Boy Crusaders: A Story of the Days of Louis IX.

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  THE MASSACRE OF MINIEH.

  IT was already dark when the pilgrim army commenced a perilous retreatto Damietta, and when the King of France, surrounded by a band of braveknights, undertook the duty of bringing up the rear--on that occasionthe post of honour.

  But Louis was in no condition to occupy such a position with advantage.He was not fully recovered from his sickness, and so weak, that he couldhardly bear the weight of his armour, or support himself on his whitecharger. Neither helmet nor cuirass wore he; nor had he any weapon savehis sword; nor had he sufficient strength to wield his sword to anypurpose in the event of a close encounter.

  And, as it happened, the post of honour speedily became the post ofdanger. As Bisset had predicted, the Saracens lost not a minute inavailing themselves of the bridge that had been left standing. In anincredibly brief space of time, they contrived to cross the canal insuch numbers, that the plain on the Damietta side was covered withturbaned warriors, bent on the destruction of their foes; and, in thedarkness of the night, their cavalry charged constantly, and withdeadly effect, on the retiring and dispirited rear of the Crusaders.

  Of course, the plight of Louis and his comrades every hour became moredeplorable. They fell into disorder; they ran against and impeded eachother; and cries of anger and despair were mingled with the neighing ofhorses, and the clash of arms. Earnestly they prayed for day, that theymight, at least, ascertain their real position; but, when day came, itbrought no comfort. In fact, when the rising sun revealed theirdiminished and diminishing numbers, and the formidable force of enemieswho surrounded them--here a handful of men--there a host--the veryboldest of the Crusaders gave themselves up for lost, and a simultaneouscry of terror and dismay broke from their scanty ranks.

  'Gentlemen,' said Louis, calm in the midst of peril, 'droop not. At thegreat battle of Antioch, Godfrey of Bouillon, and his companions, hadworse odds than we.'

  'And they conquered,' said Walter de Chatillon, striving to banishapprehension, 'and we may conquer.'

  'Yes,' replied Louis, 'they had faith in God's protection, andconfidence in the holiness of their cause; and it seemed to them thatwhile the struggle was well-nigh hopeless, the blessed martyrs--George,Demetrius, and Theodore, came to aid them, and assure them of victory.'

  'Ha,' said Bisset, the English knight, as if speaking to himself, 'Ihave heard that some saw St. George in the air, with an army of whitehorses; but these did no doubt look through the spectacles of fancy.'

  Louis turned, bent his brow, and darted upon the speaker a glance ofkeen reproach, which might have found fuller expression in words. Butthere was no time for argument or admonition; for at that moment theSaracens made one of their fiery charges, and though the French warriorsdefended themselves and their king with heroism, they could not hopethat valour would ultimately save them. While Chatillon and Bisset, nowcharging singly, now side by side, did wonders in keeping a space cleararound the king and the royal standard, Geoffrey de Segrines, adheringto the side of Louis, wielded his sword with such effect that he droveoff, one by one, the horsemen who darted forth from the Saracen ranks.

  'In truth,' said the brave Frenchman, when complimented by Bisset on hisexploits, 'I know not how it is; but to me, it seems that the danger ofthis day has doubled my strength.'

  'On my faith,' replied Bisset, 'I am at a loss whether more to admireyour valour or your vigilance. Your care of your good king reminds me ofthe watchful servant who carefully drives away the flies from hismaster's cup.'

  But brief were the intervals allowed even for such an exchange ofsentiments. Now secure of victory, and stimulated by enthusiasm andfanaticism, the Saracens grew bolder and more audacious in theirattacks. Urged on by their dervishes and imaums, who had flocked to thehost of Saracens to remind them that they were fighting in the cause ofthe prophet, they became more and more eager for carnage and blood, andthe Crusaders less and less capable of a stubborn resistance. At length,on reaching the little town of Minieh, the Crusaders acknowledged thatthey could no longer continue the retreat; and, halting, they drew up ina body outside the town, with the simple resolution of fighting tillthey fell.

  But by this time Louis was utterly exhausted; and Segrines, conductinghim into the court, lifted him from his steed, and carried him, 'weak asa child in its mother's lap,' into a house, expecting every moment to behis last. Nor did the prospects of the Crusaders outside improve in theking's absence. Alarming rumours, vaguely flying about the town, reachedtheir ears and depressed their hearts; and, while they were still inpanic and incertitude, the Saracens made an onset with more than theirformer ferocity. Soon all was confusion and carnage. It seemed, indeed,that nothing but the hearts' blood of the Crusaders would satisfy thevindictive cravings of their foes; and so utterly dispirited byadversity and defeat, and pestilence, were knights formerly renowned asbrave among the bravest that they allowed themselves, almost withoutresisting, to be slaughtered in heaps.

  Naturally, however, there were striking exceptions; and none were moreremarkable than Chatillon and Bisset; who, when Louis was conducted intoMinieh, took up their post hard by an orange grove, and close to a wallat the entrance of the narrow street leading to the house into whichSegrines had carried the king.

  Nothing could have exceeded Chatillon's fiery valour. At one moment herushed like lightning among the Saracens, scattered them, and cut themdown. Then after reining back to the wall to draw out the arrows anddarts that adhered to his cuirass, he returned to the charge, rising inhis stirrups, and shouting--'Chatillon, knights--Chatillon to therescue.'

  Meanwhile Bisset exerted himself with no less courage and prowess.Scorning his danger, and scorning his foes, he charged among theSaracens, with shouts of--'Holy Cross, Holy Cross! Down with the pagandogs! Down with the slaves of Mahound and Termagaunt!' Nothing couldresist the vehemence of his attack. In vain were all attempts to draghim from his steed. Before his mighty battle-axe the Saracens seemed toshake and fall as corn before the reaper.

  At length Chatillon, mortally wounded, dropt from his horse, and theSaracen who had wounded him springing forward seized the French knight'ssteed, which was one sheet of blood and foam. Bisset cleft the Saracen'sskull to the teeth, and laughed defiantly as he avenged the fall of hiscomrade-in-arms.

  But Bisset was now alone; and his situation was so utterly desperate,that any ordinary man, even in that feudal and fighting age, would haverelinquished all hope and yielded to fate. The English knight had noinclination to do anything of the kind. Rapidly his eye measured theground; as rapidly his brain calculated the chances of reaching theorange grove; and as rapidly he arrived at the conclusion that he couldcut his way through the crowd. No sooner had he settled this than hewasted not a moment in hesitation. Drawing back towards the wall, andhalting for a moment, with his face to his foes, to breathe his pantingsteed, he once more, with battle-axe in hand, charged forward upon hisnow recoiling foes, but this time not to return. Nothing daunted by thedarts and arrows that flew around him, he deliberately pursued thecourse which his eye had marked out, literally felling to the earth allwho attempted to stop his progress, but skillfully avoiding foes whom itwas not necessary to encounter. Only a man of the highest courage wouldhave made such an attempt: only a man of the strongest will would havepersevered.

  Now Bisset had both courage and strength of will, and in spite of allthe chances against him, he did reach the orange grove, and making hisway through it as well as he could, found himself in the verge of a woodof palms and sycamores. But he himself was wounded; his horse wasbleeding in a dozen places; and close behind him were three Saracens,well mounted, and thirsting for his blood. It may seem to the reader,that such being the circumstances, Bisset might as well have fallen atMansourah or with Walter de Chatillon at the entrance to the narrowstreet leading to the house to which the king had been carried. But,certainly, that was by no means his view of the case; for he was one ofthose warriors who never despair; and he turned on his pursuers like ali
on at bay.

  'Surely,' said he, speaking to himself, 'wounded and weary as I am, Ishould be but a poor Christian knight if I could not deal with threepagan dogs.'

  And terrible, even to brave foes, was the ferocity and fury with whichBisset turned upon the Saracens. Mighty was the force with which heswung a battle-axe, ponderous enough to have served as a weapon to Coeurde Lion. Crushed by one swoop of the axe fell the first of thepursuers--down, as it again swung on high, fell the second, who a momentearlier was uttering threats of vengeance. But the English knight had noinclination to encounter the third antagonist. His horse, as he felt,was sinking; he himself was weakened by loss of blood; and, quick asthought, he turned towards the wood of palms and sycamores.

  But a new difficulty presented itself. Between Bisset and the wood was avery deep ditch which at another time would have made him pause. Now,however, he did not hesitate, even for an instant. He touched his steedwith the spur; he spoke as if imploring the noble animal to make a lasteffort; and the result was a gallant bound. But the effort was too much.In exerting itself to scramble up the opposite bank, the good steedbroke its back; and the knight, freeing his limbs from its corse,quickly drew his dagger and relieved it from suffering.

  The delay, however, had proved dangerous. Even as he gained one bank ofthe ditch the Saracen was at the other, and preparing to launch ajavelin. One moment only intervened between the Crusader and death; butthat moment was not neglected. With his remaining strength Bisset raisedhis battle-axe, whirled it with irresistible force, and, as the weaponwhizzed through the air, the Saracen dropped from his horse and rolledinto the ditch, the water of which immediately became red with hisblood.

  Not a moment did Bisset now waste in getting under cover of the wood.For full five minutes he neither halted nor looked behind. At length hestopped under a palm tree; and taking out one of those little crosseswhich the Crusaders carried with them for purposes of prayer, and whichare now symbolised by figures on the shield of many a Crusader'sdescendant, he knelt before it, and invoked the protection and aid ofGod and the saints to shield him from danger and restore him to the landof his fathers.

  But almost ere the prayer was uttered, Bisset started at the sound offootsteps; and as he turned his head his brain reeled; and, aftergrasping at the tree for support, he sank motionless on the ground.