by G. A. Henty
Cuthbert’s heart rose greatly at the prospect of once again entering upon an active life, and the next evening, with many thanks for his kindness, he knelt before the aged hermit to receive his blessing.
With the instructions given him he had no difficulty in making his way through the mountains, until after some five hours’ walk he found himself at a little village situated in a narrow valley.
Going to the door of the principal hut he knocked, and upon entering showed the owner—who opened the door—a rosette of peculiar beads and repeated the name of Father Anselm. The peasant at once recognized it and bade Cuthbert welcome. He knew but a few words of French, although doubtless his ancestors had been of European extraction. In the morning he furnished Cuthbert with the sheepskin and short tunic which formed the dress of a shepherd, and dyeing his limbs and face a deep brown he himself started with Cuthbert on his journey to the next Christian community.
This was a small one consisting of two huts only, built almost on the summit of a mountain, the inhabitants living partly on the milk and cheese of their goats and partly upon the scanty vegetables which grew around the huts.
His welcome was as cordial as that of the night before; and the next morning, his former guide taking leave of him, the peasant in whose house he had slept again conducted him forward to another community. This was the last station and stood in a narrow gorge on the face of the hills looking down over the plain, beyond which in the far distance a faint line of blue sea was visible.
This community was far more prosperous and well-to-do than those at which the previous nights had been passed. The head of the village appeared to be a personage of some importance; and although clinging in secret to his Christian faith, he and his belongings had so far adopted the usages of the Mussulmen that apparently no thought of their Christianity entered into the minds of the authorities. He was the owner of two or three horses and of some extensive vineyards and olive grounds. He was also able to speak French with some degree of fluency.
At considerable length he explained to Cuthbert the exact position of the Christian army, which had moved some distance along the coast since Cuthbert had left it. It was, he said, exposed to constant attacks by the Saracens, who harassed it in every way, and permitted it no repose. He said that the high hopes which had been raised by the defeat of the Saracens at Azotus had now fallen, and that it was feared the Christians would not be able to force their way forward to Jerusalem. The great portion of their animals had died, and the country was so eaten up by the Saracen hosts that an advance upon Jerusalem without a large baggage train was next to impossible; and indeed if the Christians were to arrive before that city, they could effect nothing without the aid of the heavy machines necessary for battering the walls or effecting an escalade.
Cuthbert was vastly grieved when he heard of the probable failure of the expedition, and he burned with eagerness to take his part again in the dangers and difficulties which beset the Christian army. His host pointed out to him the extreme difficulty and danger of his crossing the enemy’s lines, but at the same time offered to do all in his power to assist him. After two days’ stay at the village, and discussing the pros and cons of all possible plans, it was decided that the best chance lay in a bold effort. The host placed at his disposal one of his horses, together with such clothes as would enable him to ride as an Arab chief of rank and station; a long lance was furnished him, a short and heavy mace, and scimitar; a bag of dates was hung at the saddlebow; and with the sincerest thanks to his protector, and with a promise that should the Christian host win their way to Jerusalem the steed should be returned with ample payment, Cuthbert started on his journey.
CHAPTER XVI
A FIGHT OF HEROES
The horse was a good and spirited one, and when he had once descended to the plains, Cuthbert rode gayly along, exulting in his freedom, and in once again possessing arms to defend himself should it be needed. His appearance was so exactly that of the horsemen who were continually passing and repassing that no observation whatever was attracted by it. Through villages, and even through camps, Cuthbert rode fearlessly, and arrived, without having once been accosted, near the main camp of the Saracens, which extended for miles parallel to the sea. But at a distance of some three leagues beyond could be seen the white tents of the Christian host, and Cuthbert felt that the time of trial was now at hand.
He dismounted for an hour to allow his steed to rest itself, fed it with dates from his wallet, and gave it a drink of water at the stream. Then, when he felt that it had thoroughly recovered its strength and freshness, he remounted, and rode briskly on as before. He passed unchallenged, attracting no more notice than a person nowadays would do in walking along a crowded street. Without hesitation he passed through the tents and started across the open country. Bands of horsemen were seen here and there, some going, and some coming from the direction of the Christian camp. As it was doubtless supposed that he was on his way to join some band that had gone on in advance, the passage of the solitary horseman excited no comment until he approached within about two miles of the Christian camp. There were now, so far as he could see, no enemies between him and the point he so longed to gain. But at this minute a group of Arab horsemen, gathered, apparently on the lookout against any movement of the Christians, shouted to him “Halt!” demanding whither he was going.
Up to this point Cuthbert had ridden at a gentle canter; but at the challenge he put spurs into his steed and made across the plain at full speed. With a wild yell the Arabs started in pursuit. They lay at first some two hundred yards on his right, and he had therefore a considerable start of them. His horse was fairly fresh, for the journey that he had made had only been about fifteen miles—an inconsiderable distance to an Arab steed. For half a mile he did not think that his pursuers gained much upon him, riding as they had done sideways. They had now gathered in his rear, and the nearest was some one hundred and fifty yards behind him. A quarter of a mile further he again looked around, and found that two of the Arabs, far better mounted than the others, had come within half the distance which separated them from him when he last glanced back. His horse was straining to the utmost, and he felt that it could do no more; he therefore prepared himself for a desperate fight should his pursuers overtake him. In another quarter of a mile they were but a short distance behind, and an arrow whizzing by Cuthbert’s ear told him they had betaken themselves to their bows.
Half a mile ahead he saw riding toward him a group of Christian knights; but he felt that it was too late for him to hope to reach them, and that his only chance now was to boldly encounter his pursuers. The main body of the Arabs was fully two hundred yards behind—a short distance when going at a gallop—which left him but little time to shake off the pursuit of the two immediately behind him.
A sharp stinging pain in his leg told him that it was time to make his effort; and checking his horse, he wheeled suddenly round. The two Arabs with a yell rode at him with pointed lance. With his right hand Cuthbert grasped the short heavy mace which hung at his saddlebow, and being well practiced in the hurling of this weapon—which formed part of the education of a good knight—he cast it with all his force at the chest of the Arab approaching on that side. The point of the spear was within a few yards of his breast as he flung the mace; but his aim was true, for it smote the Saracen full on the chest, and hurled him from his horse as if struck with a thunderbolt. At the same instant Cuthbert threw himself flat on the neck of his steed and the lance of the Arab who came up on the other side passed harmlessly between his shoulders, tearing his clothes as it went. In an instant Cuthbert had wheeled his horse, and before the Arab could turn his steed Cuthbert, coming up from behind, had run him through the body.
Short as the delay had been, the main body of the pursuers were scarcely fifty yards away; but Cuthbert now continued his flight toward the knights, who were galloping forward at full speed; and a moment afterward glancing back, he saw that his pursuers had turned and were in ful
l flight.
With a shout of joy he rode forward to the party who had viewed with astonishment this conflict between what appeared to be three of the infidels. Even louder than his first shout of exultation was the cry of joy which he raised at seeing among the party to whom he rode up the Earl of Evesham, who reined in his horse in astonishment, and drew his sword as the supposed enemy galloped toward him.
“My lord, my lord!” Cuthbert said. “Thank Heaven I am safe with you again.”
The earl lowered his sword in astonishment.
“Am I mad,” he said, “or dreaming, or is this really Sir Cuthbert?”
“It is I, sure enough,” Cuthbert exclaimed, “although truly I look more like a Bedouin soldier than a Christian knight.”
“My dear boy!” exclaimed the earl, galloping forward and throwing his arms around Cuthbert’s neck, “we thought you were dead. But by what wonderful fortune have you succeeded in escaping?”
In a few words Cuthbert related the principal incidents of his adventures, and he was heartily congratulated by the assembled knights.
There was, however, no time for long explanations. Large bodies of the Saracen horse were already sweeping down to capture, if possible, this small band of knights who had ventured so far from the camp; and as King Richard’s orders were that none should venture upon conflicts except by his orders, the party reluctantly turned their horses and galloped back to the camp.
Great as had been the earl’s joy, it was, if possible, exceeded by that of Cnut on discovering in the Arab chief who rode up alongside the earl the lad he loved so well. Loud and hearty were the cheers which rang out from the earl’s camp as the news spread, and Cuthbert was compelled to shake hands with the whole party before entering the earl’s tent, to refresh himself and give the narrative of what had happened.
Cuthbert, retiring to his tent with the Earl of Evesham, inquired of him what had taken place during his absence.
“For,” he said, “although but a short three days’ march from here, I have been as one of the dead, and have heard nothing whatever of what has taken place.”
“Nothing could have gone worse,” the earl said. “We have had nothing but dissensions and quarrels. First, the king fell out with the Archduke of Austria.”
“On what ground did this happen?” Cuthbert asked.
“For once,” the earl said, “the king our master was wholly in the wrong, which is not generally the case. We had just taken Ascalon, and were hard at work fortifying the place. King Richard with his usual zeal, in order to encourage the army, seized heavy stones and himself bore them into their place. The archduke stood near with some of his knights: and it may be that the haughty Austrian looked somewhat superciliously at our king thus laboring.
“‘Why do you not make a show of helping?’ King Richard said, going up to him. ‘It would encourage the men, and show that the labor upon which we are engaged can be undertaken by all without derogation.’
“To this the archduke replied:
“‘I am not the son of a mason!’
“Whereupon Richard, whose blood no doubt had been excited by the air of the Austrian, struck him with his hand a fierce blow across the face. We nearly betook ourselves to our swords on both sides; but King Richard himself could have scattered half the Austrians, and these, knowing that against his impetuous valor they could do nothing, simply withdrew from our camp, and sailed the next day for home. Then the king, in order to conciliate some at least of his allies, conferred the crown of Jerusalem upon Conrad of Montferat. No sooner had he done this than Conrad was mysteriously wounded. By whom it was done none knew. Some say that it was by emissaries of the Old Man of the Mountain. Others affirm that it was the jealousy of some of the knights of the holy orders. But be that as it may, he died. Some of the French, ever jealous of the valor of our king, ascribed it to his orders. This monstrous accusation coming to the ears of King Richard, he had hot words with the Duke of Burgundy. In this I blame him not, for it is beyond all reason that a man like the king, whose faults, such as they are, arise from too much openness, and from the want of concealment of such dislikes as he may have, should resort to poison to free himself of a man whom he himself had but a day or two before appointed King of Jerusalem. However it be, the consequences were most unfortunate, for the result of the quarrel was that the Duke of Burgundy and his Frenchmen followed the example of the Austrians, and we were left alone. Before this we had marched upon Jerusalem. But the weather had been so bad, and our train was so insufficient to carry the engines of war, that we had been forced to fall back again. King Richard again advanced, and with much toil we went as far as the village of Bethany.”
“Why,” Cuthbert exclaimed, “I passed through that village, and it is but three miles from the holy city.”
“That is so,” the earl said; “and many of us, ascending the hill in front, saw Jerusalem. But even then it was certain that we must again retrace our steps; and when we asked King Richard to come to the crest of the hill to see the holy city, he refused to do so, saying, ‘No; those who are not worthy of conquering Jerusalem should not look at it!’ This was but a short time since, and we are now retracing our steps to Acre, and are treating with Saladin for a peace.”
“Then,” Cuthbert said sadly, “all our hopes and efforts are thrown away; all this blood has been shed for nothing; and after the three great powers of Europe have engaged themselves solemnly in the war, we are baffled, and have to fall back before the hordes of the infidels.”
“Partly before them,” the earl said, “partly as the result of our own jealousies and passions. Had King Richard been a lesser man than he is, we might have conquered Jerusalem. But he is so extraordinary a warrior that his glory throws all others into the shade. He is a good general, perhaps the best in Europe; and had he done nothing but lead, assuredly we should have carried out our purpose. See how ably he maneuvered the army at the fight of Azotus. Never was a more complete defeat than that which he inflicted there upon the Saracens; and although the fact that his generalship achieved this, might have caused some jealousy to the other commanders, this might have died away could he between the battles have been a general, and nothing more. But, alas! he is in addition a knight-errant—and such a knight-errant as Europe has never seen before. Wherever there is danger, Richard will plunge into the midst. There are brave men in all the three armies; but the strongest and bravest are as children to King Richard. Alone he can dart into ranks of the infidels, and cut a lane for himself by the strength of his right arm. More than this, when danger has threatened he has snatched up his battle-ax and dashed into the fray without helm or cuirass, performing such prodigies of valor and strength that it has been to his prowess alone that victory was to be ascribed. Hence he is the idol of all the soldiers, whatever their nationality; for he is as ready to rush to the rescue of a French or Austrian knight when pressed as to that of his own men. But the devotion which the whole army felt for him was as gall and wormwood to the haughty Austrian and the indolent Frenchman; and the retirement of the King of France, which left Richard in supreme command, was in every way unfortunate.”
Upon the following day the army again marched, and Cuthbert could not but notice the difference, not only in number but in demeanor, from the splendid array which had left Acre a few months before. There was little now of the glory of pennon and banner; the bright helms and cuirasses were rusted and dinted, and none seemed to care aught for bravery of show. The knights and men-at-arms were sunburnt and thin, and seemed but half the weight that they had been when they landed. Fatigue, hardship, and the heat had done their work; disease had swept off vast numbers. But the remains of the army were so formidable in their fighting powers that the Saracens, although following them at a distance in vast numbers, did not venture an attack upon them.
A few days after their arrival at Acre, the king gave orders for the embarkation of the troops. Just as they were preparing to enter the ships a small vessel was seen entering the harbor
. It drew up to the shore, and a knight leaped from it, and, inquiring where King Richard was to be found, made his way to the king, who was standing superintending the embarkation of some of the horses.
“The Saracens, sire!” he exclaimed. “The Saracens are besieging Jaffa, and the place must be lost unless assistance arrives in a day or two.”
The king leaped on board the nearest ship, shouted to his leading officers to follow him, and gave orders to others to bring down the troops with all possible speed, to waste not a moment, and to see that all was done, and then, in five minutes after the receipt of the news he started for Jaffa. The Earl of Evesham and Cuthbert had been standing near the king when the order was given, and followed him at once on board the bark which he had chosen.
“Ah, my gallant young knight,” the king exclaimed, “I am right glad to see you with me. We shall have more fighting before we have done, and I know that that suits your mood as well as my own.”
The king’s vessel was far in advance of any of the others, when early the following morning it arrived at Jaffa.
“Your eyes are better than mine,” the king said to Cuthbert. “Tell me what is that flag flying on the top of the town.”
Cuthbert looked at it earnestly.
“I fear, sire, that it is the crescent. We have arrived too late.”
“By the holy cross,” said King Richard, “that shall not be so; for if the place be taken, we will retake it.”
As the vessel neared the shore a monk ran out into the water up to his shoulders, and said to the king that the citadel still held out, and that even now the Saracens might be driven back. Without delay the king leaped into the water, followed by the knights and men-at-arms, and entering the gate, threw himself upon the infidels within, who, busy plundering, had not noticed the arrival of the ship.
The war cry of “St. George! St. George!” which the king always shouted in battle, struck panic among the infidels; and although the king was followed but by five knights and a few men-at-arms, the Saracens, to the number of three thousand, fled before him, and all who tarried were smitten down. The king followed them out upon the plain, driving them before him as a lion would drive a flock of sheep, and then returned triumphant into the city.