which they carried for
their own refreshment.  Yet, ere they severally proceeded to
their scanty meal, they eyed each other with that curiosity which
the close and doubtful conflict in which they had been so lately
engaged was calculated to inspire.  Each was desirous to measure
the strength, and form some estimate of the character, of an
adversary so formidable; and each was compelled to acknowledge
that, had he fallen in the conflict, it had been by a noble hand.

The champions formed a striking contrast to each other in person
and features, and might have formed no inaccurate representatives
of their different nations.  The Frank seemed a powerful man,
built after the ancient Gothic cast of form, with light brown
hair, which, on the removal of his helmet, was seen to curl thick
and profusely over his head.  His features had acquired, from the
hot climate, a hue much darker than those parts of his neck which
were less frequently exposed to view, or than was warranted by
his full and well-opened blue eye, the colour of his hair, and of
the moustaches which thickly shaded his upper lip, while his chin
was carefully divested of beard, after the Norman fashion.  His
nose was Grecian and well formed; his mouth rather large in
proportion, but filled with well-set, strong, and beautifully
white teeth; his head small, and set upon the neck with much
grace.  His age could not exceed thirty, but if the effects of
toil and climate were allowed for, might be three or four years
under that period.  His form was tall, powerful, and athletic,
like that of a man whose strength might, in later life, become
unwieldy, but which was hitherto united with lightness and
activity.  His hands, when he withdrew the mailed gloves, were
long, fair, and well-proportioned; the wrist-bones peculiarly
large and strong; and the arms remarkably well-shaped and brawny.
A military hardihood and careless frankness of expression
characterized his language and his motions; and his voice had the
tone of one more accustomed to command than to obey, and who was
in the habit of expressing his sentiments aloud and boldly,
whenever he was called upon to announce them.

The Saracen Emir formed a marked and striking contrast with the
Western Crusader.  His stature was indeed above the middle size,
but he was at least three inches shorter than the European, whose
size approached the gigantic.  His slender limbs and long, spare
hands and arms, though well proportioned to his person, and
suited to the style of his countenance, did not at first aspect
promise the display of vigour and elasticity which the Emir had
lately exhibited.  But on looking more closely, his limbs, where
exposed to view, seemed divested of all that was fleshy or
cumbersome; so that nothing being left but bone, brawn, and
sinew, it was a frame fitted for exertion and fatigue, far beyond
that of a bulky champion, whose strength and size are
counterbalanced by weight, and who is exhausted by his own
exertions.  The countenance of the Saracen naturally bore a
general national resemblance to the Eastern tribe from whom he
descended, and was as unlike as possible to the exaggerated terms
in which the minstrels of the day were wont to represent the
infidel champions, and the fabulous description which a sister
art still presents as the Saracen's Head upon signposts.  His
features were small, well-formed, and delicate, though deeply
embrowned by the Eastern sun, and terminated by a flowing and
curled black beard, which seemed trimmed with peculiar care.  The
nose was straight and regular, the eyes keen, deep-set, black,
and glowing, and his teeth equalled in beauty the ivory of his
deserts.  The person and proportions of the Saracen, in short,
stretched on the turf near to his powerful antagonist, might have
been compared to his sheeny and crescent-formed sabre, with its
narrow and light but bright and keen Damascus blade, contrasted
with the long and ponderous Gothic war-sword which was flung
unbuckled on the same sod.  The Emir was in the very flower of
his age, and might perhaps have been termed eminently beautiful,
but for the narrowness of his forehead and something of too much
thinness and sharpness of feature, or at least what might have
seemed such in a European estimate of beauty.

The manners of the Eastern warrior were grave, graceful, and
decorous; indicating, however, in some particulars, the habitual
restraint which men of warm and choleric tempers often set as a
guard upon their native impetuosity of disposition, and at the
same time a sense of his own dignity, which seemed to impose a
certain formality of behaviour in him who entertained it.

This haughty feeling of superiority was perhaps equally
entertained by his new European acquaintance, but the effect was
different; and the same feeling, which dictated to the Christian
knight a bold, blunt, and somewhat careless bearing, as one too
conscious of his own importance to be anxious about the opinions
of others, appeared to prescribe to the Saracen a style of
courtesy more studiously and formally observant of ceremony.
Both were courteous; but the courtesy of the Christian seemed to
flow rather from a good humoured sense of what was due to others;
that of the Moslem, from a high feeling of what was to be
expected from himself.

The provision which each had made for his refreshment was simple,
but the meal of the Saracen was abstemious.  A handful of dates
and a morsel of coarse barley-bread sufficed to relieve the
hunger of the latter, whose education had habituated them to the
fare of the desert, although, since their Syrian conquests, the
Arabian simplicity of life frequently gave place to the most
unbounded profusion of luxury.  A few draughts from the lovely
fountain by which they reposed completed his meal.  That of the
Christian, though coarse, was more genial.  Dried hog's flesh,
the abomination of the Moslemah, was the chief part of his
repast; and his drink, derived from a leathern bottle, contained
something better than pure element.  He fed with more display of
appetite, and drank with more appearance of satisfaction, than
the Saracen judged it becoming to show in the performance of a
mere bodily function; and, doubtless, the secret contempt which
each entertained for the other, as the follower of a false
religion, was considerably increased by the marked difference of
their diet and manners.  But each had found the weight of his
opponent's arm, and the mutual respect which the bold struggle
had created was sufficient to subdue other and inferior
considerations.  Yet the Saracen could not help remarking the
circumstances which displeased him in the Christian's conduct and
manners; and, after he had witnessed for some time in silence the
keen appetite which protracted the knight's banquet long after
his own was concluded, he thus addressed him:--

"Valiant Nazarene, is it fitting that one who can fight like a
man should feed like a dog or a wolf?  Even a misbelieving Jew
would shudder at the food which you seem to eat with as much
relish as if it were fruit from the trees of Paradise."

"Valiant Saracen," answered the Christian, looking up with some
surprise at the accusation thus unexpectedly brought, "know thou
that I exercise my Christian freedom in using that which is
forbidden to the Jews, being, as they esteem themselves, under
the bondage of the old law of Moses.  We, Saracen, be it known to
thee, have a better warrant for what we do--Ave Maria!--be we
thankful."  And, as if in defiance of his companion's scruples,
he concluded a short Latin grace with a long draught from the
leathern bottle.

"That, too, you call a part of your liberty," said the Saracen;
"and as you feed like the brutes, so you degrade yourself to the
bestial condition by drinking a poisonous liquor which even they
refuse!"

"Know, foolish Saracen," replied the Christian, without
hesitation, "that thou blasphemest the gifts of God, even with
the blasphemy of thy father Ishmael.  The juice of the grape is
given to him that will use it wisely, as that which cheers the
heart of man after toil, refreshes him in sickness, and comforts
him in sorrow.  He who so enjoyeth it may thank God for his wine-
cup as for his daily bread; and he who abuseth the gift of Heaven
is not a greater fool in his intoxication than thou in thine
abstinence."

The keen eye of the Saracen kindled at this sarcasm, and his hand
sought the hilt of his poniard.  It was but a momentary thought,
however, and died away in the recollection of the powerful
champion with whom he had to deal, and the desperate grapple, the
impression of which still throbbed in his limbs and veins; and he
contented himself with pursuing the contest in colloquy, as more
convenient for the time.

"Thy words" he said, "O Nazarene, might create anger, did not thy
ignorance raise compassion.  Seest thou not, O thou more blind
than any who asks alms at the door of the Mosque, that the
liberty thou dost boast of is restrained even in that which is
dearest to man's happiness and to his household; and that thy
law, if thou dost practise it, binds thee in marriage to one
single mate, be she sick or healthy, be she fruitful or barren,
bring she comfort and joy, or clamour and strife, to thy table
and to thy bed?  This, Nazarene, I do indeed call slavery;
whereas, to the faithful, hath the Prophet assigned upon earth
the patriarchal privileges of Abraham our father, and of Solomon,
the wisest of mankind, having given us here a succession of
beauty at our pleasure, and beyond the grave the black-eyed
houris of Paradise."

"Now, by His name that I most reverence in heaven," said the
Christian, "and by hers whom I most worship on earth, thou art
but a blinded and a bewildered infidel!-- That diamond signet
which thou wearest on thy finger, thou holdest it, doubtless, as
of inestimable value?"

"Balsora and Bagdad cannot show the like," replied the Saracen;
"but what avails it to our purpose?"

"Much," replied the Frank," as thou shalt thyself confess.  Take
my war-axe and dash the stone into twenty shivers:  would each
fragment be as valuable as the original gem, or would they, all
collected, bear the tenth part of its estimation?"

"That is a child's question," answered the Saracen; "the
fragments of such a stone would not equal the entire jewel in the
degree of hundreds to one."

"Saracen," replied the Christian warrior, "the love which a true
knight binds on one only, fair and faithful, is the gem entire;
the affection thou flingest among thy enslaved wives and half-
wedded slaves is worthless, comparatively, as the sparkling
shivers of the broken diamond."

"Now, by the Holy Caaba," said the Emir, "thou art a madman who
hugs his chain of iron as if it were of gold!  Look more closely.
This ring of mine would lose half its beauty were not the signet
encircled and enchased with these lesser brilliants, which grace
it and set it off.  The central diamond is man, firm and entire,
his value depending on himself alone; and this circle of lesser
jewels are women, borrowing his lustre, which he deals out to
them as best suits his pleasure or his convenience.  Take the
central stone from the signet, and the diamond itself remains as
valuable as ever, while the lesser gems are comparatively of
little value.  And this is the true reading of thy parable; for
what sayeth the poet Mansour:  'It is the favour of man which
giveth beauty and comeliness to woman, as the stream glitters no
longer when the sun ceaseth to shine.'"

"Saracen," replied the Crusader, "thou speakest like one who
never saw a woman worthy the affection of a soldier.  Believe me,
couldst thou look upon those of Europe, to whom, after Heaven, we
of the order of knighthood vow fealty and devotion, thou wouldst
loathe for ever the poor sensual slaves who form thy haram.  The
beauty of our fair ones gives point to our spears and edge to our
swords; their words are our law; and as soon will a lamp shed
lustre when unkindled, as a knight distinguish himself by feats
of arms, having no mistress of his affection."

"I have heard of this frenzy among the warriors of the West,"
said the Emir, "and have ever accounted it one of the
accompanying symptoms of that insanity which brings you hither to
obtain possession of an empty sepulchre.  But yet, methinks, so
highly have the Franks whom I have met with extolled the beauty
of their women, I could be well contented to behold with mine own
eyes those charms which can transform such brave warriors into
the tools of their pleasure."

"Brave Saracen," said the Knight, "if I were not on a pilgrimage
to the Holy Sepulchre, it should be my pride to conduct you, on
assurance of safety, to the camp of Richard of England, than whom
none knows better how to do honour to a noble foe; and though I
be poor and unattended yet have I interest to secure for thee, or
any such as thou seemest, not safety only, but respect and
esteem.  There shouldst thou see several of the fairest beauties
of France and Britain form a small circle, the brilliancy of
which exceeds ten-thousandfold the lustre of mines of diamonds
such as thine."

"Now, by the corner-stone of the Caaba!"  said the Saracen, "I
will accept thy invitation as freely as it is given, if thou wilt
postpone thy present intent; and, credit me, brave Nazarene, it
were better for thyself to turn back thy horse's head towards the
camp of thy people, for to travel towards Jerusalem without a
passport is but a wilful casting-away of thy life."

"I have a pass," answered the Knight, producing a parchment,
"Under Saladin's hand and signet."

The Saracen bent his head to the dust as he recognized the seal
and handwriting of the renowned Soldan of Egypt and Syria; and
having kissed the paper with profound respect, he pressed it to
his forehead, then returned it to the Christian, saying, "Rash
Frank, thou hast sinned against thine own blood and mine, for not
showing this to me when we met."

"You came with levelled spear," said the Knight.  "Had a troop of
Saracens so assailed me, it might have stood with my honour to
have shown the Soldan's pass, but never to one man."

"And yet one man," said the Saracen haughtily, "was enough to
interrupt your journey."

"True, brave Moslem," replied the Christian; "but there are few
such as thou art.  Such falcons fly not in flocks; or, if they
do, they pounce not in numbers upon one."

"Thou dost us but justice," said the Saracen, evidently gratified
by the compliment, as he had been touched by the implied scorn of
the European's previous boast; "from us thou shouldst have had no
wrong.  But well was it for me that I failed to slay thee, with
the safeguard of the king of kings upon thy person.  Certain it
were, that the cord or the sabre had justly avenged such guilt."

"I am glad to hear that its influence shall be availing to me,"
said the Knight; "for I have heard that the road is infested with
robber-tribes, who regard nothing in comparison of an opportunity
of plunder.

"The truth has been told to thee, brave Christian," said the
Saracen; "but I swear to thee, by the turban of the Prophet, that
shouldst thou miscarry in any haunt of such villains, I will
myself undertake thy revenge with five thousand horse.  I will
slay every male of them, and send their women into such distant
captivity that the name of their tribe shall never again be heard
within five hundred miles of Damascus.  I will sow with salt the
foundations of their village, and there shall never live thing
dwell there, even from that time forward."

"I had rather the trouble which you design for yourself were in
revenge of some other more important person than of me, noble
Emir," replied the Knight; "but my vow is recorded in heaven, for
good or for evil, and I must be indebted to you for pointing me
out the way to my resting-place for this evening."

"That," said the Saracen, "must be under the black covering of my
father's tent."

"This night," answered the Christian, "I must pass in prayer and
penitence with a holy man, Theodorick of Engaddi, who dwells
amongst these wilds, and spends his life in the service of God."

"I will at least see you safe thither," said the Saracen.

"That would be pleasant convoy for me," said the Christian; "yet
might endanger the future security of the good father; for the
cruel hand of your people has been red with the blood of the
servants of the Lord, and therefore do we come hither in plate
and mail, with sword and lance, to open the road to the Holy
Sepulchre, and protect the chosen saints and anchorites who yet
dwell in this land of promise and of miracle."

"Nazarene," said the Moslem, "in this the Greeks and Syrians have
much belied us, seeing we do but after the word of Abubeker
Alwakel, the successor of the Prophet, and, after him, the first
commander of true believers.  'Go forth,' he said, 'Yezed Ben
Sophian,' when he sent that renowned general to take Syria from
the infidels; 'quit yourselves like men in battle, but slay
neither the aged, the infirm, the women, nor the children.  Waste
not the land, neither destroy corn and fruit-trees; they are the
gifts of Allah.  Keep faith when you have made any covenant, even
if it be to your own harm.  If ye find holy men labouring with
their hands, and serving God in the desert, hurt them not,
neither destroy their dwellings.  But when you find them with
shaven crowns, they are of the synagogue of Satan!  Smite with
the sabre, slay, cease not till they become believers or
tributaries.'  As the Caliph, companion of the Prophet, hath told
us, so have we done, and those whom our justice has smitten are
but the priests of Satan.  But unto the good men who, without
stirring up nation against nation, worship sincerely in the faith
of Issa Ben Mariam, we are a shadow and a shield; and such being
he whom you seek, even though the light of the Prophet hath not
reached him, from me he will only have love, favour, and regard."

"The anchorite whom I would now visit," said the warlike pilgrim,
"is, I have heard, no priest; but were he of that anointed and
sacred order, I would prove with my good lance, against paynim
and infidel--"

"Let us not defy each other, brother," interrupted the Saracen;
"we shall find, either of us, enough of Franks or of Moslemah on
whom to exercise both sword and lance.  This Theodorick is
protected both by Turk and Arab; and, though one of strange
conditions at intervals, yet, on the whole, he bears himself so
well as the follower of his own prophet, that he merits the
protection of him who was sent--"

"Now, by Our Lady, Saracen," exclaimed the Christian, "if thou
darest name in the same breath the camel-driver of Mecca with
--"

An electrical shock of passion thrilled through the form of the
Emir; but it was only momentary, and the calmness of his reply
had both dignity and reason in it, when he said, "Slander not him
whom thou knowest not--the rather that we venerate the founder of
thy religion, while we condemn the doctrine which your priests
have spun from it.  I will myself guide thee to the cavern of the
hermit, which, methinks, without my help, thou wouldst find it a
hard matter to reach.  And, on the way, let us leave to mollahs
and to monks to dispute about the divinity of our faith, and
speak on themes which belong to youthful warriors--upon battles,
upon beautiful women, upon sharp swords, and upon bright armour."



CHAPTER III.

The warriors arose from their place of brief rest and simple
refreshment, and courteously aided each other while they
carefully replaced and adjusted the harness from which they had
relieved for the time their trusty steeds.  Each seemed familiar
with an employment which at that time was a part of necessary
and, indeed, of indispensable duty.  Each also seemed to possess,
as far as the difference betwixt the animal and rational species
admitted, the confidence and affection of the horse which was the
constant companion of his travels and his warfare.  With the
Saracen this familiar intimacy was a part of his early habits;
for, in the tents of the Eastern military tribes, the horse of
the soldier ranks next to, and almost equal in importance with,
his wife and his family; and with the European warrior,
circumstances, and indeed necessity, rendered his war-horse
scarcely less than his brother in arms.  The steeds, therefore,
suffered themselves quietly to be taken from their food and
liberty, and neighed and snuffled fondly around their masters,
while they were adjusting their accoutrements for further travel
and additional toil.  And each warrior, as he prosecuted his own
task, or assisted with courtesy his companion, looked with
observant curiosity at the equipments of his fellow-traveller,
and noted particularly what struck him as peculiar in the fashion
in which he arranged his riding accoutrements.

Ere they remounted to resume their journey, the Christian Knight
again moistened his lips and dipped his hands in the living
fountain, and said to his pagan associate of the journey, "I
would I knew the name of this delicious fountain, that I might
hold it in my grateful remembrance; for never did water slake
more deliciously a more oppressive thirst than I have this day
experienced."

"It is called in the Arabic language," answered the Saracen, "by
a name which signifies the Diamond of the Desert."

"And well is it so named," replied the Christian.  "My native
valley hath a thousand springs, but not to one of them shall I
attach hereafter such precious recollection as to this solitary
fount, which bestows its liquid treasures where they are not only
delightful, but nearly indispensable."

"You say truth," said the Saracen; "for the curse is still on
yonder sea of death, and neither man nor beast drinks of its
waves, nor of the river which feeds without filling it, until
this inhospitable desert be passed."

They mounted, and pursued their journey across the sandy waste.
The ardour of noon was now past, and a light breeze somewhat
alleviated the terrors of the desert, though not without bearing
on its wings an impalpable dust, which the Saracen little heeded,
though his heavily-armed companion felt it as such an annoyance
that he hung his iron casque at his saddle-bow, and substituted
the light riding-cap, termed in the language of the time a
MORTIER, from its resemblance in shape to an ordinary mortar.
They rode together for some time in silence, the Saracen
performing the part of director and guide of the journey, which
he did by observing minute marks and bearings of the distant
rocks, to a ridge of which they were gradually approaching.  For
a little time he seemed absorbed in the task, as a pilot when
navigating a vessel through a difficult channel; but they had not
proceeded half a league when he seemed secure of his route, and
disposed, with more frankness than was usual to his nation, to
enter into conversation.

"You have asked the name," he said, "of a mute fountain, which
hath the semblance, but not the reality, of a living thing.  Let
me be pardoned to ask the name of the companion with whom I have
this day encountered, both in danger and in repose, and which I
cannot fancy unknown even here among the deserts of Palestine?"

"It is not yet worth publishing," said the Christian.  "Know,
however, that among the soldiers of the Cross I am called
Kenneth--Kenneth of the Couching Leopard; at home I have other
titles, but they would sound harsh in an Eastern ear.  Brave
Saracen, let me ask which of the tribes of Arabia claims your
descent, and by what name you are known?"

"Sir Kenneth," said the Moslem, "I joy that your name is such as
my lips can easily utter.  For me, I am no Arab, yet derive my
descent from a line neither less wild nor less warlike.  Know,
Sir Knight of the Leopard, that I am Sheerkohf, the Lion of the
Mountain, and that Kurdistan, from which I derive my descent,
holds no family more noble than that of Seljook."

"I have heard," answered the Christian, "that your great Soldan
claims his blood from the same source?"

"Thanks to the Prophet that hath so far honoured our mountains as
to send from their bosom him whose word is victory," answered the
paynim.  "I am but as a worm before the King of Egypt and Syria,
and yet in my own land something my name may avail.  Stranger,
with how many men didst thou come on this warfare?"

"By my faith," said Sir Kenneth, "with aid of friends and
kinsmen, I was hardly pinched to furnish forth ten well-appointed
lances, with maybe some fifty more men, archers and varlets
included.  Some have deserted my unlucky pennon--some have fallen
in battle--several have died of disease--and one trusty armour-
bearer, for whose life I am now doing my pilgrimage, lies on the
bed of sickness."

"Christian," said Sheerkohf, "here I have five arrows in my
quiver, each feathered from the wing of an eagle.  When I send
one of them to my tents, a thousand warriors mount on horseback
--when I send another, an equal force will arise--for the five, I
can command five thousand men; and if I send my bow, ten thousand
mounted riders will shake the desert.  And with thy fifty
followers thou hast come to invade a land in which I am one of
the meanest!"

"Now, by the rood, Saracen," retorted the Western warrior, "thou
shouldst know, ere thou vauntest thyself, that one steel glove
can crush a whole handful of hornets."

"Ay, but it must first enclose them within its grasp," said the
Saracen, with a smile which might have endangered their new
alliance, had he not changed the subject by adding, "And is
bravery so much esteemed amongst the Christian princes that thou,
thus void of means and of men, canst offer, as thou didst of
late, to be my protector and security in the camp of thy
brethren?"

"Know, Saracen," said the Christian, "since such is thy style,
that the name of a knight, and the blood of a gentleman, entitle
him to place himself on the same rank with sovereigns even of the
first degree, in so far as regards all but regal authority and
dominion.  Were Richard of England himself to wound the honour of
a knight as poor as I am, he could not, by the law of chivalry,
deny him the combat."

"Methinks I should like to look upon so strange a scene," said
the Emir, "in which a leathern belt and a pair of spurs put the
poorest on a level with the most powerful."

"You must add free blood and a fearless heart," said the
Christian; "then, perhaps, you will not have spoken untruly of
the dignity of knighthood."

"And mix you as boldly amongst the females of your chiefs and
leaders?" asked the Saracen.

"God forbid," said the Knight of the Leopard, "that the poorest
knight in Christendom should not be free, in all honourable
service, to devote his hand and sword, the fame of his actions,
and the fixed devotion of his heart, to the fairest princess who
ever wore coronet on her brow!"

"But a little while since," said the Saracen, "and you described
love as the highest treasure of the heart--thine hath undoubtedly
been high and nobly bestowed?"

"Stranger," answered the Christian, blushing deeply as he spoke,
"we tell not rashly where it is we have bestowed our choicest
treasures.  It is enough for thee to know that, as thou sayest,
my love is highly and nobly bestowed--most highly--most nobly;
but if thou wouldst hear of love and broken lances, venture
thyself, as thou sayest, to the camp of the Crusaders, and thou
wilt find exercise for thine ears, and, if thou wilt, for thy
hands too."

The Eastern warrior, raising himself in his stirrups, and shaking
aloft his lance, replied, " Hardly, I fear, shall I find one with
a crossed shoulder who will exchange with me the cast of the
jerrid."

"I will not promise for that," replied the Knight; "though there
be in the camp certain Spaniards, who have right good skill in
your Eastern game of hurling the javelin."

"Dogs, and sons of dogs!"  ejaculated the Saracen; "what have
these Spaniards to do to come hither to combat the true
believers, who, in their own land, are their lords and
taskmasters?  with them I would mix in no warlike pastime."

"Let not the knights of Leon or Asturias hear you speak thus of
them," said the Knight of the Leopard.  " But," added he, smiling
at the recollection of the morning's combat, "if, instead of a
reed, you were inclined to stand the cast of a battle-axe, there
are enough of Western warriors who would gratify your longing."

"By the beard of my father, sir," said the Saracen, with an
approach to laughter, "the game is too rough for mere sport.  I
will never shun them in battle, but my head" (pressing his hand
to his brow) "will not, for a while, permit me to seek them in
sport."

"I would you saw the axe of King Richard," answered the Western
warrior, "to which that which hangs at my saddle-bow weighs but
as a feather."

"We hear much of that island sovereign," said the Saracen.  "Art
thou one of his subjects?"

"One of his followers I am, for this expedition," answered the
Knight, "and honoured in the service; but not born his subject,
although a native of the island in which he reigns."

"How mean you? " said the Eastern soldier; "have you then two
kings in one poor island?"

"As thou sayest," said the Scot, for such was Sir Kenneth by
birth.  "It is even so; and yet, although the inhabitants of the
two extremities of that island are engaged in frequent war, the
country can, as thou seest, furnish forth such a body of men-at-
arms as may go far to shake the unholy hold which your master
hath laid on the cities of Zion."

"By the beard of Saladin, Nazarene, but that it is a thoughtless
and boyish folly, I could laugh at the simplicity of your great
Sultan, who comes hither to make conquests of deserts and rocks,
and dispute the possession of them with those who have tenfold
numbers at command, while he leaves a part of his narrow islet,
in which he was born a sovereign, to the dominion of another
sceptre than his.  Surely, Sir Kenneth, you and the other good
men of your country should have submitted yourselves to the
dominion of this King Richard ere you left your native land,
divided against itself, to set forth on this expedition?"

Hasty and fierce was Kenneth's answer.  "No, by the bright light
of Heaven!  If the King of England had not set forth to the
Crusade till he was sovereign of Scotland, the Crescent might,
for me, and all true-hearted Scots, glimmer for ever on the walls
of Zion."

Thus far he had proceeded, when, suddenly recollecting himself,
he muttered, "MEA CULPA!  MEA CULPA!  what have I, a soldier of
the Cross, to do with recollection of war betwixt Christian
nations!"

The rapid expression of feeling corrected by the dictates of duty
did not escape the Moslem, who, if he did not entirely understand
all which it conveyed, saw enough to convince him with the
assurance that Christians, as well as Moslemah, had private
feelings of personal pique, and national quarrels, which were not
entirely reconcilable.  But the Saracens were a race, polished,
perhaps, to the utmost extent which their religion permitted, and
particularly capable of entertaining high ideas of courtesy and
politeness; and such sentiments prevented his taking any notice
of the inconsistency of Sir Kenneth's feelings in the opposite
characters of a Scot and a Crusader.

Meanwhile, as they advanced, the scene began to change around
them.  They were now turning to the eastward, and had reached the
range of steep and barren hills which binds in that quarter the
naked plain, and varies the surface of the country, without
changing its sterile character.  Sharp, rocky eminences began to
rise around them, and, in a short time, deep declivities and
ascents, both formidable in height and difficult from the
narrowness of the path, offered to the travellers obstacles of a
different kind from those with which they had recently contended.

Dark caverns and chasms amongst the rocks--those grottoes so
often alluded to in Scripture--yawned fearfully on either side as
they proceeded, and the Scottish knight was informed by the Emir
that these were often the refuge of beasts of prey, or of men
still more ferocious, who, driven to desperation by the constant
war, and the oppression exercised by the soldiery, as well of the
Cross as of the Crescent, had become robbers, and spared neither
rank nor religion, neither sex nor age, in their depredations.

The Scottish knight listened with indifference to the accounts of
ravages committed by wild beasts or wicked men, secure as he felt
himself in his own valour and personal strength; but he was
struck with mysterious dread when he recollected that he was now
in the awful wilderness of the forty days' fast, and the scene of
the actual personal temptation, wherewith the Evil Principle was
permitted to assail the Son of Man.  He withdrew his attention
gradually from the light and worldly conversation of the infidel
warrior beside him, and, however acceptable his gay and gallant
bravery would have rendered him as a companion elsewhere, Sir
Kenneth felt as if, in those wildernesses the waste and dry
places in which the foul spirits were wont to wander when
expelled the mortals whose forms they possessed, a bare-footed
friar would have been a better associate than the gay but
unbelieving paynim.

These feelings embarrassed him the rather that the Saracen's
spirits appeared to rise with the journey, and because the
farther he penetrated into the gloomy recesses of the mountains,
the lighter became his conversation, and when he found that
unanswered, the louder grew his song.  Sir Kenneth knew enough of
the Eastern languages to be assured that he chanted sonnets of
love, containing all the glowing praises of beauty in which the
Oriental poets are so fond of luxuriating, and which, therefore,
were peculiarly unfitted for a serious or devotional strain of
thought, the feeling best becoming the Wilderness of the
Temptation.  With inconsistency enough, the Saracen also sung
lays in praise of wine, the liquid ruby of the Persian poets; and
his gaiety at length became so unsuitable to the Christian
knight's contrary train of sentiments, as, but for the promise of
amity which they had exchanged, would most likely have made Sir
Kenneth take measures to change his note.  As it was, the
Crusader felt as if he had by his side some gay, licentious
fiend, who endeavoured to ensnare his soul, and endanger his
immortal salvation, by inspiring loose thoughts of earthly
pleasure, and thus polluting his devotion, at a time when his
faith as a Christian and his vow as a pilgrim called on him for a
serious and penitential state of mind.  We was thus greatly
perplexed, and undecided how to act; and it was in a tone of
hasty displeasure that, at length breaking silence, he
interrupted the lay of the celebrated Rudpiki, in which he
prefers the mole on his mistress's bosom to all the wealth of
Bokhara and Samarcand.

"Saracen," said the Crusader sternly, "blinded as thou art, and
plunged amidst the errors of a false law, thou shouldst yet
comprehend that there are some places more holy than others, and
that there are some scenes also in which the Evil One hath more
than ordinary power over sinful mortals.  I will not tell thee
for what awful reason this place--these rocks--these caverns with
their gloomy arches, leading as it were to the central abyss--are
held an especial haunt of Satan and his angels.  It is enough
that I have been long warned to beware of this place by wise and
holy men, to whom the qualities of the unholy region are well
known.  Wherefore, Saracen, forbear thy foolish and ill-timed
levity, and turn thy thoughts to things more suited to the spot
--although, alas for thee!  thy best prayers are but as blasphemy
and sin."

The Saracen listened with some surprise, and then replied, with
good-humour and gaiety, only so far repressed as courtesy
required, "Good Sir Kenneth, methinks you deal unequally by your
companion, or else ceremony is but indifferently taught amongst
your Western tribes.  I took no offence when I saw you gorge
hog's flesh and drink wine, and permitted you to enjoy a treat
which you called your Christian liberty, only pitying in my heart
your foul pastimes.  Wherefore, then, shouldst thou take scandal,
because I cheer, to the best of my power, a gloomy road with a
cheerful verse?  What saith the poet, 'Song is like the dews of
heaven on the bosom of the desert; it cools the path of the
traveller.'"

"Friend Saracen," said the Christian, "I blame not the love of
minstrelsy and of the GAI SCIENCE; albeit, we yield unto it even
too much room in our thoughts when they should be bent on better
things.  But prayers and holy psalms are better fitting than LAIS
of love, or of wine-cups, when men walk in this Valley of the
Shadow of Death, full of fiends and demons, whom the prayers of
holy men have driven forth from the haunts of humanity to wander
amidst scenes as accursed as themselves."

"Speak not thus of the Genii, Christian," answered the Saracen,
"for know thou speakest to one whose line and nation drew their
origin from the immortal race which your sect fear and
blaspheme."

"I well thought," answered the Crusader, "that your blinded race
had their descent from the foul fiend, without whose aid you
would never have been able to maintain this blessed land of
Palestine against so many valiant soldiers of God.  I speak not
thus of thee in particular, Saracen, but generally of thy people
and religion.  Strange is it to me, however, not that you should
have the descent from the Evil One, but that you should boast of
it."

"From whom should the bravest boast of descending, saving from
him that is bravest?"  said the Saracen; "from whom should the
proudest trace their line so well as from the Dark Spirit, which
would rather fall headlong by force than bend the knee by his
will?  Eblis may be hated, stranger, but he must be feared; and
such as Eblis are his descendants of Kurdistan."

Tales of magic and of necromancy were the learning of the period,
and Sir Kenneth heard his companion's confession of diabolical
descent without any disbelief, and without much wonder; yet not
without a secret shudder at finding himself in this fearful
place, in the company of one who avouched himself to belong to
such a lineage.  Naturally insusceptible, however, of fear, he
crossed himself, and stoutly demanded of the Saracen an account
of the pedigree which he had boasted.  The latter readily
complied.

"Know, brave stranger," he said, "that when the cruel Zohauk, one
of the descendants of Giamschid, held the throne of Persia, he
formed a league with the Powers of Darkness, amidst the secret
vaults of Istakhar, vaults which the hands of the elementary
spirits had hewn out of the living rock long before Adam himself
had an existence.  Here he fed, with daily oblations of human
blood, two devouring serpents, which had become, according to the
poets, a part of himself, and to sustain whom he levied a tax of
daily human sacrifices, till the exhausted patience of his
subjects caused some to raise up the scimitar of resistance, like
the valiant Blacksmith and the victorious Feridoun, by whom the
tyrant was at length dethroned, and imprisoned for ever in the
dismal caverns of the mountain Damavend.  But ere that
deliverance had taken place, and whilst the power of the
bloodthirsty tyrant was at its height, the band of ravening
slaves whom he had sent forth to purvey victims for his daily
sacrifice brought to the vaults of the palace of Istakhar seven
sisters so beautiful that they seemed seven houris.  These seven
maidens were the daughters of a sage, who had no treasures save
those beauties and his own wisdom.  The last was not sufficient
to foresee this misfortune, the former seemed ineffectual to
prevent it.  The eldest exceeded not her twentieth year, the
youngest had scarce attained her thirteenth; and so like were
they to each other that they could not have been distinguished
but for the difference of height, in which they gradually rose in
easy gradation above each other, like the ascent which leads to
the gates of Paradise.  So lovely were these seven sisters when
they stood in the darksome vault, disrobed of all clothing saving
a cymar of white silk, that their charms moved the hearts of
those who were not mortal.  Thunder muttered, the earth shook,
the wall of the vault was rent, and at the chasm entered one
dressed like a hunter, with bow and shafts, and followed by six
others, his brethren.  They were tall men, and, though dark, yet
comely to behold; but their eyes had more the glare of those of
the dead than the light which lives under the eyelids of the
living.  'Zeineb,' said the leader of the band--and as he spoke
he took the eldest sister by the hand, and his voice was soft,
low, and melancholy--'I am Cothrob, king of the subterranean
world, and supreme chief of Ginnistan.  I and my brethren are of
those who, created out of the pure elementary fire, disdained,
even at the command of Omnipotence, to do homage to a clod of
earth, because it was called Man.  Thou mayest have heard of us
as cruel, unrelenting, and persecuting.  It is false.  We are by
nature kind and generous; only vengeful when insulted, only cruel
when affronted.  We are true to those who trust us; and we have
heard the invocations of thy father, the sage Mithrasp, who
wisely worships not alone the Origin of Good, but that which is
called the Source of Evil.  You and your sisters are on the eve
of death; but let each give to us one hair from your fair
tresses, in token of fealty, and we will carry you many miles
from hence to a place of safety, where you may bid defiance to
Zohauk and his ministers.' The fear of instant death, saith the
poet, is like the rod of the prophet Haroun, which devoured all
other rods when transformed into snakes before the King of
Pharaoh; and the daughters of the Persian sage were less apt than
others to be afraid of the addresses of a spirit.  They gave the
tribute which Cothrob demanded, and in an instant the sisters
were transported to an enchanted castle on the mountains of
Tugrut, in Kurdistan, and were never again seen by mortal eye.
But in process of time seven youths, distinguished in the war and
in the chase, appeared in the environs of the castle of the
demons.  They were darker, taller, fiercer, and more resolute
than any of the scattered inhabitants of the valleys of
Kurdistan; and they took to themselves wives, and became fathers
of the seven tribes of the Kurdmans, whose valour is known
throughout the universe."

The Christian knight heard with wonder the wild tale, of which
Kurdistan still possesses the traces, and, after a moment's
thought, replied, "Verily, Sir Knight, you have spoken well
--your genealogy may be dreaded and hated, but it cannot be
contemned.  Neither do I any longer wonder at your obstinacy in a
false faith, since, doubtless, it is part of the fiendish
disposition which hath descended from your ancestors, those
infernal huntsmen, as you have described them, to love falsehood
rather than truth; and I no longer marvel that your spirits
become high and exalted, and vent themselves in verse and in
tunes, when you approach to the places encumbered by the haunting
of evil spirits, which must excite in you that joyous feeling
which others experience when approaching the land of their human
ancestry."

"By my father's beard, I think thou hast the right," said the
Saracen, rather amused than offended by the freedom with which
the Christian had uttered his reflections; "for, though the
Prophet (blessed be his name!) hath sown amongst us the seed of a
better faith than our ancestors learned in the ghostly halls of
Tugrut, yet we are not willing, like other Moslemah, to pass
hasty doom on the lofty and powerful elementary spirits from whom
we claim our origin.  These Genii, according to our belief and
hope, are not altogether reprobate, but are still in the way of
probation, and may hereafter be punished or rewarded.  Leave we
this to the mollahs and the imaums.  Enough that with us the
reverence for these spirits is not altogether effaced by what we
have learned from the Koran, and that many of us still sing, in
memorial of our fathers' more ancient faith, such verses as
these."

So saying, he proceeded to chant verses, very ancient in the
language and structure, which some have thought derive their
source from the worshippers of Arimanes, the Evil Principle.

AHRIMAN.

Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still
Holds origin of woe and ill!
When, bending at thy shrine,
We view the world with troubled eye,
Where see we 'neath the extended sky,
An empire matching thine!

If the Benigner Power can yield
A fountain in the desert field,
Where weary pilgrims drink;
Thine are the waves that lash the rock,
Thine the tornado's deadly shock,
Where countless navies sink!

Or if he bid the soil dispense
Balsams to cheer the sinking sense,
How few can they deliver
From lingering pains, or pang intense,
Red Fever, spotted Pestilence,
The arrows of thy quiver!

Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway,
And frequent, while in words we pray
Before another throne,
Whate'er of specious form be there,
The secret meaning of the prayer
Is, Ahriman, thine own.

Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form,
Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm,
As Eastern Magi say;
With sentient soul of hate and wrath,
And wings to sweep thy deadly path,
And fangs to tear thy prey?

Or art thou mix'd in Nature's source,
An ever-operating force,
Converting good to ill;
An evil principle innate,
Contending with our better fate,
And, oh!  victorious still?

Howe'er it be, dispute is vain.
On all without thou hold'st thy reign,
Nor less on all within;
Each mortal passion's fierce career,
Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear,
Thou goadest into sin.

Whene'er a sunny gleam appears,
To brighten up our vale of tears,
Thou art not distant far;
'Mid such brief solace of our lives,
Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives
To tools of death and war.

Thus, from the moment of our birth,
Long as we linger on the earth,
Thou rulest the fate of men;
Thine are the pangs of life's last hour,
And--who dare answer?--is thy power,
Dark Spirit!  ended THEN?

[The worthy and learned clergyman by whom this species of hymn
has been translated desires, that, for fear of misconception, we
should warn the reader to recollect that it is composed by a
heathen, to whom the real causes of moral and physical evil are
unknown, and who views their predominance in the system of the
universe as all must view that appalling fact who have not the
benefit of the Christian revelation.  On our own part, we beg to
add, that we understand the style of the translator is more
paraphrastic than can be approved by those who are acquainted
with the singularly curious original.  The translator seems to
have despaired of rendering into English verse the flights of
Oriental poetry; and, possibly, like many learned and ingenious
men, finding it impossible to discover the sense of the original,
he may have tacitly substituted his own.]

These verses may perhaps have been the not unnatural effusion of
some half-enlightened philosopher, who, in the fabled deity,
Arimanes, saw but the prevalence of moral and physical evil; but
in the ears of Sir Kenneth of the Leopard they had a different
effect, and, sung as they were by one who had just boasted
himself a descendant of demons, sounded very like an address of
worship to the arch-fiend himself.  He weighed within himself
whether, on hearing such blasphemy in the very desert where Satan
had stood rebuked for demanding homage, taking an abrupt leave of
the Saracen was sufficient to testify his abhorrence; or whether
he was not rather constrained by his vow as a Crusader to defy
the infidel to combat on the spot, and leave him food for the
beasts of the wilderness, when his attention was suddenly caught
by an unexpected apparition.

The light was now verging low, yet served the knight still to
discern that they two were no longer alone in the desert, but
were closely watched by a figure of great height and very thin,
which skipped over rocks and bushes with so much agility as,
added to the wild and hirsute appearance of the individual,
reminded him of the fauns and silvans, whose images he had seen
in the ancient temples of Rome.  As the single-hearted
Scottishman had never for a moment doubted these gods of the
ancient Gentiles to be actually devils, so he now hesitated not
to believe that the  blasphemous hymn of the Saracen had raised
up an infernal spirit.

"But what recks it?"  said stout Sir Kenneth to himself; "down
with the fiend and his worshippers!"

He did not, however, think it necessary to give the same warning
of defiance to two enemies as he would unquestionably have
afforded to one.  His hand was upon his mace, and perhaps the
unwary Saracen would have been paid for his Persian poetry by
having his brains dashed out on the spot, without any reason
assigned for it; but the Scottish Knight was spared from
committing what would have been a sore blot in his shield of
arms.  The apparition, on which his eyes had been fixed for some
time, had at first appeared to dog their path by concealing
itself behind rocks and shrubs, using those advantages of the
ground with great address, and surmounting its irregularities
with surprising agility.  At length, just as the Saracen paused
in his song, the figure, which was that of a tall man clothed in
goat-skins, sprung into the midst of the path, and seized a rein
of the Saracen's bridle in either hand, confronting thus and
bearing back the noble horse, which, unable to endure the manner
in which this sudden assailant pressed the long-armed bit, and
the severe curb, which, according to the Eastern fashion, was a
solid ring of iron, reared upright, and finally fell backwards on
his master, who, however, avoided the peril of the fall by
lightly throwing himself to one side.

The assailant then shifted his grasp from the bridle of the horse
to the throat of the rider, flung himself above the struggling
Saracen, and, despite of his youth and activity kept him
undermost, wreathing his long arms above those of his prisoner,
who called out angrily, and yet half-laughing at the same time
--"Hamako--fool--unloose me--this passes thy privilege--unloose
me, or I will use my dagger."

"Thy dagger!--infidel dog!"  said the figure in the goat-skins,
"hold it in thy gripe if thou canst!"  and in an instant he
wrenched the Saracen's weapon out of its owner's hand, and
brandished it over his head.

"Help, Nazarene!"  cried Sheerkohf, now seriously alarmed; "help,
or the Hamako will slay me."

"Slay thee!"  replied the dweller of the desert; "and well hast
thou merited death, for singing thy blasphemous hymns, not only
to the praise of thy false prophet, who is the foul fiend's
harbinger, but to that of the Author of Evil himself."

The Christian Knight had hitherto looked on as one stupefied, so
strangely had this rencontre contradicted, in its progress and
event, all that he had previously conjectured.  He felt, however,
at length, that it touched his honour to interfere in behalf of
his discomfited companion, and therefore addressed himself to the
victorious figure in the goat-skins.

"Whosoe'er thou art," he said, "and whether of good or of evil,
know that I am sworn for the time to be true companion to the
Saracen whom thou holdest under thee; therefore, I pray thee to
let him arise, else I will do battle with thee in his behalf."

"And a proper quarrel it were," answered the Hamako, "for a
Crusader to do battle in--for the sake of an unbaptized dog, to
combat one of his own holy faith!  Art thou come forth to the
wilderness to fight for the Crescent against the Cross?  A goodly
soldier of God art thou to listen to those who sing the praises
of Satan!"

Yet, while he spoke thus, he arose himself, and, suffering the
Saracen to rise also, returned him his cangiar, or poniard.

"Thou seest to what a point of peril thy presumption hath brought
thee," continued he of the goat-skins, now addressing Sheerkohf,
"and by what weak means thy practised skill and boasted agility
can be foiled, when such is Heaven's pleasure.  Wherefore,
beware, O Ilderim!  for know that, were there not a twinkle in
the star of thy nativity which promises for thee something that
is good and gracious in Heaven's good time, we two had not parted
till I had torn asunder the throat which so lately trilled forth
blasphemies."

"Hamako," said the Saracen, without any appearance of resenting
the violent language and yet more violent assault to which he had
been subjected, "I pray thee, good Hamako, to beware how thou
dost again urge thy privilege over far; for though, as a good
Moslem, I respect those whom Heaven hath deprived of ordinary
reason, in order to endow them with the spirit of prophecy, yet I
like not other men's hands on the bridle of my horse, neither
upon my own person.  Speak, therefore, what thou wilt, secure of
any resentment from me; but gather so much sense as to apprehend
that if thou shalt again proffer me any violence, I will strike
thy shagged head from thy meagre shoulders.--and to thee, friend
Kenneth," he added, as he remounted his steed, "I must needs say,
that in a companion through the desert, I love friendly deeds
better than fair words.  Of the last thou hast given me enough;
but it had been better to have aided me more speedily in my
struggle with this Hamako, who had well-nigh taken my life in his
frenzy,"

"By my faith," said the Knight, "I did somewhat fail--was
somewhat tardy in rendering thee instant help; but the
strangeness of the assailant, the suddenness of the scene--it was
as if thy wild and wicked lay had raised the devil among us--and
such was my confusion, that two or three minutes elapsed ere I
could take to my weapon."

"Thou art but a cold and considerate friend," said the Saracen;
"and, had the Hamako been one grain more frantic, thy companion
had been slain by thy side, to thy eternal dishonour, without thy
stirring a finger in his aid, although thou satest by, mounted,
and in arms."

"By my word, Saracen," said the Christian, "if thou wilt have it
in plain terms, I thought that strange figure was the devil; and
being of thy lineage, I knew not what family secret you might be
communicating to each other, as you lay lovingly rolling together
on the sand."

"Thy gibe is no answer, brother Kenneth," said the Saracen; "for
know, that had my assailant been in very deed the Prince of
Darkness, thou wert bound not the less to enter into combat with
him in thy comrade's behalf.  Know, also, that whatever there may
be of foul or of fiendish about the Hamako belongs more to your
lineage than to mine--this Hamako being, in truth, the anchorite
whom thou art come hither to visit."

"This!"  said Sir Kenneth, looking at the athletic yet wasted
figure before him--"this!  Thou mockest, Saracen--this cannot be
the venerable Theodorick!"

"Ask himself, if thou wilt not believe me," answered Sheerkohf;
and ere the words had left his mouth, the hermit gave evidence in
his own behalf.

"I am Theodorick of Engaddi," he said--"I am the walker of the
desert--I am friend of the Cross, and flail of all infidels,
heretics, and devil-worshippers.  Avoid ye, avoid ye!  Down with
Mahound, Termagaunt, and all their adherents!"--So saying, he
pulled from under his shaggy garment a sort of flail or jointed
club, bound with iron, which he brandished round his head with
singular dexterity,

"Thou seest thy saint," said the Saracen, laughing, for the first
time, at the unmitigated astonishment with which Sir Kenneth
looked on the wild gestures and heard the wayward muttering of
Theodorick, who, after swinging his flail in every direction,
apparently quite reckless whether it encountered the head of
either of his companions, finally showed his own strength, and
the soundness of the weapon, by striking into fragments a large
stone which lay near him.

"This is a madman," said Sir Kenneth.

"Not the worse saint," returned the Moslem, speaking according to
the well-known Eastern belief, that madmen are under the
influence of immediate inspiration.  "Know, Christian, that when
one eye is extinguished, the other becomes more keen; when one
hand is cut off, the other becomes more powerful; so, when our
reason in human things is disturbed or destroyed, our view
heavenward becomes more acute and perfect."

Here the voice of the Saracen was drowned in that of the hermit,
who began to hollo aloud in a wild, chanting tone, "I am
Theodorick of Engaddi--I am the torch-brand of the desert--I am
the flail of the infidels!  The lion and the leopard shall be my
comrades, and draw nigh to my cell for shelter; neither shall the
goat be afraid of their fangs.  I am the torch and the lantern
--Kyrie Eleison!"

He closed his song by a short race, and ended that again by three
forward bounds, which would have done him great credit in a
gymnastic academy, but became his character of hermit so
indifferently that the Scottish Knight was altogether confounded
and bewildered.

The Saracen seemed to understand him better.  "You see," he said,
"that he expects us to follow him to his cell, which, indeed, is
our only place of refuge for the night.  You are the leopard,
from the portrait on your shield; I am the lion, as my name
imports; and by the goat, alluding to his garb of goat-skins, he
means himself.  We must keep him in sight, however, for he is as
fleet as a dromedary."

In fact, the task was a difficult one, for though the reverend
guide stopped from time to time, and waved his hand, as if to
encourage them to come on, yet, well acquainted with all the
winding dells and passes of the desert, and gifted with uncommon
activity, which, perhaps, an unsettled state of mind kept in
constant exercise, he led the knights through chasms and along
footpaths where even the light-armed Saracen, with his well-
trained barb, was in considerable risk, and where the iron-
sheathed European and his over-burdened steed found themselves in
such imminent peril as the rider would gladly have exchanged for
the dangers of a general action.  Glad he was when, at length,
after this wild race, he beheld the holy man who had led it
standing in front of a cavern, with a large torch in his hand,
composed of a piece of wood dipped in bitumen, which cast a broad
and flickering light, and emitted a strong sulphureous smell.

Undeterred by the stifling vapour, the knight threw himself from
his horse and entered the cavern, which afforded small appearance
of accommodation.  The cell was divided into two parts, in the
outward of which were an altar of stone and a crucifix made of
reeds: this served the anchorite for his chapel.  On one side of
this outward cave the Christian knight, though not without
scruple, arising from religious reverence to the objects around,
fastened up his horse, and arranged him for the night, in
imitation of the Saracen, who gave him to understand that such
was the custom of the place.  The hermit, meanwhile, was busied
putting his inner apartment in order to receive his guests, and
there they soon joined him.  At the bottom of the outer cave, a
small aperture, closed with a door of rough plank, led into the
sleeping apartment of the hermit, which was more commodious.  The
floor had been brought to a rough level by the labour of the
inhabitant, and then strewed with white sand, which he daily
sprinkled with water from a small fountain which bubbled out of
the rock in one corner, affording in that stifling climate,
refreshment alike to the ear and the taste.  Mattresses, wrought
of twisted flags, lay by the side of the cell; the sides, like
the floor, had been roughly brought to shape, and several herbs
and flowers were hung around them.  Two waxen torches, which the
hermit lighted, gave a cheerful air to the place, which was
rendered agreeable by its fragrance and coolness.

There were implements of labour in one corner of the apartment,
in another was a niche for a rude statue of the Virgin.  A table
and two chairs showed that they must be the handiwork of the
anchorite, being different in their form from Oriental
accommodations.  The former was covered, not only with reeds and
pulse, but also with dried flesh, which Theodorick assiduously
placed in such arrangement as should invite the appetite of his
guests.  This appearance of courtesy, though mute, and expressed
by gestures only, seemed to Sir Kenneth something entirely
irreconcilable with his former wild and violent demeanour.  The
movements of the hermit were now become composed, and apparently
it was only a sense of religious humiliation which prevented his
features, emaciated as they were by his austere mode of life,
from being majestic and noble.  He trod his cell as one who
seemed born to rule over men, but who had abdicated his empire to
become the servant of Heaven.  Still, it must be allowed that his
gigantic size, the length of his unshaven locks and beard, and
the fire of a deep-set and wild eye were rather attributes of a
soldier than of a recluse.

Even the Saracen seemed to regard the anchorite with some
veneration, while he was thus employed, and he whispered in a low
tone to Sir Kenneth, "The Hamako is now in his better mind, but
he will not speak until we have eaten--such is his vow."

It was in silence, accordingly, that Theodorick motioned to the
Scot to take his place on one of the low chairs, while Sheerkohf
placed himself, after the custom of his nation, upon a cushion of
mats.  The hermit then held up both hands, as if blessing the
refreshment which he had placed before his guests, and they
proceeded to eat in silence as profound as his own.  To the
Saracen this gravity was natural; and the Christian imitated his
taciturnity, while he employed his thoughts on the singularity of
his own situation, and the contrast betwixt the wild, furious
gesticulations, loud cries, and fierce actions of Theodorick,
when they first met him, and the demure, solemn, decorous
assiduity with which he now performed the duties of hospitality.

When their meal was ended, the hermit, who had not himself eaten
a morsel, removed the fragments from the table, and placing
before the Saracen a pitcher of sherbet, assigned to the Scot a
flask of wine.

"Drink," he said, "my children"--they were the first words he had
spoken--"the gifts of God are to be enjoyed, when the Giver is
remembered."

Having said this, he retired to the-outward cell, probably for
performance of his devotions, and left his guests together in the
inner apartment; when Sir Kenneth endeavoured, by various
questions, to draw from Sheerkohf what that Emir knew concerning
his host.  He was interested by more than mere curiosity in these
inquiries.  Difficult as it was to reconcile the outrageous
demeanour of the recluse at his first appearance with his present
humble and placid behaviour, it seemed yet more impossible to
think it consistent with the high consideration in which,
according to what Sir Kenneth had learned, this hermit was held
by the most enlightened divines of the Christian world.
Theodorick, the hermit of Engaddi, had, in that character, been
the correspondent of popes and councils; to whom his letters,
full of eloquent fervour, had described the miseries imposed by
the unbelievers upon the Latin Christians in the Holy Land, in
colours scarce inferior to those employed at the Council of
Clermont by the Hermit Peter, when he preached the first Crusade.
To find, in a person so reverend and so much revered, the frantic
gestures of a mad fakir, induced the Christian knight to pause
ere he could resolve to communicate to him certain important
matters, which he had in charge from some of the leaders of the
Crusade.

It had been a main object of Sir Kenneth's pilgrimage, attempted
by a route so unusual, to make such communications; but what he
had that night seen induced him to pause and reflect ere he
proceeded to the execution of his commission.  From the Emir he
could not extract much information, but the general tenor was as
follows:--That, as he had heard, the hermit had been once a brave
and valiant soldier, wise in council and fortunate in battle,
which last he could easily believe from the great strength and
agility which he had often seen him display; that he had appeared
at Jerusalem in the character not of a pilgrim, but in that of
one who had devoted himself to dwell for the remainder of his
life in the Holy Land.  Shortly afterwards, he fixed his
residence amid the scenes of desolation where they now found him,
respected by the Latins for his austere devotion, and by the
Turks and Arabs on account of the symptoms of insanity which he
displayed, and which they ascribed to inspiration.  It was from
them he had the name of Hamako, which expresses such a character
in the Turkish language.  Sheerkohf himself seemed at a loss how
to rank their host.  He had been, he said, a wise man, and could
often for many hours together speak lessons of virtue or wisdom,
without the slightest appearance of inaccuracy.  At other times
he was wild and violent, but never before had he seen him so
mischievously disposed as he had that day appeared to be.  His
rage was chiefly provoked by any affront to his religion; and
there was a story of some wandering Arabs, who had insulted his
worship and defaced his altar, and whom he had on that account
attacked and slain with the short flail which he carried with him
in lieu of all other weapons.  This incident had made a great
noise, and it was as much the fear of the hermit's iron flail as
regard for his character as a Hamako which caused the roving
tribes to respect his dwelling and his chapel.  His fame had
spread so far that Saladin had issued particular orders that he
should be spared and protected.  He himself, and other Moslem
lords of rank, had visited the cell more than once, partly from
curiosity, partly that they expected from a man so learned as the
Christian Hamako some insight into the secrets of futurity.  "He
had," continued the Saracen, "a rashid, or observatory, of great
height, contrived to view the heavenly bodies, and particularly
the planetary system--by whose movements and influences, as both
Christian and Moslem believed, the course of human events was
regulated, and might be predicted."

This was the substance of the Emir Sheerkohf's information, and
it left Sir Kenneth in doubt whether the character of insanity
arose from the occasional excessive fervour of the hermit's zeal,
or whether it was not altogether fictitious, and assumed for the
sake of the immunities which it afforded.  Yet it seemed that the
infidels had carried their complaisance towards him to an
uncommon length, considering the fanaticism of the followers of
Mohammed, in the midst of whom he was living, though the
professed enemy of their faith.  He thought also there was more
intimacy of acquaintance betwixt the hermit and the Saracen than
the words of the latter had induced him to anticipate; and it had
not escaped him that the former had called the latter by a name
different from that which he himself had assumed.  All these
considerations authorized caution, if not suspicion.  He
determined to observe his host closely, and not to be over-hasty
in communicating with him on the important charge entrusted to
him.

"Beware, Saracen," he said; "methinks our host's imagination
wanders as well on the subject of names as upon other matters.
Thy name is Sheerkohf, and he called thee but now by another."

"My name, when in the tent of my father," replied the Kurdman,
"was Ilderim, and by this I am still distinguished by many.  In
the field, and to soldiers, I am known as the Lion of the
Mountain, being the name my good sword hath won for me.  But
hush, the Hamako comes--it is to warn us to rest.  I know his
custom; none must watch him at his vigils."

The anchorite accordingly entered, and folding his arms on his
bosom as he stood before them, said with a solemn voice, "Blessed
be His name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the
busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to
compose the troubled spirit!"

Both warriors replied "Amen!"  and, arising from the table,
prepared to betake themselves to the couches, which their host
indicated by waving his hand, as, making a reverence to each, he
again withdrew from the apartment.

The Knight of the Leopard then disarmed himself of his heavy
panoply, his Saracen companion kindly assisting him to undo his
buckler and clasps, until he remained in the close dress of
chamois leather, which knights and men-at-arms used to wear under
their harness.  The Saracen, if he had admired the strength of
his adversary when sheathed in steel, was now no less struck with
the accuracy of proportion displayed in his nervous and well-
compacted figure.  The knight, on the other hand, as, in exchange
of courtesy, he assisted the Saracen to disrobe himself of his
upper garments, that he might sleep with more convenience, was,
on his side, at a loss to conceive how such slender proportions
and slimness of figure could be reconciled with the vigour he had
displayed in personal contest.

Each warrior prayed ere he addressed himself to his place of
rest.  The Moslem turned towards his KEBLAH, the point to which
the prayer of each follower of the Prophet was to be addressed,
and murmured his heathen orisons; while the Christian,
withdrawing from the contamination of the infidel's
neighbourhood, placed his huge cross-handled sword upright, and
kneeling before it as the sign of salvation, told his rosary with
a devotion which was enhanced by the recollection of the scenes
through which he had passed, and the dangers from which he had
been rescued, in the course of the day.  Both warriors, worn by
toil and travel, were soon fast asleep, each on his separate
pallet.



CHAPTER IV.

Kenneth the Scot was uncertain how long his senses had been lost
in profound repose, when he was roused to recollection by a sense
of oppression on his chest, which at first suggested a flirting
dream of struggling with a powerful opponent, and at length
recalled him fully to his senses.  He was about to demand who was
there, when, opening his eyes, he beheld the figure of the
anchorite, wild and savage-looking as we have described him,
standing by his bedside, and pressing his right hand upon his
breast, while he held a small silver lamp in the other.

"Be silent," said the hermit, as the prostrate knight looked up
in surprise; "I have that to say to you which yonder infidel must
not hear."

These words he spoke in the French language, and not in the
lingua franca, or compound of Eastern and European dialects,
which had hitherto been used amongst them.

"Arise," he continued, "put on thy mantle; speak not, but tread
lightly, and follow me."

Sir Kenneth arose, and took his sword.

"It needs not," answered the anchorite, in a whisper; "we are
going where spiritual arms avail much, and fleshly weapons are
but as the reed and the decayed gourd."

The knight deposited his sword by the bedside as before, and,
armed only with his dagger, from which in this perilous country
he never parted, prepared to attend his mysterious host.

The hermit then moved slowly forwards, and was followed by the
knight, still under some uncertainty whether the dark form which
glided on before to show him the path was not, in fact, the
creation of a disturbed dream.  They passed, like shadows, into
the outer apartment, without disturbing the paynim Emir, who lay
still buried in repose.  Before the cross and altar, in the
outward room, a lamp was still burning, a missal was displayed,
and on the floor lay a discipline, or penitential scourge of
small cord and wire, the lashes of which were recently stained
with blood--a token, no doubt, of the severe penance of the
recluse.  Here Theodorick kneeled down, and pointed to the knight
to take his place beside him upon the sharp flints, which seemed
placed for the purpose of rendering the posture of reverential
devotion as uneasy as possible.  He read many prayers of the
Catholic Church, and chanted, in a low but earnest voice, three
of the penitential psalms.  These last he intermixed with sighs,
and tears, and convulsive throbs, which bore witness how deeply
he felt the divine poetry which he recited.  The Scottish knight
assisted with profound sincerity at these acts of devotion, his
opinion of his host beginning, in the meantime, to be so much
changed, that he doubted whether, from the severity of his
penance and the ardour of his prayers, he ought not to regard him
as a saint; and when they arose from the ground, he stood with
reverence before him, as a pupil before an honoured master.  The
hermit was, on his side, silent and abstracted for the space of a
few minutes.

"Look into yonder recess, my son," he said, pointing to the
farther corner of the cell; "there thou wilt find a veil--bring
it hither."

The knight obeyed, and in a small aperture cut out of the wall,
and secured with a door of wicker, he found the veil inquired
for.  When he brought it to the light, he  discovered that it was
torn, and soiled in some places with some dark substance.  The
anchorite looked at it with a deep but smothered emotion, and ere
he could speak to the Scottish knight, was compelled to vent his
feelings in a convulsive groan.

"Thou art now about to look upon the richest treasure that the
earth possesses," he at length said; "woe is me, that my eyes are
unworthy to be lifted towards it!  Alas!  I am but the vile and
despised sign, which points out to the wearied traveller a
harbour of rest and security, but must itself remain for ever
without doors.  In vain have I fled to the very depths of the
rocks, and the very bosom of the thirsty desert.  Mine enemy hath
found me--even he whom I have denied has pursued me to my
fortresses."

He paused again for a moment, and turning to the Scottish knight,
said, in a firmer tone of voice, "You bring me a greeting from
Richard of England?"

"I come from the Council of Christian Princes," said the knight;
"but the King of England being indisposed, I am not honoured with
his Majesty's commands."

"Your token?"  demanded the recluse.

Sir Kenneth hesitated.  Former suspicions, and the marks of
insanity which the hermit had formerly exhibited, rushed suddenly
on his thoughts; but how suspect a man whose manners were so
saintly?  "My password," he said at length, "is this--Kings
begged of a beggar."

"It is right," said the hermit, while he paused.  "I know you
well; but the sentinel upon his post--and mine is an important
one--challenges friend as well as foe,"

He then moved forward with the lamp, leading the way into the
room which they had left.  The Saracen lay on his couch, still
fast asleep.  The hermit paused by his side, and looked down on
him.

"He sleeps," he said, "in darkness, and must not be awakened."

The attitude of the Emir did indeed convey the idea of profound
repose.  One arm, flung across his body, as he lay with his face
half turned to the wall, concealed, with its loose and long
sleeve, the greater part of his face; but the high forehead was
yet visible.  Its nerves, which during his waking hours were so
uncommonly active, were now motionless, as if the face had been
composed of dark marble, and his long silken eyelashes closed
over his piercing and hawklike eyes.  The open and relaxed hand,
and the deep, regular, and soft breathing, all gave tokens of the
most profound repose.  The slumberer formed a singular group
along with the tall forms of the hermit in his shaggy dress of
goat-skins, bearing the lamp, and the knight in his close
leathern coat--the former with an austere expression of ascetic
gloom, the latter with anxious curiosity deeply impressed on his
manly features.

"He sleeps soundly," said the hermit, in the same low tone as
before; and repeating the words, though he had changed the
meaning from that which is literal to a metaphorical sense--"he
sleeps in darkness, but there shall be for him a dayspring.--O
Ilderim, thy waking thoughts are yet as vain and wild as those
which are wheeling their giddy dance through thy sleeping brain;
but the trumpet shall be heard, and the dream shall be
dissolved."

So saying, and making the knight a sign to follow him, the hermit
went towards the altar, and passing behind it, pressed a spring,
which, opening without noise, showed a small iron door wrought in
the side of the cavern, so as to be almost imperceptible, unless
upon the most severe scrutiny.  The hermit, ere he ventured fully
to open the door, dropped some oil on the hinges, which the lamp
supplied.  A small staircase, hewn in the rock, was discovered,
when the iron door was at length completely opened.

"Take the veil which I hold," said the hermit, in a melancholy
tone, "and blind mine eyes; For I may not look on the treasure
which thou art presently to behold, without sin and presumption."

Without reply, the knight hastily muffled the recluse's head in
the veil, and the latter began to ascend the staircase as one too
much accustomed to the way to require the use of light, while at
the same time he held the lamp to the Scot, who followed him for
many steps up the narrow ascent.  At length they rested in a
small vault of irregular form, in one nook of which the staircase
terminated, while in another corner a corresponding stair was
seen to continue the ascent.  In a third angle was a Gothic door,
very rudely ornamented with the usual attributes of clustered
columns and carving, and defended by a wicket, strongly guarded
with iron, and studded with large nails.  To this last point the
hermit directed his steps, which seemed to falter as he
approached it.

"Put off thy shoes," he said to his attendant; "the ground on
which thou standest is holy.  Banish from thy innermost heart
each profane and carnal thought, for to harbour such while in
this place were a deadly impiety."

The knight laid aside his shoes as he was commanded, and the
hermit stood in the meanwhile as if communing with his soul in
secret prayer, and when he again moved, commanded the knight to
knock at the wicket three times.  He did so.  The door opened
spontaneously--at least Sir Kenneth beheld no one--and his senses
were at once assailed by a stream of the purest light, and by a
strong and almost oppressive sense of the richest perfumes.  He
stepped two or three paces back, and it was the space of a minute
ere he recovered the dazzling and overpowering effects of the
sudden change from darkness to light.

When he entered the apartment in which this brilliant lustre was
displayed, he perceived that the light proceeded from a
combination of silver lamps, fed with purest oil, and sending
forth the richest odours, hanging by silver chains from the roof
of a small Gothic chapel, hewn, like most part of the hermit's
singular mansion, out of the sound and solid rock.  But whereas,
in every other place which Sir Kenneth had seen, the labour
employed upon the rock had been of the simplest and coarsest
description, it had in this chapel employed the invention and the
chisels of the most able architects.  The groined roofs rose from
six columns on each side, carved with the rarest skill; and the
manner in which the crossings of the concave arches were bound
together, as it were, with appropriate ornaments, were all in the
finest tone of the architecture of the age.  Corresponding to the
line of pillars, there were on each side six richly-wrought
niches, each of which contained the image of one of the twelve
apostles.

At the upper and eastern end of the chapel stood the altar,
behind which a very rich curtain of Persian silk, embroidered
deeply with gold, covered a recess, containing, unquestionably,
some image or relic of no ordinary sanctity, in honour of which
this singular place of worship had been erected, Under the
persuasion that this must be the case, the knight advanced to the
shrine, and kneeling down before it, repeated his devotions with
fervency, during which his attention was disturbed by the curtain
being suddenly raised, or rather pulled aside, how or by whom he
saw not; but in the niche which was thus disclosed he beheld a
cabinet of silver and ebony, with a double folding-door, the
whole formed into the miniature resemblance of a Gothic church.

As he gazed with anxious curiosity on the shrine, the two
folding-doors also flew open, discovering a large piece of wood,
on which were blazoned the words, VERA CRUX; at the same time a
choir of female voices sung GLORIA PATRI.  The instant the strain
had ceased, the shrine was closed, and the curtain again drawn,
and the knight who knelt at the altar might now continue his
devotions undisturbed, in honour of the holy relic which had been
just disclosed to his view.  He did this under the profound
impression of one who had witnessed, with his own eyes, an awful
evidence of the truth of his religion; and it was some time ere,
concluding his orisons, he arose, and ventured to look around him
for the hermit, who had guided him to this sacred and mysterious
spot.  He beheld him, his head still muffled in the veil which he
had himself wrapped around it, crouching, like a rated hound,
upon the threshold of the chapel; but, apparently, without
venturing to cross it--the holiest reverence, the most
penitential remorse, was expressed by his posture, which seemed
that of a man borne down and crushed to the earth by the burden
of his inward feelings.  It seemed to the Scot that only the
sense of the deepest penitence, remorse, and humiliation could
have thus prostrated a frame so strong and a spirit so fiery.

He approached him as if to speak; but the recluse anticipated his
purpose, murmuring in stifled tones, from beneath the fold in
which his head was muffled, and which sounded like a voice
proceeding from the cerements of a corpse,--"Abide, abide--happy
thou that mayest--the vision is not yet ended."  So saying, he
reared himself from the ground, drew back from the threshold on
which he had hitherto lain prostrate, and closed the door of the
chapel, which, secured by a spring bolt within, the snap of which
resounded through the place, appeared so much like a part of the
living rock from which the cavern was hewn, that Kenneth could
hardly discern where the aperture had been.  He was now alone in
the lighted chapel which contained the relic to which he had
lately rendered his homage, without other arms than his dagger,
or other companion than his pious thoughts and dauntless courage.

Uncertain what was next to happen, but resolved to abide the
course of events, Sir Kenneth paced the solitary chapel till
about the time of the earliest cock-crowing.  At this dead
season, when night and morning met together, he heard, but from
what quarter he could not discover, the sound of such a small
silver bell as is rung at the elevation of the host in the
ceremony, or sacrifice, as it has been called, of the mass. The
hour and the place rendered the sound fearfully solemn, and, bold
as he was, the knight withdrew himself into the farther nook of
the chapel, at the end opposite to the altar, in order to
observe, without interruption, the consequences of this
unexpected signal.

He did not wait long ere the silken curtain was again withdrawn,
and the relic again presented to his view.  As he sunk
reverentially on his knee, he heard the sound of the lauds, or
earliest office of the Catholic Church, sung by female voices,
which united together in the performance as they had done in the
former service.  The knight was soon aware that the voices were
no longer stationary in the distance, but approached the chapel
and became louder, when a door, imperceptible when closed, like
that by which he had himself entered, opened on the other side of
the vault, and gave the tones of the choir more room to swell
along the ribbed arches of the roof.

The knight fixed his eyes on the opening with breathless anxiety,
and, continuing to kneel in the attitude of devotion which the
place and scene required, expected the consequence of these
preparations.  A procession appeared about to issue from the
door.  First, four beautiful boys, whose arms, necks, and legs
were bare, showing the bronze complexion of the East, and
contrasting with the snow-white tunics which they wore, entered
the chapel by two and two.  The first pair bore censers, which
they swung from side to side, adding double fragrance to the
odours with which the chapel already was impregnated.  The second
pair scattered flowers.

After these followed, in due and majestic order, the females who
composed the choir--six, who from their black scapularies, and
black veils over their white garments, appeared to be professed
nuns of the order of Mount Carmel; and as many whose veils, being
white, argued them to be novices, or occasional inhabitants in
the cloister, who were not as yet bound to it by vows.  The
former held in their hands large rosaries, while the younger and
lighter figures who followed carried each a chaplet of red and
white roses.  They moved in procession around the chapel, without
appearing to take the slightest notice of Kenneth, although
passing so near him that their robes almost touched him, while
they continued to sing.  The knight doubted not that he was in
one of those cloisters where the noble Christian maidens had
formerly openly devoted themselves to the services of the church.
Most of them had been suppressed since the Mohammedans had
reconquered Palestine, but many, purchasing connivance by
presents, or receiving it from the clemency or contempt of the
victors, still continued to observe in private the ritual to
which their vows had consecrated them.  Yet, though Kenneth knew
this to be the case, the solemnity of the place and hour, the
surprise at the sudden appearance of these votaresses, and the
visionary manner in which they moved past him, had such influence
on his imagination that he could scarce conceive that the fair
procession which he beheld was formed of creatures of this world,
so much did they resemble a choir of supernatural beings,
rendering homage to the universal object of adoration.

Such was the knight's first idea, as the procession passed him,
scarce moving, save just sufficiently to continue their progress;
so that, seen by the shadowy and religious light which the lamps
shed through the clouds of incense which darkened the apartment,
they appeared rather to glide than to walk.

But as a second time, in surrounding the chapel, they passed the
spot on which he kneeled, one of the white-stoled maidens, as she
glided by him, detached from the chaplet which she carried a
rosebud, which dropped from her fingers, perhaps unconsciously,
on the foot of Sir Kenneth.  The knight started as if a dart had
suddenly struck his person; for, when the mind is wound up to a
high pitch of feeling and expectation, the slightest incident, if
unexpected, gives fire to the train which imagination has already
laid.  But he suppressed his emotion, recollecting how easily an
incident so indifferent might have happened, and that it was only
the uniform monotony of the movement of the choristers which made
the incident in the slightest degree remarkable.

Still, while the procession, for the third time, surrounded the
chapel, the thoughts and the eyes of Kenneth followed exclusively
the one among the novices who had dropped the rosebud.  Her step,
her face, her form were so completely assimilated to the rest of
the choristers that it was impossible to perceive the least marks
of individuality; and yet Kenneth's heart throbbed like a bird
that would burst from its cage, as if to assure him, by its
sympathetic suggestions, that the female who held the right file
on the second rank of the novices was dearer to him, not only
than all the rest that were present, but than the whole sex
besides.  The romantic passion of love, as it was cherished, and
indeed enjoined, by the rules of chivalry, associated well with
the no less romantic feelings of devotion; and they might be said
much more to enhance than to counteract each other.  It was,
therefore, with a glow of expectation that had something even of
a religious character that Sir Kenneth, his sensations thrilling
from his heart to the ends of his fingers, expected some second
sign of the presence of one who, he strongly fancied, had already
bestowed on him the first.  Short as the space was during which
the procession again completed a third perambulation of the
chapel, it seemed an eternity to Kenneth.  At length the form
which he had watched with such devoted attention drew nigh.
There was no difference betwixt that shrouded figure and the
others, with whom it moved in concert and in unison, until, just
as she passed for the third time the kneeling Crusader, a part of
a little and well-proportioned hand, so beautifully formed as to
give the highest idea of the perfect proportions of the form to
which it belonged, stole through the folds of the gauze, like a
moonbeam through the fleecy cloud of a summer night, and again a
rosebud lay at the feet of the Knight of the Leopard.

This second intimation could not be accidental---it could not be
fortuitous, the resemblance of that half-seen but beautiful
female hand with one which his lips had once touched, and, while
they touched it, had internally sworn allegiance to the lovely
owner.  Had further proof been wanting, there was the glimmer of
that matchless ruby ring on that snow-white finger, whose
invaluable worth Kenneth would yet have prized less than the
slightest sign which that finger could have made; and, veiled
too, as she was, he might see, by chance or by favour, a stray
curl of the dark tresses, each hair of which was dearer to him a
hundred times than a chain of massive gold.  It was the lady of
his love!  But that she should he here--in the savage and
sequestered desert--among vestals, who rendered themselves
habitants of wilds and of caverns, that they might perform in
secret those Christian rites which they dared not assist in
openly; that this should be so, in truth and in reality, seemed
too incredible--it must be a dream--a delusive trance of the
imagination.  While these thoughts passed through the mind of
Kenneth, the same passage, by which the procession had entered
the chapel, received them on their return.  The young sacristans,
the sable nuns, vanished successively through the open door.  At
length she from whom he had received this double intimation
passed also; yet, in passing, turned her head, slightly indeed,
but perceptibly, towards the place where he remained fixed as an
image.  He marked the last wave of her veil--it was gone--and a
darkness sunk upon his soul, scarce less palpable than that which
almost immediately enveloped his external sense; for the last
chorister had no sooner crossed the threshold of the door than it
shut with a loud sound, and at the same instant the voices of the
choir were silent, the lights of the chapel were at once
extinguished, and Sir Kenneth remained solitary and in total
darkness.  But to Kenneth, solitude, and darkness, and the
uncertainty of his mysterious situation were as nothing--he
thought not of them--cared not for them--cared for nought in the
world save the flitting vision which had just glided past him,
and the tokens of her favour which she had bestowed.  To grope on
the floor for the buds which she had dropped--to press them to
his lips, to his bosom, now alternately, now together--to rivet
his lips to the cold stones on which, as near as he could judge,
she had so lately stepped--to play all the extravagances which
strong affection suggests and vindicates to those who yield
themselves up to it, were but the tokens of passionate love
common to all ages.  But it was peculiar to the times of chivalry
that, in his wildest rapture, the knight imagined of no attempt
to follow or to trace the object of such romantic attachment;
that he thought of her as of a deity, who, having deigned to show
herself for an instant to her devoted worshipper, had again
returned to the darkness of her sanctuary--or as an influential
planet, which, having darted in some auspicious minute one
favourable ray, wrapped itself again in its veil of mist.  The
motions of the lady of his love were to him those of a superior
being, who was to move without watch or control, rejoice him by
her appearance, or depress him by her absence, animate him by her
kindness, or drive him to despair by her cruelty--all at her own
free will, and without other importunity or remonstrance than
that expressed by the most devoted services of the heart and
sword of the champion, whose sole object in life was to fulfil
her commands, and, by the splendour of his own achievements, to
exalt her fame.

Such were the rules of chivalry, and of the love which was its
ruling principle.  But Sir Kenneth's attachment was rendered
romantic by other and still more peculiar circumstances.  He had
never even heard the sound of his lady's voice, though he had
often beheld her beauty with rapture.  She moved in a circle
which his rank of knighthood permitted him indeed to approach,
but not to mingle with; and highly as he stood distinguished for
warlike skill and enterprise, still the poor Scottish soldier was
compelled to worship his divinity at a distance almost as great
as divides the Persian from the sun which he adores.  But when
was the pride of woman too lofty to overlook the passionate
devotion of a lover, however inferior in degree?  Her eye had
been on him in the tournament, her ear had heard his praises in
the report of the battles which were daily fought; and while
count, duke, and lord contended for her grace, it flowed,
unwillingly perhaps at first, or even unconsciously, towards the
poor Knight of the Leopard, who, to support his rank, had little
besides his sword.  When she looked, and when she listened, the
lady saw and heard enough to encourage her in a partiality which
had at first crept on her unawares.  If a knight's personal
beauty was praised, even the most prudish dames of the military
court of England would make an exception in favour of the
Scottish Kenneth; and it oftentimes happened that,
notwithstanding the very considerable largesses which princes and
peers bestowed on the minstrels, an impartial spirit of
independence would seize the poet, and the harp was swept to the
heroism of one who had neither palfreys nor garments to bestow in
guerdon of his applause.

The moments when she listened to the praises of her lover became
gradually more and more dear to the high-born Edith, relieving
the flattery with which her ear was weary, and presenting to her
a subject of secret contemplation, more worthy, as he seemed by
general report, than those who surpassed him in rank and in the
gifts of fortune.  As her attention became constantly, though
cautiously, fixed on Sir Kenneth, she grew more and more
convinced of his personal devotion to herself and more and more
certain in her mind that in Kenneth of Scotland she beheld the
fated knight doomed to share with her through weal and woe--and
the prospect looked gloomy and dangerous--the passionate
attachment to which the poets of the age ascribed such universal
dominion, and which its manners and morals placed nearly on the
same rank with devotion itself.

Let us not disguise the truth from our readers.  When Edith
became aware of the state of her own sentiments, chivalrous as
were her sentiments, becoming a maiden not distant from the
throne of England--gratified as her pride must have been with the
mute though unceasing homage rendered to her by the knight whom
she had distinguished, there were moments when the feelings of
the woman, loving and beloved, murmured against the restraints of
state and form by which she was surrounded, and when she almost
blamed the timidity of her lover, who seemed resolved not to
infringe them.  The etiquette, to use a modern phrase, of birth
and rank, had drawn around her a magical circle, beyond which Sir
Kenneth might indeed bow and gaze, but within which he could no
more pass than an evoked spirit can transgress the boundaries
prescribed by the rod of a powerful enchanter.  The thought
involuntarily pressed on her that she herself must venture, were
it but the point of her fairy foot, beyond the prescribed
boundary, if she ever hoped to give a lover so reserved and
bashful an opportunity of so slight a favour as but to salute her
shoe-tie.  There was an example--the noted precedent of the
"King's daughter of Hungary," who thus generously encouraged the
"squire of low degree;" and Edith, though of kingly blood, was no
king's daughter, any more than her lover was of low degree
--fortune had put no such extreme barrier in obstacle to their
affections.  Something, however, within the maiden's bosom--that
modest pride which throws fetters even on love itself forbade
her, notwithstanding the superiority of her condition, to make
those advances, which, in every case, delicacy assigns to the
other sex; above all, Sir Kenneth was a knight so gentle and
honourable, so highly accomplished, as her imagination at least
suggested, together with the strictest feelings of what was due
to himself and to her, that however constrained her attitude
might be while receiving his adorations, like the image of some
deity, who is neither supposed to feel nor to reply to the homage
of its votaries, still the idol feared that to step prematurely
from her pedestal would be to degrade herself in the eyes of her
devoted worshipper.

Yet the devout adorer of an actual idol can even discover signs
of approbation in the rigid and immovable features of a marble
image; and it is no wonder that something, which could be as
favourably interpreted, glanced from the bright eye of the lovely
Edith, whose beauty, indeed, consisted rather more in that very
power of expression, than an absolute regularity of contour or
brilliancy of complexion.  Some slight marks of distinction had
escaped from her, notwithstanding her own jealous vigilance,
else how could Sir Kenneth have so readily and so undoubtingly
recognized the lovely hand, of which scarce two fingers were
visible from under the veil, or how could he have rested so
thoroughly assured that two flowers, successively dropped on the
spot, were intended as a recognition on the part of his lady-
love?  By what train of observation--by what secret signs, looks,
or gestures--by what instinctive freemasonry of love, this degree
of intelligence came to subsist between Edith and her lover, we
cannot attempt to trace; for we are old, and such slight vestiges
of affection, quickly discovered by younger eyes, defy the power
of ours.  Enough that such affection did subsist between parties
who had never even spoken to one another--though, on the side of
Edith, it was checked by a deep sense of the difficulties and
dangers which must necessarily attend the further progress of
their attachment; and upon that of the knight by a thousand
doubts and fears lest he had overestimated the slight tokens of
the lady's notice, varied, as they necessarily were, by long
intervals of apparent coldness, during which either the fear of
exciting the observation of others, and thus drawing danger upon
her lover, or that of sinking in his esteem by seeming too
willing to be won, made her behave with indifference, and as if
unobservant of his presence.

This narrative, tedious perhaps, but which the story renders
necessary, may serve to explain the state of intelligence, if it
deserves so strong a name, betwixt the lovers, when Edith's
unexpected appearance in the chapel produced so powerful an
effect on the feelings of her knight.



CHAPTER V.

Their necromantic forms in vain
Haunt us on the tented plain;
We bid these spectre shapes avaunt,
Ashtaroth and Termagaunt.     WARTON.

The most profound silence, the deepest darkness, continued to
brood for more than an hour over the chapel in which we left the
Knight of the Leopard still kneeling, alternately expressing
thanks to Heaven and gratitude to his lady for the boon which had
been vouchsafed to him.  His own safety, his own destiny, for
which he was at all times little anxious, had not now the weight
of a grain of dust in his reflections.  He was in the
neighbourhood of Lady Edith; he had received tokens of her grace;
he was in a place hallowed by relics of the most awful sanctity.
A Christian soldier, a devoted lover, could fear nothing, think
of nothing, but his duty to Heaven and his devoir to his lady.

At the lapse of the space of time which we have noticed, a shrill
whistle, like that with which a falconer calls his hawk, was
heard to ring sharply through the vaulted chapel.  it was a sound
ill suited to the place, and reminded Sir Kenneth how necessary
it was he should be upon his guard.  He started from his knee,
and laid his hand upon his poniard.  A creaking sound, as of a
screw or pulleys, succeeded, and a light streaming upwards, as
from an opening in the floor, showed that a trap-door had been
raised or depressed.  In less than a minute a long, skinny arm,
partly naked, partly clothed in a sleeve of red samite, arose out
of the aperture, holding a lamp as high as it could stretch
upwards, and the figure to which the arm belonged ascended step
by step to the level of the chapel floor.  The form and face of
the being who thus presented himself were those of a frightful
dwarf, with a large head, a cap fantastically adorned with three
peacock feathers, a dress of red samite, the richness of which
rendered his ugliness more conspicuous, distinguished by gold
bracelets and armlets, and a white silk sash, in which he wore a
gold-hilted dagger.  This singular figure had in his left hand a
kind of broom.  So soon as he had stepped from the aperture
through which he arose, he stood still, and, as if to show
himself more distinctly, moved the lamp which he held slowly over
his face and person, successively illuminating his wild and
fantastic features, and his misshapen but nervous limbs.  Though
disproportioned in person, the dwarf was not so distorted as to
argue any want of strength or activity.  While Sir Kenneth gazed
on this disagreeable object, the popular creed occurred to his
remembrance concerning the gnomes or earthly spirits which make
their abode in the caverns of the earth; and so much did this
figure correspond with ideas he had formed of their appearance,
that he looked on it with disgust, mingled not indeed with fear,
but that sort of awe which the presence of a supernatural
creature may infuse into the most steady bosom.

The dwarf again whistled, and summoned from beneath a companion.
This second figure ascended in the same manner as the first; but
it was a female arm in this second instance which upheld the lamp
from the subterranean vault out of which these presentments
arose, and it was a female form, much resembling the first in
shape and proportions, which slowly emerged from the floor.  Her
dress was also of red samite, fantastically cut and flounced, as
if she had been dressed for some exhibition of mimes or jugglers;
and with the same minuteness which her predecessor had exhibited,
she passed the lamp over her face and person, which seemed to
rival the male's in ugliness.  But with all this most
unfavourable exterior, there was one trait in the features of
both which argued alertness and intelligence in the most uncommon
degree.  This arose from the brilliancy of their eyes, which,
deep-set beneath black and shaggy brows, gleamed with a lustre
which, like that in the eye of the toad, seemed to make some
amends for the extreme ugliness of countenance and person.

Sir Kenneth remained as if spellbound, while this unlovely pair,
moving round the chapel close to each other, appeared to perform
the duty of sweeping it, like menials; but as they used only one
hand, the floor was not much benefited by the exercise, which
they plied with such oddity of gestures and manner as befitted
their bizarre and fantastic appearance.  When they approached
near to the knight in the course of their occupation, they ceased
to use their brooms; and placing themselves side by side,
directly opposite to Sir Kenneth, they again slowly shifted the
lights which they held, so as to allow him distinctly to survey
features which were not rendered more agreeable by being brought
nearer, and to observe the extreme quickness and keenness with
which their black and glittering eyes flashed back the light of
the lamps.  They then turned the gleam of both lights upon the
knight, and having accurately surveyed him, turned their faces to
each other, and set up a loud, yelling laugh, which resounded in
his ears.  The sound was so ghastly that Sir Kenneth started at
hearing it, and hastily demanded, in the name of God, who they
were who profaned that holy place with such antic gestures and
elritch exclamations.

"I am the dwarf Nectabanus," said the abortion-seeming male, in a
voice corresponding to his figure, and resembling the voice of
the night-crow more than any sound which is heard by daylight.

"And I am Guenevra, his lady and his love," replied the female,
in tones which, being shriller, were yet wilder than those of her
companion.

"Wherefore are you here?"  again demanded the knight, scarcely
yet assured that they were human beings which he saw before him.

"I am," replied the male dwarf, with much assumed gravity and
dignity, "the twelfth Imaum.  I am Mohammed Mohadi, the guide and
the conductor of the faithful.  A hundred horses stand ready
saddled for me and my train at the Holy City, and as many at the
City of Refuge.  I am he who shall bear witness, and this is one
of my houris."

"Thou liest!"  answered the female, interrupting her companion,
in tones yet shriller than his own; "I am none of thy houris, and
thou art no such infidel trash as the Mohammed of whom thou
speakest.  May my curse rest upon his coffin!  I tell thee, thou
ass of Issachar, thou art King Arthur of Britain, whom the
fairies stole away from the field of Avalon; and I am Dame
Guenevra, famed for her beauty."

"But in truth, noble sir," said the male, "we are distressed
princes, dwelling under the wing of King Guy of Jerusalem, until
he was driven out from his own nest by the foul infidels
--Heaven's bolts consume them!"

"Hush," said a voice from the side upon which the knight had
entered--"hush, fools, and begone; your ministry is ended."

The dwarfs had no sooner heard the command than, gibbering in
discordant whispers to each other, they blew out their lights at
once, and left the knight in utter darkness, which, when the
pattering of their retiring feet had died away, was soon
accompanied by its fittest companion, total silence.

The knight felt the departure of these unfortunate creatures a
relief.  He could not, from their language, manners, and
appearance, doubt that they belonged to the degraded class of
beings whom deformity of person and weakness of intellect
recommended to the painful situation of appendages to great
families, where their personal appearance and imbecility were
food for merriment to the household.  Superior in no respect to
the ideas and manners of his time, the Scottish knight might, at
another period, have been much amused by the mummery of these
poor effigies of humanity; but now their appearance,
gesticulations, and language broke the train of deep and solemn
feeling with which he was impressed, and he rejoiced in the
disappearance of the unhappy objects.

A few minutes after they had retired, the door at which he had
entered opened slowly, and remaining ajar, discovered a faint
light arising from a lantern placed upon the threshold.  Its
doubtful and wavering gleam showed a dark form reclined beside
the entrance, but without its precincts, which, on approaching it
more nearly, he recognized to be the hermit, crouching in the
same humble posture in which he had at first laid himself down,
and which, doubtless, he had retained during the whole time of
his guest's continuing in the chapel.

"All is over," said the hermit, as he heard the knight
approaching, "and the most wretched of earthly sinners, with him
who should think himself most honoured and most happy among the
race of humanity, must retire from this place.  Take the light,
and guide me down the descent, for I must not uncover my eyes
until I am far from this hallowed spot."

The Scottish knight obeyed in silence, for a solemn and yet
ecstatic sense of what he had seen had silenced even the eager
workings of curiosity.  He led the way, with considerable
accuracy, through the various secret passages and stairs by which
they had ascended, until at length they found themselves in the
outward cell of the hermit's cavern.

"The condemned criminal is restored to his dungeon, reprieved
from one miserable day to another, until his awful Judge shall at
length appoint the well-deserved sentence to be carried into
execution."

As the hermit spoke these words, he laid aside the veil with
which his eyes had been bound, and looked at it with a suppressed
and hollow sigh.  No sooner had he restored it to the crypt from
which he had caused the Scot to bring it, than he said hastily
and sternly to his companion; "Begone, begone--to rest, to rest.
You may sleep--you can sleep--I neither can nor may."

Respecting the profound agitation with which this was spoken, the
knight retired into the inner cell; but casting back his eye as
he left the exterior grotto, he beheld the anchorite stripping
his shoulders with frantic haste of their shaggy mantle, and ere
he could shut the frail door which separated the two compartments
of the cavern, he heard the clang of the scourge and the groans
of the penitent under his self-inflicted penance.  A cold shudder
came over the knight as he reflected what could be the foulness
of the sin, what the depth of the remorse, which, apparently,
such severe penance could neither cleanse nor assuage.  He told
his beads devoutly, and flung himself on his rude couch, after a
glance at the still sleeping Moslem, and, wearied by the various
scenes of the day and the night, soon slept as sound as infancy.
Upon his awaking in the morning, he held certain conferences with
the hermit upon matters of importance, and the result of their
intercourse induced him to remain for two days longer in the
grotto.  He was regular, as became a pilgrim, in his devotional
exercises, but was not again admitted to the chapel in which he
had seen such wonders.



CHAPTER VI.

Now change the scene--and let the trumpets sound,
For we must rouse the lion from his lair.  OLD PLAY.

The scene must change, as our programme has announced, from the
mountain wilderness of Jordan to the camp of King Richard of
England, then stationed betwixt Jean d'Acre and Ascalon, and
containing that army with which he of the lion heart had promised
himself a triumphant march to Jerusalem, and in which he would
probably have succeeded, if not hindered by the jealousies of the
Christian princes engaged in the same enterprise, and the offence
taken by them at the uncurbed haughtiness of the English monarch,
and Richard's unveiled contempt for his brother sovereigns, who,
his equals in rank, were yet far his inferiors in courage,
hardihood, and military talents.  Such discords, and particularly
those betwixt Richard and Philip of France, created disputes and
obstacles which impeded every active measure proposed by the
heroic though impetuous Richard, while the ranks of the Crusaders
were daily thinned, not only by the desertion of individuals, but
of entire bands, headed by their respective feudal leaders, who
withdrew from a contest in which they had ceased to hope for
success.

The effects of the climate became, as usual, fatal to soldiers
from the north, and the more so that the dissolute license of the
Crusaders, forming a singular contrast to the principles and
purpose of their taking up arms, rendered them more easy victims
to the insalubrious influence of burning heat and chilling dews.
To these discouraging causes of loss was to be added the sword of
the enemy.  Saladin, than whom no greater name is recorded in
Eastern history, had learned, to his fatal experience, that his
light-armed followers were little able to meet in close encounter
with the iron-clad Franks, and had been taught, at the same time,
to apprehend and dread the adventurous character of his
antagonist Richard.  But if his armies were more than once routed
with great slaughter, his numbers gave the Saracen the advantage
in those lighter skirmishes, of which many were inevitable.

As the army of his assailants decreased, the enterprises of the
Sultan became more numerous and more bold in this species of
petty warfare.  The camp of the Crusaders was surrounded, and
almost besieged, by clouds of light cavalry, resembling swarms of
wasps, easily crushed when they are once grasped, but furnished
with wings to elude superior strength, and stings to inflict harm
and mischief.  There was perpetual warfare of posts and foragers,
in which many valuable lives were lost, without any corresponding
object being gained; convoys were intercepted, and communications
were cut off.  The Crusaders had to purchase the means of
sustaining life, by life itself; and water, like that of the well
of Bethlehem, longed for by King David, one of its ancient
monarchs, was then, as before, only obtained by the expenditure
of blood.

These evils were in a great measure counterbalanced by the stern
resolution and restless activity of King Richard, who, with some
of his best knights, was ever on horseback, ready to repair to
any point where danger occurred, and often not only bringing
unexpected succour to the Christians, but discomfiting the
infidels when they seemed most secure of victory.  But even the
iron frame of Coeur de Lion could not support without injury the
alternations of the unwholesome climate, joined to ceaseless
exertions of body and mind.  He became afflicted with one of
those slow and wasting fevers peculiar to Asia, and in despite of
his great strength and still greater courage, grew first unfit to
mount on horseback, and then unable to attend the councils of war
which were from time to time held by the Crusaders.  It was
difficult to say whether this state of personal inactivity was
rendered more galling or more endurable to the English monarch by
the resolution of the council to engage in a truce of thirty days
with the Sultan Saladin; for on the one hand, if he was incensed
at the delay which this interposed to the progress of the great
enterprise, he was, on the other, somewhat consoled by knowing
that others were not acquiring laurels while he remained inactive
upon a sick-bed,

That, however, which Coeur de Lion could least excuse was the
general inactivity which prevailed in the camp of the Crusaders
so soon as his illness assumed a serious aspect; and the reports
which he extracted from his unwilling attendants gave him to
understand that the hopes of the host had abated in proportion to
his illness, and that the interval of truce was employed, not in
recruiting their numbers, reanimating their courage, fostering
their spirit of conquest, and preparing for a speedy and
determined advance upon the Holy City, which was the object of
their expedition, but in securing the camp occupied by their
diminished followers with trenches, palisades, and other
fortifications, as if preparing rather to repel an attack from a
powerful enemy so soon as hostilities should recommence, than to
assume the proud character of conquerors and assailants.

The English king chafed under these reports, like the imprisoned
lion viewing his prey from the iron barriers of his cage.
Naturally rash and impetuous, the irritability of his temper
preyed on itself.  He was dreaded by his attendants and even the
medical assistants feared to assume the necessary authority which
a physician, to do justice to his patient, must needs exercise
over him.  One faithful baron, who, perhaps, from the congenial
nature of his disposition, was devoutly attached to the King's
person, dared alone to come between the dragon and his wrath, and
quietly, but firmly, maintained a control which no other dared
assume over the dangerous invalid, and which Thomas de Multon
only exercised because he esteemed his sovereign's life and
honour more than he did the degree of favour which he might lose,
or even the risk which he might incur, in nursing a patient so
intractable, and whose displeasure was so perilous.

Sir Thomas was the Lord of Gilsland, in Cumberland, and in an age
when surnames and titles were not distinctly attached, as now, to
the individuals who bore them, he was called by the Normans the
Lord de Vaux; and in English by the Saxons, who clung to their
native language, and were proud of the share of Saxon blood in
this renowned warrior's veins, he was termed Thomas, or, more
familiarly, Thom of the Gills, or Narrow Valleys, from which his
extensive domains derived their well-known appellation.

This chief had been exercised in almost all the wars, whether
waged betwixt England and Scotland, or amongst the various
domestic factions which then tore the former country asunder, and
in all had been distinguished, as well from his military conduct
as his personal prowess.  He was, in other respects, a rude
soldier, blunt and careless in his bearing, and taciturn--nay,
almost sullen--in his habits of society, and seeming, at least,
to disclaim all knowledge of policy and of courtly art.  There
were men, however, who pretended to look deeply into character,
who asserted that the Lord de Vaux was not less shrewd and
aspiring than he was blunt and bold, and who thought that, while
he assimilated himself to the king's own character of blunt
hardihood, it was, in some degree at least, with an eye to
establish his favour, and to gratify his own hopes of deep-laid
ambition.  But no one cared to thwart his schemes, if such he
had, by rivalling him in the dangerous occupation of daily
attendance on the sick-bed of a patient whose disease was
pronounced infectious, and more especially when it was remembered
that the patient was Coeur de Lion, suffering under all the
furious impatience of a soldier withheld from battle, and a
sovereign sequestered from authority; and the common soldiers, at
least in the English army, were generally of opinion that De Vaux
attended on the King like comrade upon comrade, in the honest and
disinterested frankness of military friendship contracted between
the partakers of daily dangers.

It was on the decline of a Syrian day that Richard lay on his
couch of sickness, loathing it as much in mind as his illness
made it irksome to his body.  His bright blue eye, which at all
times shone with uncommon keenness and splendour, had its
vivacity augmented by fever and mental impatience, and glanced
from among his curled and unshorn locks of yellow hair as
fitfully and as vividly as the last gleams of the sun shoot
through the clouds of an approaching thunderstorm, which still,
however, are gilded by its beams.  His manly features showed the
progress of wasting illness, and his beard, neglected and
untrimmed, had overgrown both lips and chin.  Casting himself
from side to side, now clutching towards him the coverings, which
at the next moment he flung as impatiently from him, his tossed
couch and impatient gestures showed at once the energy and the
reckless impatience of a disposition whose natural sphere was
that of the most active exertion.

Beside his couch stood Thomas de Vaux, in face, attitude, and
manner the strongest possible contrast to the suffering monarch.
His stature approached the gigantic, and his hair in thickness
might have resembled that of Samson, though only after the
Israelitish champion's locks had passed under the shears of the
Philistines, for those of De Vaux were cut short, that they might
be enclosed under his helmet.  The light of his broad, large
hazel eye resembled that of the autumn morn; and it was only
perturbed for a moment, when from time to time it was attracted
by Richard's vehement marks of agitation and restlessness.  His
features, though massive like his person, might have been
handsome before they were defaced with scars; his upper lip,
after the fashion of the Normans, was covered with thick
moustaches, which grew so long and luxuriantly as to mingle with
his hair, and, like his hair, were dark brown, slightly brindled
with grey.  His frame seemed of that kind which most readily
defies both toil and climate, for he was thin-flanked, broad-
chested, long-armed, deep-breathed, and strong-limbed.  He had
not laid aside his buff-coat, which displayed the cross cut on
the shoulder, for more than three nights, enjoying but such
momentary repose as the warder of a sick monarch's couch might by
snatches indulge.  This Baron rarely changed his posture, except
to administer to Richard the medicine or refreshments which none
of his less favoured attendants could persuade the impatient
monarch to take; and there was something affecting in the kindly
yet awkward manner in which he discharged offices so strangely
contrasted with his blunt and soldierly habits and manners.

The pavilion in which these personages were, had, as became the
time, as well as the personal character of Richard, more of a
warlike than a sumptuous or royal character.  Weapons offensive
and defensive, several of them of strange and newly-invented
construction, were scattered about the tented apartment, or
disposed upon the pillars which supported it.  Skins of animals
slain in the chase were stretched on the ground, or extended
along the sides of the pavilion; and upon a heap of these silvan
spoils lay three ALANS, as they were then called (wolf-
greyhounds, that is), of the largest size, and as white as snow.
Their faces, marked with many a scar from clutch and fang, showed
their share in collecting the trophies upon which they reposed;
and their eyes, fixed from time to time with an expressive
stretch and yawn upon the bed of Richard, evinced how much they
marvelled at and regretted the unwonted inactivity which they
were compelled to share.  These were but the accompaniments of
the soldier and huntsman; but on a small table close by the bed
was placed a shield of wrought steel, of triangular form, bearing
the three lions passant first assumed by the chivalrous monarch,
and before it the golden circlet, resembling much a ducal
coronet, only that it was higher in front than behind, which,
with the purple velvet and embroidered tiara that lined it,
formed then the emblem of England's sovereignty.  Beside it, as
if prompt for defending the regal symbol, lay a mighty curtal-
axe, which would have wearied the arm of any other than Coeur de
Lion.

In an outer partition of the pavilion waited two or three
officers of the royal household, depressed, anxious for their
master's health, and not less so for their own safety, in case of
his decease.  Their gloomy apprehensions spread themselves to the
warders without, who paced about in downcast and silent
contemplation, or, resting on their halberds, stood motionless on
their post, rather like armed trophies than living warriors.

"So thou hast no better news to bring me from without, Sir
Thomas!"  said the King, after a long and perturbed silence,
spent in the feverish agitation which we have endeavoured to
describe. "All our knights turned women, and our ladies become
devotees, and neither, a spark of valour nor of gallantry to
enlighten a camp which contains the choicest of Europe's
chivalry--ha!"

"The truce, my lord," said De Vaux, with the same patience with
which he had twenty times repeated the explanation--"the truce
prevents us bearing ourselves as men of action; and for the
ladies, I am no great reveller, as is well known to your Majesty,
and seldom exchange steel and buff for velvet and gold--but thus
far I know, that our choicest beauties are waiting upon the
Queen's Majesty and the Princess, to a pilgrimage to the convent
of Engaddi, to accomplish their vows for your Highness's
deliverance from this trouble."

"And is it thus," said Richard, with the impatience of
indisposition, "that royal matrons and maidens should risk
themselves, where the dogs who defile the land have as little
truth to man as they have faith towards God?"

"Nay, my lord," said De Vaux, "they have Saladin's word for their
safety."

"True, true!"  replied Richard; "and I did the heathen Soldan
injustice--I owe him reparation for it.  Would God I were but fit
to offer it him upon my body between the two hosts--Christendom
and heathenesse both looking on!"

As Richard spoke, he thrust his right arm out of bed naked to the
shoulder, and painfully raising himself in his couch, shook his
clenched hand, as if it grasped sword or battle-axe, and was then
brandished over the jewelled turban of the Soldan.  It was not
without a gentle degree of violence, which the King would scarce
have endured from another, that De Vaux, in his character of
sick-nurse, compelled his royal master to replace himself in the
couch, and covered his sinewy arm, neck, and shoulders with the
care which a mother bestows upon an impatient child.

"Thou art a rough nurse, though a willing one, De Vaux," said the
King, laughing with a bitter expression, while he submitted to
the strength which he was unable to resist; "methinks a coif
would become thy lowering features as well as a child's biggin
would beseem mine.  We should be a babe and nurse to frighten
girls with."

"We have frightened men in our time, my liege," said De Vaux;
"and, I trust, may live to frighten them again.  What is a fever-
fit, that we should not endure it patiently, in order to get rid
of it easily?"

"Fever-fit!"  exclaimed Richard impetuously; "thou mayest think,
and justly, that it is a fever-fit with me; but what is it with
all the other Christian princes--with Philip of France, with that
dull Austrian, with him of Montserrat, with the Hospitallers,
with the Templars--what is it with all them?  I will tell thee.
It is a cold palsy, a dead lethargy, a disease that deprives them
of speech and action, a canker that has eaten into the heart of
all that is noble, and chivalrous, and virtuous among them--that
has made them false to the noblest vow ever knights were sworn to
--has made them indifferent to their fame, and forgetful of their
God!"

"For the love of Heaven, my liege," said De Vaux, "take it less
violently--you will be heard without doors, where such speeches
are but too current already among the common soldiery, and
engender discord and contention in the Christian host.  Bethink
you that your illness mars the mainspring of their enterprise; a
mangonel will work without screw and lever better than the
Christian host without King Richard."

"Thou flatterest me, De Vaux," said Richard, and not insensible
to the power of praise, he reclined his head on the pillow with a
more deliberate attempt to repose than he had yet exhibited.  But
Thomas de Vaux was no courtier; the phrase which had offered had
risen spontaneously to his lips, and he knew not how to pursue
the pleasing theme so as to soothe and prolong the vein which he
had excited.  He was silent, therefore, until, relapsing into his
moody contemplations, the King demanded of him sharply,
"Despardieux!  This is smoothly said to soothe a sick man; but
does a league of monarchs, an assemblage or nobles, a convocation
of all the chivalry of Europe, droop with the sickness of one
man, though he chances to be King of England?  Why should
Richard's illness, or Richard's death, check the march of thirty
thousand men as brave as himself?  When the master stag is struck
down, the herd do not disperse upon his fall; when the falcon
strikes the leading crane, another takes the guidance of the
phalanx.  Why do not the powers assemble and choose some one to
whom they may entrust the guidance of the host?"

"Forsooth, and if it please your Majesty," said De Vaux, "I hear
consultations have been held among the royal leaders for some
such purpose."

"Ha!"  exclaimed Richard, his jealousy awakened, giving his
mental irritation another direction, "am I forgot by my allies
ere I have taken the last sacrament?  Do they hold me dead
already?  But no, no, they are right.  And whom do they select as
leader of the Christian host?"

"Rank and dignity," said De Vaux, "point to the King of France."

"Oh, ay," answered the English monarch, "Philip of France and
Navarre--Denis Mountjoie--his most Christian Majesty!  Mouth-
filling words these!  There is but one risk --that he might
mistake the words EN ARRIERE for EN AVANT, and lead us back to
Paris, instead of marching to Jerusalem.  His politic head has
learned by this time that there is more to be gotten by
oppressing his feudatories, and pillaging his allies, than
fighting with the Turks for the Holy Sepulchre."

"They might choose the Archduke of Austria," said De Vaux.

"What! because he is big and burly like thyself, Thomas--nearly
as thick-headed, but without thy indifference to danger and
carelessness of offence?  I tell thee that Austria has in all
that mass of flesh no bolder animation than is afforded by the
peevishness of a wasp and the courage of a wren.  Out upon him!
He a leader of chivalry to deeds of glory!  Give him a flagon of
Rhenish to drink with his besmirched baaren-hauters and lance-
knechts."

"There is the Grand Master of the Templars," continued the baron,
not sorry to keep his master's attention engaged on other topics
than his own illness, though at the expense of the characters of
prince and potentate.  "There is the Grand Master of the
Templars," he continued, "undaunted, skilful, brave in battle,
and sage in council, having no separate kingdoms of his own to
divert his exertions from the recovery of the Holy Land--what
thinks your Majesty of the Master as a general leader of the
Christian host?"

"Ha, Beau-Seant?"  answered the King.  "Oh, no exception can be
taken to Brother Giles Amaury; he understands the ordering of a
battle, and the fighting in front when it begins.  But, Sir
Thomas, were it fair to take the Holy Land from the heathen
Saladin, so full of all the virtues which may distinguish
unchristened man, and give it to Giles Amaury, a worse pagan than
himself, an idolater, a devil-worshipper, a necromancer, who
practises crimes the most dark and unnatural in the vaults and
secret places of abomination and darkness?"

"The Grand Master of the Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem is
not tainted by fame, either with heresy or magic," said Thomas de
Vaux.

"But is he not a sordid miser?"  said Richard hastily; "has he
not been suspected--ay, more than suspected--of selling to the
infidels those advantages which they would never have won by fair
force?  Tush, man, better give the army to be made merchandise of
by Venetian skippers and Lombardy pedlars, than trust it to the
Grand Master of St. John."

"Well, then, I will venture but another guess," said the Baron de
Vaux.  "What say you to the gallant Marquis of Montserrat, so
wise, so elegant, such a good man-at-arms?"

"Wise?--cunning, you would say," replied Richard; "elegant in a
lady's chamber, if you will.  Oh, ay, Conrade of Montserrat--who
knows not the popinjay?  Politic and versatile, he will change
you his purposes as often as the trimmings of his doublet, and
you shall never be able to guess the hue of his inmost vestments
from their outward colours.  A man-at-arms?  Ay, a fine figure on
horseback, and can bear him well in the tilt-yard, and at the
barriers, when swords are blunted at point and edge, and spears
are tipped with trenchers of wood instead of steel pikes.  Wert
thou not with me when I said to that same gay Marquis, 'Here we
be, three good Christians, and on yonder plain there pricks a
band of some threescore Saracens--what say you to charge them
briskly?  There are but twenty unbelieving miscreants to each
true knight."

"I recollect the Marquis replied," said De Vaux, "that his limbs
were of flesh, not of iron, and that he would rather bear the
heart of a man than of a beast, though that beast were the lion,
But I see how it is--we shall end where we began, without hope of
praying at the Sepulchre until Heaven shall restore King Richard
to health."

At this grave remark Richard burst out into a hearty fit of
laughter, the first which he had for some time indulged in.  "Why
what a thing is conscience," he said, "that through its means
even such a thick-witted northern lord as thou canst bring thy
sovereign to confess his folly!  It is true that, did they not
propose themselves as fit to hold my leading-staff, little should
I care for plucking the silken trappings off the puppets thou
hast shown me in succession.  What concerns it me what fine
tinsel robes they swagger in, unless when they are named as
rivals in the glorious enterprise to which I have vowed myself?
Yes, De Vaux, I confess my weakness, and the wilfulness of my
ambition.  The Christian camp contains, doubtless, many a better
knight than Richard of England, and it would be wise and worthy
to assign to the best of them the leading of the host.  But,"
continued the warlike monarch, raising himself in his bed, and
shaking the cover from his head, while his eyes sparkled as they
were wont to do on the eve of battle, "were such a knight to
plant the banner of the Cross on the Temple of Jerusalem while I
was unable to bear my share in the noble task, he should, so soon
as I was fit to lay lance in rest, undergo my challenge to mortal
combat, for having diminished my fame, and pressed in before to
the object of my enterprise.  But hark, what trumpets are those
at a distance?"

"Those of King Philip, as I guess, my liege," said the stout
Englishman.

"Thou art dull of ear, Thomas," said the King, endeavouring to
start up; "hearest thou not that clash and clang?  By Heaven, the
Turks are in the camp--I hear their LELIES." [The war-cries of
the Moslemah.]

He again endeavoured to get out of bed, and De Vaux was obliged
to exercise his own great strength, and also to summon the
assistance of the chamberlains from the inner tent, to restrain
him.

"Thou art a false traitor, De Vaux," said the incensed monarch,
when, breathless and exhausted with struggling, he was compelled
to submit to superior strength, and to repose in quiet on his
couch.  "I would I were--I would I were but strong enough to dash
thy brains out with my battle-axe!"

"I would you had the strength, my liege," said De Vaux, "and
would even take the risk of its being so employed.  The odds
would be great in favour of Christendom were Thomas Multon dead
and Coeur de Lion himself again."

"Mine honest faithful servant," said Richard, extending his hand,
which the baron reverentially saluted, "forgive thy master's
impatience of mood.  It is this burning fever which chides thee,
and not thy kind master, Richard of England.  But go, I prithee,
and bring me word what strangers are in the camp, for these
sounds are not of Christendom."

De Vaux left the pavilion on the errand assigned, and in his
absence, which he had resolved should be brief, he charged the
chamberlains, pages, and attendants to redouble their attention
on their sovereign, with threats of holding them to
responsibility, which rather added to than diminished their timid
anxiety in the discharge of their duty; for next, perhaps, to the
ire of the monarch himself, they dreaded that of the stern and
inexorable Lord of Gilsland.  [Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland.]



CHAPTER VII.

There never was a time on the march parts yet,
When Scottish with English met,
But it was marvel if the red blood ran not
As the rain does in the street.   BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

A considerable band of Scottish warriors had joined the
Crusaders, and had naturally placed themselves under the command
of the English monarch, being, like his native troops, most of
them of Saxon and Norman descent, speaking the same languages,
possessed, some of them, of English as well as Scottish demesnes,
and allied in some cases by blood and intermarriage.  The period
also preceded that when the grasping ambition of Edward I. gave a
deadly and envenomed character to the wars betwixt the two
nations--the English fighting for the subjugation of Scotland,
and the Scottish, with all the stern determination and obstinacy
which has ever characterized their nation, for the defence of
their independence, by the most violent means, under the most
disadvantageous circumstances, and at the most extreme hazard.
As yet, wars betwixt the two nations, though fierce and frequent,
had been conducted on principles of fair hostility, and admitted
of those softening shades by which courtesy and the respect for
open and generous foemen qualify and mitigate the horrors of war.
In time of peace, therefore, and especially when both, as at
present, were engaged in war, waged in behalf of a common cause,
and rendered dear to them by their ideas of religion, the
adventurers of both countries frequently fought side by side,
their national emulation serving only to stimulate them to excel
each other in their efforts against the common enemy.

The frank and martial character of Richard, who made no
distinction betwixt his own subjects and those of William of
Scotland, excepting as they bore themselves in the field of
battle, tended much to conciliate the troops of both nations.
But upon his illness, and the disadvantageous circumstances in
which the Crusaders were placed, the national disunion between
the various bands united in the Crusade, began to display itself,
just as old wounds break out afresh in the human body when under
the influence of disease or debility.

The Scottish and English, equally jealous and high-spirited, and
apt to take offence--the former the more so, because the poorer
and the weaker nation--began to fill up by internal dissension
the period when the truce forbade them to wreak their united
vengeance on the Saracens.  Like the contending Roman chiefs of
old, the Scottish would admit no superiority, and their southern
neighbours would brook no equality.  There were charges and
recriminations, and both the common soldiery and their leaders
and commanders, who had been good comrades in time of victory,
lowered on each other in the period of adversity, as if their
union had not been then more essential than ever, not only to the
success of their common cause, but to their joint safety.  The
same disunion had begun to show itself betwixt the French and
English, the Italians and the Germans, and even between the Danes
and Swedes; but it is only that which divided the two nations
whom one island bred, and who seemed more animated against each
other for the very reason, that our narrative is principally
concerned with.

Of all the English nobles who had followed their King to
Palestine, De Vaux was most prejudiced against the Scottish.
They were his near neighbours, with whom he had been engaged
during his whole life in private or public warfare, and on whom
he had inflicted many calamities, while he had sustained at their
hands not a few.  His love and devotion to the King was like the
vivid affection of the old English mastiff to his master, leaving
him churlish and inaccessible to all others even towards those to
whom he was indifferent--and rough and dangerous to any against
whom he entertained a prejudice.  De Vaux had never observed
without jealousy and displeasure his King exhibit any mark of
courtesy or favour to the wicked, deceitful, and ferocious race
born on the other side of a river, or an imaginary line drawn
through waste and wilderness; and he even doubted the success of
a Crusade in which they were suffered to bear arms, holding them
in his secret soul little better than the Saracens whom he came
to combat.  It may be added that, as being himself a blunt and
downright Englishman, unaccustomed to conceal the slightest
movement either of love or of dislike, he accounted the fair-
spoken courtesy which the Scots had learned, either from
imitation of their frequent allies, the French, or which might
have arisen from their own proud and reserved character, as a
false and astucious mark of the most dangerous designs against
their neighbours, over whom he believed, with genuine English
confidence, they could, by fair manhood, never obtain any
advantage.

Yet, though De Vaux entertained these sentiments concerning his
Northern neighbours, and extended them, with little mitigation,
even to such as had assumed the Cross, his respect for the King,
and a sense of the duty imposed by his vow as a Crusader,
prevented him from displaying them otherwise than by regularly
shunning all intercourse with his Scottish brethren-at-arms as
far as possible, by observing a sullen taciturnity when compelled
to meet them occasionally, and by looking scornfully upon them
when they encountered on the march and in camp.  The Scottish
barons and knights were not men to bear his scorn unobserved or
unreplied to; and it came to that pass that he was regarded as
the determined and active enemy of a nation, whom, after all, he
only disliked, and in some sort despised.  Nay, it was remarked
by close observers that, if he had not towards them the charity
of Scripture, which suffereth long, and judges kindly, he was by
no means deficient in the subordinate and limited virtue, which
alleviates and relieves the wants of others.  The wealth of
Thomas of Gilsland procured supplies of provisions and medicines,
and some of these usually flowed by secret channels into the
quarters of the Scottish--his surly benevolence proceeding on the
principle that, next to a man's friend, his foe was of most
importance to him, passing over all the intermediate relations as
too indifferent to merit even a thought.  This explanation is
necessary, in order that the reader may fully understand what we
are now to detail.

Thomas de Vaux had not made many steps beyond the entrance of the
royal pavilion when he was aware of what the far more acute ear
of the English monarch--no mean proficient in the art of
minstrelsy--had instantly discovered, that the musical strains,
namely, which had reached their ears, were produced by the pipes,
shalms, and kettle-drums of the Saracens; and at the bottom of an
avenue of tents, which formed a broad access to the pavilion of
Richard, he could see a crowd of idle soldiers assembled around
the spot from which the music was heard, almost in the centre of
the camp; and he saw, with great surprise, mingled amid the
helmets of various forms worn by the Crusaders of different
nations, white turbans and long pikes, announcing the presence of
armed Saracens, and the huge deformed heads of several camels or
dromedaries, overlooking the multitude by aid of their long,
disproportioned necks.

Wondering, and displeased at a sight so unexpected and singular
--for it was customary to leave all flags of truce and other
communications from the enemy at an appointed place without the
barriers--the baron looked eagerly round for some one of whom he
might inquire the cause of this alarming novelty.

The first person whom he met advancing to him he set down at
once, by his grave and haughty step, as a Spaniard or a Scot; and
presently after muttered to himself, "And a Scot it is--he of the
Leopard.  I have seen him fight indifferently well, for one of
his country."

Loath to ask even a passing question, he was about to pass Sir
Kenneth, with that sullen and lowering port which seems to say,
"I know thee, but I will hold no communication with thee."  But
his purpose was defeated by the Northern Knight, who moved
forward directly to him, and accosting him with formal courtesy,
said, "My Lord de Vaux of Gilsland, I have in charge to speak
with you."

"Ha!"  returned the English baron, "with me?  But say your
pleasure, so it be shortly spoken--I am on the King's errand."

"Mine touches King Richard yet more nearly," answered Sir
Kenneth; "I bring him, I trust, health."

The Lord of Gilsland measured the Scot with incredulous eyes, and
replied, "Thou art no leech, I think, Sir Scot; I had as soon
thought of your bringing the King of England wealth."

Sir Kenneth, though displeased with the manner of the baron's
reply, answered calmly, "Health to Richard is glory and wealth to
Christendom.--But my time presses; I pray you, may I see the
King?"

"Surely not, fair sir," said the baron, "until your errand be
told more distinctly.  The sick chambers of princes open not to
all who inquire, like a northern hostelry."

"My lord," said Kenneth, "the cross which I wear in common with
yourself, and the importance of what I have to tell, must, for
the present, cause me to pass over a bearing which else I were
unapt to endure.  In plain language, then, I bring with me a
Moorish physician, who undertakes to work a cure on King
Richard."

"A Moorish physician!"  said De Vaux; "and who will warrant that
he brings not poisons instead of remedies?"

"His own life, my lord--his head, which he offers as a
guarantee."

"I have known many a resolute ruffian," said De Vaux, "who valued
his own life as little as it deserved, and would troop to the
gallows as merrily as if the hangman were his partner in a
dance."

"But thus it is, my lord," replied the Scot.  "Saladin, to whom
none will deny the credit of a generous and valiant enemy, hath
sent this leech hither with an honourable retinue and guard,
befitting the high estimation in which El Hakim [The Physician]
is held by the Soldan, and with fruits and refreshments for the
King's private chamber, and such message as may pass betwixt
honourable enemies, praying him to be recovered of his fever,
that he may be the fitter to receive a visit from the Soldan,
with his naked scimitar in his hand, and a hundred thousand
cavaliers at his back.  Will it please you, who are of the King's
secret council, to cause these camels to be discharged of their
burdens, and some order taken as to the reception of the learned
physician?"

"Wonderful!"  said De Vaux, as speaking to himself.--"And who
will vouch for the honour of Saladin, in a case when bad faith
would rid him at once of his most powerful adversary?"

"I myself," replied Sir Kenneth, "will be his guarantee, with
honour, life, and fortune."

"Strange!"  again ejaculated De Vaux; "the North vouches for the
South--the Scot for the Turk!  May I crave of you, Sir Knight,
how you became concerned in this affair?"

"I have been absent on a pilgrimage, in the course of which,"
replied Sir Kenneth "I had a message to discharge towards the
holy hermit of Engaddi."

"May I not be entrusted with it, Sir Kenneth, and with the answer
of the holy man?"

"It may not be, my lord," answered the Scot.

"I am of the secret council of England," said the Englishman
haughtily.

"To which land I owe no allegiance," said Kenneth.  "Though I
have voluntarily followed in this war the personal fortunes of
England's sovereign, I was dispatched by the General Council of
the kings, princes, and supreme leaders of the army of the
Blessed Cross, and to them only I render my errand."

"Ha!  sayest thou?"  said the proud Baron de Vaux.  "But know,
messenger of the kings and princes as thou mayest be, no leech
shall approach the sick-bed of Richard of England without the
consent of him of Gilsland; and they will come on evil errand who
dare to intrude themselves against it."

He was turning loftily away, when the Scot, placing himself
closer, and more opposite to him, asked, in a calm voice, yet not
without expressing his share of pride, whether the Lord of
Gilsland esteemed him a gentleman and a good knight.

"All Scots are ennobled by their birthright," answered Thomas de
Vaux, something ironically; but sensible of his own injustice,
and perceiving that Kenneth's colour rose, he added, "For a good
knight it were sin to doubt you, in one at least who has seen you
well and bravely discharge your devoir."

"Well, then," said the Scottish knight, satisfied with the
frankness of the last admission, "and let me swear to you, Thomas
of Gilsland, that, as I am true Scottish man, which I hold a
privilege equal to my ancient gentry, and as sure as I am a
belted knight, and come hither to acquire LOS [Los--laus, praise,
or renown] and fame in this mortal life, and forgiveness of my
sins in that which is to come--so truly, and by the blessed Cross
which I wear, do I protest unto you that I desire but the safety
of Richard Coeur de Lion, in recommending the ministry of this
Moslem physician."

The Englishman was struck with the solemnity of the obtestation,
and answered with more cordiality than he had yet exhibited,
"Tell me, Sir Knight of the Leopard, granting (which I do not
doubt) that thou art thyself satisfied in this matter, shall I do
well, in a land where the art of poisoning is as general as that
of cooking, to bring this unknown physician to practise with his
drugs on a health so valuable to Christendom?"

"My lord," replied the Scot, "thus only can I reply--that my
squire, the only one of my retinue whom war and disease had left
in attendance on me, has been of late suffering dangerously under
this same fever, which, in valiant King Richard, has disabled the
principal limb of our holy enterprise.  This leech, this El
Hakim, hath ministered remedies to him not two hours since, and
already he hath fallen into a refreshing sleep.  That he can cure
the disorder, which has proved so fatal, I nothing doubt; that he
hath the purpose to do it is, I think, warranted by his mission
from the royal Soldan, who is true-hearted and loyal, so far as a
blinded infidel may be called so; and for his eventual success,
the certainty of reward in case of succeeding, and punishment in
case of voluntary failure, may be a sufficient guarantee."

The Englishman listened with downcast looks, as one who doubted,
yet was not unwilling to receive conviction.  At length he looked
up and said, "May I see your sick squire, fair sir?"

The Scottish knight hesitated and coloured, yet answered at last,
"Willingly, my Lord of Gilsland.  But you must remember, when you
see my poor quarter, that the nobles and knights of Scotland feed
not so high, sleep not so soft, and care not for the magnificence
of lodgment which is Proper to their southern neighbours.  I am
POORLY lodged, my Lord of Gilsland," he added, with a haughty
emphasis on the word, while, with some unwillingness, he led the
way to his temporary place of abode.

Whatever were the prejudices of De Vaux against the nation of his
new acquaintance, and though we undertake not to deny that some
of these were excited by its proverbial poverty, he had too much
nobleness of disposition to enjoy the mortification of a brave
individual thus compelled to make known wants which his pride
would gladly have concealed.

"Shame to the soldier of the Cross," he said, "who thinks of
worldly splendour, or of luxurious accommodation, when pressing
forward to the conquest of the Holy City.  Fare as hard as we
may, we shall yet be better than the host of martyrs and of
saints, who, having trod these scenes before us, now hold golden
lamps and evergreen palms."

This was the most metaphorical speech which Thomas of Gilsland
was ever known to utter, the rather, perhaps (as will sometimes
happen), that it did not entirely express his own sentiments,
being somewhat a lover of good cheer and splendid accommodation.
By this time they reached the place of the camp where the Knight
of the Leopard had assumed his abode.

Appearances here did indeed promise no breach of the laws of
mortification, to which the Crusaders, according to the opinion
expressed by him of Gilsland, ought to subject themselves.  A
space of ground, large enough to accommodate perhaps thirty
tents, according to the Crusaders' rules of castrametation, was
partly vacant--because, in ostentation, the knight had demanded
ground to the extent of his original retinue--partly occupied by
a few miserable huts, hastily constructed of boughs, and covered
with palm-leaves.  These habitations seemed entirely deserted,
and several of them were ruinous.  The central hut, which
represented the pavilion of the leader, was distinguished by his
swallow-tailed pennon, placed on the point of a spear, from which
its long folds dropped motionless to the ground, as if sickening
under the scorching rays of the Asiatic sun.  But no pages or
squires--not even a solitary warder--was placed by the emblem of
feudal power and knightly degree.  If its reputation defended it
not from insult, it had no other guard.

Sir Kenneth cast a melancholy look around him, but suppessing his
feelings, entered the hut, making a sign to the Baron of Gilsland
to follow.  He also cast around a glance of examination, which
implied pity not altogether unmingled with contempt, to which,
perhaps, it is as nearly akin as it is said to be to love.  He
then stooped his lofty crest, and entered a lowly hut, which his
bulky form seemed almost entirely to fill.

The interior of the hut was chiefly occupied by two beds.  One
was empty, but composed of collected leaves, and spread with an
antelope's hide.  It seemed, from the articles of armour laid
beside it, and from a crucifix of silver, carefully and
reverentially disposed at the head, to be the couch of the knight
himself.  The other contained the invalid, of whom Sir Kenneth
had spoken, a strong-built and harsh-featured man, past, as his
looks betokened, the middle age of life.  His couch was trimmed
more softly than his master's, and it was plain that the more
courtly garments of the latter, the loose robe in which the
knights showed themselves on pacific occasions, and the other
little spare articles of dress and adornment, had been applied by
Sir Kenneth to the accommodation of his sick domestic.  In an
outward part of the hut, which yet was within the range of the
English baron's eye, a boy, rudely attired with buskins of deer's
hide, a blue cap or bonnet, and a doublet, whose original finery
was much tarnished, sat on his knees by a chafing-dish filled
with charcoal, cooking upon a plate of iron the cakes of barley-
bread, which were then, and still are, a favourite food with the
Scottish people.  Part of an antelope was suspended against one
of the main props of the hut.  Nor was it difficult to know how
it had been procured; for a large stag greyhound, nobler in size
and appearance than those even which guarded King Richard's sick-
bed, lay eyeing the process of baking the cake.  The sagacious
animal, on their first entrance, uttered a stifled growl, which
sounded from his deep chest like distant thunder.  But he saw his
master, and acknowledged his presence by wagging his tail and
couching his head, abstaining from more tumultuous or noisy
greeting, as if his noble instinct had taught him the propriety
of silence in a sick man's chamber.

Beside the couch sat on a cushion, also composed of skins, the
Moorish physician of whom Sir Kenneth had spoken, cross-legged,
after the Eastern fashion.  The imperfect light showed little of
him, save that the lower part of his face was covered with a
long, black beard, which descended over his breast; that he wore
a high TOLPACH, a Tartar cap of the lamb's wool manufactured at
Astracan, bearing the same dusky colour; and that his ample
caftan, or Turkish robe, was also of a dark hue.  Two piercing
eyes, which gleamed with unusual lustre, were the only lineaments
of his visage that could be discerned amid the darkness in which
he was enveloped.

The English lord stood silent with a sort of reverential awe; for
notwithstanding the roughness of his general bearing, a scene of
distress and poverty, firmly endured without complaint or murmur,
would at any time have claimed more reverence from Thomas de Vaux
than would all the splendid formalities of a royal presence-
chamber, unless that presence-chamber were King Richard's own.
Nothing was for a time heard but the heavy and regular breathings
of the invalid, who seemed in profound repose.

"He hath not slept for six nights before," said Sir Kenneth, "as
I am assured by the youth, his attendant."

"Noble Scot," said Thomas de Vaux, grasping the Scottish knight's
hand, with a pressure which had more of cordiality than he
permitted his words to utter, "this gear must be amended.  Your
esquire is but too evil fed and looked to."

In the latter part of this speech he naturally raised his voice
to its usual decided tone, The sick man was disturbed in his
slumbers.

"My master," he said, murmuring as in a dream, "noble Sir
Kenneth, taste not, to you as to me, the waters of the Clyde cold
and refreshing after the brackish springs of Palestine?"

"He dreams of his native land, and is happy in his slumbers,"
whispered Sir Kenneth to De Vaux; but had scarce uttered the
words, when the physician, arising from the place which he had
taken near the couch of the sick, and laying the hand of the
patient, whose pulse he had been carefully watching, quietly upon
the couch, came to the two knights, and taking them each by the
arm, while he intimated to them to remain silent, led them to the
front of the hut.

"In the name of Issa Ben Mariam," he said, "whom we honour as
you, though not with the same blinded superstition, disturb not
the effect of the blessed medicine of which he hath partaken.  To
awaken him now is death or deprivation of reason; but return at
the hour when the muezzin calls from the minaret to evening
prayer in the mosque, and if left undisturbed until then, I
promise you this same Frankish soldier shall be able, without
prejudice to his health, to hold some brief converse with you on
any matters on which either, and especially his master, may have
to question him."

The knights retreated before the authoritative commands of the
leech, who seemed fully to comprehend the importance of the
Eastern proverb that the sick chamber of the patient is the
kingdom of the physician.

They paused, and remained standing together at the door of the
hut--Sir Kenneth with the air of one who expected his visitor to
say farewell, and De Vaux as if he had something on his mind
which prevented him from doing so.  The hound, however, had
pressed out of the tent after them, and now thrust his long,
rough countenance into the hand of his master, as if modestly
soliciting some mark of his kindness.  He had no sooner received
the notice which he desired, in the shape of a kind word and
slight caress, than, eager to acknowledge his gratitude and joy
for his master's return, he flew off at full speed, galloping in
full career, and with outstretched tail, here and there, about
and around, cross-ways and endlong, through the decayed huts and
the esplanade we have described, but never transgressing those
precincts which his sagacity knew were protected by his master's
pennon.  After a few gambols of this kind, the dog, coming close
up to his master, laid at once aside his frolicsome mood,
relapsed into his usual gravity and slowness of gesture and
deportment, and looked as if he were ashamed that anything should
have moved him to depart so far out of his sober self-control.

Both knights looked on with pleasure; for Sir Kenneth was justly
proud of his noble hound, and the northern English baron was, of
course, an admirer of the chase, and a judge of the animal's
merits.

"A right able dog," he said.  "I think, fair sir, King Richard
hath not an ALAN which may match him, if he be as stanch as he is
swift.  But let me pray you--speaking in all honour and kindness
--have you not heard the proclamation that no one under the rank
of earl shall keep hunting dogs within King Richard's camp
without the royal license, which, I think, Sir Kenneth, hath not
been issued to you? I speak as Master of the Horse."

"And I answer as a free Scottish knight," said Kenneth sternly.
"For the present I follow the banner of England, but I cannot
remember that I have ever subjected myself to the forest-laws of
that kingdom, nor have I such respect for them as would incline
me to do so.  When the trumpet sounds to arms, my foot is in the
stirrup as soon as any--when it clangs for the charge, my lance
has not yet been the last laid in the rest.  But for my hours of
liberty or of idleness King Richard has no title to bar my
recreation."

"Nevertheless," said De Vaux, "it is a folly to disobey the
King's ordinance; so, with your good leave, I, as having
authority in that matter, will send you a protection for my
friend here."

"I thank you," said the Scot coldly; "but he knows my allotted
quarters, and within these I can protect him myself.--And yet,"
he said, suddenly changing his manner, "this is but a cold return
for a well-meant kindness.  I thank you, my lord, most heartily.
The King's equerries or prickers might find Roswal at
disadvantage, and do him some injury, which I should not,
perhaps, be slow in returning, and so ill might come of it.  You
have seen so much of my house-keeping, my lord," he added, with a
smile, "that I need not shame to say that Roswal is our principal
purveyor, and well I hope our Lion Richard will not be like the
lion in the minstrel fable, that went a-hunting, and kept the
whole booty to himself.  I cannot think he would grudge a poor
gentleman, who follows him faithfully, his hour of sport and his
morsel of game, more especially when other food is hard enough to
come by."

"By my faith, you do the King no more than justice; and yet,"
said the baron, "there is something in these words, vert and
venison, that turns the very brains of our Norman princes."

"We have heard of late," said the Scot, "by minstrels and
pilgrims, that your outlawed yeomen have formed great bands in
the shires of York and Nottingham, having at their head a most
stout archer, called Robin Hood, with his lieutenant, Little
John.  Methinks it were better that Richard relaxed his forest-
code in England, than endeavour to enforce it in the Holy Land."

"Wild work, Sir Kenneth," replied De Vaux, shrugging his
shoulders, as one who would avoid a perilous or unpleasing topic
--"a mad world, sir.  I must now bid you adieu, having presently
to return to the King's pavilion.  At vespers I will again, with
your leave, visit your quarters, and speak with this same infidel
physician.  I would, in the meantime, were it no offence,
willingly send you what would somewhat mend your cheer."

"I thank you, sir," said Sir Kenneth, "but it needs not.  Roswal
hath already stocked my larder for two weeks, since the sun of
Palestine, if it brings diseases, serves also to dry venison."

The two warriors parted much better friends than they had met;
but ere they separated, Thomas de Vaux informed himself at more
length of the circumstances attending the mission of the Eastern
physician, and received from the Scottish knight the credentials
which he had brought to King Richard on the part of Saladin.



CHAPTER VIII.

A wise physician, skilled our wounds to heal,
Is more than armies to the common weal.  POPE'S ILLIAD.


"This is a strange tale, Sir Thomas," said the sick monarch, when
he had heard the report of the trusty Baron of Gilsland.  "Art
thou sure this Scottish man is a tall man and true?"

"I cannot say, my lord," replied the jealous Borderer.  "I live a
little too near the Scots to gather much truth among them, having
found them ever fair and false.  But this man's bearing is that
of a true man, were he a devil as well as a Scot; that I must
needs say for him in conscience."

"And for his carriage as a knight, how sayest thou, De Vaux?"
demanded the King.

"It is your Majesty's business more than mine to note men's
bearings; and I warrant you have noted the manner in which this
man of the Leopard hath borne himself.  He hath been full well
spoken of."

"And justly, Thomas," said the King.  "We have ourselves
witnessed him.  It is indeed our purpose in placing ourselves
ever in the front of battle, to see how our liegemen and
followers acquit themselves, and not from a desire to accumulate
vainglory to ourselves, as some have supposed.  We know the
vanity of the praise of man, which is but a vapour, and buckle on
our armour for other purposes than to win it."

De Vaux was alarmed when he heard the King make a declaration so
inconsistent with his nature, and believed at first that nothing
short of the approach of death could have brought him to speak in
depreciating terms of military renown, which was the very breath
of his nostrils.  But recollecting he had met the royal confessor
in the outer pavilion, he was shrewd enough to place this
temporary self-abasement to the effect of the reverend man's
lesson, and suffered the King to proceed without reply.

"Yes," continued Richard, "I have indeed marked the manner in
which this knight does his devoir.  My leading-staff were not
worth a fool's bauble had he escaped my notice; and he had ere
now tasted of our bounty, but that I have also marked his
overweening and audacious presumption."

"My liege," said the Baron of Gilsland, observing the King's
countenance change, "I fear I have transgressed your pleasure in
lending some countenance to his transgression."  "How, De Multon,
thou?"  said the King, contracting his brows, and speaking in a
tone of angry surprise.  "Thou countenance his insolence?  It
cannot be."

"Nay, your Majesty will pardon me to remind you that I have by
mine office right to grant liberty to men of gentle blood to keep
them a hound or two within camp, just to cherish the noble art of
venerie ; and besides, it were a sin to have maimed or harmed a
thing so noble as this gentleman's dog.

"Has he, then, a dog so handsome?"  said the King.

"A most perfect creature of Heaven," said the baron, who was an
enthusiast in field-sports--"of the noblest Northern breed--deep
in the chest, strong in the stern--black colour, and brindled on
the breast and legs, not spotted with white, but just shaded into
grey--strength to pull down a bull, swiftness to cote an
antelope."

The King laughed at his enthusiasm.  "Well, thou hast given him
leave to keep the hound, so there is an end of it.  Be not,
however, liberal of your licenses among those knights adventurers
who have no prince or leader to depend upon; they are
ungovernable, and leave no game in Palestine.--But to this piece
of learned heathenesse--sayest thou the Scot met him in the
desert?"

"No, my liege; the Scot's tale runs thus.  He was dispatched to
the old hermit of Engaddi, of whom men talk so much--"

"'Sdeath and hell!"  said Richard, starting up.  "By whom
dispatched, and for what?  Who dared send any one thither, when
our Queen was in the Convent of Engaddi, upon her pilgrimage for
our recovery?"

"The Council of the Crusade sent him, my lord," answered the
Baron de Vaux; "for what purpose, he declined to account to me.
I think it is scarce known in the camp that your royal consort is
on a pilgrimage; and even the princes may not have been aware, as
the Queen has been sequestered from company since your love
prohibited her attendance in case of infection."

"Well, it shall be looked into," said Richard.  "So this Scottish
man, this envoy, met with a wandering physician at the grotto of
Engaddi--ha?"

"Not so my liege," replied De Vaux?  "but he met, I think, near
that place, with a Saracen Emir with whom he had some MELEE in
the way of proof of valour, and finding him worthy to bear brave
men company, they went together, as errant knights are wont, to
the grotto of Engaddi."

Here De Vaux stopped, for he was not one of those who can tell a
long story in a sentence.

"And did they there meet the physician?"  demanded the King
impatiently.

"No, my liege," replied De Vaux; "but the Saracen, learning your
Majesty's grievous illness, undertook that Saladin should send
his own physician to you, and with many assurances of his eminent
skill; and he came to the grotto accordingly, after the Scottish
knight had tarried a day for him and more.  He is attended as if
he were a prince, with drums and atabals, and servants on horse
and foot, and brings with him letters of credence from Saladin."

"Have they been examined by Giacomo Loredani?"

"I showed them to the interpreter ere bringing them hither, and
behold their contents in English."

Richard took a scroll, in which were inscribed these words:  The
blessing of Allah and his Prophet Mohammed ["Out upon the hound!"
said Richard, spitting in contempt, by way of interjection],
Saladin, king of kings, Saldan of Egypt and of Syria, the light
and refuge of the earth, to the great Melech Ric, Richard of
England, greeting.  Whereas, we have been informed that the hand
of sickness hath been heavy upon thee, our royal brother, and
that thou hast with thee only such Nazarene and Jewish mediciners
as work without the blessing of Allah and our holy Prophet
["Confusion on his head!"  again muttered the English monarch],
we have therefore sent to tend and wait upon thee at this time
the physician to our own person, Adonbec el Hakim, before whose
face the angel Azrael [The Angel of Death.] spreads his wings and
departs from the sick chamber; who knows the virtues of herbs and
stones, the path of the sun, moon, and stars, and can save man
from all that is not written on his forehead.  And this we do,
praying you heartily to honour and make use of his skill; not
only that we may do service to thy worth and valour, which is the
glory of all the nations of Frangistan, but that we may bring the
controversy which is at present between us to an end, either by
honourable agreement, or by open trial thereof with our weapons,
in a fair field--seeing that it neither becomes thy place and
courage to die the death of a slave who hath been overwrought by
his taskmaster, nor befits it our fame that a brave adversary be
snatched from our weapon by such a disease.  And, therefore, may
the holy--"

"Hold, hold," said Richard, " I will have no more of his dog of a
prophet!  It makes me sick to think the valiant and worthy Soldan
should believe in a dead dog.  Yes, I will see his physician.  I
will put myself into the charge of this Hakim--I will repay the
noble Soldan his generosity--I will meet Saladin in the field, as
he so worthily proposes, and he shall have no cause to term
Richard of England ungrateful.  I will strike him to the earth
with my battle-axe--I will convert him to Holy Church with such
blows as he has rarely endured.  He shall recant his errors
before my good cross-handled sword, and I will have him baptized
on the battle-field, from my own helmet, though the cleansing
waters were mixed with the blood of us both.--Haste, De Vaux, why
dost thou delay a conclusion so pleasing?  Fetch the Hakim
hither."

"My lord," said the baron, who perhaps saw some accession of
fever in this overflow of confidence, "bethink you, the Soldan is
a pagan, and that you are his most formidable enemy--"

"For which reason he is the more bound to do me service in this
matter, lest a paltry fever end the quarrel betwixt two such
kings.  I tell thee he loves me as I love him--as noble
adversaries ever love each other.  By my honour, it were sin to
doubt his good faith!"

"Nevertheless, my lord, it were well to wait the issue of these
medicines upon the Scottish squire," said the Lord of Gilsland.
"My own life depends upon it, for worthy were I to die like a dog
did I proceed rashly in this matter, and make shipwreck of the
weal of Christendom."

"I never knew thee before hesitate for fear of life," said
Richard upbraidingly.

"Nor would I now, my liege," replied the stout-hearted baron,
"save that yours lies at pledge as well as my own."

"Well, thou suspicious mortal," answered Richard,  "begone then,
and watch the progress of this remedy.  I could almost wish it
might either cure or kill me, for I am weary of lying here like
an ox dying of the murrain, when tambours are beating, horses
stamping, and trumpets sounding without."

The baron hastily departed, resolved, however, to communicate his
errand to some churchman, as he felt something burdened in
conscience at the idea of his master being attended by an
unbeliever.

The Archbishop of Tyre was the first to whom he confided his
doubts, knowing his interest with his master, Richard, who both
loved and honoured that sagacious prelate.  The bishop heard the
doubts which De Vaux stated, with that acuteness of intelligence
which distinguishes the Roman Catholic clergy.  The religious
scruples of De Vaux he treated with as much lightness as
propriety permitted him to exhibit on such a subject to a layman.

"Mediciners," he said, "like the medicines which they employed,
were often useful, though the one were by birth or manners the
vilest of humanity, as the others are, in many cases, extracted
from the basest materials.  Men may use the assistance of pagans
and infidels," he continued, "in their need, and there is reason
to think that one cause of their being permitted to remain on
earth is that they might minister to the convenience of true
Christians.  Thus we lawfully make slaves of heathen captives.
Again," proceeded the prelate, "there is no doubt that the
primitive Christians used the services of the unconverted
heathen.  Thus in the ship of Alexandria, in which the blessed
Apostle Paul sailed to Italy, the sailors were doubtless pagans;
yet what said the holy saint when their ministry was needful?
--'NISI HI IN NAVI MANSERINT, VOS SALVI FIERI NON POTESTIS'--
Unless these men abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved.  Again,
Jews are infidels to Christianity, as well as Mohammedans.  But
there are few physicians in the camp excepting Jews, and such are
employed without scandal or scruple.  Therefore, Mohammedans may
be used for their service in that capacity--QUOD ERAT
DEMONSTRANDUM."

This reasoning entirely removed the scruples of Thomas de Vaux,
who was particularly moved by the Latin quotation, as he did not
understand a word of it.

But the bishop proceeded with far less fluency when he considered
the possibility of the Saracen's acting with bad faith; and here
he came not to a speedy decision.  The baron showed him the
letters of credence.  He read and re-read them, and compared the
original with the translation.

"It is a dish choicely cooked," he said, "to the palate of King
Richard, and I cannot but have my suspicions of the wily Saracen.
They are curious in the art of poisons, and can so temper them
that they shall be weeks in acting upon the party, during which
time the perpetrator has leisure to escape.  They can impregnate
cloth and leather, nay, even paper and parchment, with the most
subtle venom.  Our Lady forgive me!  And wherefore, knowing this,
hold I these letters of credence so close to my face?  Take them,
Sir Thomas--take them speedily!"

Here he gave them at arm's-length, and with some appearance of
haste, to the baron.  "But come, my Lord de Vaux," he continued,
"wend we to the tent of this sick squire, where we shall learn
whether this Hakim hath really the art of curing which he
professeth, ere we consider whether there be safety in permitting
him to exercise his art upon King Richard.--Yet, hold!  let me
first take my pouncet-box, for these fevers spread like an
infection.  I would advise you to use dried rosemary steeped in
vinegar, my lord.  I, too, know something of the healing art."

"I thank your reverend lordship," replied Thomas of Gilsland;
"but had I been accessible to the fever, I had caught it long
since by the bed of my master."

The Bishop of Tyre blushed, for he had rather avoided the
presence of the sick monarch; and he bid the baron lead on.

As they paused before the wretched hut in which Kenneth of the
Leopard and his follower abode, the bishop said to De Vaux, "Now,
of a surety, my lord, these Scottish Knights have worse care of
their followers than we of our dogs.  Here is a knight, valiant,
they say, in battle, and thought fitting to be graced with
charges of weight in time of truce, whose esquire of the body is
lodged worse than in the worst dog-kennel in England.  What say
you of your neighbours?"

"That a master doth well enough for his servant when he lodgeth
him in no worse dwelling than his own," said De Vaux, and entered
the hut.

The bishop followed, not without evident reluctance; for though
he lacked not courage in some respects, yet it was tempered with
a strong and lively regard for his own safety.  He recollected,
however, the necessity there was for judging personally of the
skill of the Arabian physician, and entered the hut with a
stateliness of manner calculated, as he thought, to impose
respect on the stranger.

The prelate was, indeed, a striking and commanding figure.  In
his youth he had been eminently handsome, and even in age was
unwilling to appear less so.  His episcopal dress was of the
richest fashion, trimmed with costly fur, and surrounded by a
cope of curious needlework.  The rings on his fingers were worth
a goodly barony, and the hood which he wore, though now unclasped
and thrown back for heat, had studs of pure gold to fasten it
around his throat and under his chin when he so inclined.  His
long beard, now silvered with age, descended over his breast.
One of two youthful acolytes who attended him created an
artificial shade, peculiar then to the East, by bearing over his
head an umbrella of palmetto leaves, while the other refreshed
his reverend master by agitating a fan of peacock-feathers.

When the Bishop of Tyre entered the hut of the Scottish knight,
the master was absent, and the Moorish physician, whom he had
come to see, sat in the very posture in which De Vaux had left
him several hours before, cross-legged upon a mat made of twisted
leaves, by the side of the patient, who appeared in deep slumber,
and whose pulse he felt from time to time.  The bishop remained
standing before him in silence for two or three minutes, as if
expecting some honourable salutation, or at least that the
Saracen would seem struck with the dignity of his appearance.
But Adonbec el Hakim took no notice of him beyond a passing
glance, and when the prelate at length saluted him in the lingua
franca current in the country, he only replied by the ordinary
Oriental greeting, "SALAM ALICUM--Peace be with you."

"Art thou a physician, infidel?"  said the bishop, somewhat
mortified at this cold reception.  "I would speak with thee on
that art."

"If thou knewest aught of medicine," answered El Hakim, "thou
wouldst be aware that physicians hold no counsel or debate in the
sick chamber of their patient.  Hear," he added, as the low
growling of the staghound was heard from the inner hut, "even the
dog might teach thee reason, Ulemat.  His instinct teaches him to
suppress his barking in the sick man's hearing.  Come without the
tent," said he, rising and leading the way, "if thou hast ought
to say with me."

Notwithstanding the plainness of the Saracen leech's dress, and
his inferiority of size when contrasted with the tall prelate and
gigantic English baron, there was something striking in his
manner and countenance, which prevented the Bishop of Tyre from
expressing strongly the displeasure he felt at this unceremonious
rebuke.  When without the hut, he gazed upon Adonbec in silence
for several minutes before he could fix on the best manner to
renew the conversation.  No locks were seen under the high bonnet
of the Arabian, which hid also part of a brow that seemed lofty
and expanded, smooth, and free from wrinkles, as were his cheeks,
where they were seen under the shade of his long beard.  We have
elsewhere noticed the piercing quality of his dark eyes.

The prelate, struck with his apparent youth, at length broke a
pause, which the other seemed in no haste to interrupt, by
demanding of the Arabian how old he was?

"The years of ordinary men," said the Saracen, "are counted by
their wrinkles; those of sages by their studies.  I dare not call
myself older than a hundred revolutions of the Hegira."  [Meaning
that his attainments were those which might have been made in a
hundred years.]

The Baron of Gilsland, who took this for a literal assertion that
he was a century old, looked doubtfully upon the prelate, who,
though he better understood the meaning of El Hakim, answered his
glance by mysteriously shaking his head.  He resumed an air of
importance when he again authoritatively demanded what evidence
Adonbec could produce of his medical proficiency.

"Ye have the word of the mighty Saladin," said the sage, touching
his cap in sign of reverence--"a word which was never broken
towards friend or foe.  What, Nazarene, wouldst thou demand
more?"

"I would have ocular proof of thy skill," said the baron, "and
without it thou approachest not to the couch of King Richard."

"The praise of the physician," said the Arabian, "is in the
recovery of his patient.  Behold this sergeant, whose blood has
been dried up by the fever which has whitened your camp with
skeletons, and against which the art of Your Nazarene leeches
hath been like a silken doublet against a lance of steel.  Look
at his fingers and arms, wasted like the claws and shanks of the
crane.  Death had this morning his clutch on him; but had Azrael
been on one side of the couch, I being on the other, his soul
should not have been left from his body.  Disturb me not with
further questions, but await the critical minute, and behold in
silent wonder the marvellous event."

The physician had then recourse to his astrolabe, the oracle of
Eastern science, and watching with grave precision until the
precise time of the evening prayer had arrived, he sunk on his
knees, with his face turned to Mecca, and recited the petitions
which close the Moslemah's day of toil.  The bishop and the
English baron looked on each other, meanwhile, with symptoms of
contempt and indignation, but neither judged it fit to interrupt
El Hakim in his devotions, unholy as they considered them to be.

The Arab arose from the earth, on which he had prostrated
himself, and walking into the hut where the patient lay extended,
he drew a sponge from a small silver box, dipped perhaps in some
aromatic distillation, for when he put it to the sleeper's nose,
he sneezed, awoke, and looked wildly around.  He was a ghastly
spectacle as he sat up almost naked on his couch, the bones and
cartilages as visible through the surface of his skin as if they
had never been clothed with flesh.  His face was long, and
furrowed with wrinkles; but his eye, though it wandered at first,
became gradually more settled.  He seemed to be aware of the
presence of his dignified visitors, for he attempted feebly to
pull the covering from his head in token of reverence, as he
inquired, in a subdued and submissive voice, for his master.

"Do you know us, vassal?"  said the Lord of Gilsland.

"Not perfectly, my lord," replied the squire faintly.  "My sleep
has been long and full of dreams.  Yet I know that you are a
great English lord, as seemeth by the red cross, and this a holy
prelate, whose blessing I crave on me a poor sinner."

"Thou hast it--BENEDICTIO DOMINI SIT VOBISCUM," said the prelate,
making the sign of the cross, but without approaching nearer to
the patient's bed.

"Your eyes witness," said the Arabian, "the fever hath been
subdued.  He speaks with calmness and recollection--his pulse
beats composedly as yours--try its pulsations yourself"

The prelate declined the experiment; but Thomas of Gilsland, more
determined on making the trial, did so, and satisfied himself
that the fever was indeed gone.

"This is most wonderful," said the knight, looking to the bishop;
"the man is assuredly cured.  I must conduct this mediciner
presently to King Richard's tent.  What thinks your reverence?"

"Stay, let me finish one cure ere I commence another," said the
Arab; "I will pass with you when I have given my patient the
second cup of this most holy elixir."

So saying he pulled out a silver cup, and filling it with water
from a gourd which stood by the bedside, he next drew forth a
small silken bag made of network, twisted with silver, the
contents of which the bystanders could not discover, and
immersing it in the cup, continued to watch it in silence during
the space of five minutes.  It seemed to the spectators as if
some effervescence took place during the operation; but if so, it
instantly subsided.

"Drink," said the physician to the sick man--"sleep, and awaken
free from malady."

"And with this simple-seeming draught thou wilt undertake to cure
a monarch?"  said the Bishop of Tyre.

"I have cured a beggar, as you may behold," replied the sage.
"Are the Kings of Frangistan made of other clay than the meanest
of their subjects?"

"Let us have him presently to the King," said the Baron of
Gilsland.  "He hath shown that he possesses the secret which may
restore his health.  If he fails to exercise it, I will put
himself past the power of medicine."

As they were about to leave the hut, the sick man, raising his
voice as much as his weakness permitted, exclaimed, "Reverend
father, noble knight, and you, kind leech, if you would have me
sleep and recover, tell me in charity what is become of my dear
master?"

"He is upon a distant expedition, friend," replied the prelate--
"on an honourable embassy, which may detain him for some days."

"Nay," said the Baron of Gilsland, "why deceive the poor fellow?
--Friend, thy master has returned to the camp, and you will
presently see him."

The invalid held up, as if in thankfulness, his wasted hands to
Heaven, and resisting no longer the soporiferous operation of the
elixir, sunk down in a gentle sleep.

"You are a better physician than I, Sir Thomas," said the
prelate--"a soothing falsehood is fitter for a sick-room than an
unpleasing truth."

"How mean you, my reverend lord?"  said De Vaux hastily.  "Think
you I would tell a falsehood to save the lives of a dozen such as
he?"

"You said," replied the bishop, with manifest symptoms of alarm
--"you said the esquire's master was returned--he, I mean, of the
Couchant Leopard."

"And he IS returned," said De Vaux.  "I spoke with him but a few
hours since.  This learned leech came in his company."

"Holy Virgin!  why told you not of his return to me?"  said the
bishop, in evident perturbation.

"Did I not say that this same Knight of the Leopard had returned
in company with the physician?  I thought I had," replied De Vaux
carelessly.  "But what signified his return to the skill of the
physician, or the cure of his Majesty?"

"Much, Sir Thomas--it signified much," said the bishop, clenching
his hands, pressing his foot against the earth, and giving signs
of impatience, as if in an involuntary manner.  "But where can he
be gone now, this same knight?  God be with us--here may be some
fatal errors!"

"Yonder serf in the outer space," said De Vaux, not without
wonder at the bishop's emotion, "can probably tell us whither his
master has gone."

The lad was summoned, and in a language nearly incomprehensible
to them, gave them at length to understand that an officer had
summoned his master to the royal tent some time before their
arrival at that of his master.  The anxiety of the bishop
appeared to rise to the highest, and became evident to De Vaux,
though, neither an acute observer nor of a suspicious temper.
But with his anxiety seemed to increase his wish to keep it
subdued and unobserved.  He took a hasty leave of De Vaux, who
looked after him with astonishment, and after shrugging his
shoulders in silent wonder, proceeded to conduct the Arabian
physician to the tent of King Richard.



CHAPTER IX.

This is the prince of leeches; fever, plague,
Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on him,
And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews.   ANONYMOUS.

The Baron of Gilsland walked with slow step and an anxious
countenance towards the royal pavilion.  He had much diffidence
of his own capacity, except in a field of battle, and conscious
of no very acute intellect, was usually contented to wonder at
circumstances which a man of livelier imagination would have
endeavoured to investigate and understand, or at least would have
made the subject of speculation.  But it seemed very
extraordinary, even to him, that the attention of the bishop
should have been at once abstracted from all reflection on the
marvellous cure which they had witnessed, and upon the
probability it afforded of Richard being restored to health, by
what seemed a very trivial piece of information announcing the
motions of a beggardly Scottish knight, than whom Thomas of
Gilsland knew nothing within the circle of gentle blood more
unimportant or contemptible; and despite his usual habit of
passively beholding passing events, the baron's spirit toiled
with unwonted attempts to form conjectures on the cause.

At length the idea occurred at once to him that the whole might
be a conspiracy against King Richard, formed within the camp of
the allies, and to which the bishop, who was by some represented
as a politic and unscrupulous person, was not unlikely to have
been accessory.  It was true that, in his own opinion, there
existed no character so perfect as that of his master; for
Richard being the flower of chivalry, and the chief of Christian
leaders, and obeying in all points the commands of Holy Church,
De Vaux's ideas of perfection went no further.  Still, he knew
that, however unworthily, it had been always his master's fate to
draw as much reproach and dislike as honour and attachment from
the display of his great qualities; and that in the very camp,
and amongst those princes bound by oath to the Crusade, were many
who would have sacrificed all hope of victory over the Saracens
to the pleasure of ruining, or at least of humbling, Richard of
England.

"Wherefore," said the baron to himself, "it is in no sense
impossible that this El Hakim, with this his cure, or seeming
cure, wrought on the body of the Scottish squire, may mean
nothing but a trick, to which he of the Leopard may be accessory,
and wherein the Bishop of Tyre, prelate as he is, may have some
share."

This hypothesis, indeed, could not be so easily reconciled with
the alarm manifested by the bishop on learning that, contrary to
his expectation, the Scottish knight had suddenly returned to the
Crusaders' camp.  But De Vaux was influenced only by his general
prejudices, which dictated to him the assured belief that a wily
Italian priest, a false-hearted Scot, and an infidel physician,
formed a set of ingredients from which all evil, and no good, was
likely to be extracted.  He resolved, however, to lay his
scruples bluntly before the King, of whose judgment he had nearly
as high an opinion as of his valour.

Meantime, events had taken place very contrary to the
suppositions which Thomas de Vaux had entertained.  Scarce had he
left the royal pavilion, when, betwixt the impatience of the
fever, and that which was natural to his disposition, Richard
began to murmur at his delay, and express an earnest desire for
his return.  He had seen enough to try to reason himself out of
this irritation, which greatly increased his bodily malady.  He
wearied his attendants by demanding from them amusements, and the
breviary of the priest, the romance of the clerk, even the harp
of his favourite minstrel, were had recourse to in vain.  At
length, some two hours before sundown, and long, therefore, ere
he could expect a satisfactory account of the process of the cure
which the Moor or Arabian had undertaken, he sent, as we have
already heard, a messenger commanding the attendance of the
Knight of the Leopard, determined to soothe his impatience by
obtaining from Sir Kenneth a more particular account of the cause
of his absence from the camp, and the circumstances of his
meeting with this celebrated physician.

The Scottish knight, thus summoned, entered the royal presence as
one who was no stranger to such scenes.  He was scarcely known to
the King of England, even by sight, although, tenacious of his
rank, as devout in the adoration of the lady of his secret heart,
he had never been absent on those occasions when the munificence
and hospitality of England opened the Court of its monarch to all
who held a certain rank in chivalry.  The King gazed fixedly on
Sir Kenneth approaching his bedside, while the knight bent his
knee for a moment, then arose, and stood before him in a posture
of deference, but not of subservience or humility, as became an
officer in the presence of his sovereign.

"Thy name," said the King, "is Kenneth of the Leopard--from whom
hadst thou degree of knighthood?"

"I took it from the sword of William the Lion, King of Scotland,"
replied the Scot.

"A weapon," said the King, "well worthy to confer honour; nor has
it been laid on an undeserving shoulder.  We have seen thee bear
thyself knightly and valiantly in press of battle, when most need
there was; and thou hadst not been yet to learn that thy deserts
were known to us, but that thy presumption in other points has
been such that thy services can challenge no better reward than
that of pardon for thy transgression.  What sayest thou--ha?"

Kenneth attempted to speak, but was unable to express himself
distinctly; the consciousness of his too ambitious love, and the
keen, falcon glance with which Coeur de Lion seemed to penetrate
his inmost soul, combining to disconcert him.

"And yet," said the King, "although soldiers should obey command,
and vassals be respectful towards their superiors, we might
forgive a brave knight greater offence than the keeping a simple
hound, though it were contrary to our express public ordinance."

Richard kept his eye fixed on the Scot's face, beheld and
beholding, smiling inwardly at the relief produced by the turn he
had given to his general accusation.

"So please you, my lord," said the Scot, "your majesty must be
good to us poor gentlemen of Scotland in this matter.  We are far
from home, scant of revenues, and cannot support ourselves as
your wealthy nobles, who have credit of the Lombards.  The
Saracens shall feel our blows the harder that we eat a piece of
dried venison from time to time with our herbs and barley-cakes."

"It skills not asking my leave," said Richard, "since Thomas de
Vaux, who doth, like all around me, that which is fittest in his
own eyes, hath already given thee permission for hunting and
hawking."

"For hunting only, and please you," said the Scot.  "But if it
please your Majesty to indulge me with the privilege of hawking
also, and you list to trust me with a falcon on fist, I trust I
could supply your royal mess with some choice waterfowl."

"I dread me, if thou hadst but the falcon," said the King, "thou
wouldst scarce wait for the permission.  I wot well it is said
abroad that we of the line of Anjou resent offence against our
forest-laws as highly as we would do treason against our crown.
To brave and worthy men, however, we could pardon either
misdemeanour.--But enough of this.  I desire to know of you, Sir
Knight, wherefore, and by whose authority, you took this recent
journey to the wilderness of the Dead Sea and Engaddi?"

"By order," replied the knight, "of the Council of Princes of the
Holy Crusade."

"And how dared any one to give such an order, when I--not the
least, surely, in the league--was unacquainted with it?"

"It was not my part, please your highness," said the Scot, "to
inquire into such particulars.  I am a soldier of the Cross
--serving, doubtless, for the present, under your highness's
banner, and proud of the permission to do so, but still one who
hath taken on him the holy symbol for the rights of Christianity
and the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, and bound, therefore, to
obey without question the orders of the princes and chiefs by
whom the blessed enterprise is directed.  That indisposition
should seclude, I trust for but a short time, your highness from
their councils, in which you hold so potential a voice, I must
lament with all Christendom; but, as a soldier, I must obey those
on whom the lawful right of command devolves, or set but an evil
example in the Christian camp."

"Thou sayest well," said King Richard; "and the blame rests not
with thee, but with those with whom, when it shall please Heaven
to raise me from this accursed bed of pain and inactivity, I hope
to reckon roundly.  What was the purport of thy message"

"Methinks, and please your highness," replied Sir Kenneth, "that
were best asked of those who sent me, and who can render the
reasons of mine errand; whereas I can only tell its outward form
and purport."

"Palter not with me, Sir Scot--it were ill for thy safety," said
the irritable monarch.

"My safety, my lord," replied the knight firmly, "I cast behind
me as a regardless thing when I vowed myself to this enterprise,
looking rather to my immortal welfare than to that which concerns
my earthly body."

"By the mass," said King Richard, "thou art a brave fellow!  Hark
thee, Sir Knight, I love the Scottish people; they are hardy,
though dogged and stubborn, and, I think, true men in the main,
though the necessity of state has sometimes constrained them to
be dissemblers.  I deserve some love at their hand, for I have
voluntarily done what they could not by arms have extorted from
me any more than from my predecessors, I have re-established the
fortresses of Roxburgh and Berwick, which lay in pledge to
England; I have restored your ancient boundaries; and, finally, I
have renounced a claim to homage upon the crown of England, which
I thought unjustly forced on you.  I have endeavoured to make
honourable and independent friends, where former kings of England
attempted only to compel unwilling and rebellious vassals."

"All this you have done, my Lord King," said Sir Kenneth, bowing
--"all this you have done, by your royal treaty with our
sovereign at Canterbury.  Therefore have you me, and many better
Scottish men, making war against the infidels, under your
banners, who would else have been ravaging your frontiers in
England.  If their numbers are now few, it is because their lives
have been freely waged and wasted."

"I grant it true," said the King; "and for the good offices I
have done your land I require you to remember that, as a
principal member of the Christian league, I have a right to know
the negotiations of my confederates.  Do me, therefore, the
justice to tell me what I have a title to be acquainted with, and
which I am certain to know more truly from you than from others."

"My lord," said the Scot, "thus conjured, I will speak the truth;
for I well believe that your purposes towards the principal
object of our expedition are single-hearted and honest, and it is
more than I dare warrant for others of the Holy League.  Be
pleased, therefore, to know my charge was to propose, through the
medium of the hermit of Engaddi--a holy man, respected and
protected by Saladin himself--"

"A continuation of the truce, I doubt not," said Richard, hastily
interrupting him.

"No, by Saint Andrew, my liege," said the Scottish knight; "but
the establishment of a lasting peace, and the withdrawing our
armies from Palestine."

"Saint George!"  said Richard, in astonishment.  "Ill as I have
justly thought of them, I could not have dreamed they would have
humbled themselves to such dishonour.  Speak, Sir Kenneth, with
what will did you carry such a message?"

"With right good will, my lord," said Kenneth; "because, when we
had lost our noble leader, under whose guidance alone I hoped for
victory, I saw none who could succeed him likely to lead us to
conquest, and I accounted it well in such circumstances to avoid
defeat."

"And on what conditions was this hopeful peace to be contracted?"
said King Richard, painfully suppressing the passion with which
his heart was almost bursting.

"These were not entrusted to me, my lord," answered the Knight of
the Couchant Leopard.  "I delivered them sealed to the hermit."

"And for what hold you this reverend hermit--for fool, madman,
traitor, or saint?"  said Richard.

"His folly, sire," replied the shrewd Scottish man, "I hold to be
assumed to win favour and reverence from the Paynimrie, who
regard madmen as the inspired of Heaven--at least it seemed to me
as exhibited only occasionally, and not as mixing, like natural
folly, with the general tenor of his mind."

"Shrewdly replied," said the monarch, throwing himself back on
his couch, from which he had half-raised himself.  "Now of his
penitence?"

"His penitence," continued Kenneth, "appears to me sincere, and
the fruits of remorse for some dreadful crime, for which he
seems, in his own opinion, condemned to reprobation."

"And for his policy?"  said King Richard.

"Methinks, my lord," said the Scottish knight, "he despairs of
the security of Palestine, as of his own salvation, by any means
short of a miracle--at least, since the arm of Richard of England
hath ceased to strike for it."

"And, therefore, the coward policy of this hermit is like that of
these miserable princes, who, forgetful of their knighthood and
their faith, are only resolved and determined when the question
is retreat, and rather than go forward against an armed Saracen,
would trample in their flight over a dying ally!"

"Might I so far presume, my Lord King," said the Scottish knight,
"this discourse but heats your disease, the enemy from which
Christendom dreads more evil than from armed hosts of infidels."

The countenance of King Richard was, indeed, more flushed, and
his action became more feverishly vehement, as, with clenched
hand, extended arm, and flashing eyes, he seemed at once to
suffer under bodily pain, and at the same time under vexation of
mind, while his high spirit led him to speak on, as if in
contempt of both.

"You can flatter, Sir Knight," he said, "but you escape me not.
I must know more from you than you have yet told me.  Saw you my
royal consort when at Engaddi?"

"To my knowledge--no, my lord," replied Sir Kenneth, with
considerable perturbation, for he remembered the midnight
procession in the chapel of the rocks.

"I ask you," said the King, in a sterner voice," whether you were
not in the chapel of the Carmelite nuns at Engaddi, and there saw
Berengaria, Queen of England, and the ladies of her Court, who
went thither on pilgrimage?"

"My lord," said Sir Kenneth, "I will speak the truth as in the
confessional.  In a subterranean chapel, to which the anchorite
conducted me, I beheld a choir of ladies do homage to a relic of
the highest sanctity; but as I saw not their faces, nor heard
their voices, unless in the hymns which they chanted, I cannot
tell whether the Queen of England was of the bevy."

"And was there no one of these ladies known to you?"

Sir Kenneth stood silent.

"I ask you," said Richard, raising himself on his elbow, "as a
knight and a gentleman--and I shall know by your answer how you
value either character--did you, or did you not, know any lady
amongst that band of worshippers?"

"My lord," said Kenneth, not without much hesitation, "I might
guess."

"And I also may guess," said the King, frowning sternly; "but it
is enough.  Leopard as you are, Sir Knight, beware tempting the
lion's paw.  Hark ye--to become enamoured of the moon would be
but an act of folly; but to leap from the battlements of a lofty
tower, in the wild hope of coming within her sphere, were self-
destructive madness."

At this moment some bustling was heard in the outer apartment,
and the King, hastily changing to his more natural manner, said,
"Enough--begone--speed to De Vaux, and send him hither with the
Arabian physician.  My life for the faith of the Soldan!  Would
he but abjure his false law, I would aid him with my sword to
drive this scum of French and Austrians from his dominions, and
think Palestine as well ruled by him as when her kings were
anointed by the decree of Heaven itself."

The Knight of the Leopard retired, and presently afterwards the
chamberlain announced a deputation From the Council, who had come
to wait on the Majesty of England.

"It is well they allow that I am living yet," was his reply.
"Who are the reverend ambassadors?"

"The Grand Master of the Templars and the Marquis of Montserrat."

"Our brother of France loves not sick-beds," said Richard; "yet,
had Philip been ill, I had stood by his couch long since.
--Jocelyn, lay me the couch more fairly--it is tumbled like a
stormy sea.  Reach me yonder steel mirror--pass a comb through my
hair and beard.  They look, indeed, liker a lion's mane than a
Christian man's locks.  Bring water."

"My lord," said the trembling chamberlain, "the leeches say that
cold water may be fatal."

"To the foul fiend with the leeches!"  replied the monarch; "if
they cannot cure me, think you I will allow them to torment me?
--There, then," he said, after having made his ablutions, "admit
the worshipful envoys; they will now, I think, scarcely see that
disease has made Richard negligent of his person."

The celebrated Master of the Templars was a tall, thin, war-worn
man, with a slow yet penetrating eye, and a brow on which a
thousand dark intrigues had stamped a portion of their obscurity.
At the head of that singular body, to whom their order was
everything, and their individuality nothing--seeking the
advancement of its power, even at the hazard of that very
religion which the fraternity were originally associated to
protect--accused of heresy and witchcraft, although by their
character Christian priests--suspected of secret league with the
Soldan, though by oath devoted to the protection of the Holy
Temple, or its recovery--the whole order, and the whole personal
character of its commander, or Grand Master, was a riddle, at the
exposition of which most men shuddered.  The Grand Master was
dressed in his white robes of solemnity, and he bore the ABACUS,
a mystic staff of office, the peculiar form of which has given
rise to such singular conjectures and commentaries, leading to
suspicions that this celebrated fraternity of Christian knights
were embodied under the foulest symbols of paganism.

Conrade of Montserrat had a much more pleasing exterior than the
dark and mysterious priest-soldier by whom he was accompanied.
He was a handsome man, of middle age, or something past that
term, bold in the field, sagacious in council, gay and gallant in
times of festivity; but, on the other hand, he was generally
accused of versatility, of a narrow and selfish ambition, of a
desire to extend his own principality, without regard to the weal
of the Latin kingdom of Palestine, and of seeking his own
interest, by private negotiations with Saladin, to the prejudice
of the Christian leaguers.

When the usual salutations had been made by these dignitaries,
and courteously returned by King Richard, the Marquis of
Montserrat commenced an explanation of the motives of their
visit, sent, as he said they were, by the anxious kings and
princes who composed the Council of the Crusaders, "to inquire
into the health of their magnanimous ally, the valiant King of
England."

"We know the importance in which the princes of the Council hold
our health," replied the English King; "and are well aware how
much they must have suffered by suppressing all curiosity
concerning it for fourteen days, for fear, doubtless, of
aggravating our disorder, by showing their anxiety regarding the
event."

The flow of the Marquis's eloquence being checked, and he himself
thrown into some confusion by this reply, his more austere
companion took up the thread of the conversation, and with as
much dry and brief gravity as was consistent with the presence
which he addressed, informed the King that they came from the
Council, to pray, in the name of Christendom, "that he would not
suffer his health to be tampered with by an infidel physician,
said to be dispatched by Saladin, until the Council had taken
measures to remove or confirm the suspicion which they at present
conceived did attach itself to the mission of such a person."

"Grand Master of the Holy and Valiant Order of Knights Templars,
and you, most noble Marquis of Montserrat," replied Richard, "if
it please you to retire into the adjoining pavilion, you shall
presently see what account we make of the tender remonstrances of
our royal and princely colleagues in this religious warfare."

The Marquis and Grand Master retired accordingly; nor had they
been many minutes in the outward pavilion when the Eastern
physician arrived, accompanied by the Baron of Gilsland and
Kenneth of Scotland.  The baron, however, was a little later of
entering the tent than the other two, stopping, perchance, to
issue some orders to the warders without.

As the Arabian physician entered, he made his obeisance, after
the Oriental fashion, to the Marquis and Grand Master, whose
dignity was apparent, both from their appearance and their
bearing.  The Grand Master returned the salutation with an
expression of disdainful coldness, the Marquis with the popular
courtesy which he habitually practised to men of every rank and
nation.  There was a pause, for the Scottish knight, waiting for
the arrival of De Vaux, presumed not, of his own authority, to
enter the tent of the King of England; and during this interval
the Grand Master sternly demanded of the Moslem, "Infidel, hast
thou the courage to practise thine art upon the person of an
anointed sovereign of the Christian host?"

"The sun of Allah," answered the sage, "shines on the Nazarene as
well as on the true believer, and His servant dare make no
distinction betwixt them when called on to exercise the art of
healing."

"Misbelieving Hakim," said the Grand Master, "or whatsoever they
call thee for an unbaptized slave of darkness, dost thou well
know that thou shalt be torn asunder by wild horses should King
Richard die under thy charge?"

"That were hard justice," answered the physician, "seeing that I
can but use human means, and that the issue is written in the
book of light."

"Nay, reverend and valiant Grand Master," said the Marquis of
Montserrat, "consider that this learned man is not acquainted
with our Christian order, adopted in the fear of God, and for the
safety of His anointed.--Be it known to thee, grave physician,
whose skill we doubt not, that your wisest course is to repair to
the presence of the illustrious Council of our Holy League, and
there to give account and reckoning to such wise and learned
leeches as they shall nominate, concerning your means of process
and cure of this illustrious patient; so shall you escape all the
danger which, rashly taking such a high matter upon your sole
answer, you may else most likely incur."

"My lords," said El Hakim, "I understand you well.  But knowledge
hath its champions as well as your military art--nay, hath
sometimes had its martyrs as well as religion.  I have the
command of my sovereign, the Soldan Saladin, to heal this
Nazarene King, and, with the blessing of the Prophet, I will obey
his commands.  If I fail, ye wear swords thirsting for the blood
of the faithful, and I proffer my body to your weapons.  But I
will not reason with one uncircumcised upon the virtue of the
medicines of which I have obtained knowledge through the grace of
the Prophet, and I play you interpose no delay between me and my
office."

"Who talks of delay?"  said the Baron de Vaux, hastily entering
the tent; "we have had but too much already.  I salute you, my
Lord of Montserrat, and you, valiant Grand Master.  But I must
presently pass with this learned physician to the bedside of my
master."

"My lord," said the Marquis, in Norman-French, or the language of
Ouie, as it was then called, "are you well advised that we came
to expostulate, on the part of the Council of the Monarchs and
Princes of the Crusade, against the risk of permitting an infidel
and Eastern physician to tamper with a health so valuable as that
of your master, King Richard?"

"Noble Lord Marquis," replied the Englishman bluntly, "I can
neither use many words, nor do I delight in listening to them;
moreover, I am much more ready to believe what my eyes have seen
than what my ears have heard.  I am satisfied that this heathen
can cure the sickness of King Richard, and I believe and trust he
will labour to do so.  Time is precious.  If Mohammed--may God's
curse be on him!  stood at the door of the tent, with such fair
purpose as this Adonbec el Hakim entertains, I would hold it sin
to delay him for a minute.  So, give ye God'en, my lords."

"Nay, but," said Conrade of Montserrat, "the King himself said we
should be present when this same physician dealt upon him."

The baron whispered the chamberlain, probably to know whether the
Marquis spoke truly, and then replied, "My lords, if you will
hold your patience, you are welcome to enter with us; but if you
interrupt, by action or threat, this accomplished physician in
his duty, be it known that, without respect to your high quality,
I will enforce your absence from Richard's tent; for know, I am
so well satisfied of the virtue of this man's medicines, that
were Richard himself to refuse them, by our Lady of Lanercost, I
think I could find in my heart to force him to take the means of
his cure whether he would or no.--Move onward, El Hakim."

The last word was spoken in the lingua franca, and instantly
obeyed by the physician.  The Grand Master looked grimly on the
unceremonious old soldier, but, on exchanging a glance with the
Marquis, smoothed his frowning brow as well as he could, and both
followed De Vaux and the Arabian into the inner tent, where
Richard lay expecting them, with that impatience with which the
sick man watches the step of his physician.  Sir Kenneth, whose
attendance seemed neither asked nor prohibited, felt himself, by
the circumstances in which he stood, entitled to follow these
high dignitaries; but, conscious of his inferior power and rank,
remained aloof during the scene which took place.

Richard, when they entered his apartment, immediately exclaimed,
"So ho!  a goodly fellowship come to see Richard take his leap in
the dark.  My noble allies, I greet you as the representatives of
our assembled league; Richard will again be amongst you in his
former fashion, or ye shall bear to the grave what is left of
him.--De Vaux, lives he or dies he, thou hast the thanks of thy
prince.  There is yet another--but this fever hath wasted my
eyesight.  What, the bold Scot, who would climb heaven without a
ladder!  He is welcome too.--Come, Sir Hakim, to the work, to the
work!"

The physician, who had already informed himself of the various
symptoms of the King's illness, now felt his pulse for a long
time, and with deep attention, while all around stood silent, and
in breathless expectation.  The sage next filled a cup with
spring water, and dipped into it the small red purse, which, as
formerly, he took from his bosom.  When he seemed to think it
sufficiently medicated, he was about to offer it to the
sovereign, who prevented him by saying, "Hold an instant.  Thou
hast felt my pulse--let me lay my finger on thine.  I too, as
becomes a good knight, know something of thine art."

The Arabian yielded his hand without hesitation, and his long,
slender dark fingers were for an instant enclosed, and almost
buried, in the large enfoldment of King Richard's hand.

"His blood beats calm as an infant's," said the King; "so throbs
not theirs who poison princes.  De Vaux, whether we live or die,
dismiss this Hakim with honour and safety.--Commend us, friend,
to the noble Saladin.  Should I die, it is without doubt of his
faith; should I live, it will be to thank him as a warrior would
desire to be thanked."

He then raised himself in bed, took the cup in his hand, and
turning to the Marquis and the Grand Master--"Mark what I say,
and let my royal brethren pledge me in Cyprus wine, 'To the
immortal honour of the first Crusader who shall strike lance or
sword on the gate of Jerusalem; and to the shame and eternal
infamy of whomsoever shall turn back from the plough on which he
hath laid his hand!'"

He drained the cup to the bottom, resigned it to the Arabian, and
sunk back, as if exhausted, upon the cushions which mere arranged
to receive him.  The physician then, with silent but expressive
signs, directed that all should leave the tent excepting himself
and De Vaux, whom no remonstrance could induce to withdraw.  The
apartment was cleared accordingly.



CHAPTER X.

And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And, to your quick-conceiving discontent,
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous.  HENRY IV., PART I.

The Marquis of Montserrat and the Grand Master of the Knights
Templars stood together in the front of the royal pavilion,
within which this singular scene had passed, and beheld a strong
guard of bills and bows drawn out to form a circle around it, and
keep at distance all which might disturb the sleeping monarch.
The soldiers wore the downcast, silent, and sullen looks with
which they trail their arms at a funeral, and stepped with such
caution that you could not hear a buckler ring or a sword
clatter, though so many men in armour were moving around the
tent.  They lowered their weapons in deep reverence as the
dignitaries passed through their files, but with the same
profound silence.

"There is a, change of cheer among these island dogs," said the
Grand Master to Conrade, when they had passed Richard's guards.
"What hoarse tumult and revel used to be before this pavilion!
--nought but pitching the bar, hurling the ball, wrestling,
roaring of songs, clattering of wine pots, and quaffing of
flagons among these burly yeomen, as if they were holding some
country wake, with a Maypole in the midst of them instead of a
royal standard."

"Mastiffs are a faithful race," said Conrade; "and the King their
Master has won their love by being ready to wrestle, brawl, or
revel amongst the foremost of them, whenever the humour seized
him."

"He is totally compounded of humours," said the Grand Master.
"Marked you the pledge he gave us!  instead of a prayer, over his
grace-cup yonder."

"He would have felt it a, grace-cup, and a well-spiced one too,"
said the Marquis, "were Saladin like any other Turk that ever
wore turban, or turned him to Mecca at call of the muezzin.  But
he affects faith, and honour, and generosity, as if it were for
an unbaptized dog like him to practise the virtuous bearing of a
Christian knight.  It is said he hath applied to Richard to be
admitted within the pale of chivalry."

"By Saint Bernard!"  exclaimed the Grand Master, "it were time
then to throw off our belts and spurs, Sir Conrade, deface our
armorial bearings, and renounce our burgonets, if the highest
honour of Christianity were conferred on an unchristened Turk of
tenpence."

"You rate the Soldan cheap," replied the Marquis; "yet though he
be a likely man, I have seen a better heathen sold for forty
pence at the bagnio."

They were now near their horses, which stood at some distance
from the royal tent, prancing among the gallant train of esquires
and pages by whom they were attended, when Conrade, after a
moment's pause, proposed that they should enjoy the coolness of
the evening breeze which had arisen, and, dismissing their steeds
and attendants, walk homewards to their own quarters through the
lines of the extended Christian camp.  The Grand Master assented,
and they proceeded to walk together accordingly, avoiding, as if
by mutual consent, the more inhabited parts of the canvas city,
and tracing the broad esplanade which lay between the tents and
the external defences, Where they could converse in private, and
unmarked, save by the sentinels as they passed them.

They spoke for a time upon the military points and preparations
for defence; but this sort of discourse, in which neither seemed
to take interest, at length died away, and there was a long
pause, which terminated by the Marquis of Montserrat stopping
short, like a man who has formed a sudden resolution, and gazing
for some moments on the dark, inflexible countenance of the Grand
Master, he at length addressed him thus:  "Might it consist with
your valour and sanctity, reverend Sir Giles Amaury, I would pray
you for once to lay aside the dark visor which you wear, and to
converse with a friend barefaced."

The Templar half smiled.

"There are light-coloured masks," he said, "as well as dark
visors, and the one conceals the natural features as completely
as the other."

"Be it so," said the Marquis, putting his hand to his chin, and
withdrawing it with the action of one who unmasks himself; "there
lies my disguise.  And now, what think you, as touching the
interests of your own order, of the prospects of this Crusade?"

"This is tearing the veil from my thoughts rather than exposing
your own," said the Grand Master; "yet I will reply with a
parable told to me by a santon of the desert.  'A certain farmer
prayed to Heaven for rain, and murmured when it fell not at his
need.  To punish his impatience, Allah,' said the santon, 'sent
the Euphrates upon his farm, and he was destroyed, with all his
possessions, even by the granting of his own wishes.'"

"Most truly spoken," said the Marquis Conrade.  "Would that the
ocean had swallowed up nineteen parts of the armaments of these
Western princes!  What remained would better have served the
purpose of the Christian nobles of Palestine, the wretched
remnant of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem.  Left to ourselves, we
might have bent to the storm; or, moderately supported with money
and troops, we might have compelled Saladin to respect our
valour, and grant us peace and protection on easy terms.  But
from the extremity of danger with which this powerful Crusade
threatens the Soldan, we cannot suppose, should it pass over,
that the Saracen will suffer any one of us to hold possessions or
principalities in Syria, far less permit the existence of the
Christian military fraternities, from whom they have experienced
so much mischief."

"Ay, but," said the Templar, "these adventurous Crusaders may
succeed, and again plant the Cross on the bulwarks of Zion."

"And what will that advantage either the Order of the Templars,
or Conrade of Montserrat?"  said the Marquis.

"You it may advantage," replied the Grand Master.  "Conrade of
Montserrat might become Conrade King of Jerusalem."

"That sounds like something," said the Marquis, "and yet it rings
but hollow.  Godfrey of Bouillon might well choose the crown of
thorns for his emblem.  Grand Master, I will confess to you I
have caught some attachment to the Eastern form of government--a
pure and simple monarchy should consist but of king and subjects.
Such is the simple and primitive structure--a shepherd and his
flock.  All this internal chain of feudal dependance is
artificial and sophisticated; and I would rather hold the baton
of my poor marquisate with a firm gripe, and wield it after my
pleasure, than the sceptre of a monarch, to be in effect
restrained and curbed by the will of as many proud feudal barons
as hold land under the Assizes of Jerusalem.  [The Assises de
Jerusalem were the digest of feudal law, composed by Godfrey of
Boulogne, for the government of the Latin kingdom of Palestine,
when reconquered from the Saracens.  "It was composed with advice
of the patriarch and barons, the clergy and laity, and is," says
the historian Gibbon, "a precious monument of feudatory
jurisprudence, founded upon those principles of freedom which
were essential to the system."]  A king should tread freely,
Grand Master, and should not be controlled by here a ditch, and
there a fence-here a feudal privilege, and there a mail-clad
baron with his sword in his hand to maintain it.  To sum the
whole, I am aware that Guy de Lusignan's claims to the throne
would be preferred to mine, if Richard recovers, and has aught to
say in the choice."

"Enough," said the Grand Master; "thou hast indeed convinced me
of thy sincerity.  Others may hold the same opinions, but few,
save Conrade of Montserrat, dared frankly avow that he desires
not the restitution of the kingdom of Jerusalem, but rather
prefers being master of a portion of its fragments--like the
barbarous islanders, who labour not for the deliverance of a
goodly vessel from the billows, expecting rather to enrich
themselves at the expense of the wreck."

"Thou wilt not betray my counsel?"  said Conrade, looking sharply
and suspiciously.  "Know, for certain, that my tongue shall never
wrong my head, nor my hand forsake the defence of either.
Impeach me if thou wilt--I am prepared to defend myself in the
lists against the best Templar who ever laid lance in rest."

"Yet thou start'st somewhat suddenly for so bold a steed," said
the Grand Master.  "However, I swear to thee by the Holy Temple,
which our Order is sworn to defend, that I will keep counsel with
thee as a true comrade."

"By which Temple?"  said the Marquis of Montserrat, whose love of
sarcasm often outran his policy and discretion; "swearest thou by
that on the hill of Zion, which was built by King Solomon, or by
that symbolical, emblematical edifice, which is said to be spoken
of in the councils held in the vaults of your Preceptories, as
something which infers the aggrandizement of thy valiant and
venerable Order?"

The Templar scowled upon him with an eye of death, but answered
calmly, "By whatever Temple I swear, be assured, Lord Marquis,
my oath is sacred.  I would I knew how to bind THEE by one of
equal obligation."

"I will swear truth to thee," said the Marquis, laughing, "by the
earl's coronet, which I hope to convert, ere these wars are over,
into something better.  It feels cold on my brow, that same
slight coronal; a duke's cap of maintenance were a better
protection against such a night-breeze as now blows, and a king's
crown more preferable still, being lined with comfortable ermine
and velvet.  In a word, our interests bind us together; for think
not, Lord Grand Master, that, were these allied princes to regain
Jerusalem, and place a king of their own choosing there, they
would suffer your Order, any more than my poor marquisate, to
retain the independence which we now hold.  No, by Our Lady!  In
such case, the proud Knights of Saint John must again spread
plasters and dress plague sores in the hospitals; and you, most
puissant and venerable Knights of the Temple, must return to your
condition of simple men-at-arms, sleep three on a pallet, and
mount two upon one horse, as your present seal still expresses to
have been your ancient most simple custom."

"The rank, privileges, and opulence of our Order prevent so much
degradation as you threaten," said the Templar haughtily.

"These are your bane," said Conrade of Montserrat; "and you, as
well as I, reverend Grand Master, know that, were the allied
princes to be successful in Palestine, it would be their first
point of policy to abate the independence of your Order, which,
but for the protection of our holy father the Pope, and the
necessity of employing your valour in the conquest of Palestine,
you would long since have experienced.  Give them complete
success, and you will be flung aside, as the splinters of a
broken lance are tossed out of the tilt-yard,"

"There may be truth in what you say," said the Templar, darkly
smiling.  "But what were our hopes should the allies withdraw
their forces, and leave Palestine in the grasp of Saladin?"

"Great and assured," replied Conrade.  "The Soldan would give
large provinces to maintain at his behest a body of well-
appointed Frankish lances.  In Egypt, in Persia, a hundred such
auxiliaries, joined to his own light cavalry, would turn the
battle against the most fearful odds.  This dependence would be
but for a time--perhaps during the life of this enterprising
Soldan; but in the East empires arise like mushrooms.  Suppose
him dead, and us strengthened with a constant succession of fiery
and adventurous spirits from Europe, what might we not hope to
achieve, uncontrolled by these monarchs, whose dignity throws us
at present into the shade--and, were they to remain here, and
succeed in this expedition, would willingly consign us for ever
to degradation and dependence?"

"You say well, my Lord Marquis," said the Grand Master, "and your
words find an echo in my bosom.  Yet must we be cautious--Philip
of France is wise as well as valiant."

"True, and will be therefore the more easily diverted from an
expedition to which, in a moment of enthusiasm, or urged by his
nobles, he rashly bound himself.  He is jealous of King Richard,
his natural enemy, and longs to return to prosecute plans of
ambition nearer to Paris than Palestine.  Any fair pretence will
serve him for withdrawing from a scene in which he is aware he is
wasting the force of his kingdom."

"And the Duke of Austria?"  said the Templar.

"Oh, touching the Duke," returned Conrade, "his self-conceit and
folly lead him to the same conclusions as do Philip's policy and
wisdom.  He conceives himself, God help the while, ungratefully
treated, because men's mouths--even those of his own MINNE-
SINGERS [The German minstrels were so termed.]--are filled with
the praises of King Richard, whom he fears and hates, and in
whose harm he would rejoice, like those unbred, dastardly curs,
who, if the foremost of the pack is hurt by the gripe of the
wolf, are much more likely to assail the sufferer from behind
than to come to his assistance.  But wherefore tell I this to
thee, save to show that I am in sincerity in desiring that this
league be broken up, and the country freed of these great
monarchs with their hosts? And thou well knowest, and hast
thyself seen, how all the princes of influence and power, one
alone excepted, are eager to enter into treaty with the Soldan."

"I acknowledge it," said the Templar; "he were blind that had not
seen this in their last deliberations.  But lift yet thy mask an
inch higher, and tell me thy real reason for pressing upon the
Council that Northern Englishman, or Scot, or whatever you call
yonder Knight of the Leopard, to carry their proposals for a
treaty?"

"There was a policy in it," replied the Italian.  "His character
of native of Britain was sufficient to meet what Saladin
required, who knew him to belong to the band of Richard; while
his character of Scot, and certain other personal grudges which I
wot of, rendered it most unlikely that our envoy should, on his
return, hold any communication with the sick-bed of Richard, to
whom his presence was ever unacceptable."

"Oh, too finespun policy," said the Grand Master; "trust me, that
Italian spiders' webs will never bind this unshorn Samson of the
Isle--well if you can do it with new cords, and those of the
toughest.  See you not that the envoy whom you have selected so
carefully hath brought us, in this physician, the means of
restoring the lion-hearted, bull-necked Englishman to prosecute
his Crusading enterprise.  And so soon as he is able once more to
rush on, which of the princes dare hold back?  They must follow
him for very shame, although they would march under the banner of
Satan as soon."

"Be content," said Conrade of Montserrat; "ere this physician, if
he work by anything short of miraculous agency, can accomplish
Richard's cure, it may be possible to put some open rupture
betwixt the Frenchman--at least the Austrian--and his allies of
England, so that the breach shall be irreconcilable; and Richard
may arise from his bed, perhaps to command his own native troops,
but never again, by his sole energy, to wield the force of the
whole Crusade."

"Thou art a willing archer," said the Templar; "but, Conrade of
Montserrat, thy bow is over-slack to carry an arrow to the mark."

He then stopped short, cast a suspicious glance to see that no
one overheard him, and taking Conrade by the hand, pressed it
eagerly as he looked the Italian in the face, and repeated
slowly, "Richard arise from his bed, sayest thou?  Conrade, he
must never arise!"

The Marquis of Montserrat started.  "What!  spoke you of Richard
of England--of Coeur de Lion--the champion of Christendom?"

His cheek turned pale and his knees trembled as he spoke.  The
Templar looked at him, with his iron visage contorted into a
smile of contempt.

"Knowest thou what thou look'st like, Sir Conrade, at this
moment?  Not like the politic and valiant Marquis of Montserrat
not like him who would direct the Council of Princes and
determine the fate of empires--but like a novice, who, stumbling
upon a conjuration in his master's book of gramarye, has raised
the devil when he least thought of it, and now stands terrified
at the spirit which appears before him."

"I grant you," said Conrade, recovering himself, "that--unless
some other sure road could be discovered--thou hast hinted at
that which leads most direct to our purpose.  But, blessed Mary!
we shall become the curse of all Europe, the malediction of every
one, from the Pope on his throne to the very beggar at the church
gate, who, ragged and leprous, in the last extremity of human
wretchedness, shall bless himself that he is neither Giles Amaury
nor Conrade of Montserrat."

"If thou takest it thus," said the Grand Master, with the same
composure which characterized him all through this remarkable
dialogue, "let us hold there has nothing passed between us--that
we have spoken in our sleep--have awakened, and the vision is
gone."

"It never can depart," answered Conrade.

"Visions of ducal crowns and kingly diadems are, indeed, somewhat
tenacious of their place in the imagination," replied the Grand
Master.

"Well," answered Conrade, "let me but first try to break peace
between Austria and England."

They parted.  Conrade remained standing still upon the spot, and
watching the flowing white cloak of the Templar as he stalked
slowly away, and gradually disappeared amid the fast-sinking
darkness of the Oriental night.  Proud, ambitious, unscrupulous,
and politic, the Marquis of Montserrat was yet not cruel by
nature.  He was a voluptuary and an epicurean, and, like many who
profess this character, was averse, even upon selfish motives,
from inflicting pain or witnessing acts of cruelty; and he
retained also a general sense of respect for his own reputation,
which sometimes supplies the want of the better principle by
which reputation is to be maintained.

"I have," he said, as his eyes still watched the point at which
he had seen the last slight wave of the Templar's mantle--"I
have, in truth, raised the devil with a vengeance!  Who would
have thought this stern, ascetic Grand Master, whose whole
fortune and misfortune is merged in that of his order, would be
willing to do more for its advancement than I who labour for my
own interest?  To check this wild Crusade was my motive, indeed,
but I durst not think on the ready mode which this determined
priest has dared to suggest.  Yet it is the surest--perhaps even
the safest."

Such were the Marquis's meditations, when his muttered soliloquy
was broken by a voice from a little distance, which proclaimed
with the emphatic tone of a herald, "Remember the Holy
Sepulchre!"

The exhortation was echoed from post to post, for it was the duty
of the sentinels to raise this cry from time to time upon their
periodical watch, that the host of the Crusaders might always
have in their remembrance the purpose of their being in arms.
But though Conrade was familiar with the custom, and had heard
the warning voice on all former occasions as a matter of habit,
yet it came at the present moment so strongly in contact with his
own train of thought, that it seemed a voice from Heaven warning
him against the iniquity which his heart meditated.  He looked
around anxiously, as if, like the patriarch of old, though from
very different circumstances, he was expecting some ram caught in
a thicket some substitution for the sacrifice which his comrade
proposed to offer, not to the Supreme Being, but to the Moloch of
their own ambition.  As he looked, the broad folds of the ensign
of England, heavily distending itself to the failing night-
breeze, caught his eye.  It was displayed upon an artificial
mound, nearly in the midst of the camp, which perhaps of old some
Hebrew chief or champion had chosen as a memorial of his place of
rest.  If so, the name was now forgotten, and the Crusaders had
christened it Saint George's Mount, because from that commanding
height the banner of England was supereminently displayed, as if
an emblem of sovereignty over the many distinguished, noble, and
even royal ensigns, which floated in lower situations.

A quick intellect like that of Conrade catches ideas from the
glance of a moment.  A single look on the standard seemed to
dispel the uncertainty of mind which had affected him.  He walked
to his pavilion with the hasty and determined step of one who has
adopted a plan which he is resolved to achieve, dismissed the
almost princely train who waited to attend him, and, as he
committed himself to his couch, muttered his amended resolution,
that the milder means are to be tried before the more desperate
are resorted to.

"To-morrow," he said, "I sit at the board of the Archduke of
Austria.  We will see what can be done to advance our purpose
before prosecuting the dark suggestions of this Templar."



CHAPTER XI.

One thing is certain in our Northern land--
Allow that birth or valour, wealth or wit,
Give each precedence to their possessor,
Envy, that follows on such eminence,
As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace,
Shall pull them down each one.         SIR DAVID LINDSAY.

Leopold, Grand Duke of Austria, was the first possessor of that
noble country to whom the princely rank belonged.  He had been
raised to the ducal sway in the German Empire on account of his
near relationship to the Emperor, Henry the Stern, and held under
his government the finest provinces which are watered by the
Danube.  His character has been stained in history on account of
one action of violence and perfidy, which arose out of these very
transactions in the Holy Land; and yet the shame of having made
Richard a prisoner when he returned through his dominions;
unattended and in disguise, was not one which flowed from
Leopold's natural disposition.  We was rather a weak and a vain
than an ambitious or tyrannical prince.  His mental powers
resembled the qualities of his person.  He was tall, strong, and
handsome, with a complexion in which red and white were strongly
contrasted, and had long flowing locks of fair hair.  But there
was an awkwardness in his gait which seemed as if his size was
not animated by energy sufficient to put in motion such a mass;
and in the same manner, wearing the richest dresses, it always
seemed as if they became him not.  As a prince, he appeared too
little familiar with his own dignity; and being often at a loss
how to assert his authority when the occasion demanded it, he
frequently thought himself obliged to recover, by acts and
expressions of ill-timed violence, the ground which might have
been easily and gracefully maintained by a little more presence
of mind in the beginning of the controversy.

Not only were these deficiencies visible to others, but the
Archduke himself could not but sometimes entertain a painful
consciousness that he was not altogether fit to maintain and
assert the high rank which he had acquired; and to this was
joined the strong, and sometimes the just, suspicion that others
esteemed him lightly accordingly.

When he first joined the Crusade, with a most princely
attendance, Leopold had desired much to enjoy the friendship and
intimacy of Richard, and had made such advances towards
cultivating his regard as the King of England ought, in policy,
to have received and answered.  But the Archduke, though not
deficient in bravery, was so infinitely inferior to Coeur de Lion
in that ardour of mind which wooed danger as a bride, that the
King very soon held him in a certain degree of contempt.
Richard, also, as a Norman prince, a people with whom temperance
was habitual, despised the inclination of the German for the
pleasures of the table, and particularly his liberal indulgence
in the use of wine.  For these, and other personal reasons, the
King of England very soon looked upon the Austrian Prince with
feelings of contempt, which he was at no pains to conceal or
modify, and which, therefore, were speedily remarked, and
returned with deep hatred, by the suspicious Leopold.  The
discord between them was fanned by the secret and politic arts of
Philip of France, one of the most sagacious monarchs of the time,
who, dreading the fiery and overbearing character of Richard,
considering him as his natural rival, and feeling offended,
moreover, at the dictatorial manner in which he, a vassal of
France for his Continental domains, conducted himself towards his
liege lord, endeavoured to strengthen his own party, and weaken
that of Richard, by uniting the Crusading princes of inferior
degree in resistance to what he termed the usurping authority of
the King of England.  Such was the state of politics and opinions
entertained by the Archduke of Austria, when Conrade of
Montserrat resolved upon employing his jealousy of England as the
means of dissolving, or loosening at least, the league of the
Crusaders.

The time which he chose for his visit was noon; and the pretence,
to present the Archduke with some choice Cyprus wine which had
lately fallen into his hands, and discuss its comparative merits
with those of Hungary and of the Rhine.  An intimation of his
purpose was, of course, answered by a courteous invitation to
partake of the Archducal meal, and every effort was used to
render it fitting the splendour of a sovereign prince.  Yet the
refined taste of the Italian saw more cumbrous profusion than
elegance or splendour in the display of provisions under which
the board groaned.

The Germans, though still possessing the martial and frank
character of their ancestors--who subdued the Roman Empire--had
retained withal no slight tinge of their barbarism.  The
practices and principles of chivalry were not carried to such a
nice pitch amongst them as amongst the French and English
knights, nor were they strict observers of the prescribed rules
of society, which among those nations were supposed to express
the height of civilization.  Sitting at the table of the
Archduke, Conrade was at once stunned and amused with the clang
of Teutonic sounds assaulting his ears on all sides,
notwithstanding the solemnity of a princely banquet.  Their dress
seemed equally fantastic to him, many of the Austrian nobles
retaining their long beards, and almost all of them wearing short
jerkins of various colours, cut, and flourished, and fringed in a
manner not common in Western Europe.

Numbers of dependants, old and young, attended in the pavilion,
mingled at times in the conversation, received from their masters
the relics of the entertainment, and devoured them as they stood
behind the backs of the company.  Jesters, dwarfs, and minstrels
were there in unusual numbers, and more noisy and intrusive than
they were permitted to be in better regulated society.  As they
were allowed to share freely in the wine, which flowed round in
large quantities, their licensed tumult was the more excessive.

All this while, and in the midst of a clamour and confusion which
would better have become a German tavern during a fair than the
tent of a sovereign prince, the Archduke was waited upon with a
minuteness of form and observance which showed how anxious he was
to maintain rigidly the state and character to which his
elevation had entitled him.  He was served on the knee, and only
by pages of noble blood, fed upon plate of silver, and drank his
Tokay and Rhenish wines from a cup of gold.  His ducal mantle was
splendidly adorned with ermine, his coronet might have equalled
in value a royal crown, and his feet, cased in velvet shoes (the
length of which, peaks included, might be two feet), rested upon
a footstool of solid silver.  But it served partly to intimate
the character of the man, that, although desirous to show
attention to the Marquis of Montserrat, whom he had courteously
placed at his right hand, he gave much more of his attention to
his SPRUCH-SPRECHER--that is, his man of conversation, or SAYER-
OF-SAYINGS --who stood behind the Duke's right shoulder.

This personage was well attired in a cloak and doublet of black
velvet, the last of which was decorated with various silver and
gold coins stitched upon it, in memory of the munificent princes
who had conferred them, and bearing a short staff to which also
bunches of silver coins were attached by rings, which he jingled
by way of attracting attention when he was about to say anything
which he judged worthy of it.  This person's capacity in the
household of the Archduke was somewhat betwixt that of a minstrel
and a counsellor.  He was by turns a flatterer, a poet, and an
orator; and those who desired to be well with the Duke generally
studied to gain the good-will of the SPRUCH-SPRECHER.

Lest too much of this officer's wisdom should become tiresome,
the Duke's other shoulder was occupied by his HOFF-NARR, or
court-jester, called Jonas Schwanker, who made almost as much
noise with his fool's cap, bells, and bauble, as did the orator,
or man of talk, with his jingling baton.

These two personages threw out grave and comic nonsense
alternately; while their master, laughing or applauding them
himself, yet carefully watched the countenance of his noble
guest, to discern what impressions so accomplished a cavalier
received from this display of Austrian eloquence and wit.  It is
hard to say whether the man of wisdom or the man of folly
contributed most to the amusement of the party, or stood highest
in the estimation of their princely master; but the sallies of
both seemed excellently well received.  Sometimes they became
rivals for the conversation, and clanged their flappers in
emulation of each other with a most alarming contention; but, in
general, they seemed on such good terms, and so accustomed to
support each other's play, that the SPRUCH-SPRECHER often
condescended to follow up the jester's witticisms with an
explanation, to render them more obvious to the capacity of the
audience, so that his wisdom became a sort of commentary on the
buffoon's folly.  And sometimes, in requital, the HOFF-NARR, with
a pithy jest, wound up the conclusion of the orator's tedious
harangue.

Whatever his real sentiments might be, Conrade took especial care
that his countenance should express nothing but satisfaction with
what he heard, and smiled or applauded as zealously, to all
appearance, as the Archduke himself at the solemn folly of the
SPRUCH-SPRECHER and the gibbering wit of the fool.  In fact, he
watched carefully until the one or other should introduce some
topic favourable to the purpose which was uppermost in his mind.

It was not long ere the King of England was brought on the carpet
by the jester, who had been accustomed to consider Dickon of the
Broom (which irreverent epithet he substituted for Richard
Plantagenet) as a subject of mirth, acceptable and inexhaustible.
The orator, indeed, was silent, and it was only when applied to
by Conrade that he observed, "The GENISTA, or broom-plant, was an
emblem of humility; and it would be well when those who wore it
would remember the warning."

The allusion to the illustrious badge of Plantagenet was thus
rendered sufficiently manifest, and Jonas Schwanker observed that
they who humbled themselves had been exalted with a vengeance.
"Honour unto whom honour is due," answered the Marquis of
Montserrat.  "We have all had some part in these marches and
battles, and methinks other princes might share a little in the
renown which Richard of England engrosses amongst minstrels and
MINNE-SINGERS.  Has no one of the joyeuse science here present a
song in praise of the royal Archduke of Austria, our princely
entertainer?"

Three minstrels emulously stepped forward with voice and harp.
Two were silenced with difficulty by the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, who
seemed to act as master of the revels, and a hearing was at
length procured for the poet preferred, who sung, in high German,
stanzas which may be thus translated:--

"What brave chief shall head the forces,
Where the red-cross legions gather?
Best of horsemen, best of horses,
Highest head and fairest feather."

Here the orator, jingling his staff, interrupted the bard to
intimate to the party--what they might not have inferred from the
description--that their royal host was the party indicated, and a
full-crowned goblet went round to the acclamation, HOCH LEBE DER
HERZOG LEOPOLD!  Another stanza followed:--

"Ask not Austria why, 'midst princes,
Still her banner rises highest;
Ask as well the strong-wing'd eagle,
Why to heaven he soars the highest."

"The eagle," said the expounder of dark sayings, "is the
cognizance of our noble lord the Archduke--of his royal Grace, I
would say--and the eagle flies the highest and nearest to the sun
of all the feathered creation."

"The lion hath taken a spring above the eagle," said Conrade
carelessly.

The Archduke reddened, and fixed his eyes on the speaker, while
the SPRUCH-SPRECHER answered, after a minute's consideration,
"The Lord Marquis will pardon me--a lion cannot fly above an
eagle, because no lion hath got wings."

"Except the lion of Saint Mark," responded the jester.

"That is the Venetian's banner," said the Duke; "but assuredly
that amphibious race, half nobles, half merchants, will not dare
to place their rank in comparison with ours."

"Nay, it was not of the Venetian lion that I spoke," said the
Marquis of Montserrat, "but of the three lions passant of
England.  Formerly, it is said, they were leopards; but now they
are become lions at all points, and must take precedence of
beast, fish, or fowl, or woe worth the gainstander."

"Mean you seriously, my lord?"  said the Austrian, now
considerably flushed with wine.  "Think you that Richard of
England asserts any pre-eminence over the free sovereigns who
have been his voluntary allies in this Crusade?"

"I know not but from circumstances," answered Conrade.  "Yonder
hangs his banner alone in the midst of our camp, as if he were
king and generalissimo of our whole Christian army."

"And do you endure this so patiently, and speak of it so coldly?"
said the Archduke.

"Nay, my lord," answered Conrade, "it cannot concern the poor
Marquis of Montserrat to contend against an injury patiently
submitted to by such potent princes as Philip of France and
Leopold of Austria.  What dishonour you are pleased to submit to
cannot be a disgrace to me."

Leopold closed his fist, and struck on the table with violence.

"I have told Philip of this," he said.  "I have often told him
that it was our duty to protect the inferior princes against the
usurpation of this islander; but he answers me ever with cold
respects of their relations together as suzerain and vassal, and
that it were impolitic in him to make an open breach at this time
and period."

"The world knows that Philip is wise," said Conrade, "and will
judge his submission to be policy.  Yours, my lord, you can
yourself alone account for; but I doubt not you have deep reasons
for submitting to English domination."

"I submit!"  said Leopold indignantly--"I, the Archduke of
Austria, so important and vital a limb of the Holy Roman Empire
--I submit myself to this king of half an island, this grandson
of a Norman bastard!  No, by Heaven!  The camp and all
Christendom shall see that I know how to right myself, and
whether I yield ground one inch to the English bandog.--Up, my
lieges and merry men; up and follow me!  We will--and that
without losing one instant--place the eagle of Austria where she
shall float as high as ever floated the cognizance of king or
kaiser."

With that he started from his seat, and amidst the tumultuous
cheering of his guests and followers, made for the door of the
pavilion, and seized his own banner, which stood pitched before
it.

"Nay, my lord," said Conrade, affecting to interfere, "it will
blemish your wisdom to make an affray in the camp at this hour;
and perhaps it is better to submit to the usurpation of England a
little longer than to--"

"Not an hour, not a moment longer," vociferated the Duke; and
with the banner in his hand, and followed by his shouting guests
and attendants, marched hastily to the central mount, from which
the banner of England floated, and laid his hand on the standard-
spear, as if to pluck it from the ground.

"My master, my dear master!"  said Jonas Schwanker, throwing his
arms about the Duke, "take heed--lions have teeth--"

"And eagles have claws," said the Duke, not relinquishing his
hold on the banner-staff, yet hesitating to pull it from the
ground.

The speaker of sentences, notwithstanding such was his
occupation, had nevertheless some intervals of sound sense.  He
clashed his staff loudly, and Leopold, as if by habit, turned his
head towards his man of counsel.

"The eagle is king among the fowls of the air," said the SPRUCH-
SPRECHER, "as is the lion among the beasts of the field--each has
his dominion, separated as wide as England and Germany.  Do thou,
noble eagle, no dishonour to the princely lion, but let your
banners remain floating in peace side by side."

Leopold withdrew his hand from the banner-spear, and looked round
for Conrade of Montserrat, but he saw him not; for the Marquis,
so soon as he saw the mischief afoot, had withdrawn himself from
the crowd, taking care, in the first place, to express before
several neutral persons his regret that the Archduke should have
chosen the hours after dinner to avenge any wrong of which he
might think he had a right to complain.  Not seeing his guest, to
whom he wished more particularly to have addressed himself, the
Archduke said aloud that, having no wish to breed dissension in
the army of the Cross, he did but vindicate his own privileges
and right to stand upon an equality with the King of England,
without desiring, as he might have done, to advance his banner
--which he derived from emperors, his progenitors--above that of
a mere descendant of the Counts of Anjou; and in the meantime he
commanded a cask of wine to be brought hither and pierced, for
regaling the bystanders, who, with tuck of drum and sound of
music, quaffed many a carouse round the Austrian standard.

This disorderly scene was not acted without a degree of noise,
which alarmed the whole camp.

The critical hour had arrived at which the physician, according
to the rules of his art, had predicted that his royal patient
might be awakened with safety, and the sponge had been applied
for that purpose; and the leech had not made many observations
ere he assured the Baron of Gilsland that the fever had entirely
left his sovereign, and that, such was the happy strength of his
constitution, it would not be even necessary, as in most cases,
to give a second dose of the powerful medicine.  Richard himself
seemed to be of the same opinion, for, sitting up and rubbing his
eyes, he demanded of De Vaux what present sum of money was in the
royal coffers.

The baron could not exactly inform him of the amount.

"It matters not," said Richard; "be it greater or smaller,
bestow it all on this learned leech, who hath, I trust, given me
back again to the service of the Crusade.  If it be less than a
thousand byzants, let him have jewels to make it up."

"I sell not the wisdom with which Allah has endowed me," answered
the Arabian physician; "and be it known to you, great Prince,
that the divine medicine of which you have partaken would lose
its effects in my unworthy hands did I exchange its virtues
either for gold or diamonds."

"The Physician refuseth a gratuity!"  said De Vaux to himself.
"This is more extraordinary than his being a hundred years old."

"Thomas de Vaux," said Richard, "thou knowest no courage but what
belongs to the sword, no bounty and virtue but what are used in
chivalry.  I tell thee that this Moor, in his independence, might
set an example to them who account themselves the flower of
knighthood."

"It is reward enough for me," said the Moor, folding his arms on
his bosom, and maintaining an attitude at once respectful and
dignified, "that so great a king as the Melech Ric [Richard was
thus called by the Eastern nations.]  should thus speak of his
servant.--But now let me pray you again to compose yourself on
your couch; for though I think there needs no further repetition
of the divine draught, yet injury might ensue from any too early
exertion ere pour strength be entirely restored."

"I must obey thee, Hakim," said the King; "yet believe me, my
bosom feels so free from the wasting fire which for so many days
hath scorched it, that I care not how soon I expose it to a brave
man's lance.--But hark!  what mean these shouts, and that distant
music, in the camp?  Go, Thomas de Vaux, and make inquiry."

"It is the Archduke Leopold," said De Vaux, returning after a
minute's absence, "who makes with his pot-companions some
procession through the camp."

"The drunken fool!"  exclaimed King Richard; "can he not keep his
brutal inebriety within the veil of his pavilion, that he must
needs show his shame to all Christendom?--What say you, Sir
Marquis?"  he added, addressing himself to Conrade of Montserrat,
who at that moment entered the tent.

"Thus much, honoured Prince," answered the Marquis, "that I
delight to see your Majesty so well, and so far recovered; and
that is a long speech for any one to make who has partaken of the
Duke of Austria's hospitality."

"What!  you have been dining with the Teutonic wine-skin!"  said
the monarch.  "And what frolic has he found out to cause all this
disturbance?  Truly, Sir Conrade, I have still held you so good a
reveller that I wonder at your quitting the game."

De Vaux, who had got a little behind the King, now exerted
himself by look and sign to make the Marquis understand that he
should say nothing to Richard of what was passing without.  But
Conrade understood not, or heeded not, the prohibition.

"What the Archduke does," he said, "is of little consequence to
any one, least of all to himself, since he probably knows not
what he is acting; yet, to say truth, it is a gambol I should not
like to share in, since he is pulling down the banner of England
from Saint George's Mount, in the centre of the camp yonder, and
displaying his own in its stead."

"WHAT sayest thou?"  exclaimed the King, in a tone which might
have waked the dead.

"Nay," said the Marquis, "let it not chafe your Highness that a
fool should act according to his folly--"

"Speak not to me," said Richard, springing from his couch, and
casting on his clothes with a dispatch which seemed marvellous
--"Speak not to me, Lord Marquis!--De Multon, I command thee
speak not a word to me--he that breathes but a syllable is no
friend to Richard Plantagenet.--Hakim, be silent, I charge thee!"

All this while the King was hastily clothing himself, and, with
the last word, snatched his sword from the pillar of the tent,
and without any other weapon, or calling any attendance, he
rushed out of his pavilion.  Conrade, holding up his hands as if
in astonishment, seemed willing to enter into conversation with
De Vaux; but Sir Thomas pushed rudely past him, and calling to
one of the royal equerries, said hastily, "Fly to Lord
Salisbury's quarters, and let him get his men together and follow
me instantly to Saint George's Mount.  Tell him the King's fever
has left his blood and settled in his brain."

Imperfectly heard, and still more imperfectly comprehended, by
the startled attendant whom De Vaux addressed thus hastily, the
equerry and his fellow-servants of the royal chamber rushed
hastily into the tents of the neighbouring nobility, and quickly
spread an alarm, as general as the cause seemed vague, through
the whole British forces.  The English soldiers, waked in alarm
from that noonday rest which the heat of the climate had taught
them to enjoy as a luxury, hastily asked each other the cause of
the tumult, and without waiting an answer, supplied by the force
of their own fancy the want of information.  Some said the
Saracens were in the camp, some that the King's life was
attempted, some that he had died of the fever the preceding
night, many that he was assassinated by the Duke of Austria.  The
nobles and officers, at an equal loss with the common men?  to
ascertain the real cause of the disorder, laboured only to get
their followers under arms and under authority, lest their
rashness should occasion some great misfortune to the Crusading
army.  The English trumpets sounded loud, shrill, and
continuously.  The alarm-cry of "Bows and bills, bows and bills!"
was heard from quarter to quarter, again and again shouted, and
again and again answered by the presence of the ready warriors,
and their national invocation, "Saint George for merry England!"

The alarm went through the nearest quarter of the camp, and men
of all the various nations assembled, where, perhaps, every
people in Christendom had their representatives, flew to arms,
and drew together under circumstances of general confusion, of
which they knew neither the cause nor the object.  It was,
however, lucky, amid a scene so threatening, that the Earl of
Salisbury, while he hurried after De Vaux's summons with a few
only of the readiest English men-at-arms, directed the rest of
the English host to be drawn up and kept under arms, to advance
to Richard's succour if necessity should require, but in fit
array and under due command, and not with the tumultuary haste
which their own alarm and zeal for the King's safety might have
dictated.

In the meanwhile, without regarding for one instant the shouts,
the cries, the tumult which began to thicken around him, Richard,
with his dress in the last disorder, and his sheathed blade under
his arm, pursued his way with the utmost speed, followed only by
De Vaux and one or two household servants, to Saint George's
Mount.

He outsped even the alarm which his impetuosity only had excited,
and passed the quarter of his own gallant troops of Normandy,
Poitou, Gascony, and Anjou before the disturbance had reached
them, although the noise accompanying the German revel had
induced many of the soldiery to get on foot to listen.  The
handful of Scots were also quartered in the vicinity, nor had
they been disturbed by the uproar.  But the King's person and his
haste were both remarked by the Knight of the Leopard, who, aware
that danger must be afoot, and hastening to share in it, snatched
his shield and sword, and united himself to De Vaux, who with
some difficulty kept pace with his impatient and fiery master.
De Vaux answered a look of curiosity, which the Scottish knight
directed towards him, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, and
they continued, side by side, to pursue Richard's steps.

The King was soon at the foot of Saint George's Mount, the sides
as well as platform of which were now surrounded and crowded,
partly by those belonging to the Duke of Austria's retinue, who
were celebrating, with shouts of jubilee, the act which they
considered as an assertion of national honour; partly by
bystanders of different nations, whom dislike to the English, or
mere curiosity, had assembled together to witness the end of
these extraordinary proceedings.  Through this disorderly troop
Richard burst his way, like a goodly ship under full sail, which
cleaves her forcible passage through the rolling billows, and
heeds not that they unite after her passage and roar upon her
stern.

The summit of the eminence was a small level space, on which were
pitched the rival banners, surrounded still by the Archduke's
friends and retinue.  In the midst of the circle was Leopold
himself, still contemplating with self-satisfaction the deed he
had done, and still listening to the shouts of applause which his
partisans bestowed with no sparing breath.  While he was in this
state of self-gratulation, Richard burst into the circle,
attended, indeed, only by two men, but in his own headlong
energies an irresistible host.

"Who has dared," he said, laying his hands upon the Austrian
standard, and speaking in a voice like the sound which precedes
an earthquake--"Who has dared to place this paltry rag beside the
banner of England?"

The Archduke wanted not personal courage, and it was impossible
he could hear this question without reply.  Yet so much was he
troubled and surprised by the unexpected arrival of Richard, and
affected by the general awe inspired by his ardent and unyielding
character, that the demand was twice repeated, in a tone which
seemed to challenge heaven and earth, ere the Archduke replied,
with such firmness as he could command, "It was I, Leopold of
Austria."

"Then shall Leopold of Austria," replied Richard, "presentry see
the rate at which his banner and his pretensions are held by
Richard of England."

So saying, he pulled up the standard-spear, splintered it to
pieces, threw the banner itself on the ground, and placed his
foot upon it.

"Thus," said he," I trample on the banner of Austria.  Is there a
knight among your Teutonic chivalry dare impeach my deed?"

There was a momentary silence; but there are no braver men than
the Germans.

"I," and "I," and "I," was heard from several knights of the
Duke"s followers; and he himself added his voice to those which
accepted the King of England's defiance.

"Why do we daily thus?"  said the Earl Wallenrode, a gigantic
warrior from the frontiers of Hungary.  "Brethren and noble
gentlemen, this man's foot is on the honour of your country--let
us rescue it from violation, and down with the pride of England!"

So saying, he drew his sword, and struck at the King a blow which
might have proved fatal, had not the Scot intercepted and caught
it upon his shield.

"I have sworn," said King Richard--and his voice was heard above
all the tumult, which now waxed wild and loud--"never to strike
one whose shoulder bears the cross; therefore live, Wallenrode
--but live to remember Richard of England."

As he spoke, he grasped the tall Hungarian round the waist, and,
unmatched in wrestling, as in other military exercises, hurled
him backwards with such violence that the mass flew as if
discharged from a military engine, not only through the ring of
spectators who witnessed the extraordinary scene, but over the
edge of the mount itself, down the steep side of which Wallenrode
rolled headlong, until, pitching at length upon his shoulder, he
dislocatcd the bone, and lay like one dead.  This almost
supernatural display of strength did not encourage either the
Duke or any of his followers to renew a personal contest so
inauspiciously commenced.  Those who stood farthest back did,
indeed, clash their swords, and cry out, "Cut the island mastiff
to pieces!"  but those who were nearer veiled, perhaps, their
personal fears under an affected regard for order, and cried, for
the most part, "Peace!  Peace!  the peace of the Cross--the peace
of Holy Church and our Father the Pope!"

These various cries of the assailants, contradicting each other,
showed their irresolution; while Richard, his foot still on the
archducal banner, glared round him with an eye that seemed to
seek an enemy, and from which the angry nobles shrunk appalled,
as from the threatened grasp of a lion.  De Vaux and the Knight
of the Leopard kept their places beside him; and though the
swords which they held were still sheathed, it was plain that
they were prompt to protect Richard's person to the very last,
and their size and remarkable strength plainly showed the defence
would be a desperate one.

Salisbury and his attendants were also now drawing near, with
bills and partisans brandished, and bows already bended.

At this moment King Philip of France, attended by one or two of
his nobles, came on the platform to inquire the cause of the
disturbance, and made gestures of surprise at finding the King of
England raised from his sick-bed, and confronting their common
ally, the Duke of Austria, in such a menacing and insulting
posture.  Richard himself blushed at being discovered by Philip,
whose sagacity he respected as much as he disliked his person, in
an attitude neither becoming his character as a monarch, nor as a
Crusader; and it was observed that he withdrew his foot, as if
accidentally, from the dishonoured banner, and exchanged his look
of violent emotion for one of affected composure and
indifference.  Leopold also struggled to attain some degree of
calmness, mortified as he was by having been seen by Philip in
the act of passively submitting to the insults of the fiery King
of England.

Possessed of many of those royal qualities for which he was
termed by his subjects the August, Philip might be termed the
Ulysses, as Richard was indisputably the Achilles, of the
Crusade.  The King of France was sagacious, wise, deliberate in
council, steady and calm in action, seeing clearly, and steadily
pursuing, the measures most for the interest of his kingdom
--dignified and royal in his deportment, brave in person, but a
politician rather than a warrior.  The Crusade would have been no
choice of his own; but the spirit was contagious, and the
expedition was enforced upon him by the church, and by the
unanimous wish of his nobility.  In any other situation, or in a
milder age, his character might have stood higher than that of
the adventurous Coeur de Lion.  But in the Crusade, itself an
undertaking wholly irrational, sound reason was the quality of
all others least estimated, and the chivalric valour which both
the age and the enterprise demanded was considered as debased if
mingled with the least touch of discretion.  So that the merit of
Philip, compared with that of his haughty rival, showed like the
clear but minute flame of a lamp placed near the glare of a huge,
blazing torch, which, not possessing half the utility, makes ten
times more impression on the eye.  Philip felt his inferiority in
public opinion with the pain natural to a high-spirited prince;
and it cannot be wondered at if he took suck opportunities as
offered for placing his own character in more advantageous
contrast with that of his rival.  The present seemed one of those
occasions in which prudence and calmness might reasonably expect
to triumph over obstinacy and impetuous violence.

"What means this unseemly broil betwixt the sworn brethren of the
Cross--the royal Majesty of England and the princely Duke
Leopold?  How is it possible that those who are the chiefs and
pillars of this holy expedition--"

"A truce with thy remonstrance, France," said Richard, enraged
inwardly at finding himself placed on a sort of equality with
Leopold, yet not knowing how to resent it.  "This duke, or
prince, or pillar, if you will, hath been insolent, and I have
chastised him--that is all.  Here is a coil, forsooth, because of
spurning a hound!"

"Majesty of France," said the Duke, "I appeal to you and every
sovereign prince against the foul indignity which I have
sustained.  This King of England hath pulled down my banner-torn
and trampled on it."

"Because he had the audacity to plant it beside mine," said
Richard.

"My rank as thine equal entitled me," replied the Duke,
emboldened by the presence of Philip.

"Assert such equality for thy person," said King Richard, "and,
by Saint George, I will treat thy person as I did thy broidered
kerchief there, fit but for the meanest use to which kerchief may
be put."

"Nay, but patience, brother of England," said Philip, "and I will
presently show Austria that he is wrong in this matter.--Do not
think, noble Duke," he continued, "that, in permitting the
standard of England to occupy the highest point in our camp, we,
the independent sovereigns of the Crusade, acknowledge any
inferiority to the royal Richard.  It were inconsistent to think
so, since even the Oriflamme itself--the great banner of France,
to which the royal Richard himself, in respect of his French
possessions, is but a vassal--holds for the present an inferior
place to the Lions of England.  But as sworn brethren of the
Cross, military pilgrims, who, laying aside the pomp and pride of
this world, are hewing with our swords the way to the Holy
Sepulchre, I myself, and the other princes, have renounced to
King Richard, from respect to his high renown and great feats of
arms, that precedence which elsewhere, and upon other motives,
would not have been yielded.  I am satisfied that, when your
royal grace of Austria shall have considered this, you will
express sorrow for having placed your banner on this spot, and
that the royal Majesty of England will then give satisfaction for
the insult he has offered."

The SPRUCH-SPRECHER and the jester had both retired to a safe
distance when matters seemed coming to blows; but returned when
words, their own commodity, seemed again about to become the
order of the day.

The man of proverbs was so delighted with Philip's politic speech
that he clashed his baton at the conclusion, by way of emphasis,
and forgot the presence in which he was, so far as to say aloud
that he himself had never said a wiser thing in his life.

"It may be so," whispered Jonas Schwanker, "but we shall be
whipped if you speak so loud."

"The Duke answered sullenly that he would refer his quarrel to
the General Council of the Crusade--a motion which Philip highly
applauded, as qualified to take away a scandal most harmful to
Christendom.

Richard, retaining the same careless attitude, listened to Philip
until his oratory seemed exhausted, and then said aloud, "I am
drowsy--this fever hangs about me still.  Brother of France, thou
art acquainted with my humour, and that I have at all times but
few words to spare.  Know, therefore, at once, I will submit a
matter touching the honour of England neither to Prince, Pope,
nor Council.  Here stands my banner--whatsoever pennon shall be
reared within three butts' length of it--ay, were it the
Oriflamme, of which you were, I think, but now speaking--shall be
treated as that dishonoured rag; nor will I yield other
satisfaction than that which these poor limbs can render in the
lists to any bold challenge--ay, were it against five champions
instead of one."

"Now," said the jester, whispering his companion, "that is as
complete a piece of folly as if I myself had said it; but yet, I
think, there may be in this matter a greater fool than Richard
yet."

"And who may that be?"  asked the man of wisdom.

"Philip," said the jester, "or our own Royal Duke, should either
accept the challenge.  But oh, most sage SPRUCH-SPECHER, what
excellent kings wouldst thou and I have made, since those on
whose heads these crowns have fallen can play the proverb-monger
and the fool as completely as ourselves!"

While these worthies plied their offices apart, Philip answered
calmly to the almost injurious defiance of Richard, "I came not
hither to awaken fresh quarrels, contrary to the oath we have
sworn, and the holy cause in which we have engaged.  I part from
my brother of England as brothers should part, and the only
strife between the Lions of England and the Lilies of France
shall be which shall be carried deepest into the ranks of the
infidels."

"It is a bargain, my royal brother," said Richard, stretching out
his hand with all the frankness which belonged to his rash but
generous disposition; "and soon may we have the opportunity to
try this gallant and fraternal wager."

"Let this noble Duke also partake in the friendship of this happy
moment," said Philip; and the Duke approached half-sullenly,
half-willing to enter into some accommodation.

"I think not of fools, nor of their folly," said Richard
carelessly; and the Archduke, turning his back on him, withdrew
from the ground.

Richard looked after him as he retired.

"There is a sort of glow-worm courage," he said, "that shows only
by night.  I must not leave this banner unguarded in darkness; by
daylight the look of the Lions will alone defend it.  Here,
Thomas of Gilsland, I give thee the charge of the standard--watch
over the honour of England."

"Her safety is yet more dear to me," said De Vaux, "and the life
of Richard is the safety of England.  I must have your Highness
back to your tent, and that without further tarriance."

"Thou art a rough and peremptory nurse, De Vaux," said the king,
smiling; and then added, addressing Sir Kenneth, "Valiant Scot, I
owe thee a boon, and I will pay it richly.  There stands the
banner of England!  Watch it as novice does his armour on the
night before he is dubbed.  Stir not from it three spears'
length, and defend it with thy body against injury or insult.
Sound thy bugle if thou art assailed by more than three at once.
Dost thou undertake the charge?"

"Willingly," said Kenneth; "and will discharge it upon penalty of
my head.  I will but arm me, and return hither instantly."

The Kings of France and England then took formal leave of each
other, hiding, under an appearance of courtesy, the grounds of
complaint which either had against the other--Richard against
Philip, for what he deemed an officious interference betwixt him
and Austria, and Philip against Coeur de Lion, for the
disrespectful manner in which his mediation had been received.
Those whom this disturbance had assembled now drew off in
different directions, leaving the contested mount in the same
solitude which had subsisted till interrupted by the Austrian
bravado.  Men judged of the events of the day according to their
partialities, and while the English charged the Austrian with
having afforded the first ground of quarrel, those of other
nations concurred in casting the greater blame upon the insular
haughtiness and assuming character of Richard.

"Thou seest," said the Marquis of Montserrat to the Grand Master
of the Templars, "that subtle courses are more effective than
violence.  I have unloosed the bonds which held together this
bunch of sceptres and lances--thou wilt see them shortly fall
asunder."

"I would have called thy plan a good one," said the Templar, "had
there been but one man of courage among yonder cold-blooded
Austrians to sever the bonds of which you speak with his sword.
A knot that is unloosed may again be fastened, but not so the
cord which has been cut to pieces."



CHAPTER XII.

'Tis woman that seduces all mankind.   GAY.

In the days of chivalry, a dangerous post or a perilous adventure
was a reward frequently assigned to military bravery as a
compensation for its former trials; just as, in ascending a
precipice, the surmounting one crag only lifts the climber to
points yet more dangerous.

It was midnight, and the moon rode clear and high in heaven, when
Kenneth of Scotland stood upon his watch on Saint George's Mount,
beside the banner of England, a solitary sentinel, to protect the
emblem of that nation against the insults which might be
meditated among the thousands whom Richard's pride had made his
enemies.  High thoughts rolled, one after each other, upon the
mind of the warrior.  It seemed to him as if he had gained some
favour in the eyes of the chivalrous monarch, who till now had
not seemed to distinguish him among the crowds of brave men whom
his renown had assembled under his banner, and Sir Kenneth little
recked that the display of royal regard consisted in placing him
upon a post so perilous.  The devotion of his ambitious and high-
placed affection inflamed his military enthusiasm.  Hopeless as
that attachment was in almost any conceivable circumstances,
those which had lately occurred had, in some degree, diminished
the distance between Edith and himself.  He upon whom Richard had
conferred the distinction of guarding his banner was no longer an
adventurer of slight note, but placed within the regard of a
princess, although he was as far as ever from her level.  An
unknown and obscure fate could not now be his.  If he was
surprised and slain on the post which had been assigned him, his
death--and he resolved it should be glorious--must deserve the
praises as well as call down the vengeance of Coeur de Lion, and
be followed by the regrets, and even the tears, of the high-born
beauties of the English Court.  He had now no longer reason to
fear that he should die as a fool dieth.

Sir Kenneth had full leisure to enjoy these and similar high-
souled thoughts, fostered by that wild spirit of chivalry, which,
amid its most extravagant and fantastic flights, was still pure
from all selfish alloy--generous, devoted, and perhaps only thus
far censurable, that it proposed objects and courses of action
inconsistent with the frailties and imperfections of man.  All
nature around him slept in calm moon-shine or in deep shadow.
The long rows of tents and pavilions, glimmering or darkening as
they lay in the moonlight or in the shade, were still and silent
as the streets of a deserted city.  Beside the banner-staff lay
the large staghound already mentioned, the sole companion of
Kenneth's watch, on whose vigilance he trusted for early warning
of the approach of any hostile footstep.  The noble animal seemed
to understand the purpose of their watch; for he looked from time
to time at the rich folds of the heavy pennon, and, when the cry
of the sentinels came from the distant lines and defences of the
camp, he answered them with one deep and reiterated bark, as if
to affirm that he too was vigilant in his duty.  From time to
time, also, he lowered his lofty head, and wagged his tail, as
his master passed and repassed him in the short turns which he
took upon his post; or, when the knight stood silent and
abstracted leaning on his lance, and looking up towards heaven,
his faithful attendant ventured sometimes, in the phrase of
romance, "to disturb his thoughts," and awaken him from his
reverie, by thrusting his large rough snout into the knight's
gauntleted hand, to solicit a transitory caress.

Thus passed two hours of the knight's watch without anything
remarkable occurring.  At length, and upon a sudden, the gallant
staghound bayed furiously, and seemed about to dash forward where
the shadow lay the darkest, yet waited, as if in the slips, till
he should know the pleasure of his master.

"Who goes there?"  said Sir Kenneth, aware that there was
something creeping forward on the shadowy side of the mount.

"In the name of Merlin and Maugis," answered a hoarse,
disagreeable voice, "tie up your fourfooted demon there, or I
come not at you."

"And who art thou that would approach my post?"  said Sir
Kenneth, bending his eyes as keenly as he could on some object,
which he could just observe at the bottom of the ascent, without
being able to distinguish its form.  "Beware--I am here for death
and life."

"Take up thy long-fanged Sathanas," said the voice, "or I will
conjure him with a bolt from my arblast."

At the same time was heard the sound of a spring or check, as
when a crossbow is bent.

"Unbend thy arblast, and come into the moonlight," said the Scot,
"or, by Saint Andrew, I will pin thee to the earth, be what or
whom thou wilt!"

As he spoke he poised his long lance by the middle, and, fixing
his eye upon the object, which seemed to move, he brandished the
weapon, as if meditating to cast it from his hand--a use of the
weapon sometimes, though rarely, resorted to when a missile was
necessary.  But Sir Kenneth was ashamed of his purpose, and
grounded his weapon, when there stepped from the shadow into the
moonlight, like an actor entering upon the stage, a stunted,
decrepit creature, whom, by his fantastic dress and deformity, he
recognized, even at some distance, for the male of the two dwarfs
whom he had seen in the chapel at Engaddi.  Recollecting, at the
same moment, the other and far different visions of that
extraordinary night, he gave his dog a signal, which he instantly
understood, and, returning to the standard, laid himself down
beside it with a stifled growl.

The little, distorted miniature of humanity, assured of his
safety from an enemy so formidable, came panting up the ascent,
which the shortness of his legs rendered laborious, and, when he
arrived on the platform at the top, shifted to his left hand the
little crossbow, which was just such a toy as children at that
period were permitted to shoot small birds with, and, assuming an
attitude of great dignity, gracefully extended his right hand to
Sir Kenneth, in an attitude as if he expected he would salute it.
But such a result not following, he demanded, in a sharp and
angry tone of voice, "Soldier, wherefore renderest thou not to
Nectabanus the homage due to his dignity?  Or is it possible that
thou canst have forgotten him?"

"Great Nectabanus," answered the knight, willing to soothe the
creature's humour, "that were difficult for any one who has ever
looked upon thee.  Pardon me, however, that, being a soldier upon
my post, with my lance in my hand, I may not give to one of thy
puissance the advantage of coming within my guard, or of
mastering my weapon.  Suffice it that I reverence thy dignity,
and submit myself to thee as humbly as a man-at-arms in my place
may."

"It shall suffice," said Nectabanus, "so that you presently
attend me to the presence of those who have sent me hither to
summon you."

"Great sir," replied the knight, "neither in this can I gratify
thee, for my orders are to abide by this banner till daybreak
--so I Pray you to hold me excused in that matter also."

So saying, he resumed his walk upon the platform; but the dwarf
did not suffer him so easily to escape from his importunity.

"Look you," he said, placing himself before Sir Kenneth, so as to
interrupt his way, "either obey me, Sir Knight, as in duty bound,
or I will lay the command upon thee, in the name of one whose
beauty could call down the genii from their sphere, and whose
grandeur could command the immortal race when they had
descended."

A wild and improbable conjecture arose in the knight's mind, but
he repelled it.  It was impossible, he thought, that the lady of
his love should have sent him such a message by such a messenger;
yet his voice trembled as he said, "Go to, Nectabanus.  Tell me
at once, and as a true man, whether this sublime lady of whom
thou speakest be other than the houri with whose assistance I
beheld thee sweeping the chapel at Engaddi?"

"How!  presumptuous Knight," replied the dwarf, "think'st thou
the mistress of our own royal affections, the sharer of our
greatness, and the partner of our comeliness, would demean
herself by laying charge on such a vassal as thou?  No; highly as
thou art honoured, thou hast not yet deserved the notice of Queen
Guenevra, the lovely bride of Arthur, from whose high seat even
princes seem but pigmies.  But look thou here, and as thou
knowest or disownest this token, so obey or refuse her commands
who hath deigned to impose them on thee."

So saying, he placed in the knight's hand a ruby ring, which,
even in the moonlight, he had no difficulty to recognize as that
which usually graced the finger of the high-born lady to whose
service he had devoted himself.  Could he have doubted the truth
of the token, he would have been convinced by the small knot of
carnation-coloured ribbon which was fastened to the ring.  This
was his lady's favourite colour, and more than once had he
himself, assuming it for that of his own liveries, caused the
carnation to triumph over all other hues in the lists and in the
battle.

Sir Kenneth was struck nearly mute by seeing such a token in such
hands.

"In the name of all that is sacred, from whom didst thou receive
this witness?"  said the knight.  "Bring, if thou canst, thy
wavering understanding to a right settlement for a minute or two,
and tell me the person by whom thou art sent, and the real
purpose of thy message, and take heed what thou sayest, for this
is no subject for buffoonery."

"Fond and foolish Knight," said the dwarf, "wouldst thou know
more of this matter than that thou art honoured with commands
from a princess, delivered to thee by a king?  We list not to
parley with thee further than to command thee, in the name and by
the power of that ring, to follow us to her who is the owner of
the ring.  Every minute that thou tarriest is a crime against thy
allegiance."

"Good Nectabanus, bethink thyself," said the knight.  "Can my
lady know where and upon what duty I am this night engaged?  Is
she aware that my life--pshaw, why should I speak of life--but
that my honour depends on my guarding this banner till daybreak;
and can it be her wish that I should leave it even to pay homage
to her?  It is impossible--the princess is pleased to be merry
with her servant in sending him such a message; and I must think
so the rather that she hath chosen such a messenger."

"Oh, keep your belief," said Nectabanus, turning round as if to
leave the platform; "it is little to me whether you be traitor or
true man to this royal lady--so fare thee well."

"Stay, stay--I entreat you stay," said Sir Kenneth.  "Answer me
but one question:  is the lady who sent thee near to this place?"

"What signifies it?"  said the dwarf.  "Ought fidelity to reckon
furlongs, or miles, or leagues--like the poor courier, who is
paid for his labour by the distance which he traverses?
Nevertheless, thou soul of suspicion, I tell thee, the fair owner
of the ring now sent to so unworthy a vassal, in whom there is
neither truth nor courage, is not more distant from this place
than this arblast can send a bolt."

The knight gazed again on that ring, as if to ascertain that
there was no possible falsehood in the token.  "Tell me," he said
to the dwarf, "is my presence required for any length of time?"

"Time!"  answered Nectabanus, in his flighty manner; "what call
you time?  I see it not--I feel it not--it is but a shadowy name
--a succession of breathings measured forth by night by the clank
of a bell, by day by a shadow crossing along a dial-stone.
Knowest thou not a true knight's time should only be reckoned by
the deeds that he performs in behalf of God and his lady?"

"The words of truth, though in the mouth of folly," said the
knight.  "And doth my lady really summon me to some deed of
action, in her name and for her sake?--and may it not be
postponed for even the few hours till daybreak?"

"She requires thy presence instantly," said the dwarf, "and
without the loss of so much time as would be told by ten grains
of the sandglass.  Hearken, thou cold-blooded and suspicious
knight, these are her very words--Tell him that the hand which
dropped roses can bestow laurels."

This allusion to their meeting in the chapel of Engaddi sent a
thousand recollections through Sir Kenneth's brain, and convinced
him that the message delivered by the dwarf was genuine.  The
rosebuds, withered as they were, were still treasured under his
cuirass, and nearest to his heart.  He paused, and could not
resolve to forego an opportunity, the only one which might ever
offer, to gain grace in her eyes whom he had installed as
sovereign of his affections.  The dwarf, in the meantime,
augmented his confusion by insisting either that he must return
the ring or instantly attend him.

"Hold, hold, yet a moment hold," said the knight, and proceeded
to mutter to himself, "Am I either the subject or slave of King
Richard, more than as a free knight sworn to the service of the
Crusade?  And whom have I come hither to honour with lance and
sword?  Our holy cause and my transcendent lady!"

"The ring!  the ring!"  exclaimed the dwarf impatiently; "false
and slothful knight, return the ring, which thou art unworthy to
touch or to look upon."

"A moment, a moment, good Nectabanus," said Sir Kenneth; "disturb
not my thoughts.--What if the Saracens were just now to attack
our lines?  Should I stay here like a sworn vassal of England,
watching that her king's pride suffered no humiliation; or should
I speed to the breach, and fight for the Cross?  To the breach,
assuredly; and next to the cause of God come the commands of my
liege lady.  And yet, Coeur de Lion's behest--my own promise!
Nectabanus, I conjure thee once more to say, are you to conduct
me far from hence?"

"But to yonder pavilion; and, since you must needs know," replied
Nectabanus, "the moon is glimmering on the gilded ball which
crowns its roof, and which is worth a king's ransom."

"I can return in an instant," said the knight, shutting his eyes
desperately to all further consequences, "I can hear from thence
the bay of my dog if any one approaches the standard.  I will
throw myself at my lady's feet, and pray her leave to return to
conclude my watch.--Here, Roswal" (calling his hound, and
throwing down his mantle by the side of the standard-spear),
"watch thou here, and let no one approach."

The majestic dog looked in his master's face, as if to be sure
that he understood his charge, then sat down beside the mantle,
with ears erect and head raised, like a sentinel, understanding
perfectly the purpose for which he was stationed there.

"Come now, good Nectabanus," said the knight, "let us hasten to
obey the commands thou hast brought."

"Haste he that will," said the dwarf sullenly; "thou hast not
been in haste to obey my summons, nor can I walk fast enough to
follow your long strides--you do not walk like a man, but bound
like an ostrich in the desert."

There were but two ways of conquering the obstinacy of
Nectabanus, who, as he spoke, diminished his walk into a snail's
pace.  For bribes Sir Kenneth had no means--for soothing no time;
so in his impatience he snatched the dwarf up from the ground,
and bearing him along, notwithstanding his entreaties and his
fear, reached nearly to the pavilion pointed out as that of the
Queen.  In approaching it, however, the Scot observed there was a
small guard of soldiers sitting on the ground, who had been
concealed from him by the intervening tents.  Wondering that the
clash of his own armour had not yet attracted their attention,
and supposing that his motions might, on the present occasion,
require to be conducted with secrecy, he placed the little
panting guide upon the ground to recover his breath, and point
out what was next to be done, Nectabanus was both frightened and
angry; but he had felt himself as completely in the power of the
robust knight as an owl in the claws of an eagle, and therefore
cared not to provoke him to any further display of his strength.

He made no complaints, therefore, of the usage he had received;
but, turning amongst the labyrinth of tents, he led the knight in
silence to the opposite side of the pavilion, which thus screened
them from the observation of the warders, who seemed either too
negligent or too sleepy to discharge their duty with much
accuracy.  Arrived there, the dwarf raised the under part of the
canvas from the ground, and made signs to Sir Kenneth that he
should introduce himself to the inside of the tent, by creeping
under it.  The knight hesitated.  There seemed an indecorum in
thus privately introducing himself into a pavilion pitched,
doubtless, for the accommodation of noble ladies; but he recalled
to remembrance the assured tokens which the dwarf had exhibited,
and concluded that it was not for him to dispute his lady's
pleasure.

He stooped accordingly, crept beneath the canvas enclosure of the
tent, and heard the dwarf whisper from without, "Remain here
until I call thee."



CHAPTER XIII.

You talk of Gaiety and Innocence!
The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten,
They parted ne'er to meet again; and Malice
Has ever since been playmate to light Gaiety,
From the first moment when the smiling infant
Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with,
To the last chuckle of the dying miser,
Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear
His wealthy neighbour has become a bankrupt.    OLD PLAY.

Sir Kenneth was left for some minutes alone and in darkness.
Here was another interruption which must prolong his absence from
his post, and he began almost to repent the facility with which
he had been induced to quit it.  But to return without seeing the
Lady Edith was now not to be thought of.  He had committed a
breach of military discipline, and was determined at least to
prove the reality of the seductive expectations which had tempted
him to do so.  Meanwhile his situation was unpleasant.  There was
no light to show him into what sort of apartment he had been led
--the Lady Edith was in immediate attendance on the Queen of
England--and the discovery of his having introduced himself thus
furtively into the royal pavilion might, were it discovered; lead
to much and dangerous suspicion.  While he gave way to these
unpleasant reflections, and began almost to wish that he could
achieve his retreat unobserved, he heard a noise of female
voices, laughing, whispering, and speaking, in an adjoining
apartment, from which, as the sounds gave him reason to judge, he
could only be separated by a canvas partition.  Lamps were
burning, as he might perceive by the shadowy light which extended
itself even to his side of the veil which divided the tent, and
he could see shades of several figures sitting and moving in the
adjoining apartment.  It cannot be termed discourtesy in Sir
Kenneth that, situated as he was, he overheard a conversation in
which he found himself deeply interested.

"Call her--call her, for Our Lady's sake," said the voice of one
of these laughing invisibles.  "Nectabanus, thou shalt be made
ambassador to Prester John's court, to show them how wisely thou
canst discharge thee of a mission."

The shrill tone of the dwarf was heard, yet so much subdued that
Sir Kenneth could not understand what he said, except that he
spoke something of the means of merriment given to the guard.

"But how shall we rid us of the spirit which Nectabanus hath
raised, my maidens?"

"Hear me, royal madam," said another voice.  "If the sage and
princely Nectabanus be not over-jealous of his most transcendent
bride and empress, let us send her to get us rid of this insolent
knight-errant, who can be so easily persuaded that high-born
dames may need the use of his insolent and overweening valour."

"It were but justice, methinks," replied another, "that the
Princess Guenever should dismiss, by her courtesy, him whom her
husband's wisdom has been able to entice hither."

Struck to the heart with shame and resentment at what he had
heard, Sir Kenneth was about to attempt his escape from the tent
at all hazards, when what followed arrested his purpose.

"Nay, truly," said the first speaker, "our cousin Edith must
first learn how this vaunted wight hath conducted himself, and we
must reserve the power of giving her ocular proof that he hath
failed in his duty.  It may be a lesson will do good upon her;
for, credit me, Calista, I have sometimes thought she has let
this Northern adventurer sit nearer her heart than prudence would
sanction."

One of the other voices was then heard to mutter something of the
Lady Edith's prudence and wisdom.

"Prudence, wench!"  was the reply.  "It is mere pride, and the
desire to be thought more rigid than any of us.  Nay, I will not
quit my advantage.  You know well that when she has us at fault
no one can, in a civil way, lay your error before you more
precisely than can my Lady Edith.  But here she comes."

A figure, as if entering the apartment, cast upon the partition a
shade, which glided along slowly until it mixed with those which
already clouded it.  Despite of the bitter disappointment which
he had experienced--despite the insult and injury with which it
seemed he had been visited by the malice, or, at best, by the
idle humour of Queen Berengaria (for he already concluded that
she who spoke loudest, and in a commanding tone, was the wife of
Richard), the knight felt something so soothing to his feelings
in learning that Edith had been no partner to the fraud practised
on him, and so interesting to his curiosity in the scene which
was about to take place, that, instead of prosecuting his more
prudent purpose of an instant retreat, he looked anxiously, on
the contrary, for some rent or crevice by means of which be might
be made eye as well as ear witness to what was to go forward.

"Surely," said he to himself, "the Queen, who hath been pleased
for an idle frolic to endanger my reputation, and perhaps my
life, cannot complain if I avail myself of the chance which
fortune seems willing to afford me to obtain knowledge of her
further intentions."

It seemed, in the meanwhile, as if Edith were waiting for the
commands of the Queen, and as if the other were reluctant to
speak for fear of being unable to command her laughter and that
of her companions; for Sir Kenneth could only distinguish a sound
as of suppressed tittering and merriment.

"Your Majesty," said Edith at last, "seems in a merry mood,
though, methinks, the hour of night prompts a sleepy one.  I was
well disposed bedward when I had your Majesty's commands to
attend you."

"I will not long delay you, cousin, from your repose," said the
Queen, "though I fear you will sleep less soundly when I tell you
your wager is lost."

"Nay, royal madam," said Edith, "this, surely, is dwelling on a
jest which has rather been worn out, I laid no wager, however it
was your Majesty's pleasure to suppose, or to insist, that I did
so."

"Nay, now, despite our pilgrimage, Satan is strong with you, my
gentle cousin, and prompts thee to leasing.  Can you deny that
you gaged your ruby ring against my golden bracelet that yonder
Knight of the Libbard, or how call you him, could not be seduced
from his post?"

"Your Majesty is too great for me to gainsay you," replied Edith,
"but these ladies can, if they will, bear me witness that it was
your Highness who proposed such a wager, and took the ring from
my finger, even while I was declaring that I did not think it
maidenly to gage anything on such a subject."

"Nay, but, my Lady Edith," said another voice, "you must needs
grant, under your favour, that you expressed yourself very
confident of the valour of that same Knight of the Leopard."

"And if I did, minion," said Edith angrily, "is that a good
reason why thou shouldst put in thy word to flatter her Majesty's
humour?  I spoke of that knight but as all men speak who have
seen him in the field, and had no more interest in defending than
thou in detracting from him.  In a camp, what can women speak of
save soldiers and deeds of arms?"

"The noble Lady Edith," said a third voice, "hath never forgiven
Calista and me, since we told your Majesty that she dropped two
rosebuds in the chapel."

"If your Majesty," said Edith, in a tone which Sir Kenneth could
judge to be that of respectful remonstrance, "have no other
commands for me than to hear the gibes of your waiting-women, I
must crave your permission to withdraw."

"Silence, Florise," said the Queen, "and let not our indulgence
lead you to forget the difference betwixt yourself and the
kinswoman of England.--But you, my dear cousin," she continued,
resuming her tone of raillery, "how can you, who are so good-
natured, begrudge us poor wretches a few minutes' laughing, when
we have had so many days devoted to weeping and gnashing of
teeth?"

"Great be your mirth, royal lady," said Edith; "yet would I be
content not to smile for the rest of my life, rather than--"

She stopped, apparently out of respect; but Sir Kenneth could
hear that she was in much agitation.

"Forgive me," said Berengaria, a thoughtless but good-humoured
princess of the House of Navarre; "but what is the great offence,
after all?  A young knight has been wiled hither--has stolen, or
has been stolen, from his post, which no one will disturb in his
absence--for the sake of a fair lady; for, to do your champion
justice, sweet one, the wisdom of Nectabanus could conjure him
hither in no name but yours."

"Gracious Heaven! your Majesty does not say so?" said Edith, in a
voice of alarm quite different from the agitation she had
previously evinced,--"you cannot say so consistently with respect
for your own honour and for mine, your husband's kinswoman! Say
you were jesting with me, my royal mistress, and forgive me that
I could, even for a moment, think it possible you could be in
earnest!"

"The Lady Edith," said the Queen, in a displeased tone of voice,
"regrets the ring we have won of her.  We will restore the pledge
to you, gentle cousin; only you must not grudge us in turn a
little triumph over the wisdom which has been so often spread
over us, as a banner over a host."

"A triumph!"  exclaimed Edith indignantly--"a triumph! The
triumph will be with the infidel, when he hears that the Queen of
England can make the reputation of her husband's kinswoman the
subject of a light frolic."

"You are angry, fair cousin, at losing your favourite ring," said
the Queen.  "Come, since you grudge to pay your wager, we will
renounce our right; it was your name and that pledge brought him
hither, and we care not for the bait after the fish is caught."

"Madam," replied Edith impatiently, "you know well that your
Grace could not wish for anything of mine but it becomes
instantly yours.  But I would give a bushel of rubies ere ring or
name of mine had been used to bring a brave man into a fault, and
perhaps to disgrace and punishment."

"Oh, it is for the safety of our true knight that we fear!"  said
the Queen.  "You rate our power too low, fair cousin, when you
speak of a life being lost for a frolic of ours.  O Lady Edith,
others have influence on the iron breasts of warriors as well as
you--the heart even of a lion is made of flesh, not of stone;
and, believe me, I have interest enough with Richard to save this
knight, in whose fate Lady Edith is so deeply concerned, from the
penalty of disobeying his royal commands."

"For the love of the blessed Cross, most royal lady," said Edith
--and Sir Kenneth, with feelings which it were hard to unravel,
heard her prostrate herself at the Queen's feet--"for the love of
our blessed Lady, and of every holy saint in the calendar, beware
what you do! You know not King Richard--you have been but shortly
wedded to him.  Your breath might as well combat the west wind
when it is wildest, as your words persuade my royal kinsman to
pardon a military offence.  Oh, for God's sake, dismiss this
gentleman, if indeed you have lured him hither! I could almost be
content to rest with the shame of having invited him, did I know
that he was returned again where his duty calls him!"

"Arise, cousin, arise," said Queen Berengaria, "and be assured
all will be better than you think.  Rise, dear Edith.  I am sorry
I have played my foolery with a knight in whom you take such deep
interest.  Nay, wring not thy hands; I will believe thou carest
not for him--believe anything rather than see thee look so
wretchedly miserable.  I tell thee I will take the blame on
myself with King Richard in behalf of thy fair Northern friend
--thine acquaintance, I would say, since thou own'st him not as a
friend.  Nay, look not so reproachfully.  We will send Nectabanus
to dismiss this Knight of the Standard to his post; and we
ourselves will grace him on some future day, to make amends for
his wild-goose chase.  He is, I warrant, but lying perdu in some
neighbouring tent."

"By my crown of lilies, and my sceptre of a specially good water-
reed," said Nectabanus, "your Majesty is mistaken, He is nearer
at hand than you wot--he lieth ensconced there behind that canvas
partition."

"And within hearing of each word we have said!"  exclaimed the
Queen, in her turn violently surprised and agitated.  "Out,
monster of folly and malignity!"

As she uttered these words, Nectabanus fled from the pavilion
with a yell of such a nature as leaves it still doubtful whether
Berengaria had confined her rebuke to words, or added some more
emphatic expression of her displeasure.

"What can now be done?"  said the Queen to Edith, in a whisper of
undisguised uneasiness.

"That which must," said Edith firmly.  "We must see this
gentleman and place ourselves in his mercy."

So saying, she began hastily to undo a curtain, which at one
place covered an entrance or communication.

"For Heaven's sake, forbear--consider," said the Queen--"my
apartment--our dress--the hour--my honour!"

But ere she could detail her remonstrances, the curtain fell, and
there was no division any longer betwixt the armed knight and the
party of ladies.  The warmth of an Eastern night occasioned the
undress of Queen Berengaria and her household to be rather more
simple and unstudied than their station, and the presence of a
male spectator of rank, required.  This the Queen remembered, and
with a loud shriek fled from the apartment where Sir Kenneth was
disclosed to view in a compartment of the ample pavilion, now no
longer separated from that in which they stood.  The grief and
agitation of the Lady Edith, as well as the deep interest she
felt in a hasty explanation with the Scottish knight, perhaps
occasioned her forgetting that her locks were more dishevelled
and her person less heedfully covered than was the wont of high-
born damsels, in an age which was not, after all, the most
prudish or scrupulous period of the ancient time.  A thin, loose
garment of pink-coloured silk made the principal part of her
vestments, with Oriental slippers, into which she had hastily
thrust her bare feet, and a scarf hurriedly and loosely thrown
about her shoulders.  Her head had no other covering than the
veil of rich and dishevelled locks falling round it on every
side, that half hid a countenance which a mingled sense of
modesty and of resentment, and other deep and agitated feelings,
had covered with crimson.

But although Edith felt her situation with all that delicacy
which is her sex's greatest charm, it did not seem that for a
moment she placed her own bashfulness in comparison with the duty
which, as she thought, she owed to him who had been led into
error and danger on her account.  She drew, indeed, her scarf
more closely over her neck and bosom, and she hastily laid from
her hand a lamp which shed too much lustre over her figure; but,
while Sir Kenneth stood motionless on the same spot in which he
was first discovered, she rather stepped towards than retired
from him, as she exclaimed, "Hasten to your post, valiant
knight!--you are deceived in being trained hither--ask no
questions."

"I need ask none," said the knight, sinking upon one knee, with
the reverential devotion of a saint at the altar, and bending his
eyes on the ground, lest his looks should increase the lady's
embarrassment.

"Have you heard all?" said Edith impatiently.  "Gracious saints!
then wherefore wait you here, when each minute that passes is
loaded with dishonour!"

"I have heard that I am dishonoured, lady, and I have heard it
from you," answered Kenneth.  "What reck I how soon punishment
follows?  I have but one petition to you; and then I seek, among
the sabres of the infidels, whether dishonour may not be washed
out with blood."

"Do not so, neither," said the lady.  "Be wise--dally not here;
all may yet be well, if you will but use dispatch."

"I wait but for your forgiveness," said the knight, still
kneeling, "for my presumption in believing that my poor services
could have been required or valued by you."

"I do forgive you--oh, I have nothing to forgive! have been the
means of injuring you.  But oh, begone! I will forgive--I will
value you--that is, as I value every brave Crusader--if you will
but begone!"

"Receive, first, this precious yet fatal pledge," said the
knight, tendering the ring to Edith, who now showed gestures of
impatience.

"Oh, no, no " she said, declining to receive it.  "Keep it--keep
it as a mark of my regard--my regret, I would say.  Oh, begone,
if not for your own sake, for mine!"

Almost recompensed for the loss even of honour, which her voice
had denounced to him, by the interest which she seemed to testify
in his safety, Sir Kenneth rose from his knee, and, casting a
momentary glance on Edith, bowed low, and seemed about to
withdraw.  At the same instant, that maidenly bashfulness, which
the energy of Edith's feelings had till then triumphed over,
became conqueror in its turn, and she hastened from the
apartment, extinguishing her lamp as she went, and leaving, in
Sir Kenneth's thoughts, both mental and natural gloom behind her.

She must be obeyed, was the first distinct idea which waked him
from his reverie, and he hastened to the place by which he had
entered the pavilion.  To pass under the canvas in the manner he
had entered required time and attention, and he made a readier
aperture by slitting the canvas wall with his poniard.  When in
the free air, he felt rather stupefied and overpowered by a
conflict of sensations, than able to ascertain what was the real
import of the whole.  He was obliged to spur himself to action by
recollecting that the commands of the Lady Edith had required
haste.  Even then, engaged as he was amongst tent-ropes and
tents, he was compelled to move with caution until he should
regain the path or avenue, aside from which the dwarf had led
him, in order to escape the observation of the guards before the
Queen's pavilion; and he was obliged also to move slowly, and
with precaution, to avoid giving an alarm, either by falling or
by the clashing of his armour.  A thin cloud had obscured the
moon, too, at the very instant of his leaving the tent, and Sir
Kenneth had to struggle with this inconvenience at a moment when
the dizziness of his head and the fullness of his heart scarce
left him powers of intelligence sufficient to direct his motions.

But at once sounds came upon his ear which instantly recalled him
to the full energy of his faculties.  These proceeded from the
Mount of Saint George.  He heard first a single, fierce, angry,
and savage bark, which was immediately followed by a yell of
agony.  No deer ever bounded with a wilder start at the voice of
Roswal than did Sir Kenneth at what he feared was the death-cry
of that noble hound, from whom no ordinary injury could have
extracted even the slightest acknowledgment of pain.  He
surmounted the space which divided him from the avenue, and,
having attained it, began to run towards the mount, although
loaded with his mail, faster than most men could have accompanied
him even if unarmed, relaxed not his pace for the steep sides of
the artificial mound, and in a few minutes stood on the platform
upon its summit.

The moon broke forth at this moment, and showed him that the
Standard of England was vanished, that the spear on which it had
floated lay broken on the ground, and beside it was his faithful
hound, apparently in the agonies of death.



CHAPTER XIV.

All my long arrear of honour lost,
Heap'd up in youth, and hoarded up for age.
Hath Honour's fountain then suck'd up the stream?
He hath--and hooting boys may barefoot pass,
And gather pebbles from the naked ford!     DON SEBASTIAN.

After a torrent of afflicting sensations, by which he was at
first almost stunned and confounded, Sir Kenneth's first thought
was to look for the authors of this violation of the English
banner; but in no direction could he see traces of them.  His
next, which to some persons, but scarce to any who have made
intimate acquaintances among the canine race, may appear strange,
was to examine the condition of his faithful Roswal, mortally
wounded, as it seemed, in discharging the duty which his master
had been seduced to abandon.  He caressed the dying animal, who,
faithful to the last, seemed to forget his own pain in the
satisfaction he received from his master's presence, and
continued wagging his tail and licking his hand, even while by
low moanings he expressed that his agony was increased by the
attempts which Sir Kenneth made to withdraw from the wound the
fragment of the lance or javelin with which it had been
inflicted; then redoubled his feeble endearments, as if fearing
he had offended his master by showing a sense of the pain to
which his interference had subjected him.  There was something in
the display of the dying creature's attachment which mixed as a
bitter ingredient with the sense of disgrace and desolation by
which Sir Kenneth was oppressed.  His only friend seemed removed
from him, just when he had incurred the contempt and hatred of
all besides.  The knight's strength of mind gave way to a burst
of agonized distress, and he groaned and wept aloud.

While he thus indulged his grief, a clear and solemn voice, close
beside him, pronounced these words in the sonorous tone of the
readers of the mosque, and in the lingua franca mutually
understood by Christians and Saracens:--

"Adversity is like the period of the former and of the latter
rain--cold, comfortless, unfriendly to man and to animal; yet
from that season have their birth the flower and the fruit, the
date, the rose, and the pomegranate."

Sir Kenneth of the Leopard turned towards the speaker, and beheld
the Arabian physician, who, approaching unheard, had seated
himself a little behind him cross-legged, and uttered with
gravity, yet not without a tone of sympathy, the moral sentences
of consolation with which the Koran and its commentators supplied
him; for, in the East, wisdom is held to consist less in a
display of the sage's own inventive talents, than in his ready
memory and happy application of and reference to "that which is
written."

Ashamed at being surprised in a womanlike expression of sorrow,
Sir Kenneth dashed his tears indignantly aside, and again busied
himself with his dying favourite.

"The poet hath said," continued the Arab, without noticing the
knight's averted looks and sullen deportment, "the ox for the
field, and the camel for the desert.  Were not the hand of the
leech fitter than that of the soldier to cure wounds, though less
able to inflict them?"

"This patient, Hakim, is beyond thy help," said Sir Kenneth;
"and, besides, he is, by thy law, an unclean animal."

"Where Allah hath deigned to bestow life, and a sense of pain and
pleasure," said the physician, "it were sinful pride should the
sage, whom He has enlightened, refuse to prolong existence or
assuage agony.  To the sage, the cure of a miserable groom, of a
poor dog and of a conquering monarch, are events of little
distinction.  Let me examine this wounded animal."

Sir Kenneth acceded in silence, and the physician inspected and
handled Roswal's wound with as much care and attention as if he
had been a human being.  He then took forth a case of
instruments, and, by the judicious and skilful application of
pincers, withdrew from the wounded shoulder the fragment of the
weapon, and stopped with styptics and bandages the effusion of
blood which followed; the creature all the while suffering him
patiently to perform these kind offices, as if he had been aware
of his kind intentions.

"The animal may be cured," said El Hakim, addressing himself to
Sir Kenneth, "if you will permit me to carry him to my tent, and
treat him with the care which the nobleness of his nature
deserves.  For know, that thy servant Adonbec is no less skilful
in the race and pedigree and distinctions of good dogs and of
noble steeds than in the diseases which afflict the human race."

"Take him with you," said the knight.  "I bestow him on you
freely, if he recovers.  I owe thee a reward for attendance on my
squire, and have nothing else to pay it with.  For myself, I will
never again wind bugle or halloo to hound!"

The Arabian made no reply, but gave a signal with a clapping of
his hands, which was instantly answered by the appearance of two
black slaves.  He gave them his orders in Arabic, received the
answer that "to hear was to obey," when, taking the animal in
their arms, they removed him, without much resistance on his
part; for though his eyes turned to his master, he was too weak
to struggle.

"Fare thee well, Roswal, then," said Sir Kenneth--"fare thee
well, my last and only friend--thou art too noble a possession to
be retained by one such as I must in future call myself!--I
would," he said, as the slaves retired, "that, dying as he is, I
could exchange conditions with that noble animal!"

"It is written," answered the Arabian, although the exclamation
had not been addressed to him, "that all creatures are fashioned
for the service of man; and the master of the earth speaketh
folly when he would exchange, in his impatience, his hopes here
and to come for the servile condition of an inferior being."

"A dog who dies in discharging his duty," said the knight
sternly, "is better than a man who survives the desertion of it.
Leave me, Hakim; thou hast, on this side of miracle, the most
wonderful science which man ever possessed, but the wounds of the
spirit are beyond thy power."

"Not if the patient will explain his calamity, and be guided by
the physician," said Adonbec el Hakim.

"Know, then," said Sir Kenneth, "since thou art so importunate,
that last night the Banner of England was displayed from this
mound--I was its appointed guardian--morning is now breaking--
there lies the broken banner-spear, the standard itself is lost,
and here sit I a living man!"

"How!"  said El Hakim, examining him; "thy armour is whole--there
is no blood on thy weapons, and report speaks thee one unlikely
to return thus from fight.  Thou hast been trained from thy post
--ay, trained by the rosy cheek and black eye of one of those
houris, to whom you Nazarenes vow rather such service as is due
to Allah, than such love as may lawfully be rendered to forms of
clay like our own.  It has been thus assuredly; for so hath man
ever fallen, even since the days of Sultan Adam."

"And if it were so, physician," said Sir Kenneth sullenly, "what
remedy?"

"Knowledge is the parent of power," said El Hakim, "as valour
supplies strength.  Listen to me.  Man is not as a tree, bound to
one spot of earth; nor is he framed to cling to one bare rock,
like the scarce animated shell-fish.  Thine own Christian
writings command thee, when persecuted in one city, to flee to
another; and we Moslem also know that Mohammed, the Prophet of
Allah, driven forth from the holy city of Mecca, found his refuge
and his helpmates at Medina."

"And what does this concern me?"  said the Scot.

"Much," answered the physician.  "Even the sage flies the tempest
which he cannot control.  Use thy speed, therefore, and fly from
the vengeance of Richard to the shadow of Saladin's victorious
banner."

"I might indeed hide my dishonour," said Sir Kenneth ironically,
"in a camp of infidel heathens, where the very phrase is unknown.
But had I not better partake more fully in their reproach?  Does
not thy advice stretch so far as to recommend me to take the
turban?  Methinks I want but apostasy to consummate my infamy."

"Blaspheme not, Nazarene," said the physician sternly.  "Saladin
makes no converts to the law of the Prophet, save those on whom
its precepts shall work conviction.  Open thine eyes to the
light, and the great Soldan, whose liberality is as boundless as
his power, may bestow on thee a kingdom; remain blinded if thou
will, and, being one whose second life is doomed to misery,
Saladin will yet, for this span of present time, make thee rich
and happy.  But fear not that thy brows shall be bound with the
turban, save at thine own free choice."

"My choice were rather," said the knight, "that my writhen
features should blacken, as they are like to do, in this
evening's setting sun."

"Yet thou art not wise, Nazarene," said El Hakim, "to reject this
fair offer; for I have power with Saladin, and can raise thee
high in his grace.  Look you, my son--this Crusade, as you call
your wild enterprise, is like a large dromond [The largest sort
of vessels then known were termed dromond's, or dromedaries.]
parting asunder in the waves.  Thou thyself hast borne terms of
truce from the kings and princes, whose force is here assembled,
to the mighty Soldan, and knewest not, perchance, the full tenor
of thine own errand."

"I knew not, and I care not," said the knight impatiently.  "What
avails it to me that I have been of late the envoy of princes,
when, ere night, I shall be a gibbeted and dishonoured corse?"

"Nay, I speak that it may not be so with thee," said the
physician.  "Saladin is courted on all sides.  The combined
princes of this league formed against him have made such
proposals of composition and peace, as, in other circumstances,
it might have become his honour to have granted to them.  Others
have made private offers, on their own separate account, to
disjoin their forces from the camp of the Kings of Frangistan,
and even to lend their arms to the defence of the standard of the
Prophet.  But Saladin will not be served by such treacherous and
interested defection.  The king of kings will treat only with the
Lion King.  Saladin will hold treaty with none but the Melech
Ric, and with him he will treat like a prince, or fight like a
champion.  To Richard he will yield such conditions of his free
liberality as the swords of all Europe could never compel from
him by force or terror.  He will permit a free pilgrimage to
Jerusalem, and all the places where the Nazarenes list to
worship; nay, he will so far share even his empire with his
brother Richard, that be will allow Christian garrisons in the
six strongest cities of Palestine, and one in Jerusalem itself,
and suffer them to be under the immediate command of the officers
of Richard, who, he consents, shall bear the name of King
Guardian of Jerusalem.  Yet further, strange and incredible as
you may think it, know, Sir Knight--for to your honour I can
commit even that almost incredible secret--know that Saladin will
put a sacred seal on this happy union betwixt the bravest and
noblest of Frangistan and Asia, by raising to the rank of his
royal spouse a Christian damsel, allied in blood to King Richard,
and known by the name of the Lady Edith of Plantagenet."  [This
may appear so extraordinary and improbable a proposition that it
is necessary to say such a one was actually made.  The
historians, however, substitute the widowed Queen of Naples,
sister of Richard, for the bride, and Saladin's brother for the
bridegroom.  They appear to have been ignorant of the existence
of Edith of Plantagenet.--See MILL'S History of the Crusades,
vol. ii., p. 61.]

"Ha!--sayest thou?"  exclaimed Sir Kenneth, who, listening with
indifference and apathy to the preceding part of El Hakim's
speech, was touched by this last communication, as the thrill of
a nerve, unexpectedly jarred, will awaken the sensation of agony,
even in the torpor of palsy.  Then, moderating his tone, by dint
of much effort he restrained his indignation, and, veiling it
under the appearance of contemptuous doubt, he prosecuted the
conversation, in order to get as much knowledge as possible of
the plot, as he deemed it, against the honour and happiness of
her whom he loved not the less that his passion had ruined,
apparently, his fortunes, at once, and his honour.--"And what
Christian," he said, With tolerable calmness, "would sanction a
union so unnatural as that of a Christian maiden with an
unbelieving Saracen?"

"Thou art but an ignorant, bigoted Nazarene," said the Hakim.
"Seest thou not how the Mohammedan princes daily intermarry with
the noble Nazarene maidens in Spain, without scandal either to
Moor or Christian?  And the noble Soldan will, in his full
confidence in the blood of Richard, permit the English maid the
freedom which your Frankish manners have assigned to women.  He
will allow her the free exercise of her religion, seeing that, in
very truth, it signifies but little to which faith females are
addicted; and he will assign her such place and rank over all the
women of his zenana, that she shall be in every respect his sole
and absolute queen."

"What!"  said Sir Kenneth, "darest thou think, Moslem, that
Richard would give his kinswoman--a high-born and virtuous
princess--to be, at best, the foremost concubine in the haram of
a misbeliever?  Know, Hakim, the meanest free Christian noble
would scorn, on his child's behalf, such splendid ignominy."

"Thou errest," said the Hakim.  "Philip of France, and Henry of
Champagne, and others of Richard's principal allies, have heard
the proposal without starting, and have promised, as far as they
may, to forward an alliance that may end these wasteful wars; and
the wise arch-priest of Tyre hath undertaken to break the
proposal to Richard, not doubting that he shall be able to bring
the plan to good issue.  The Soldan's wisdom hath as yet kept his
proposition secret from others, such as he of Montserrat, and the
Master of the Templars, because he knows they seek to thrive by
Richard's death or disgrace, not by his life or honour.  Up,
therefore, Sir Knight, and to horse.  I will give thee a scroll
which shall advance thee highly with the Soldan; and deem not
that you are leaving your country, or her cause, or her religion,
since the interest of the two monarchs will speedily be the same.
To Saladin thy counsel will be most acceptable, since thou canst
make him aware of much concerning the marriages of the
Christians, the treatment of their wives, and other points of
their laws and usages, which, in the course of such treaty, it
much concerns him that he should know.  The right hand of the
Soldan grasps the treasures of the East, and it is the fountain
or generosity.  Or, if thou desirest it, Saladin, when allied
with England, can have but little difficulty to obtain from
Richard, not only thy pardon and restoration to favour, but an
honourable command in the troops which may be left of the King of
England's host, to maintain their joint government in Palestine.
Up, then, and mount--there lies a plain path before thee."

"Hakim," said the Scottish knight, "thou art a man of peace; also
thou hast saved the life of Richard of England--and, moreover, of
my own poor esquire, Strauchan.  I have, therefore, heard to an
end a matter which, being propounded by another Moslem than
thyself, I would have cut short with a blow of my dagger!  Hakim,
in return for thy kindness, I advise thee to see that the Saracen
who shall propose to Richard a union betwixt the blood of
Plantagenet and that of his accursed race do put on a helmet
which is capable to endure such a blow of a battle-axe as that
which struck down the gate of Acre.  Certes, he will be otherwise
placed beyond the reach even of thy skill."

"Thou art, then, wilfully determined not to fly to the Saracen
host?"  said the physician.  "Yet, remember, thou stayest to
certain destruction; and the writings of thy law, as well as
ours, prohibit man from breaking into the tabernacle of his own
life."

"God forbid!"  replied the Scot, crossing himself; "but we are
also forbidden to avoid the punishment which our crimes have
deserved.  And since so poor are thy thoughts of fidelity, Hakim,
it grudges me that I have bestowed my good hound on thee, for,
should he live, he will have a master ignorant of his value."

"A gift that is begrudged is already recalled," said El Hakim;
"only we physicians are sworn not to send away a patient uncured.
If the dog recover, he is once more yours."

"Go to, Hakim," answered Sir Kenneth; "men speak not of hawk and
hound when there is but an hour of day-breaking betwixt them and
death.  Leave me to recollect my sins, and reconcile myself to
Heaven."

"I leave thee in thine obstinacy," said the physician; "the mist
hides the precipice from those who are doomed to fall over it."

He withdrew slowly, turning from time to time his head, as if to
observe whether the devoted knight might not recall him either by
word or signal.  At last his turbaned figure was lost among the
labyrinth of tents which lay extended beneath, whitening in the
pale light of the dawning, before which the moonbeam had now
faded away.

But although the physician Adonbec's words had not made that
impression upon Kenneth which the sage desired, they had inspired
the Scot with a motive for desiring life, which, dishonoured as
he conceived himself to be, he was before willing to part from as
from a sullied vestment no longer becoming his wear.  Much that
had passed betwixt himself and the hermit, besides what he had
observed between the anchorite and Sheerkohf (or Ilderim), he now
recalled to recollection, and tended to confirm what the Hakim
had told him of the secret article of the treaty.

"The reverend impostor!"  he exclaimed to himself; "the hoary
hypocrite!  He spoke of the unbelieving husband converted by the
believing wife; and what do I know but that the traitor exhibited
to the Saracen, accursed of God, the beauties of Edith
Plantagenet, that the hound might judge if the princely Christian
lady were fit to be admitted into the haram of a misbeliever?  If
I had yonder infidel Ilderim, or whatsoever he is called, again
in the gripe with which I once held him fast as ever hound held
hare, never again should HE at least come on errand disgraceful
to the honour of Christian king or noble and virtuous maiden.
But I--my hours are fast dwindling into minutes--yet, while I
have life and breath, something must be done, and speedily."

He paused for a few minutes, threw from him his helmet, then
strode down the hill, and took the road to King Richard's
pavilion.



CHAPTER XV.

The feather'd songster, chanticleer,
Had wound his bugle-horn,
And told the early villager
The coming of the morn.
King Edward saw the ruddy streaks
Of light eclipse the grey,
And heard the raven's croaking throat
Proclaim the fated day.
"Thou'rt right," he said, "for, by the God
That sits enthron'd on high,
Charles Baldwin, and his fellows twain,
This day shall surely die."              CHATTERTON.

On the evening on which Sir Kenneth assumed his post, Richard,
after the stormy event which disturbed its tranquillity, had
retired to rest in the plenitude of confidence inspired by his
unbounded courage and the superiority which he had displayed in
carrying the point he aimed at in presence of the whole Christian
host and its leaders, many of whom, he was aware, regarded in
their secret souls the disgrace of the Austrian Duke as a triumph
over themselves; so that his pride felt gratified, that in
prostrating one enemy he had mortified a hundred.

Another monarch would have doubled his guards on the evening
after such a scene, and kept at least a part of his troops under
arms.  But Coeur de Lion dismissed, upon the occasion, even his
ordinary watch, and assigned to his soldiers a donative of wine
to cerebrate his recovery, and to drink to the Banner of Saint
George; and his quarter of the camp would have assumed a
character totally devoid of vigilance and military preparation,
but that Sir Thomas de Vaux, the Earl of Salisbury, and other
nobles, took precautions to preserve order and discipline among
the revellers.

The physician attended the King from his retiring to bed till
midnight was past, and twice administered medicine to him during
that period, always previously observing the quarter of heaven
occupied by the full moon, whose influences he declared to be
most sovereign, or most baleful, to the effect of his drugs.  It
was three hours after midnight ere El Hakim withdrew from the
royal tent, to one which had been pitched for himself and his
retinue.  In his way thither he visited the tent of Sir Kenneth
of the Leopard, in order to see the condition of his first
patient in the Christian camp, old Strauchan, as the knight's
esquire was named. Inquiring there for Sir Kenneth himself, El
Hakim learned on what duty he was employed, and probably this
information led him to Saint George's Mount, where he found him
whom he sought in the disastrous circumstances alluded to in the
last chapter.

It was about the hour of sunrise, when a slow, armed tread was
heard approaching the King's pavilion; and ere De Vaux, who
slumbered beside his master's bed as lightly as ever sleep sat
upon the eyes of a watch-dog, had time to do more than arise and
say, "Who comes?"  the Knight of the Leopard entered the tent,
with a deep and devoted gloom seated upon his manly features.

"Whence this bold intrusion, Sir Knight?"  said De Vaux sternly,
yet in a tone which respected his master's slumbers.

"Hold!  De Vaux," said Richard, awaking on the instant; "Sir
Kenneth cometh like a good soldier to render an account of his
guard.  To such the general's tent is ever accessible."  Then
rising from his slumbering posture, and leaning on his elbow, he
fixed his large bright eye upon the warrior--"Speak, Sir Scot;
thou comest to tell me of a vigilant, safe, and honourable watch,
dost thou not?  The rustling of the folds of the Banner of
England were enough to guard it, even without the body of such a
knight as men hold thee."

"As men will hold me no more," said Sir Kenneth.  "My watch hath
neither been vigilant, safe, nor honourable.  The Banner of
England has been carried off."

"And thou alive to tell it!"  said Richard, in a tone of derisive
incredulity.  "Away, it cannot be.  There is not even a scratch
on thy face.  Why dost thou stand thus mute?   Speak the truth
--it is ill jesting with a king; yet I will forgive thee if thou
hast lied."

"Lied, Sir King!"  returned the unfortunate knight, with fierce
emphasis, and one glance of fire from his eye, bright and
transient as the flash from the cold and stony flint. "But this
also must be endured.  I have spoken the truth."

"By God and by Saint George!"  said the King, bursting into fury,
which, however, he instantly checked.  "De Vaux, go view the
spot.  This fever has disturbed his brain.  This cannot be.  The
man's courage is proof.  It CANNOT be!  Go speedily--or send, if
thou wilt not go."

The King was interrupted by Sir Henry Neville, who came,
breathless, to say that the banner was gone, and the knight who
guarded it overpowered, and most probably murdered, as there was
a pool of blood where the banner-spear lay shivered.

"But whom do I see here?"  said Neville, his eyes suddenly
resting upon Sir Kenneth.

"A traitor," said the King, starting to his feet, and seizing the
curtal-axe, which was ever near his bed--"a traitor!  whom thou
shalt see die a traitor's death."  And he drew back the weapon as
in act to strike.

Colourless, but firm as a marble statue, the Scot stood before
him, with his bare head uncovered by any protection, his eyes
cast down to the earth, his lips scarcely moving, yet muttering
probably in prayer.  Opposite to him, and within the due reach
for a blow, stood King Richard, his large person wrapt in the
folds of his camiscia, or ample gown of linen, except where the
violence of his action had flung the covering from his right arm,
shoulder, and a part of his breast, leaving to view a specimen of
a frame which might have merited his Saxon predecessor's epithet
of Ironside.  He stood for an instant, prompt to strike; then
sinking the head of the weapon towards the ground, he exclaimed,
"But there was blood, Neville--there was blood upon the place.
Hark thee, Sir Scot--brave thou wert once, for I have seen thee
fight.  Say thou hast slain two of the thieves in defence of the
Standard--say but one--say thou hast struck but a good blow in
our behalf, and get thee out of the camp with thy life and thy
infamy!"

"You have called me liar, my Lord King," replied Kenneth firmly;
"and therein, at least, you have done me wrong.  Know that there
was no blood shed in defence of the Standard save that of a poor
hound, which, more faithful than his master, defended the charge
which he deserted."

"Now, by Saint George!"  said Richard, again heaving up his arm.
But De Vaux threw himself between the King and the object of his
vengeance, and spoke with the blunt truth of his character, "My
liege, this must not be--here, nor by your hand.  It is enough of
folly for one night and day to have entrusted your banner to a
Scot.  Said I not they were ever fair and false?"  [Such were the
terms in which the English used to speak of their poor northern
neighbours, forgetting that their own encroachments upon the
independence of Scotland obliged the weaker nation to defend
themselves by policy as well as force.  The disgrace must be
divided between Edward I. and Edward III., who enforced their
domination over a free country, and the Scots, who were compelled
to take compulsory oaths, without any purpose of keeping them.]

"Thou didst, De Vaux; thou wast right, and I confess it," said
Richard.  "I should have known him better--I should have
remembered how the fox William deceived me touching this
Crusade."

"My lord," said Sir Kenneth, "William of Scotland never deceived;
but circumstances prevented his bringing his forces."

"Peace, shameless!"  said the King; "thou sulliest the name of a
prince, even by speaking it.--And yet, De Vaux, it is strange,"
he added, "to see the bearing of the man.  Coward or traitor he
must be, yet he abode the blow of Richard Plantagenet as our arm
had been raised to lay knighthood on his shoulder.  Had he shown
the slightest sign of fear, had but a joint trembled or an eyelid
quivered, I had shattered his head like a crystal goblet.  But I
cannot strike where there is neither fear nor resistance."

There was a pause.

"My lord," said Kenneth--

"Ha!"  replied Richard, interrupting him, "hast thou found thy
speech?   Ask grace from Heaven, but none from me; for England is
dishonoured through thy fault, and wert thou mine own and only
brother, there is no pardon for thy fault."

"I speak not to demand grace of mortal man," said the Scot; "it
is in your Grace's pleasure to give or refuse me time for
Christian shrift--if man denies it, may God grant me the
absolution which I would otherwise ask of His church!  But
whether I die on the instant, or half an hour hence, I equally
beseech your Grace for one moment's opportunity to speak that to
your royal person which highly concerns your fame as a Christian
king."

"Say on," said the King, making no doubt that he was about to
hear some confession concerning the loss of the Banner.

"What I have to speak," said Sir Kenneth, "touches the royalty of
England, and must be said to no ears but thine own."

"Begone with yourselves, sirs," said the King to Neville and De
Vaux.

The first obeyed, but the latter would not stir from the King's
presence.

"If you said I was in the right," replied De Vaux to his
sovereign, "I will be treated as one should be who hath been
found to be right--that is, I will have my own will.  I leave you
not with this false Scot."

"How!  De Vaux," said Richard angrily, and stamping slightly,
"darest thou not venture our person with one traitor?"

"It is in vain you frown and stamp, my lord," said De Vaux; "I
venture not a sick man with a sound one, a naked man with one
armed in proof."

"It matters not," said the Scottish knight; "I seek no excuse to
put off time.  I will speak in presence of the Lord of Gilsland.
He is good lord and true."

"But half an hour since," said De Vaux, with a groan, implying a
mixture of sorrow and vexation, "and I had said as much for
thee!"

"There is treason around you, King of England,"  continued Sir
Kenneth.

"It may well be as thou sayest," replied Richard; "I have a
pregnant example."

"Treason that will injure thee more deeply than the loss of a
hundred banners in a pitched field.  The--the--" Sir Kenneth
hesitated, and at length continued, in a lower tone, "The Lady
Edith--"

"Ha!"  said the King, drawing himself suddenly into a state of
haughty attention, and fixing his eye firmly on the supposed
criminal; "what of her?  what of her?  What has she to do with
this matter?"

"My lord," said the Scot, "there is a scheme on foot to disgrace
your royal lineage, by bestowing the hand of the Lady Edith on
the Saracen Soldan, and thereby to purchase a peace most
dishonourable to Christendom, by an alliance most shameful to
England."

This communication had precisely the contrary effect from that
which Sir Kenneth expected.  Richard Plantagenet was one of those
who, in Iago's words, would not serve God because it was the
devil who bade him; advice or information often affected him less
according to its real import, than through the tinge which it
took from the supposed character and views of those by whom it
was communicated.  Unfortunately, the mention of his relative's
name renewed his recollection of what he had considered as
extreme presumption in the Knight of the Leopard, even when he
stood high in the roll of chivalry, but which, in his present
condition, appeared an insult sufficient to drive the fiery
monarch into a frenzy of passion.

"Silence," he said, "infamous and audacious!  By Heaven, I will
have thy tongue torn out with hot pincers, for mentioning the
very name of a noble Christian damsel!  Know, degenerate traitor,
that I was already aware to what height thou hadst dared to raise
thine eyes, and endured it, though it were insolence, even when
thou hadst cheated us--for thou art all a deceit--into holding
thee as of some name and fame.  But now, with lips blistered with
the confession of thine own dishonour--that thou shouldst NOW
dare to name our noble kinswoman as one in whose fate thou hast
part or interest!  What is it to thee if she marry Saracen or
Christian?  What is it to thee if, in a camp where princes turn
cowards by day and robbers by night--where brave knights turn to
paltry deserters and traitors--what is it, I say, to thee, or any
one, if I should please to ally myself to truth and to valour, in
the person of Saladin?"

"Little to me, indeed, to whom all the world will soon be as
nothing," answered Sir Kenneth boldly; "but were I now stretched
on the rack, I would tell thee that what I have said is much to
thine own conscience and thine own fame.  I tell thee, Sir King,
that if thou dost but in thought entertain the purpose of wedding
thy kinswoman, the Lady Edith--"

"Name her not--and for an instant think not of her," said the
King, again straining the curtal-axe in his gripe, until the
muscles started above his brawny arm, like cordage formed by the
ivy around the limb of an oak.

"Not name--not think of her!"  answered Sir Kenneth, his spirits,
stunned as they were by self-depression, beginning to recover
their elasticity from this species of controversy.  "Now, by the
Cross, on which I place my hope, her name shall be the last word
in my mouth, her image the last thought in my mind.  Try thy
boasted strength on this bare brow, and see if thou canst prevent
my purpose."

"He will drive me mad!"  said Richard, who, in his despite, was
once more staggered in his purpose by the dauntless determination
of the criminal.

Ere Thomas of Gilsland could reply, some bustle was heard
without, and the arrival of the Queen was announced from the
outer part of the pavilion.

"Detain her--detain her, Neville," cried the King; "this is no
sight for women.--Fie, that I have suffered such a paltry traitor
to chafe me thus!--Away with him, De Vaux," he whispered,
"through the back entrance of our tent; coop him up close, and
answer for his safe custody with your life.  And hark ye--he is
presently to die--let him have a ghostly father--we would not
kill soul and body.  And stay--hark thee--we will not have him
dishonoured--he shall die knightlike, in his belt and spurs; for
if his treachery be as black as hell, his boldness may match that
of the devil himself."

De Vaux, right glad, if the truth may be guessed, that the scene
ended without Richard's descending to the unkingly act of himself
slaying an unresisting prisoner, made haste to remove Sir Kenneth
by a private issue to a separate tent, where he was disarmed, and
put in fetters for security.  De Vaux looked on with a steady and
melancholy attention, while the provost's officers, to whom Sir
Kenneth was now committed, took these severe precautions.

When they were ended, he said solemnly to the unhappy criminal,
"It is King Richard's pleasure that you die undegraded--without
mutilation of your body, Or Shame to your arms--and that your
head be severed from the trunk by the sword of the executioner."

"It is kind," said the knight, in a low and rather submissive
tone of voice, as one who received an unexpected favour; "my
family will not then hear the worst of the tale. Oh, my father
--my father!"

This muttered invocation did not escape the blunt but kindly-
natured Englishman, and he brushed the back of his large hand
over his rough features ere he could proceed.

"It is Richard of England's further pleasure," he said at length,
"that you have speech with a holy man; and I have met on the
passage hither with a Carmelite friar, who may fit you for your
passage.  He waits without, until you are in a frame of mind to
receive him."

"Let it be instantly," said the knight.  "In this also Richard is
kind.  I cannot be more fit to see the good father at any time
than now; for life and I have taken farewell, as two travellers
who have arrived at the crossway, where their roads separate."

"It is well," said De Vaux slowly and solemnly; "for it irks me
somewhat to say that which sums my message.  It is King Richard's
pleasure that you prepare for instant death."

"God's pleasure and the King's be done," replied the knight
patiently.  "I neither contest the justice of the sentence, nor
desire delay of the execution."

De Vaux began to leave the tent, but very slowly--paused at the
door, and looked back at the Scot, from whose aspect thoughts of
the world seemed banished, as if he was composing himself into
deep devotion.  The feelings of the stout English baron were in
general none of the most acute, and yet, on the present occasion,
his sympathy overpowered him in an unusual manner.  He came
hastily back to the bundle of reeds on which the captive lay,
took one of his fettered hands, and said, with as much softness
as his rough voice was capable of expressing, "Sir Kenneth, thou
art yet young--thou hast a father.  My Ralph, whom I left
training his little galloway nag on the banks of the Irthing, may
one day attain thy years, and, but for last night, would to God I
saw his youth bear such promise as thine!  Can nothing be said or
done in thy behalf?"

"Nothing," was the melancholy answer.  "I have deserted my
charge--the banner entrusted to me is lost.  When the headsman
and block are prepared, the head and trunk are ready to part
company."

"Nay, then, God have mercy!"  said De Vaux.  "Yet would I rather
than my best horse I had taken that watch myself.  There is
mystery in it, young man, as a plain man may descry, though he
cannot see through it.  Cowardice?  Pshaw!  No coward ever fought
as I have seen thee do.  Treachery?  I cannot think traitors die
in their treason so calmly.  Thou hast been trained from thy post
by some deep guile--some well-devised stratagem--the cry of some
distressed maiden has caught thine ear, or the laughful look of
some merry one has taken thine eye.  Never blush for it; we have
all been led aside by such gear.  Come, I pray thee, make a clean
conscience of it to me, instead of the priest.  Richard is
merciful when his mood is abated.  Hast thou nothing to entrust
to me?"

The unfortunate knight turned his face from the kind warrior, and
answered, "NOTHING."

And De Vaux, who had exhausted his topics of persuasion, arose
and left the tent, with folded arms, and in melancholy deeper
than he thought the occasion merited--even angry with himself to
find that so simple a matter as the death of a Scottish man could
affect him so nearly.

"Yet," as he said to himself, "though the rough-footed knaves be
our enemies in Cumberland, in Palestine one almost considers them
as brethren."



CHAPTER XVI.

'Tis not her sense, for sure in that
There's nothing more than common;
And all her wit is only chat,
Like any other woman.   SONG.

The high-born Berengaria, daughter of Sanchez, King of Navarre,
and the Queen-Consort of the heroic Richard, was accounted one of
the most beautiful women of the period.  Her form was slight,
though exquisitely moulded.  She was graced with a complexion not
common in her country, a profusion of fair hair, and features so
extremely juvenile as to make her look several years younger than
she really was, though in reality she was not above one-and-
twenty. Perhaps it was under the consciousness of this extremely
juvenile appearance that she affected, or at least practised, a
little childish petulance and wilfulness of manner, not
unbefitting, she might suppose, a youthful bride, whose rank and
age gave her a right to have her fantasies indulged and attended
to.  She was by nature perfectly good-humoured, and if her due
share of admiration and homage (in her opinion a very large one)
was duly resigned to her, no one could possess better temper or a
more friendly disposition; but then, like all despots, the more
power that was voluntarily yielded to her, the more she desired
to extend her sway.  Sometimes, even when all her ambition was
gratified, she chose to be a little out of health, and a little
out of spirits; and physicians had to toil their wits to invent
names for imaginary maladies, while her ladies racked their
imagination for new games, new head-gear, and new court-scandal,
to pass away those unpleasant hours, during which their own
situation was scarce to be greatly envied.  Their most frequent
resource for diverting this malady was some trick or piece of
mischief practised upon each other; and the good Queen, in the
buoyancy of her reviving spirits, was, to speak truth, rather too
indifferent whether the frolics thus practised were entirely
befitting her own dignity, or whether the pain which those
suffered upon whom they were inflicted was not beyond the
proportion of pleasure which she herself derived from them.  She
was confident in her husband's favour, in her high rank, and in
her supposed power to make good whatever such pranks might cost
others.  In a word, she gambolled with the freedom of a young
lioness, who is unconscious of the weight of her own paws when
laid on those whom she sports with.

The Queen Berengaria loved her husband passionately, but she
feared the loftiness and roughness of his character; and as she
felt herself not to be his match in intellect, was not much
pleased to see that he would often talk with Edith Plantagenet in
preference to herself, simply because he found more amusement in
her conversation, a more comprehensive understanding, and a more
noble cast of thoughts and sentiments, than his beautiful consort
exhibited.  Berengaria did not hate Edith on this account, far
less meditate her any harm; for, allowing for some selfishness,
her character was, on the whole, innocent and generous.  But the
ladies of her train, sharpsighted in such matters, had for some
time discovered that a poignant jest at the expense of the Lady
Edith was a specific for relieving her Grace of England's low
spirits, and the discovery saved their imagination much toil.

There was something ungenerous in this, because the Lady Edith
was understood to be an orphan; and though she was called
Plantagenet, and the fair Maid of Anjou, and admitted by Richard
to certain privileges only granted to the royal family, and held
her place in the circle accordingly, yet few knew, and none
acquainted with the Court of England ventured to ask, in what
exact degree of relationship she stood to Coeur de Lion.  She had
come with Eleanor, the celebrated Queen Mother of England, and
joined Richard at Messina, as one of the ladies destined to
attend on Berengaria, whose nuptials then approached.  Richard
treated his kinswoman with much respectful observance, and the
Queen made her her most constant attendant, and, even in despite
of the petty jealousy which we have observed, treated her,
generally, with suitable respect.

The ladies of the household had, for a long time, no further
advantage over Edith than might be afforded by an opportunity of
censuring a less artfully disposed head attire or an unbecoming
robe; for the lady was judged to be inferior in these mysteries.
The silent devotion of the Scottish knight did not, indeed, pass
unnoticed; his liveries, his cognizances, his feats of arms, his
mottoes and devices, were nearly watched, and occasionally made
the subject of a passing jest. But then came the pilgrimage of
the Queen and her ladies to Engaddi, a journey which the Queen
had undertaken under a vow for the recovery of her husband's
health, and which she had been encouraged to carry into effect by
the Archbishop of Tyre for a political purpose.  It was then, and
in the chapel at that holy place, connected from above with a
Carmelite nunnery, from beneath with the cell of the anchorite,
that one of the Queen's attendants remarked that secret sign of
intelligence which Edith had made to her lover, and failed not
instantly to communicate it to her Majesty.  The Queen returned
from her pilgrimage enriched with this admirable recipe against
dullness or ennui; and her train was at the same time augmented
by a present of two wretched dwarfs from the dethroned Queen of
Jerusalem, as deformed and as crazy (the excellence of that
unhappy species) as any Queen could have desired.  One of
Berengaria's idle amusements had been to try the effect of the
sudden appearance of such ghastly and fantastic forms on the
nerves of the Knight when left alone in the chapel; but the jest
had been lost by the composure of the Scot and the interference
of the anchorite. She had now tried another, of which the
consequences promised to be more serious.

The ladies again met after Sir Kenneth had retired from the tent,
and the Queen, at first little moved by Edith's angry
expostulations, only replied to her by upbraiding her prudery,
and by indulging her wit at the expense of the garb, nation, and,
above all the poverty of the Knight of the Leopard, in which she
displayed a good deal of playful malice, mingled with some
humour, until Edith was compelled to carry her anxiety to her
separate apartment.  But when, in the morning, a female whom
Edith had entrusted to make inquiry brought word that the
Standard was missing, and its champion vanished, she burst into
the Queen's apartment, and implored her to rise and proceed to
the King's tent without delay, and use her powerful mediation to
prevent the evil consequences of her jest.

The Queen, frightened in her turn, cast, as is usual, the blame
of her own folly on those around her, and endeavoured to comfort
Edith's grief, and appease her displeasure, by a thousand
inconsistent arguments.  She was sure no harm had chanced--the
knight was sleeping, she fancied, after his night-watch.  What
though, for fear of the King's displeasure, he had deserted with
the Standard--it was but a piece of silk, and he but a needy
adventurer; or if he was put under warding for a time, she would
soon get the King to pardon him--it was but waiting to let
Richard's mood pass away.

Thus she continued talking thick and fast, and heaping together
all sorts of inconsistencies, with the vain expectation of
persuading both Edith and herself that no harm could come of a
frolic which in her heart she now bitterly repented.  But while
Edith in vain strove to intercept this torrent of idle talk, she
caught the eye of one of the ladies who entered the Queen's
apartment.  There was death in her look of affright and horror,
and Edith, at the first glance of her countenance, had sunk at
once on the earth, had not strong necessity and her own elevation
of character enabled her to maintain at least external composure.

"Madam," she said to the Queen, "lose not another word in
speaking, but save life--if, indeed," she added, her voice
choking as she said it, "life may yet be saved."

"It may, it may," answered the Lady Calista.  "I have just heard
that he has been brought before the King.  It is not yet over
--but," she added, bursting into a vehement flood of weeping, in
which personal apprehensions had some share, "it will soon,
unless some course be taken."

"I will vow a golden candlestick to the Holy Sepulchre, a shrine
of silver to our Lady of Engaddi, a pall, worth one hundred
byzants, to Saint Thomas of Orthez," said the Queen in extremity.

"Up, up, madam!"  said Edith; "call on the saints if you list,
but be your own best saint."

"Indeed, madam," said the terrified attendant, "the Lady Edith
speaks truth.  Up, madam, and let us to King Richard's tent and
beg the poor gentleman's life."

"I will go--I will go instantly," said the Queen, rising and
trembling excessively; while her women, in as great confusion as
herself, were unable to render her those duties which were
indispensable to her levee.  Calm, composed, only pale as death,
Edith ministered to the Queen with her own hand, and alone
supplied the deficiencies of her numerous attendants.

"How you wait, wenches!"  said the Queen, not able even then to
forget frivolous distinctions.  "Suffer ye the Lady Edith to do
the duties of your attendance?  Seest thou, Edith, they can do
nothing; I shall never be attired in time.  We will send for the
Archbishop of Tyre, and employ him as a mediator."

"Oh, no, no!"  exclaimed Edith.  "Go yourself madam; you have
done the evil, do you confer the remedy."

"I will go--I will go," said the Queen; "but if Richard be in his
mood, I dare not speak to him--he will kill me!"

"Yet go, gracious madam," said the Lady Calista, who best knew
her mistress's temper; "not a lion, in his fury, could look upon
such a face and form, and retain so much as an angry thought, far
less a love-true knight like the royal Richard, to whom your
slightest word would be a command."

"Dost thou think so, Calista?"  said the Queen.  "Ah, thou little
knowest yet I will go.  But see you here, what means this?   You
have bedizened me in green, a colour he detests.  Lo you!  let me
have a blue robe, and--search for the ruby carcanet, which was
part of the King of Cyprus's ransom; it is either in the steel
casket, or somewhere else."

"This, and a man's life at stake!"  said Edith indignantly; "it
passes human patience.  Remain at your ease, madam; I will go to
King Richard.  I am a party interested.  I will know if the
honour of a poor maiden of his blood is to be so far tampered
with that her name shall be abused to train a brave gentleman
from his duty, bring him within the compass of death and infamy,
and make, at the same time, the glory of England a laughing-stock
to the whole Christian army."

At this unexpected burst of passion, Berengaria listened with an
almost stupefied look of fear and wonder.  But as Edith was about
to leave the tent, she exclaimed, though faintly, "Stop her, stop
her!"

"You must indeed stop, noble Lady Edith," said Calista, taking
her arm gently; "and you, royal madam, I am sure, will go, and
without further dallying.  If the Lady Edith goes alone to the
King, he will be dreadfully incensed, nor will it be one life
that will stay his fury."

"I will go--I will go," said the Queen, yielding to necessity;
and Edith reluctantly halted to wait her movements.

They were now as speedy as she could have desired.  The Queen
hastily wrapped herself in a large loose mantle, which covered
all inaccuracies of the toilet.  In this guise, attended by Edith
and her women, and preceded and followed by a few officers and
men-at-arms, she hastened to the tent of her lionlike husband.



CHAPTER XVII.

Were every hair upon his head a life,
And every life were to be supplicated
By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled,
Life after life should out like waning stars
Before the daybreak--or as festive lamps,
Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel,
Each after each are quench'd when guests depart!     OLD PLAY


The entrance of Queen Berengaria into the interior of Richard's
pavilion was withstood--in the most respectful and reverential
manner indeed, but still withstood--by the chamberlains who
watched in the outer tent.  She could hear the stern command of
the King from within, prohibiting their entrance.

"You see," said the Queen, appealing to Edith, as if she had
exhausted all means of intercession in her power; "I knew it--the
King will not receive us."

At the same time, they heard Richard speak to some one within:
--"Go, speed thine office quickly, sirrah, for in that consists
thy mercy--ten byzants if thou dealest on him at one blow.  And
hark thee, villain, observe if his cheek loses colour, or his eye
falters; mark me the smallest twitch of the features, or wink of
the eyelid.  I love to know how brave souls meet death."

"If he sees my blade waved aloft without shrinking, he is the
first ever did so," answered a harsh, deep voice, which a sense
of unusual awe had softened into a sound much lower than its
usual coarse tones.

Edith could remain silent no longer.  "If your Grace," she said
to the Queen, "make not your own way, I make it for you; or if
not for your Majesty, for myself at least.--Chamberlain, the
Queen demands to see King Richard--the wife to speak with her
husband."

"Noble lady," said the officer, lowering his wand of office, "it
grieves me to gainsay you, but his Majesty is busied on matters
of life and death."

"And we seek also to speak; with him on matters of life and
death," said Edith.  "I will make entrance for your Grace."  And
putting aside the chamberlain with one hand, she laid hold on the
curtain with the other.

"I dare not gainsay her Majesty's pleasure," said the
chamberlain, yielding to the vehemence of the fair petitioner;
and as he gave way, the Queen found herself obliged to enter the
apartment of Richard.

The Monarch was lying on his couch, and at some distance, as
awaiting his further commands, stood a man whose profession it
was not difficult to conjecture.  He was clothed in a jerkin of
red cloth, which reached scantly below the shoulders, leaving the
arms bare from about half way above the elbow; and as an upper
garment, he wore, when about as at present to betake himself to
his dreadful office, a coat or tabard without sleeves, something
like that of a herald, made of dressed bull's hide, and stained
in the front with many a broad spot and speckle of dull crimson.
The jerkin, and the tabard over it, reached the knee; and the
nether stocks, or covering of the legs, were of the same leather
which composed the tabard.  A cap of rough shag served to hide
the upper part of a visage which, like that of a screech owl,
seemed desirous to conceal itself from light, the lower part of
the face being obscured by a huge red beard, mingling with shaggy
locks of the same colour.  What features were seen were stern and
misanthropical.  The man's figure was short, strongly made, with
a neck like a bull, very broad shoulders, arms of great and
disproportioned length, a huge square trunk, and thick bandy
legs.  This truculent official leant on a sword, the blade of
which was nearly four feet and a half in length, while the handle
of twenty inches, surrounded by a ring of lead plummets to
counterpoise the weight of such a blade, rose considerably above
the man's head as he rested his arm upon its hilt, waiting for
King Richard's further directions.

On the sudden entrance of the ladies, Richard, who was then lying
on his couch with his face towards the entrance, and resting on
his elbow as he spoke to his grisly attendant, flung himself
hastily, as if displeased and surprised, to the other side,
turning his back to the Queen and the females of her train, and
drawing around him the covering of his couch, which, by his own
choice, or more probably the flattering selection of his
chamberlains, consisted of two large lions' skins, dressed in
Venice with such admirable skill that they seemed softer than the
hide of the deer.

Berengaria, such as we have described her, knew well--what woman
knows not?--her own road to victory.  After a hurried glance of
undisguised and unaffected terror at the ghastly companion of her
husband's secret counsels, she rushed at once to the side of
Richard's couch, dropped on her knees, flung her mantle from her
shoulders, showing, as they hung down at their full length, her
beautiful golden tresses, and while her countenance seemed like
the sun bursting through a cloud, yet bearing on its pallid front
traces that its splendours have been obscured, she seized upon
the right hand of the King, which, as he assumed his wonted
posture, had been employed in dragging the covering of his couch,
and gradually pulling it to her with a force which was resisted,
though but faintly, she possessed herself of that arm, the prop
of Christendom and the dread of Heathenesse, and imprisoning its
strength in both her little fairy hands, she bent upon it her
brow, and united to it her lips.

"What needs this, Berengaria?"  said Richard, his head still
averted, but his hand remaining under her control.

"Send away that man, his look kills me!"  muttered Berengaria.

"Begone, sirrah," said Richard, still without looking round,
"What wait'st thou for?  art thou fit to look on these ladies?"

"Your Highness's pleasure touching the head," said the man.

"Out with thee, dog!" answered Richard--"a Christian burial!"
The man disappeared, after casting a look upon the beautiful
Queen, in her deranged dress and natural loveliness, with a smile
of admiration more hideous in its expression than even his usual
scowl of cynical hatred against humanity.

"And now, foolish wench, what wishest thou?"  said Richard,
turning slowly and half reluctantly round to his royal suppliant.

But it was not in nature for any one, far less an admirer of
beauty like Richard, to whom it stood only in the second rank to
glory, to look without emotion on the countenance and the tremor
of a creature so beautiful as Berengaria, or to feel, without
sympathy, that her lips, her brow, were on his hand, and that it
was wetted by her tears.  By degrees, he turned on her his manly
countenance, with the softest expression of which his large blue
eye, which so often gleamed with insufferable light, was capable.
Caressing her fair head, and mingling his large fingers in her
beautiful and dishevelled locks, he raised and tenderly kissed
the cherub countenance which seemed desirous to hide itself in
his hand.  The robust form, the broad, noble brow and majestic
looks, the naked arm and shoulder, the lions' skins among which
he lay, and the fair, fragile feminine creature that kneeled by
his side, might have served for a model of Hercules reconciling
himself, after a quarrel, to his wife Dejanira.

"And, once more, what seeks the lady of my heart in her knight's
pavilion at this early and unwonted hour?"

"Pardon, my most gracious liege--pardon!"  said the Queen, whose
fears began again to unfit her for the duty of intercessor.

"Pardon--for what?"  asked the King.

"First, for entering your royal presence too boldly and
unadvisedly--"

She stopped.

THOU too boldly!--the sun might as well ask pardon because his
rays entered the windows of some wretch's dungeon.  But I was
busied with work unfit for thee to witness, my gentle one; and I
was unwilling, besides, that thou shouldst risk thy precious
health where sickness had been so lately rife."

"But thou art now well?"  said the Queen, still delaying the
communication which she feared to make.

"Well enough to break a lance on the bold crest of that champion
who shall refuse to acknowledge thee the fairest dame in
Christendom."

"Thou wilt not then refuse me one boon--only one--only a poor
life?"

"Ha!--proceed," said King Richard, bending his brows.

"This unhappy Scottish knight--" murmured the Queen.

"Speak not of him, madam," exclaimed Richard sternly; "he dies
--his doom is fixed."

"Nay, my royal liege and love, 'tis but a silken banner
neglected.  Berengaria will give thee another broidered with her
own hand, and rich as ever dallied with the wind.  Every pearl I
have shall go to bedeck it, and with every pearl I will drop a
tear of thankfulness to my generous knight."

"Thou knowest not what thou sayest," said the King, interrupting
her in anger.  "Pearls!  can all the pearls of the East atone for
a speck upon England's honour--all the tears that ever woman's
eye wept wash away a stain on Richard's fame?  Go to, madam, know
your place, and your time, and your sphere.  At present we have
duties in which you cannot be our partner."

"Thou hearest, Edith," whispered the Queen; "we shall but incense
him."

"Be it so," said Edith, stepping forward.--"My lord, I, your poor
kinswoman, crave you for justice rather than mercy; and to the
cry of justice the ears of a monarch should be open at every
time, place, and circumstance."

"Ha!  our cousin Edith?"  said Richard, rising and sitting
upright on the side of his couch, covered with his long camiscia.
"She speaks ever kinglike, and kinglike will I answer her, so she
bring no request unworthy herself or me."

The beauty of Edith was of a more intellectual and less
voluptuous cast than that of the Queen; but impatience and
anxiety had given her countenance a glow which it sometimes
wanted, and her mien had a character of energetic dignity that
imposed silence for a moment even on Richard himself, who, to
judge by his looks, would willingly have interrupted her.

"My lord," she said, "this good knight, whose blood you are about
to spill, hath done, in his time, service to Christendom.  He has
fallen from his duty through a snare set for him in mere folly
and idleness of spirit.  A message sent to him in the name of one
who--why should I not speak it?--it was in my own--induced him
for an instant to leave his post.  And what knight in the
Christian camp might not have thus far transgressed at command of
a maiden, who, poor howsoever in other qualities, hath yet the
blood of Plantagenet in her veins?"

"And you saw him, then, cousin?"  replied the King, biting his
lips to keep down his passion.

"I did, my liege," said Edith.  "It is no time to explain
wherefore.  I am here neither to exculpate myself nor to blame
others."

"And where did you do him such a grace?"

"In the tent of her Majesty the Queen."

"Of our royal consort!" said Richard.  "Now by Heaven, by Saint
George of England, and every other saint that treads its crystal
floor, this is too audacious!  I have noticed and overlooked this
warrior's insolent admiration of one so far above him, and I
grudged him not that one of my blood should shed from her high-
born sphere such influence as the sun bestows on the world
beneath.  But, heaven and earth!  that you should have admitted
him to an audience by night, in the very tent of our royal
consort!--and dare to offer this as an excuse for his
disobedience and desertion!  By my father's soul, Edith, thou
shalt rue this thy life long in a monastery!"

"My liege," said Edith, "your greatness licenses tyranny.  My
honour, Lord King, is as little touched as yours, and my Lady the
Queen can prove it if she think fit.  But I have already said I
am not here to excuse myself or inculpate others.  I ask you but
to extend to one, whose fault was committed under strong
temptation, that mercy, which even you yourself, Lord King, must
one day supplicate at a higher tribunal, and for faults, perhaps,
less venial."

"Can this be Edith Plantagenet?"  said the King bitterly--"Edith
Plantagenet, the wise and the noble?  Or is it some lovesick
woman who cares not for her own fame in comparison of the life of
her paramour?  Now, by King Henry's soul!  little hinders but I
order thy minion's skull to be brought from the gibbet, and fixed
as a perpetual ornament by the crucifix in thy cell!"

"And if thou dost send it from the gibbet to be placed for ever
in my sight," said Edith, "I will say it is a relic of a good
knight, cruelly and unworthily done to death by" (she checked
herself)--"by one of whom I shall only say, he should have known
better how to reward chivalry.  Minion callest thou him?"  she
continued, with increasing vehemence. "He was indeed my lover,
and a most true one; but never sought he grace from me by look or
word--contented with such humble observance as men pay to the
saints.  And the good--the valiant--the faithful must die for
this!"

"Oh, peace, peace, for pity's sake," whispered the Queen, "you do
but offend him more!"

"I care not," said Edith; "the spotless virgin fears not the
raging lion.  Let him work his will on this worthy knight.
Edith, for whom he dies, will know how to weep his memory. To me
no one shall speak more of politic alliances to be sanctioned
with this poor hand.  I could not--I would not --have been his
bride living--our degrees were too distant. But death unites the
high and the low--I am henceforward the spouse of the grave."

The King was about to answer with much anger, when a Carmelite
monk entered the apartment hastily, his head and person muffled
in the long mantle and hood of striped cloth of the coarsest
texture which distinguished his order, and, flinging himself on
his knees before the King, conjured him, by every holy word and
sign, to stop the execution.

"Now, by both sword and sceptre," said Richard, "the world is
leagued to drive me mad!--fools, women, and monks cross me at
every step.  How comes he to live still?"

"My gracious liege," said the monk, "I entreated of the Lord of
Gilsland to stay the execution until I had thrown myself at your
royal--"

"And he was wilful enough to grant thy request," said the King;"
but it is of a piece with his wonted obstinacy.  And what is it
thou hast to say?  Speak, in the fiend's name!"

"My lord, there is a weighty secret, but it rests under the seal
of confession.  I dare not tell or even whisper it; but I swear
to thee by my holy order, by the habit which I wear, by the
blessed Elias, our founder, even him who was translated without
suffering the ordinary pangs of mortality, that this youth hath
divulged to me a secret, which, if I might confide it to thee,
would utterly turn thee from thy bloody purpose in regard to
him."

"Good father," said Richard, "that I reverence the church, let
the arms which I now wear for her sake bear witness.  Give me to
know this secret, and I will do what shall seem fitting in the
matter.  But I am no blind Bayard, to take a leap in the dark
under the stroke of a pair of priestly spurs."

"My lord," said the holy man, throwing back his cowl and upper
vesture, and discovering under the latter a garment of goatskin,
and from beneath the former a visage so wildly wasted by climate,
fast, and penance, as to resemble rather the apparition of an
animated skeleton than a human face, "for twenty years have I
macerated this miserable body in the caverns of Engaddi, doing
penance for a great crime. Think you I, who am dead to the world,
would contrive a falsehood to endanger my own soul; or that one,
bound by the most sacred oaths to the contrary--one such as I,
who have but one longing wish connected with earth, to wit, the
rebuilding of our Christian Zion--would betray the secrets of the
confessional?  Both are alike abhorrent to my very soul."

"So," answered the King, "thou art that hermit of whom men speak
so much?  Thou art, I confess, like enough to those spirits which
walk in dry places; but Richard fears no hobgoblins.  And thou
art he, too, as I bethink me, to whom the Christian princes sent
this very criminal to open a communication with the Soldan, even
while I, who ought to have been first consulted, lay on my sick-
bed?  Thou and they may content themselves--I will not put my
neck into the loop of a Carmelite's girdle.  And, for your envoy,
he shall die the rather and the sooner that thou dost entreat for
him."

"Now God be gracious to thee, Lord King!"  said the hermit, with
much emotion; "thou art setting that mischief on foot which thou
wilt hereafter wish thou hadst stopped, though it had cost thee a
limb.  Rash, blinded man, yet forbear!"

"Away, away," cried the King, stamping; "the sun has risen on the
dishonour of England, and it is not yet avenged.--Ladies and
priest, withdraw, if you would not hear orders which would
displease you; for, by St. George, I swear--"

"Swear NOT!" said the voice of one who had just then entered the
pavilion.

"Ha!  my learned Hakim," said the King, "come, I hope, to tax our
generosity."

"I come to request instant speech with you--instant--and touching
matters of deep interest."

"First look on my wife, Hakim, and let her know in you the
preserver of her husband."

"It is not for me," said the physician, folding his arms with an
air of Oriental modesty and reverence, and bending his eyes on
the ground--"it is not for me to look upon beauty unveiled, and
armed in its splendours."

"Retire, then, Berengaria," said the Monarch; "and, Edith, do you
retire also;--nay, renew not your importunities!  This I give to
them that the execution shall not be till high noon.  Go and be
pacified--dearest Berengaria, begone.--Edith," he added, with a
glance which struck terror even into the courageous soul of his
kinswoman, "go, if you are wise."

The females withdrew, or rather hurried from the tent, rank and
ceremony forgotten, much like a flock of wild-fowl huddled
together, against whom the falcon has made a recent stoop.

They returned from thence to the Queen's pavilion to indulge in
regrets and recriminations, equally unavailing. Edith was the
only one who seemed to disdain these ordinary channels of sorrow.
Without a sigh, without a tear, without a word of upbraiding, she
attended upon the Queen, whose weak temperament showed her sorrow
in violent hysterical ecstasies and passionate hypochondriacal
effusions, in the course of which Edith sedulously and even
affectionately attended her.

"It is impossible she can have loved this knight," said Florise
to Calista, her senior in attendance upon the Queen's person.
"We have been mistaken; she is but sorry for his fate, as for a
stranger who has come to trouble on her account."

"Hush, hush," answered her more experienced and more observant
comrade; "she is of that proud house of Plantagenet who never own
that a hurt grieves them.  While they have themselves been
bleeding to death, under a mortal wound, they have been known to
bind up the scratches sustained by their more faint-hearted
comrades.  Florise, we have done frightfully wrong, and, for my
own part, I would buy with every jewel I have that our fatal jest
had remained unacted."



CHAPTER XVIII.

This work desires a planetary intelligence
Of Jupiter and Sol; and those great spirits
Are proud, fantastical. It asks great charges
To entice them from the guiding of their spheres,
To wait on mortals.       ALBUMAZAR.

The hermit followed the ladies from the pavilion of Richard, as
shadow follows a beam of sunshine when the clouds are driving
over the face of the sun.  But he turned on the threshold, and
held up his hand towards the King in a warning, or almost a
menacing posture, as he said, "Woe to him who rejects the counsel
of the church, and betaketh himself to the foul divan of the
infidel!  King Richard, I do not yet shake the dust from my feet
and depart from thy encampment; the sword falls not--but it hangs
but by a hair.  Haughty monarch, we shall meet again."

"Be it so, haughty priest," returned Richard, "prouder in thy
goatskins than princes in purple and fine linen."

The hermit vanished from the tent, and the King continued,
addressing the Arabian, "Do the dervises of the East, wise Hakim,
use such familiarity with their princes?"

"The dervise," replied Adonbec, "should be either a sage or a
madman; there is no middle course for him who wears the khirkhah,
[Literally, the torn robe.  The habit of the dervises is so
called.] who watches by night, and fasts by day. Hence hath he
either wisdom enough to bear himself discreetly in the presence
of princes; or else, having no reason bestowed on him, he is not
responsible for his own actions."

"Methinks our monks have adopted chiefly the latter character,"
said Richard.  "But to the matter.  In what can I pleasure you,
my learned physician?"

"Great King," said El Hakim, making his profound Oriental
obeisance, "let thy servant speak one word, and yet live.  I
would remind thee that thou owest--not to me, their humble
instrument--but to the Intelligences, whose benefits I dispense
to mortals, a life--"

"And I warrant me thou wouldst have another in requital, ha?"
interrupted the King.

"Such is my humble prayer," said the Hakim, "to the great Melech
Ric--even the life of this good knight, who is doomed to die, and
but for such fault as was committed by the Sultan Adam, surnamed
Aboulbeschar, or the father of all men."

"And thy wisdom might remind thee, Hakim, that Adam died for it,"
said the King, somewhat sternly, and then began to pace the
narrow space of his tent with some emotion, and to talk to
himself.  "Why, God-a-mercy, I knew what he desired as soon as
ever he entered the pavilion!  Here is one poor life justly
condemned to extinction, and I, a king and a soldier, who have
slain thousands by my command, and scores with my own hand, am to
have no power over it, although the honour of my arms, of my
house, of my very Queen, hath been attainted by the culprit.  By
Saint George, it makes me laugh!  By Saint Louis, it reminds me
of Blondel's tale of an enchanted castle, where the destined
knight was withstood successively in his purpose of entrance by
forms and figures the most dissimilar, but all hostile to his
undertaking!  No sooner one sunk than another appeared!  Wife
--kinswoman--hermit--Hakim-each appears in the lists as soon as
the other is defeated!  Why, this is a single knight fighting
against the whole MELEE of the tournament--ha!  ha!  ha!"  And
Richard laughed aloud; for he had, in fact, begun to change his
mood, his resentment being usually too violent to be of long
endurance.

The physician meanwhile looked on him with a countenance of
surprise, not unmingled with contempt; for the Eastern people
make no allowance for these mercurial changes in the temper, and
consider open laughter, upon almost any account, as derogatory to
the dignity of man, and becoming only to women and children.  At
length the sage addressed the King when he saw him more
composed:--

"A doom of death should not issue from laughing lips. Let thy
servant hope that thou hast granted him this man's life."

"Take the freedom of a thousand captives instead," said Richard;
"restore so many of thy countrymen to their tents and families,
and I will give the warrant instantly.  This man's life can avail
thee nothing, and it is forfeited."

"All our lives are forfeited," said the Hakim, putting his hand
to his cap.  "But the great Creditor is merciful, and exacts not
the pledge rigorously nor untimely."

"Thou canst show me," said Richard, "no special interest thou
hast to become intercessor betwixt me and the execution of
justice, to which I am sworn as a crowned king."

"Thou art sworn to the dealing forth mercy as well as justice,"
said El Hakim; "but what thou seekest, great King, is the
execution of thine own will.  And for the concern I have in this
request, know that many a man's life depends upon thy granting
this boon."

"Explain thy words," said Richard; "but think not to impose upon
me by false pretexts."

"Be it far from thy servant!"  said Adonbec.  "Know, then, that
the medicine to which thou, Sir King, and many one besides, owe
their recovery, is a talisman, composed under certain aspects of
the heavens, when the Divine Intelligences are most propitious.
I am but the poor administrator of its virtues.  I dip it in a
cup of water, observe the fitting hour to administer it to the
patient, and the potency of the draught works the cure."

"A most rare medicine," said the King, "and a commodious!  and,
as it may be carried in the leech's purse, would save the whole
caravan of camels which they require to convey drugs and physic
stuff; I marvel there is any other in use."

"It is written," answered the Hakim, with imperturbable gravity,
"'Abuse not the steed which hath borne thee from the battle.'
Know that such talismans might indeed be framed, but rare has
been the number of adepts who have dared to undertake the
application of their virtue.  Severe restrictions, painful
observances, fasts, and penance, are necessary on the part of the
sage who uses this mode of cure; and if, through neglect of these
preparations, by his love of ease, or his indulgence of sensual
appetite, he omits to cure at least twelve persons within the
course of each moon, the virtue of the divine gift departs from
the amulet, and both the last patient and the physician will be
exposed to speedy misfortune, neither will they survive the year.
I require yet one life to make up the appointed number."

"Go out into the camp, good Hakim, where thou wilt find a-many,"
said the King, "and do not seek to rob my headsman of HIS
patients; it is unbecoming a mediciner of thine eminence to
interfere with the practice of another.  Besides, I cannot see
how delivering a criminal from the death he deserves should go to
make up thy tale of miraculous cures."

"When thou canst show why a draught of cold water should have
cured thee when the most precious drugs failed," said the Hakim,
"thou mayest reason on the other mysteries attendant on this
matter.  For myself, I am inefficient to the great work, having
this morning touched an unclean animal.  Ask, therefore, no
further questions; it is enough that, by sparing this man's life
at my request, you will deliver yourself, great King, and thy
servant, from a great danger."

"Hark thee, Adonbec," replied the King, "I have no objection that
leeches should wrap their words in mist, and pretend to derive
knowledge from the stars; but when you bid Richard Plantagenet
fear that a danger will fall upon HIM from some idle omen, or
omitted ceremonial, you speak to no ignorant Saxon, or doting old
woman, who foregoes her purpose because a hare crosses the path,
a raven croaks, or a cat sneezes."

"I cannot hinder your doubt of my words," said Adonbec; "but yet
let my Lord the King grant that truth is on the tongue of his
servant--will he think it just to deprive the world, and every
wretch who may suffer by the pains which so lately reduced him to
that couch, of the benefit of this most virtuous talisman, rather
than extend his forgiveness to one poor criminal?  Bethink you,
Lord King, that, though thou canst slay thousands, thou canst not
restore one man to health.  Kings have the power of Satan to
torment, sages that of Allah to heal--beware how thou hinderest
the good to humanity which thou canst not thyself render.  Thou
canst cut off the head, but not cure the aching tooth."

"This is over-insolent," said the King, hardening himself, as the
Hakim assumed a more lofty and almost a commanding tone.  "We
took thee for our leech, not for our counsellor or conscience-
keeper."

"And is it thus the most renowned Prince of Frangistan repays
benefit done to his royal person?"  said El Hakim, exchanging the
humble and stooping posture in which he had hitherto solicited
the King, for an attitude lofty and commanding.  "Know, then," he
said, "that:  through every court of Europe and Asia--to Moslem
and Nazarene--to knight and lady--wherever harp is heard and
sword worn --wherever honour is loved and infamy detested--to
every quarter of the world--will I denounce thee, Melech Ric, as
thankless and ungenerous; and even the lands--if there be any
such--that never heard of thy renown shall yet be acquainted with
thy shame!"

"Are these terms to me, vile infidel?"   said Richard, striding
up to him in fury.  "Art weary of thy life?"

"Strike!"  said El Hakim; "thine own deed shall then paint thee
more worthless than could my words, though each had a hornet's
sting."

Richard turned fiercely from him, folded his arms, traversed the
tent as before, and then exclaimed, "Thankless and ungenerous!
--as well be termed coward and infidel! Hakim, thou hast chosen
thy boon; and though I had rather thou hadst asked my crown
jewels, yet I may not, kinglike, refuse thee.  Take this Scot,
therefore, to thy keeping; the provost will deliver him to thee
on this warrant."

He hastily traced one or two lines, and gave them to the
physician.  "Use him as thy bond-slave, to be disposed of as thou
wilt--only, let him beware how he comes before the eyes of
Richard.  Hark thee--thou art wise--he hath been over-bold among
those in whose fair looks and weak judgments we trust our honour,
as you of the East lodge your treasures in caskets of silver
wire, as fine and as frail as the web of a gossamer."

"Thy servant understands the words of the King," said the sage,
at once resuming the reverent style of address in which he had
commenced.  "When the rich carpet is soiled, the fool pointeth to
the stain--the wise man covers it with his mantle.  I have heard
my lord's pleasure, and to hear is to obey."

"It is well," said the King; "let him consult his own safety, and
never appear in my presence more.  Is there aught else in which I
may do thee pleasure?"

"The bounty of the King hath filled my cup to the brim," said the
sage--" yea, it hath been abundant as the fountain which sprung
up amid the camp of the descendants of Israel when the rock was
stricken by the rod of Moussa Ben Amram."

"Ay, but," said the King, smiling, "it required, as in the
desert, a hard blow on the rock ere it yielded its treasures.  I
would that I knew something to pleasure thee, which I might yield
as freely as the natural fountain sends forth its waters."

"Let me touch that victorious hand," said the sage, "in token
that if Adonbec el Hakim should hereafter demand a boon of
Richard of England, he may do so, yet plead his command."

"Thou hast hand and glove upon it, man."  replied Richard; "only,
if thou couldst consistently make up thy tale of patients without
craving me to deliver from punishment those who have deserved it,
I would more willingly discharge my debt in some other form."

"May thy days be multiplied!"  answered the Hakim, and withdrew
from the apartment after the usual deep obeisance.

King Richard gazed after him as he departed, like one but half-
satisfied with what had passed.

"Strange pertinacity," he said, "in this Hakim, and a wonderful
chance to interfere between that audacious Scot and the
chastisement he has merited so richly.  Yet let him live!  there
is one brave man the more in the world.  And now for the
Austrian.  Ho!  is the Baron of Gilsland there without?"

Sir Thomas de Vaux thus summoned, his bulky form speedily
darkened the opening of the pavilion, while behind him glided as
a spectre, unannounced, yet unopposed, the savage form of the
hermit of Engaddi, wrapped in his goatskin mantle.

Richard, without noticing his presence, called in a loud tone to
the baron, "Sir Thomas de Vaux, of Lanercost and Gilsland, take
trumpet and herald, and go instantly to the tent of him whom they
call Archduke of Austria, and see that it be when the press of
his knights and vassals is greatest around him, as is likely at
this hour, for the German boar breakfasts ere he hears mass--
enter his presence with as little reverence as thou mayest, and
impeach him, on the part of Richard of England, that he hath this
night, by his own hand, or that of others, stolen from its staff
the Banner of England.  Wherefore say to him our pleasure that
within an hour from the time of my speaking he restore the said
banner with all reverence--he himself and his principal barons
waiting the whilst with heads uncovered, and without their robes
of honour.  And that, moreover, he pitch beside it, on the one
hand, his own Banner of Austria reversed, as that which hath been
dishonoured by theft and felony, and on the other, a lance,
bearing the bloody head of him who was his nearest counsellor, or
assistant, in this base injury. And say, that such our behests
being punctually discharged we will, for the sake of our vow and
the weal of the Holy Land, forgive his other forfeits."

"And how if the Duke of Austria deny all accession to this act of
wrong and of felony?"  said Thomas de Vaux.

"Tell him," replied the King, "we will prove it upon his body
--ay, were he backed with his two bravest champions.  Knightlike
will we prove it, on foot or on horse, in the desert or in the
field, time, place, and arms all at his own choice."

"Bethink you of the peace of God and the church, my liege lord,"
said the Baron of Gilsland, "among those princes engaged in this
holy Crusade."

"Bethink you how to execute my commands, my liege vassal,"
answered Richard impatiently.  "Methinks men expect to turn our
purpose by their breath, as boys blow feathers to and fro.  Peace
of the church!   Who, I prithee, minds it?  The peace of the
church, among Crusaders, implies war with the Saracens, with whom
the princes have made truce; and the one ends with the other.
And besides, see you not how every prince of them is seeking his
own several ends?  I will seek mine also--and that is honour.
For honour I came hither; and if I may not win it upon the
Saracens, at least I will not lose a jot from any respect to this
paltry Duke, though he were bulwarked and buttressed by every
prince in the Crusade."

De Vaux turned to obey the King's mandate, shrugging his
shoulders at the same time, the bluntness of his nature being
unable to conceal that its tenor went against his judgment.  But
the hermit of Engaddi stepped forward, and assumed the air of one
charged with higher commands than those of a mere earthly
potentate.  Indeed, his dress of shaggy skins, his uncombed and
untrimmed hair and beard, his lean, wild, and contorted features,
and the almost insane fire which gleamed from under his bushy
eyebrows, made him approach nearly to our idea of some seer of
Scripture, who, charged with high mission to the sinful Kings of
Judah or Israel, descended from the rocks and caverns in which he
dwelt in abstracted solitude, to abash earthly tyrants in the
midst of their pride, by discharging on them the blighting
denunciations of Divine Majesty, even as the cloud discharges the
lightnings with which it is fraught on the pinnacles and towers
of castles and palaces.  In the midst of his most wayward mood,
Richard respected the church and its ministers; and though
offended at the intrusion of the hermit into his tent, he greeted
him with respect--at the same time, however, making a sign to Sir
Thomas de Vaux to hasten on his message.

But the hermit prohibited the baron, by gesture, look, and word,
to stir a yard on such an errand; and holding up his bare arm,
from which the goatskin mantle fell back in the violence of his
action, he waved it aloft, meagre with famine, and wealed with
the blows of the discipline.

"In the name of God, and of the most holy Father, the vicegerent
of the Christian Church upon earth, I prohibit this most profane,
bloodthirsty, and brutal defiance betwixt two Christian princes,
whose shoulders are signed with the blessed mark under which they
swore brotherhood.  Woe to him by whom it is broken!--Richard of
England, recall the most unhallowed message thou hast given to
that baron.  Danger and death are nigh thee!--the dagger is
glancing at thy very throat!--"

"Danger and death are playmates to Richard," answered the Monarch
proudly; "and he hath braved too many swords to fear a dagger."

"Danger and death are near," replied the seer, and sinking his
voice to a hollow, unearthly tone, he added, "And after death the
judgment!"

"Good and holy father," said Richard, "I reverence thy person and
thy sanctity--"

"Reverence not me!"  interrupted the hermit; "reverence sooner
the vilest insect that crawls by the shores of the Dead Sea, and
feeds upon its accursed slime.  But reverence Him whose commands
I speak--reverence Him whose sepulchre you have vowed to rescue
--revere the oath of concord which you have sworn, and break not
the silver cord of union and fidelity with which you have bound
yourself to your princely confederates."

"Good father," said the King, "you of the church seem to me to
presume somewhat, if a layman may say so much, upon the dignity
of your holy character.  Without challenging your right to take
charge of our conscience, methinks you might leave us the charge
of our own honour."

"Presume!"  repeated the hermit.  "Is it for me to presume, royal
Richard, who am but the bell obeying the hand of the sexton--but
the senseless and worthless trumpet carrying the command of him
who sounds it?  See, on my knees I throw myself before thee,
imploring thee to have mercy on Christendom, on England, and on
thyself!"

"Rise, rise," said Richard, compelling him to stand up; "it
beseems not that knees which are so frequently bended to the
Deity should press the ground in honour of man.  What danger
awaits us, reverend father?  and when stood the power of England
so low that the noisy bluster of this new-made Duke's displeasure
should alarm her or her monarch?"

"I have looked forth from my mountain turret upon the starry host
of heaven, as each in his midnight circuit uttered wisdom to
another, and knowledge to the few who can understand their voice.
There sits an enemy in thy House of Life, Lord King, malign at
once to thy fame and thy prosperity--an emanation of Saturn,
menacing thee with instant and bloody peril, and which, but thou
yield thy proud will to the rule of thy duty, will presently
crush thee even in thy pride."

"Away, away--this is heathen science," said the King. "Christians
practise it not--wise men believe it not.  Old man, thou dotest."

"I dote not, Richard," answered the hermit--"I am not so happy.
I know my condition, and that some portion of reason is yet
permitted me, not for my own use, but that of the Church and the
advancement of the Cross.  I am the blind man who holds a torch
to others, though it yields no light to himself.  Ask me touching
what concerns the weal of Christendom, and of this Crusade, and I
will speak with thee as the wisest counsellor on whose tongue
persuasion ever sat.  Speak to me of my own wretched being, and
my words shall be those of the maniac outcast which I am."

"I would not break the bands of unity asunder among the princes
of the Crusade," said Richard, with a mitigated tone and manner;
"but what atonement can they render me for the injustice and
insult which I have sustained?"

"Even of that I am prepared and commissioned to speak by the
Council, which, meeting hastily at the summons of Philip of
France, have taken measures for that effect."

"Strange," replied Richard, "that others should treat of what is
due to the wounded majesty of England!"

"They are willing to anticipate your demands, if it be possible,"
answered the hermit.  "In a body, they consent that the Banner of
England be replaced on Saint George's Mount; and they lay under
ban and condemnation the audacious criminal, or criminals, by
whom it was outraged, and will announce a princely reward to any
who shall denounce the delinquent's guilt, and give his flesh to
the wolves and ravens."

"And Austria," said Richard, "upon whom rest such strong
presumptions that he was the author of the deed?"

"To prevent discord in the host," replied the hermit, "Austria
will clear himself of the suspicion by submitting to whatsoever
ordeal the Patriarch of Jerusalem shall impose."

"Will he clear himself by the trial by combat?"  said King
Richard.

"His oath prohibits it," said the hermit; "and, moreover, the
Council of the Princes--"

"Will neither authorize battle against the Saracens," interrupted
Richard, "nor against any one else.  But it is enough, father--
thou hast shown me the folly of proceeding as I designed in this
matter.  You shall sooner light your torch in a puddle of rain
than bring a spark out of a cold-blooded coward.  There is no
honour to be gained on Austria, and so let him pass.  I will have
him perjure himself, however; I will insist on the ordeal.  How I
shall laugh to hear his clumsy fingers hiss, as he grasps the
red-hot globe of iron!  Ay, or his huge mouth riven, and his
gullet swelling to suffocation, as he endeavours to swallow the
consecrated bread!"

"Peace, Richard," said the hermit--"oh, peace, for shame, if not
for charity!  Who shall praise or honour princes who insult and
calumniate each other?  Alas! that a creature so noble as thou
art--so accomplished in princely thoughts and princely daring--so
fitted to honour Christendom by thy actions, and, in thy calmer
mood, to rule her by thy wisdom, should yet have the brute and
wild fury of the lion mingled with the dignity and courage of
that king of the forest!"

He remained an instant musing with his eyes fixed on the ground,
and then proceeded--"But Heaven, that knows our imperfect nature,
accepts of our imperfect obedience, and hath delayed, though not
averted, the bloody end of thy daring life.  The destroying angel
hath stood still, as of old by the threshing-floor of Araunah the
Jebusite, and the blade is drawn in his hand, by which, at no
distant date, Richard, the lion-hearted, shall be as low as the
meanest peasant."

"Must it, then, be so soon?"  said Richard.  "Yet, even so be it.
May my course be bright, if it be but brief!"

"Alas!  noble King," said the solitary, and it seemed as if a
tear (unwonted guest) were gathering in his dry and glazened eye,
"short and melancholy, marked with mortification, and calamity,
and captivity, is the span that divides thee from the grave which
yawns for thee--a grave in which thou shalt be laid without
lineage to succeed thee--without the tears of a people, exhausted
by thy ceaseless wars, to lament thee-- without having extended
the knowledge of thy subjects-- without having done aught to
enlarge their happiness."

"But not without renown, monk--not without the tears of the lady
of my love!  These consolations, which thou canst neither know
nor estimate, await upon Richard to his grave."

"DO I not know, CAN I not estimate the value of minstrel's praise
and of lady's love?"  retorted the hermit, in a tone which for a
moment seemed to emulate the enthusiasm of Richard himself.
"King of England," he continued, extending his emaciated arm,
"the blood which boils in thy blue veins is not more noble than
that which stagnates in mine.  Few and cold as the drops are,
they still are of the blood of the royal Lusignan--of the heroic
and sainted Godfrey. I am--that is, I was when in the world--
Alberick Mortemar--"

"Whose deeds," said Richard, "have so often filled Fame's
trumpet!  Is it so?--can it be so?  Could such a light as thine
fall from the horizon of chivalry, and yet men be uncertain where
its embers had alighted?"

"Seek a fallen star," said the hermit, "and thou shalt only light
on some foul jelly, which, in shooting through the horizon, has
assumed for a moment an appearance of splendour.  Richard, if I
thought that rending the bloody veil from my horrible fate could
make thy proud heart stoop to the discipline of the church, I
could find in my heart to tell thee a tale, which I have hitherto
kept gnawing at my vitals in concealment, like the self-devoted
youth of heathenesse.  Listen, then, Richard, and may the grief
and despair which cannot avail this wretched remnant of what was
once a man be powerful as an example to so noble, yet so wild, a
being as thou art!  Yes--I will--I WILL tear open the long-hidden
wounds, although in thy very presence they should bleed to
death!"

King Richard, upon whom the history of Alberick of Mortemar had
made a deep impression in his early years, when minstrels were
regaling his father's halls with legends of the Holy Land,
listened with respect to the outlines of a tale, which, darkly
and imperfectly sketched, indicated sufficiently the cause of the
partial insanity of this singular and most unhappy being.

"I need not," he said, "tell thee that I was noble in birth, high
in fortune, strong in arms, wise in counsel.  All these I was.
But while the noblest ladies in Palestine strove which should
wind garlands for my helmet, my love was fixed --unalterably and
devotedly fixed--on a maiden of low degree.  Her father, an
ancient soldier of the Cross, saw our passion, and knowing the
difference betwixt us, saw no other refuge for his daughter's
honour than to place her within the shadow of the cloister.  I
returned from a distant expedition, loaded with spoils and
honour, to find my happiness was destroyed for ever!  I too
sought the cloister; and Satan, who had marked me for his own,
breathed into my heart a vapour of spiritual pride, which could
only have had its source in his own infernal regions.  I had
risen as high in the church as before in the state.  I was,
forsooth, the wise, the self-sufficient, the impeccable!--I was
the counsellor of councils--I was the director of prelates.  How
should I stumble?--wherefore should I fear temptation?  Alas!  I
became confessor to a sisterhood, and amongst that sisterhood I
found the long-loved--the long-lost.  Spare me further
confession!--A fallen nun, whose guilt was avenged by self-
murder, sleeps soundly in the vaults of Engaddi; while, above her
very grave, gibbers, moans, and roars a creature to whom but so
much reason is left as may suffice to render him completely
sensible to his fate!"

"Unhappy man!"  said Richard, "I wonder no longer at thy misery.
How didst thou escape the doom which the canons denounce against
thy offence?"

"Ask one who is yet in the gall of worldly bitterness," said the
hermit, "and he will speak of a life spared for personal
respects, and from consideration to high birth.  But, Richard, I
tell thee that Providence hath preserved me to lift me on high as
a light and beacon, whose ashes, when this earthly fuel is burnt
out, must yet be flung into Tophet.  Withered and shrunk as this
poor form is, it is yet animated with two spirits--one active,
shrewd, and piercing, to advocate the cause of the Church of
Jerusalem; one mean, abject, and despairing, fluctuating between
madness and misery, to mourn over my own wretchedness, and to
guard holy relics on which it would be most sinful for me even to
cast my eye.  Pity me not!--it is but sin to pity the loss of
such an abject; pity me not, but profit by my example.  Thou
standest on the highest, and, therefore, on the most dangerous
pinnacle occupied by any Christian prince.  Thou art proud of
heart, loose of life, bloody of hand.  Put from thee the sins
which are to thee as daughters--though they be dear to the sinful
Adam, expel these adopted furies from thy breast--thy pride, thy
luxury, thy bloodthirstiness."

"He raves," said Richard, turning from the solitary to De Vaux,
as one who felt some pain from a sarcasm which yet he could not
resent; then turned him calmly, and somewhat scornfully, to the
anchoret, as he replied, "Thou hast found a fair bevy of
daughters, reverend father, to one who hath been but few months
married; but since I must put them from my roof, it were but like
a father to provide them with suitable matches.  Therefore, I
will part with my pride to the noble canons of the church--my
luxury, as thou callest it, to the monks of the rule--and my
bloodthirstiness to the Knights of the Temple."

"O heart of steel, and hand of iron," said the anchoret, "upon
whom example, as well as advice, is alike thrown away!  Yet shalt
thou be spared for a season, in case it so be thou shouldst turn,
and do that which is acceptable in the sight of Heaven.  For me I
must return to my place.  Kyrie Eleison!  I am he through whom
the rays of heavenly grace dart like those of the sun through a
burning-glass, concentrating them on other objects, until they
kindle and blaze, while the glass itself remains cold and
uninfluenced.  Kyrie Eleison!--the poor must be called, for the
rich have refused the banquet--Kyrie Eleison!"

So saying, he burst from the tent, uttering loud cries.

"A mad priest!"  said Richard, from whose mind the frantic
exclamations of the hermit had partly obliterated the impression
produced by the detail of his personal history and misfortunes.
"After him, De Vaux, and see he comes to no harm; for, Crusaders
as we are, a juggler hath more reverence amongst our varlets than
a priest or a saint, and they may, perchance, put some scorn upon
him."

The knight obeyed, and Richard presently gave way to the thoughts
which the wild prophecy of the monk had inspired.  "To die early
--without lineage--without lamentation!  A heavy sentence, and
well that it is not passed by a more competent judge.  Yet the
Saracens, who are accomplished in mystical knowledge, will often
maintain that He, in whose eyes the wisdom of the sage is but as
folly, inspires wisdom and prophecy into the seeming folly of the
madman.  Yonder hermit is said to read the stars, too, an art
generally practised in these lands, where the heavenly host was
of yore the object of idolatry.  I would I had asked him touching
the loss of my banner; for not the blessed Tishbite, the founder
of his order, could seem more wildly rapt out of himself, or
speak with a tongue more resembling that of a prophet.--How now,
De Vaux, what news of the mad priest?"

"Mad priest, call you him, my lord?"  answered De Vaux. "Methinks
he resembles more the blessed Baptist himself, just issued from
the wilderness.  He has placed himself on one of the military
engines, and from thence he preaches to the soldiers as never man
preached since the time of Peter the Hermit.  The camp, alarmed
by his cries, crowd around him in thousands; and breaking off
every now and then from the main thread of his discourse, he
addresses the several nations, each in their own language, and
presses upon each the arguments best qualified to urge them to
perseverance in the delivery of Palestine."

"By this light, a noble hermit!"  said King Richard. "But what
else could come from the blood of Godfrey?  HE despair of safety,
because he hath in former days lived PAR AMOURS?  I will have the
Pope send him an ample remission, and I would not less willingly
be intercessor had his BELLE AMIE been an abbess."

As he spoke, the Archbishop of Tyre craved audience, for the
purpose of requesting Richard's attendance, should his health
permit, on a secret conclave of the chiefs of the Crusade, and to
explain to him the military and political incidents which had
occurred during his illness.



CHAPTER XIX.

Must we then sheathe our still victorious sword;
Turn back our forward step, which ever trod
O'er foemen's necks the onward path of glory;
Unclasp the mail, which with a solemn vow,
In God's own house, we hung upon our shoulders--
That vow, as unaccomplish'd as the promise
Which village nurses make to still their children,
And after think no more of?      THE CRUSADE, A TRAGEDY.

The Archbishop of Tyre was an emissary well chosen to communicate
to Richard tidings, which from another voice the lion-hearted
King would not have brooked to hear without the most unbounded
explosions of resentment.  Even this sagacious and reverend
prelate found difficulty in inducing him to listen to news which
destroyed all his hopes of gaining back the Holy Sepulchre by
force of arms, and acquiring the renown which the universal all-
hail of Christendom was ready to confer upon him as the Champion
of the Cross.

But, by the Archbishop's report, it appeared that Saladin was
assembling all the force of his hundred tribes, and that the
monarchs of Europe, already disgusted from various motives with
the expedition, which had proved so hazardous, and was daily
growing more so, had resolved to abandon their purpose.  In this
they were countenanced by the example of Philip of France, who,
with many protestations of regard, and assurances that he would
first see his brother of England in safety, declared his
intention to return to Europe. His great vassal, the Earl of
Champagne, had adopted the same resolution; and it could not
excite surprise that Leopold of Austria, affronted as he had been
by Richard, was glad to embrace an opportunity of deserting a
cause in which his haughty opponent was to be considered as
chief.  Others announced the same purpose; so that it was plain
that the King of England was to be left, if he chose to remain,
supported only by such volunteers as might, under such depressing
circumstances, join themselves to the English army, and by the
doubtful aid of Conrade of Montserrat and the military orders of
the Temple and of Saint John, who, though they were sworn to wage
battle against the Saracens, were at least equally jealous of any
European monarch achieving the conquest of Palestine, where, with
shortsighted and selfish policy, they proposed to establish
independent dominions of their own.

It needed not many arguments to show Richard the truth of his
situation; and indeed, after his first burst of passion, he sat
him calmly down, and with gloomy looks, head depressed, and arms
folded on his bosom, listened to the Archbishop's reasoning on
the impossibility of his carrying on the Crusade when deserted by
his companions.  Nay, he forbore interruption, even when the
prelate ventured, in measured terms, to hint that Richard's own
impetuosity had been one main cause of disgusting the princes
with the expedition.

"CONFITEOR,"  answered Richard, with a dejected look, and
something of a melancholy smile--"I confess, reverend father,
that I ought on some accounts to sing CULPA MEA. But is it not
hard that my frailties of temper should be visited with such a
penance--that, for a burst or two of natural passion, I should be
doomed to see fade before me ungathered such a rich harvest of
glory to God and honour to chivalry?  But it shall NOT fade.  By
the soul of the Conqueror, I will plant the Cross on the towers
of Jerusalem, or it shall be planted over Richard's grave!"

"Thou mayest do it," said the prelate, "yet not another drop of
Christian blood be shed in the quarrel."

"Ah, you speak of compromise, Lord Prelate; but the blood of the
infidel hounds must also cease to flow," said Richard.

"There will be glory enough," replied the Archbishop, "in having
extorted from Saladin, by force of arms, and by the respect
inspired by your fame, such conditions as at once restore the
Holy Sepulchre, open the Holy Land to pilgrims, secure their
safety by strong fortresses, and, stronger than all, assure the
safety of the Holy City, by conferring on Richard the title of
King Guardian of Jerusalem."

"How!"  said Richard, his eyes sparkling with unusual light.  "I-
-I--I the King Guardian of the Holy City!  Victory itself, but
that it is victory, could not gain more--scarce so much, when won
with unwilling and disunited forces.  But Saladin still proposes
to retain his interest in the Holy Land?"

"As a joint sovereign, the sworn ally," replied the prelate, "of
the mighty Richard--his relative, if it may be permitted, by
marriage."

"By marriage!"  said Richard, surprised, yet less so than the
prelate had expected.  "Ha!--ay--Edith Plantagenet. Did I dream
this?  or did some one tell me?  My head is still weak from this
fever, and has been agitated.  Was it the Scot, or the Hakim, or
yonder holy hermit, that hinted such a wild bargain?"

"The hermit of Engaddi, most likely," said the Archbishop, "for
he hath toiled much in this matter; and since the discontent of
the princes has became apparent, and a separation of their forces
unavoidable, he hath had many consultations, both with Christian
and pagan, for arranging such a pacification as may give to
Christendom, at least in part, the objects of this holy warfare."

"My kinswoman to an infidel--ha!"  exclaimed Richard, as his eyes
began to sparkle.

The prelate hastened to avert his wrath.

"The Pope's consent must doubtless be first attained, and the
holy hermit, who is well known at Rome, will treat with the holy
Father."

"How?--without our consent first given?"  said the King.

"Surely no," said the Bishop, in a quieting and insinuating tone
of voice--"only with and under your especial sanction."

"My sanction to marry my kinswoman to an infidel!" said Richard;
yet he spoke rather in a tone of doubt than as distinctly
reprobating the measure proposed.  "Could I have dreamed of such
a composition when I leaped upon the Syrian shore from the prow
of my galley, even as a lion springs on his prey!  And now--But
proceed--I will hear with patience."

Equally delighted and surprised to find his task so much easier
than he had apprehended, the Archbishop hastened to pour forth
before Richard the instances of such alliances in Spain--not
without countenance from the Holy See; the incalculable
advantages which all Christendom would derive from the union of
Richard and Saladin by a bond so sacred; and, above all, he spoke
with great vehemence and unction on the probability that Saladin
would, in case of the proposed alliance, exchange his false faith
for the true one.

"Hath the Soldan shown any disposition to become Christian?"
said Richard.  "If so, the king lives not on earth to whom I
would grant the hand of a kinswoman, ay, or sister, sooner than
to my noble Saladin--ay, though the one came to lay crown and
sceptre at her feet, and the other had nothing to offer but his
good sword and better heart!"

"Saladin hath heard our Christian teachers," said the Bishop,
somewhat evasively--"my unworthy self, and others--and as he
listens with patience, and replies with calmness, it can hardly
be but that he be snatched as a brand from the burning.  MAGNA
EST VERITAS, ET PREVALEBIT! moreover, the hermit of Engaddi, few
of whose words have fallen fruitless to the ground, is possessed
fully with the belief that there is a calling of the Saracens and
the other heathen approaching, to which this marriage shall be
matter of induction.  He readeth the course of the stars; and
dwelling, with maceration of the flesh, in those divine places
which the saints have trodden of old, the spirit of Elijah the
Tishbite, the founder of his blessed order, hath been with him as
it was with the prophet Elisha, the son of Shaphat, when he
spread his mantle over him."

King Richard listened to the Prelate's reasoning with a downcast
brow and a troubled look.

"I cannot tell," he said, "How, it is with me, but methinks these
cold counsels of the Princes of Christendom have infected me too
with a lethargy of spirit.  The time hath been that, had a layman
proposed such alliance to me, I had struck him to earth--if a
churchman, I had spit at him as a renegade and priest of Baal;
yet now this counsel sounds not so strange in mine ear.  For why
should I not seek for brotherhood and alliance with a Saracen,
brave, just, generous--who loves and honours a worthy foe, as if
he were a friend--whilst the Princes of Christendom shrink from
the side of their allies, and forsake the cause of Heaven and
good knighthood?  But I will possess my patience, and will not
think of them.  Only one attempt will I make to keep this gallant
brotherhood together, if it be possible; and if I fail, Lord
Archbishop, we will speak together of thy counsel, which, as now,
I neither accept nor altogether reject.  Wend we to the Council,
my lord--the hour calls us.  Thou sayest Richard is hasty and
proud--thou shalt see him humble himself like the lowly broom-
plant from which he derives his surname."

With the assistance of those of his privy chamber, the King then
hastily robed himself in a doublet and mantle of a dark and
uniform colour; and without any mark of regal dignity, excepting
a ring of gold upon his head, he hastened with the Archbishop of
Tyre to attend the Council, which waited but his presence to
commence its sitting.

The pavilion of the Council was an ample tent, having before it
the large Banner of the Cross displayed, and another, on which
was portrayed a female kneeling, with dishevelled hair and
disordered dress, meant to represent the desolate and distressed
Church of Jerusalem, and bearing the motto, AFFLICTAE SPONSAE NE
OBLIVISCARIS.  Warders, carefully selected, kept every one at a
distance from the neighbourhood of this tent, lest the debates,
which were sometimes of a loud and stormy character, should reach
other ears than those they were designed for.

Here, therefore, the princes of the Crusade were assembled
awaiting Richard's arrival.  And even the brief delay which was
thus interposed was turned to his disadvantage by his enemies,
various instances being circulated of his pride and undue
assumption of superiority, of which even the necessity of the
present short pause was quoted as an instance.  Men strove to
fortify each other in their evil opinion of the King of England,
and vindicated the offence which each had taken, by putting the
most severe construction upon circumstances the most trifling;
and all this, perhaps, because they were conscious of an
instinctive reverence for the heroic monarch, which it would
require more than ordinary efforts to overcome.

They had settled, accordingly, that they should receive him on
his entrance with slight notice, and no more respect than was
exactly necessary to keep within the bounds of cold ceremonial.
But when they beheld that noble form, that princely countenance,
somewhat pale from his late illness-- the eye which had been
called by minstrels the bright star of battle and victory--when
his feats, almost surpassing human strength and valour, rushed on
their recollection, the Council of Princes simultaneously arose
--even the jealous King of France and the sullen and offended
Duke of Austria--arose with one consent, and the assembled
princes burst forth with one voice in the acclamation, "God save
King Richard of England!  Long life to the valiant Lion's-heart!"

With a countenance frank and open as the summer sun when it
rises, Richard distributed his thanks around, and congratulated
himself on being once more among his royal brethren of the
Crusade.

"Some brief words he desired to say," such was his address to the
assembly, "though on a subject so unworthy as himself, even at
the risk of delaying for a few minutes their consultations for
the weal of Christendom and the advancement of their holy
enterprise."

The assembled princes resumed their seats, and there was a
profound silence.

"This day," continued the King of England, "is a high festival of
the church, and it well becomes Christian men, at such a tide, to
reconcile themselves with their brethren, and confess their
faults to each other.  Noble princes and fathers of this holy
expedition, Richard is a soldier--his hand is ever readier than
his tongue--and his tongue is but too much used to the rough
language of his trade.  But do not, for Plantagenet's hasty
speeches and ill-considered actions, forsake the noble cause of
the redemption of Palestine--do not throw away earthly renown
and eternal salvation, to be won here if ever they can be won by
man, because the act of a soldier may have been hasty, and his
speech as hard as the iron which he has worn from childhood.  Is
Richard in default to any of you, Richard will make compensation
both by word and action.--Noble brother of France, have I been so
unlucky as to offend you?"

"The Majesty of France has no atonement to seek from that of
England," answered Philip, with kingly dignity, accepting, at the
same time, the offered hand of Richard; "and whatever opinion I
may adopt concerning the prosecution of this enterprise will
depend on reasons arising out of the state of my own kingdom--
certainly on no jealousy or disgust at my royal and most
valorous brother."

"Austria," said Richard, walking up to the Archduke, with a
mixture of frankness and dignity, while Leopold arose from his
seat, as if involuntarily, and with the action of an automaton,
whose motions depended upon some external impulse--"Austria
thinks he hath reason to be offended with England; England, that
he hath cause to complain of Austria.  Let them exchange
forgiveness, that the peace of Europe and the concord of this
host may remain unbroken. We are now joint supporters of a more
glorious banner than ever blazed before an earthly prince, even
the Banner of Salvation.  Let not, therefore, strife be betwixt
us for the symbol of our more worldly dignities; but let Leopold
restore the pennon of England, if he has it in his power, and
Richard will say, though from no motive save his love for Holy
Church, that he repents him of the hasty mood in which he did
insult the standard of Austria."

The Archduke stood still, sullen and discontented, with his eyes
fixed on the floor, and his countenance lowering with smothered
displeasure, which awe, mingled with awkwardness, prevented his
giving vent to in words.

The Patriarch of Jerusalem hastened to break the embarrassing
silence, and to bear witness for the Archduke of Austria that he
had exculpated himself, by a solemn oath, from all knowledge,
direct or indirect, of the aggression done to the Banner of
England.

"Then we have done the noble Archduke the greater wrong," said
Richard; "and craving his pardon for imputing to him an outrage
so cowardly, we extend our hand to him in token of renewed peace
and amity.  But how is this?  Austria refuses our uncovered hand,
as he formerly refused our mailed glove?  What!  are we neither
to be his mate in peace nor his antagonist in war?  Well, let it
be so.  We will take the slight esteem in which he holds us as a
penance for aught which we may have done against him in heat of
blood, and will therefore hold the account between us cleared."

So saying, he turned from the Archduke with an air rather of
dignity than scorn, leaving the Austrian apparently as much
relieved by the removal of his eye as is a sullen and truant
schoolboy when the glance of his severe pedagogue is withdrawn.

"Noble Earl of Champagne--princely Marquis of Montserrat
--valiant Grand Master of the Templars--I am here a penitent in
the confessional.  Do any of you bring a charge or claim amends
from me?"

"I know not on what we could ground any," said the smooth-tongued
Conrade, "unless it were that the King of England carries off
from his poor brothers of the war all the fame which they might
have hoped to gain in the expedition."

"My charge, if I am called on to make one," said the Master of
the Templars, "is graver and deeper than that of the Marquis of
Montserrat.  It may be thought ill to beseem a military monk such
as I to raise his voice where so many noble princes remain
silent; but it concerns our whole host, and not least this noble
King of England, that he should hear from some one to his face
those charges which there are enow to bring against him in his
absence.  We laud and honour the courage and high achievements of
the King of England; but we feel aggrieved that he should on all
occasions seize and maintain a precedence and superiority over
us, which it becomes not independent princes to submit to. Much
we might yield of our free will to his bravery, his zeal, his
wealth, and his power; but he who snatches all as matter of
right, and leaves nothing to grant out of courtesy and favour,
degrades us from allies into retainers and vassals, and sullies
in the eyes of our soldiers and subjects the lustre of our
authority, which is no longer independently exercised.  Since the
royal Richard has asked the truth from us, he must neither be
surprised nor angry when he hears one, to whom worldly pomp is
prohibited, and secular authority is nothing, saving so far as it
advances the prosperity of God's Temple, and the prostration of
the lion which goeth about seeking whom he may devour--when he
hears, I say, such a one as I tell him the truth in reply to his
question; which truth, even while I speak it, is, I know,
confirmed by the heart of every one who hears me, however respect
may stifle their voices."

Richard coloured very highly while the Grand Master was making
this direct and unvarnished attack upon his conduct, and the
murmur of assent which followed it showed plainly that almost all
who were present acquiesced in the justice of the accusation.
Incensed, and at the same time mortified, he yet foresaw that to
give way to his headlong resentment would be to give the cold and
wary accuser the advantage over him which it was the Templar's
principal object to obtain.  He therefore, with a strong effort,
remained silent till he had repeated a pater noster, being the
course which his confessor had enjoined him to pursue when anger
was likely to obtain dominion over him.  The King then spoke with
composure, though not without an embittered tone, especially at
the outset:--

"And is it even so?  And are our brethren at such pains to note
the infirmities of our natural temper, and the rough precipitance
of our zeal, which may sometimes have urged us to issue commands
when there was little time to hold council?  I could not have
thought that offences, casual and unpremeditated like mine, could
find such deep root in the hearts of my allies in this most holy
cause; that for my sake they should withdraw their hands from the
plough when the furrow was near the end--for my sake turn aside
from the direct path to Jerusalem, which their swords have
opened.  I vainly thought that my small services might have
outweighed my rash errors--that if it were remembered that I
pressed to the van in an assault, it would not be forgotten that
I was ever the last in the retreat--that, if I elevated my banner
upon conquered fields of battle, it was all the advantage that I
sought, while others were dividing the spoil.  I may have called
the conquered city by my name, but it was to others that I
yielded the dominion.  If I have been headstrong in urging bold
counsels, I have not, methinks, spared my own blood or my
people's in carrying them into as bold execution; or if I have,
in the hurry of march or battle, assumed a command over the
soldiers of others, such have been ever treated as my own when my
wealth purchased the provisions and medicines which their own
sovereigns could not procure.  But it shames me to remind you of
what all but myself seem to have forgotten.  Let us rather look
forward to our future measures; and believe me, brethren," he
continued, his face kindling with eagerness, "you shall not find
the pride, or the wrath, or the ambition of Richard a stumbling-
block of offence in the path to which religion and glory summon
you as with the trumpet of an archangel. Oh, no, no!  never would
I survive the thought that my frailties and infirmities had been
the means to sever this goodly fellowship of assembled princes.
I would cut off my left hand with my right, could my doing so
attest my sincerity.  I will yield up, voluntarily, all right to
command in the host--even mine own liege subjects.  They shall be
led by such sovereigns as you may nominate; and their King, ever
but too apt to exchange the leader's baton for the adventurer's
lance, will serve under the banner of Beau-Seant among the
Templars--ay, or under that of Austria, if Austria will name a
brave man to lead his forces.  Or if ye are yourselves a-weary of
this war, and feel your armour chafe your tender bodies, leave
but with Richard some ten or fifteen thousand of your soldiers to
work out the accomplishment of your vow; and when Zion is won,"
he exclaimed, waving his hand aloft, as if displaying the
standard of the Cross over Jerusalem--"when Zion is won, we will
write upon her gates, NOT the name of Richard Plantagenet, but of
those generous princes who entrusted him with the means of
conquest!"

The rough eloquence and determined expression of the military
monarch at once roused the drooping spirits of the Crusaders,
reanimated their devotion, and, fixing their attention on the
principal object of the expedition, made most of them who were
present blush for having been moved by such petty subjects of
complaint as had before engrossed them.  Eye caught fire from
eye, voice lent courage to voice.  They resumed, as with one
accord, the war-cry with which the sermon of Peter the Hermit was
echoed back, and shouted aloud, "Lead us on, gallant Lion's-
heart; none so worthy to lead where brave men follow.  Lead us
on--to Jerusalem--to Jerusalem!  It is the will of God--it is the
will of God!  Blessed is he who shall lend an arm to its
fulfilment!"

The shout, so suddenly and generally raised, was heard beyond the
ring of sentinels who guarded the pavilion of Council, and spread
among the soldiers of the host, who, inactive and dispirited by
disease and climate, had begun, like their leaders, to droop in
resolution; but the reappearance of Richard in renewed vigour,
and the well-known shout which echoed from the assembly of the
princes, at once rekindled their enthusiasm, and thousands and
tens of thousands answered with the same shout of "Zion, Zion!
War, war!  Instant battle with the infidels!  It is the will of
God--it is the will of God!"

The acclamations from without increased in their turn the
enthusiasm which prevailed within the pavilion.  Those who did
not actually catch the flame were afraid--at least for the time
--to seem colder than others.  There was no more speech except of
a proud advance towards Jerusalem upon the expiry of the truce,
and the measures to be taken in the meantime for supplying and
recruiting the army.  The Council broke up, all apparently filled
with the same enthusiastic purpose--which, however, soon faded
in the bosom of most, and never had an existence in that of
others.

Of the latter class were the Marquis Conrade and the Grand Master
of the Templars, who retired together to their quarters ill at
ease, and malcontent with the events of the day.

"I ever told it to thee," said the latter, with the cold,
sardonic expression peculiar to him, "that Richard would burst
through the flimsy wiles you spread for him, as would a lion
through a spider's web.  Thou seest he has but to speak, and his
breath agitates these fickle fools as easily as the whirlwind
catcheth scattered straws, and sweeps them together, or disperses
them at its pleasure."

"When the blast has passed away," said Conrade, "the straws,
which it made dance to its pipe, will settle to earth again."

"But knowest thou not besides," said the Templar, "that it seems,
if this new purpose of conquest shall be abandoned and pass away,
and each mighty prince shall again be left to such guidance as
his own scanty brain can supply, Richard may yet probably become
King of Jerusalem by compact, and establish those terms of treaty
with the Soldan which thou thyself thought'st him so likely to
spurn at?"

"Now, by Mahound and Termagaunt, for Christian oaths are out of
fashion," said Conrade, "sayest thou the proud King of England
would unite his blood with a heathen Soldan?  My policy threw in
that ingredient to make the whole treaty an abomination to him.
As bad for us that he become our master by an agreement, as by
victory."

"Thy policy hath ill calculated Richard's digestion," answered
the Templar; "I know his mind by a whisper from the Archbishop.
And then thy master-stroke respecting yonder banner--it has
passed off with no more respect than two cubits of embroidered
silk merited.  Marquis Conrade, thy wit begins to halt; I will
trust thy finespun measures no longer, but will try my own.
Knowest thou not the people whom the Saracens call Charegites?"

"Surely," answered the Marquis; "they are desperate and besotted
enthusiasts, who devote their lives to the advancement of
religion---somewhat like Templars, only they are never known to
pause in the race of their calling."

"Jest not," answered the scowling monk.  "Know that one of these
men has set down in his bloody vow the name of the Island Emperor
yonder, to be hewn down as the chief enemy of the Moslem faith."

"A most judicious paynim," said Conrade.  "May Mohammed send him
his paradise for a reward!"

"He was taken in the camp by one of our squires, and in private
examination frankly avowed his fixed and determined purpose to
me," said the Grand Master.

"Now the heavens pardon them who prevented the purpose of this
most judicious Charegite!"  answered Conrade.

"He is my prisoner," added the Templar, "and secluded from speech
with others, as thou mayest suppose; but prisons have been
broken--"

"Chains left unlocked, and captives have escaped," answered the
Marquis.  "It is an ancient saying, no sure dungeon but the
grave."

"When loose, he resumes his quest," continued the military
priest; "for it is the nature of this sort of blood hound never
to quit the slot of the prey he has once scented."

"Say no more of it," said the Marquis; "I see thy policy--it is
dreadful, but the emergency is imminent."

"I only told thee of it," said the Templar, "that thou mayest
keep thyself on thy guard; for the uproar will be dreadful, and
there is no knowing on whom the English may vent their rage.  Ay,
and there is another risk.  My page knows the counsels of this
Charegite," he continued; "and, moreover, he is a peevish, self-
willed fool, whom I would I were rid of, as he thwarts me by
presuming to see with his own eyes, not mine.  But our holy order
gives me power to put a remedy to such inconvenience.  Or stay--
the Saracen may find a good dagger in his cell, and I warrant you
he uses it as he breaks forth, which will be of a surety so soon
as the page enters with his food."

"It will give the affair a colour," said Conrade; "and yet--"

"YET and BUT," said the Templar, "are words for fools; wise men
neither hesitate nor retract--they resolve and they execute."



CHAPTER XX.

When beauty leads the lion in her toils,
Such are her charms, he dare not raise his mane,
Far less expand the terror of his fangs.
So great Alcides made his club a distaff,
And spun to please fair Omphale.          ANONYMOUS.

Richard, the unsuspicious object of the dark treachery detailed
in the closing part of the last chapter, having effected, for the
present at least, the triumphant union of the Crusading princes
in a resolution to prosecute the war with vigour, had it next at
heart to establish tranquillity in his own family; and, now that
he could judge more temperately, to inquire distinctly into the
circumstances leading to the loss of his banner, and the nature
and the extent of the connection betwixt his kinswoman Edith and
the banished adventurer from Scotland.

Accordingly, the Queen and her household were startled with a
visit from Sir Thomas de Vaux, requesting the present attendance
of the Lady Calista of Montfaucon, the Queen's principal bower-
woman, upon King Richard.

"What am I to say, madam?"  said the trembling attendant to the
Queen, "He will slay us all."

"Nay, fear not, madam," said De Vaux.  "His Majesty hath spared
the life of the Scottish knight, who was the chief offender, and
bestowed him upon the Moorish physician.  He will not be severe
upon a lady, though faulty."

"Devise some cunning tale, wench," said Berengaria. "My husband
hath too little time to make inquiry into the truth."

"Tell the tale as it really happened," said Edith, "lest I tell
it for thee."

"With humble permission of her Majesty," said De Vaux, "I would
say Lady Edith adviseth well; for although King Richard is
pleased to believe what it pleases your Grace to tell him, yet I
doubt his having the same deference for the Lady Calista, and in
this especial matter."

"The Lord of Gilsland is right," said the Lady Calista, much
agitated at the thoughts of the investigation which was to take
place; "and besides, if I had presence of mind enough to forge a
plausible story, beshrew me if I think I should have the courage
to tell it."

In this candid humour, the Lady Calista was conducted by De Vaux
to the King, and made, as she had proposed, a full confession of
the decoy by which the unfortunate Knight of the Leopard had been
induced to desert his post; exculpating the Lady Edith, who, she
was aware, would not fail to exculpate herself, and laying the
full burden on the Queen, her mistress, whose share of the
frolic, she well knew, would appear the most venial in the eyes
of Coeur de Lion.  In truth, Richard was a fond, almost a
uxorious husband.  The first burst of his wrath had long since
passed away, and he was not disposed severely to censure what
could not now be amended.  The wily Lady Calista, accustomed from
her earliest childhood to fathom the intrigues of a court, and
watch the indications of a sovereign's will, hastened back to the
Queen with the speed of a lapwing, charged with the King's
commands that she should expect a speedy visit from him; to which
the bower-lady added a commentary founded on her own observation,
tending to show that Richard meant just to preserve so much
severity as might bring his royal consort to repent of her
frolic, and then to extend to her and all concerned his gracious
pardon.

"Sits the wind in that corner, wench?"  said the Queen, much
relieved by this intelligence.  "Believe me that, great commander
as he is, Richard will find it hard to circumvent us in this
matter, and that, as the Pyrenean shepherds are wont to say in my
native Navarre, Many a one comes for wool, and goes back shorn."

Having possessed herself of all the information which Calista
could communicate, the royal Berengaria arrayed herself in her
most becoming dress, and awaited with confidence the arrival of
the heroic Richard.

He arrived, and found himself in the situation of a prince
entering an offending province, in the confidence that his
business will only be to inflict rebuke, and receive  submission,
when he unexpectedly finds it in a state of complete defiance and
insurrection.  Berengaria well knew the power of her charms and
the extent of Richard's affection, and felt assured that she
could make her own terms good, now that the first tremendous
explosion of his anger had expended itself without mischief.  Far
from listening to the King's intended rebuke, as what the levity
of her conduct had justly deserved, she extenuated, nay, defended
as a harmless frolic, that which she was accused of.  She denied,
indeed, with many a pretty form of negation, that she had
directed Nectabanus absolutely to entice the knight farther than
the brink of the Mount on which he kept watch--and, indeed, this
was so far true, that she had not designed Sir Kenneth to be
introduced into her tent--and then, eloquent in urging her own
defence, the Queen was far more so in pressing upon Richard the
charge of unkindness, in refusing her so poor a boon as the life
of an unfortunate knight, who, by her thoughtless prank, had been
brought within the danger of martial law.  She wept and sobbed
while she enlarged on her husband's obduracy on this score, as a
rigour which had threatened to make her unhappy for life,
whenever she should reflect that she had given, unthinkingly, the
remote cause for such a tragedy.  The vision of the slaughtered
victim would have haunted her dreams--nay, for aught she knew,
since such things often happened, his actual spectre might have
stood by her waking couch.  To all this misery of the mind was
she exposed by the severity of one who, while he pretended to
dote upon her slightest glance, would not forego one act of poor
revenge, though the issue was to render her miserable.

All this flow of female eloquence was accompanied with the usual
arguments of tears and sighs, and uttered with such tone and
action as seemed to show that the Queen's resentment arose
neither from pride nor sullenness, but from feelings hurt at
finding her consequence with her husband less than she had
expected to possess.

The good King Richard was considerably embarrassed.  He tried in
vain to reason with one whose very jealousy of his affection
rendered her incapable of listening to argument, nor could he
bring himself to use the restraint of lawful authority to a
creature so beautiful in the midst of her unreasonable
displeasure.  He was therefore reduced to the defensive,
endeavoured gently to chide her suspicions and soothe her
displeasure, and recalled to her mind that she need not look back
upon the past with recollections either of remorse or
supernatural fear, since Sir Kenneth was alive and well, and had
been bestowed by him upon the great Arabian physician, who,
doubtless, of all men, knew best how to keep him living.  But
this seemed the unkindest cut of all, and the Queen's sorrow was
renewed at the idea of a Saracen--a mediciner--obtaining a boon
for which, with bare head and on bended knee, she had petitioned
her husband in vain.  At this new charge Richard's patience began
rather to give way, and he said, in a serious tone of voice,
"Berengaria, the physician saved my life.  If it is of value in
your eyes, you will not grudge him a higher recompense than the
only one I could prevail on him to accept."

The Queen was satisfied she had urged her coquettish displeasure
to the verge of safety.

"My Richard," she said, "why brought you not that sage to me,
that England's Queen might show how she esteemed him who could
save from extinction the lamp of chivalry, the glory of England,
and the light of poor Berengaria's life and hope?"

In a word, the matrimonial dispute was ended; but, that some
penalty might be paid to justice, both King and Queen accorded in
laying the whole blame on the agent Nectabanus, who (the Queen
being by this time well weary of the poor dwarf's humour) was,
with his royal consort Guenevra, sentenced to be banished from
the Court; and the unlucky dwarf only escaped a supplementary
whipping, from the Queen's assurances that he had already
sustained personal chastisement.  It was decreed further that, as
an envoy was shortly to be dispatched to Saladin, acquainting him
with the resolution of the Council to resume hostilities so soon
as the truce was ended, and as Richard proposed to send a
valuable present to the Soldan, in acknowledgment of the high
benefit he had derived from the services of El Hakim, the two
unhappy creatures should be added to it as curiosities, which,
from their extremely grotesque appearance, and the shattered
state of their intellect, were gifts that might well pass between
sovereign and sovereign.

Richard had that day yet another female encounter to sustain; but
he advanced to it with comparative indifference, for Edith,
though beautiful and highly esteemed by her royal relative--nay,
although she had from his unjust suspicions actually sustained
the injury of which Berengaria only affected to complain--still
was neither Richard's wife nor mistress, and he feared her
reproaches less, although founded in reason, than those of the
Queen, though unjust and fantastical.  Having requested to speak
with her apart, he was ushered into her apartment, adjoining that
of the Queen, whose two female Coptish slaves remained on their
knees in the most remote corner during the interview.  A thin
black veil extended its ample folds over the tall and graceful
form of the high-born maiden, and she wore not upon her person
any female ornament of what kind soever. She arose and made a low
reverence when Richard entered, resumed her seat at his command,
and, when he sat down beside her, waited, without uttering a
syllable, until he should communicate his pleasure.

Richard, whose custom it was to be familiar with Edith, as their
relationship authorized, felt this reception chilling, and opened
the conversation with some embarrassment.

"Our fair cousin," he at length said, "is angry with us; and we
own that strong circumstances have induced us, without cause, to
suspect her of conduct alien to what we have ever known in her
course of life.  But while we walk in this misty valley of
humanity, men will mistake shadows for substances.  Can my fair
cousin not forgive her somewhat vehement kinsman Richard?"

"Who can refuse forgiveness to RICHARD," answered Edith,
"provided Richard can obtain pardon of the KING?"

"Come, my kinswoman," replied Coeur de Lion, "this is all too
solemn.  By Our Lady, such a melancholy countenance, and this
ample sable veil, might make men think thou wert a new-made
widow, or had lost a betrothed lover, at least.  Cheer up!  Thou
hast heard, doubtless, that there is no real cause for woe; why,
then, keep up the form of mourning?"

"For the departed honour of Plantagenet--for the glory which hath
left my father's house."

Richard frowned.  "Departed honour!  glory which hath left our
house!"  he repeated angrily.  "But my cousin Edith is
privileged.  I have judged her too hastily; she has therefore a
right to deem of me too harshly.  But tell me at least in what I
have faulted."

"Plantagenet," said Edith, "should have either pardoned an
offence, or punished it.  It misbecomes him to assign free men,
Christians, and brave knights, to the fetters of the infidels.
It becomes him not to compromise and barter, or to grunt life
under the forfeiture of liberty.  To have doomed the unfortunate
to death might have been severity, but had a show of justice; to
condemn him to slavery and exile was barefaced tyranny."

"I see, my fair cousin," said Richard, "you are of those pretty
ones who think an absent lover as bad as none, or as a dead one.
Be patient; half a score of light horsemen may yet follow and
redeem the error, if thy gallant have in keeping any secret which
might render his death more convenient than his banishment."

"Peace with thy scurrile jests!"  answered Edith, colouring
deeply.  "Think, rather, that for the indulgence of thy mood thou
hast lopped from this great enterprise one goodly limb, deprived
the Cross of one of its most brave supporters, and placed a
servant of the true God in the hands of the heathen; hast given,
too, to minds as suspicious as thou hast shown thine own in this
matter, some right to say that Richard Coeur de Lion banished the
bravest soldier in his camp lest his name in battle might match
his own."

"I--I!"  exclaimed Richard, now indeed greatly moved--"am I one
to be jealous of renown?  I would he were here to profess such an
equality!  I would waive my rank and my crown, and meet him,
manlike, in the lists, that it might appear whether Richard
Plantagenet had room to fear or to envy the prowess of mortal
man.  Come, Edith, thou think'st not as thou sayest.  Let not
anger or grief for the absence of thy lover make thee unjust to
thy kinsman, who, notwithstanding all thy techiness, values thy
good report as high as that of any one living."

"The absence of my lover?"  said the Lady Edith, "But yes, he may
be well termed my lover, who hath paid so dear for the title.
Unworthy as I might be of such homage, I was to him like a light,
leading him forward in the noble path of chivalry; but that I
forgot my rank, or that he presumed beyond his, is false, were a
king to speak it."

"My fair cousin," said Richard, "do not put words in my mouth
which I have not spoken.  I said not you had graced this man
beyond the favour which a good knight may earn, even from a
princess, whatever be his native condition.  But, by Our Lady, I
know something of this love-gear.  It begins with mute respect
and distant reverence; but when opportunities occur, familiarity
increases, and so--But it skills not talking with one who thinks
herself wiser than all the world."

"My kinsman's counsels I willingly listen to, when they are
such," said Edith, "as convey no insult to my rank and
character."

"Kings, my fair cousin, do not counsel, but rather command," said
Richard.

"Soldans do indeed command," said Edith, "but it is because they
have slaves to govern."

"Come, you might learn to lay aside this scorn of Soldanrie, when
you hold so high of a Scot," said the King.  "I hold Saladin to
be truer to his word than this William of Scotland, who must
needs be called a Lion, forsooth; he hath foully faulted towards
me in failing to send the auxiliary aid he promised.  Let me tell
thee, Edith, thou mayest live to prefer a true Turk to a false
Scot."

"No--never!"  answered Edith--"not should Richard himself embrace
the false religion, which he crossed the seas to expel from
Palestine."

"Thou wilt have the last word," said Richard, "and thou shalt
have it.  Even think of me what thou wilt, pretty Edith. I shall
not forget that we are near and dear cousins."

So saying, he took his leave in fair fashion, but very little
satisfied with the result of his visit.

It was the fourth day after Sir Kenneth had been dismissed from
the camp, and King Richard sat in his pavilion, enjoying an
evening breeze from the west, which, with unusual coolness on her
wings, seemed breathed from merry England for the refreshment of
her adventurous Monarch, as he was gradually recovering the full
strength which was necessary to carry on his gigantic projects.
There was no one with him, De Vaux having been sent to Ascalon to
bring up reinforcements and supplies of military munition, and
most of his other attendants being occupied in different
departments, all preparing for the re-opening of hostilities, and
for a grand preparatory review of the army of the Crusaders,
which was to take place the next day.  The King sat listening to
the busy hum among the soldiery, the clatter from the forges,
where horseshoes were preparing, and from the tents of the
armourers, who were repairing harness.  The voice of the
soldiers, too, as they passed and repassed, was loud and
cheerful, carrying with its very tone an assurance of high and
excited courage, and an omen of approaching victory.  While
Richard's ear drank in these sounds with delight, and while he
yielded himself to the visions of conquest and of glory which
they suggested, an equerry told him that a messenger from Saladin
waited without.

"Admit him instantly," said the King, "and with due honour,
Josceline."

The English knight accordingly introduced a person, apparently of
no higher rank than a Nubian slave, whose appearance was
nevertheless highly interesting.  He was of superb stature and
nobly formed, and his commanding features, although almost jet-
black, showed nothing of negro descent.  He wore over his coal-
black locks a milk-white turban, and over his shoulders a short
mantle of the same colour, open in front and at the sleeves,
under which appeared a doublet of dressed leopard's skin reaching
within a handbreadth of the knee.  The rest of his muscular
limbs, both legs and arms, were bare, excepting that he had
sandals on his feet, and wore a collar and bracelets of silver.
A straight broadsword, with a handle of box-wood and a sheath
covered with snakeskin, was suspended from his waist.  In his
right hand he held a short javelin, with a broad, bright steel
head, of a span in length, and in his left he led by a leash of
twisted silk and gold a large and noble staghound.

The messenger prostrated himself, at the same time partially
uncovering his shoulders, in sign of humiliation, and having
touched the earth with his forehead, arose so far as to rest on
one knee, while he delivered to the King a silken napkin,
enclosing another of cloth of gold, within which was a letter
from Saladin in the original Arabic, with a translation into
Norman-English, which may be modernized thus:--

"Saladin, King of Kings, to Melech Ric, the Lion of England.
Whereas, we are informed by thy last message that thou hast
chosen war rather than peace, and our enmity rather than our
friendship, we account thee as one blinded in this matter, and
trust shortly to convince thee of thine error, by the help of our
invincible forces of the thousand tribes, when Mohammed, the
Prophet of God, and Allah, the God of the Prophet, shall judge
the controversy betwixt us.  In what remains, we make noble
account of thee, and of the gifts which thou hast sent us, and of
the two dwarfs, singular in their deformity as Ysop, and mirthful
as the lute of Isaack.  And in requital of these tokens from the
treasure-house of thy bounty, behold we have sent thee a Nubian
slave, named Zohauk, of whom judge not by his complexion,
according to the foolish ones of the earth, in respect the dark-
rinded fruit hath the most exquisite flavour.  Know that he is
strong to execute the will of his master, as Rustan of Zablestan;
also he is wise to give counsel when thou shalt learn to hold
communication with him, for the Lord of Speech hath been stricken
with silence betwixt the ivory walls of his palace.  We commend
him to thy care, hoping the hour may not be distant when he may
render thee good service.  And herewith we bid thee farewell;
trusting that our most holy Prophet may yet call thee to a sight
of the truth, failing which illumination, our desire is for the
speedy restoration of thy royal health, that Allah may judge
between thee and us in a plain field of battle."

And the missive was sanctioned by the signature and seal of the
Soldan.

Richard surveyed the Nubian in silence as he stood before him,
his looks bent upon the ground, his arms folded on his bosom,
with the appearance of a black marble statue of the most
exquisite workmanship, waiting life from the touch of a
Prometheus.  The King of England, who, as it was emphatically
said of his successor Henry the Eighth, loved to look upon A MAN,
was well pleased with the thews, sinews, and symmetry of him whom
he now surveyed, and questioned him in the lingua franca, "Art
thou a pagan?"

The slave shook his head, and raising his finger to his brow,
crossed himself in token of his Christianity, then resumed his
posture of motionless humility.

"A Nubian Christian, doubtless," said Richard, "and mutilated of
the organ of speech by these heathen dogs?"

The mute again slowly shook his head, in token of negative,
pointed with his forefinger to Heaven, and then laid it upon his
own lips.

"I understand thee," said Richard; "thou dost suffer under the
infliction of God, not by the cruelty of man. Canst thou clean an
armour and belt, and buckle it in time of need?"

The mute nodded, and stepping towards the coat of mail, which
hung with the shield and helmet of the chivalrous monarch upon
the pillar of the tent, he handled it with such nicety of address
as sufficiently to show that he fully understood the business of
an armour-bearer.

"Thou art an apt, and wilt doubtless be a useful knave. Thou
shalt wait in my chamber, and on my person," said the King, "to
show how much I value the gift of the royal Soldan.  If thou hast
no tongue, it follows thou canst carry no tales, neither provoke
me to be sudden by any unfit reply."

The Nubian again prostrated himself till his brow touched the
earth, then stood erect, at some paces distant, as waiting for
his new master's commands.

"Nay, thou shalt commence thy office presently," said Richard,
"for I see a speck of rust darkening on that shield; and when I
shake it in the face of Saladin, it should be bright and
unsullied as the Soldan's honour and mine own."

A horn was winded without, and presently Sir Henry Neville
entered with a packet of dispatches.  "From England, my lord," he
said, as he delivered it.

"From England--our own England!"  repeated Richard, in a tone of
melancholy enthusiasm.  "Alas!  they little think how hard their
Sovereign has been beset by sickness and sorrow--faint friends
and forward enemies."  Then opening the dispatches, he said
hastily, "Ha!  this comes from no peaceful land--they too have
their feuds.  Neville, begone; I must peruse these tidings alone,
and at leisure."

Neville withdrew accordingly, and Richard was soon absorbed in
the melancholy details which had been conveyed to him from
England, concerning the factions that were tearing to pieces his
native dominions--the disunion of his brothers John and Geoffrey,
and the quarrels of both with the High Justiciary Longchamp,
Bishop of Ely--the oppressions practised by the nobles upon the
peasantry, and rebellion of the latter against their masters,
which had produced everywhere scenes of discord, and in some
instances the effusion of blood.  Details of incidents mortifying
to his pride, and derogatory from his authority, were
intermingled with the earnest advice of his wisest and most
attached counsellors that he should presently return to England,
as his presence offered the only hope of saving the Kingdom from
all the horrors of civil discord, of which France and Scotland
were likely to avail themselves.  Filled with the most painful
anxiety, Richard read, and again read, the ill-omened letters;
compared the intelligence which some of them contained with the
same facts as differently stated in others; and soon became
totally insensible to whatever was passing around him, although
seated, for the sake of coolness, close to the entrance of his
tent, and having the curtains withdrawn, so that he could see and
be seen by the guards and others who were stationed without.

Deeper in the shadow of the pavilion, and busied with the task
his new master had imposed, sat the Nubian slave, with his back
rather turned towards the King.  He had finished adjusting and
cleaning the hauberk and brigandine, and was now busily employed
on a broad pavesse, or buckler, of unusual size, and covered with
steel-plating, which Richard often used in reconnoitring, or
actually storming fortified places, as a more effectual
protection against missile weapons than the narrow triangular
shield used on horseback.  This pavesse bore neither the royal
lions of England, nor any other device, to attract the
observation of the defenders of the walls against which it was
advanced; the care, therefore, of the armourer was addressed to
causing its surface to shine as bright as crystal, in which he
seemed to be peculiarly successful.  Beyond the Nubian, and
scarce visible from without, lay the large dog, which might be
termed his brother slave, and which, as if he felt awed by being
transferred to a royal owner, was couched close to the side of
the mute, with head and ears on the ground, and his limbs and
tail drawn close around and under him.

While the Monarch and his new attendant were thus occupied,
another actor crept upon the scene, and mingled among the group
of English yeomen, about a score of whom, respecting the
unusually pensive posture and close occupation of their
Sovereign, were, contrary to their wont, keeping a silent guard
in front of his tent.  It was not, however, more vigilant than
usual.  Some were playing at games of hazard with small pebbles,
others spoke together in whispers of the approaching day of
battle, and several lay asleep, their bulky limbs folded in their
green mantles.

Amid these careless warders glided the puny form of a little old
Turk, poorly dressed like a marabout or santon of the desert--a
sort of enthusiasts, who sometimes ventured into the camp of the
Crusaders, though treated always with contumely, and often with
violence.  Indeed, the luxury and profligate indulgence of the
Christian leaders had occasioned a motley concourse in their
tents of musicians, courtesans, Jewish merchants, Copts, Turks,
and all the varied refuse of the Eastern nations; so that the
caftan and turban, though to drive both from the Holy Land was
the professed object of the expedition, were, nevertheless,
neither an uncommon nor an alarming sight in the camp of the
Crusaders.  When, however, the little insignificant figure we
have described approached so nigh as to receive some interruption
from the warders, he dashed his dusky green turban from his head,
showed that his beard and eyebrows were shaved like those of a
professed buffoon, and that the expression of his fantastic and
writhen features, as well as of his little black eyes, which
glittered like jet, was that of a crazed imagination.

"Dance, marabout," cried the soldiers, acquainted with the
manners of these wandering enthusiasts, "dance, or we will
scourge thee with our bow-strings till thou spin as never top did
under schoolboy's lash."  Thus shouted the reckless warders, as
much delighted at having a subject to tease as a child when he
catches a butterfly, or a schoolboy upon discovering a bird's
nest.

The marabout, as if happy to do their behests, bounded from the
earth, and spun his giddy round before them with singular
agility, which, when contrasted with his slight and wasted
figure, and diminutive appearance, made him resemble a withered
leaf twirled round and round at the pleasure of the winter's
breeze.  His single lock of hair streamed upwards from his bald
and shaven head, as if some genie upheld him by it; and indeed it
seemed as if supernatural art were necessary to the execution of
the wild, whirling dance, in which scarce the tiptoe of the
performer was seen to touch the ground.  Amid the vagaries of his
performance he flew here and there, from one spot to another,
still approaching, however, though almost imperceptibly, to the
entrance of the royal tent; so that, when at length he sunk
exhausted on the earth, after two or three bounds still higher
than those which he had yet executed, he was not above thirty
yards from the King's person.

"Give him water," said one yeoman; "they always crave a drink
after their merry-go-round."

"Aha, water, sayest thou, Long Allen?"  exclaimed another archer,
with a most scornful emphasis on the despised element; "how
wouldst like such beverage thyself, after such a morrice
dancing?"

"The devil a water-drop he gets here," said a third.  "We will
teach the light-footed old infidel to be a good Christian, and
drink wine of Cyprus."

"Ay, ay," said a fourth; "and in case he be restive, fetch thou
Dick Hunter's horn, that he drenches his mare withal."

A circle was instantly formed around the prostrate and exhausted
dervise, and while one tall yeoman raised his feeble form from
the ground, another presented to him a huge flagon of wine.
Incapable of speech, the old man shook his head, and waved away
from him with his hand the liquor forbidden by the Prophet.  But
his tormentors were not thus to be appeased.

"The horn, the horn!"  exclaimed one.  "Little difference between
a Turk and a Turkish horse, and we will use him conforming."

"By Saint George, you will choke him!"  said Long Allen; "and
besides, it is a sin to throw away upon a heathen dog as much
wine as would serve a good Christian for a treble night-cap."

"Thou knowest not the nature of these Turks and pagans, Long
Allen," replied Henry Woodstall.  "I tell thee, man, that this
flagon of Cyprus will set his brains a-spinning, just in the
opposite direction that they went whirling in the dancing, and so
bring him, as it were, to himself again. Choke?  He will no more
choke on it than Ben's black bitch on the pound of butter."

"And for grudging it," said Tomalin Blacklees, "why shouldst thou
grudge the poor paynim devil a drop of drink on earth, since thou
knowest he is not to have a drop to cool the tip of his tongue
through a long eternity?"

"That were hard laws, look ye," said Long Allen, "only for being
a Turk, as his father was before him.  Had he been Christian
turned heathen, I grant you the hottest corner had been good
winter quarters for him."

"Hold thy peace, Long Allen," said Henry Woodstall. "I tell thee
that tongue of thine is not the shortest limb about thee, and I
prophesy that it will bring thee into disgrace with Father
Francis, as once about the black-eyed Syrian wench.  But here
comes the horn.  Be active a bit, man, wilt thou, and just force
open his teeth with the haft of thy dudgeon-dagger."

"Hold, hold--he is conformable," said Tomalin; "see, see, he
signs for the goblet--give him room, boys!  OOP SEY ES, quoth the
Dutchman--down it goes like lamb's-wool! Nay, they are true
topers when once they begin--your Turk never coughs in his cup,
or stints in his liquoring."

In fact, the dervise, or whatever he was, drank--or at least
seemed to drink--the large flagon to the very bottom at a single
pull; and when he took it from his lips after the whole contents
were exhausted, only uttered, with a deep sigh, the words, ALLAH
KERIM, or God is merciful.  There was a laugh among the yeomen
who witnessed this pottle-deep potation, so obstreperous as to
rouse and disturb the King, who, raising his finger, said
angrily, "How, knaves, no respect, no observance?"

All were at once hushed into silence, well acquainted with the
temper of Richard, which at some times admitted of much military
familiarity, and at others exacted the most precise respect,
although the latter humour was of much more rare occurrence.
Hastening to a more reverent distance from the royal person, they
attempted to drag along with them the marabout, who, exhausted
apparently by previous fatigue, or overpowered by the potent
draught he had just swallowed, resisted being moved from the
spot, both with struggles and groans.

"Leave him still, ye fools," whispered Long Allen to his mates;
"by Saint Christopher, you will make our Dickon go beside
himself, and we shall have his dagger presently fly at our
costards.  Leave him alone; in less than a minute he will sleep
like a dormouse."

At the same moment the Monarch darted another impatient glance to
the spot, and all retreated in haste, leaving the dervise on the
ground, unable, as it seemed, to stir a single limb or joint of
his body.  In a moment afterward all was as still and quiet as it
had been before the intrusion.



CHAPTER XXI

--and wither'd Murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.           MACBETH.

For the space of a quarter of an hour, or longer, after the
incident related, all remained perfectly quiet in the front of
the royal habitation.  The King read and mused in the entrance of
his pavilion; behind, and with his back turned to the same
entrance, the Nubian slave still burnished the ample pavesse; in
front of all, at a hundred paces distant, the yeomen of the guard
stood, sat, or lay extended on the grass, attentive to their own
sports, but pursuing them in silence, while on the esplanade
betwixt them and the front of the tent lay, scarcely to be
distinguished from a bundle of rags, the senseless form of the
marabout.

But the Nubian had the advantage of a mirror from the brilliant
reflection which the surface of the highly-polished shield now
afforded, by means of which he beheld, to his alarm and surprise,
that the marabout raised his head gently from the ground, so as
to survey all around him, moving with a well-adjusted precaution
which seemed entirely inconsistent with a state of ebriety.  He
couched his head instantly, as if satisfied he was unobserved,
and began, with the slightest possible appearance of voluntary
effort, to drag himself, as if by chance, ever nearer and nearer
to the King, but stopping and remaining fixed at intervals, like
the spider, which, moving towards her object, collapses into
apparent lifelessness when she thinks she is the subject of
observation. This species of movement appeared suspicious to the
Ethiopian, who, on his part, prepared himself, as quietly as
possible, to interfere, the instant that interference should seem
to be necessary.

The marabout, meanwhile, glided on gradually and imperceptibly,
serpent-like, or rather snail-like, till he was about ten yards
distant from Richard's person, when, starting on his feet, he
sprung forward with the bound of a tiger, stood at the King's
back in less than an instant, and brandished aloft the cangiar,
or poniard, which he had hidden in his sleeve.  Not the presence
of his whole army could have saved their heroic Monarch; but the
motions of the Nubian had been as well calculated as those of the
enthusiast, and ere the latter could strike, the former caught
his uplifted arm.  Turning his fanatical wrath upon what thus
unexpectedly interposed betwixt him and his object, the
Charegite, for such was the seeming marabout, dealt the Nubian a
blow with the dagger, which, however, only grazed his arm, while
the far superior strength of the Ethiopian easily dashed him to
the ground.  Aware of what had passed, Richard had now arisen,
and with little more of surprise, anger, or interest of any kind
in his countenance than an ordinary man would show in brushing
off and crushing an intrusive wasp, caught up the stool on which
he had been sitting, and exclaiming only, "Ha, dog!" dashed
almost to pieces the skull of the assassin, who uttered twice,
once in a loud, and once in a broken tone, the words ALLAH
ACKBAR!--God is victorious--and expired at the King's feet.

"Ye are careful warders," said Richard to his archers, in a tone
of scornful reproach, as, aroused by the bustle of what had
passed, in terror and tumult they now rushed into his tent;
"watchful sentinels ye are, to leave me to do such hangman's work
with my own hand.  Be silent, all of you, and cease your
senseless clamour!--saw ye never a dead Turk before?  Here, cast
that carrion out of the camp, strike the head from the trunk, and
stick it on a lance, taking care to turn the face to Mecca, that
he may the easier tell the foul impostor on whose inspiration he
came hither how he has sped on his errand.--For thee, my swart
and silent friend," he added, turning to the Ethiopian--"but
how's this?  Thou art wounded--and with a poisoned weapon, I
warrant me, for by force of stab so weak an animal as that could
scarce hope to do more than raze the lion's hide.--Suck the
poison from his wound one of you--the venom is harmless on the
lips, though fatal when it mingles with the blood."

The yeomen looked on each other confusedly and with hesitation,
the apprehension of so strange a danger prevailing with those who
feared no other.

"How now, sirrahs," continued the King, "are you dainty-lipped,
or do you fear death, that you daily thus?"

"Not the death of a man," said Long Allen, to whom the King
looked as he spoke; "but methinks I would not die like a poisoned
rat for the sake of a black chattel there, that is bought and
sold in a market like a Martlemas ox."

"His Grace speaks to men of sucking poison," muttered another
yeoman, "as if he said, "Go to, swallow a gooseberry!"

"Nay," said Richard, "I never bade man do that which I would not
do myself."

And without further ceremony, and in spite of the general
expostulations of those around, and the respectful opposition of
the Nubian himself, the King of England applied his lips to the
wound of the black slave, treating with ridicule all
remonstrances, and overpowering all resistance.  He had no sooner
intermitted his singular occupation, than the Nubian started from
him, and casting a scarf over his arm, intimated by gestures, as
firm in purpose as they were respectful in manner, his
determination not to permit the Monarch to renew so degrading an
employment.  Long Allen also interposed, saying that, if it were
necessary to prevent the King engaging again in a treatment of
this kind, his own lips, tongue, and teeth were at the service of
the negro (as he called the Ethiopian), and that he would eat him
up bodily, rather than King Richard's mouth should again approach
him.

Neville, who entered with other officers, added his
remonstrances.

"Nay, nay, make not a needless halloo about a hart that the
hounds have lost, or a danger when it is over," said the King.
"The wound will be a trifle, for the blood is scarce drawn--an
angry cat had dealt a deeper scratch.  And for me, I have but to
take a drachm of orvietan by way of precaution, though it is
needless."

 Thus spoke Richard, a little ashamed, perhaps, of his own
condescension, though sanctioned both by humanity and gratitude.
But when Neville continued to make remonstrances on the peril to
his royal person, the King imposed silence on him.

"Peace, I prithee--make no more of it.  I did it but to show
these ignorant, prejudiced knaves how they might help each other
when these cowardly caitiffs come against us with sarbacanes and
poisoned shafts.  But," he added, "take thee this Nubian to thy
quarters, Neville--I have changed my mind touching him--let him
be well cared for.  But hark in thine ear; see that he escapes
thee not--there is more in him than seems.  Let him have all
liberty, so that he leave not the camp.--And you, ye beef-
devouring, wine-swilling English mastiffs, get ye to your guard
again, and be sure you keep it more warily.  Think not you are
now in your own land of fair play, where men speak before they
strike, and shake hands ere they cut throats.  Danger in our land
walks openly, and with his blade drawn, and defies the foe whom
he means to assault; but here he challenges you with a silk glove
instead of a steel gauntlet, cuts your throat with the feather of
a turtle-dove, stabs you with the tongue of a priest's brooch, or
throttles you with the lace of my lady's boddice, Go to--keep
your eyes open and your mouths shut--drink less, and look sharper
about you; or I will place your huge stomachs on such short
allowance as would pinch the stomach of a patient Scottish man."

The yeomen, abashed and mortified, withdrew to their post, and
Neville was beginning to remonstrate with his master upon the
risk of passing over thus slightly their negligence upon their
duty, and the propriety of an example in a case so peculiarly
aggravated as the permitting one so suspicious as the marabout to
approach within dagger's length of his person, when Richard
interrupted him with, "Speak not of it, Neville--wouldst thou
have me avenge a petty risk to myself more severely than the loss
of England's banner? It has been stolen--stolen by a thief, or
delivered up by a traitor, and no blood has been shed for it.--My
sable friend, thou art an expounder of mysteries, saith the
illustrious Soldan--now would I give thee thine own weight in
gold, if, by raising one still blacker than thyself or by what
other means thou wilt, thou couldst show me the thief who did
mine honour that wrong.  What sayest thou, ha?"

The mute seemed desirous to speak, but uttered only that
imperfect sound proper to his melancholy condition; then folded
his arms, looked on the King with an eye of intelligence, and
nodded in answer to his question.

"How!"  said Richard, with joyful impatience.  "Wilt thou
undertake to make discovery in this matter?"

The Nubian slave repeated the same motion.

"But how shall we understand each other?" said the King.  "Canst
thou write, good fellow?"

The slave again nodded in assent.

"Give him writing-tools," said the King.  "They were readier in
my father's tent than mine; but they be somewhere about, if this
scorching climate have not dried up the ink.--Why, this fellow is
a jewel--a black diamond, Neville."

"So please you, my liege," said Neville, "if I might speak my
poor mind, it were ill dealing in this ware.  This man must be a
wizard, and wizards deal with the Enemy, who hath most interest
to sow tares among the wheat, and bring dissension into our
councils, and--"

"Peace, Neville," said Richard.  "Hello to your northern hound
when he is close on the haunch of the deer, and hope to recall
him, but seek not to stop Plantagenet when he hath hope to
retrieve his honour."

The slave, who during this discussion had been writing, in which
art he seemed skilful, now arose, and pressing what he had
written to his brow, prostrated himself as usual, ere he
delivered it into the King's hands.  The scroll was in French,
although their intercourse had hitherto been conducted by Richard
in the lingua franca.

"To Richard, the conquering and invincible King of England, this
from the humblest of his slaves.  Mysteries are the sealed
caskets of Heaven, but wisdom may devise means to open the lock.
Were your slave stationed where the leaders of the Christian host
were made to pass before him in order, doubt nothing that if he
who did the injury whereof my King complains shall be among the
number, he may be made manifest in his iniquity, though it be
hidden under seven veils."

"Now, by Saint George!" said King Richard, "thou hast spoken most
opportunely.--Neville, thou knowest that when we muster our
troops to-morrow the princes have agreed that, to expiate the
affront offered to England in the theft of her banner, the
leaders should pass our new standard as it floats on Saint
George's Mount, and salute it with formal regard. Believe me, the
secret traitor will not dare to absent himself from an
expurgation so solemn, lest his very absence should be matter of
suspicion.  There will we place our sable man of counsel, and if
his art can detect the villain, leave me to deal with him."

"My liege," said Neville, with the frankness of an English baron,
"beware what work you begin.  Here is the concord of our holy
league unexpectedly renewed--will you, upon such suspicion as a
negro slave can instil, tear open wounds so lately closed?  Or
will you use the solemn procession, adopted for the reparation of
your honour and establishment of unanimity amongst the discording
princes, as the means of again finding out new cause of offence,
or reviving ancient quarrels?  It were scarce too strong to say
this were a breach of the declaration your Grace made to the
assembled Council of the Crusade."

"Neville," said the King, sternly interrupting him, "thy zeal
makes thee presumptuous and unmannerly.  Never did I promise to
abstain from taking whatever means were most promising to
discover the infamous author of the attack on my honour.  Ere I
had done so, I would have renounced my kingdom, my life.  All my
declarations were under this necessary and absolute
qualification;--only, if Austria had stepped forth and owned the
injury like a man, I proffered, for the sake of Christendom, to
have forgiven HIM."

"But," continued the baron anxiously, "what hope that this
juggling slave of Saladin will not palter with your Grace?"

"Peace, Neville," said the King; "thou thinkest thyself mighty
wise, and art but a fool.  Mind thou my charge touching this
fellow; there is more in him than thy Westmoreland wit can
fathom.--And thou, smart and silent, prepare to perform the feat
thou hast promised, and, by the word of a King, thou shalt choose
thine own recompense.--Lo, he writes again."

The mute accordingly wrote and delivered to the King, with the
same form as before, another slip of paper, containing these
words, "The will of the King is the law to his slave; nor doth it
become him to ask guerdon for discharge of his devoir."

"GUERDON and DEVOIR!" said the King, interrupting him self as he
read, and speaking to Neville in the English tongue with some
emphasis on the words.  "These Eastern people will profit by the
Crusaders--they are acquiring the language of chivalry!  And see,
Neville, how discomposed that fellow looks!  were it not for his
colour he would blush. I should not think it strange if he
understood what I say--they are perilous linguists."

"The poor slave cannot endure your Grace's eye," said Neville;
"it is nothing more."

"Well, but," continued the King, striking the paper with his
finger as he proceeded, "this bold scroll proceeds to say that
our trusty mute is charged with a message from Saladin to the
Lady Edith Plantagenet, and craves means and opportunity to
deliver it.  What thinkest thou of a request so modest--ha,
Neville?"

"I cannot say," said Neville, "how such freedom may relish with
your Grace; but the lease of the messenger's neck would be a
short one, who should carry such a request to the Soldan on the
part of your Majesty."

"Nay, I thank Heaven that I covet none of his sunburnt beauties,"
said Richard; "and for punishing this fellow for discharging his
master's errand, and that when he has just saved my life--
methinks it were something too summary.  I'll tell thee, Neville,
a secret; for although our sable and mute minister be present, he
cannot, thou knowest, tell it over again, even if he should
chance to understand us.  I tell thee that, for this fortnight
past, I have been under a strange spell, and I would I were
disenchanted.  There has no sooner any one done me good service,
but, lo you, he cancels his interest in me by some deep injury;
and, on the other hand, he who hath deserved death at my hands
for some treachery or some insult, is sure to be the very person
of all others who confers upon me some obligation that
overbalances his demerits, and renders respite of his sentence a
debt due from my honour.  Thus, thou seest, I am deprived of the
best part of my royal function, since I can neither punish men
nor reward them.  Until the influence of this disqualifying
planet be passed away, I will say nothing concerning the request
of this our sable attendant, save that it is an unusually bold
one, and that his best chance of finding grace in our eyes will
be to endeavour to make the discovery which he proposes to
achieve in our behalf.  Meanwhile, Neville, do thou look well to
him, and let him be honourably cared for.  And hark thee once
more," he said, in a low whisper, "seek out yonder hermit of
Engaddi, and bring him to me forthwith, be he saint or savage,
madman or sane.  Let me see him privately."

Neville retired from the royal tent, signing to the Nubian to
follow him, and much surprised at what he had seen and heard, and
especially at the unusual demeanour of the King.  In general, no
task was so easy as to discover Richard's immediate course of
sentiment and feeling, though it might, in some cases, be
difficult to calculate its duration; for no weathercock obeyed
the changing wind more readily than the King his gusts of
passion.  But on the present occasion his manner seemed unusually
constrained and mysterious; nor was it easy to guess whether
displeasure or kindness predominated in his conduct towards his
new dependant, or in the looks with which, from time to time, he
regarded him.  The ready service which the King had rendered to
counteract the bad effects of the Nubian's wound might seem to
balance the obligation conferred on him by the slave when he
intercepted the blow of the assassin; but it seemed, as a much
longer account remained to be arranged between them, that the
Monarch was doubtful whether the settlement might leave him, upon
the whole, debtor or creditor, and that, therefore, he assumed in
the meantime a neutral demeanour, which might suit with either
character.  As for the Nubian, by whatever means he had acquired
the art of writing the European languages, the King remained
convinced that the English tongue at least was unknown to him,
since, having watched him closely during the last part of the
interview, he conceived it impossible for any one understanding a
conversation, of which he was himself the subject, to have so
completely avoided the appearance of taking an interest in it.



CHAPTER XXII.

Who's there!--Approach--'tis kindly done--
My learned physician and a friend.         SIR EUSTACE GREY.

Our narrative retrogrades to a period shortly previous to the
incidents last mentioned, when, as the reader must remember, the
unfortunate Knight of the Leopard, bestowed upon the Arabian
physician by King Richard, rather as a slave than in any other
capacity, was exiled from the camp of the Crusaders, in whose
ranks he had so often and so brilliantly distinguished himself.
He followed his new master--for so he must now term the Hakim--to
the Moorish tents which contained his retinue and his property,
with the stupefied feelings of one who, fallen from the summit of
a precipice, and escaping unexpectedly with life, is just able to
drag himself from the fatal spot, but without the power of
estimating the extent of the damage which he has sustained.
Arrived at the tent, he threw himself, without speech of any
kind, upon a couch of dressed buffalo's hide, which was pointed
out to him by his conductor, and hiding his face betwixt his
hands, groaned heavily, as if his heart were on the point of
bursting.  The physician heard him, as he was giving orders to
his numerous domestics to prepare for their departure the next
morning before daybreak, and, moved with compassion, interrupted
his occupation to sit down, cross-legged, by the side of his
couch, and administer comfort according to the Oriental manner.

"My friend," he said, "be of good comfort; for what saith the
poet--it is better that a man should be the servant of a kind
master than the slave of his own wild passions.  Again, be of
good courage; because, whereas Ysouf Ben Yagoube was sold to a
king by his brethren, even to Pharaoh, King of Egypt, thy king
hath, on the other hand, bestowed thee on one who will be to thee
as a brother."

Sir Kenneth made an effort to thank the Hakim, but his heart was
too full, and the indistinct sounds which accompanied his
abortive attempts to reply induced the kind physician to desist
from his premature endeavours at consolation.  He left his new
domestic, or guest, in quiet, to indulge his sorrows, and having
commanded all the necessary preparations for their departure on
the morning, sat down upon the carpet of the tent, and indulged
himself in a moderate repast.  After he had thus refreshed
himself, similar viands were offered to the Scottish knight; but
though the slaves let him understand that the next day would be
far advanced ere they would halt for the purpose of refreshment,
Sir Kenneth could not overcome the disgust which he felt against
swallowing any nourishment, and could be prevailed upon to taste
nothing, saving a draught of cold water.

He was awake long after his Arab host had performed his usual
devotions and betaken himself to his repose; nor had sleep
visited him at the hour of midnight, when a movement took place
among the domestics, which, though attended with no speech, and
very little noise, made him aware they were loading the camels
and preparing for departure.  In the course of these
preparations, the last person who was disturbed, excepting the
physician himself, was the knight of Scotland, whom, about three
in the morning, a sort of major-domo, or master of the household,
acquainted that he must arise.  He did so, without further
answer, and followed him into the moonlight, where stood the
camels, most of which were already loaded, and one only remained
kneeling until its burden should be completed.

A little apart from the camels stood a number of horses ready
bridled and saddled, and the Hakim himself, coming forth, mounted
on one of them with as much agility as the grave decorum of his
character permitted, and directed another, which he pointed out,
to be led towards Sir Kenneth. An English officer was in
attendance, to escort them through the camp of the Crusaders, and
to ensure their leaving it in safety; and all was ready for their
departure.  The pavilion which they had left was, in the
meanwhile, struck with singular dispatch, and the tent-poles and
coverings composed the burden of the last camel--when the
physician, pronouncing solemnly the verse of the Koran, "God be
our guide, and Mohammed our protector, in the desert as in the
watered field," the whole cavalcade was instantly in motion.

In traversing the camp, they were challenged by the various
sentinels who maintained guard there, and suffered to proceed in
silence, or with a muttered curse upon their prophet, as they
passed the post of some more zealous Crusader.  At length the
last barriers were left behind them, and the party formed
themselves for the march with military precaution.  Two or three
horsemen advanced in front as a vanguard; one or two remained a
bow-shot in the rear; and, wherever the ground admitted, others
were detached to keep an outlook on the flanks.  In this manner
they proceeded onward; while Sir Kenneth, looking back on the
moonlit camp, might now indeed seem banished, deprived at once of
honour and of liberty, from the glimmering banners under which he
had hoped to gain additional renown, and the tented dwellings of
chivalry, of Christianity, and--of Edith Plantagenet.


The Hakim, who rode by his side, observed, in his usual tone:  of
sententious consolation, "It is unwise to look back when the
journey lieth forward;" and as he spoke, the horse of the knight
made such a perilous stumble as threatened to add a practical
moral to the tale.

The knight was compelled by this hint to give more attention to
the management of his steed, which more than once required the
assistance and support of the check-bridle, although, in other
respects, nothing could be more easy at once, and active, than
the ambling pace at which the animal (which was a mare)
proceeded.

"The conditions of that horse," observed the sententious
physician, "are like those of human fortune--seeing that, amidst
his most swift and easy pace, the rider must guard himself
against a fall, and that it is when prosperity is at the highest
that our prudence should be awake and vigilant to prevent
misfortune."

The overloaded appetite loathes even the honeycomb, and it is
scarce a wonder that the knight, mortified and harassed with
misfortunes and abasement, became something impatient of hearing
his misery made, at every turn, the ground of proverbs and
apothegms, however just and apposite.

"Methinks," he said, rather peevishly, "I wanted no additional
illustration of the instability of fortune though I would thank
thee, Sir Hakim, for the choice of a steed for me, would the jade
but stumble so effectually as at once to break my neck and her
own."

"My brother," answered the Arab sage, with imperturbable gravity,
"thou speakest as one of the foolish.  Thou sayest in thy heart
that the sage should have given you, as his guest, the younger
and better horse, and reserved the old one for himself.  But know
that the defects of the older steed may be compensated by the
energies of the young rider, whereas the violence of the young
horse requires to be moderated by the cold temper of the older."

So spoke the sage; but neither to this observation did Sir
Kenneth return any answer which could lead to a continuance of
their conversation, and the physician, wearied, perhaps, of
administering comfort to one who would not be comforted, signed
to one of his retinue.

"Hassan," he said, "hast thou nothing wherewith to beguile the
way?"

Hassan, story-teller and poet by profession, spurred up, upon
this summons, to exercise his calling.  "Lord of the palace of
life," he said, addressing the physician, "thou, before whom the
angel Azrael spreadeth his wings for flight--thou, wiser than
Solimaun Ben Daoud, upon whose signet was inscribed the REAL NAME
which controls the spirits of the elements--forbid it, Heaven,
that while thou travellest upon the track of benevolence, bearing
healing and hope wherever thou comest, thine own course should be
saddened for lack of the tale and of the song.  Behold, while thy
servant is at thy side, he will pour forth the treasures of his
memory, as the fountain sendeth her stream beside the pathway,
for the refreshment or him that walketh thereon."

After this exordium, Hassan uplifted his voice, and began a tale
of love and magic, intermixed with feats of warlike achievement,
and ornamented with abundant quotations from the Persian poets,
with whose compositions the orator seemed familiar.  The retinue
of the physician, such excepted as were necessarily detained in
attendance on the camels, thronged up to the narrator, and
pressed as close as deference for their master permitted, to
enjoy the delight which the inhabitants of the East have ever
derived from this species of exhibition.

At another time, notwithstanding his imperfect knowledge of the
language, Sir Kenneth might have been interested in the
recitation, which, though dictated by a more extravagant
imagination, and expressed in more inflated and metaphorical
language, bore yet a strong resemblance to the romances of
chivalry then so fashionable in Europe.  But as matters stood
with him, he was scarcely even sensible that a man in the centre
of the cavalcade recited and sung, in a low tone, for nearly two
hours, modulating his voice to the various moods of passion
introduced into the tale, and receiving, in return, now low
murmurs of applause, now muttered expressions of wonder, now
sighs and tears, and sometimes, what it was far more difficult to
extract from such an audience, a tribute of smiles, and even
laughter.

During the recitation, the attention of the exile, however
abstracted by his own deep sorrow, was occasionally awakened by
the low wail of a dog, secured in a wicker enclosure suspended on
one of the camels, which, as an experienced woodsman, he had no
hesitation in recognizing to be that of his own faithful hound;
and from the plaintive tone of the animal, he had no doubt that
he was sensible of his master's vicinity, and, in his way,
invoking his assistance for liberty and rescue.

"Alas!  poor Roswal," he said, "thou callest for aid and sympathy
upon one in stricter bondage than thou thyself art.  I will not
seem to heed thee or return thy affection, since it would serve
but to load our parting with yet more bitterness."

Thus passed the hours of night and the space of dim hazy dawn
which forms the twilight of a Syrian morning.  But when the very
first line of the sun's disk began to rise above the level
horizon, and when the very first level ray shot glimmering in dew
along the surface of the desert, which the travellers had now
attained, the sonorous voice of El Hakim himself overpowered and
cut short the narrative of the tale-teller, while he caused to
resound along the sands the solemn summons, which the muezzins
thunder at morning from the minaret of every mosque.

"To prayer--to prayer!  God is the one God.--To prayer--to
prayer!  Mohammed is the Prophet of God.--To prayer--to prayer!
Time is flying from you.--To prayer--to prayer!  Judgment is
drawing nigh to you,"

In an instant each Moslem cast himself from his horse, turned his
face towards Mecca, and performed with sand an imitation of those
ablutions, which were elsewhere required to be made with water,
while each individual, in brief but fervent ejaculations,
recommended himself to the care, and his sins to the forgiveness,
of God and the Prophet.

Even Sir Kenneth, whose reason at once and prejudices were
offended by seeing his companions in that which he considered as
an act of idolatry, could not help respecting the sincerity of
their misguided zeal, and being stimulated by their fervour to
apply supplications to Heaven in a purer form, wondering,
meanwhile, what new-born feelings could teach him to accompany in
prayer, though with varied invocation, those very Saracens, whose
heathenish worship he had conceived a crime dishonourable to the
land in which high miracles had been wrought, and where the day-
star of redemption had arisen.

The act of devotion, however, though rendered in such strange
society, burst purely from his natural feelings of religious
duty, and had its usual effect in composing the spirits which had
been long harassed by so rapid a succession of calamities.  The
sincere and earnest approach of the Christian to the throne of
the Almighty teaches the best lesson of patience under
affliction; since wherefore should we mock the Deity with
supplications, when we insult him by murmuring under His decrees?
or how, while our prayers have in every word admitted the vanity
and nothingness of the things of time in comparison to those of
eternity, should we hope to deceive the Searcher of Hearts, by
permitting the world and worldly passions to reassume the reins
even immediately after a solemn address to Heaven!  But Sir
Kenneth was not of these.  He felt himself comforted and
strengthened, and better prepared to execute or submit to
whatever his destiny might call upon him to do or to suffer.

Meanwhile, the party of Saracens regained their saddles, and
continued their route, and the tale-teller, Hassan, resumed the
thread of his narrative; but it was no longer to the same
attentive audience.  A horseman, who had ascended some high
ground on the right hand of the little column, had returned on a
speedy gallop to El Hakim, and communicated with him.  Four or
five more cavaliers had then been dispatched, and the little
band, which might consist of about twenty or thirty persons,
began to follow them with their eyes, as men from whose gestures,
and advance or retreat, they were to augur good or evil.  Hassan,
finding his audience inattentive, or being himself attracted by
the dubious appearances on the flank, stinted in his song; and
the march became silent, save when a camel-driver called out to
his patient charge, or some anxious follower of the Hakim
communicated with his next neighbour in a hurried and low
whisper.

This suspense continued until they had rounded a ridge, composed
of hillocks of sand, which concealed from their main body the
object that had created this alarm among their scouts.  Sir
Kenneth could now see, at the distance of a mile or more, a dark
object moving rapidly on the bosom of the desert, which his
experienced eye recognized for a party of cavalry, much superior
to their own in numbers, and, from the thick and frequent flashes
which flung back the level beams of the rising sun, it was plain
that these were Europeans in their complete panoply.

The anxious looks which the horsemen of El Hakim now cast upon
their leader seemed to indicate deep apprehension; while he, with
gravity as undisturbed as when he called his followers to prayer,
detached two of his best-mounted cavaliers, with instructions to
approach as closely as prudence permitted to these travellers of
the desert, and observe more minutely their numbers, their
character, and, if possible, their purpose.  The approach of
danger, or what was feared as such, was like a stimulating
draught to one in apathy, and recalled Sir Kenneth to himself and
his situation.

"What fear you from these Christian horsemen, for such they
seem?"  he said to the Hakim.

"Fear!"  said El Hakim, repeating the word disdainfully. "The
sage fears nothing but Heaven, but ever expects from wicked men
the worst which they can do."

"They are Christians," said Sir Kenneth, "and it is the time of
truce--why should you fear a breach of faith?"

"They are the priestly soldiers of the Temple," answered El
Hakim, "whose vow limits them to know neither truce nor faith
with the worshippers of Islam.  May the Prophet blight them, both
root, branch, and twig!  Their peace is war, and their faith is
falsehood.  Other invaders of Palestine have their times and
moods of courtesy.  The lion Richard will spare when he has
conquered, the eagle Philip will close his wing when he has
stricken a prey, even the Austrian bear will sleep when he is
gorged; but this horde of ever-hungry wolves know neither pause
nor satiety in their rapine.  Seest thou not that they are
detaching a party from their main body, and that they take an
eastern direction? Yon are their pages and squires, whom they
train up in their accursed mysteries, and whom, as lighter
mounted, they send to cut us off from our watering-place.  But
they will be disappointed.  I know the war of the desert yet
better than they."

He spoke a few words to his principal officer, and his whole
demeanour and countenance was at once changed from the solemn
repose of an Eastern sage accustomed more to contemplation than
to action, into the prompt and proud expression of a gallant
soldier whose energies are roused by the near approach of a
danger which he at once foresees and despises.

To Sir Kenneth's eyes the approaching crisis had a different
aspect, and when Adonbec said to him, "Thou must tarry close by
my side," he answered solemnly in the negative.

"Yonder," he said, "are my comrades in arms--the men in whose
society I have vowed to fight or fall.  On their banner gleams
the sign of our most blessed redemption--I cannot fly from the
Cross in company with the Crescent."

"Fool!"  said the Hakim; "their first action would be to do thee
to death, were it only to conceal their breach of the truce."

"Of that I must take my chance," replied Sir Kenneth; "but I wear
not the bonds of the infidels an instant longer than I can cast
them from me."

"Then will I compel thee to follow me," said El Hakim.

"Compel!"  answered Sir Kenneth angrily.  "Wert thou not my
benefactor, or one who has showed will to be such, and were it
not that it is to thy confidence I owe the freedom of these
hands, which thou mightst have loaded with fetters, I would show
thee that, unarmed as I am, compulsion would be no easy task."

"Enough, enough," replied the Arabian physician, "we lose time
even when it is becoming precious."

So saying, he threw his arm aloft, and uttered a loud and shrill
cry, as a signal to his retinue, who instantly dispersed
themselves on the face of the desert, in as many different
directions as a chaplet of beads when the string is broken.  Sir
Kenneth had no time to note what ensued; for, at the same
instant, the Hakim seized the rein of his steed, and putting his
own to its mettle, both sprung forth at once with the suddenness
of light, and at a pitch of velocity which almost deprived the
Scottish knight of the power of respiration, and left him
absolutely incapable, had he been desirous, to have checked the
career of his guide.  Practised as Sir Kenneth was in
horsemanship from his earliest youth, the speediest horse he had
ever mounted was a tortoise in comparison to those of the Arabian
sage.  They spurned the sand from behind them; they seemed to
devour the desert before them; miles flew away with minutes--and
yet their strength seemed unabated, and their respiration as free
as when they first started upon the wonderful race.  The motion,
too, as easy as it was swift, seemed more like flying through the
air than riding on the earth, and was attended with no unpleasant
sensation, save the awe naturally felt by one who is moving at
such astonishing speed, and the difficulty of breathing
occasioned by their passing through the air so rapidly.

It was not until after an hour of this portentous motion, and
when all human pursuit was far, far behind, that the Hakim at
length relaxed his speed, and, slackening the pace of the horses
into a hand-gallop, began, in a voice as composed and even as if
he had been walking for the last hour, a descant upon the
excellence of his coursers to the Scot, who, breathless, half
blind, half deaf, and altogether giddy; from the rapidity of this
singular ride, hardly comprehended the words which flowed so
freely from his companion.

"These horses," he said, "are of the breed called the Winged,
equal in speed to aught excepting the Borak of the Prophet.  They
are fed on the golden barley of Yemen, mixed with spices and with
a small portion of dried sheep's flesh.  Kings have given
provinces to possess them, and their age is active as their
youth.  Thou, Nazarene, art the first, save a true believer, that
ever had beneath his loins one of this noble race, a gift of the
Prophet himself to the blessed Ali, his kinsman and lieutenant,
well called the Lion of God.  Time lays his touch so lightly on
these generous steeds, that the mare on which thou now sittest
has seen five times five years pass over her, yet retains her
pristine speed and vigour, only that in the career the support of
a bridle, managed by a hand more experienced than thine, hath now
become necessary.  May the Prophet be blessed, who hath bestowed
on the true believers the means of advance and retreat, which
causeth their iron-clothed enemies to be worn out with their own
ponderous weight!  How the horses of yonder dog Templars must
have snorted and blown, when they had toiled fetlock-deep in the
desert for one-twentieth part of the space which these brave
steeds have left behind them, without one thick pant, or a drop
of moisture upon their sleek and velvet coats!"

The Scottish knight, who had now begun to recover his breath and
powers of attention, could not help acknowledging in his heart
the advantage possessed by these Eastern warriors in a race of
animals, alike proper for advance or retreat, and so admirably
adapted to the level and sandy deserts of Arabia and Syria.  But
he did not choose to augment the pride of the Moslem by
acquiescing in his proud claim of superiority, and therefore
suffered the conversation to drop, and, looking around him, could
now, at the more moderate pace at which they moved, distinguish
that he was in a country not unknown to him.

The blighted borders and sullen waters of the Dead Sea, the
ragged and precipitous chain of mountains arising on the left,
the two or three palms clustered together, forming the single
green speck on the bosom of the waste wilderness--objects which,
once seen, were scarcely to be forgotten--showed to Sir Kenneth
that they were approaching the fountain called the Diamond of the
Desert, which had been the scene of his interview on a former
occasion with the Saracen Emir Sheerkohf, or Ilderim.  In a few
minutes they checked their horses beside the spring, and the
Hakim invited Sir Kenneth to descend from horseback and repose
himself as in a place of safety.  They unbridled their steeds, El
Hakim observing that further care of them was unnecessary, since
they would be speedily joined by some of the best mounted among
his slaves, who would do what further was needful.

"Meantime," he said, spreading some food on the grass, "eat and
drink, and be not discouraged.  Fortune may raise up or abase the
ordinary mortal, but the sage and the soldier should have minds
beyond her control."

The Scottish knight endeavoured to testify his thanks by showing
himself docile; but though he strove to eat out of complaisance,
the singular contrast between his present situation and that
which he had occupied on the same spot when the envoy of princes
and the victor in combat, came like a cloud over his mind, and
fasting, lassitude, and fatigue oppressed his bodily powers.  El
Hakim examined his hurried pulse, his red and inflamed eye, his
heated hand, and his shortened respiration.

"The mind," he said, "grows wise by watching, but her sister the
body, of coarser materials, needs the support of repose.  Thou
must sleep; and that thou mayest do so to refreshment, thou must
take a draught mingled with this elixir."

He drew from his bosom a small crystal vial, cased in silver
filigree-work, and dropped into a little golden drinking-cup a
small portion of a dark-coloured fluid.

"This," he said, "is one of those productions which Allah hath
sent on earth for a blessing, though man's weakness and
wickedness have sometimes converted it into a curse. It is
powerful as the wine-cup of the Nazarene to drop the curtain on
the sleepless eye, and to relieve the burden of the overloaded
bosom; but when applied to the purposes of indulgence and
debauchery, it rends the nerves, destroys the strength, weakens
the intellect, and undermines life.  But fear not thou to use its
virtues in the time of need, for the wise man warms him by the
same firebrand with which the madman burneth the tent."  [Some
preparation of opium seems to be intimated.]

"I have seen too much of thy skill, sage Hakim," said Sir
Kenneth, "to debate thine hest;" and swallowed the narcotic,
mingled as it was with some water from the spring, then wrapped
him in the haik, or Arab cloak, which had been fastened to his
saddle-pommel, and, according to the directions of the physician,
stretched himself at ease in the shade to await the promised
repose.  Sleep came not at first, but in her stead a train of
pleasing yet not rousing or awakening sensations.  A state ensued
in which, still conscious of his own identity and his own
condition, the knight felt enabled to consider them not only
without alarm and sorrow, but as composedly as he might have
viewed the story of his misfortunes acted upon a stage--or rather
as a disembodied spirit might regard the transactions of its past
existence.  From this state of repose, amounting almost to apathy
respecting the past, his thoughts were carried forward to the
future, which, in spite of all that existed to overcloud the
prospect, glittered with such hues as, under much happier
auspices, his unstimulated imagination had not been able to
produce, even in its most exalted state.  Liberty, fame,
successful love, appeared to be the certain and not very distant
prospect of the enslaved exile, the dishonoured knight, even of
the despairing lover who had placed his hopes of happiness so far
beyond the prospect of chance, in her wildest possibilities,
serving to countenance his wishes.  Gradually as the intellectual
sight became overclouded, these gay visions became obscure, like
the dying hues of sunset, until they were at last lost in total
oblivion; and Sir Kenneth lay extended at the feet of El Hakim,
to all appearance, but for his deep respiration, as inanimate a
corpse as if life had actually departed.



CHAPTER XXIII.

'Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her hand,
To change the face of the mysterious land;
Till the bewildering scenes around us seem
The Vain productions of a feverish dream.   ASTOLPHO, A ROMANCE.

When the Knight of the Leopard awoke from his long and profound
repose, he found himself in circumstances so different from those
in which he had lain down to sleep, that he doubted whether he
was not still dreaming, or whether the scene had not been changed
by magic.  Instead of the damp grass, he lap on a couch of more
than Oriental luxury; and some kind hands had, during his repose,
stripped him of the cassock of chamois which he wore under his
armour, and substituted a night-dress of the finest linen and a
loose gown of silk.  He had been canopied only by the palm-trees
of the desert, but now he lay beneath a silken pavilion, which
blazed with the richest colours of the Chinese loom, while a
slight curtain of gauze, displayed around his couch, was
calculated to protect his repose from the insects, to which he
had, ever since his arrival in these climates, been a constant
and passive prey.  He looked around, as if to convince himself
that he was actually awake; and all that fell beneath his eye
partook of the splendour of his dormitory.  A portable bath of
cedar, lined with silver, was ready for use, and steamed with the
odours which had been used in preparing it.  On a small stand of
ebony beside the couch stood a silver vase, containing sherbet of
the most exquisite quality, cold as snow, and which the thirst
that followed the use of the strong narcotic rendered peculiarly
delicious.  Still further to dispel the dregs of intoxication
which it had left behind, the knight resolved to use the bath,
and experienced in doing so a delightful refreshment.  Having
dried himself with napkins of the Indian wool, he would willingly
have resumed his own coarse garments, that he might go forth to
see whether the world was as much changed without as within the
place of his repose.  These, however, were nowhere to be seen,
but in their place he found a Saracen dress of rich materials,
with sabre and poniard, and all befitting an emir of distinction.
He was able to suggest no motive to himself for this exuberance
of care, excepting a suspicion that these attentions were
intended to shake him in his religious profession--as indeed it
was well known that the high esteem of the European knowledge and
courage made the Soldan unbounded in his gifts to those who,
having become his prisoners, had been induced to take the turban.
Sir Kenneth, therefore, crossing himself devoutly, resolved to
set all such snares at defiance; and that he might do so the more
firmly, conscientiously determined to avail himself as moderately
as possible of the attentions and luxuries thus liberally heaped
upon him.  Still, however, he felt his head oppressed and sleepy;
and aware, too, that his undress was not fit for appearing
abroad, he reclined upon the couch, and was again locked in the
arms of slumber.

But this time his rest was not unbroken, for he was awakened by
the voice of the physician at the door of the tent, inquiring
after his health, and whether he had rested sufficiently.  "May I
enter your tent?" he concluded, "for the curtain is drawn before
the entrance."

"The master," replied Sir Kenneth, determined to show that he was
not surprised into forgetfulness of his own condition, "need
demand no permission to enter the tent of the slave."

"But if I come not as a master?" said El Hakim, still without
entering.

"The physician," answered the knight, "hath free access to the
bedside of his patient."

"Neither come I now as a physician," replied El Hakim; "and
therefore I still request permission, ere I come under the
covering of thy tent."

"Whoever comes as a friend," said Sir Kenneth, "and such thou
hast hitherto shown thyself to me, the habitation of the friend
is ever open to him."

"Yet once again," said the Eastern sage, after the periphrastical
manner of his countrymen, "supposing that I come not as a
friend?"

"Come as thou wilt," said the Scottish knight, somewhat impatient
of this circumlocution; "be what thou wilt--thou knowest well it
is neither in my power nor my inclination to refuse thee
entrance."

"I come, then," said El Hakim, "as your ancient foe, but a fair
and a generous one."

He entered as he spoke; and when he stood before the bedside of
Sir Kenneth, the voice continued to be that of Adonbec, the
Arabian physician, but the form, dress, and features were those
of Ilderim of Kurdistan, called Sheerkohf.  Sir Kenneth gazed
upon him as if he expected the vision to depart, like something
created by his imagination.

"Doth it so surprise thee," said Ilderim, "and thou an approved
warrior, to see that a soldier knows somewhat of the art of
healing?  I say to thee, Nazarene, that an accomplished cavalier
should know how to dress his steed, as well as how to ride him;
how to forge his sword upon the stithy, as well as how to use it
in battle; how to burnish his arms, as well as how to wear them;
and, above all, how to cure wounds, as well as how to inflict
them."

As he spoke, the Christian knight repeatedly shut his eyes, and
while they remained closed, the idea of the Hakim, with his long,
flowing dark robes, high Tartar cap, and grave gestures was
present to his imagination; but so soon as he opened them, the
graceful and richly-gemmed turban, the light hauberk of steel
rings entwisted with silver, which glanced brilliantly as it
obeyed every inflection of the body, the features freed from
their formal expression, less swarthy, and no longer shadowed by
the mass of hair (now limited to a well-trimmed beard), announced
the soldier and not the sage.

"Art thou still so much surprised," said the Emir, "and hast thou
walked in the world with such little observance, as to wonder
that men are not always what they seem? Thou thyself--art thou
what thou seemest?"

"No, by Saint Andrew!" exclaimed the knight; "for to the whole
Christian camp I seem a traitor, and I know myself to be a true
though an erring man."

"Even so I judged thee," said Ilderim; "and as we had eaten salt
together, I deemed myself bound to rescue thee from death and
contumely.  But wherefore lie you still on your couch, since the
sun is high in the heavens?  or are the vestments which my
sumpter-camels have afforded unworthy of your wearing?"

"Not unworthy, surely, but unfitting for it," replied the Scot.
"Give me the dress of a slave, noble Ilderim, and I will don it
with pleasure; but I cannot brook to wear the habit of the free
Eastern warrior with the turban of the Moslem."

"Nazarene," answered the Emir, "thy nation so easily entertain
suspicion that it may well render themselves suspected.  Have I
not told thee that Saladin desires no converts saving those whom
the holy Prophet shall dispose to submit themselves to his law?
violence and bribery are alike alien to his plan for extending
the true faith.  Hearken to me, my brother.  When the blind man
was miraculously restored to sight, the scales dropped from his
eyes at the Divine pleasure.  Think'st thou that any earthly
leech could have removed them?  No.  Such mediciner might have
tormented the patient with his instruments, or perhaps soothed
him with his balsams and cordials, but dark as he was must the
darkened man have remained; and it is even so with the blindness
of the understanding.  If there be those among the Franks who,
for the sake of worldly lucre, have assumed the turban of the
Prophet, and followed the laws of Islam, with their own
consciences be the blame.  Themselves sought out the bait; it was
not flung to them by the Soldan.  And when they shall hereafter
be sentenced, as hypocrites, to the lowest gulf of hell, below
Christian and Jew, magician and idolater, and condemned to eat
the fruit of the tree Yacoun, which is the heads of demons, to
themselves, not to the Soldan, shall their guilt and their
punishment be attributed.  Wherefore wear, without doubt or
scruple, the vesture prepared for you, since, if you proceed to
the camp of Saladin, your own native dress will expose you to
troublesome observation, and perhaps to insult."

"IF I go to the camp of Saladin?" said Sir Kenneth, repeating the
words of the Emir; "alas!  am I a free agent, and rather must I
NOT go wherever your pleasure carries me?"

"Thine own will may guide thine own motions," said the Emir, "as
freely as the wind which moveth the dust of the desert in what
direction it chooseth.  The noble enemy who met and well-nigh
mastered my sword cannot become my slave like him who has
crouched beneath it.  If wealth and power would tempt thee to
join our people, I could ensure thy possessing them; but the man
who refused the favours of the Soldan when the axe was at his
head, will not, I fear, now accept them, when I tell him he has
his free choice."

"Complete your generosity, noble Emir," said Sir Kenneth, "by
forbearing to show me a mode of requital which conscience forbids
me to comply with.  Permit me rather to express, as bound in
courtesy, my gratitude for this most chivalrous bounty, this
undeserved generosity."

"Say not undeserved," replied the Emir Ilderim.  "Was it not
through thy conversation, and thy account of the beauties which
grace the court of the Melech Ric, that I ventured me thither in
disguise, and thereby procured a sight the most blessed that I
have ever enjoyed--that I ever shall enjoy, until the glories of
Paradise beam on my eyes?"

"I understand you not," said Sir Kenneth, colouring alternately,
and turning pale, as one who felt that the conversation was
taking a tone of the most painful delicacy.

"Not understand me!" exclaimed the Emir.  "If the sight I saw in
the tent of King Richard escaped thine observation, I will
account it duller than the edge of a buffoon's wooden falchion.
True, thou wert under sentence of death at the time; but, in my
case, had my head been dropping from the trunk, the last strained
glances of my eyeballs had distinguished with delight such a
vision of loveliness, and the head would have rolled itself
towards the incomparable houris, to kiss with its quivering lips
the hem of their vestments.  Yonder royalty of England, who for
her superior loveliness deserves to be Queen of the universe--
what tenderness in her blue eye, what lustre in her tresses of
dishevelled gold!  By the tomb of the Prophet, I scarce think
that the houri who shall present to me the diamond cup of
immortality will deserve so warm a caress!"

"Saracen," said Sir Kenneth sternly, "thou speakest of the wife
of Richard of England, of whom men think not and speak not as a
woman to be won, but as a Queen to be revered."

"I cry you mercy," said the Saracen.  "I had forgotten your
superstitious veneration for the sex, which you consider rather
fit to be wondered at and worshipped than wooed and possessed.  I
warrant, since thou exactest such profound respect to yonder
tender piece of frailty, whose every motion, step, and look
bespeaks her very woman, less than absolute adoration must not be
yielded to her of the dark tresses and nobly speaking eye.  SHE
indeed, I will allow, hath in her noble port and majestic mien
something at once pure and firm; yet even she, when pressed by
opportunity and a forward lover, would, I warrant thee, thank him
in her heart rather for treating her as a mortal than as a
goddess."

"Respect the kinswoman of Coeur de Lion!"  said Sir Kenneth, in a
tone of unrepressed anger.

"Respect her!" answered the Emir in scorn; "by the Caaba, and if
I do, it shall be rather as the bride of Saladin."

"The infidel Soldan is unworthy to salute even a spot that has
been pressed by the foot of Edith Plantagenet!"  exclaimed the
Christian, springing from his couch.

"Ha!  what said the Giaour?"  exclaimed the Emir, laying his hand
on his poniard hilt, while his forehead glowed like glancing
copper, and the muscles of his lips and cheeks wrought till each
curl of his beard seemed to twist and screw itself, as if alive
with instinctive wrath.  But the Scottish knight, who had stood
the lion-anger of Richard, was unappalled at the tigerlike mood
of the chafed Saracen.

"What I have said," continued Sir Kenneth, with folded arms and
dauntless look, "I would, were my hands loose, maintain on foot
or horseback against all mortals; and would hold it not the most
memorable deed of my life to support it with my good broadsword
against a score of these sickles and bodkins,"  pointing at the
curved sabre and small poniard of the Emir.

The Saracen recovered his composure as the Christian spoke, so
far as to withdraw his hand from his weapon, as if the motion had
been without meaning, but still continued in deep ire.

"By the sword of the Prophet," he said, "which is the key both of
heaven and hell, he little values his own life, brother, who uses
the language thou dost!  Believe me, that were thine hands loose,
as thou term'st it, one single true believer would find them so
much to do that thou wouldst soon wish them fettered again in
manacles of iron."

"Sooner would I wish them hewn off by the shoulder-blades!"
replied Sir Kenneth.

"Well.  Thy hands are bound at present," said the Saracen, in a
more amicable tone--"bound by thine own gentle sense of courtesy;
nor have I any present purpose of setting them at liberty.  We
have proved each other's strength and courage ere now, and we may
again meet in a fair field--and shame befall him who shall be
the first to part from his foeman!  But now we are friends, and I
look for aid from thee rather than hard terms or defiances."

"We ARE friends," repeated the knight; and there was a pause,
during which the fiery Saracen paced the tent, like the lion,
who, after violent irritation, is said to take that method of
cooling the distemperature of his blood, ere he stretches himself
to repose in his den.  The colder European remained unaltered in
posture and aspect; yet he, doubtless, was also engaged in
subduing the angry feelings which had been so unexpectedly
awakened.

"Let us reason of this calmly," said the Saracen.  "I am a
physician, as thou knowest, and it is written that he who would
have his wound cured must not shrink when the leech probes and
tests it.  Seest thou, I am about to lay my finger on the sore.
Thou lovest this kinswoman of the Melech Ric.  Unfold the veil
that shrouds thy thoughts--or unfold it not if thou wilt, for
mine eyes see through its coverings."

"I LOVED her," answered Sir Kenneth, after a pause, "as a man
loves Heaven's grace, and sued for her favour like a sinner for
Heaven's pardon."

"And you love her no longer?"  said the Saracen.

"Alas," answered Sir Kenneth, "I am no longer worthy to love her.
I pray thee cease this discourse--thy words are poniards to me.

"Pardon me but a moment," continued Ilderim.  "When thou, a poor
and obscure soldier, didst so boldly and so highly fix thine
affection, tell me, hadst thou good hope of its issue?"

"Love exists not without hope," replied the knight; "but mine was
as nearly allied to despair as that of the sailor swimming for
his life, who, as he surmounts billow after billow, catches by
intervals some gleam of the distant beacon, which shows him there
is land in sight, though his sinking heart and wearied limbs
assure him that he shall never reach it."

"And now," said Ilderim, "these hopes are sunk--that solitary
light is quenched for ever?"

"For ever," answered Sir Kenneth, in the tone of an echo from the
bosom of a ruined sepulchre.

"Methinks," said the Saracen, "if all thou lackest were some such
distant meteoric glimpse of happiness as thou hadst formerly, thy
beacon-light might be rekindled, thy hope fished up from the
ocean in which it has sunk, and thou thyself, good knight,
restored to the exercise and amusement of nourishing thy
fantastic fashion upon a diet as unsubstantial as moonlight; for,
if thou stood'st tomorrow fair in reputation as ever thou wert,
she whom thou lovest will not be less the daughter of princes and
the elected bride of Saladin."

"I would it so stood," said the Scot, "and if I did not--"

He stopped short, like a man who is afraid of boasting under
circumstances which did not permit his being put to the test.
The Saracen smiled as he concluded the sentence.

"Thou wouldst challenge the.  Soldan to single combat?" said he.

"And if I did," said Sir Kenneth haughtily, "Saladin's would
neither be the first nor the best turban that I have couched
lance at."

"Ay, but methinks the Soldan might regard it as too unequal a
mode of perilling the chance of a royal bride and the event of a
great war," said the Emir.

"He may be met with in the front of battle," said the knight, his
eyes gleaming with the ideas which such a thought inspired.

"He has been ever found there," said Ilderim; "nor is it his wont
to turn his horse's head from any brave encounter.  But it was
not of the Soldan that I meant to speak.  In a word, if it will
content thee to be placed in such reputation as may be attained
by detection of the thief who stole the Banner of England, I can
put thee in a fair way of achieving this task--that is, if thou
wilt be governed; for what says Lokman, 'If the child would walk,
the nurse must lead him; if the ignorant would understand, the
wise must instruct.'"

"And thou art wise, Ilderim," said the Scot--"wise though a
Saracen, and generous though an infidel.  I have witnessed that
thou art both.  Take, then, the guidance of this matter; and so
thou ask nothing of me contrary to my loyalty and my Christian
faith, I, will obey thee punctually.  Do what thou hast said, and
take my life when it is accomplished."

"Listen thou to me, then," said the Saracen.  "Thy noble hound is
now recovered, by the blessing of that divine medicine which
healeth man and beast; and by his sagacity shall those who
assailed him be discovered."

"Ha!"  said the knight, "methinks I comprehend thee. I was dull
not to think of this!"

"But tell me," added the Emir, "hast thou any followers or
retainers in the camp by whom the animal may be known?"

"I dismissed," said Sir Kenneth, "my old attendant, thy patient,
with a varlet that waited on him, at the time when I expected to
suffer death, giving him letters for my friends in Scotland;
there are none other to whom the dog is familiar.  But then my
own person is well known--my very speech will betray me, in a
camp where I have played no mean part for many months."

"Both he and thou shalt be disguised, so as to escape even close
examination.  I tell thee," said the Saracen, "that not thy
brother in arms--not thy brother in blood--shall discover thee,
if thou be guided by my counsels.  Thou hast seen me do matters
more difficult--he that can call the dying from the darkness of
the shadow of death can easily cast a mist before the eyes of the
living.  But mark me:  there is still the condition annexed to
this service--that thou deliver a letter of Saladin to the niece
of the Melech Ric, whose name is as difficult to our Eastern
tongue and lips, as her beauty is delightful to our eyes."

Sir Kenneth paused before he answered, and the Saracen observing
his hesitation, demanded of him, "if he feared to undertake this
message?"

"Not if there were death in the execution," said Sir Kenneth.  "I
do but pause to consider whether it consists with my honour to
bear the letter of the Soldan, or with that of the Lady Edith to
receive it from a heathen prince."

"By the head of Mohammed, and by the honour of a soldier--by the
tomb at Mecca, and by the soul of my father," said the Emir, "I
swear to thee that the letter is written in all honour and
respect.  The song of the nightingale will sooner blight the
rose-bower she loves than will the words of the Soldan offend the
ears of the lovely kinswoman of England."

"Then," said the knight, "I will bear the Soldan's letter
faithfully, as if I were his born vassal--understanding, that
beyond this simple act of service, which I will render with
fidelity, from me of all men he can least expect mediation or
advice in this his strange love-suit."

"Saladin is noble," answered the Emir, "and will not spur a
generous horse to a leap which he cannot achieve.  Come with me
to my tent," he added, "and thou shalt be presently equipped with
a disguise as unsearchable as midnight, so thou mayest walk the
camp of the Nazarenes as if thou hadst on thy finger the signet
of Giaougi."  [Perhaps the same with Gyges.]



CHAPTER XXIV

A grain of dust
Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject
Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst for;
A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass,
Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy.
Even this small cause of anger and disgust
Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes,
And wreck their noblest purposes.             THE CRUSADE.

The reader can now have little doubt who the Ethiopian slave
really was, with what purpose he had sought Richard's camp, and
wherefore and with what hope he now stood close to the person of
that Monarch, as, surrounded by his valiant peers of England and
Normandy, Coeur de Lion stood on the summit of Saint George's
Mount, with the Banner of England by his side, borne by the most
goodly person in the army, being his own natural brother, William
with the Long Sword, Earl of Salisbury, the offspring of Henry
the Second's amour with the celebrated Rosamond of Woodstock.

From several expressions in the King's conversation with Neville
on the preceding day, the Nubian was left in anxious doubt
whether his disguise had not been penetrated, especially as that
the King seemed to be aware in what manner the agency of the dog
was expected to discover the thief who stole the banner, although
the circumstance of such an animal's having been wounded on the
occasion had been scarce mentioned in Richard's presence.
Nevertheless, as the King continued to treat him in no other
manner than his exterior required, the Nubian remained uncertain
whether he was or was not discovered, and determined not to throw
his disguise aside voluntarily.

Meanwhile, the powers of the various Crusading princes, arrayed
under their royal and princely leaders, swept in long order
around the base of the little mound; and as those of each
different country passed by, their commanders advanced a step or
two up the hill, and made a signal of courtesy to Richard and to
the Standard of England, "in sign of regard and amity," as the
protocol of the ceremony heedfully expressed it, "not of
subjection or vassalage."  The spiritual dignitaries, who in
those days veiled not their bonnets to created being, bestowed on
the King and his symbol of command their blessing instead of
rendering obeisance.

Thus the long files marched on, and, diminished as they were by
so many causes, appeared still an iron host, to whom the conquest
of Palestine might seem an easy task. The soldiers, inspired by
the consciousness of united strength, sat erect in their steel
saddles; while it seemed that the trumpets sounded more
cheerfully shrill, and the steeds, refreshed by rest and
provender, chafed on the bit, and trod the ground more proudly.
On they passed, troop after troop, banners waving, spears
glancing, plumes dancing, in long perspective--a host composed of
different nations, complexions, languages, arms, and appearances,
but all fired, for the time, with the holy yet romantic purpose
of rescuing the distressed daughter of Zion from her thraldom,
and redeeming the sacred earth, which more than mortal had
trodden, from the yoke of the unbelieving pagan.  And it must be
owned that if, in other circumstances, the species of courtesy
rendered to the King of England by so many warriors, from whom he
claimed no natural allegiance, had in it something that might
have been thought humiliating, yet the nature and cause of the
war was so fitted to his pre-eminently chivalrous character and
renowned feats in arms, that claims which might elsewhere have
been urged were there forgotten, and the brave did willing homage
to the bravest, in an expedition where the most undaunted and
energetic courage was necessary to success.

The good King was seated on horseback about half way up the
mount, a morion on his head, surmounted by a crown, which left
his manly features exposed to public view, as, with cool and
considerate eye, he perused each rank as it passed him, and
returned the salutation of the leaders.  His tunic was of sky-
coloured velvet, covered with plates of silver, and his hose of
crimson silk, slashed with cloth of gold.  By his side stood the
seeming Ethiopian slave, holding the noble dog in a leash, such
as was used in woodcraft.  It was a circumstance which attracted
no notice, for many of the princes of the Crusade had introduced
black slaves into their household, in imitation of the barbarous
splendour of the Saracens.  Over the King's head streamed the
large folds of the banner, and, as he looked to it from time to
time, he seemed to regard a ceremony, indifferent to himself
personally, as important, when considered as atoning an indignity
offered to the kingdom which he ruled.  In the background, and on
the very summit of the Mount, a wooden turret, erected for the
occasion, held the Queen Berengaria and the principal ladies of
the Court.  To this the King looked from time to time; and then
ever and anon his eyes were turned on the Nubian and the dog, but
only when such leaders approached, as, from circumstances of
previous ill-will, he suspected of being accessory to the theft
of the standard, or whom he judged capable of a crime so mean.

Thus, he did not look in that direction when Philip Augustus of
France approached at the head of his splendid troops of Gallic
chivalry---nay, he anticipated the motions of the French King, by
descending the Mount as the latter came up the ascent, so that
they met in the middle space, and blended their greetings so
gracefully that it appeared they met in fraternal equality.  The
sight of the two greatest princes in Europe, in rank at once and
power, thus publicly avowing their concord, called forth bursts
of thundering acclaim from the Crusading host at many miles
distance, and made the roving Arab scouts of the desert alarm the
camp of Saladin with intelligence that the army of the Christians
was in motion.  Yet who but the King of kings can read the hearts
of monarchs?  Under this smooth show of courtesy, Richard
nourished displeasure and suspicion against Philip, and Philip
meditated withdrawing himself and his host from the army of the
Cross, and leaving Richard to accomplish or fail in the
enterprise with his own unassisted forces.

Richard's demeanour was different when the dark-armed knights and
squires of the Temple chivalry approached--men with countenances
bronzed to Asiatic blackness by the suns of Palestine, and the
admirable state of whose horses and appointments far surpassed
even that of the choicest troops of France and England.  The King
cast a hasty glance aside; but the Nubian stood quiet, and his
trusty dog sat at his feet, watching, with a sagacious yet
pleased look, the ranks which now passed before them.  The King's
look turned again on the chivalrous Templars, as the Grand
Master, availing himself of his mingled character, bestowed his
benediction on Richard as a priest, instead of doing him
reverence as a military leader.

"The misproud and amphibious caitiff puts the monk upon me," said
Richard to the Earl of Salisbury.  "But, Longsword, we will let
it pass.  A punctilio must not lose Christendom the services of
these experienced lances, because their victories have rendered
them overweening.  Lo you, here comes our valiant adversary, the
Duke of Austria. Mark his manner and bearing, Longsword--and
thou, Nubian, let the hound have full view of him.  By Heaven, he
brings his buffoons along with him!"

In fact, whether from habit, or, which is more likely, to
intimate contempt of the ceremonial he was about to comply with,
Leopold was attended by his SPRUCH-SPRECHER and his jester; and
as he advanced towards Richard, he whistled in what he wished to
be considered as an indifferent manner, though his heavy features
evinced the sullenness, mixed with the fear, with which a truant
schoolboy may be seen to approach his master.  As the reluctant
dignitary made, with discomposed and sulky look, the obeisance
required, the SPRUCH-SPRECHER shook his baton, and proclaimed,
like a herald, that, in what he was now doing, the Archduke of
Austria was not to be held derogating from the rank and
privileges of a sovereign prince; to which the jester answered
with a sonorous AMEN, which provoked much laughter among the
bystanders.

King Richard looked more than once at the Nubian and his dog; but
the former moved not, nor did the latter strain at the leash, so
that Richard said to the slave with some scorn, "Thy success in
this enterprise, my sable friend, even though thou hast brought
thy hound's sagacity to back thine own, will not, I fear, place
thee high in the rank of wizards, or much augment thy merits
towards our person."

The Nubian answered, as usual, only by a lowly obeisance.

Meantime the troops of the Marquis of Montserrat next passed in
order before the King of England.  That powerful and wily baron,
to make the greater display of his forces, had divided them into
two bodies.  At the head of the first, consisting of his vassals
and followers, and levied from his Syrian possessions, came his
brother Enguerrand; and he himself followed, leading on a gallant
band of twelve hundred Stradiots, a kind of light cavalry raised
by the Venetians in their Dalmatian possessions, and of which
they had entrusted the command to the Marquis, with whom the
republic had many bonds of connection.  These Stradiots were
clothed in a fashion partly European, but partaking chiefly of
the Eastern fashion.  They wore, indeed, short hauberks, but had
over them party-coloured tunics of rich stuffs, with large wide
pantaloons and half-boots.  On their heads were straight upright
caps, similar to those of the Greeks; and they carried small
round targets, bows and arrows, scimitars, and poniards.  They
were mounted on horses carefully selected, and well maintained at
the expense of the State of Venice; their saddles and
appointments resembled those of the Turks, and they rode in the
same manner, with short stirrups and upon a high seat.  These
troops were of great use in skirmishing with the Arabs, though
unable to engage in close combat, like the iron-sheathed men-at-
arms of Western and Northern Europe.

Before this goodly band came Conrade, in the same garb with the
Stradiots, but of such rich stuff that he seemed to blaze with
gold and silver, and the milk-white plume fastened in his cap by
a clasp of diamonds seemed tall enough to sweep the clouds.  The
noble steed which he reined bounded and caracoled, and displayed
his spirit and agility in a manner which might have troubled a
less admirable horseman than the Marquis, who gracefully ruled
him with the one hand, while the other displayed the baton, whose
predominancy over the ranks which he led seemed equally absolute.
Yet his authority over the Stradiots was more in show than in
substance; for there paced beside him, on an ambling palfrey of
soberest mood, a little old man, dressed entirely in black,
without beard or moustaches, and having an appearance altogether
mean and insignificant when compared with the blaze of splendour
around him.  But this mean-looking old man was one of those
deputies whom the Venetian government sent into camps to overlook
the conduct of the generals to whom the leading was consigned,
and to maintain that jealous system of espial and control which
had long distinguished the policy of the republic.

Conrade, who, by cultivating Richard's humour, had attained a
certain degree of favour with him, no sooner was come within his
ken than the King of England descended a step or two to meet him,
exclaiming, at the same time, "Ha, Lord Marquis, thou at the head
of the fleet Stradiots, and thy black shadow attending thee as
usual, whether the sun shines or not!  May not one ask thee
whether the rule of the troops remains with the shadow or the
substance?"

Conrade was commencing his reply with a smile, when Roswal, the
noble hound, uttering a furious and savage yell, sprung forward.
The Nubian, at the same time, slipped the leash, and the hound,
rushing on, leapt upon Conrade's noble charger, and, seizing the
Marquis by the throat, pulled him down from the saddle.  The
plumed rider lay rolling on the sand, and the frightened horse
fled in wild career through the camp.

"Thy hound hath pulled down the right quarry, I warrant him,"
said the King to the Nubian, "and I vow to Saint George he is a
stag of ten tynes!  Pluck the dog off; lest he throttle him."

The Ethiopian, accordingly, though not without difficulty,
disengaged the dog from Conrade, and fastened him up, still
highly excited, and struggling in the leash.  Meanwhile many
crowded to the spot, especially followers of Conrade and officers
of the Stradiots, who, as they saw their leader lie gazing wildly
on the sky, raised him up amid a tumultuary cry of "Cut the slave
and his hound to pieces!"

But the voice of Richard, loud and sonorous, was heard clear
above all other exclamations.  "He dies the death who injures the
hound!  He hath but done his duty, after the sagacity with which
God and nature have endowed the brave animal.--Stand forward for
a false traitor, thou Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat!  I impeach
thee of treason."

Several of the Syrian leaders had now come up, and Conrade
--vexation, and shame, and confusion struggling with passion in
his manner and voice--exclaimed, "What means this?  With what am
I charged?  Why this base usage and these reproachful terms?  Is
this the league of concord which England renewed but so lately?"

"Are the Princes of the Crusade turned hares or deers in the eyes
of King Richard that he should slip hounds on them?"  said the
sepulchral voice of the Grand Master of the Templars.

"It must be some singular accident--some fatal mistake," said
Philip of France, who rode up at the same moment.

"Some deceit of the Enemy," said the Archbishop of Tyre.

"A stratagem of the Saracens," cried Henry of Champagne.  "It
were well to hang up the dog, and put the slave to the torture."

"Let no man lay hand upon them," said Richard, "as he loves his
own life!  Conrade, stand forth, if thou darest, and deny the
accusation which this mute animal hath in his noble instinct
brought against thee, of injury done to him, and foul scorn to
England!"

"I never touched the banner," said Conrade hastily.

"Thy words betray thee, Conrade!"  said Richard, "for how didst
thou know, save from conscious guilt, that the question is
concerning the banner?"

"Hast thou then not kept the camp in turmoil on that and no other
score?"  answered Conrade; "and dost thou impute to a prince and
an ally a crime which, after all, was probably committed by some
paltry felon for the sake of the gold thread?  Or wouldst thou
now impeach a confederate on the credit of a dog?"

By this time the alarm was becoming general, so that Philip of
France interposed.

"Princes and nobles," he said, "you speak in presence of those
whose swords will soon be at the throats of each other if they
hear their leaders at such terms together.  In the name of
Heaven, let us draw off each his own troops into their separate
quarters, and ourselves meet an hour hence in the Pavilion of
Council to take some order in this new state of confusion."

"Content," said King Richard, "though I should have liked to have
interrogated that caitiff while his gay doublet was yet
besmirched with sand.  But the pleasure of France shall be ours
in this matter."

The leaders separated as was proposed, each prince placing
himself at the head of his own forces; and then was heard on all
sides the crying of war-cries and the sounding of gathering-notes
upon bugles and trumpets, by which the different stragglers were
summoned to their prince's banner, and the troops were shortly
seen in motion, each taking different routes through the camp to
their own quarters.  But although any immediate act of violence
was thus prevented, yet the accident which had taken place dwelt
on every mind; and those foreigners who had that morning hailed
Richard as the worthiest to lead their army, now resumed their
prejudices against his pride and intolerance, while the English,
conceiving the honour of their country connected with the
quarrel, of which various reports had gone about, considered the
natives of other countries jealous of the fame of England and her
King, and disposed to undermine it by the meanest arts of
intrigue.  Many and various were the rumours spread upon the
occasion, and there was one which averred that the Queen and her
ladies had been much alarmed by the tumult, and that one of them
had swooned.

The Council assembled at the appointed hour.  Conrade had in the
meanwhile laid aside his dishonoured dress, and with it the shame
and confusion which, in spite of his talents and promptitude, had
at first overwhelmed him, owing to the strangeness of the
accident and suddenness of the accusation.  He was now robed like
a prince; and entered the council-chamber attended by the
Archduke of Austria, the Grand Masters both of the Temple and of
the Order of Saint John, and several other potentates, who made a
show of supporting him and defending his cause, chiefly perhaps
from political motives, or because they themselves nourished a
personal enmity against Richard.

This appearance of union in favour of Conrade was far from
influencing the King of England.  He entered the Council with his
usual indifference of manner, and in the same dress in which he
had just alighted from horseback.  He cast a careless and
somewhat scornful glance on the leaders, who had with studied
affectation arranged themselves around Conrade as if owning his
cause, and in the most direct terms charged Conrade of Montserrat
with having stolen the Banner of England, and wounded the
faithful animal who stood in its defence.

Conrade arose boldly to answer, and in despite, as he expressed
himself, of man and brute, king or dog, avouched his innocence of
the crime charged.

"Brother of England," said Philip, who willingly assumed the
character of moderator of the assembly, "this is an unusual
impeachment.  We do not hear you avouch your own knowledge of
this matter, further than your belief resting upon the demeanour
of this hound towards the Marquis of Montserrat.  Surely the word
of a knight and a prince should bear him out against the barking
of a cur?"

"Royal brother," returned Richard, "recollect that the Almighty,
who gave the dog to be companion of our pleasures and our toils,
hath invested him with a nature noble and incapable of deceit.
He forgets neither friend nor foe--remembers, and with accuracy,
both benefit and injury. He hath a share of man's intelligence,
but no share of man's falsehood.  You may bribe a soldier to slay
a man with his sword, or a witness to take life by false
accusation; but you cannot make a hound tear his benefactor.  He
is the friend of man, save when man justly incurs his enmity.
Dress yonder marquis in what peacock-robes you will, disguise his
appearance, alter his complexion with drugs and washes, hide him
amidst a hundred men,--I will yet pawn my sceptre that the hound
detects him, and expresses his resentment, as you have this day
beheld.  This is no new incident, although a strange one.
Murderers and robbers have been ere now convicted, and suffered
death under such evidence, and men have said that the finger of
God was in it.  In thine own land, royal brother, and upon such
an occasion, the matter was tried by a solemn duel betwixt the
man and the dog, as appellant and defendant in a challenge of
murder. The dog was victorious, the man was punished, and the
crime was confessed.  Credit me, royal brother, that hidden
crimes have often been brought to light by the testimony even of
inanimate substances, not to mention animals far inferior in
instinctive sagacity to the dog, who is the friend and companion
of our race."

"Such a duel there hath indeed been, royal brother," answered
Philip, "and that in the reign of one of our predecessors, to
whom God be gracious.  But it was in the olden time, nor can we
hold it a precedent fitting for this occasion.  The defendant in
that case was a private gentleman of small rank or respect; his
offensive weapons were only a club, his defensive a leathern
jerkin.  But we cannot degrade a prince to the disgrace of using
such rude arms, or to the ignominy of such a combat."

"I never meant that you should," said King Richard; "it were foul
play to hazard the good hound's life against that of such a
double-faced traitor as this Conrade hath proved himself.  But
there lies our own glove; we appeal him to the combat in respect
of the evidence we brought forth against him.  A king, at least,
is more than the mate of a marquis."

Conrade made no hasty effort to seize on the pledge which Richard
cast into the middle of the assembly, and King Philip had time to
reply ere the marquis made a motion to lift the glove.

"A king," said he of France, "is as much more than a match for
the Marquis Conrade as a dog would be less. Royal Richard, this
cannot be permitted.  You are the leader of our expedition--the
sword and buckler of Christendom."

"I protest against such a combat," said the Venetian proveditore,
"until the King of England shall have repaid the fifty thousand
byzants which he is indebted to the republic.  It is enough to be
threatened with loss of our debt, should our debtor fall by the
hands of the pagans, without the additional risk of his being
slain in brawls amongst Christians concerning dogs and banners."

"And I," said William with the Long Sword, Earl of Salisbury,
"protest in my turn against my royal brother perilling his life,
which is the property of the people of England, in such a cause.
Here, noble brother, receive back your glove, and think only as
if the wind had blown it from your hand.  Mine shall lie in its
stead.  A king's son, though with the bar sinister on his shield,
is at least a match for this marmoset of a marquis."

"Princes and nobles," said Conrade, "I will not accept of King
Richard's defiance.  He hath been chosen our leader against the
Saracens, and if his conscience can answer the accusation of
provoking an ally to the field on a quarrel so frivolous, mine,
at least, cannot endure the reproach of accepting it.  But
touching his bastard brother, William of Woodstock, or against
any other who shall adopt or shall dare to stand godfather to
this most false charge, I will defend my honour in the lists, and
prove whosoever impeaches it a false liar."

"The Marquis of Montserrat," said the Archbishop of Tyre, "hath
spoken like a wise and moderate gentleman; and methinks this
controversy might, without dishonour to any party, end at this
point."

"Methinks it might so terminate," said the King of France,
"provided King Richard will recall his accusation as made upon
over-slight grounds."

"Philip of France," answered Coeur de Lion, "my words shall never
do my thoughts so much injury.  I have charged yonder Conrade as
a thief, who, under cloud of night, stole from its place the
emblem of England's dignity.  I still believe and charge him to
be such; and when a day is appointed for the combat, doubt not
that, since Conrade declines to meet us in person, I will find a
champion to appear in support of my challenge--for thou, William,
must not thrust thy long sword into this quarrel without our
special license."

"Since my rank makes me arbiter in this most unhappy matter,"
said Philip of France, "I appoint the fifth day from hence for
the decision thereof, by way of combat, according to knightly
usage--Richard, King of England, to appear by his champion as
appellant, and Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat, in his own person,
as defendant.  Yet I own I know not where to find neutral ground
where such a quarrel may be fought out; for it must not be in the
neighbourhood of this camp, where the soldiers would make faction
on the different sides."

"It were well," said Richard, "to apply to the generosity of the
royal Saladin, since, heathen as he is, I have never known knight
more fulfilled of nobleness, or to whose good faith we may so
peremptorily entrust ourselves.  I speak thus for those who may
be doubtful of mishap; for myself, wherever I see my foe, I make
that spot my battle-ground."

"Be it so," said Philip; "we will make this matter known to
Saladin, although it be showing to an enemy the unhappy spirit of
discord which we would willingly hide from even ourselves, were
it possible.  Meanwhile, I dismiss this assembly, and charge you
all, as Christian men and noble knights, that ye let this unhappy
feud breed no further brawling in the camp, but regard it as a
thing solemnly referred to the judgment of God, to whom each of
you should pray that He will dispose of victory in the combat
according to the truth of the quarrel; and therewith may His will
be done!"

"Amen, amen!"  was answered on all sides; while the Templar
whispered the Marquis,  "Conrade, wilt thou not add a petition to
be delivered from the power of the dog, as the Psalmist hath it?"

"Peace, thou--!"  replied the Marquis; "there is a revealing
demon abroad which may report, amongst other tidings, how far
thou dost carry the motto of thy order--"FERIATUR LEO."

"Thou wilt stand the brunt of challenge?" said the Templar.

"Doubt me not," said Conrade.  "I would not, indeed, have
willingly met the iron arm of Richard himself, and I shame not to
confess that I rejoice to be free of his encounter; but, from his
bastard brother downward, the man breathes not in his ranks whom
I fear to meet."

"It is well you are so confident," continued the Templar; "and,
in that case, the fangs of yonder hound have done more to
dissolve this league of princes than either thy devices or the
dagger of the Charegite.  Seest thou how, under a brow studiously
overclouded, Philip cannot conceal the satisfaction which he
feels at the prospect of release from the alliance which sat so
heavy on him?  Mark how Henry of Champagne smiles to himself,
like a sparkling goblet of his own wine; and see the chuckling
delight of Austria, who thinks his quarrel is about to be avenged
without risk or trouble of his own.  Hush!  he approaches.--A
most grievous chance, most royal Austria, that these breaches in
the walls of our Zion--"

"If thou meanest this Crusade," replied the Duke, "I would it
were crumbled to pieces, and each were safe at home!  I speak
this in confidence."

"But," said the Marquis of Montserrat, "to think this disunion
should be made by the hands of King Richard, for whose pleasure
we have been contented to endure so much, and to whom we have
been as submissive as slaves to a master, in hopes that he would
use his valour against our enemies, instead of exercising it upon
our friends!"

"I see not that he is so much more valorous than others," said
the Archduke.  "I believe, had the noble Marquis met him in the
lists, he would have had the better; for though the islander
deals heavy blows with the pole-axe, he is not so very dexterous
with the lance.  I should have cared little to have met him
myself on our old quarrel, had the weal of Christendom permitted
to sovereign princes to breathe themselves in the lists; and if
thou desirest it, noble Marquis, I will myself be your godfather
in this combat."

"And I also," said the Grand Master.

"Come, then, and take your nooning in our tent, noble sirs," said
the Duke, "and we'll speak of this business over some right
NIERENSTEIN."

They entered together accordingly.

"What said our patron and these great folks together?" said Jonas
Schwanker to his companion, the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, who had used the
freedom to press nigh to his master when the Council was
dismissed, while the jester waited at a more respectful distance.

"Servant of Folly," said the SPRUCH-SPRECHER,  "moderate thy
curiosity; it beseems not that I should tell to thee the counsels
of our master."

"Man of wisdom, you mistake," answered Jonas.  "We are both the
constant attendants on our patron, and it concerns us alike to
know whether thou or I--Wisdom or Folly--have the deeper interest
in him."

"He told to the Marquis," answered the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, "and to
the Grand Master, that he was aweary of these wars, and would be
glad he was safe at home."

"That is a drawn cast, and counts for nothing in the game," said
the jester; "it was most wise to think thus, but great folly to
tell it to others--proceed."

"Ha, hem!"  said the SPRUCH-SPRECHER; "he next said to them that
Richard was not more valorous than others, or over-dexterous in
the tilt-yard."

"Woodcock of my side," said Schwanker, "this was egregious folly.
What next?"

"Nay, I am something oblivious," replied the man of wisdom--" he
invited them to a goblet of NIERENSTEIN."

"That hath a show of wisdom in it," said Jonas.  "Thou mayest
mark it to thy credit in the meantime; but an he drink too much,
as is most likely, I will have it pass to mine. Anything more?"

"Nothing worth memory," answered the orator; "only he wished he
had taken the occasion to meet Richard in the lists."

"Out upon it--out upon it!"  said Jonas; "this is such dotage of
folly that I am well-nigh ashamed of winning the game by it.
Ne'ertheless, fool as he is, we will follow him, most sage
SPRUCH-SPRECHER, and have our share of the wine of NIERENSTEIN."



CHAPTER XXV.

Yet this inconstancy is such,
As thou, too, shalt adore;
I could not love thee, love so much,
Loved I not honour more.       MONTROSE'S LINES.

When King Richard returned to his tent, he commanded the Nubian
to be brought before him.  He entered with his usual ceremonial
reverence, and having prostrated himself, remained standing
before the King in the attitude of a slave awaiting the orders of
his master.  It was perhaps well for him that the preservation of
his character required his eyes to be fixed on the ground, since
the keen glance with which Richard for some time surveyed him in
silence would, if fully encountered, have been difficult to
sustain.

"Thou canst well of woodcraft," said the King, after a pause,
"and hast started thy game and brought him to bay as ably as if
Tristrem himself had taught thee.  [A universal tradition
ascribed to Sir Tristrem, famous for his lore of the fair Queen
Yseult, the laws concerning the practice of woodcraft, or
VENERIE, as it was called, being those that related to the rules
of the chase, which were deemed of much consequence during the
Middle Ages.]  But this is not all--he must be brought down at
force.  I myself would have liked to have levelled my hunting-
spear at him.  There are, it seems, respects which prevent this.
Thou art about to return to the camp of the Soldan, bearing a
letter, requiring of his courtesy to appoint neutral ground for
the deed of chivalry, and should it consist with his pleasure, to
concur with us in witnessing it.  Now, speaking conjecturally, we
think thou mightst find in that camp some cavalier who, for the
love of truth and his own augmentation of honour, will do battle
with this same traitor of Montserrat."

The Nubian raised his eyes and fixed them on the King with a look
of eager ardour; then raised them to Heaven with such solemn
gratitude that the water soon glistened in them; then bent his
head, as affirming what Richard desired, and resumed his usual
posture of submissive attention.

"It is well," said the King; "and I see thy desire to oblige me
in this matter.  And herein, I must needs say, lies the
excellence of such a servant as thou, who hast not speech either
to debate our purpose or to require explanation of what we have
determined.  An English serving man in thy place had given me his
dogged advice to trust the combat with some good lance of my
household, who, from my brother Longsword downwards, are all on
fire to do battle in my cause; and a chattering Frenchman had
made a thousand attempts to discover wherefore I look for a
champion from the camp of the infidels.  But thou, my silent
agent, canst do mine errand without questioning or comprehending
it; with thee to hear is to obey."

A bend of the body and a genuflection were the appropriate answer
of the Ethiopian to these observations.

"And now to another point," said the King, and speaking suddenly
and rapidly--"have you yet seen Edith Plantagenet?"

The mute looked up as in the act of being about to speak--nay,
his lips had begun to utter a distinct negative--when the
abortive attempt died away in the imperfect murmurs of the dumb.

"Why, lo you there!"  said the King, "the very sound of the name
of a royal maiden of beauty so surpassing as that of our lovely
cousin seems to have power enough well-nigh to make the dumb
speak.  What miracles then might her eye work upon such a
subject!  I will make the experiment, friend slave.  Thou shalt
see this choice beauty of our Court, and do the errand of the
princely Soldan."

Again a joyful glance--again a genuflection--but, as he arose,
the King laid his hand heavily on his shoulder, and proceeded
with stern gravity thus: "Let me in one thing warn you, my sable
envoy.  Even if thou shouldst feel that the kindly influence of
her whom thou art soon to behold should loosen the bonds of thy
tongue, presently imprisoned, as the good Soldan expresses it,
within the ivory walls of its castle, beware how thou changest
thy taciturn character, or speakest a word in her presence, even
if thy powers of utterance were to be miraculously restored.
Believe me that I should have thy tongue extracted by the roots,
and its ivory palace--that is, I presume, its range of teeth
--drawn out one by one.  Wherefore, be wise and silent still."

The Nubian, so soon as the King had removed his heavy grasp from
his shoulder, bent his head, and laid his hand on his lips, in
token of silent obedience.

But Richard again laid his hand on him more gently, and added,
"This behest we lay on thee as on a slave.  Wert thou knight and
gentleman, we would require thine honour in pledge of thy
silence, which is one especial condition of our present trust."

The Ethiopian raised his body proudly, looked full at the King,
and laid his right hand on his heart.

Richard then summoned his chamberlain.

"Go, Neville," he said, "with this slave to the tent of our royal
consort, and say it is our pleasure that he have an audience--a
private audience--of our cousin Edith.  He is charged with a
commission to her.  Thou canst show him the way also, in case he
requires thy guidance, though thou mayst have observed it is
wonderful how familiar he already seems to be with the purlieus
of our camp.--And thou, too, friend Ethiop," the King continued,
"what thou dost do quickly, and return hither within the half-
hour."

"I stand discovered," thought the seeming Nubian, as, with
downcast looks and folded arms, he followed the hasty stride of
Neville towards the tent of Queen Berengaria--"I stand
undoubtedly discovered and unfolded to King Richard; yet I cannot
perceive that his resentment is hot against me.  If I understand
his words--and surely it is impossible to misinterpret them--he
gives me a noble chance of redeeming my honour upon the crest of
this false Marquis, whose guilt I read in his craven eye and
quivering lip when the charge was made against him.--Roswal,
faithfully hast thou served thy master, and most dearly shall thy
wrong be avenged!--But what is the meaning of my present
permission to look upon her whom I had despaired ever to see
again?  And why, or how, can the royal Plantagenet consent that I
should see his divine kinswoman, either as the messenger of the
heathen Saladin, or as the guilty exile whom he so lately
expelled from his camp--his audacious avowal of the affection
which is his pride being the greatest enhancement of his guilt?
That Richard should consent to her receiving a letter from an
infidel lover by the hands of one of such disproportioned rank
are either of them circumstances equally incredible, and, at the
same time, inconsistent with each other.  But Richard, when
unmoved by his heady passions, is liberal, generous, and truly
noble; and as such I will deal with him, and act according to his
instructions, direct or implied, seeking to know no more than may
gradually unfold itself without my officious inquiry.  To him who
has given me so brave an opportunity to vindicate my tarnished
honour, I owe acquiescence and obedience; and painful as it may
be, the debt shall be paid.  And yet"--thus the proud swelling
of his heart further suggested--"Coeur de Lion, as he is called,
might have measured the feelings of others by his own.  I urge an
address to his kinswoman!  I, who never spoke word to her when I
took a royal prize from her hand--when I was accounted not the
lowest in feats of chivalry among the defenders of the Cross! I
approach her when in a base disguise, and in a servile habit--
and, alas!  when my actual condition is that of a slave, with a
spot of dishonour on that which was once my shield!  I do this!
He little knows me.  Yet I thank him for the opportunity which
may make us all better acquainted with each other."

As he arrived at this conclusion, they paused before the entrance
of the Queen's pavilion.

They were of course admitted by the guards, and Neville, leaving
the Nubian in a small apartment, or antechamber, which was but
too well remembered by him, passed into that which was used as
the Queen's presence-chamber.  He communicated his royal master's
pleasure in a low and respectful tone of voice, very different
from the bluntness of Thomas de Vaux, to whom Richard was
everything and the rest of the Court, including Berengaria
herself, was nothing.  A burst of laughter followed the
communication of his errand.

"And what like is the Nubian slave who comes ambassador on such
an errand from the Soldan?--a negro, De Neville, is he not?" said
a female voice, easily recognized for that of Berengaria.  "A
negro, is he not, De Neville, with black skin, a head curled like
a ram's, a flat nose, and blubber lips--ha, worthy Sir Henry?"

"Let not your Grace forget the shin-bones," said another voice,
"bent outwards like the edge of a Saracen scimitar."

"Rather like the bow of a Cupid, since he comes upon a lover's
errand,"  said the Queen.--"Gentle Neville, thou art ever prompt
to pleasure us poor women, who have so little to pass away our
idle moments.  We must see this messenger of love.  Turks and
Moors have I seen many, but negro never."

"I am created to obey your Grace's commands, so you will bear me
out with my Sovereign for doing so," answered the debonair
knight.  "Yet, let me assure your Grace you will see something
different from what you expect."

"So much the better--uglier yet than our imaginations can fancy,
yet the chosen love-messenger of this gallant Soldan!"

"Gracious madam," said the Lady Calista, "may I implore you would
permit the good knight to carry this messenger straight to the
Lady Edith, to whom his credentials are addressed?  We have
already escaped hardly for such a frolic."

"Escaped?" repeated the Queen scornfully.  "Yet thou mayest be
right, Calista, in thy caution.  Let this Nubian, as thou callest
him, first do his errand to our cousin--besides, he is mute too,
is he not?"

"He is, gracious madam," answered the knight.

"Royal sport have these Eastern ladies," said Berengaria,
"attended by those before whom they may say anything, yet who can
report nothing.  Whereas in our camp, as the Prelate of Saint
Jude's is wont to say, a bird of the air will carry the matter."

"Because," said De Neville, "your Grace forgets that you speak
within canvas walls."

The voices sunk on this observation, and after a little
whispering, the English knight again returned to the Ethiopian,
and made him a sign to follow.  He did so, and Neville conducted
him to a pavilion, pitched somewhat apart from that of the Queen,
for the accommodation, it seemed, of the Lady Edith and her
attendants.  One of her Coptic maidens received the message
communicated by Sir Henry Neville, and in the space of a very few
minutes the Nubian was ushered into Edith's presence, while
Neville was left on the outside of the tent.  The slave who
introduced him withdrew on a signal from her mistress, and it was
with humiliation, not of the posture only but of the very inmost
soul, that the unfortunate knight, thus strangely disguised,
threw himself on one knee, with looks bent on the ground and arms
folded on his bosom, like a criminal who expects his doom.  Edith
was clad in the same manner as when she received King Richard,
her long, transparent dark veil hanging around her like the shade
of a summer night on a beautiful landscape, disguising and
rendering obscure the beauties which it could not hide.  She held
in her hand a silver lamp, fed with some aromatic spirit, which
burned with unusual brightness.

When Edith came within a step of the kneeling and motionless
slave, she held the light towards his face, as if to peruse his
features more attentively, then turned from him, and placed her
lamp so as to throw the shadow of his face in profile upon the
curtain which hung beside.  She at length spoke in a voice
composed, yet deeply sorrowful,

"Is it you? It is indeed you, brave Knight of the Leopard
--gallant Sir Kenneth of Scotland; is it indeed you?--thus
servilely disguised--thus surrounded by a hundred dangers."

At hearing the tones of his lady's voice thus unexpectedly
addressed to him, and in a tone of compassion approaching to
tenderness, a corresponding reply rushed to the knight's lips,
and scarce could Richard's commands and his own promised silence
prevent his answering that the sight he saw, the sounds he just
heard, were sufficient to recompense the slavery of a life, and
dangers which threatened that life every hour.  He did recollect
himself, however, and a deep and impassioned sigh was his only
reply to the high-born Edith's question.

"I see--I know I have guessed right," continued Edith. "I marked
you from your first appearance near the platform on which I stood
with the Queen.  I knew, too, your valiant hound.  She is no true
lady, and is unworthy of the service of such a knight as thou
art, from whom disguises of dress or hue could conceal a faithful
servant.  Speak, then, without fear to Edith Plantagenet.  She
knows how to grace in adversity the good knight who served,
honoured, and did deeds of arms in her name, when fortune
befriended him.--Still silent!  Is it fear or shame that keeps
thee so!  Fear should be unknown to thee; and for shame, let it
remain with those who have wronged thee."

The knight, in despair at being obliged to play the mute in an
interview so interesting, could only express his mortification by
sighing deeply, and laying his finger upon his lips.  Edith
stepped back, as if somewhat displeased.

What!" she said, "the Asiatic mute in very deed, as well as in
attire? This I looked not for.  Or thou mayest scorn me, perhaps,
for thus boldly acknowledging that I have heedfully observed the
homage thou hast paid me? Hold no unworthy thoughts of Edith on
that account.  She knows well the bounds which reserve and
modesty prescribe to high-born maidens, and she knows when and
how far they should give place to gratitude--to a sincere desire
that it were in her power to repay services and repair injuries
arising from the devotion which a good knight bore towards her.
Why fold thy hands together, and wring them with so much passion?
Can it be," she added, shrinking back at the idea, "that their
cruelty has actually deprived thee of speech? Thou shakest thy
head.  Be it a spell--be it obstinacy, I question thee no
further, but leave thee to do thine errand after thine own
fashion.  I also can be mute."

The disguised knight made an action as if at once lamenting his
own condition and deprecating her displeasure, while at the same
time he presented to her, wrapped, as usual, in fine silk and
cloth of gold, the letter of the Soldan.  She took it, surveyed
it carelessly, then laid it aside, and bending her eyes once more
on the knight, she said in a low tone, "Not even a word to do
thine errand to me?"

He pressed both his hands to his brow, as if to intimate the pain
which he felt at being unable to obey her; but she turned from
him in anger.

"Begone!" she said.  "I have spoken enough--too much--to one who
will not waste on me a word in reply. Begone!--and say, if I have
wronged thee, I have done penance; for if I have been the unhappy
means of dragging thee down from a station of honour, I have, in
this interview, forgotten my own worth, and lowered myself in thy
eyes and in my own."

She covered her eyes with her hands, and seemed deeply agitated.
Sir Kenneth would have approached, but she waved him back.

"Stand off!  thou whose soul Heaven hath suited to its new
station!  Aught less dull and fearful than a slavish mute had
spoken a word of gratitude, were it but to reconcile me to my own
degradation.  Why pause you?--begone!"

The disguised knight almost involuntarily looked towards the
letter as an apology for protracting his stay.  She snatched it
up, saying in a tone of irony and contempt, "I had forgotten--the
dutiful slave waits an answer to his message. How's this--from
the Soldan!"

She hastily ran over the contents, which were expressed both in
Arabic and French, and when she had done, she laughed in bitter
anger.

"Now this passes imagination!" she said; "no jongleur can show so
deft a transmutation!  His legerdemain can transform zechins and
byzants into doits and maravedis; but can his art convert a
Christian knight, ever esteemed among the bravest of the Holy
Crusade, into the dust-kissing slave of a heathen Soldan--the
bearer of a paynim's insolent proposals to a Christian maiden--
nay, forgetting the laws of honourable chivalry, as well as of
religion? But it avails not talking to the willing slave of a
heathen hound.  Tell your master, when his scourge shall have
found thee a tongue, that which thou hast seen me do"--so saying,
she threw the Soldan's letter on the ground, and placed her foot
upon it--"and say to him, that Edith Plantagenet scorns the
homage of an unchristened pagan."

With these words she was about to shoot from the knight, when,
kneeling at her feet in bitter agony, he ventured to lay his hand
upon her robe and oppose her departure.

"Heard'st thou not what I said, dull slave?" she said, turning
short round on him, and speaking with emphasis. "Tell the heathen
Soldan, thy master, that I scorn his suit as much as I despise
the prostration of a worthless renegade to religion and chivalry
--to God and to his lady!"

So saying, she burst from him, tore her garment from his grasp,
and left the tent.

The voice of Neville, at the same time, summoned him from
without.  Exhausted and stupefied by the distress he had
undergone during this interview, from which he could only have
extricated himself by breach of the engagement which he had
formed with King Richard, the unfortunate knight staggered rather
than walked after the English baron, till they reached the royal
pavilion, before which a party of horsemen had just dismounted.
There were light and motion within the tent, and when Neville
entered with his disguised attendant, they found the King, with
several of his nobility, engaged in welcoming those who were
newly arrived.



CHAPTER XXVI.

"The tears I shed must ever fall.
I weep not for an absent swain;
For time may happier hours recall,
And parted lovers meet again.

"I weep not for the silent dead.
Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er;
And those that loved their steps must tread,
When death shall join to part no more."

But worse than absence, worse than death,
She wept her lover's sullied fame,
And, fired with all the pride of birth,
She wept a soldier's injured name.       BALLAD.

The frank and bold voice of Richard was heard in joyous
gratulation.

"Thomas de Vaux!  stout Tom of the Gills!  by the head of King
Henry, thou art welcome to me as ever was flask of wine to a
jolly toper!  I should scarce have known how to order my battle-
array, unless I had thy bulky form in mine eye as a landmark to
form my ranks upon.  We shall have blows anon, Thomas, if the
saints be gracious to us; and had we fought in thine absence, I
would have looked to hear of thy being found hanging upon an
elder-tree."

"I should have borne my disappointment with more Christian
patience, I trust," said Thomas de Vaux, "than to have died the
death of an apostate.  But I thank your Grace for my welcome,
which is the more generous, as it respects a banquet of blows, of
which, saving your pleasure, you are ever too apt to engross the
larger share.  But here have I brought one to whom your Grace
will, I know, give a yet warmer welcome."

The person who now stepped forward to make obeisance to Richard
was a young man of low stature and slight form. His dress was as
modest as his figure was unimpressive; but he bore on his bonnet
a gold buckle, with a gem, the lustre of which could only be
rivalled by the brilliancy of the eye which the bonnet shaded.
It was the only striking feature in his countenance; but when
once noticed, it ever made a strong impression on the spectator.
About his neck there hung in a scarf of sky-blue silk a WREST as
it was called--that is, the key with which a harp is tuned, and
which was of solid gold.

This personage would have kneeled reverently to Richard, but the
Monarch raised him in joyful haste, pressed him to his bosom
warmly, and kissed him on either side of the face.

"Blondel de Nesle!"  he exclaimed joyfully--"welcome from Cyprus,
my king of minstrels!--welcome to the King of England, who rates
not his own dignity more highly than he does thine.  I have been
sick, man, and, by my soul, I believe it was for lack of thee;
for, were I half way to the gate of heaven, methinks thy strains
could call me back.  And what news, my gentle master, from the
land of the lyre?  Anything fresh from the TROUVEURS of Provence?
Anything from the minstrels of merry Normandy?  Above all, hast
thou thyself been busy?  But I need not ask thee--thou canst not
be idle if thou wouldst; thy noble qualities are like a fire
burning within, and compel thee to pour thyself out in music and
song."

"Something I have learned, and something I have done, noble
King," answered the celebrated Blondel, with a retiring modesty
which all Richard's enthusiastic admiration of his skill had been
unable to banish.

"We will hear thee, man--we will hear thee instantly," said the
King.  Then, touching Blondel's shoulder kindly, he added, "That
is, if thou art not fatigued with thy journey; for I would sooner
ride my best horse to death than injure a note of thy voice."

"My voice is, as ever, at the service of my royal patron," said
Blondel; "but your Majesty," he added, looking at some papers on
the table, "seems more importantly engaged, and the hour waxes
late."

"Not a whit, man, not a whit, my dearest Blondel.  I did but
sketch an array of battle against the Saracens, a thing of a
moment, almost as soon done as the routing of them."

"Methinks, however," said Thomas de Vaux, "it were not unfit to
inquire what soldiers your Grace hath to array.  I bring reports
on that subject from Ascalon."

"Thou art a mule, Thomas," said the King--"a very mule for
dullness and obstinacy!   Come, nobles--a hall--a hall--range ye
around him!  Give Blondel the tabouret.  Where is his harp-
bearer?--or, soft, lend him my harp, his own may be damaged by
the journey."

"I would your Grace would take my report," said Thomas de Vaux.
"I have ridden far, and have more list to my bed than to have my
ears tickled."

"THY ears tickled!"  said the King; "that must be with a
woodcock's feather, and not with sweet sounds.  Hark thee,
Thomas, do thine ears know the singing of Blondel from the
braying of an ass?"

"In faith, my liege," replied Thomas, "I cannot well say; but
setting Blondel out of the question, who is a born gentleman, and
doubtless of high acquirements, I shall never, for the sake of
your Grace's question, look on a minstrel but I shall think upon
an ass."

"And might not your manners," said Richard, "have excepted me,
who am a gentleman born as well as Blondel, and, like him, a
guild-brother of the joyeuse science?"

"Your Grace should remember," said De Vaux, smiling, "that 'tis
useless asking for manners from a mule."

"Most truly spoken," said the King; "and an ill-conditioned
animal thou art.  But come hither, master mule, and be unloaded,
that thou mayest get thee to thy litter, without any music being
wasted on thee.  Meantime do thou, good brother of Salisbury, go
to our consort's tent, and tell her that Blondel has arrived,
with his budget fraught with the newest minstrelsy.  Bid her come
hither instantly, and do thou escort her, and see that our
cousin, Edith Plantagenet, remain not behind."

His eye then rested for a moment on the Nubian, with that
expression of doubtful meaning which his countenance usually
displayed when he looked at him.

"Ha, our silent and secret messenger returned?--Stand up, slave,
behind the back of De Neville, and thou shalt hear presently
sounds which will make thee bless God that He afflicted thee
rather with dumbness than deafness."

So saying, he turned from the rest of the company towards De
Vaux, and plunged instantly into the military details which that
baron laid before him.

About the time that the Lord of Gilsland had finished his
audience, a messenger announced that the Queen and her attendants
were approaching the royal tent.--"A flask of wine, ho!"  said
the King; "of old King Isaac's long-saved Cyprus, which we won
when we stormed Famagosta.  Fill to the stout Lord of Gilsland,
gentles--a more careful and faithful servant never had any
prince."

"I am glad," said Thomas de Vaux, "that your Grace finds the mule
a useful slave, though his voice be less musical than horse-hair
or wire."

"What, thou canst not yet digest that quip of the mule?" said
Richard.  "Wash it down with a brimming flagon, man, or thou wilt
choke upon it.  Why, so--well pulled!--and now I will tell thee,
thou art a soldier as well as I, and we must brook each other's
jests in the hall as each other's blows in the tourney, and love
each other the harder we hit.  By my faith, if thou didst not hit
me as hard as I did thee in our late encounter!  thou gavest all
thy wit to the thrust. But here lies the difference betwixt thee
and Blondel.  Thou art but my comrade--I might say my pupil--in
the art of war; Blondel is my master in the science of minstrelsy
and music.  To thee I permit the freedom of intimacy; to him I
must do reverence, as to my superior in his art.  Come, man, be
not peevish, but remain and hear our glee."

"To see your Majesty in such cheerful mood," said the Lord of
Gilsland, "by my faith, I could remain till Blondel had achieved
the great romance of King Arthur, which lasts for three days."

"We will not tax your patience so deeply," said the King. "But
see, yonder glare of torches without shows that our consort
approaches.  Away to receive her, man, and win thyself grace in
the brightest eyes of Christendom.  Nay, never stop to adjust thy
cloak.  See, thou hast let Neville come between the wind and the
sails of thy galley."

"He was never before me in the field of battle," said De Vaux,
not greatly pleased to see himself anticipated by the more active
service of the chamberlain.

"No, neither he nor any one went before thee there, my good Tom
of the Gills," said the King, "unless it was ourself, now and
then."

"Ay, my liege," said De Vaux, "and let us do justice to the
unfortunate.  The unhappy Knight of the Leopard hath been before
me too, at a season; for, look you, he weighs less on horseback,
and so--"

"Hush!"  said the King, interrupting him in a peremptory tone,
"not a word of him," and instantly stepped forward to greet his
royal consort; and when he had done so, he presented to her
Blondel, as king of minstrelsy and his master in the gay science.
Berengaria, who well knew that her royal husband's passion for
poetry and music almost equalled his appetite for warlike fame,
and that Blondel was his especial favourite, took anxious care to
receive him with all the flattering distinctions due to one whom
the King delighted to honour.  Yet it was evident that, though
Blondel made suitable returns to the compliments showered on him
something too abundantly by the royal beauty, he owned with
deeper reverence and more humble gratitude the simple and
graceful welcome of Edith, whose kindly greeting appeared to him,
perhaps, sincere in proportion to its brevity and simplicity.

Both the Queen and her royal husband were aware of this
distinction, and Richard, seeing his consort somewhat piqued at
the preference assigned to his cousin, by which perhaps he
himself did not feel much gratified, said in the hearing of both,
"We minstrels, Berengaria, as thou mayest see by the bearing of
our master Blondel, pay more reverence to a severe judge like our
kinswoman than to a kindly, partial friend like thyself, who is
willing to take our worth upon trust."

Edith was moved by this sarcasm of her royal kinsman, and
hesitated not to reply that, "To be a harsh and severe judge was
not an attribute proper to her alone of all the Plantagenets."

She had perhaps said more, having some touch of the temper of
that house, which, deriving their name and cognizance from the
lowly broom (PLANTA GENISTA), assumed as an emblem of humility,
were perhaps one of the proudest families that ever ruled in
England; but her eye, when kindling in her reply, suddenly caught
those of the Nubian, although he endeavoured to conceal himself
behind the nobles who were present, and she sunk upon a seat,
turning so pale that Queen Berengaria deemed herself obliged to
call for water and essences, and to go through the other
ceremonies appropriate to a lady's swoon.  Richard, who better
estimated Edith's strength of mind, called to Blondel to assume
his seat and commence his lay, declaring that minstrelsy was
worth every other recipe to recall a Plantagenet to life.  "Sing
us," he said, "that song of the Bloody Vest, of which thou didst
formerly give me the argument ere I left Cyprus.  Thou must be
perfect in it by this time, or, as our yeomen say, thy bow is
broken."

The anxious eye of the minstrel, however, dwelt on Edith, and it
was not till he observed her returning colour that he obeyed the
repeated commands of the King.  Then, accompanying his voice with
the harp, so as to grace, but yet not drown, the sense of what he
sung, he chanted in a sort of recitative one of those ancient
adventures of love and knighthood which were wont of yore to win
the public attention.  So soon as he began to prelude, the
insignificance of his personal appearance seemed to disappear,
and his countenance glowed with energy and inspiration.  His
full, manly, mellow voice, so absolutely under command of the
purest taste, thrilled on every ear and to every heart.  Richard,
rejoiced as after victory, called out the appropriate summons for
silence,

"Listen, lords, in bower and hall;"

while, with the zeal of a patron at once and a pupil, he arranged
the circle around, and hushed them into silence; and he himself
sat down with an air of expectation and interest, not altogether
unmixed with the gravity of the professed critic.  The courtiers
turned their eyes on the King, that they might be ready to trace
and imitate the emotions his features should express, and Thomas
de Vaux yawned tremendously, as one who submitted unwillingly to
a wearisome penance.  The song of Blondel was of course in the
Norman language, but the verses which follow express its meaning
and its manner.

THE BLOODY VEST.

'Twas near the fair city of Benevent,
When the sun was setting on bough and bent,
And knights were preparing in bower and tent,
On the eve of the Baptist's tournament;
When in Lincoln green a stripling gent,
Well seeming a page by a princess sent,
Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went,
Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent.

Far hath he far'd, and farther must fare,
Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare,--
Little save iron and steel was there;
And, as lacking the coin to pay armourer's care,
With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare,
The good knight with hammer and file did repair
The mail that to-morrow must see him wear,
For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair.

"Thus speaks my lady," the page said he,
And the knight bent lowly both head and knee,
"She is Benevent's Princess so high in degree,
And thou art as lowly as knight may well be--
He that would climb so lofty a tree,
Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee,
Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see
His ambition is back'd by his hie chivalrie.

"Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he said,
And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head,
"Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad,
And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead,
For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread;
And charge, thus attir'd, in the tournament dread,
And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed,
And bring honour away, or remain with the dead."

Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast,
The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently hath kiss'd.
"Now blessed be the moment, the messenger be blest!
Much honour'd do I hold me in my lady's high behest;
And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed dress'd,
To the best armed champion I will not veil my crest;
But if I live and bear me well 'tis her turn to take the test."
Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody
Vest.

"Thou hast changed the measure upon us unawares in that last
couplet, my Blondel," said the King.

"Most true, my lord," said Blondel.  "I rendered the verses from
the Italian of an old harper whom I met in Cyprus, and not having
had time either to translate it accurately or commit it to
memory, I am fain to supply gaps in the music and the verse as I
can upon the spur of the moment, as you see boors mend a quickset
fence with a fagot."

"Nay, on my faith," said the King, "I like these rattling,
rolling Alexandrines.  Methinks they come more twangingly off to
the music than that briefer measure."

"Both are licensed, as is well known to your Grace," answered
Blondel.

"They are so, Blondel," said Richard, "yet methinks the scene
where there is like to be fighting will go best on in these same
thundering Alexandrines, which sound like the charge of cavalry,
while the other measure is but like the sidelong amble of a
lady's palfrey."

"It shall be as your Grace pleases," replied Blondel, and began
again to prelude.

"Nay, first cherish thy fancy with a cup of fiery Chios wine,"
said the King.  "And hark thee, I would have thee fling away that
new-fangled restriction of thine, of terminating in accurate and
similar rhymes.  They are a constraint on thy flow of fancy, and
make thee resemble a man dancing in fetters."

"The fetters are easily flung off, at least," said Blondel, again
sweeping his fingers over the strings, as one who would rather
have played than listened to criticism.

"But why put them on, man?" continued the King. "Wherefore thrust
thy genius into iron bracelets?  I marvel how you got forward at
all.  I am sure I should not have been able to compose a stanza
in yonder hampered measure."

Blondel looked down, and busied himself with the strings of his
harp, to hide an involuntary smile which crept over his features;
but it escaped not Richard's observation.

"By my faith, thou laughest at me, Blondel," he said; "and, in
good truth, every man deserves it who presumes to play the master
when he should be the pupil.  But we kings get bad habits of
self-opinion.  Come, on with thy lay, dearest Blondel--on after
thine own fashion, better than aught that we can suggest, though
we must needs be talking."

Blondel resumed the lay; but as extemporaneous composition was
familiar to him, he failed not to comply with the King's hints,
and was perhaps not displeased to show with how much ease he
could new-model a poem, even while in the act of recitation.

THE BLOODY VEST.

FYTTE SECOND.

The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats--
There was winning of honour and losing of seats;
There was hewing with falchions and splintering of staves--
The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves.
Oh, many a knight there fought bravely and well,
Yet one was accounted his peers to excel,
And 'twas he whose sole armour on body and breast
Seem'd the weed of a damsel when bouned for her rest.

There were some dealt him wounds that were bloody and sore,
But others respected his plight, and forbore.
"It is some oath of honour," they said, "and I trow,
'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow."
Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament cease--
He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung peace;
And the judges declare, and competitors yield,
That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the field.

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher,
When before the fair Princess low looted a squire,
And deliver'd a garment unseemly to view,
With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hack'd and pierc'd through;
All rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood,
With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud;
Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween,
Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean.

"This token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent,
Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent;
He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit,
He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit;
Through life's utmost peril the prize I have won,
And now must the faith of my mistress be shown:
For she who prompts knights on such danger to run
Must avouch his true service in front of the sun.

"'I restore,' says my master, 'the garment I've worn,
And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn;
For its stains and its rents she should prize it the more,
Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimson'd with gore.'"
Then deep blush'd the Princess--yet kiss'd she and press'd
The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast.
"Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show
If I value the blood on this garment or no."

And when it was time for the nobles to pass,
In solemn procession to minster and mass,
The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall,
But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore over all;
And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine,
When she knelt to her father and proffer'd the wine,
Over all her rich robes and state jewels she wore
That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore.

Then lords whisper'd ladies, as well you may think,
And ladies replied with nod, titter, and wink;
And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look'd down,
Turn'd at length to his daughter, and spoke with a frown:
"Now since thou hast publish'd thy folly and guilt,
E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast spilt;
Yet sore for your boldness you both will repent,
When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent'"

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he stood,
Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood:
"The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine,
I pour'd forth as freely as flask gives its wine;
And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame,
Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and shame;
And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent,
When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent,"

A murmur of applause ran through the assembly, following
the example of Richard himself, who loaded with praises
his favourite minstrel, and ended by presenting him with a
ring of considerable value.  The Queen hastened to
distinguish the favourite by a rich bracelet, and many of the
nobles who were present followed the royal example.

"Is our cousin Edith," said the King, "become insensible to the
sound of the harp she once loved?"

"She thanks Blondel for his lay," replied Edith, "but doubly the
kindness of the kinsman who suggested it."

"Thou art angry, cousin," said the King; "angry because thou hast
heard of a woman more wayward than thyself. But you escape me
not.  I will walk a space homeward with you towards the Queen's
pavilion.  We must have conference together ere the night has
waned into morning."

The Queen and her attendants were now on foot, and the other
guests withdrew from the royal tent.  A train with blazing
torches, and an escort of archers, awaited Berengaria without the
pavilion, and she was soon on her way homeward. Richard, as he
had proposed, walked beside his kinswoman, and compelled her to
accept of his arm as her support, so that they could speak to
each other without being overheard.

What answer, then, am I to return to the noble Soldan?" said
Richard.  "The kings and princes are falling from me, Edith; this
new quarrel hath alienated them once more.  I would do something
for the Holy Sepulchre by composition, if not by victory; and the
chance of my doing this depends, alas, on the caprice of a woman.
I would lay my single spear in the rest against ten of the best
lances in Christendom, rather than argue with a wilful wench who
knows not what is for her own good.  What answer, coz, am I to
return to the Soldan?  It must be decisive."

"Tell him," said Edith, "that the poorest of the Plantagenets
will rather wed with misery than with misbelief."

"Shall I say with slavery, Edith?" said the King.  "Methinks that
is nearer thy thoughts."

"There is no room," said Edith, "for the suspicion you so grossly
insinuate.  Slavery of the body might have been pitied, but that
of the soul is only to be despised.  Shame to thee, King of merry
England.  Thou hast enthralled both the limbs and the spirit of a
knight, one scarce less famed than thyself."

"Should I not prevent my kinswoman from drinking poison, by
sullying the vessel which contained it, if I saw no other means
of disgusting her with the fatal liquor?"  replied the King.

"It is thyself," answered Edith, "that would press me to drink
poison, because it is proffered in a golden chalice."

"Edith," said Richard, "I cannot force thy resolution; but beware
you shut not the door which Heaven opens.  The hermit of Engaddi
--he whom Popes and Councils have regarded as a prophet--hath
read in the stars that thy marriage shall reconcile me with a
powerful enemy, and that thy husband shall be Christian, leaving
thus the fairest ground to hope that the conversion of the
Soldan, and the bringing in of the sons of Ishmael to the pale of
the church, will be the consequence of thy wedding with Saladin.
Come, thou must make some sacrifice rather than mar such happy
prospects."

"Men may sacrifice rams and goats," said Edith, "but not honour
and conscience.  I have heard that it was the dishonour of a
Christian maiden which brought the Saracens into Spain; the shame
of another is no likely mode of expelling them from Palestine."

"Dost thou call it shame to become an empress?" said the King.

"I call it shame and dishonour to profane a Christian sacrament
by entering into it with an infidel whom it cannot bind; and I
call it foul dishonour that I, the descendant of a Christian
princess, should become of free will the head of a haram of
heathen concubines."

"Well, kinswoman," said the King, after a pause, "I must not
quarrel with thee, though I think thy dependent condition might
have dictated more compliance."

"My liege," replied Edith, "your Grace hath worthily succeeded to
all the wealth, dignity, and dominion of the House of
Plantagenet--do not, therefore, begrudge your poor kinswoman some
small share of their pride."

"By my faith, wench," said the King, "thou hast unhorsed me with
that very word, so we will kiss and be friends.  I will presently
dispatch thy answer to Saladin.  But after all, coz, were it not
better to suspend your answer till you have seen him?  Men say he
is pre-eminently handsome."

"There is no chance of our meeting, my lord," said Edith.

"By Saint George, but there is next to a certainty of it," said
the King; "for Saladin will doubtless afford us a free field for
the doing of this new battle of the Standard, and will witness it
himself.  Berengaria is wild to behold it also; and I dare be
sworn not a feather of you, her companions and attendants, will
remain behind--least of all thou thyself, fair coz.  But come, we
have reached the pavilion, and must part; not in unkindness thou,
oh--nay, thou must seal it with thy lip as well as thy hand,
sweet Edith--it is my right as a sovereign to kiss my pretty
vassals."

He embraced her respectfully and affectionately, and returned
through the moonlit camp, humming to himself such snatches of
Blondel's lay as he could recollect.

On his arrival he lost no time in making up his dispatches for
Saladin, and delivered them to the Nubian, with a charge to set
out by peep of day on his return to the Soldan.



CHAPTER XXVII.

We heard the Tecbir--so these Arabs call
Their shout of onset, when, with loud acclaim,
They challenge Heaven to give them victory.   SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.

On the subsequent morning Richard was invited to a conference by
Philip of France, in which the latter, with many expressions of
his high esteem for his brother of England, communicated to him
in terms extremely courteous, but too explicit to be
misunderstood, his positive intention to return to Europe, and to
the cares of his kingdom, as entirely despairing of future
success in their undertaking, with their diminished forces and
civil discords.  Richard remonstrated, but in vain; and when the
conference ended he received without surprise a manifesto from
the Duke of Austria, and several other princes, announcing a
resolution similar to that of Philip, and in no modified terms,
assigning, for their defection from the cause of the Cross, the
inordinate ambition and arbitrary domination of Richard of
England.  All hopes of continuing the war with any prospect of
ultimate success were now abandoned; and Richard, while he shed
bitter tears over his disappointed hopes of glory, was little
consoled by the recollection that the failure was in some degree
to be imputed to the advantages which he had given his enemies by
his own hasty and imprudent temper.

"They had not dared to have deserted my father thus," he said to
De Vaux, in the bitterness of his resentment. "No slanders they
could have uttered against so wise a king would have been
believed in Christendom; whereas--fool that I am!--I have not
only afforded them a pretext for deserting me, but even a colour
for casting all the blame of the rupture upon my unhappy
foibles."

These thoughts were so deeply galling to the King, that De Vaux
was rejoiced when the arrival of an ambassador from Saladin
turned his reflections into a different channel.

This new envoy was an Emir much respected by the Soldan, whose
name was Abdallah el Hadgi.  He derived his descent from the
family of the Prophet, and the race or tribe of Hashem, in
witness of which genealogy he wore a green turban of large
dimensions.  He had also three times performed the journey to
Mecca, from which he derived his epithet of El Hadgi, or the
Pilgrim.  Notwithstanding these various pretensions to sanctity,
Abdallah was (for an Arab) a boon companion, who enjoyed a merry
tale, and laid aside his gravity so far as to quaff a blithe
flagon when secrecy ensured him against scandal.  He was likewise
a statesman, whose abilities had been used by Saladin in various
negotiations with the Christian princes, and particularly with
Richard, to whom El Hadgi was personally known and acceptable.
Animated by the cheerful acquiescence with which the envoy of
Saladin afforded a fair field for the combat, a safe conduct for
all who might choose to witness it, and offered his own person as
a guarantee of his fidelity, Richard soon forgot his disappointed
hopes, and the approaching dissolution of the Christian league,
in the interesting discussions preceding a combat in the lists.

The station called the Diamond of the Desert was assigned for the
place of conflict, as being nearly at an equal distance betwixt
the Christian and Saracen camps.  It was agreed that Conrade of
Montserrat, the defendant, with his godfathers, the Archduke of
Austria and the Grand Master of the Templars, should appear there
on the day fixed for the combat, with a hundred armed followers,
and no more; that Richard of England and his brother Salisbury,
who supported the accusation, should attend with the same number,
to protect his champion; and that the Soldan should bring with
him a guard of five hundred chosen followers, a band considered
as not more than equal to the two hundred Christian lances.  Such
persons of consideration as either party chose to invite to
witness the contest were to wear no other weapons than their
swords, and to come without defensive armour.  The Soldan
undertook the preparation of the lists, and to provide
accommodations and refreshments of every kind for all who were to
assist at the solemnity; and his letters expressed with much
courtesy the pleasure which he anticipated in the prospect of a
personal and peaceful meeting with the Melech Ric, and his
anxious desire to render his reception as agreeable as possible.

All preliminaries being arranged and communicated to the
defendant and his godfathers, Abdullah the Hadgi was admitted to
a more private interview, where he heard with delight the strains
of Blondel.  Having first carefully put his green turban out of
sight, and assumed a Greek cap in its stead, he requited the
Norman minstrel's music with a drinking song from the Persian,
and quaffed a hearty flagon of Cyprus wine, to show that his
practice matched his principles.  On the next day, grave and
sober as the water-drinker Mirglip, he bent his brow to the
ground before Saladin's footstool, and rendered to the Soldan an
account of his embassy.

On the day before that appointed for the combat Conrade and his
friends set off by daybreak to repair to the place assigned, and
Richard left the camp at the same hour and for the same purpose;
but, as had been agreed upon, he took his journey by a different
route--a precaution which had been judged necessary, to prevent
the possibility of a quarrel betwixt their armed attendants.

The good King himself was in no humour for quarrelling with any
one.  Nothing could have added to his pleasurable anticipations
of a desperate and bloody combat in the lists, except his being
in his own royal person one of the combatants; and he was half in
charity again even with Conrade of Montserrat.  Lightly armed,
richly dressed, and gay as a bridegroom on the eve of his
nuptials, Richard caracoled along by the side of Queen
Berengaria's litter, Pointing out to her the various scenes
through which they passed, and cheering with tale and song the
bosom of the inhospitable wilderness.  The former route of the
Queen's pilgrimage to Engaddi had been on the other side of the
chain of mountains, so that the ladies were strangers to the
scenery of the desert; and though Berengaria knew her husband's
disposition too well not to endeavour to seem interested in what
he was pleased either to say or to sing, she could not help
indulging some female fears when she found herself in the howling
wilderness with so small an escort, which seemed almost like a
moving speck on the bosom of the plain, and knew at the same time
they were not so distant from the camp of Saladin, but what they
might be in a moment surprised and swept off by an overpowering
host of his fiery-footed cavalry, should the pagan be faithless
enough to embrace an opportunity thus tempting.  But when she
hinted these suspicions to Richard he repelled them with
displeasure and disdain.  "It were worse than ingratitude," he
said, "to doubt the good faith of the generous Soldan."

Yet the same doubts and fears recurred more than once, not to the
timid mind of the Queen alone, but to the firmer and more candid
soul of Edith Plantagenet, who had no such confidence in the
faith of the Moslem as to render her perfectly at ease when so
much in their power; and her surprise had been far less than her
terror, if the desert around had suddenly resounded with the
shout of ALLAH HU!  and a band of Arab cavalry had pounced on
them like vultures on their prey.  Nor were these suspicions
lessened when, as evening approached, they were aware of a single
Arab horseman, distinguished by his turban and long lance,
hovering on the edge of a small eminence like a hawk poised in
the air, and who instantly, on the appearance of the royal
retinue, darted off with the speed of the same bird when it
shoots down the wind and disappears from the horizon.

"We must be near the station," said King Richard; "and yonder
cavalier is one of Saladin's outposts--methinks I hear the noise
of the Moorish horns and cymbals.  Get you into order, my hearts,
and form yourselves around the ladies soldierlike and firmly."

As he spoke, each knight, squire, and archer hastily closed in
upon his appointed ground, and they proceeded in the most compact
order, which made their numbers appear still smaller.  And to say
the truth, though there might be no fear, there was anxiety as
well as curiosity in the attention with which they listened to
the wild bursts of Moorish music, which came ever and anon more
distinctly from the quarter in which the Arab horseman had been
seen to disappear.

De Vaux spoke in a whisper to the King.  "Were it not well, my
liege, to send a page to the top of that sand-bank?  Or would it
stand with your pleasure that I prick forward?  Methinks, by all
yonder clash and clang, if there be no more than five hundred men
beyond the sand-hills, half of the Soldan's retinue must be
drummers and cymbal-tossers.  Shall I spur on?"

The baron had checked his horse with the bit, and was just about
to strike him with the spurs when the King exclaimed, "Not for
the world.  Such a caution would express suspicion, and could do
little to prevent surprise, which, however, I apprehend not."

They advanced accordingly in close and firm order till they
surmounted the line of low sand-hills, and came in sight of the
appointed station, when a splendid, but at the same time a
startling, spectacle awaited them.

The Diamond of the Desert, so lately a solitary fountain,
distinguished only amid the waste by solitary groups of palm-
trees, was now the centre of an encampment, the embroidered flags
and gilded ornaments of which glittered far and wide, and
reflected a thousand rich tints against the setting sun. The
coverings of the large pavilions were of the gayest colours--
scarlet, bright yellow, pale blue, and other gaudy and gleaming
hues--and the tops of their pillars, or tent-poles, were
decorated with golden pomegranates and small silken flags.  But
besides these distinguished pavilions, there were what Thomas de
Vaux considered as a portentous number of the ordinary black
tents of the Arabs, being sufficient, as he conceived, to
accommodate, according to the Eastern fashion, a host of five
thousand men.  A number of Arabs and Kurds, fully corresponding
to the extent of the encampment, were hastily assembling, each
leading his horse in his hand, and their muster was accompanied
by an astonishing clamour of their noisy instruments of martial
music, by which, in all ages, the warfare of the Arabs has been
animated.

They soon formed a deep and confused mass of dismounted cavalry
in front of their encampment, when, at the signal of a shrill
cry, which arose high over the clangour of the music, each
cavalier sprung to his saddle.  A cloud of dust arising at the
moment of this manoeuvre hid from Richard and his attendants the
camp, the palm-trees, and the distant ridge of mountains, as well
as the troops whose sudden movement had raised the cloud, and,
ascending high over their heads, formed itself into the fantastic
forms of writhed pillars, domes, and minarets.  Another shrill
yell was heard from the bosom of this cloudy tabernacle.  It was
the signal for the cavalry to advance, which they did at full
gallop, disposing themselves as they came forward so as to come
in at once on the front, flanks, and rear of Richard's little
bodyguard, who were thus surrounded, and almost choked by the
dense clouds of dust enveloping them on each side, through which
were seen alternately, and lost, the grim forms and wild faces of
the Saracens, brandishing and tossing their lances in every
possible direction with the wildest cries and halloos, and
frequently only reining up their horses when within a spear's
length of the Christians, while those in the rear discharged over
the heads of both parties thick volleys of arrows.  One of these
struck the litter in which the Queen was seated, who loudly
screamed, and the red spot was on Richard's brow in an instant.

"Ha!  Saint George," he exclaimed, "we must take some order with
this infidel scum!"

But Edith, whose litter was near, thrust her head out, and with
her hand holding one of the shafts, exclaimed, "Royal Richard,
beware what you do!  see, these arrows are headless!"

"Noble, sensible wench!"  exclaimed Richard; "by Heaven, thou
shamest us all by thy readiness of thought and eye.--Be not
moved, my English hearts," he exclaimed to his followers; "their
arrows have no heads--and their spears, too, lack the steel
points.  It is but a wild welcome, after their savage fashion,
though doubtless they would rejoice to see us daunted or
disturbed.  Move onward, slow and steady."

The little phalanx moved forward accordingly, accompanied on all
sides by the Arabs, with the shrillest and most piercing cries,
the bowmen, meanwhile, displaying their agility by shooting as
near the crests of the Christians as was possible, without
actually hitting them, while the lancers charged each other with
such rude blows of their blunt weapons that more than one of them
lost his saddle, and well-nigh his life, in this rough sport.
All this, though designed to express welcome, had rather a
doubtful appearance in the eyes of the Europeans.

As they had advanced nearly half way towards the camp, King
Richard and his suite forming, as it were, the nucleus round
which this tumultuary body of horsemen howled, whooped,
skirmished, and galloped, creating a scene of indescribable
confusion, another shrill cry was heard, on which all these
irregulars, who were on the front and upon the flanks of the
little body of Europeans, wheeled off; and forming themselves
into a long and deep column, followed with comparative order and
silence in the rear of Richard's troops.  The dust began now to
dissipate in their front, when there advanced to meet them
through that cloudy veil a body of cavalry of a different and
more regular description, completely armed with offensive and
defensive weapons, and who might well have served as a bodyguard
to the proudest of Eastern monarchs.  This splendid troop
consisted of five hundred men and each horse which it contained
was worth an earl's ransom.  The riders were Georgian and
Circassian slaves in the very prime of life. Their helmets and
hauberks were formed of steel rings, so bright that they shone
like silver; their vestures were of the gayest colours, and some
of cloth of gold or silver; the sashes were twisted with silk and
gold, their rich turbans were plumed and jewelled, and their
sabres and poniards, of Damascene steel, were adorned with gold
and gems on hilt and scabbard.

This splendid array advanced to the sound of military music, and
when they met the Christian body they opened their files to the
right and left, and let them enter between their ranks.  Richard
now assumed the foremost place in his troop, aware that Saladin
himself was approaching.  Nor was it long when, in the centre of
his bodyguard, surrounded by his domestic officers and those
hideous negroes who guard the Eastern haram, and whose misshapen
forms were rendered yet more frightful by the richness of their
attire, came the Soldan, with the look and manners of one on
whose brow Nature had written, This is a King!  In his snow-white
turban, vest, and wide Eastern trousers, wearing a sash of
scarlet silk, without any other ornament, Saladin might have
seemed the plainest-dressed man in his own guard.  But closer
inspection discerned in his turban that inestimable gem which was
called by the poets the Sea of Light; the diamond on which his
signet was engraved, and which he wore in a ring, was probably
worth all the jewels of the English crown; and a sapphire which
terminated the hilt of his cangiar was not of much inferior
value.  It should be added that, to Protect himself from the
dust, which in the vicinity of the Dead Sea resembles the finest
ashes, or, perhaps, out of Oriental pride, the Soldan wore a sort
of veil attached to his turban, which partly obscured the view of
his noble features.  He rode a milk-white Arabian, which bore him
as if conscious and proud of his noble burden.

There was no need of further introduction.  The two heroic
monarchs--for such they both were--threw them selves at once from
horseback, and the troops halting and the music suddenly ceasing,
they advanced to meet each other in profound silence, and after a
courteous inclination on either side they embraced as brethren
and equals.  The pomp and display upon both sides attracted no
further notice--no one saw aught save Richard and Saladin, and
they too beheld nothing but each other.  The looks with which
Richard surveyed Saladin were, however, more intently curious
than those which the Soldan fixed upon him; and the Soldan also
was the first to break silence.

"The Melech Ric is welcome to Saladin as water to this desert.  I
trust he hath no distrust of this numerous array. Excepting the
armed slaves of my household, those who surround you with eyes of
wonder and of welcome are--even the humblest of them--the
privileged nobles of my thousand tribes; for who that could claim
a title to be present would remain at home when such a Prince was
to be seen as Richard, with the terrors of whose name, even on
the sands of Yemen, the nurse stills her child, and the free Arab
subdues his restive steed!"

"And these are all nobles of Araby?"  said Richard, looking
around on wild forms with their persons covered with haiks, their
countenance swart with the sunbeams, their teeth as white as
ivory, their black eyes glancing with fierce and preternatural
lustre from under the shade of their turbans, and their dress
being in general simple even to meanness.

"They claim such rank," said Saladin; "but though numerous, they
are within the conditions of the treaty, and bear no arms but the
sabre--even the iron of their lances is left behind."

"I fear," muttered De Vaux in English, "they have left them where
they can be soon found a most flourishing House of Peers, I
confess, and would find Westminster Hall something too narrow for
them."

"Hush, De Vaux," said Richard, "I command thee.--Noble Saladin,"
he said, "suspicion and thou cannot exist on the same ground.
Seest thou," pointing to the litters, "I too have brought some
champions with me, though armed, perhaps, in breach of agreement;
for bright eyes and fair features are weapons which cannot be
left behind."

The Soldan, turning to the litters, made an obeisance as lowly as
if looking towards Mecca, and kissed the sand in token of
respect.

"Nay," said Richard, "they will not fear a closer encounter,
brother; wilt thou not ride towards their litters, and the
curtains will be presently withdrawn?"  "That may Allah
prohibit!"  said Saladin, "since not an Arab looks on who would
not think it shame to the noble ladies to be seen with their
faces uncovered."

"Thou shalt see them, then, in private, brother," answered
Richard.

"To what purpose?"  answered Saladin mournfully.  "Thy last
letter was, to the hopes which I had entertained, like water to
fire; and wherefore should I again light a flame which may indeed
consume, but cannot cheer me?  But will not my brother pass to
the tent which his servant hath prepared for him?  My principal
black slave hath taken order for the reception of the Princesses,
the officers of my household will attend your followers, and
ourself will be the chamberlain of the royal Richard."

He led the way accordingly to a splendid pavilion, where was
everything that royal luxury could devise.  De Vaux, who was in
attendance, then removed the chappe (CAPA), or long riding-cloak,
which Richard wore, and he stood before Saladin in the close
dress which showed to advantage the strength and symmetry of his
person, while it bore a strong contrast to the flowing robes
which disguised the thin frame. of the Eastern monarch.  It was
Richard's two-handed sword that chiefly attracted the attention
of the Saracen--a broad, straight blade, the seemingly unwieldy
length of which extended well-nigh from the shoulder to the heel
of the wearer.

"Had I not," said Saladin, "seen this brand flaming in the front
of battle, like that of Azrael, I had scarce believed that human
arm could wield it.  Might I request to see the Melech Ric strike
one blow with it in peace, and in pure trial of strength?"

"Willingly, noble Saladin," answered Richard; and looking around
for something whereon to exercise his strength, he saw a steel
mace held by one of the attendants, the handle being of the same
metal, and about an inch and a half in diameter.  This he placed
on a block of wood.

The anxiety of De Vaux for his master's honour led him to whisper
in English, "For the blessed Virgin's sake, beware what you
attempt, my liege!  Your full strength is not as yet returned
--give no triumph to the infidel."

"Peace, fool!"  said Richard, standing firm on his ground, and
casting a fierce glance around; "thinkest thou that I can fail in
HIS presence?"

The glittering broadsword, wielded by both his hands, rose aloft
to the King's left shoulder, circled round his head, descended
with the sway of some terrific engine, and the bar of iron rolled
on the ground in two pieces, as a woodsman would sever a sapling
with a hedging-bill.

"By the head of the Prophet, a most wonderful blow!" said the
Soldan, critically and accurately examining the iron bar which
had been cut asunder; and the blade of the sword was so well
tempered as to exhibit not the least token of having suffered by
the feat it had performed.  He then took the King's hand, and
looking on the size and muscular strength which it exhibited,
laughed as he placed it beside his own, so lank and thin, so
inferior in brawn and sinew.

"Ay, look well," said De Vaux in English, "it will be long ere
your long jackanape's fingers do such a feat with your fine
gilded reaping-hook there."

"Silence, De Vaux," said Richard;"by Our Lady, he understands or
guesses thy meaning--be not so broad, I pray thee."

The Soldan, indeed, presently said, "Something I would fain
attempt--though wherefore should the weak show their inferiority
in presence of the strong?  Yet each land hath its own exercises,
and this may be new to the Melech Ric."  So saying, he took from
the floor a cushion of silk and down, and placed it upright on
one end.  "Can thy weapon, my brother, sever that cushion?"  he
said to King Richard.

"No, surely," replied the King; "no sword on earth, were it the
Excalibur of King Arthur, can cut that which opposes no steady
resistance to the blow."

"Mark, then," said Saladin; and tucking up the sleeve of his
gown, showed his arm, thin indeed and spare, but which constant
exercise had hardened into a mass consisting of nought but bone,
brawn, and sinew.  He unsheathed his scimitar, a curved and
narrow blade, which glittered not like the swords of the Franks,
but was, on the contrary, of a dull blue colour, marked with ten
millions of meandering lines, which showed how anxiously the
metal had been welded by the armourer.  Wielding this weapon,
apparently so inefficient when compared to that of Richard, the
Soldan stood resting his weight upon his left foot, which was
slightly advanced; he balanced himself a little, as if to steady
his aim; then stepping at once forward, drew the scimitar across
the cushion, applying the edge so dexterously, and with so little
apparent effort, that the cushion seemed rather to fall asunder
than to be divided by violence.

"It is a juggler's trick," said De Vaux, darting forward and
snatching up the portion of the cushion which had been cut off,
as if to assure himself of the reality of the feat; "there is
gramarye in this."

The Soldan seemed to comprehend him, for he undid the sort of
veil which he had hitherto morn, laid it double along the edge of
his sabre, extended the weapon edgeways in the air, and drawing
it suddenly through the veil, although it hung on the blade
entirely loose, severed that also into two parts, which floated
to different sides of the tent, equally displaying the extreme
temper and sharpness of the weapon, and the exquisite dexterity
of him who used it.

"Now, in good faith, my brother," said Richard, "thou art even
matchless at the trick of the sword, and right perilous were it
to meet thee!  Still, however, I put some faith in a downright
English blow, and what we cannot do by sleight we eke out by
strength.  Nevertheless, in truth thou art as expert in
inflicting wounds as my sage Hakim in curing them.  I trust I
shall see the learned leech.  I have much to thank; him for, and
had brought some small present."

As he spoke, Saladin exchanged his turban for a Tartar cap.  He
had no sooner done so, than De Vaux opened at once his extended
mouth and his large, round eyes, and Richard gazed with scarce
less astonishment, while the Soldan spoke in a grave and altered
voice:  "The sick man, saith the poet, while he is yet infirm,
knoweth the physician by his step; but when he is recovered, he
knoweth not even his face when he looks upon him."

"A miracle!--a miracle!"  exclaimed Richard.

"Of Mahound's working, doubtless," said Thomas de Vaux.

"That I should lose my learned Hakim," said Richard, "merely by
absence of his cap and robe, and that I should find him again in
my royal brother Saladin!"

"Such is oft the fashion of the world," answered the Soldan; "the
tattered robe makes not always the dervise."

"And it was through thy intercession," said Richard, "that yonder
Knight of the Leopard was saved from death, and by thy artifice
that he revisited my camp in disguise?"

"Even so," replied Saladin.  "I was physician enough to know
that, unless the wounds of his bleeding honour were stanched, the
days of his life must be few.  His disguise was more easily
penetrated than I had expected from the success of my own."

"An accident," said King Richard (probably alluding to the
circumstance of his applying his lips to the wound of the
supposed Nubian), "let me first know that his skin was
artificially discoloured; and that hint once taken, detection
became easy, for his form and person are not to be forgotten.  I
confidently expect that he will do battle on the morrow."

"He is full in preparation, and high in hope," said the Soldan.
"I have furnished him with weapons and horse, thinking nobly of
him from what I have seen under various disguises."

"Knows he now," said Richard, "to whom he lies under obligation?"

"He doth," replied the Saracen.  "I was obliged to confess my
person when I unfolded my purpose."

"And confessed he aught to you?"  said the King of England.

"Nothing explicit," replied the Soldan; "but from much that
passed between us, I conceive his love is too highly placed to be
happy in its issue."

"And thou knowest that his daring and insolent passion crossed
thine own wishes?"  said Richard.

"I might guess so much," said Saladin; "but his passion had
existed ere my wishes had been formed--and, I must now add, is
likely to survive them.  I cannot, in honour, revenge me for my
disappointment on him who had no hand in it.  Or, if this high-
born dame loved him better than myself, who can say that she did
not justice to a knight of her own religion, who is full of
nobleness?"

"Yet of too mean lineage to mix with the blood of Plantagenet,"
said Richard haughtily.

"Such may be your maxims in Frangistan," replied the Soldan.
"Our poets of the Eastern countries say that a valiant camel-
driver is worthy to kiss the lip of a fair Queen, when a cowardly
prince is not worthy to salute the hem of her garment.  But with
your permission, noble brother, I must take leave of thee for the
present, to receive the Duke of Austria and yonder Nazarene
knight, much less worthy of hospitality, but who must yet be
suitably entreated, not for their sakes, but for mine own honour
--for what saith the sage Lokman?  'Say not that the food is lost
unto thee which is given to the stranger; for if his body be
strengthened and fattened therewithal, not less is thine own
worship and good name cherished and augmented.'"

The Saracen Monarch departed from King Richard's tent, and having
indicated to him, rather with signs than with speech, where the
pavilion of the Queen and her attendants was pitched, he went to
receive the Marquis of Montserrat and his attendants, for whom,
with less goodwill, but with equal splendour, the magnificent
Soldan had provided accommodations.  The most ample refreshments,
both in the Oriental and after the European fashion, were spread
before the royal and princely guests of Saladin, each in their
own separate pavilion; and so attentive was the Soldan to the
habits and taste of his visitors, that Grecian slaves were
stationed to present them with the goblet, which is the
abomination of the sect of Mohammed.  Ere Richard had finished
his meal, the ancient Omrah, who had brought the Soldan's letter
to the Christian camp, entered with a plan of the ceremonial to
be observed on the succeeding day of combat.  Richard, who knew
the taste of his old acquaintance, invited him to pledge him in a
flagon of wine of Shiraz; but Abdallah gave him to understand,
with a rueful aspect, that self-denial in the present
circumstances was a matter in which his life was concerned, for
that Saladin, tolerant in many respects, both observed and
enforced by high penalties the laws of the Prophet.

"Nay, then," said Richard, "if he loves not wine, that lightener
of the human heart, his conversion is not to be hoped for, and
the prediction of the mad priest of Engaddi goes like chaff down
the wind."

The King then addressed himself to settle the articles of combat,
which cost a considerable time, as it was necessary on some
points to consult with the opposite parties, as well as with the
Soldan.

They were at length finally agreed upon, and adjusted by a
protocol in French and in Arabian, which was subscribed by
Saladin as umpire of the field, and by Richard and Leopold as
guarantees for the two combatants.  As the Omrah took his final
leave of King Richard for the evening, De Vaux entered.

"The good knight," he said, "who is to do battle tomorrow
requests to know whether he may not to-night pay duty to his
royal godfather!"

"Hast thou seen him, De Vaux?"  said the King, smiling; "and
didst thou know an ancient acquaintance?"

"By our Lady of Lanercost," answered De Vaux, "there are so many
surprises and changes in this land that my poor brain turns.  I
scarce knew Sir Kenneth of Scotland, till his good hound, that
had been for a short while under my care, came and fawned on me;
and even then I only knew the tyke by the depth of his chest, the
roundness of his foot, and his manner of baying, for the poor
gazehound was painted like any Venetian courtesan."

"Thou art better skilled in brutes than men, De Vaux," said the
King.

"I will not deny," said De Vaux, "I have found them ofttimes the
honester animals.  Also, your Grace is pleased to term me
sometimes a brute myself; besides that, I serve the Lion, whom
all men acknowledge the king of brutes."

"By Saint George, there thou brokest thy lance fairly on my
brow," said the King.  "I have ever said thou hast a sort of wit,
De Vaux; marry, one must strike thee with a sledge-hammer ere it
can be made to sparkle.  But to the present gear--is the good
knight well armed and equipped?"

"Fully, my liege, and nobly," answered De Vaux.  "I know the
armour well; it is that which the Venetian commissary offered
your highness, just ere you became ill, for five hundred
byzants."

"And he hath sold it to the infidel Soldan, I warrant me, for a
few ducats more, and present payment.  These Venetians would sell
the Sepulchre itself!"

"The armour will never be borne in a nobler cause," said De Vaux.

"Thanks to the nobleness of the Saracen," said the King, "not to
the avarice of the Venetians."

"I would to God your Grace would be more cautious," said the
anxious De Vaux.  "Here are we deserted by all our allies, for
points of offence given to one or another; we cannot hope to
prosper upon the land; and we have only to quarrel with the
amphibious republic, to lose the means of retreat by sea!"

"I will take care," said Richard impatiently; "but school me no
more.  Tell me rather, for it is of interest, hath the knight a
confessor?"

"He hath," answered De Vaux; "the hermit of Engaddi. who erst did
him that office when preparing for death, attends him on the
present occasion, the fame of the duel having brought him
hither."

"'Tis well," said Richard; "and now for the knight's request.
Say to him, Richard will receive him when the discharge of his
devoir beside the Diamond of the Desert shall have atoned for his
fault beside the Mount of Saint George; and as thou passest
through the camp, let the Queen know I will visit her pavilion--
and tell Blondel to meet me there."

De Vaux departed, and in about an hour afterwards, Richard,
wrapping his mantle around him, and taking his ghittern in his
hand, walked in the direction of the Queen's pavilion.  Several
Arabs passed him, but always with averted heads and looks fixed
upon the earth, though he could observe that all gazed earnestly
after him when he was past.  This led him justly to conjecture
that his person was known to them; but that either the Soldan's
commands, or their own Oriental politeness, forbade them to seem
to notice a sovereign who desired to remain incognito.

When the King reached the pavilion of his Queen he found it
guarded by those unhappy officials whom Eastern jealousy places
around the zenana.  Blondel was walking before the door, and
touched his rote from time to time in a manner which made the
Africans show their ivory teeth, and bear burden with their
strange gestures and shrill, unnatural voices.

"What art thou after with this herd of black cattle, Blondel?"
said the King; "wherefore goest thou not into the tent?"

"Because my trade can neither spare the head nor the fingers,"
said Blondel, "and these honest blackamoors threatened to cut me
joint from joint if I pressed forward."

"Well, enter with me," said the King, "and I will be thy
safeguard."

The blacks accordingly lowered pikes and swords to King Richard,
and bent their eyes on the ground, as if unworthy to look upon
him.  In the interior of the pavilion they found Thomas de Vaux
in attendance on the Queen.  While Berengaria welcomed Blondel,
King Richard spoke for some time secretly and apart with his fair
kinswoman.

At length, "Are we still foes, my fair Edith?"  he said, in a
whisper.

"No, my liege," said Edith, in a voice just so low as not to
interrupt the music; "none can bear enmity against King Richard
when he deigns to show himself, as he really is, generous and
noble, as well as valiant and honourable."

So saying, she extended her hand to him.  The King kissed it in
token of reconciliation, and then proceeded.

"You think, my sweet cousin, that my anger in this matter was
feigned; but you are deceived.  The punishment I inflicted upon
this knight was just; for he had betrayed--no matter for how
tempting a bribe, fair cousin--the trust committed to him.  But I
rejoice, perchance as much as you, that to-morrow gives him a
chance to win the field, and throw back the stain which for a
time clung to him upon the actual thief and traitor.  No!--future
times may blame Richard for impetuous folly, but they shall say
that in rendering judgment he was just when he should and
merciful when he could."

"Laud not thyself, cousin King," said Edith.  "They may call thy
justice cruelty, thy mercy caprice."

"And do not thou pride thyself," said the King, "as if thy
knight, who hath not yet buckled on his armour, were unbelting it
in triumph--Conrade of Montserrat is held a good lance.  What if
the Scot should lose the day?"

"It is impossible!"  said Edith firmly.  "My own eyes saw yonder
Conrade tremble and change colour like a base thief; he is
guilty, and the trial by combat is an appeal to the justice of
God.  I myself, in such a cause, would encounter him without
fear."

"By the mass, I think thou wouldst, wench," said the King, "and
beat him to boot, for there never breathed a truer Plantagenet
than thou."

 He paused, and added in a very serious tone, "See that thou
continue to remember what is due to thy birth."

"What means that advice, so seriously given at this moment?"
said Edith.  "Am I of such light nature as to forget my name--my
condition?"

"I will speak plainly, Edith," answered the King, "and as to a
friend.  What will this knight be to you, should he come off
victor from yonder lists?"

"To me?"  said Edith, blushing deep with shame and displeasure.
"What can he be to me more than an honoured knight, worthy of
such grace as Queen Berengaria might confer on him, had he
selected her for his lady, instead of a more unworthy choice?
The meanest knight may devote himself to the service of an
empress, but the glory of his choice," she said proudly, "must be
his reward."

"Yet he hath served and suffered much for you," said the King.

"I have paid his services with honour and applause, and his
sufferings with tears," answered Edith.  "Had he desired other
reward, he would have done wisely to have bestowed his affections
within his own degree."

"You would not, then, wear the bloody night-gear for his sake?"
said King Richard.

"No more," answered Edith, "than I would have required him to
expose his life by an action in which there was more madness than
honour."

"Maidens talk ever thus," said the King; "but when the favoured
lover presses his suit, she says, with a sigh, her stars had
decreed otherwise."

"Your Grace has now, for the second time, threatened me with the
influence of my horoscope," Edith replied, with dignity.  "Trust
me, my liege, whatever be the power of the stars, your poor
kinswoman will never wed either infidel or obscure adventurer,
Permit me that I listen to the music of Blondel, for the tone of
your royal admonitions is scarce so grateful to the ear."

The conclusion of the evening offered nothing worthy of notice.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse?     GRAY.

It had been agreed, on account of the heat of the climate, that
the judicial combat which was the cause of the present assemblage
of various nations at the Diamond of the Desert should take place
at one hour after sunrise.  The wide lists, which had been
constructed under the inspection of the Knight of the Leopard,
enclosed a space of hard sand, which was one hundred and twenty
yards long by forty in width.  They extended in length from north
to south, so as to give both parties the equal advantage of the
rising sun. Saladin's royal seat was erected on the western side
of the enclosure, just in the centre, where the combatants were
expected to meet in mid encounter.  Opposed to this was a gallery
with closed casements, so contrived that the ladies, for whose
accommodation it was erected, might see the fight without being
themselves exposed to view.  At either extremity of the lists was
a barrier, which could be opened or shut at pleasure.  Thrones
had been also erected, but the Archduke, perceiving that his was
lower than King Richard's, refused to occupy it; and Coeur de
Lion, who would have submitted to much ere any formality should
have interfered with the combat, readily agreed that the
sponsors, as they were called, should remain on horseback during
the fight. At one extremity of the lists were placed the
followers of Richard, and opposed to them were those who
accompanied the defender Conrade.  Around the throne destined for
the Soldan were ranged his splendid Georgian Guards, and the rest
of the enclosure was occupied by Christian and Mohammedan
spectators.

Long before daybreak the lists were surrounded by even a larger
number of Saracens than Richard had seen on the preceding
evening.  When the first ray of the sun's glorious orb arose
above the desert, the sonorous call, "To prayer--to prayer!"  was
poured forth by the Soldan himself, and answered by others, whose
rank and zeal entitled them to act as muezzins.  It was a
striking spectacle to see them all sink to earth, for the purpose
of repeating their devotions, with their faces turned to Mecca.
But when they arose from the ground, the sun's rays, now
strengthening fast, seemed to confirm the Lord of Gilsland's
conjecture of the night before.  They were flashed back from many
a spearhead, for the pointless lances of the preceding day were
certainly no longer such.  De Vaux pointed it out to his master,
who answered with impatience that he had perfect confidence in
the good faith of the Soldan; but if De Vaux was afraid of his
bulky body, he might retire.

Soon after this the noise of timbrels was heard, at the sound of
which the whole Saracen cavaliers threw themselves from their
horses, and prostrated themselves, as if for a second morning
prayer.  This was to give an opportunity to the Queen, with Edith
and her attendants, to pass from the pavilion to the gallery
intended for them.  Fifty guards of Saladin's seraglio escorted
them with naked sabres, whose orders were to cut to pieces
whomsoever, were he prince or peasant, should venture to gaze on
the ladies as they passed, or even presume to raise his head
until the cessation of the music should make all men aware that
they were lodged in their gallery, not to be gazed on by the
curious eye.

This superstitious observance of Oriental reverence to the fair
sex called forth from Queen Berengaria some criticisms very
unfavourable to Saladin and his country.  But their den, as the
royal fair called it, being securely closed and guarded by their
sable attendants, she was under the necessity of contenting
herself with seeing, and laying aside for the present the still
more exquisite pleasure of being seen.

Meantime the sponsors of both champions went, as was their duty,
to see that they were duly armed and prepared for combat.  The
Archduke of Austria was in no hurry to perform this part of the
ceremony, having had rather an unusually severe debauch upon wine
of Shiraz the preceding evening.  But the Grand Master of the
Temple, more deeply concerned in the event of the combat, was
early before the tent of Conrade of Montserrat.  To his great
surprise, the attendants refused him admittance.

"Do you not know me, ye knaves?"  said the Grand Master, in great
anger.

"We do, most valiant and reverend," answered Conrade's squire;
"but even you may not at present enter--the Marquis is about to
confess himself."

"Confess himself!"  exclaimed the Templar, in a tone where alarm
mingled with surprise and scorn--"and to whom, I pray thee?"

"My master bid me be secret," said the squire; on which the Grand
Master pushed past him, and entered the tent almost by force.

The Marquis of Montserrat was kneeling at the feet of the hermit
of Engaddi, and in the act of beginning his confession.

"What means this, Marquis?"  said the Grand Master; "up, for
shame--or, if you must needs confess, am not I here?"

"I have confessed to you too often already," replied Conrade,
with a pale cheek and a faltering voice.  "For God's sake, Grand
Master, begone, and let me unfold my conscience to this holy
man."

"In what is he holier than I am?"  said the Grand Master.
--"Hermit, prophet, madman--say, if thou darest, in what thou
excellest me?"

"Bold and bad man," replied the hermit, "know that I am like the
latticed window, and the divine light passes through to avail
others, though, alas!  it helpeth not me. Thou art like the iron
stanchions, which neither receive light themselves, nor
communicate it to any one."

"Prate not to me, but depart from this tent," said the Grand
Master; "the Marquis shall not confess this morning, unless it be
to me, for I part not from his side."

"Is this YOUR pleasure?"  said the hermit to Conrade; "for think
not I will obey that proud man, if you continue to desire my
assistance."

"Alas," said Conrade irresolutely, "what would you have me say?
Farewell for a while---we will speak anon."

"O procrastination!"  exclaimed the hermit, "thou art a soul-
murderer!--Unhappy man, farewell--not for a while, but until we
shall both meet no matter where.  And for thee," he added,
turning to the Grand Master, "TREMBLE!"

"Tremble!"  replied the Templar contemptuously, "I cannot if I
would."

The hermit heard not his answer, having left the tent.

"Come!  to this gear hastily," said the Grand Master, "since thou
wilt needs go through the foolery.  Hark thee--I think I know
most of thy frailties by heart, so we may omit the detail, which
may be somewhat a long one, and begin with the absolution.  What
signifies counting the spots of dirt that we are about to wash
from our hands?"

"Knowing what thou art thyself," said Conrade, "it is blasphemous
to speak of pardoning another."

"That is not according to the canon, Lord Marquis," said the
Templar; "thou art more scrupulous than orthodox.  The absolution
of the wicked priest is as effectual as if he were himself a
saint--otherwise, God help the poor penitent!  What wounded man
inquires whether the surgeon that tends his gashes has clean
hands or no?  Come, shall we to this toy?"

"No," said Conrade, "I will rather die unconfessed than mock the
sacrament."

"Come, noble Marquis," said the Templar, "rouse up your courage,
and speak not thus.  In an hour's time thou shalt stand
victorious in the lists, or confess thee in thy helmet, like a
valiant knight."

"Alas, Grand Master," answered Conrade, "all augurs ill for this
affair, The strange discovery by the instinct of a dog--the
revival of this Scottish knight, who comes into the lists like a
spectre--all betokens evil."

"Pshaw," said the Templar, "I have seen thee bend thy lance
boldly against him in sport, and with equal chance of success.
Think thou art but in a tournament, and who bears him better in
the tilt-yard than thou?--Come, squires and armourers, your
master must be accoutred for the field."

The attendants entered accordingly, and began to arm the Marquis.

"What morning is without?"  said Conrade.

"The sun rises dimly," answered a squire.

"Thou seest, Grand Master," said Conrade, "nought smiles on us."

"Thou wilt fight the more coolly, my son," answered the Templar;
"thank Heaven, that hath tempered the sun of Palestine to suit
thine occasion."

Thus jested the Grand Master.  But his jests had lost their
influence on the harassed mind of the Marquis, and
notwithstanding his attempts to seem gay, his gloom communicated
itself to the Templar.

"This craven," he thought, "will lose the day in pure faintness
and cowardice of heart, which he calls tender conscience.  I,
whom visions and auguries shake not---who am firm in my purpose
as the living rock--I should have fought the combat myself.
Would to God the Scot may strike him dead on the spot; it were
next best to his winning the victory.  But come what will, he
must have no other confessor than myself--our sins are too much
in common, and he might confess my share with his own."

While these thoughts passed through his mind, he continued to
assist the Marquis in arming, but it was in silence.

The hour at length arrived; the trumpets sounded; the knights
rode into the lists armed at all points, and mounted like men who
were to do battle for a kingdom's honour.  They wore their visors
up, and riding around the lists three times, showed themselves to
the spectators.  Both were goodly persons, and both had noble
countenances.  But there was an air of manly confidence on the
brow of the Scot--a radiancy of hope, which amounted even to
cheerfulness; while, although pride and effort had recalled much
of Conrade's natural courage, there lowered still on his brow a
cloud of ominous despondence.  Even his steed seemed to tread
less lightly and blithely to the trumpet-sound than the noble
Arab which was bestrode by Sir Kenneth; and the SPRUCH-SPRECHER
shook his head while he observed that, while the challenger rode
around the lists in the course of the sun--that is, from right to
left--the defender made the same circuit WIDDERSINS--that is,
from left to right--which is in most countries held ominous.

A temporary altar was erected just beneath the gallery occupied
by the Queen, and beside it stood the hermit in the dress of his
order as a Carmelite friar.  Other churchmen were also present.
To this altar the challenger and defender were successively
brought forward, conducted by their respective sponsors.
Dismounting before it, each knight avouched the justice of his
cause by a solemn oath on the Evangelists, and prayed that his
success might be according to the truth or falsehood of what he
then swore.  They also made oath that they came to do battle in
knightly guise, and with the usual weapons, disclaiming the use
of spells, charms, or magical devices to incline victory to their
side.  The challenger pronounced his vow with a firm and manly
voice, and a bold and cheerful countenance.  When the ceremony
was finished, the Scottish Knight looked at the gallery, and bent
his head to the earth, as if in honour of those invisible
beauties which were enclosed within; then, loaded with armour as
he was, sprung to the saddle without the use of the stirrup, and
made his courser carry him in a succession of caracoles to his
station at the eastern extremity of the lists.  Conrade also
presented himself before the altar with boldness enough; but his
voice as he took the oath sounded hollow, as if drowned in his
helmet.  The lips with which he appealed to Heaven to adjudge
victory to the just quarrel grew white as they uttered the
impious mockery.  As he turned to remount his horse, the Grand
Master approached him closer, as if to rectify something about
the sitting of his gorget, and whispered, "Coward and fool!
recall thy senses, and do me this battle bravely, else, by
Heaven, shouldst thou escape him, thou escapest not ME!"

The savage tone in which this was whispered perhaps completed the
confusion of the Marquis's nerves, for he stumbled as he made to
horse; and though he recovered his feet, sprung to the saddle
with his usual agility, and displayed his address in horsemanship
as he assumed his position opposite to the challenger's, yet the
accident did not escape those who were on the watch for omens
which might predict the fate of the day.

The priests, after a solemn prayer that God would show the
rightful quarrel, departed from the lists.  The trumpets of the
challenger then rung a flourish, and a herald-at-arms proclaimed
at the eastern end of the lists--"Here stands a good knight, Sir
Kenneth of Scotland, champion for the royal King Richard of
England, who accuseth Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat, of foul
treason and dishonour done to the said King."

When the words Kenneth of Scotland announced the name and
character of the champion, hitherto scarce generally known, a
loud and cheerful acclaim burst from the followers of King
Richard, and hardly, notwithstanding repeated commands of
silence, suffered the reply of the defendant to he heard.  He, of
course, avouched his innocence, and offered his body for battle.
The esquires of the combatants now approached, and delivered to
each his shield and lance, assisting to hang the former around
his neck, that his two hands might remain free, one for the
management of the bridle, the other to direct the lance.

The shield of the Scot displayed his old bearing, the leopard,
but with the addition of a collar and broken chain, in allusion
to his late captivity.  The shield of the Marquis bore, in
reference to his title, a serrated and rocky mountain. Each shook
his lance aloft, as if to ascertain the weight and toughness of
the unwieldy weapon, and then laid it in the rest.  The sponsors,
heralds, and squires now retired to the barriers, and the
combatants sat opposite to each other, face to face, with couched
lance and closed visor, the human form so completely enclosed,
that they looked more like statues of molten iron than beings of
flesh and blood.  The silence of suspense was now general.  Men
breathed thicker, and their very souls seemed seated in their
eyes; while not a sound was to be heard save the snorting and
pawing of the good steeds, who, sensible of what was about to
happen, were impatient to dash into career.  They stood thus for
perhaps three minutes, when, at a signal given by the Soldan, a
hundred instruments rent the air with their brazen clamours, and
each champion striking his horse with the spurs, and slacking the
rein, the horses started into full gallop, and the knights met in
mid space with a shock like a thunderbolt.  The victory was not
in doubt--no, not one moment.  Conrade, indeed, showed himself a
practised warrior; for he struck his antagonist knightly in the
midst of his shield, bearing his lance so straight and true that
it shivered into splinters from the steel spear-head up to the
very gauntlet.  The horse of Sir Kenneth recoiled two or three
yards and fell on his haunches; but the rider easily raised him
with hand and rein.  But for Conrade there was no recovery.  Sir
Kenneth's lance had pierced through the shield, through a plated
corselet of Milan steel, through a SECRET, or coat of linked
mail, worn beneath the corselet, had wounded him deep in the
bosom, and borne him from his saddle, leaving the truncheon of
the lance fixed in his wound.  The sponsors, heralds, and Saladin
himself, descending from his throne, crowded around the wounded
man; while Sir Kenneth, who had drawn his sword ere yet he
discovered his antagonist was totally helpless, now commanded him
to avow his guilt.  The helmet was hastily unclosed, and the
wounded man, gazing wildly on the skies, replied, "What would you
more?  God hath decided justly--I am guilty; but there are worse
traitors in the camp than I.  In pity to my soul, let me have a
confessor!"

He revived as he uttered these words.

"The talisman--the powerful remedy, royal brother!" said King
Richard to Saladin.

"The traitor," answered the Soldan, "is more fit to be dragged
from the lists to the gallows by the heels, than to profit by its
virtues.  And some such fate is in his look," he added, after
gazing fixedly upon the wounded man; "for though his wound may be
cured, yet Azrael's seal is on the wretch's brow."

"Nevertheless," said Richard, "I pray you do for him what you
may, that he may at least have time for confession.  Slay not
soul and body!  To him one half hour of time may be worth more,
by ten thousandfold, than the life of the oldest patriarch."

"My royal brother's wish shall be obeyed," said Saladin.--
"Slaves, bear this wounded man to our tent."

"Do not so," said the Templar, who had hitherto stood gloomily
looking on in silence.  "The royal Duke of Austria and myself
will not permit this unhappy Christian prince to be delivered
over to the Saracens, that they may try their spells upon him.
We are his sponsors, and demand that he be assigned to our care."

"That is, you refuse the certain means offered to recover him?"
said Richard.

"Not so," said the Grand Master, recollecting himself.  "If the
Soldan useth lawful medicines, he may attend the patient in my
tent."

"Do so, I pray thee, good brother," said Richard to Saladin,
"though the permission be ungraciously yielded.--But now to a
more glorious work.  Sound, trumpets--shout, England--in honour
of England's champion!"

Drum, clarion, trumpet, and cymbal rung forth at once, and the
deep and regular shout, which for ages has been the English
acclamation, sounded amidst the shrill and irregular yells of the
Arabs, like the diapason of the organ amid the howling of a
storm.  There was silence at length.

"Brave Knight of the Leopard," resumed Coeur de Lion, "thou hast
shown that the Ethiopian may change his skin, and the leopard his
spots, though clerks quote Scripture for the impossibility.  Yet
I have more to say to you when I have conducted you to the
presence of the ladies, the best judges and best rewarders of
deeds of chivalry."

The Knight of the Leopard bowed assent.

"And thou, princely Saladin, wilt also attend them.  I promise
thee our Queen will not think herself welcome, if she lacks the
opportunity to thank her royal host for her most princely
reception."

Saladin bent his head gracefully, but declined the invitation.

"I must attend the wounded man," he said.  "The leech leaves not
his patient more than the champion the lists, even if he be
summoned to a bower like those of Paradise.  And further, royal
Richard, know that the blood of the East flows not so temperately
in the presence of beauty as that of your land.  What saith the
Book itself?--Her eye is as the edge of the sword of the Prophet,
who shall look upon it?  He that would not be burnt avoideth to
tread on hot embers--wise men spread not the flax before a
bickering torch.  He, saith the sage, who hath forfeited a
treasure, doth not wisely to turn back his head to gaze at it."

Richard, it may be believed, respected the motives of delicacy
which flowed from manners so different from his own, and urged
his request no further.

"At noon," said the Soldan, as he departed, "I trust ye will all
accept a collation under the black camel-skin tent of a chief of
Kurdistan."

The same invitation was circulated among the Christians,
comprehending all those of sufficient importance to be admitted
to sit at a feast made for princes.

"Hark!"  said Richard, "the timbrels announce that our Queen and
her attendants are leaving their gallery--and see, the turbans
sink on the ground, as if struck down by a destroying angel.  All
lie prostrate, as if the glance of an Arab's eye could sully the
lustre of a lady's cheek!  Come, we will to the pavilion, and
lead our conqueror thither in triumph. How I pity that noble
Soldan, who knows but of love as it is known to those of inferior
nature!"

Blondel tuned his harp to his boldest measure, to welcome the
introduction of the victor into the pavilion of Queen Berengaria.
He entered, supported on either side by his sponsors, Richard and
Thomas Longsword, and knelt gracefully down before the Queen,
though more than half the homage was silently rendered to Edith,
who sat on her right hand.

"Unarm him, my mistresses," said the King, whose delight was in
the execution of such chivalrous usages; "let Beauty honour
Chivalry!  Undo his spurs, Berengaria; Queen though thou be, thou
owest him what marks of favour thou canst give.--Unlace his
helmet, Edith;--by this hand thou shalt, wert thou the proudest
Plantagenet of the line, and he the poorest knight on earth!"

Both ladies obeyed the royal commands--Berengaria with bustling
assiduity, as anxious to gratify her husband's humour, and Edith
blushing and growing pale alternately, as, slowly and awkwardly,
she undid, with Longsword's assistance, the fastenings which
secured the helmet to the gorget.

"And what expect you from beneath this iron shell?"  said
Richard, as the removal of the casque gave to view the noble
countenance of Sir Kenneth, his face glowing with recent
exertion, and not less so with present emotion.  "What think ye
of him, gallants and beauties?"  said Richard. "Doth he resemble
an Ethiopian slave, or doth he present the face of an obscure and
nameless adventurer?  No, by my good sword!  Here terminate his
various disguises.  He hath knelt down before you unknown, save
by his worth; he arises equally distinguished by birth and by
fortune.  The adventurous knight, Kenneth, arises David, Earl of
Huntingdon, Prince Royal of Scotland!"

There was a general exclamation of surprise, and Edith dropped
from her hand the helmet which she had just received.

"Yes, my masters," said the King, "it is even so.  Ye know how
Scotland deceived us when she proposed to send this valiant Earl,
with a bold company of her best and noblest, to aid our arms in
this conquest of Palestine, but failed to comply with her
engagements.  This noble youth, under whom the Scottish Crusaders
were to have been arrayed, thought foul scorn that his arm should
he withheld from the holy warfare, and joined us at Sicily with a
small train of devoted and faithful attendants, which was
augmented by many of his countrymen to whom the rank of their
leader was unknown.  The confidants of the Royal Prince had all,
save one old follower, fallen by death, when his secret, but too
well kept, had nearly occasioned my cutting off, in a Scottish
adventurer, one of the noblest hopes of Europe.--Why did you not
mention your rank, noble Huntingdon, when endangered by my hasty
and passionate sentence?  Was it that you thought Richard capable
of abusing the advantage I possessed over the heir of a King whom
I have so often found hostile?"

"I did you not that injustice, royal Richard," answered the Earl
of Huntingdon; "but my pride brooked not that I should avow
myself Prince of Scotland in order to save my life, endangered
for default of loyalty.  And, moreover, I had made my vow to
preserve my rank unknown till the Crusade should be accomplished;
nor did I mention it save IN ARTICULO MORTIS, and under the seal
of confession, to yonder reverend hermit."

"It was the knowledge of that secret, then, which made the good
man so urgent with me to recall my severe sentence?"  said
Richard.  "Well did he say that, had this good knight fallen by
my mandate, I should have wished the deed undone though it had
cost me a limb.  A limb!  I should have wished it undone had it
cost me my life---since the world would have said that Richard
had abused the condition in which the heir of Scotland had placed
himself by his confidence in his generosity."

"Yet, may we know of your Grace by what strange and happy chance
this riddle was at length read?"  said the Queen Berengaria.

"Letters were brought to us from England," said the King, "in
which we learned, among other unpleasant news, that the King of
Scotland had seized upon three of our nobles, when on a
pilgrimage to Saint Ninian, and alleged, as a cause, that his
heir, being supposed to be fighting in the ranks of the Teutonic
Knights against the heathen of Borussia, was, in fact, in our
camp, and in our power; and, therefore, William proposed to hold
these nobles as hostages for his safety.  This gave me the first
light on the real rank of the Knight of the Leopard; and my
suspicions were confirmed by De Vaux, who, on his return from
Ascalon, brought back with him the Earl of Huntingdon's sole
attendant, a thick-skulled slave, who had gone thirty miles to
unfold to De Vaux a secret he should have told to me."

"Old Strauchan must be excused," said the Lord of Gilsland.  "He
knew from experience that my heart is somewhat softer than if I
wrote myself Plantagenet."

"Thy heart soft?  thou commodity of old iron and Cumberland
flint, that thou art!"  exclaimed the King.--"It is we
Plantagenets who boast soft and feeling hearts, Edith," turning
to his cousin with an expression which called the blood into her
cheek, "give me thy hand, my fair cousin, and, Prince of
Scotland, thine."

"Forbear, my lord," said Edith, hanging back, and endeavouring to
hide her confusion under an attempt to rally her royal kinsman's
credulity.  "Remember you not that my hand was to be the signal
of converting to the Christian faith the Saracen and Arab,
Saladin and all his turbaned host?"

"Ay, but the wind of prophecy hath chopped about, and sits now in
another corner," replied Richard.

"Mock not, lest your bonds be made strong," said the hermit
stepping forward.  "The heavenly host write nothing but truth in
their brilliant records it is man's eyes which are too weak to
read their characters aright.  Know, that when Saladin and
Kenneth of Scotland slept in my grotto, I read in the stars that
there rested under my roof a prince, the natural foe of Richard,
with whom the fate of Edith Plantagenet was to be united.  Could
I doubt that this must be the Soldan, whose rank was well known
to me, as he often visited my cell to converse on the revolutions
of the heavenly bodies?  Again, the lights of the firmament
proclaimed that this prince, the husband of Edith Plantagenet,
should be a Christian; and I--weak and wild interpreter!--argued
thence the conversion of the noble Saladin, whose good qualities
seemed often to incline him towards the better faith.  The sense
of my weakness hath humbled me to the dust; but in the dust I
have found comfort!  I have not read aright the fate of others--
who can assure me but that I may have miscalculated mine own?
God will not have us break into His council-house, or spy out His
hidden mysteries.  We must wait His time with watching and
prayer--with fear and with hope.  I came hither the stern seer
--the proud prophet--skilled, as I thought, to instruct princes,
and gifted even with supernatural powers, but burdened with a
weight which I deemed no shoulders but mine could have borne.
But my bands have been broken!  I go hence humble in mine
ignorance, penitent--and not hopeless."

With these words he withdrew from the assembly; and it is
recorded that from that period his frenzy fits seldom occurred,
and his penances were of a milder character, and accompanied with
better hopes of the future.  So much is there of self-opinion,
even in insanity, that the conviction of his having entertained
and expressed an unfounded prediction with so much vehemence
seemed to operate like loss of blood on the human frame, to
modify and lower the fever of the brain.

It is needless to follow into further particulars the conferences
at the royal tent, or to inquire whether David, Earl of
Huntingdon, was as mute in the presence of Edith Plantagenet as
when he was bound to act under the character of an obscure and
nameless adventurer.  It may be well believed that he there
expressed with suitable earnestness the passion to which he had
so often before found it difficult to give words.

The hour of noon now approached, and Saladin waited to receive
the Princes of Christendom in a tent, which, but for its large
size, differed little from that of the ordinary shelter of the
common Kurdman, or Arab; yet beneath its ample and sable covering
was prepared a banquet after the most gorgeous fashion of the
East, extended upon carpets of the richest stuffs, with cushions
laid for the guests.  But we cannot stop to describe the cloth of
gold and silver--the superb embroidery in arabesque--the shawls
of Kashmere and the muslins of India, which were here unfolded in
all their splendour; far less to tell the different sweetmeats,
ragouts edged with rice coloured in various manners, with all the
other niceties of Eastern cookery, Lambs roasted whole, and game
and poultry dressed in pilaus, were piled in vessels of gold, and
silver, and porcelain, and intermixed with large mazers of
sherbet, cooled in snow and ice from the caverns of Mount
Lebanon.  A magnificent pile of cushions at the head of the
banquet seemed prepared for the master of the feast, and such
dignitaries as he might call to share that place of distinction;
while from the roof of the tent in all quarters, but over this
seat of eminence in particular, waved many a banner and pennon,
the trophies of battles won and kingdoms overthrown.  But amongst
and above them all, a long lance displayed a shroud, the banner
of Death, with this impressive inscription--"SALADIN, KING OF
KINGS--SALADIN, VICTOR OF VICTORS--SALADIN MUST DIE."  Amid these
preparations, the slaves who had arranged the refreshments stood
with drooped heads and folded arms, mute and motionless as
monumental statuary, or as automata, which waited the touch of
the artist to put them in motion.

Expecting the approach of his princely guests, the Soldan,
imbued, as most were, with the superstitions of his time, paused
over a horoscope and corresponding scroll, which had been sent to
him by the hermit of Engaddi when he departed from the camp.

"Strange and mysterious science," he muttered to himself, which,
pretending to draw the curtain of futurity, misleads those whom
it seems to guide, and darkens the scene which it pretends to
illuminate!  who would not have said that I was that enemy most
dangerous to Richard, whose enmity was to be ended by marriage
with his kinswoman?  Yet it now appears that a union betwixt this
gallant Earl and the lady will bring about friendship betwixt
Richard and Scotland, an enemy more dangerous than I, as a wild-
cat in a chamber is more to be dreaded than a lion in a distant
desert.  But then" he continued to mutter to himself, "the
combination intimates that this husband was to be Christian.
--Christian!" he repeated, after a pause.  "That gave the insane
fanatic star-gazer hopes that I might renounce my faith!  But me,
the faithful follower of our Prophet--me it should have
undeceived.  Lie there, mysterious scroll," he added, thrusting
it under the pile of cushions; "strange are thy bodements and
fatal, since, even when true in themselves, they work upon those
who attempt to decipher their meaning all the effects of
falsehood.--How now!  what means this intrusion?"

He spoke to the dwarf Nectabanus, who rushed into the tent
fearfully agitated, with each strange and disproportioned feature
wrenched by horror into still more extravagant ugliness--his
mouth open, his eyes staring, his hands, with their shrivelled
and deformed fingers, wildly expanded.

"What now?"  said the Soldan sternly.

"ACCIPE HOC!"  groaned out the dwarf.

"Ha!  sayest thou?"  answered Saladin.

"ACCIPE HOC!"  replied the panicstruck creature, unconscious,
perhaps,that he repeated the same words as before.

"Hence, I am in no vein for foolery," said the Emperor.

"Nor am I further fool," said the dwarf, "than to make my folly
help out my wits to earn my bread, poor, helpless wretch!  Hear,
hear me, great Soldan!"

"Nay, if thou hast actual wrong to complain of," said Saladin,
"fool or wise, thou art entitled to the ear of a King.  Retire
hither with me;" and he led him into the inner tent.

Whatever their conference related to, it was soon broken off by
the fanfare of the trumpets announcing the arrival of the various
Christian princes, whom Saladin welcomed to his tent with a royal
courtesy well becoming their rank and his own; but chiefly he
saluted the young Earl of Huntingdon, and generously
congratulated him upon prospects which seemed to have interfered
with and overclouded those which he had himself entertained.

"But think not," said the Soldan, "thou noble youth, that the
Prince of Scotland is more welcome to Saladin than was Kenneth to
the solitary Ilderim when they met in the desert, or the
distressed Ethiop to the Hakim Adonbec.  A brave and generous
disposition like thine hath a value independent of condition and
birth, as the cool draught, which I here proffer thee, is as
delicious from an earthen vessel as from a goblet of gold."

The Earl of Huntingdon made a suitable reply, gratefully
acknowledging the various important services he had received from
the generous Soldan; but when he had pledged Saladin in the bowl
of sherbet which the Soldan had proffered to him, he could not
help remarking with a smile, "The brave cavalier Ilderim knew not
of the formation of ice, but the munificent Soldan cools his
sherbet with snow."

"Wouldst thou have an Arab or a Kurdman as wise as a Hakim?"
said the Soldan.  "He who does on a disguise must make the
sentiments of his heart and the learning of his head accord with
the dress which he assumes.  I desired to see how a brave and
single-hearted cavalier of Frangistan would conduct himself in
debate with such a chief as I then seemed; and I questioned the
truth of a well-known fact, to know by what arguments thou
wouldst support thy assertion."

While they were speaking, the Archduke of Austria, who stood a
little apart, was struck with the mention of iced sherbet, and
took with pleasure and some bluntness the deep goblet, as the
Earl of Huntingdon was about to replace it.

"Most delicious!"  he exclaimed, after a deep draught, which the
heat of the weather, and the feverishness following the debauch
of the preceding day, had rendered doubly acceptable.  He sighed
as he handed the cup to the Grand Master of the Templars.
Saladin made a sign to the dwarf, who advanced and pronounced,
with a harsh voice, the words, ACCIPE HOC!  The Templar started,
like a steed who sees a lion under a bush beside the pathway; yet
instantly recovered, and to hide, perhaps, his confusion, raised
the goblet to his lips.  But those lips never touched that
goblet's rim.  The sabre of Saladin left its sheath as lightning
leaves the cloud.  It was waved in the air, and the head of the
Grand Master rolled to the extremity of the tent, while the trunk
remained for a second standing, with the goblet still clenched in
its grasp, then fell, the liquor mingling with the blood that
spurted from the veins."

There was a general exclamation of treason, and Austria, nearest
to whom Saladin stood with the bloody sabre in his hand, started
back as if apprehensive that his turn was to come next.  Richard
and others laid hand on their swords.

"Fear nothing, noble Austria," said Saladin, as composedly as if
nothing had happened,--"nor you, royal England, be wroth at what
you have seen.  Not for his manifold treasons--not for the
attempt which, as may be vouched by his own squire, he instigated
against King Richard's life--not that he pursued the Prince of
Scotland and myself in the desert, reducing us to save our lives
by the speed of our horses--not that he had stirred up the
Maronites to attack us upon this very occasion, had I not brought
up unexpectedly so many Arabs as rendered the scheme abortive--
not for any or all of these crimes does he now lie there,
although each were deserving such a doom--but because, scarce
half an hour ere he polluted our presence, as the simoom
empoisons the atmosphere, he poniarded his comrade and
accomplice, Conrade of Montserrat, lest he should confess the
infamous plots in which they had both been engaged."

"How!  Conrade murdered?--And by the Grand Master, his sponsor
and most intimate friend!"  exclaimed Richard. "Noble Soldan, I
would not doubt thee; yet this must be proved, otherwise--"

"There stands the evidence," said Saladin, pointing to the
terrified dwarf.  "Allah, who sends the fire-fly to illuminate
the night season, can discover secret crimes by the most
contemptible means."

The Soldan proceeded to tell the dwarf's story, which amounted to
this.  In his foolish curiosity, or, as he partly confessed, with
some thoughts of pilfering, Nectabanus had strayed into the tent
of Conrade, which had been deserted by his attendants, some of
whom had left the encampment to carry the news of his defeat to
his brother, and others were availing themselves of the means
which Saladin had supplied for revelling.  The wounded man slept
under the influence of Saladin's wonderful talisman, so that the
dwarf had opportunity to pry about at pleasure until he was
frightened into concealment by the sound of a heavy step. He
skulked behind a curtain, yet could see the motions, and hear the
words, of the Grand Master, who entered, and carefully secured
the covering of the pavilion behind him.  His victim started from
sleep, and it would appear that he instantly suspected the
purpose of his old associate, for it was in a tone of alarm that
he demanded wherefore he disturbed him.

"I come to confess and to absolve thee," answered the Grand
Master.

Of their further speech the terrified dwarf remembered little,
save that Conrade implored the Grand Master not to break a
wounded reed, and that the Templar struck him to the heart with a
Turkish dagger, with the words ACCIPE HOC!--words which long
afterwards haunted the terrified imagination of the concealed
witness.

"I verified the tale," said Saladin, "by causing the body to be
examined; and I made this unhappy being, whom Allah hath made the
discoverer of the crime, repeat in your own presence the words
which the murderer spoke; and you yourselves saw the effect which
they produced upon his conscience!"

The Soldan paused, and the King of England broke silence.

"If this be true, as I doubt not, we have witnessed a great act
of justice, though it bore a different aspect. But wherefore in
this presence?  wherefore with thine own hand?"

"I had designed otherwise," said Saladin.  "But had I not
hastened his doom, it had been altogether averted, since, if I
had permitted him to taste of my cup, as he was about to do, how
could I, without incurring the brand of inhospitality, have done
him to death as he deserved? Had he murdered my father, and
afterwards partaken of my food and my bowl, not a hair of his
head could have been injured by me.  But enough of him--let his
carcass and his memory be removed from amongst us."

The body was carried away, and the marks of the slaughter
obliterated or concealed with such ready dexterity, as showed
that the case was not altogether so uncommon as to paralyze the
assistants and officers of Saladin's household.

But the Christian princes felt that the scene which they had
beheld weighed heavily on their spirits, and although, at the
courteous invitation of the Soldan, they assumed their seats at
the banquet, yet it was with the silence of doubt and amazement.
The spirits of Richard alone surmounted all cause for suspicion
or embarrassment.  Yet he too seemed to ruminate on some
proposition, as if he were desirous of making it in the most
insinuating and acceptable manner which was possible.  At length
he drank off a large bowl of wine, and addressing the Soldan,
desired to know whether it was not true that he had honoured the
Earl of Huntingdon with a personal encounter.

Saladin answered with a smile that he had proved his horse and
his weapons with the heir of Scotland, as cavaliers are wont to
do with each other when they meet in the desert; and modestly
added that, though the combat was not entirely decisive, he had
not on his part much reason to pride himself on the event.  The
Scot, on the other hand, disclaimed the attributed superiority,
and wished to assign it to the Soldan.

"Enough of honour thou hast had in the encounter," said Richard,
"and I envy thee more for that than for the smiles of Edith
Plantagenet, though one of them might reward a bloody day's
work.--But what say you, noble princes?  Is it fitting that such
a royal ring of chivalry should break up without something being
done for future times to speak of?  What is the overthrow and
death of a traitor to such a fair garland of honour as is here
assembled, and which ought not to part without witnessing
something more worthy of their regard?--How say you, princely
Soldan?  What if we two should now, and before this fair company,
decide the long-contended question for this land of Palestine,
and end at once these tedious wars?  Yonder are the lists ready,
nor can Paynimrie ever hope a better champion than thou. I,
unless worthier offers, will lay down my gauntlet in behalf of
Christendom, and in all love and honour we will do mortal battle
for the possession of Jerusalem."

There was a deep pause for the Soldan's answer.  His cheek and
brow coloured highly, and it was the opinion of many present that
he hesitated whether he should accept the challenge.  At length
he said, "Fighting for the Holy City against those whom we regard
as idolaters and worshippers of stocks and stones and graven
images, I might confide that Allah would strengthen my arm; or if
I fell beneath the sword of the Melech Ric, I could not pass to
Paradise by a more glorious death.  But Allah has already given
Jerusalem to the true believers, and it were a tempting the God
of the Prophet to peril, upon my own personal strength and skill,
that which I hold securely by the superiority of my forces."

"If not for Jerusalem, then," said Richard, in the tone of one
who would entreat a favour of an intimate friend, "yet, for the
love of honour, let us run at least three courses with grinded
lances?"

"Even this," said Saladin, half smiling at Coeur de Lion's
affectionate earnestness for the combat--"even this I may not
lawfully do.  The master places the shepherd over the flock not
for the shepherd's own sake, but for the sake of the sheep.  Had
I a son to hold the sceptre when I fell, I might have had the
liberty, as I have the will, to brave this bold encounter; but
your own Scripture saith that when the herdsman is smitten, the
sheep are scattered."

"Thou hast had all the fortune," said Richard, turning to the
Earl of Huntingdon with a sigh.  "I would have given the best
year in my life for that one half hour beside the Diamond of the
Desert!"

The chivalrous extravagance of Richard awakened the spirits of
the assembly, and when at length they arose to depart Saladin
advanced and took Coeur de Lion by the hand.

"Noble King of England," he said, "we now part, never to meet
again.  That your league is dissolved, no more to be reunited,
and that your native forces are far too few to enable you to
prosecute your enterprise, is as well known to me as to yourself.
I may not yield you up that Jerusalem which you so much desire to
hold--it is to us, as to you, a Holy City.  But whatever other
terms Richard demands of Saladin shall be as willingly yielded as
yonder fountain yields its waters.  Ay and the same should be as
frankly afforded by Saladin if Richard stood in the desert with
but two archers in his train!"

The next day saw Richard's return to his own camp, and in a short
space afterwards the young Earl of Huntingdon was espoused by
Edith Plantagenet.  The Soldan sent, as a nuptial present on this
occasion, the celebrated TALISMAN.  But though many cures were
wrought by means of it in Europe, none equalled in success and
celebrity those which the Soldan achieved.  It is still in
existence, having been bequeathed by the Earl of Huntingdon to a
brave knight of Scotland, Sir Simon of the Lee, in whose ancient
and highly honoured family it is still preserved; and although
charmed stones have been dismissed from the modern Pharmacopoeia,
its virtues are still applied to for stopping blood, and in cases
of canine madness.

Our Story closes here, as the terms on which Richard relinquished
his conquests are to be found in every history of the period.