The Boy Knight
by
G.A. Henty
Part 2 out of 5
head gravely.
"Do you forget," he said, "the mission upon which you are assembled
here? Has not every knight and noble in these armies taken a solemn oath
to put aside private quarrels and feuds until the holy sepulcher is
taken? Shall we at this very going off show that the oath is a mere form
of words? Shall we show before the face of Christendom that the knights
of the cross are unable to avoid flying at each other's throats, even
while on their way to wrest the holy sepulcher from the infidel? No,
sirs, you must lay aside your feuds, and must promise me and my good
brother here that you will keep the peace between you until this war is
over. Whose fault it was that the quarrel began I know not. It may be
that my Lord of Brabant was discourteous. It may be that the earl here
was too hot. But whichever it be, it matters not."
"The quarrel, sire," said Sir Jacquelin, "arose from a dispute between
our pages, who were nigh coming to blows in your majesty's presence. I
desired the earl to chide the insolence of his varlet, and instead of so
doing he met my remarks with scorn."
"Pooh, pooh," said King Richard, "there are plenty of grounds for
quarrel without two nobles interfering in the squabbles of boys. Let
them fight; it will harm no one. By the bye, your Majesty," he said,
turning to the King of France with a laugh, "if the masters may not
fight, there is no reason in the world why the varlets should not. We
are sorely dull for want of amusement. Let us have a list to-morrow, and
let the pages fight it out for the honor of their masters and their
nations."
"It were scarce worth while to have the lists set for two boys to
fight," said the King of France.
"Oh, we need not have regular lists," said King Richard. "Leave that
matter in my hands. I warrant you that if the cockerels are well
plucked, they will make us sport. What say you, gentlemen?"
The Brabant noble at once assented, answering that he was sure that his
page would be glad to enter the lists; and the earl gave a similar
assent, for he had not noticed how great was the discrepancy between the
size of the future combatants.
"That is agreed, then," said King Richard joyously. "I will have a piece
of ground marked out on the edge of the camp to-morrow morning. It shall
be kept by my men-at-arms, and there shall be a raised place for King
Philip and myself, who will be the judges of the conflict. Will they
fight on foot or on horse?"
"On foot, on foot," said the King of France. "It would be a pity that
knightly exercises should be brought to scorn by any failure on their
part on horseback. On foot at least it will be a fair struggle."
"What arms shall they use?" the Brabant knight asked.
"Oh, swords and battle-axes, of course," said King Richard with a laugh.
"Before you go," King Philip said, "you must shake hands, and swear to
let the quarrel between you drop, at least until after our return. If
you still wish to shed each other's blood, I shall offer no hindrance
thereto."
The earl and Count Jacquelin touched each other's hands in obedience to
the order, went out of the tent together, and strode off without a word
in different directions.
"My dear lad," the Earl of Evesham said on entering his tent where his
page was waiting him, "this is a serious business. The kings have
ordered this little count and myself to put aside our differences till
after the Crusade, in accordance with our oath. But as you have in no
wise pledged yourself in the same fashion, and as their majesties feel
somewhat dull while waiting here, it is determined that the quarrel
between the count and me, and between you and the count's page, shall be
settled by a fight between you two in the presence of the kings."
"Well, sir," Cuthbert said, "I am glad that it should be, seeing the
varlet insulted me without any cause, and purposely upset the cup over
me."
"What is he like?" the earl asked. "Dost think that you are a fair
match?"
"I doubt not that we are fair match enough," Cuthbert said. "As you
know, sir, I have been well trained to arms of all kinds, both by my
father and by the men-at-arms at the castle, and could hold my own
against any of your men with light weapons, and have then no fear that
this gawky loon, twenty years old though he seems to be, will bring
disgrace upon me or discredit upon my nation."
"If thou thinkest so," the earl said, "the matter can go on. But had it
been otherwise I would have gone to the king and protested that the
advantage of age was so great that it would be murder to place you in
the lists together."
"There is," Cuthbert said, "at most no greater difference between us
than between a strong man and a weak one, and these, in the ordeal of
battle, have to meet in the lists. Indeed I doubt if the difference is
so great, for if he be a foot taller than I, methinks that round the
shoulders I should have the advantage of him."
"Send hither my armorer," the earl said; "we must choose a proper suit
for you. I fear that mine would be of little use; but doubtless there
are some smaller suits among my friends."
"The simpler and lighter the better," Cuthbert said. "I'd rather have a
light coat of mail and a steel cap than heavy armor and a helmet which
would press me down, and a visor through which I could scarce see. The
lighter the better, for after all if my sword cannot keep my head,
sooner or later the armor would fail to do so too."
The armorer speedily arrived, and the knights and followers of the earl
being called in and the case stated, there was soon found a coat of fine
linked mail, which fitted Cuthbert well. As to the steel cap there was
no difficulty whatever.
"You must have a plume at least," the earl said, and took some feathers
from his own casque and fastened them in. "Will you want a light sword
and battle-ax?"
"No," Cuthbert said, "my arms are pretty well used to those of the
men-at-arms. I could wield my father's sword, and that was a heavy
one."
The lightest of the earl's weapons were chosen, and it was agreed that
all was now ready for the conflict to-morrow.
In the morning there was a slight bustle in the camp.
The news that a fight was to take place between an English and a Brabant
page, by the permission of the kings of England and France, that their
majesties were to be present, and that all was to be conducted on
regular rules, caused a stir of excitement and novelty in the camp.
Nowhere is life duller than among a large body of men kept together for
any time under canvas, and the thought of a combat of this novel kind
excited general interest.
In a meadow at a short distance from the camp a body of King Richard's
men-at-arms marked off an oval space of about an acre. Upon one side of
this a tent was pitched for the kings, and a small tent was placed at
each end for the combatants. Round the inclosure the men-at-arms formed
the ring, and behind them a dense body of spectators gathered, a place
being set aside for nobles, and others of gentle blood.
At the hour fixed the kings of England and France arrived together. King
Richard was evidently in a state of high good humor, for he preferred
the clash of arms and the sight of combat to any other pleasure.
The King of France, on the other hand, looked grave. He was a far wiser
and more politic king than Richard; and although he had consented to
the sudden proposal, yet he felt in his heart that the contest was a
foolish one, and that it might create bad feeling among the men of the
two nationalities whichever way it went. He had reserved to himself the
right of throwing down the baton when the combat was to cease, and he
determined to avail himself of this right to put a stop to the conflict
before either party was likely to sustain any deadly injury.
When the monarchs had taken their places the trumpeters sounded their
trumpets, and the two combatants advanced on foot from their ends of the
lists. A murmur of surprise and dissatisfaction broke from the crowd.
"My Lord of Evesham," the king said angrily to the earl, who with Count
Jacquelin was standing by the royal party, "thou shouldst have said that
the difference between the two was too great to allow the combat to be
possible. The Frenchman appears to be big enough to take your page under
his arm and walk off with him."
The difference was indeed very striking. The French champion was arrayed
in a full suit of knightly armor--of course without the gold spurs which
were the distinguishing mark of that rank--and with his helmet and lofty
plume of feathers he appeared to tower above Cuthbert, who, in his
close-fitting steel cap and link armor seemed a very dwarf by the side
of a giant.
"It is not size, sire, but muscle and pluck will win in a combat like
this. Your majesty need not be afraid that my page will disgrace me. He
is of my blood, though the kinship is not close. He is of mixed Saxon
and Norman strain, and will, believe me, do no discredit to either."
The king's brow cleared, for in truth he was very proud of his English
nationality, and would have been sorely vexed to see the discomfiture of
an English champion, even though that champion were a boy.
"Brother Philip," he said, turning to the king, "I will wager my gold
chain against yours on yonder stripling."
"Methinks that it were robbery to take your wager," the King of France
said. "The difference between their bulk is disproportionate. However, I
will not balk your wish. My chain against yours."
The rule of the fight was that they were to commence with swords, but
that either could, if he chose, use his battle-ax.
The fight need scarcely be described at length, for the advantage was
all one way. Cuthbert was fully a match in strength for his antagonist,
although standing nigh a foot shorter. Constant exercise, however, had
hardened his muscles into something like steel, while the teaching that
he had received had embraced all what was then known of the use of arms.
Science in those days there was but little of; it was a case rather of
hard, heavy hitting, than of what we now call swordsmanship.
With the sword Cuthbert gained but slight advantage over his adversary,
whose superior height enabled him to rain blows down upon the lad, which
he was with difficulty enabled to guard; but when the first paroxysm of
his adversary's attack had passed he took to the offensive, and drove
his opponent back step by step. With his sword, however, he was unable
to cut through the armor of the Frenchman, but in the course of the
encounter, guarding a severe blow aimed at him, his sword was struck
from his hand, and he then, seizing his ax, made such play with it that
his foe dropped his own sword and took to the same weapon.
In this the superior height and weight of his opponent gave him even a
greater advantage than with the sword, and Cuthbert knowing this, used
his utmost dexterity and speed to avoid the sweeping blows showered upon
him. He himself had been enabled to strike one or two sweeping strokes,
always aiming at the same place, the juncture of the visor with the
helmet. At last the Frenchman struck him so heavy a blow that it beat
down his guard and struck his steel cap from his head, bringing him to
the knee. In an instant he was up, and before his foe could be again on
guard, he whirled his ax round with all its force, and bringing it just
at the point of the visor which he had already weakened with repeated
blows, the edge of the ax stove clean through the armor, and the page
was struck senseless to the ground.
A great shout broke from the English portion of the soldiery as
Cuthbert leaned over his prostrate foe, and receiving no answer to the
question "Do you yield?" rose to his feet, and signified to the squire
who had kept near that his opponent was insensible.
King Richard ordered the pursuivant to lead Cuthbert to the royal
inclosure.
"Thou art a brave lad and a lusty," the king said, "and hast borne thee
in the fight as well as many a knight would have done. Wert thou older,
I would myself dub thee knight; and I doubt not that the occasion will
yet come when thou wilt do as good deeds upon the bodies of the Saracens
as thou hast upon that long-shanked opponent of thine. Here is a gold
chain; take it as a proof that the King of England holds that you have
sustained well the honor of his country; and mark me, if at any time you
require a boon, bring or send me that chain, and thou shalt have it
freely. Sir Walter," he said, turning to the earl, "in this lad thou
hast a worthy champion, and I trust me that thou wilt give him every
chance of distinguishing himself. So soon as thou thinkest him fit for
the knightly rank I myself will administer the accolade."
CHAPTER VII.
REVENGE.
After his interview with the king Cuthbert was led to his tent amid the
hearty plaudits of the English troops.
His own comrades flocked round him; the men of the greenwood, headed by
Cnut, were especially jubilant over his victory.
"Who would have thought," said the tall forester, "that the lad who but
a short time ago was a child should now have sustained the honor of the
country? We feel proud of you, Cuthbert; and trust us some day or other
to follow wherever you may lead, and to do some deed which will attain
for you honor and glory, and show that the men of Evesham are as doughty
as any under King Richard's rule."
"You must be wary, Cuthbert," the earl said to him that evening.
"Believe me that you and I have made a foe, who, although he may not
have the power, has certainly the will to injure us to the death. I
marked the eye of Count Jacquelin during the fight, and again when you
were led up to the king. There was hatred and fury in his eye. The page
too, I hear, is his own nephew, and he will be the laughing-stock of the
French camp at having been conquered by one so much younger than
himself. It will be well to keep upon your guard, and not to go out at
night unattended. Keep Cnut near you; he is faithful as a watch-dog, and
would give his life, I am sure, for you. I will myself be also upon my
guard, for it was after all my quarrel, and the fury of this fierce
knight will vent itself upon both of us if the opportunity should come.
I hear but a poor account of him among his confreres. They say he is one
of those disgraces to the name of knight who are but a mixture of robber
and soldier; that he harries all the lands in his neighborhood; and that
he has now only joined the Crusade to avoid the vengeance which the
cries of the oppressed people had invoked from his liege lord. I am told
indeed that the choice was given him to be outlawed, or to join the
Crusades with all the strength he could raise. Naturally he adopted the
latter alternative; but he has the instincts of the robber still, and
will do us an evil turn, if he have the chance."
Two days later the great army broke up its camp and marched south. After
a week's journeying they encamped near a town, and halted there two or
three days in order to collect provisions for the next advance; for the
supplies which they could obtain in the country districts were wholly
insufficient for so great a host of men. Here the armies were to
separate, the French marching to Genoa, the English to Marseilles, the
town at which they were to take ship.
One evening the earl sent Cuthbert with a message to another English
lord, staying in the town at the palace of the bishop, who was a friend
of his.
Cnut accompanied Cuthbert, for he now made a point of seldom letting him
out of his sight. It was light when they reached the bishop's palace,
but here they were delayed for some time, and night had fallen when they
sallied out.
The town was already quiet, for the inhabitants cared not to show
themselves in the streets now that such a large army of fierce men were
in the neighborhood.
The orders indeed of the monarchs were stringent, but discipline there
was but little of, and the soldiery in those days regarded peaceful
citizens as fair game; hence, when they came from the palace the streets
of the city were already hushed and quiet, for the orders of the king
had been peremptory that no men-at-arms, or others except those on duty,
were to be away from their camp after nightfall. This order had been
absolutely necessary, so many were the complaints brought in by country
peasants and farmers of the doings of bands of soldiers.
Cnut and Cuthbert proceeded along the streets unmolested for some
distance. Occasionally a solitary passer-by, with hooded cape, hurried
past. The moon was half full, and her light was welcome indeed, for in
those days the streets were unlighted, and the pavement so bad that
passage through the streets after dark was a matter of difficulty, and
even of danger.
Here and there before some roadside shrine a lamp dimly burned; before
these they paused, and, as good Catholics, Cnut and Cuthbert crossed
themselves. Just as they had passed one of these wayside shrines, a
sudden shout was heard, and a party of eight or ten men sprang out from
a side street and fell upon them.
Cnut and Cuthbert drew their swords and laid about them heartily, but
their assailants were too strong. Cnut was stricken to the ground, and
Cuthbert, seeing that defense was hopeless, took to his heels and ran
for his life. He was already wounded, but happily not so severely as in
any way to disable him.
Seeing that it was speed, and speed alone, which now could save him, he
flung aside his belt and scabbard as he ran, and with rapid steps flew
along the streets, not knowing whither he went, and striving only to
keep ahead of his pursuers. They, more incumbered by arms and armor,
were unable to keep up with the flying footsteps of a lad clothed in the
light attire of a page; but Cuthbert felt that the blood running from
his wound was weakening him fast, and that unless he could gain some
refuge his course must speedily come to an end. Happily he saw at some
little distance ahead of him a man standing by a door. Just as he
arrived the door opened, and a glow of light from within fell on the
road, showing that the person entering was a monk.
Without a moment's hesitation Cuthbert rushed through the door, shouting
"Sanctuary!" and sank almost fainting on the ground.
The monks, accustomed to wild pursuits and scenes of outrage in those
warlike days, hastily closed the door, barring it securely. In a moment
there was a rush of men against it from without.
One of the monks opened a lattice above the door.
"What mean you," he said, "by this outrage? Know ye not that this is the
Monastery of St. John, and that it is sacrilege to lay a hand of
violence even against its postern? Begone," he said, "or we'll lodge a
complaint before the king."
The assailants, nothing daunted, continued to batter at the door; but at
this moment the monks, aroused from their beds, hastened to the spot,
and seizing bill and sword--for in those days even monks were obliged at
times to depend upon carnal weapons--they opened the door, and flung
themselves upon the assailants with such force that the latter,
surprised and discomfited, were forced to make a hasty retreat.
The doors were then again barred, and Cuthbert was carried up to a cell
in the building, where the leech of the monastery speedily examined his
wound, and pronounced that although his life was not in danger by it, he
was greatly weakened by the loss of blood, that the wound was a serious
one and that it would be some time before the patient would recover.
[Illustration: THE DOORS WERE AGAIN BARRED, AND CUTHBERT WAS CARRIED TO
A CELL.]
It was two days before Cuthbert was sufficiently restored to be able to
speak. His first question to the monk was as to his whereabouts, and how
long he had been there. Upon being answered, he entreated that a
messenger might be dispatched to the camp of the Earl of Evesham, to beg
that a litter might be sent for him, and to inquire what had become of
Cnut, whom he had last seen stricken down.
The monk replied, "My son, I grieve to tell you that your request cannot
be complied with. The army moved away yesternoon, and is now some
twenty-five miles distant. There is nothing for you but patience, and
when restored you can follow the army, and rejoin your master before he
embarks at Marseilles. But how is it that a lad so young as you can have
incurred the enmity of those who sought your life? For it is clear from
the pertinacity with which they urged their attack that their object was
not plunder, of which indeed they would get but little from you, but to
take your life."
Cuthbert recounted the circumstances which had led to the feud of the
Count of Brabant against him, for he doubted not that this truculent
knight was at the bottom of the attack.
"After what has happened," the monk said, "you will need have caution
when you leave here. The place where you have taken refuge is known to
them, and should this wild noble persist in his desire for vengeance
against you, he will doubtless leave some of his ruffians to watch the
monastery. We will keep a lookout, and note if any strangers are to be
seen near the gates; if we find that it is so, we shall consider what is
best to be done. We could of course appeal to the mayor for protection
against them, and could even have the strangers ejected from the town or
cast into prison; but it is not likely that we should succeed in
capturing more than the fellow who may be placed on the lookout, and the
danger would be in no wise lessened to yourself. But there is time to
talk over this matter before you leave. It will be another fortnight at
least before you will be able to pursue your journey."
Cuthbert gained strength more rapidly than the monk had expected. He was
generously fed, and this and his good constitution soon enabled him to
recover from the loss of blood; and at the end of five days he expressed
his hope that he could on the following day pursue his journey. The monk
who attended him shook his head.
"Thou mightst, under ordinary circumstances, quit us to-morrow, for thou
art well enough to take part in the ordinary pursuits of a page; but to
journey is a different thing. You may have all sorts of hardships to
endure; you may have even to trust for your life to your speed and
endurance; and it would be madness for you to go until your strength is
fully established. I regret to tell you that we have ascertained beyond
a doubt that the monastery is closely watched. We have sent some of the
acolytes out, dressed in the garbs of monks, and attended by one of our
elder brethren; and in, each case, a monk who followed at a distance of
fifty yards was able to perceive that they were watched. The town is
full of rough men, the hangers-on of the army; some, indeed, are
followers of laggard knights, but the greater portion are men who merely
pursue the army with a view to gain by its necessities, to buy plunder
from the soldiers, and to rob, and, if necessary, to murder should there
be a hope of obtaining gold. Among these men your enemies would have
little difficulty in recruiting any number, and no appeal that we could
make to the mayor would protect you from them when you have left the
walls. We must trust to our ingenuity in smuggling you out. After that,
it is upon your own strength and shrewdness that you must rely for an
escape from any snares that may be laid for you. You will see, then,
that at least another three or four days are needed before you can set
forth. Your countrymen are so far away that a matter of a few days will
make but little difference. They will in any case be delayed for a long
time at Marseilles before they embark; and whether you leave now or a
month hence, you would be equally in time to join them before their
embarkation--that is, supposing that you make your way through the
snares which beset you."
Cuthbert saw the justice of the reasoning, and it was another week
before he announced himself as feeling absolutely restored to strength
again, and capable of bearing as much exertion as he could have done
before his attack.
A long consultation was held with the prior and a monk who had acted as
his leech, as to the best plan of getting Cuthbert beyond the walls of
the city. Many schemes were proposed and rejected. Every monk who
ventured beyond the walls had been closely scrutinized, and one or two
of short stature had even been jostled in the streets, so as to throw
back their hoods and expose a sight of their faces. It was clear, then,
that it would be dangerous to trust to a disguise. Cuthbert proposed
that he should leave at night, trusting solely to their directions as to
the turnings he should take to bring him to the city walls, and that,
taking a rope, he should there let himself down, and make the best of
his way forward. This, however, the monks would not consent to, assuring
him that the watch was so strictly kept round the monastery that he
would inevitably be seen.
"No," the prior said, "the method, whatever it is, must be as open as
possible; and though I cannot at this moment hit upon a plan, I will
think it over to-night, and putting my ideas with those of Father Jerome
here, and the sacristan, who has a shrewd head, it will be hard if we
cannot between us contrive some plan to evade the watch of those robber
villains who beset the convent."
The next morning, when the prior came in to see Cuthbert, the latter
said: "Good father, I have determined not to endeavor to make off in
disguise. I doubt not that your wit could contrive some means by which I
should get clear of the walls without observation from the scouts of
this villain noble. But once in the country, I should have neither horse
nor armor, and should have hard work indeed to make my way down through
France, even though none of my enemies were on my track. I will
therefore, if it please you, go down boldly to the mayor and claim a
protection and escort. If he will but grant me a few men-at-arms for one
day's ride from the town, I can choose my own route, and riding out in
mail, can then take my chance of finding my way down to Marseilles."
"I will go down with you, my son," the prior said, "to the mayor. Two of
my monks shall accompany us; and assuredly no insult will be offered to
you in the street thus accompanied." Shortly afterward Cuthbert started
as arranged, and soon arrived at the house of the mayor, Sir John de
Cahors.
Upon the prior making known to this knight whom he had brought with him
the mayor exclaimed:
"_Peste!_ young gentleman; you have caused us no small trouble and
concern. We have had ridings to and fro concerning you, and furious
messages from your fiery king. When in the morning a tall, stalwart
knave dressed in green was found, slashed about in various places, lying
on the pavement, the townsmen, not knowing who he was, but finding that
he still breathed, carried him to the English camp, and he was claimed
as a follower of the Earl of Evesham. There was great wrath and anger
over this; and an hour later the earl himself came down and stated that
his page was missing, and that there was reason to believe that he had
been foully murdered, as he had accompanied the man found wounded.
Fortunately the bulk of the armies had marched away at early dawn, and
the earl had only remained behind in consequence of the absence of his
followers. I assured the angry Englishman that I would have a thorough
search made in the town; and although in no way satisfied, he rode off
after his king with all his force, carrying with him the long-limbed man
whom we had picked up. Two days after a message came back from King
Richard himself, saying that unless this missing page were discovered,
or if, he being killed, his murderers were not brought to justice and
punished, he would assuredly on his return from the Holy Land burn the
town over our ears. Your king is not a man who minces matters. However,
threatened men live long, especially when the person who threatens is
starting for a journey, from which, as like as not, he may never return.
However, I have had diligent search made for you. All the houses of bad
repute have been examined and their inhabitants questioned. But there
are so many camp-followers and other rabble at present in the town that
a hundred men might disappear without our being able to obtain a clew. I
doubted not indeed that your body had been thrown in the river, and
that we should never hear more of you. I am right glad that you have
been restored; not indeed from any fear of the threats of the king your
master, but because, from what the Earl of Evesham said, you were a lad
likely to come to great fame and honor. The earl left in my charge your
horse, and the armor which he said you wore at a tournament lately, in
case we should hear aught of you."
Cuthbert gave an exclamation of pleasure. His purse contained but a few
pieces of silver, and being without arms except for his short dagger, or
means of locomotion, the difficulties of the journey down to Marseilles
had sorely puzzled him. But with his good horse between his knees, and
his suit of Milan armor on his back, he thought that he might make his
way through any dangers which threatened him.
The prior now told the knight that circumstances had occurred which
showed that it was known to the assailants of Cuthbert that he had taken
refuge in the convent, over which a strict watch had been kept by
Cuthbert's enemies.
"If I could find the varlets I would hang them over the gates of the
town," the knight said wrathfully. "But as at the present moment there
are nearly as many rogues as honest men in the place it would be a
wholesale hanging indeed to insure getting hold of the right people.
Moreover, it is not probable that another attempt upon his life will be
made inside our walls; and doubtless the main body of this gang are
somewhere without, intending to assault him when he continues his
journey, and they have left but a spy or two here to inform them as to
his movements. I will give you any aid in my power, young sir. The army
is by this time nigh Marseilles, and, sooth to say, I have no body of
men-at-arms whom I could send as your escort for so long a distance. I
have but a small body here, and they are needed, and sorely, too, to
keep order within the walls."
"I thought, sir," Cuthbert said, "that if you could lend me a party of
say four men-at-arms to ride with me for the first day I could then
trust to myself, especially if you could procure me one honest man to
act as guide and companion. Doubtless they suppose that I should travel
by the main road south; but by going the first day's journey either east
or west, and then striking some southward road, I should get a fair
start of them, throw all their plans out, and perchance reach Marseilles
without interruption."
The knight willingly agreed to furnish four men-at-arms, and a
trustworthy guide who would at least take him as far south as Avignon.
"I will," he said, "tell the men-at-arms off to-night. They shall be at
the western gate at daybreak, with the pass permitting them to ride
through. The guide shall be at the convent door half an hour earlier. I
will send up to-night your armor and horse. Here is a purse which the
Earl of Evesham also left for your use. Is there aught else I can do for
you?"
"Nothing, sir," Cuthbert said; "and if I regain the army in safety I
shall have pleasure in reporting to King Richard how kindly and
courteously you have treated me."
The arrangements were carried out.
An hour before daybreak Cuthbert was aroused, donned his armor and steel
casque, drank a flask of wine, and ate a manchet of bread which the
prior himself brought him, and then, with a cordial adieu to the kind
monks, issued forth.
The guide had just reached the gate, and together they trotted down the
narrow streets to the west gate of the city, where four men-at-arms were
awaiting them.
The gates were at once opened, and Cuthbert and his little troop sallied
forth.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ATTACK.
All day they rode with their faces west, and before nightfall had made a
journey of over forty miles. Then bestowing a largess upon the
men-at-arms, Cuthbert dismissed them, and took up his abode at a
hostelry, his guide looking to the two horses.
Cuthbert was pleased with the appearance of the man who had been placed
at his disposal. He was a young fellow of twenty-two or twenty-three,
with an honest face. He was, he told Cuthbert, the son of a small farmer
near Avignon; but having a fancy for trade, he had been apprenticed to a
master smith. Having served his apprenticeship, he found that he had
mistaken his vocation, and intended to return to the paternal vineyards.
Cuthbert calculated that he would make at least four days' journey to
the south before he could meet with any dangers. Doubtless his exit from
the convent had been discovered, and the moment the gates of the city
were opened the spy would have proceeded south to warn his comrades, and
these would doubtless have taken a road which at a distance would again
take them on to that by which Cuthbert would be now traveling. As,
however, he rode fast, and made long marches each day, he hoped that he
might succeed in distancing them. Unfortunately, upon the third day his
horse cast his shoe, and no smith could be met with until the end of the
day's journey. Consequently, but a short distance could be done and this
at a slow pace. Upon the fifth day after their first start they arrived
at a small town.
The next morning Cuthbert on rising found that his guide did not present
himself as usual. Making inquiries he found that the young man had gone
out the evening before, and had not returned. Extremely uneasy at the
circumstance, Cuthbert went to the city guard, thinking that perhaps his
guide might have got drunk, and been shut up in the cells. No news,
however, was to be obtained there, and after waiting some hours, feeling
sure that some harm had befallen him, he gave notice to the authorities
of his loss, and then mounting his horse, and leaving some money with
the landlord of the hostelry to give to his guide in case the latter
should return, he started at midday by the southern road.
He felt sure now that he was overtaken, and determined to keep his eyes
and faculties thoroughly on watch.
The roads in those days were mere tracks. Here and there a little
village was to be met with; but the country was sparsely cultivated, and
traveling lonely work. Cuthbert rode fast, carefully avoiding all
copses and small woods through which the road ran, by making a circuit
round them and coming on to it again on the other side.
His horse was an excellent one, the gift of the earl, and he had little
fear, with his light weight, of being overtaken if he could once leave
his enemies behind him.
At length he approached an extensive forest, which stretched for miles
on either side.
Half a mile before he reached it the track divided.
He had for some little time eased his horse down to a walk, as he felt
that the wood would be the spot where he would in all probability be
attacked, and he needed that his steed should be possessed of its utmost
vigor.
At the spot where the track branched a man in the guise of a mendicant
was sitting. He begged for alms, and Cuthbert threw him a small coin.
A sudden thought struck him as he heard a rustling in the bushes near.
"Which is the nearest and best road to Avignon?" he said.
"The right-hand road is the best and shortest," the beggar said. "The
other makes a long circuit and leads through several marshes, which your
honor will find it hard to pass."
Cuthbert thanked him and moved forward, still at a walk, along the
right-hand road.
When he had gone about two hundred yards, and was hidden from the sight
of the man he had left--the country being rough, and scattered with
clumps of bushes--he halted, and, as he expected, heard the sound of
horses' hoofs coming on at full gallop along the other road.
"Your master must have thought me young indeed," he said, "to try and
catch me with such a transparent trick as that. I do not suppose that
accursed page has more than ten men with him, and doubtless has placed
five on each road. This fellow was placed here to see which track I
would follow, and has now gone to give the party on the left hand the
news that I have taken this way. Had it not been for him I should have
had to run the gantlet with four or five of my enemies. As it is, the
path will doubtless be clear."
So saying, he turned his horse, galloped back to the spot where the
tracks separated, and then followed the left-hand route.
As he had hoped, he passed through the wood without incident or
interruption, and arrived safely that night at a small town, having seen
no signs of his enemies.
The next day he started again early, and rode on until midday, when he
halted at a large village, at which was the only inn between the place
from which he started and his destination. He declined the offer of the
servant of the inn to take his horse round to the stable, telling the
man to hold him outside the door and give him from a sieve a few
handfuls of grain.
Then he entered the inn and ate a hearty meal. As he appeared at the
door he saw several men gathered near. With a single spring he threw
himself into the saddle, just as a rush forward was made by those
standing round. The man next to him sprang upon him, and endeavored to
drag him from the saddle. Cuthbert drew the little dagger called a
_misericorde_ from his belt, and plunged it into his throat. Then
seizing the short mace which hung at the saddlebow, he hurled it with
all his force full in the face of his enemy, the page of Sir Philip, who
was rushing upon him sword in hand. The heavy weapon struck him fairly
between the eyes, and with a cry he fell back, his face completely
smashed in by the blow, the sword which he held uplifted to strike
flying far through the air.
Cuthbert struck his spurs into his horse, and the animal dashed forward
with a bound, Cuthbert striking with his long sword at one or two men
who made a snatch at the reins. In another minute he was cantering out
of the village, convinced that he had killed the leader of his foes, and
that he was safe now to pursue the rest of his journey on to Marseilles.
So it turned out.
Without further incident he traveled through the south of France, and
arrived at the great seaport. He speedily discovered the quarters in
which the Earl of Evesham's contingent were encamped, and made toward
this without delay. As he entered a wild shout of joy was heard, and
Cnut ran forward with many gestures of delight.
"My dear Cuthbert, my dear Cuthbert!" he exclaimed. "Can it be true that
you have escaped? We all gave you up; and although I did my best, yet
had you not survived it I should never have forgiven myself, believing
that I might have somehow done better, and have saved you from the
cutthroats who attacked us."
"Thanks, thanks, my good Cnut," Cuthbert cried. "I have been through a
time of peril, no doubt; but as you see, I am hale and well--better,
methinks, than you are, for you look pale and ill; and I doubt not that
the wound which I received was a mere scratch to that which bore you
down. It sounded indeed like the blow of a smith's hammer upon an
anvil."
"Fortunately, my steel cap saved my head somewhat," Cnut said, "and the
head itself is none of the thinnest; but it tried it sorely, I confess.
However, now that you are back I shall, doubt not, soon be as strong as
ever I was. I think that fretting for your absence has kept me back more
than the inflammation from the wound itself--but there is the earl at
the door of his tent."
Through the foresters and retainers who had at Cnut's shout of joy
crowded up, Cuthbert made his way, shaking hands right and left with the
men, among whom he was greatly loved, for they regarded him as being in
a great degree the cause of their having been freed from outlawry, and
restored to civil life again. The earl was really affected. As Cuthbert
rode up he held out both arms, and as his page alighted he embraced him
as a father.
"My dear Cuthbert!" he exclaimed. "What anxiety have we not suffered.
Had you been my own son, I could not have felt more your loss. We did
not doubt for an instant that you had fallen into the hands of some of
the retainers of that villain count; and from all we could learn, and
from the absence of any dead body by the side of that of Cnut, I
imagined that you must have been carried off. It was clear that your
chance of life, if you fell into the hands of that evil page, or his
equally vile master, was small indeed. The very day that Cnut was
brought in I visited the French camp, and accused him of having been the
cause of your disappearance and Cnut's wounds. He affected the greatest
astonishment at the charge. He had not, as he said, been out of the camp
for two days. My accusation was unfounded and malicious, and I should
answer this as well as the previous outrage, when the vow of the
Crusaders to keep peace among themselves was at an end. Of course I had
no means of proving what I said, or I would have gone direct to the king
and charged him with the outrage. As it was I gained nothing by my
pains. He has accompanied the French division to Genoa; but when we meet
at Sicily, where the two armies are to rendezvous, I will bring the
matter before the king, as the fact that his page was certainly
concerned in it must be taken as showing that he was the instigator."
"It would, my lord earl, be perhaps better," Cuthbert said, "if I might
venture to advise, to leave the matter alone. No doubt the count would
say that he had discharged his page after the tournament, and that the
latter was only carrying out his private feud with me. We should not be
able to disprove the story, and should gain no satisfaction by the
matter."
The earl admitted the justice of Cuthbert's reasoning, but reserved to
himself the task of punishing the author of the outrage upon the first
fitting opportunity.
There was a weary delay at Marseilles before the expedition set sail.
This was caused by the fact of the English fleet, which had been ordered
to be there upon their arrival, failing to keep the agreement.
The words English fleet badly describe the vessels which were to carry
the English contingent to their destination. They were ships belonging
to the maritime nations of Italy--the Venetians, Genoese, Pisans, etc.;
for England at that time had but few of her own, and these scarcely
fitted for the stormy navigation of the Bay of Biscay.
King Richard, impatient as ever of delay, at last lost his temper, and
embarked on board a ship with a few of his chosen knights, and set sail
by himself for Sicily, the point at which the two armies of the
expedition were to reunite. A few days after his departure the
long-looked-for fleet arrived, and a portion of the English host
embarked at once, and set sail for Sicily, where they were to be
landed, and the ships were to return to fetch the remaining contingent.
A sea voyage of this kind in those days was a serious matter. Long
voyages were rare, and troops were carried very much upon the principle
of herrings; that is, were packed as close as they could be, without any
reference to their comfort. As the voyages seldom lasted more than
twenty-four hours, this did not much matter, but during long voyages the
discomforts, or as may be said sufferings, of the troops were
considerable. So tightly packed were the galleys in which the English
set sail from Marseilles that there was no walking about. Every man
slept where he sat, and considered himself lucky indeed if he could
obtain room sufficient to stretch himself at full length. Most slept
sitting against bulwarks or other supports. In the cabins, where the
knights, their pages and squires were placed, the crowding was of course
less excessive, but even here the amount of space, which a subaltern
traveling to India for the first time nowadays would grumble at, was
considered amply sufficient for half a dozen knights of distinction. It
was a week after sailing, when Cnut touched Cuthbert's arm as he came on
deck one morning, and said:
"Look, look, Cuthbert! that mountain standing up in the water has caught
fire on the top. Did you ever see such a thing?"
The soldiers crowded to the side of the vessel in intense astonishment
and no little awe. From the top of a lofty and rugged hill, rising
almost straight from the sea, flames were roaring up, smoke hung over
the island, and stones were thrown into the air and rattled down the
side of the hill, or fell into the sea with a splash.
"That is a fearsome sight," Cnut said, crossing himself.
"It looks as if it was the mouth of purgatory," exclaimed another,
standing by.
Cuthbert himself was amazed, for the instruction he had received from
Father Francis was of too slight a nature to include the story of
volcanoes. A priest, however, who accompanied the ship in the character
of leech and confessor, explained the nature of the phenomenon to his
astonished listeners, and told them that over on the mainland was a
mountain which at times vomited forth such masses of stones and of
liquid rock that it had swallowed up and covered many great cities.
There was also, he told them, another mountain of the same sort, even
more vast, on the island of Sicily itself; but that this had seldom, as
far back as man could remember, done any great harm.
Sailing on, in another day they arrived off the coast of Sicily itself,
and sailing up the straits between it and the mainland they landed at
Messina. Here a considerable portion of the French army had already
arrived, having been brought down from Genoa.
There was no news of the King of England; and, as often happens, the
saying "The more haste the less speed," had been verified here.
It was some days later before King Richard arrived, having been driven
from his course by tempests, well-nigh cast ashore, and having besides
gone through many adventures. Three weeks later the whole of the army of
the Crusaders were gathered around Messina, where it was intended to
remain some little time before starting. It was a gay time; and the
kings vied with each other in entertainments, joustings, and
tournaments. The Italian knights also made a brave show, and it might
have been thought that this huge army of men were gathered there simply
for amusement and feasting. In the tournaments every effort was made to
prevent any feeling of national rivalry, and although parties of knights
held their own against all comers, these were most carefully selected to
represent several nationalities, and therefore victory, on whichsoever
side it fell, excited no feelings of bitterness.
Alone, King Richard was undoubtedly the strongest cavalier of the two
armies. Against his ponderous strength no knight could keep his seat;
and this was so palpable that after many victories King Richard was
forced to retire from the lists from want of competitors, and to take
his place on the dais with the more peace-loving King of France.
The gayety of the camp was heightened by the arrival of many nobles and
dames from Italy. Here, too, came the Queen of Navarre, bringing with
her the beautiful Princess Berengaria.
"Methinks," the Earl of Evesham said to Cuthbert a fortnight after the
arrival of the queen "that unless my eyes deceive me the princess is
likely to be a cause of trouble."
"In what way?" asked Cuthbert with surprise, for he had been struck with
her marvelous beauty, and wondered greatly what mischief so fair a being
could do.
"By the way in which our good lord, the king, gazes upon her, methinks
that it were like enough that he broke off his engagement with the
Prince of France for the sake of the fair eyes of this damsel."
"That were indeed a misfortune," Cuthbert said gravely, for he saw at
once the anger which such a course would excite in the minds of the
French king and his knights, who would naturally be indignant in the
extreme at the slight put upon their princess. As day after day passed
it became evident to all that the King of England was infatuated by the
princess. Again he entered the lists himself, and as some fresh Italian
knights and others had arrived, he found fresh opponents, and
conspicuously laid the spoils of victory at the feet of the princess,
whom he selected as the Queen of Beauty.
All sorts of rumors now became current in camp; violent quarrels between
the kings, and bad feelings between the French and English knights broke
out again in consequence, and this more violently than before.
CHAPTER IX.
THE PRINCESS BERENGARIA.
One night it chanced that Cuthbert was late in his return to camp, and
his road took him through a portion of the French encampment; the night
was dark, and Cuthbert presently completely lost all idea as to his
bearings. Presently he nearly ran against a tent; he made his way to the
entrance in order to crave directions as to his way--for it was a wet
night; the rain was pouring in torrents, and few were about of whom he
could demand the way--and, as he was about to draw aside the hangings,
he heard words said in a passionate voice which caused him to withdraw
his hand suddenly.
"I tell you," said a voice, "I would rather drive a dagger myself into
her heart than allow our own princess to be insulted by this hot-headed
island dog."
"It is sad indeed," said another, but in a calmer smoother tone, "that
the success of a great expedition like this, which has for its object
the recovery of the holy sepulcher from the infidels, should be wrecked
by the headstrong fancies of one man. It is even, as is told by the old
Grecian poet, as when Helen caused a great war between people of that
nation."
"I know nothing," another voice said, "either of Helen or the Greeks, or
of their poets. They are a shifty race, and I can believe aught that is
bad of them. But touching this princess of Navarre, I agree with our
friend, it would be a righteous deed to poniard her, and so to remove
the cause of dispute between the two kings, and, indeed, the two
nations. This insult laid upon our princess is more than we, as French
knights and gentlemen, can brook; and if the king says the word there is
not a gentleman in the army but will be ready to turn his sword against
the islanders."
Then the smooth voice spoke again.
"It would, my brethren, be wrong and useless to shed blood; but methinks
that if this apple of discord could be removed a good work would be done
not, as our friend the count has suggested, by a stab of the dagger;
that indeed would be worse than useless. But surely there are scores of
religious houses, where this bird might be placed in a cage without a
soul knowing where she was, and where she might pass her life in prayer
that she may be pardoned for having caused grave hazards of the failure
of an enterprise in which all the Christian world is concerned."
The voices of the speakers now fell, and Cuthbert was straining his ear
to listen, when he heard footsteps approaching the tent, and he glided
away into the darkness.
With great difficulty be recovered the road to the camp, and when he
reached his tent he confided to the Earl of Evesham what he had heard.
"This is serious indeed," the earl said, "and bodes no little trouble
and danger. It is true that the passion which King Richard has conceived
for Berengaria bids fair to wreck the Crusade, by the anger which it has
excited in the French king and his nobles; but the disappearance of the
princess would no less fatally interfere with it, for the king would be
like a raging lion deprived of his whelps, and would certainly move no
foot eastward until he had exhausted all the means in his power of
tracing his lost lady love. You could not, I suppose, Cuthbert, point
out the tent where this conversation took place?"
"I could not," Cuthbert answered; "in the darkness one tent is like
another. I think I should recognize the voices of the speakers did I
hear them again; indeed, one voice I did recognize; it was that of the
Count of Brabant, with whom we had trouble before."
"That is good," the earl said, "because we have at least an object to
watch. It would never do to tell the king what you have heard. In the
first place, his anger would be so great that it would burst all bounds,
and would cause, likely enough, a battle at once between the two armies;
nor would it have any good effect, for he of Brabant would of course
deny the truth of your assertions, and would declare it was merely a
got-up story to discredit him with the king, and so to wipe out the old
score now standing between us. No, if we are to succeed, alike in
preventing harm happening to the princess, and an open break between the
two monarchs, it must be done by keeping a guard over the princess,
unsuspected by all, and ourselves frustrating any attempt which may be
made."
Cuthbert expressed his willingness to carry out the instructions which
the earl might give him; and, much disturbed by the events of the day,
both earl and page retired to rest, to think over what plan had best be
adopted.
The princess was staying at the palace of the bishop of the town; this
he, having another residence a short distance outside the walls, had
placed at the disposal of the Queen of Navarre and her suite; and the
first step of Cuthbert in the morning was to go into the town, to
reconnoiter the position and appearance of the building. It was a large
and irregular pile, and communicated with the two monasteries lying
alongside of it. It would therefore clearly be a most difficult thing to
keep up a complete watch on the exterior of so large a building. There
were so many ways in which the princess might be captured and carried
off by unscrupulous men that Cuthbert in vain thought over every plan by
which it could be possible to safeguard her. She might be seized upon
returning from a tournament or entertainment; but this was improbable,
as the queen would always have an escort of knights with her, and no
attempt could be successful except at the cost of a public fracas and
much loss of blood. Cuthbert regarded as out of the question that an
outrage of this kind would be attempted.
The fact that one of the speakers in the tent had used the words "my
sons," showed that one priest or monk, at least, was connected with the
plot. It was possible that this man might have power in one of the
monasteries, or he might be an agent of the bishop himself; and Cuthbert
saw that it would be easy enough in the night for a party from one or
other of the monasteries to enter by the door of communication with the
palace, and carry off the princess without the slightest alarm being
given. Once within the walls of the convent she could be either hidden
in the dungeons or secret places, which buildings of that kind were sure
to possess, or could be at once carried out by some quiet entrance, and
taken into the country, or transferred to some other building in the
town.
When Cuthbert joined the earl he told him the observations that he had
made, and Sir Walter praised the judgment which he had shown in his
conclusions. The earl was of opinion that it would be absolutely
necessary to get some clew as to the course which the abductors purposed
to take; indeed it was possible that on after-consideration they might
drop their plan altogether, for the words which Cuthbert had overheard
scarcely betokened a plan completely formed and finally decided upon.
The great point he considered, therefore, was that the tent of his old
enemy should be carefully watched, and that an endeavor should be made
to hear something of what passed within, which might give a clew to the
plan fixed upon. They did not, of course, know whether the tent in which
the conversation had been heard by Cuthbert was that of Sir de Jacquelin
Barras, or of one of the other persons who had spoken; and Cuthbert
suggested that the first thing would be to find out whether the count,
after nightfall, was in the habit of going to some other tent, or
whether, on the other hand, he remained within and was visited by
others.
It was easy, of course, to discover which was his tent; and Cuthbert
soon got its position, and then took Cnut into his counsels.
"The matter is difficult," Cnut said, "and I see no way by which a watch
can be kept up by day; but after dark--I have several men in my band who
can track a deer, and surely could manage to follow the steps of this
baron without being observed. There is little Jack, who is no bigger
than a boy of twelve, although he can shoot, and run, and play with the
quarterstaff, or, if need be, with the bill, against the best man in the
troop. I warrant me that if you show him the tent he will keep such
sharp watch that no one shall enter or depart without his knowing where
they go to. On a dark night he will be able to slip among the tents, and
to move here and there without being seen. He can creep on his stomach
without moving a leaf, and trust me the eyes of these French
men-at-arms will look in vain for a glimpse of him."
"You understand, Cnut, all that I want to know is whether the other
conspirators in this matter visit his tent, or whether he goes to
theirs."
"I understand," Cnut said. "That is the first point to be arrived at."
Three days later Cnut brought news that each night after dark a party of
five men met in the tent that was watched; that one of the five always
came out when all had assembled, and took his station before the
entrance of the tent, so as to be sure that no eavesdropper was near.
Cuthbert smiled.
"It is a case of locking the door after the horse has gone."
"What is to be done now?" Cnut asked.
"I will talk with the earl before I tell you, Cnut. This matter is too
serious for me to take a step without consulting Sir Walter."
That night there was a long talk between the earl and his page as to the
best course to be pursued. It was clear that their old enemy was the
leading person in the plot, and that the only plan to baffle it with any
fair chances of success was to keep a constant eye upon his movements,
and also to have three or four of the sturdiest men of the band told off
to watch, without being perceived, each time that the princess was in
her palace.
The Earl of Evesham left the arrangements entirely in the hands of his
page, of whose good sense and sagacity he had a very high opinion.
His own first impulse had been to go before the king and denounce the
Count of Brabant. But the ill-will between them was already well known;
for not only was there the original dispute at the banquet, but when the
two armies had joined at Sicily, King Richard, who had heard from the
earl of the attempt at the assassination of Cuthbert, had laid a
complaint before King Philip of the conduct of his subject.
Sir de Jacquelin Barras, however, had denied that he had any finger in
the matter.
"He had," he said, "discharged his page after the encounter with
Cuthbert, and knew nothing further whatever of his movements."
Although it was morally certain that the page could not have purchased
the services of the men who assisted him, from his own purse, or gain
them by any means of persuasion, but that they were either the followers
of the Count of Brabant, or ruffians hired with his money, as no proof
could be obtained the matter was allowed to drop.
The earl felt, however, that an accusation against the count by him of
an intention to commit a high crime, and this merely on the evidence of
his page, would appear like an attempt to injure the fame of his rival.
Feeling, therefore, that nothing could be done save to watch, he left
the matter entirely in the hands of his page, telling him that he could
take as many men-at-arms or archers as he might choose and use them in
his name.
Cnut entered warmly into Cuthbert's plans; and finally it was arranged
between them that six of the archers should nightly keep watch opposite
the various entrances of the bishop's palace and of the two monasteries
joining. Of course, they could not patrol up and down without attracting
attention, but they were to take up posts where they could closely
observe the entrances, and were either to lie down and feign drunken
sleep, or to conceal themselves within the shadow of an arch or other
hiding-place.
Down on the seashore Cuthbert made an arrangement with one of the owners
of small craft lying there that ten of his men should sleep on board
every night, together with some fishermen accustomed to the use of the
oar.
Cuthbert himself determined to be always with this party.
Night after night passed, and so long a time went by that Cuthbert began
to think the design must have been given up.
However, he resolved to relax none of his watchfulness during the
remaining time that the expedition might stop in Sicily.
It was in January, three weeks after the first watch had been set, when
one of the men who had been placed to watch the entrance to one of the
monasteries leaped on board the craft and shook Cuthbert by the
shoulder.
"A party of some five men," he said, "have just issued out from the
monastery. They are bearing a burden--what, I cannot see. They were
making in the direction of the water. I whistled to Dion who was next to
me in the lane. He is following them, and I came on to tell you to
prepare."
The night was pitch-dark, and it was difficult in the extreme to see any
one moving at a short distance off.
There were two or three streets that led from the monastery, which stood
at the top of the town, toward the sea; and a party coming down might
take any of these, according to the position in which the boat they were
seeking was placed.
Cuthbert now instantly sent five or six of his men with instructions to
avoid all noise, along the line of the port, with orders to bring in
word should anyone come down and take boat, or should they hear any
noise in the town. He himself with the sailors loosed the ropes which
fastened the boat to shore, got out the oars, and prepared to put off at
a moment's notice.
He was of course ignorant whether the abductor would try to carry the
princess off by water, or would hide her in one of the convents of the
town; but he was inclined to think that the former would be the course
adopted; for the king in his wrath would be ready to lay the town in
flames, and to search every convent from top to bottom for the princess.
Besides, there would be too many aware of the secret.
Cuthbert was not wrong in his supposition.
Soon the man he had sent to the extreme right came running up with the
news that a boat had embarked at the further end with a party of some
ten men on board. As he came along he had warned the others, and in five
minutes the whole party were collected in the craft, numbering in all
twelve of Cuthbert's men and six sailors. They instantly put out, and
rowed in the direction in which the boat would have gone, the boatmen
expressing their opinion that probably the party would make for a vessel
which was lying anchored at some little distance from shore. The
bearings of the position of this ship was known to the boatmen, but the
night was so dark that they were quite unable to find it. Orders had
been given that no sound or whisper was to be heard on board the boat;
and after rowing as far as they could the boatmen said they were in the
direction of the ship.
The boatmen all lay on their oars, and all listened intently. Presently
the creaking of a pulley was heard in the still night, at a distance of
a few hundred yards. This was enough. It was clear that the vessel was
getting up sail. The boat's head was turned in that direction; the crew
rowed steadily but noiselessly, and in a few minutes the tall mast of a
vessel could be seen faintly against the sky. Just as they perceived the
situation, a hail from on board showed that their approach was now
observed.
"Stretch to your oars," Cuthbert said, "we must make a dash for it now."
The rowers bent to their work and in a minute the boat ran alongside the
craft.
As Cuthbert and his followers scrambled upon the deck they were attacked
by those of the crew and passengers who were standing near; but it was
evident at once that the chiefs of the expedition had not heard the
hail, and that there was no general plan of defense against them.
It was not until the last of them had gained a footing and were
beginning to fight their way along the vessel that from below three or
four men-at-arms ran up, and one in a tone of authority demanded what
was the matter. When he heard the clash of swords and the shouts of the
combatants he put himself at once at the head of the party and a fierce
and obstinate fight now took place.
The assailants had, however, the advantage.
Cuthbert and his men were all lightly clad, and this on the deck of a
ship lumbered with ropes and gear, and in the dark, was a great
advantage, for the mailed men-at-arms frequently stumbled and fell. The
fight lasted for several minutes. Cnut, who was armed with a heavy mace,
did great service, for with each of his sweeping blows he broke down the
guard of an opponent, and generally leveled him to the deck.
The numbers at the beginning of the fight were not unequal, but the men
to whom the vessel belonged made but a faint resistance when they
perceived that the day was going against them. The men-at-arms, however,
consisting of three, who appeared to be the leaders, and of eight
pikemen fought stubbornly and well.
Cuthbert was not long in detecting in the tones of the man who was
clearly at the head of affairs the voice of Sir de Jacquelin Barras. To
do him justice he fought with extreme bravery, and when almost all his
followers were cut down or beaten overboard, he resisted stanchly and
well. With a heavy two-handed sword he cleaved a space at the end of the
boat, and kept the whole of Cuthbert's party at bay.
At last Cnut, who had been engaged elsewhere, came to the front, and a
tough fight ensued between them.
It might have ended badly for the brave forester, for his lack of armor
gave an enormous advantage to his opponent. Soon, however, the count's
foot slipped on the boards of the deck, and before he could recover
himself the mace of Cnut descended with tremendous force upon his head,
which was unprotected, as he had taken off his casque on arriving at the
ship. Without a word or a cry the count fell forward on the deck, killed
as a bullock by a blow of a poleax.
While this conflict had been going on, occasionally the loud screams of
a woman had been heard below.
Cuthbert, attended by Cnut and two of his followers, now descended.
At the bottom of the steps they found a man-at-arms placed at the door
of a cabin. He challenged as they approached, but being speedily
convinced that the vessel was in their hands, and that his employer and
party were all conquered, he made a virtue of necessity, and laid down
his arms.
"You had better go in alone," Cnut said, "Master Cuthbert. The lady is
less likely to be frightened by your appearance than by us, for she must
wonder indeed what is going on."
On entering the cabin, which had evidently been fitted up for the use of
a lady, Cuthbert saw standing at the other end the princess, whom of
course he knew well by sight. A lamp was burning in the cabin, and by
its light he could see that her face was deadly pale. Her robes were
torn and disarranged, and she wore a look at once of grave alarm and
surprise upon seeing a handsomely dressed page enter with a deep
reverence.
"What means this outrage, young sir? Whoever you be, I warn you that the
King of England will revenge this indignity."
"Your highness," Cuthbert said, "you have no further reason for alarm;
the knaves who carried you off from the bishop's palace and conveyed you
to this ship are all either killed or in our power. I am the page of the
Earl of Evesham, a devoted follower of King Richard. Some of the designs
of the bold men came to the ears of my lord, and he ordered me and a
band of his followers to keep good guard over the palace and buildings
adjoining. We were unable to gather our strength in time to prevent your
being taken on board, but we lost no time in putting forth when we found
that your abductors had taken boat, and by good fortune arrived here in
time; a few minutes later, and the knaves would have succeeded in their
object, for the sails were already being hoisted, and the vessel making
way, when we arrived. Your abductors are all either killed or thrown
overboard, and the vessel's head is now turned toward the shore, and I
hope in a few minutes to have the honor of escorting you to the palace."
The princess, with a sigh of much satisfaction and relief, sank on to a
couch.
"I am indeed indebted to you, young sir," she said. "Believe me, the
Princess Berengaria is not ungrateful, and should it be ever in her
power to do aught for your lord, or for yourself, or for those who have
accompanied you to rescue her, believe me that she will do it."
"May I be so bold as to ask a boon?" Cuthbert said, dropping on one knee
before her.
"It is granted at once, whatever it be, if in my power."
"My boon is, lady," he said, "that you will do your best to assuage the
natural anger which the King of England will feel at this bold and most
violent attempt. That he should be told, is of course necessary; but,
lady, much depends upon the telling, and I am sure that at your request
the king would restrain his anger. Were it not for that, I fear that
such quarrels and disputes might arise as would bring the two armies to
blows, and destroy forever all hope of the successful termination of
our joint enterprise."
"You are a wise and good youth," the princess said, holding out her hand
to Cuthbert, which, as duty bound, he placed to his lips. "Your request
is wise and most thoughtful. I will use any poor influence which I may
possess"--and Cuthbert could see that the blood came back now to the
white face--"to induce King Richard to allow the matter to pass over.
There is no reason why he should take up the case. I am no more under
his protection than under that of the King of France, and it is to the
latter I should appeal, for as I believe the men who abducted me were
his subjects."
"The leader of them, madam, was a certain Sir de Jacquelin Barras, a
Count of Brabant, with whom my master has had an old feud, and who has
been just killed by the leader of our men-at-arms. The others, who have
had the most active hand in the matter, have also perished; and it
would, I think be doubtful whether any clew could be obtained of those
who were in league with them. The only man in the party who is alive was
placed as a sentry at your door, and as he is but a man-at-arms we may
be sure that he knows naught of the enterprise, but has merely carried
out the orders of his master."
The vessel had by this time brought up close to the port. The princess
determined to wait on board until the first dawn was seen in the skies,
and then under the escort of her deliverers to go back to the palace,
before the town was moving. This plan was carried out, and soon after
dawn the princess was safe in the palace from which she had been carried
a few hours previously.
CHAPTER X.
PIRATES.
It was not possible that a matter of this sort could be entirely hushed
up. Not many hours passed before rumors were current of events which had
taken place, though none knew what those events were.
There were reports that the tire-woman of the Princess Berengaria had in
the night discovered that her mistress' couch was unoccupied, that she
had found signs of a struggle, and had picked up a dagger on the floor,
where it had evidently fallen from the sheath; also it was said that the
princess had returned at daylight escorted by an armed party, and that
she was unable to obtain entrance to the palace until one of the ladies
of the queen had been fetched down to order the sentries at the gate to
allow her to enter.
This was the news which rumor carried through the camp. Few, however,
believed it, and none who could have enlightened them opened their lips
upon the subject.
It was known, however, that a messenger had come to King Richard early,
and that he had at once mounted and ridden off to the bishop's palace.
What had happened there none could say, but there were rumors that his
voice had been heard in furious outbursts of passion. He remained there
until the afternoon, when he sent for a number of his principal nobles.
When these arrived they found him standing on a dais in the principal
hall of the palace, and he there formally introduced to them the
Princess Berengaria as his affianced wife. The ceremony of the marriage,
he told them, would shortly take place.
This announcement caused a tremendous stir in both armies. The English,
who had never been favorable to the alliance with the French princess,
were glad to hear that this was broken off, and were well content that
the Princess Berengaria should be their future queen, for her beauty,
high spirit, and kindness had won all hearts.
On the part of the French, on the other hand, there was great
indignation, and for some time it was feared that the armies would come
to open blows.
King Philip, however, although much angered, was politic enough to
deprecate any open outbreak. He knew that a dispute now began would not
only at once put a stop to the Crusade, but that it might lead to more
serious consequences at home. The fiery bravery of the English king,
backed as it would be by the whole strength of his subjects, might
render him a very formidable opponent; and the king felt that private
grievances must be laid aside where the good of France was concerned.
Still the coldness between the armies increased, their camps were moved
further apart, and during the time that they remained in Sicily there
was but little commerce between the two forces.
As soon as the winter had broken the French monarch broke up his camp,
and in March sailed for the Holy Land.
The English had expected that the marriage ceremony of the king and
Princess Berengaria would be celebrated before they left Sicily, but
this was not the case. There were high joustings and _fetes_ in honor of
the princess, but the marriage was delayed. A fortnight after the French
had sailed the English embarked in the two hundred ships which had been
prepared, and sailed also on their way to Acre.
It must not be supposed that the attempted abduction of the Princess
Berengaria was unimportant in its results to Cuthbert.
After returning from the palace the king, who had heard from her the
details of what had taken place, and the names of her rescuers, sent for
the Earl of Evesham. The latter had of course learned from Cuthbert all
that had happened, and had expressed his high approval of his conduct,
and his gratification at the result.
"I learn, Sir Earl," said King Richard, "that it is to you that I am
indebted for the rescue of the princess. She tells me that suspecting
some plot you placed a guard around the bishop's palace, with a strong
body on the shore ready to rescue her from the hands of any who might
attempt to take her to sea."
"It is as you say, sire," replied the earl; "but the whole merit of the
affair rests upon my page, the lad whom you may remember as having
fought with and conquered the French page, and of whose conduct you then
approved highly. You may also remember that he escaped by some display
of bravery and shrewdness the further attempts to assassinate him, and
your majesty was good enough to make a complaint to King Philip of the
conduct of one of his nobles on that head. It seems that some two months
since the lad in coming through the French camp at night missed his way,
and accidentally overheard a few words spoken in a voice which he
recognized as that of his enemy. The name of your majesty being
mentioned, he deemed it his duty to listen, and thus discovered that a
plot was on foot for carrying off the princess. After consultation with
me, we agreed upon the course to be adopted, namely, to place sentries
round the bishop's place and the buildings adjoining, who should follow
and bring word should she be taken to another place in town, while a
band was placed on the shore in readiness to interfere at once to
prevent her being carried away by sea. He undertook the management of
all details, having with him a trusty squire who commands my Saxon
bowmen."
"For your own part I thank you, my lord," the king said, "and, believe
me, you shall not find Richard ungrateful. As to your page, he appears
brave and wise beyond his years. Were it not that I think that it would
not be good for him, and might attract some envy upon the part of
others, I would at once make him a knight. He already has my promise
that I will do so on the first occasion when he can show his prowess
upon the infidels. Bring him to me to-morrow, when the princess will be
here with the Queen of Navarre at a banquet. I would fain thank him
before her; and, although I have agreed--at the princess' earnest
solicitation--to take no further notice of the matter, and to allow it
to pass as if it had not been, yet I cannot forgive the treachery which
has been used, and without letting all know exactly what has occurred
would fain by my reception of your page let men see that something of
great import has happened, of the nature of which I doubt not that rumor
will give some notion."
Upon the following day, therefore, Cuthbert to his confusion found
himself the center of the royal circle. The king expressed himself to
him in the most gracious manner, patting him on the shoulder, and said
that he would be one day one of the best and bravest of his knights. The
princess and the Queen of Navarre gave him their hands to kiss, and
somewhat overwhelmed, he withdrew from the royal presence, the center of
attention, and, in some minds, of envy.
Cnut too did not pass unrewarded.
His majesty, finding that Cnut was of gentle Saxon blood, gave him a
gold chain in token of his favor, and distributed a heavy purse among
the men who had followed him.
When the British fleet, numbering two hundred ships, set sail from
Sicily, it was a grand and martial sight. From the masts were the colors
of England and those of the nobles who commanded; while the pennons of
the knights, the bright plumes and mantles, the flash of armor and arms
made the decks alive with light and color.
The king's ship advanced in the van, and round him were the vessels
containing his principal followers. The Queen of Navarre and the
Princess Berengaria were with the fleet. Strains of music rose from the
waters, and never were the circumstances of war exhibited in a more
picturesque form.
For two days the expedition sailed on, and then a change of a sudden and
disastrous kind took place.
"What is all this bustle about?" Cuthbert said to Cnut. "The sailors are
running up the ladders, all seems confusion."
"Methinks," said Cnut, "that we are about to have a storm. A few minutes
ago scarce a cloud was to be seen; now that bank over there has risen
halfway up the sky. The sailors are accustomed to these treacherous
seas, and the warnings which we have not noticed have no doubt been
clear enough to them."
With great rapidity the sails of the fleet came down, and in five
minutes its whole aspect was changed; but quickly as the sailors had
done their work, the storm was even more rapid in its progress. Some of
the ships whose crews were slower or less skillful than the others were
caught by the gale before they could get their sails snug, and the great
sheets of white canvas were blown from the bolt-ropes as if made of
paper, and a blackness which could almost be felt covered the sea, the
only light being that given by the frothing waters. There was no longer
any thought of order. Each ship had to shift for herself; and each
captain to do his best to save those under his charge, without thought
of what might befall the others.
In the ship which carried the Earl of Evesham's contingent, order and
discipline prevailed. The earl's voice had been heard at the first puff
of wind, shouting to the men to go below, save a few who might be of use
to haul at ropes. His standard was lowered, the bright flags removed
from the sides of the ship, the shields which were hanging over the
bulwarks were hurriedly taken below, and when the gale smote them the
ship was trim, and in readiness to receive it. A few square yards of
sail alone were all that the captain had thought it prudent to keep
spread, and in a minute from the time she was struck the lofty hulk was
tearing along through the waters at a tremendous speed. Four of the best
hands were placed at the helm; and here the captain took his post.
The danger was now that in the darkness they might run against one of
their consorts. Even in the war of the elements they could hear from
time to time crashes as of vessels striking against each other, with
shouts and cries. Once or twice from the darkness ships emerged, close
on one hand or the other; but the steadiness of the captain in each case
saved the ship from collision.
As the storm continued these glimpses of other vessels became more and
more rare, and the ship being a very fast sailer, the captain indulged
the hope that he was now clear of the rest of the fleet.
He now attempted to lie-to to the storm, but the wind was too strong.
The ships in those days, too, were so high out of the water, and offered
in themselves such a target to the wind, that it was useless to adopt
any other maneuver than to run before it.
For two days and nights the tempest raged.
"What think you," the earl said to the captain, "of our position? Where
are we, and where will the course upon which we are running take us?"
"I cannot say with certainty," the captain said, "for the wind has
shifted several times. I had hoped to gain the shelter of Rhodes, but a
shift of wind bore us away from there, and I much fear that from the
direction in which we have been running we must be very nigh on the
coast of Africa."
"_Peste!_" the earl said. "That would indeed be a speedy end to our
Crusade. These Moors are pirates and cutthroats to a man; and even
should we avoid the risk of being dashed to pieces, we should end our
lives as slaves to one of these black infidels."
Three hours later the captain's prophecies turned out right. Breakers
were seen in various points in front, and with the greatest difficulty
the vessel was steered through an opening between them; but in another
few minutes she struck heavily, one of her masts went over the side, and
she lay fast and immovable. Fortunately, the outside bank of sand acted
as a sort of breakwater; had she struck upon this the good ship would
have gone to pieces instantly; but although the waves still struck her
with considerable force, the captain had good hope that she would not
break up. Darkness came on; the tempest seemed to lull. As there was no
immediate danger, and all were exhausted by the tossing which they had
received during the last forty-eight hours, the crew of the Rose slept
soundly.
In the morning the sun rose brilliantly, and there was no sign of the
great storm which had scattered the fleet of England. The shore was to
be seen at a distance of some four miles. It was low and sandy, with
lofty mountains in the distance. Far inland a white town with minaret
and dome could be seen.
"Know you where we are?" the earl asked.
"As far as I can tell," the captain said, "we have been driven up the
bay called the Little Syrtis--a place full of shoals and shallows, and
abounding with pirates of the worst kind."
"Think you that the ship has suffered injury?"
"Whether she has done so or not," the captain said, "I fear greatly
that she is fast in the sand, and even the lightening of all her cargo
will scarce get her off; but we must try at least."
"It is little time that we shall have to try, Master Captain," Cuthbert,
who was standing close, said. "Me thinks those two long ships which are
putting out from that town will have something to say to that."
"It is too true," the captain said. "Those are the galleys of the
Moorish corsairs. They are thirty or forty oars, draw but little water,
and will be here like the wind."
"What do you advise?" asked the earl. "The falconets which you have upon
the poop can make but a poor resistance to boats that can row around us,
and are no doubt furnished with heavy metal. They will quickly perceive
that we are aground and defenseless, and will be able to plump their
shot into us until they have knocked the good ship to pieces. However,
we will fight to the last. It shall not be said that the Earl of Evesham
was taken by infidel dogs and sold as a slave, without striking a blow
in his defense."
Cuthbert stood watching the corsairs, which were now rowing toward them
at all speed.
"Methinks, my lord," he said presently, "if I might venture to give an
opinion, that we might yet trick the infidel."
"As how, Cuthbert?" the earl said. "Speak out; you know that I have
great faith in your sagacity."
"I think, sir," the page said, "that did we send all your men below,
leaving only the crew of the vessel on deck, they would take us for a
merchant ship which has been wrecked here, and exercise but little care
how they approach us. The men on deck might make a show of firing once
or twice with the falconets. The pirates, disdaining such a foe, would
row alongside. Once there, we might fasten one or both to our side with
grapnels, and then, methinks, that English bill and bow will render us
more than a match for Moorish pirates, and one of these craft can
scarcely carry more men than we have. I should propose to take one of
them by force, and drive the pirates overboard; take possession of, if
possible, or beat off her consort; and then take the most valuable
stores from the ship and make our way as best we can to the north."
"Well thought of!" exclaimed the earl cordially. "You have indeed
imagined a plan which promises well. What think you, captain?"
"I think, my lord," the Genoese said, "that the plan is an excellent
one, and promises every success. If your men will all go below, holding
their arms in readiness for the signal, mine shall prepare grapnels and
ropes, and the first of these craft which comes alongside they will lash
so securely to the Rose that I warrant me she gets not away."
These preparations were soon made.
The soldiers, who at first had been filled with apprehension at the
thought of slavery among the infidels, were now delighted at the
prospect of a struggle ending in escape.
The archers prepared their bows and arrows, and stood behind the
portholes in readiness to pour a volley into the enemy; the men-at-arms
grasped their pikes and swords; while above, the sailors moved hither
and thither as if making preparations for defense, but in reality
preparing the grapnels and ropes.
One of the pirates was faster than the other, and soon coming within
reach, opened fire upon the Rose with a heavy cannon, which she carried
in her bow.
The crew of the Rose replied with their falconets and sakers from the
poop.
The corsair at first did not keep her course direct for the ship, but
rowed once or twice round her, firing as she did so. Then, apparently
satisfied that no great precaution need be observed with a feebly-manned
ship in so great a strait as the Rose, they set up a wild cry of
"Allah!" and rowed toward her.
In two minutes the corsair was alongside of the Rose, and the fierce
crew were climbing up her sides. As she came alongside the sailors cast
grapnels into her rigging, and fastened her to the Rose; and then a loud
shout of "Hurrah for England!" was heard; the ports opened, and a volley
of arrows was poured upon the astonished corsair; and from the deck
above the assailants were thrown back into the galley, and a swarm of
heavily armed men leaped down from the ship upon them.
Taken by surprise, and indeed outnumbered, the resistance of the
corsairs was but slight. In a close fierce _melee_ like this the
light-armed Moors had but little chance with the mail-clad English,
whose heavy swords and axes clove their defenses at a blow. The fight
lasted but three minutes, and then the last of the corsairs was
overboard.
The men who rowed the galley had uttered the most piercing cries while
this conflict had been raging. They were unable to take any part in it,
had they been disposed to do so, for they were all slaves chained to the
oars.
Scarcely had the conflict ended when the other galley arrived upon the
scene; but seeing what had happened, and that her consort had fallen
into the hands of the English, she at once turned her head, and rowed
back rapidly to the town from which she had come.
Among the slaves who rowed the galley were many white men, and their
cries of joy at their liberation greatly affected those who had thus
unexpectedly rescued them. Hammers were soon brought into requisition,
the shackles struck off them, and a scene of affecting joy took place.
The slaves were of all nationalities, but Italians and Spaniards, French
and Greeks formed the principal part. There was no time, however, to be
lost; the arms and munitions of war were hastily removed from the Rose,
together with the most valuable of the stores.
The galley-slaves again took their places, and this time willingly, at
the oars, the places of the weakest being supplied by the English,
whose want of skill was made up by the alacrity with which they threw
their strength into the work; and in an hour from the time that the
galley had arrived alongside of the Hose, her head was turned north, and
with sixty oars she was rowing at all speed for the mouth of the bay.
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE HOLY LAND.
As soon as the galley which had escaped reached the town from which it
had started, it with three others at once set out in pursuit; while from
a narrow creek two other galleys made their appearance.
There were a few words of question among the English whether to stop and
give battle to these opponents, or to make their way with all speed. The
latter counsel prevailed; the earl pointing out that their lives were
now scarcely their own, and that they had no right on their way to the
holy sepulcher to risk them unnecessarily.
Fortunately they had it in their hands to fight or escape, as they
chose; for doubly banked as the oars now were there was little chance of
the enemy's galleys overtaking them. Gradually as they rowed to sea the
pursuing vessels became smaller and smaller to view, until at last they
were seen to turn about and make again for land.
After some consultation between the earl and the captain of the lost
ship it was determined to make for Rhodes. This had been settled as a
halting point for the fleet, and the earl thought it probable that the
greater portion of those scattered by the storm would rendezvous there.
So it proved; after a voyage, which although not very long was tedious,
owing to the number of men cramped up in so small a craft, they came
within sight of the port of Rhodes, and were greatly pleased at seeing a
perfect forest of masts there, showing that at least the greater portion
of the fleet had survived the storm.
This was indeed the fact, and a number of other single ships dropped in
during the next day or two.
There was great astonishment on the part of the fleet when the long,
swift galley was seen approaching, and numerous conjectures were offered
as to what message the pirates could be bringing--for there was no
mistaking the appearance of the long, dangerous-looking craft.
When, upon her approach, the standard of the Earl of Evesham was seen
flying on the bow, a great shout of welcome arose from the fleet; and
King Richard himself, who happened to be on the deck of the royal ship,
shouted to the earl to come on board and tell him what masquerading he
was doing there. The earl of course obeyed the order, anchoring near the
royal vessel, and going on board in a small boat, taking with him his
page and squire.
The king heard with great interest the tale of the adventures of the
Rose; and when the Earl of Evesham said that it was to Cuthbert that was
due the thought of the stratagem by which the galley was captured, and
its crew saved from being carried away into hopeless slavery, the king
patted the boy on the shoulder with such hearty force as nearly to throw
Cuthbert off his feet.
"By St. George!" said the monarch, "you are fated to be a very pink of
knights. You seem as thoughtful as you are brave; and whatever your age
may be, I declare that the next time your name is brought before me I
will call a chapter of knights, and they shall agree that exception
shall be made in your favor, and that you shall at once be admitted to
the honorable post. You will miss your page, Sir Walter; but I am sure
you will not grudge him that."
"No, no, sire," said the earl. "The lad, as I have told your majesty, is
a connection of mine--distant it is true, but one of the nearest I
have--and it will give me the greatest pleasure to see him rising so
rapidly, and on a fair way to distinguish himself so highly. I feel
already as proud of him as if he were my own son."
The fleet remained some two or three weeks at Rhodes, for many of the
vessels were sorely buffeted and injured, masts were carried away as
well as bulwarks battered in, and the efforts of the crews and of those
of the whole of the artificers of Rhodes were called into requisition.
Light sailing craft were sent off in all directions, for the king was in
a fever of anxiety. Among the vessels still missing was that which bore
the Queen of Navarre and the fair Berengaria.
One day a solitary vessel was seen approaching. "Another of our lost
sheep," the earl said, looking out over the poop.
She proved, however, to be a merchant ship of Greece, and newly come
from Cyprus.
Her captain went on board the royal ship, and delivered a message to the
king, to the effect that two of the vessels had been cast upon the coast
of Cyprus, that they had been plundered by the people, the crews
ill-treated and made prisoners by the king, and that the Queen of
Navarre and the princess were in their hands.
This roused King Richard into one of his furies. "Before I move a step
toward the Holy Land," he said, "I will avenge these injuries upon this
faithless and insolent king. I swear that I will make him pay dearly for
having laid a hand upon these ladies."
At once the signal was hoisted for all the vessels in a condition to
sail to take on board water and provisions, and to prepare to sail for
Cyprus; and the next morning at daybreak the fleet sailed out, and made
their way toward that island, casting anchor off the harbor of
Famagosta.
King Richard sent a messenger on shore to the king, ordering him at once
to release the prisoners; to make the most ample compensation to them;
to place ships at their service equal to those which had been destroyed;
and to pay a handsome sum of money as indemnity.
The King of Cyprus, however, an insolent and haughty despot, sent back
a message of defiance. King Richard at once ordered the anchors to be
raised, and all to follow the royal ship.
The fleet entered the harbor of Famagosta; the English archers began the
fight by sending a flight of arrows into the town. This was answered
from the walls by a shower of stones and darts from the machines.
There was no time wasted. The vessels were headed toward the shore, and
as the water was deep, many of them were able to run close alongside the
rocky wharves. In an instant, regardless of the storm of weapons poured
down by the defenders, the English leaped ashore.
The archers kept up so terrible a rain of missiles against the
battlements that the defenders could scarcely show themselves for an
instant there, and the men-at-arms, placing ladders against them,
speedily mounted, and putting aside all opposition, poured into the
town. The effeminate Greek soldiers of the monarch could offer no
effectual resistance whatever, and he himself fled from the palace and
gained the open country, followed by a few adherents. The English gained
a considerable booty, for in those days a town taken by assault was
always looked upon as the property of the captors. The Queen of Navarre
and the princess were rescued.
King Richard, however, was not satisfied with the success he had gained,
and was determined to punish this insolent little king. Accordingly the
English were set in motion into the interior, and town after town
speedily fell, or opened their gate to him. The king, deserted by his
troops, and detested by his people for having brought so terrible a
scourge upon them by his reckless conduct, now sued for peace; but King
Richard would give him no terms except dethronement, and this he was
forced to accept. He was deprived of his crown, and banished from the
island.
The king now, to the surprise of his barons, announced his intention of
at once marrying the Princess Berengaria.
Popular as he was, there was yet some quiet grumbling among his troops;
as they said, with justice, they had been waiting nearly six months in
the island of Sicily, and the king might well have married there,
instead of a fresh delay being caused when so near their place of
destination.
However, the king as usual had his own way, and the marriage was
solemnized amid great rejoicing and solemnity.
It was a brilliant scene indeed in the cathedral of Limasol. There were
assembled all the principal barons of England, together with a great
number of the nobles of Cyprus.
Certainly no better matched pair ever stood at the altar together, for
as King Richard was one of the strongest and bravest men of his own or
any other time, so Berengaria is admitted to have been one of the
loveliest maidens.
The air was rent with the acclamations of the assembled English host
and of the numerous inhabitants of Limasol as they emerged from the
cathedral. For a fortnight the town was given up to festivity;
tournaments, joustings, banquets succeeded each other day after day, and
the islanders, who were fond of pleasure, and indeed very wealthy, vied
with the English in the entertainments which they gave in honor of the
occasion.
The festivities over, the king gave the welcome order to proceed on
their voyage. They had now been joined by all the vessels left behind at
Rhodes, and it was found that only a few were missing, and that the
great storm, terrible as it had been, had inflicted less damage upon the
fleet than was at first feared.
Two days' sail brought them within sight of the white walls of Acre, and
it was on June 8, 1191, that the fleet sailed into the port of that
town. Tremendous acclamations greeted the arrival of the English army by
the host assembled on the shores.
Acre had been besieged for two years, but in vain; and even the arrival
of the French army under Philip Augustus had failed to turn the scale.
The inhabitants defended themselves with desperate bravery; every
assault upon the walls had been repulsed with immense slaughter; and at
no great distance off the Sultan Saladin, with a large army, was
watching the progress of the siege.
The fame of King Richard and the English was so great, however, that the
besiegers had little doubt that his arrival would change the position of
things; and even the French, in spite of the bad feeling which had
existed in Sicily, joined with the knights and army of the King of
Jerusalem in acclaiming the arrival of the English.
Philip Augustus, the French king, was of a somewhat weak and wavering
disposition. It would have been thought that after his dispute with King
Richard he would have gladly done all in his power to carry Acre before
the arrival of his great rival. To the great disappointment of the
French, however, he declared that he would take no step in the general
assault until the arrival of Richard; and although the French had given
some assistance to the besiegers, the army had really remained passive
for many weeks.
Now, however, that the English had arrived, little time was lost; for
the moment the dissensions and jealousies between the monarchs were
patched up, the two hosts naturally imitated the example of their
sovereigns, and French and English worked side by side in throwing up
trenches against the walls, in building movable towers for the attack,
and in preparing for the great onslaught.
The French were the first to finish their preparations, and they
delivered a tremendous assault upon the walls. The besieged, however,
did not lose heart, and with the greatest bravery repulsed every
attempt. The scaling ladders were hurled backward, the towers were
destroyed by Greek fire; boiling oil was hurled down upon the men who
advanced under the shelter of machines to undermine the walls; and
after desperate fighting the French fell back, baffled and beaten.
There was some quiet exultation in the English lines at the defeat of
the French, for they believed that a better fortune would crown their
own efforts. Such, however, to their surprise and mortification, was not
the case. When their preparations were completed they attacked with
splendid bravery. They were fighting under the eyes of their king and in
sight of the French army, who had a few days before been baffled; and if
bravery and devotion could have carried the walls of Acre, assuredly
King Richard's army would have accomplished the task.
It was, however, too great for them, and with vast loss the army fell
back to its camp, King Richard raging like a wounded lion. Many of his
barons had been killed in the assault, and the pikemen and men-at-arms
had suffered heavily. The Earl of Evesham had been wounded; Cuthbert had
taken no part in the assault, for the earl, knowing his bravery, had
forbidden his doing so, as he foresaw the struggle would be of the most
desperate character; and as it was not usual for pages to accompany
their lords on the battlefield, Cuthbert could not complain of his being
forbidden to take part in the fight.
The earl, however, permitted him to accompany Cnut and the bowmen, who
did great service by the accuracy of their aim, preventing by their
storm of arrows the men on the battlements from taking steady aim and
working their machines, and so saved the Earl of Evesham's troop and
those fighting near him from suffering nearly as heavy loss as some of
those engaged in other quarters.
But while successful in beating off all assaults, the defenders of Acre
were now nearly at the end of their resources. The Emperor Saladin,
although he had collected an army of two hundred thousand men, yet
feared to advance and give battle to the Crusaders in their own
lines--for they had thrown up round their camp strong intrenchments to
prevent the progress of the siege being disturbed by forces from
without.
The people of Acre seeing the time pass and no sign of a rescuing force,
their provisions being utterly exhausted, and pestilence and fever
making frightful ravages in the city, at last determined to surrender.
For over two years they had made a resistance of the most valiant
description, and now, despairing of success or rescue, and seeing the
hosts of their besiegers increasing day by day, they hoisted a flag upon
the walls and sent a deputation to the kings, asking for terms if they
submitted. They would have done well had they submitted upon the arrival
of the French and English reinforcements. For the monarchs, annoyed by
the defeat of their forces and by the heavy losses they had sustained,
and knowing that the besieged were now at their last crust, were not
disposed to be merciful.
However, the horrors which then attended the capture of cities in a war
in which so little quarter was given on either side were avoided. The
city was to be surrendered; the much-prized relic contained within its
walls--said to be a piece of the true cross which had been captured by
the Saracens at the battle of Tiberias, in which they had almost
annihilated the Christian armies a few years before--was to be
surrendered; the Christian prisoners in their hands were to be given up
unharmed; and the inhabitants undertook to pay two hundred thousand
pieces of gold to the kings within forty days, under the condition that
the fighting men now taken prisoners were to be put to death should this
ransom not be paid.
The conquest of Acre was hailed throughout Christendom as a triumph of
the highest importance. It opened again the gates of the Holy Land; and
so tremendous was the strength of the fortress that it was deemed that
if this stronghold were unable to resist effectually the arms of the
Crusaders, and that if Saladin with so great an army did not dare to
advance to its rescue, then the rest of the Holy Land would speedily
fall under the hands of the invading army.
With the fall of Acre, however, the dissensions between the two kings,
which had for awhile been allowed to rest while the common work was to
be done, broke out again with renewed intensity. The jealousy of Philip
Augustus was raised to the highest point by the general enthusiasm of
the combined armies for the valiant King of England, and by the
authority which that monarch exercised in the councils. He therefore
suddenly announced his intention of returning to France.
This decision at first occasioned the greatest consternation in the
ranks of the Crusaders; but this feeling was lessened when the king
announced that he should leave a large portion of the French army
behind, under the command of the Duke of Burgundy. The wiser councilors
were satisfied with the change. Although there was a reduction of the
total fighting force, yet the fact that it was now centered under one
head, and that King Richard would now be in supreme command, was deemed
to more than counterbalance the loss of a portion of the French army.
Back to Full Books
|