Lady Sybil's Choice: A Tale of the Crusades

by Emily Sarah Holt

  *CHAPTER XII.*

  _*WILL SHE GIVE HIM UP?*_

  _Elmina_.--We can bear all things! _Gonsalez_.--Can ye bear disgrace? _Ximena_.--We were not born for this. --FELICIA HEMANS.

  I suppose it is only about thirty hours, yet it looks as if it might beas many weeks, since I sat in the bower with Lady Judith, broidering amantle of cramoisie for Lady Sybil. We were talking of differentthings, carrying on no special train of conversation. Lady Sybil hadbeen with us; but, a few minutes before, Guy had called her into thehall, to assist in receiving a messenger just arrived with letters fromthe Regent. Something which Lady Judith said amused me, and I wasmaking a playful reply, when all at once there broke on us, from thehall, such a bitter, wailing cry, as instantly told us that somethingterrible must have happened. The mantle was dropped upon the rushes,and Lady Judith and I were both in the hall in an instant.

  The messenger, a young knight, stood at the further side of the dais,where were Guy and Lady Sybil. She had apparently fainted, or was verynear it, and he was holding her in his arms, and endeavouring to whispercomfort.

  "Oh, what is the matter?" broke from me, as my eyes sought first Guy andthen the messenger.

  Guy did not answer. I am not sure that he heard me. It was the youngknight who replied.

  "Damoiselle, if it please your Nobility, our young Lord Beaudouin theKing has been commanded to the Lord."

  I never wished I was not noble until that minute. Had I been a villein,he would have told me without considering the pleasure of my Nobility,and I should have been out of suspense one second sooner.

  Lady Judith's one thought seemed to be for the poor mother, who wasutterly overcome by the sudden news of her first-born's death. Sheactually opened the casement with her own hands, though there wereplenty of damsels and squires in the hall, whom she might have called todo it. One she sent for water, and sprinkled a few drops on LadySybil's face, entreating her to drink some wine which a squire broughtin haste. She appeared to swallow with difficulty, but it seemed torevive her, and her voice came back.

  "Oh, my boy, my boy!" she cried piteously. "And I was not there! It wasnot in my arms he died. My first-born, my darling! I was not there."

  Ay, that seemed the climax of her misery--she was not there! I wasvery, very sorry, both for her and for the child. But another thoughtsoon darted into my brain, and it was too hard for me to solve. Who wasthe King of Jerusalem now? When I thought it meet, I whispered thequestion to Guy. He made me no answer in words, but his quick downwardglance at the golden head still bowed upon his arm told me what hethought. And all at once the full significance of that death flashedupon me. Lady Sybil was the Queen of the World, and might have to dobattle for her glorious heritage.

  There was no doubt concerning the right. Only two remained of the Houseof Anjou: and there could be no question as to whether the elder oryounger sister should succeed. Lady Sybil's right had been originallyset aside: and now it had come back to her.

  In an instant I saw, as by a flash of lightning, that the idea hadoccurred to others; for the squire had offered the wine upon the knee.

  But the Regent! Would he acquiesce meekly in a change which would drivehim back to his original insignificance, and restore Guy to his place ofsupreme honour? Lady Sybil is no child, but a woman of full age. Theremight (in a man's eyes) be an excuse in putting her aside for her son,but there could be none for her sister or her daughter.

  It was not for some hours that I saw the Regent's letter; not till LadySybil's bitter wailing had died down to peace, and we were able to turnour eyes from the past to the future. Then Guy showed it me. I wasastonished at the quiet matter-of-fact way in which Count Raymondrecognised Lady Sybil's right, and deferred to Guy as the person todecide upon every thing. I asked Lady Judith, this morning, what shethought it meant. Was this man better than we had supposed? Had webeen unjust to him?

  "I cannot tell yet, Helena," she said; "but I think we shall know nowvery soon. It either bodes great good to Sybil,--or else most seriousmischief."

  "He says no word about his Lady Countess," I suggested.

  "No," said Lady Judith. "I should have liked it better if he had done."

  "Then what can we do?" I asked.

  "Wait and pray," responded she.

  "Wait!" Oh dear me!--it is always waiting. I detest it. Why can'tthings happen in a lump and get done with themselves?

  Count Raymond--for I must give over calling him the Regent,--(and dearme! I must learn to call Lady Sybil the Queen as soon as she iscrowned,--however shall I do it?)--Count Raymond says, in the end of hisletter, that he will reach the Holy City, if it please the saints, aboutten days hence, with the coffin of the young Lord King, that he may belaid with his fathers in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. So, Isuppose, for these ten days we shall know nothing. I would scratch themout of the calendar, if I had pumice-stone of the right quality.

  And yet--it comes over me, though I do hate to think it!--suppose theseten days should be the last days of peace which we are to know!

  "Holy Mother, how _can_ you wait to know things?" I asked Lady Judith.

  "How canst thou?" said she with a little laugh.

  "Why, I must!" said I. "But as to doing it patiently!"----

  "It is easier to wait patiently than impatiently, my child."

  "O holy Mother!" cried I.

  "It is," she gently persisted. "But that patience, Helena, is only tobe had from God."

  "But can you help longing to know?" said I.

  "Rebelliously and feverishly thirsting to know, I can. But it is onlyin God's strength that I can do it. Certainly I cannot help feelingthat I shall be relieved when His time is come. I should be more orless than woman, if I could."

  "But how," said I, "do you keep yourself patient?"

  "_He_ keeps me patient, Helena. I cannot keep myself. He knows: He isat the helm: He will guide me to the haven where I would be. Ah, mychild, thou hast yet to learn what that meaneth,--'When He givethquietness, who shall then condemn?'"

  Indeed I have. And I do not know how to begin.

  We have been very busy, after all, during the terrible interval, and ithardly seems ten days since the news came. All the mourning robes wereto be made of sackcloth--bah! how rough and coarse it is!--one need be avillein to stand it!--and the hoods of cloth of Cyprus. I neverremember being in mourning before Amaury's poor little baby was born anddied in one day, and I did hope then that I should never need it again.It is so abominable to wear such stuff--and how it smells!--and to haveto lay aside one's gloves, just like a bourgeoise! Count Raymond isexpected to-night.

  I did not properly guess what a dreadful scene it would be, when thecoffin was borne into the hall by four knights, and laid down on thedais, and the lid opened, and the embalmed body of the fair childbrought to view, clad in the cowl of the holy brethren of SaintBenedict, which was put on him just before he died. The holyPatriarch--I suppose he is holy, being a patriarch--held the holycenser, which he swung to and fro by the head of the coffin; and a royalchaplain at his side bore the benitier, from which each of us, comingforward, took the asperge, and sprinkled the still face with holy water.

  It was Lady Sybil's turn last, of course. But she, the poor mother,broke down utterly, and dropped the asperge, and if Guy had not sprungforward and caught her, I think she would have fainted and fallen on thecoffin of her child. Oh, it was terrible!

  Later in the evening, there was a family council, at which Count Raymondsuggested--and Guy said it was an excellent idea--that Lady Sybil shouldconvene a council of all the nobles, when her title should be solemnlyrecognised, and no room be left for any dissension about it in future.The council, therefore, will meet on Midsummer Day next, and at the sametime it will be decided what to do after the truce with Saladin hasexpired.

  I tapped at Lady Judith's door as I went up to bed.

  "Well, holy Mother,"
said I, when I was inside, and the door shut, "whatthink you now of the Count of Tripoli?"

  "What thinkest thou, Helena?" answered she.

  "Truly, I hardly know what to think," I said. "He speaks fair."

  "Ay," she said; "he speaks fair."

  I thought I detected the slightest possible emphasis on the verb.

  "I think you mean something, holy Mother," said I bluntly.

  "Helena, when the Lord Count was proposing the convention of thecouncil, and all that was to follow, and Count Guy assented, and said hethought it a good idea,--didst thou happen to look at Count Raymond'sface?"

  "No, holy Mother, I did not."

  "I did. And at the instant when Count Guy assented to his proposal, Icaught one triumphant flash in his eyes. From that hour I was certainhe meant mischief."

  My heart fell,--fell.

  "What sort of mischief?" I asked fearfully.

  "The Lord knoweth," quietly said she; "and the Lord reigneth, Helena.'Wonderful are the ragings of the sea: wonderful in the heights is theLord.'"

  And that seems to comfort her. I wish it would comfort me.

  The Council is holding its sitting: and so serious are its deliberationsconsidered, that only one woman beside Lady Sybil herself is permittedto attend it. Of course it was not meet she should be without any ladyor damsel. But she chose Lady Judith, with a pretty little apology tome, lest I should fancy myself slighted.

  "Lady Judith is old and very wise," she said. "I should like her tohear the deliberations of the nobles, that I may have, if need be, thebenefit of her counsel afterwards."

  I suppose it is the swearing of allegiance that takes such a long time.They have been four hours already.

  Sir God, have mercy upon me! I never dreamed of the anguish that was instore for me. I do not know how to bear it. O fair Father, JesuChrist, by the memory of Thine own cross and passion, help me, if it beonly to live through it!

  I wondered why, when the Council broke up, Lady Sybil shut herself upand refused to admit any one, and Guy was nowhere to be found. I felt avague sort of uneasiness, but no more, till a soft hand was laid upon myshoulder, and I looked up in Lady Judith's face.

  And then, in an instant, the vague uneasiness changed to acute terror.

  Her look was one of such deep, overwhelming compassion, that I knew atonce she had that to tell me which she justly feared might break myheart.

  "What--?" I gasped.

  "Come here with me," she said; and she took me into her own cell, andbarred the door. "Helena, dear child, there is something to tell theewhich thou wilt find very bitter, and thy brother and Sybil think bestthat I should tell it."

  "Go on, if you please, holy Mother. Any thing but suspense!"

  "The Council of nobles," she said, "are agreed to admit Sybil's right,and to pay their homage to her as Queen, if she on her part will acceptone condition dictated by them. But if she refuse the condition, theyrefuse the allegiance; and will raise against her the banner of Isabel,who was called into the Council, and declared herself ready to acceptit."

  "And--the condition?"

  "That she shall divorce Count Guy, and wed with one of themselves."

  It seemed to me as though my head went round, but my heart stood still.And then a cry broke from me, which was a mixture of fear, andindignation, and disdain, and cruel, cruel anguish.

  Sybil to divorce Guy! Our sweet-eyed, silver-voiced Sybil, whom we soloved, to divorce my Guy, my king of men! To be willing to do it!--topurchase her fair, proud inheritance at the price of the heart whichloved her, and which she loved! My heart and brain alike cried out,Impossible!

  Was I dreaming? This thing could not be,--should not be! Holy Saints,let me wake and know it!

  "It is not possible!" I shrieked. "She will not--she cannot! Did shenot say so?"

  "Her first words," said Lady Judith, "were utterly and indignantly torefuse compliance."

  "Well!--and then?"

  "Then several of the nobles pressed it upon her, endeavouring to showher the advantages to be derived from the divorce."

  "Advantages!" I cried.

  "To the country, dear," said Lady Judith gently. "But for four hours sheheld out. No word was to be wrung from her but 'I could not dream ofsuch a thing!' 'Then, Lady,' said the Lord Count of Edessa, 'you can nolonger be our Queen.'"

  "And did that sway her?" I cried indignantly.

  "Nothing seemed to sway her, till Count Guy rose himself, and, thoughwith faltering lips, earnestly entreated her assent. Then she gave wayso far as to promise to consider the question."

  That was like Guy. If he thought it for her good, I am sure he wouldurge it upon her, though it broke his own heart. But for her to giveway _then_----!

  "Holy Mother, tell me she will not do it!" I cried.

  "She has locked herself up, to think and pray," said Lady Judith. "Butit is well to know the worst at once,--I think she will, Helena."

  "Holy Mother, you must have gone mad!"

  I did not mean to be rude. I was only in too great agony to see anything but itself. And Lady Judith seemed to understand.

  "Who proposed it?" I demanded.

  Ah! I knew what the answer would be. "Count Raymond of Tripoli."

  "Well, he cannot be the one she weds!" said I, grinding my teeth.

  "He can, Helena. The Countess has been dead these four months. He sayshe wrote to tell us, and his letter must have miscarried."

  "And is Satan to have it all his own way?" I cried.

  "No, assuredly, dear child. Christ is stronger than he."

  "Holy Mother, can you see one speck of light in this thick and horribledarkness?"

  "I never see but one light in any darkness," she said. "'God is light,and darkness in Him there is none at all.' Dear Helena, wilt thou notput thine hand in His, and let Him lead thee to the light?"

  "Could the good God not have prevented all this?" I wailed.

  "Perhaps not, for thy sake," she said softly.

  "Oh, she will not, she will not!" I moaned. "Holy Mother, tell me shenever will!"

  "I cannot, dear. On the contrary, I think she will."

  "I never could have believed it of Lady Sybil!"

  Lady Judith made no reply; but I thought the expression of pain deepenedin her face.

  "Dear Helena," was her gentle answer, "sometimes we misunderstand ourfriends. And very often we misunderstand our Father."

  She tried to comfort me: but I was past comfort. I was past food,sleep,--every thing. I went to bed,--it was a miserable relief to getaway from the daylight; but I could not sleep, and no tears would come.Only one exceeding bitter cry,--

  "Help me, Jesu Christ!"

  Would He help me? What had I ever been to Him, or done for Him, that Heshould? He had shed His life-blood on the holy rood for me; and I hadbarely ever so much as thanked Him for it. I had never cared about Him.Where was the good of asking Him?

  Yet I must cry to Him, for who else was there? Of course there were MaryMother and the holy saints: but--Oh, I hope it was not wicked!--itseemed as if in my agony I pushed them all aside, and went straight upto Him to whom all prayer must come at last.

  "Help me, Jesu Christ!"

  Where was Guy?--feeling, in his darkened chamber, as if his heart werebreaking?

  Where was Sybil?--awake, perhaps, with a lighted lamp, wrestling betweenthe one love of her heart and the pride of life.

  And where was God? Did He hear me? Would He hear? And the cry cameagain, wrung from my very life as if I must have help.

  "Help me, Jesu Christ! I have no help. I can do nothing. I can eventhink of nothing. I can bear no more. Help me, not because I deservehelp, but because I want Thee!"

  And the darkness went on, and the quiet beats of the water-clock, andthe low, musical cry of the watchmen outside; and the clang of arms asthey changed guard: but no holy angel came down from Heaven to tell methat my prayer was heard, and that it should be to me even as I would.
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br />   Was there no help?--was there no hope?--was there no God in Heaven?

  Oh, it cannot, cannot be that she will decide against him! Yet LadyJudith thinks she will. I cannot imagine why. Our own sweet Sybil, towhom he has seemed like the very life of her life! No, it can never betrue! She will never, never give him up.