by A. D. Crake
CHAPTER XXVI. "QUANTUM MUTATUS AB ILLO HECTORE."
An hour had passed away since the conflict had ceased, and all wasagain peaceful and still. The Christian dead were buried; theMoslems yet dotted the plain with prostrate corpses, whose unclosedand glassy eyes met the gazer in every direction.
Of these the Crusaders reckoned little, nor did the ghastlyspectacle at all disturb their rest. They sorrowed, indeed, fortheir own comrades; but when the parting prayers were breathed overtheir desert graves, they dismissed even them from their thoughts.
"They have given their lives in a noble cause, and the saints willtake good care of them and make their beds in Paradise," was thegeneral sentiment.
And now the fire was rekindled, the wine skins passed round, thevenison steaks again placed on the glowing embers, and theyrefreshed the inner man, with appetites sharpened by theirdesperate exertions in the late struggle.
Close by the side of the young knight sat their deliverer, whosefollowers mingled with the Englishmen around at one or other of thefires they had kindled.
"A health," said the young knight--"a health to our deliverer. Hadhe not come so opportunely to our rescue, we were now supping inParadise.
"What name shall I give to our honoured guest?"
"Men call me the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, but it is too prouda title to be borne by mortal man."
"Art thou he, then, whose fame has filled our ears, of whomminstrels sing, who with a band of stout followers defied theMoslem's rage in these forest fastnesses, before even Peterpreached the word of God?"
"Thou hast exaggerated my merits, but be they many, or as I wouldsay few, I am he of whom they speak."
"We are indeed honoured, thrice honoured, to be saved by thee; andthese thy followers--of what nation are they?"
"Of all countries which rejoice in the light of the True Faith, butthey were Varangians {xxvii}, of the household guard of theEmperor of the East, whose service I left, to avenge the injuriesof the pilgrim, and to clear him a path through these robber-infestedwastes."
"And may I ask the country which is honoured by thy birth, thenation which claims thee as her worthiest son?"
"I have no nation," said the knight; sadly; "for these thirty yearsI have been an exile from home."
The young knight asked no further questions, fearing to probe somesecret wound. He gave the toast, and all drank it with cheers,which made the solitude ring.
An indefinable interest centred in this knight: rumour made him anoble of the later empire, the "Acolyth" or commander of thatfamous band of guards, whom the policy of the Caesar gatheredaround the tottering throne of Constantinople--exiles from allnations, but especially from England--driven by various fortunesfrom home. Hereward--and before him Norwegian Harold, who perishedat Stamford Bridge--had served in their ranks.
This knight, whose real name none knew, had been the first to takeup the sword in defence of the pilgrims, who sought the HolySepulchre, and who, on their passage southward, through thesesolitudes, were grievously maltreated by robbers, whom the TurkishGovernment--ever the same--protected, provided they paid the duetithe of their spoils to the Sultan.
In their mountain solitudes, fame reported the knight to have hissecret retreat, whence no Turk nor Saracen could dislodge him, andwhence he often issued, the protector of the Christian, the dreadof his oppressor.
He had thrown aside his visor. Time, and perhaps grief, had markedmany a wrinkle on his manly forehead; his hair and beard weregrizzled with time and exposure; his age might have been variouslyestimated: he seemed to bear the weight of half a century at theleast, but perhaps toil and trouble had dealt more severely withhim than time.
"My son," he said, as he marked the intent gaze of the youth, whowas excited by finding himself the companion of one so distinguishedby feats of arms, "I have told thee my own vain designation; now,let me be anon the catechist. Of what country art thou?"
"Hast thou heard of a fair island across the sea men call England?"
"Have I not?"
"That is then my home."
"Thou art an Englishman? or do I not rather see one of the blood ofthe conquerors of that fair land."
And here he suppressed what might have been a sigh.
"I am indeed Norman by my father's side--a race none need blush toown, and received but recently knighthood from the hands of Robertof Normandy, after the battle of Dorylaeum; but by my mother's sideI am of English blood."
"And thou blushest not to own it?"
"Why should I? Norman and English have long been peacefully unitedon my father's lands, and we know no distinction."
"Such, I have heard, is not yet everywhere the case in thineisland; but thou hast not told me thy name."
"Edward of Aescendune, son of Etienne, lord of Aescendune inEngland, and Malville in Normandy."
The stranger started as if an arrow had suddenly pierced him. Theyoung knight looked on him with amazement.
"A fit to which I am subject--it is nothing," said he, regaininghis composure and drinking a goblet of wine. "May I ask thymother's name? Thou saidst she was English."
"Edith, daughter of Edmund, the English lord of Aescendune, andWinifred his wife."
The knight was still evidently unwell--a deadly pallor sat on hisface.
"I fear me thou art hurt."
"Nay, my son; one who like myself has lain for weeks in unwholesomecaverns, with but scanty fare sometimes, contracts a tendency tothis kind of seizure. It will pass away."
"Art thou interested in England? Perhaps thyself English by birth?"
"I have said I have no country," replied he, sadly.
The young lord of Aescendune remembered his designation of himselfas an exile, and forbore to inquire, lest he should unawares renewsome ancient wound.
The manner in which the knight addressed his young companion hadsomething in it of tender interest; his voice sounded like that ofone who spake with emotion forcibly suppressed.
"Thy mother is yet living?" said he, with forced calmness.
"She mourns our absence in the halls of Aescendune, yet she couldnot grudge us to the Cross, and methinks she finds consolation inmany a holy deed of mercy and charity."
"Hast thou any brethren, or art thou her only child?"
"Nay, we are four in number--two boys and two girls. My brotherHugh is destined to be the future lord of Malville, and I, if Isurvive, shall inherit Aescendune."
"Thy mother, my boy, must miss thee sadly. How bore she the pain ofseparation?"
"Religion came to her aid, and does still. I can fancy her eachmorning as she kneels before the altar of St. Wilfred, and weariesheaven with prayer for her absent lord and her boy, and perhapsthose prayers sent thee to my deliverance this night."
"Thrice blessed they who have so pious a mother. The Priory of St.Wilfred didst thou say? Methinks he was an English saint."
"It is the third building which has existed within the century onthe spot. The first was burnt in the troubles which followed theConquest; the second, dedicated to St. Denys, shared the same fate,and when the present priory was built, my father, who had broughthis English wife from the convent of the Holy Trinity at Caen,where she received her education, restored the old dedication, as Iimagine to give her pleasure."
"Thy father, thou sayest, is with thee in this land?"
"He has gone forward with the host to the siege of the Holy City. Iwas wounded on that glorious day when we scattered half a millionfollowers of Mohammed, who had penned us within the walls ofAntioch; and he left me with this faithful squire, Osmund--an oldman who fought with my grandsire at Hastings--to tarry in the citytill I should be fit to travel. Now we are journeying southward inhaste, fearing we shall be too late for our share in the holy work.Dost thou not travel thitherward--thou of all men?"
"Even now I hasten, lest my unworthy eyes should fail to behold thedeliverance of that Holy Sepulchre whence my designation is taken.We will travel together, so will thy journey be safer, for theseTurks ha
ng like carrion upon the skirts of the grand army."
"Blithely do I accept thine offer. I would not willingly perish insome obscure skirmish when the gates of Jerusalem are as the gatesof heaven before me, and I shall present my preserver to my father.Are you ill again--I fear me--"
"It is nothing. Earthly feelings must not be permitted to minglewith our sacred call."
"But I may introduce you to him?"
"When our work is done--thou mayest. The hill of Calvary will bethe fitting place, where--"
Here the knight paused, and was silent for awhile, then said--"Itis night, and night is the time for rest; we must sleep, my youngbrother in arms, if we would be fit for travel tomorrow. See, wealone are watchers; our companions are all wrapped in slumber--savethe sentinels, I will but assign the latter their posts and hours,and seek nature's greatest boon to man."
Edward of Aescendune would fain have joined in this duty, but theolder soldier bade him rest, in a tone of gentle authority which hecould not resist. And the stern warrior drew the embers of thefire, so as to warm the feet of the youth, while he cast a mantleover him to protect him from the heavy dew.
The Knight of the Holy Sepulchre departed upon his rounds, andassigned to the sentinels their posts, after which he returned andlay amidst the sleeping forms beneath the cedars, the branches ofwhich were ever and anon fitfully illumined as some brand fell andcaused a flame to arise. He gazed intently, nay, even fondly, uponthe ingenuous face of the sleeping youth.
"How like his mother he is--what a load his simple tale has removedfrom my breast! God, I thank thee! the old house of my fathers yetlives in this boy--worthier far than I to represent it."