THE BOY KNIGHT.

A Tale Of The Crusades

BY G.A. HENTY

CONTENTS

THE BOY KNIGHT.

CHAPTER I. — THE OUTLAWS.

CHAPTER II. — A RESCUE.

CHAPTER III. — THE CAPTURE OF WORTHAM HOLD.

CHAPTER IV. — THE CRUSADES.

CHAPTER V. — PREPARATIONS.

CHAPTER VI. — THE LISTS.

CHAPTER VII. — REVENGE.

CHAPTER VIII. — THE ATTACK.

CHAPTER IX. — THE PRINCESS BERENGARIA.

CHAPTER X. — PIRATES.

CHAPTER XI. — IN THE HOLY LAND.

CHAPTER XII. — THE ACCOLADE.

CHAPTER XIII. — IN THE HANDS OF THE
SARACENS.

CHAPTER XIV. — AN EFFORT FOR FREEDOM.

CHAPTER XV. — A HERMIT'S TALE.

CHAPTER XVI. — A FIGHT OF HEROES.

CHAPTER XVII. — AN ALPINE STORM.

CHAPTER XVIII. — SENTENCED TO DEATH.

CHAPTER XIX. — DRESDEN.

CHAPTER XX. — UNDER THE GREENWOOD.

CHAPTER XXI. — THE ATTEMPT ON THE CONVENT.

CHAPTER XXII. — A DASTARDLY STRATAGEM.

CHAPTER XXIII. — THE FALSE AND PERJURED
KNIGHT.

CHAPTER XXIV. — THE SIEGE OF EVESHAM
CASTLE.

CHAPTER XXV. — IN SEARCH OF THE KING.

CHAPTER XXVI. — KING RICHARD'S RETURN TO
ENGLAND.

THE BOY KNIGHT.

CHAPTER I. — THE OUTLAWS.

It was a bright morning in the month of August, when a lad of some fifteen
years of age, sitting on a low wall, watched party after party of armed
men riding up to the castle of the Earl of Evesham. A casual observer
glancing at his curling hair and bright open face, as also at the fashion
of his dress, would at once have assigned to him a purely Saxon origin;
but a keener eye would have detected signs that Norman blood ran also in
his veins, for his figure was lither and lighter, his features more
straightly and shapely cut, than was common among Saxons. His dress
consisted of a tight-fitting jerkin, descending nearly to his knees. The
material was a light-blue cloth, while over his shoulder hung a short
cloak of a darker hue. His cap was of Saxon fashion, and he wore on one
side a little plume of a heron. In a somewhat costly belt hung a light
short sword, while across his knees lay a crossbow, in itself almost a
sure sign of its bearer being of other than Saxon blood. The boy looked
anxiously as party after party rode past toward the castle.

"I would give something," he said, "to know what wind blows these knaves
here. From every petty castle in the Earl's feu the retainers seem
hurrying here. Is he bent, I wonder, on settling once and for all his
quarrels with the Baron of Wortham? or can he be intending to make a clear
sweep of the woods? Ah! here comes my gossip Hubert; he may tell me the
meaning of this gathering."

Leaping to his feet, the speaker started at a brisk walk to meet a
jovial-looking personage coming down from the direction of the castle. The
newcomer was dressed in the attire of a falconer, and two dogs followed at
his heels.

"Ah, Master Cuthbert," he said, "what brings you so near to the castle? It
is not often that you favor us with your presence."

"I am happier in the woods, as you well know, and was on my way thither
but now, when I paused at the sight of all these troopers flocking in to
Evesham. What enterprise has Sir Walter on hand now, think you?"

"The earl keeps his own counsel," said the falconer, "but methinks a
shrewd guess might be made at the purport of the gathering. It was but
three days since that his foresters were beaten back by the landless men,
whom they caught in the very act of cutting up a fat buck. As thou
knowest, my lord though easy and well-disposed to all, and not fond of
harassing and driving the people as are many of his neighbors, is yet to
the full as fanatical anent his forest privileges as the worst of them.
They tell me that when the news came in of the poor figure that his
foresters cut with broken bows and draggled plumes—for the varlets
had soused them in a pond of not over savory water—he swore a great
oath that he would clear the forest of the bands. It may be, indeed, that
this gathering is for the purpose of falling in force upon that
evil-disposed and most treacherous baron, Sir John of Wortham, who has
already begun to harry some of the outlying lands, and has driven off, I
hear, many heads of cattle. It is a quarrel which will have to be fought
out sooner or later, and the sooner the better, say I. Although I am no
man of war, and love looking after my falcons or giving food to my dogs
far more than exchanging hard blows, yet would I gladly don the buff and
steel coat to aid in leveling the keep of that robber and tyrant, Sir John
of Wortham."

"Thanks, good Hubert," said the lad. "I must not stand gossiping here. The
news you have told me, as you know, touches me closely, for I would not
that harm should come to the forest men."

"Let it not out, I beseech thee, Cuthbert, that the news came from me, for
temperate as Sir Walter is at most times, he would, methinks, give me
short shift did he know that the wagging of my tongue might have given
warning through which the outlaws of the Chase should slip through his
fingers."

"Fear not, Hubert; I can be mum when the occasion needs. Can you tell me
further, when the bands now gathering are likely to set forth?"

"In brief breathing space," the falconer replied. "Those who first arrived
I left swilling beer, and devouring pies and other provisions cooked for
them last night, and from what I hear, they will set forth as soon as the
last comer has arrived. Whichever be their quarry, they will try to fall
upon it before the news of their arrival is bruited abroad."

With a wave of his hand to the falconer the boy started. Leaving the road,
and striking across the slightly undulated country dotted here and there
by groups of trees, the lad ran at a brisk trot, without stopping to halt
or breathe, until after half an hour's run he arrived at the entrance of a
building, whose aspect proclaimed it to be the abode of a Saxon franklin
of some importance. It would not be called a castle, but was rather a
fortified house, with a few windows looking without, and surrounded by a
moat crossed by a drawbridge, and capable of sustaining anything short of
a real attack. Erstwood had but lately passed into Norman hands, and was
indeed at present owned by a Saxon. Sir William de Lance, the father of
the lad who is now entering its portals, was a friend and follower of the
Earl of Evesham; and soon after his lord had married Gweneth, the heiress
of all these fair lands—given to him by the will of the king, to
whom by the death of her father she became a ward—Sir William had
married Editha, the daughter and heiress of the franklin of Erstwood, a
cousin and dear friend of the new Countess of Evesham.

In neither couple could the marriage at first have been called one of
inclination on the part of the ladies, but love came after marriage.
Although the knights and barons of the Norman invasion would, no doubt, be
considered rude and rough in these days of broadcloth and civilization,
yet their manners were gentle and polished by the side of those of the
rough though kindly Saxon franklins; and although the Saxon maids were
doubtless as patriotic as their fathers and mothers, yet the female mind
is greatly led by gentle manners and courteous address. Thus, then, when
bidden or forced to give their hands to the Norman knights, they speedily
accepted their lot, and for the most part grew contented and happy enough.
In their changed circumstances it was pleasanter to ride by the side of
their Norman husbands, surrounded by a gay cavalcade, to hawk and to hunt,
than to discharge the quiet duties of mistress of a Saxon farmhouse. In
many cases, of course, their lot was rendered wretched by the violence and
brutality of their lords; but in the majority they were well satisfied
with their lot, and these mixed marriages did more to bring the peoples
together and weld them in one than all the laws and decrees of the Norman
sovereigns.

This had certainly been the case with Editha, whose marriage with Sir
William had been one of the greatest happiness. She had lost him three
years before the story begins, fighting in Normandy, in one of the
innumerable wars in which our first Norman kings were constantly involved.
On entering the gates of Erstwood Cuthbert had rushed hastily to the room
where his mother was sitting, with three or four of her maidens, engaged
in work.

"I want to speak to you at once, mother," he said.

"What is it now, my son?" said his mother, who was still young and very
comely. Waving her hand to the girls they left her.

"Mother," he said, when they were alone, "I fear me that Sir Walter is
about to make a great raid upon the outlaws. Armed men have been coming in
all the morning from the castles round, and if it be not against the Baron
de Wortham that these preparations are intended, and methinks it is not,
it must needs be against the landless men."

"What would you do, Cuthbert?" his mother asked anxiously. "It will not do
for you to be found meddling in these matters. At present you stand well
in the favor of the earl, who loves you for the sake of his wife, to whom
you are kin, and of your father, who did him good liegeman's service."

"But, mother, I have many friends in the wood. There is Cnut, their chief,
your own first cousin, and many others of our friends, all good men and
true, though forced by the cruel Norman laws to refuge in the woods."

"What would you do?" again his mother asked.

"I would take Ronald my pony and ride to warn them of the danger that
threatens."

"You had best go on foot, my son. Doubtless men have been set to see that
none from the Saxon homesteads carry the warning to the woods. The
distance is not beyond your reach, for you have often wandered there, and
on foot you can evade the eye of the watchers; but one thing, my son, you
must promise, and that is, that in no case, should the earl and his bands
meet with the outlaws, will you take part in any fray or struggle."

"That will I willingly, mother," he said. "I have no cause for offense
against the castle or the forest, and my blood and my kin are with both. I
would fain save shedding of blood in a quarrel like this. I hope that the
time may come when Saxon and Norman may fight side by side, and I may be
there to see."

A few minutes later, having changed his blue doublet for one of more sober
and less noticeable color, Cuthbert started for the great forest, which
then stretched to within a mile of Erstwood. In those days a large part of
the country was covered with forest, and the policy of the Normans in
preserving these woods for the chase tended to prevent the increase of
cultivation.

The farms and cultivated lands were all held by Saxons, who although
nominally handed over to the nobles to whom William and his successors had
given the fiefs, saw but little of their Norman masters. These stood,
indeed, much in the position in which landlords stand to their tenants,
payment being made, for the most part, in produce. At the edge of the wood
the trees grew comparatively far apart, but as Cuthbert proceeded further
into its recesses, the trees in the virgin forest stood thick and close
together. Here and there open glades ran across each other, and in these
his sharp eye, accustomed to the forest, could often see the stags
starting away at the sound of his footsteps.

It was a full hour's journey before Cuthbert reached the point for which
he was bound. Here, in an open space, probably cleared by a storm ages
before, and overshadowed by giant trees, was a group of men of all ages
and appearances. Some were occupied in stripping the skin off a buck which
hung from the bough of one of the trees. Others were roasting portions of
the carcass of another deer. A few sat apart, some talking, others busy in
making arrows, while a few lay asleep on the greensward. As Cuthbert
entered the clearing several of the party rose to their feet.

"Ah, Cuthbert," shouted a man of almost gigantic stature, who appeared to
be one of the leaders of the party, "what brings you here, lad, so early?
You are not wont to visit us till even, when you can lay your crossbow at
a stag by moonlight."

"No, no, Cousin Cnut," Cuthbert said, "thou canst not say that I have ever
broken the forest laws, though I have looked on often and often, while you
have done so."

"The abettor is as bad as the thief," laughed Cnut, "and if the foresters
caught us in the act, I wot they would make but little difference whether
it was the shaft of my longbow or the quarrel from thy crossbow which
brought down the quarry. But again, lad, why comest thou here? for I see
by the sweat on your face and by the heaving of your sides that you have
run fast and far."

"I have, Cnut; I have not once stopped for breathing since I left
Erstwood. I have come to warn you of danger. The earl is preparing for a
raid."

Cnut laughed somewhat disdainfully.

"He has raided here before, and I trow has carried off no game. The
landless men of the forest can hold their own against a handful of Norman
knights and retainers in their own home."

"Ay," said Cuthbert, "but this will be no common raid. This morning bands
from all the holds within miles round are riding in, and at least five
hundred men-at-arms are likely to do chase to-day."

"Is it so?" said Cnut, while exclamations of surprise, but not of
apprehension, broke from those standing round. "If that be so, lad, you
have done us good service indeed. With fair warning we can slip through
the fingers of ten times five hundred men, but if they came upon us
unawares, and hemmed us in, it would fare but badly with us, though we
should, I doubt not, give a good account of them before their battle-axes
and maces ended the strife. Have you any idea by which road they will
enter the forest, or what are their intentions?"

"I know not," Cuthbert said; "all that I gathered was that the earl
intended to sweep the forest, and to put an end to the breaches of the
laws, not to say of the rough treatment that his foresters have met with
at your hands. You had best, methinks, be off before Sir Walter and his
heavily-armed men are here. The forest, large as it is, will scarce hold
you both, and methinks you had best shift your quarters to Langholm Chase
until the storm has passed."

"To Langholm be it, then," said Cnut, "though I love not the place. Sir
John of Wortham is a worse neighbor by far than the earl. Against the
latter we bear no malice, he is a good knight and a fair lord; and could
he free himself of the Norman notions that the birds of the air, and the
beasts of the field, and the fishes of the water, all belong to Normans,
and that we Saxons have no share in them, I should have no quarrel with
him. He grinds not his neighbors, he is content with a fair tithe of the
produce, and as between man and man is a fair judge without favor. The
baron is a fiend incarnate; did he not fear that he would lose by so
doing, he would gladly cut the throats, or burn, or drown, or hang every
Saxon within twenty miles of his hold. He is a disgrace to his order, and
some day, when our band gathers a little stronger, we will burn his nest
about his ears."

"It will be a hard nut to crack," Cuthbert said, laughing. "With such arms
as you have in the forest the enterprise would be something akin to
scaling the skies."

"Ladders and axes will go far, lad, and the Norman men-at-arms have
learned to dread our shafts. But enough of the baron; if we must be his
neighbors for a time, so be it."

"You have heard, my mates," he said, turning to his comrades gathered
around him, "what Cuthbert tells us. Are you of my opinion, that it is
better to move away till the storm is past than to fight against heavy
odds, without much chance of either booty or victory?"

A general chorus proclaimed that the outlaws approved of the proposal for
a move to Langholm Chase. The preparations were simple. Bows were taken
down from the boughs on which they were hanging, quivers slung across the
backs, short cloaks thrown over the shoulders. The deer was hurriedly
dismembered, and the joints fastened to a pole slung on the shoulders of
two of the men. The drinking-cups, some of which were of silver, looking
strangely out of place among the rough horn implements and platters, were
bundled together, carried a short distance and dropped among some thick
bushes for safety; and then the band started for Wortham.

With a cordial farewell and many thanks to Cuthbert, who declined their
invitations to accompany them, the retreat to Langholm commenced.

Cuthbert, not knowing in which direction the bands were likely to
approach, remained for awhile motionless, intently listening.

In a quarter of an hour he heard the distant note of a bugle.

It was answered in three different directions, and Cuthbert, who knew
every path and glade of the forest, was able pretty accurately to surmise
those by which the various bands were commencing to enter the wood.

Knowing that they were still a long way off, he advanced as rapidly as he
could in the direction in which they were coming. When by the sound of
distant voices and the breaking of branches he knew that one, at least, of
the parties was near at hand, he rapidly climbed a thick tree and
ensconced himself in the branches, and there watched, secure and hidden
from the sharpest eye, the passage of a body of men-at-arms fully a
hundred strong, led by Sir Walter himself, accompanied by some half dozen
of his knights.

When they had passed Cuthbert again slipped down the tree and made at all
speed for home. He reached it, so far as he knew, without having been
observed by a single passer-by.

After a brief talk with his mother he started for the castle, as his
appearance there would divert any suspicion that might arise; and it would
also appear natural that seeing the movements of so large a body of men,
he should go up to gossip with his acquaintances there.

When distant a mile from Evesham he came upon a small party.

On a white palfrey rode Margaret, the little daughter of the earl. She was
accompanied by her nurse and two retainers on foot.

Cuthbert—who was a great favorite with the earl's daughter, for whom
he frequently brought pets, such as nests of young owlets, falcons, and
other creatures—was about to join the party when from a clump of
trees near burst a body of ten mounted men.

Without a word they rode straight at the astonished group. The retainers
were cut to the ground before they had thought of drawing a sword in
defense.

The nurse was slain by a blow with a battle-ax, and Margaret, snatched
from her palfrey, was thrown across the saddlebow of one of the mounted
men, who then with his comrades dashed off at full speed.

CHAPTER II. — A RESCUE.

The whole of the startling scene of the abduction of the Earl of Evesham's
daughter occupied but a few seconds. Cuthbert was so astounded at the
sudden calamity that he remained rooted to the ground at the spot where,
fortunately for himself, unnoticed by the assailants, he had stood when
they first burst from their concealment.

For a short time he hesitated as to the course he should take.

The men-at-arms who remained in the castle were scarce strong enough to
rescue the child, whose captors would no doubt be reinforced by a far
stronger party lurking near.

The main body of Sir Walter's followers were deep in the recesses of the
forest, and this lay altogether out of the line for Wortham, and there
would be no chance whatever of bringing them up in time to cut off the
marauders on their way back.

There remained only the outlaws, who by this time would be in Langholm
Forest, perhaps within a mile or two of the castle itself.

The road by which the horsemen would travel would be far longer than the
direct line across country, and he resolved at once to strain every nerve
to reach his friends in time to get them to interpose between the captors
of the Lady Margaret and their stronghold.

For an instant he hesitated whether to run back to Erstwood to get a
horse; but he decided that it would be as quick to go on foot, and far
easier so to find the outlaws.

These thoughts occupied but a few moments, and he at once started at the
top of his speed for his long run across the country.

Had Cuthbert been running in a race of hare and hound, he would assuredly
have borne away the prize from most boys of his age. At headlong pace he
made across the country, every foot of which, as far as the edge of
Langholm Chase, he knew by heart.

The distance to the woods was some twelve miles, and in an hour and a half
from the moment of his starting Cuthbert was deep within its shades. Where
he would be likely to find the outlaws he knew not; and, putting a whistle
to his lips, he shrilly blew the signal, which would, he knew, be
recognized by any of the band within hearing.

He thought that he heard an answer, but was not certain, and again dashed
forward, almost as speedily as if he had but just started.

Five minutes later a man stood in the glade up which he was running. He
recognized him at once as one of Cnut's party.

"Where are the band?" he gasped.

"Half a mile or so to the right," replied the man.

Guided by the man, Cuthbert ran at full speed, till, panting and scarce
able to speak, he arrived at the spot where Cnut's band were gathered.

In a few words he told them what had happened, and although they had just
been chased by the father of the captured child, there was not a moment of
hesitation in promising their aid to rescue her from a man whom they
regarded as a far more bitter enemy, both of themselves and their race.

"I fear we shall be too late to cut them off," Cnut said, "they have so
long a start; but at least we will waste no time in gossiping."

Winding a horn to call together some of the members of the band who had
scattered, and leaving one at the meeting-place to give instructions to
the rest, Cnut, followed by those assembled there, went off at a swinging
trot through the glades toward Wortham Castle.

After a rapid calculation of distances, and allowing for the fact that the
baron's men—knowing that Sir Walter's retainers and friends were all
deep in the forest, and even if they heard of the outrage could not be on
their traces for hours—would take matters quietly, Cnut concluded
that they had arrived in time.

Turning off, they made their way along the edge of the wood, to the point
where the road from Evesham ran through the forest.

Scarcely had the party reached this point when they heard a faint clatter
of steel.

"Here they come!" exclaimed Cuthbert.

Cnut gave rapid directions, and the band took up their posts behind the
trees, on either side of the path.

"Remember," Cnut said, "above all things be careful not to hit the child,
but pierce the horse on which she is riding. The instant he falls, rush
forward. We must trust to surprise to give us the victory."

Three minutes later the head of a band of horsemen was seen through the
trees. They were some thirty in number, and, closely grouped as they were
together, the watchers behind the trees could not see the form of the
child carried in their midst.

When they came abreast of the concealed outlaws Cnut gave a sharp whistle,
and fifty arrows flew from tree and bush into the closely gathered party
of horsemen. More than half their number fell at once; some, drawing their
swords, endeavored to rush at their concealed foes, while others dashed
forward in the hope of riding through the snare into which they had
fallen. Cuthbert had leveled his crossbow, but had not fired; he was
watching with intense anxiety for a glimpse of the bright-colored dress of
the child. Soon he saw a horseman separate himself from the rest and dash
forward at full speed. Several arrows flew by him, and one or two struck
the horse on which he rode.

The animal, however, kept on its way.

Cuthbert leveled his crossbow on the low arm of a tree, and as the rider
came abreast of him touched the trigger, and the steel-pointed quarrel
flew true and strong against the temple of the passing horseman. He fell
from his horse like a stone, and the well-trained animal at once stood
still by the side of his rider.

Cuthbert leaped forward, and to his delight the child at once opened her
arms and cried in a joyous tone:

"Cuthbert!"

The fight was still raging fiercely, and Cuthbert, raising her from the
ground, ran with her into the wood, where they remained hidden until the
combat ceased, and the last survivors of the baron's band had ridden past
toward the castle.

Then Cuthbert went forward with his charge and joined the band of outlaws,
who, absorbed in the fight, had not witnessed the incident of her rescue,
and now received them with loud shouts of joy and triumph.

"This is a good day's work indeed for all," Cuthbert said; "it will make
of the earl a firm friend instead of a bitter enemy; and I doubt not that
better days are dawning for Evesham Forest."

A litter was speedily made with boughs; on this Margaret was placed, and
on the shoulders of two stout foresters started for home, Cnut and
Cuthbert walking beside, and a few of the band keeping at a short distance
behind, as a sort of rearguard, should the baron attempt to regain his
prey.

There was now no cause for speed, and Cuthbert in truth could scarce drag
one foot before another, for he had already traversed over twenty miles,
the greater portion of the distance at his highest rate of speed.

Cnut offered to have a litter made for him also, but this Cuthbert
indignantly refused; however, in the forest they came upon the hut of a
small cultivator, who had a rough forest pony, which was borrowed for
Cuthbert's use.

It was late in the afternoon before they came in sight of Evesham Castle.
From the distance could be seen bodies of armed men galloping toward it,
and it was clear that only now the party were returning from the wood, and
had learned the news of the disappearance of the earl's daughter, and of
the finding of the bodies of her attendants.

Presently they met one of the mounted retainers riding at headlong speed.

"Have you heard or seen anything," he shouted, as he approached, "of the
Lady Margaret? She is missing, and foul play has taken place."

"Here I am, Rudolph," cried the child, sitting up on the rude litter.

The horseman gave a cry of astonishment and pleasure, and without a word
wheeled his horse and galloped past back at headlong speed toward the
castle.

As Cuthbert and the party approached the gate the earl himself, surrounded
by his knights and followers, rode out hastily from the gate and halted in
front of the little party. The litter was lowered, and as he dismounted
from his horse his daughter sprang out and leaped into his arms.

For a few minutes the confusion and babble of tongues were too great for
anything to be heard, but Cuthbert, as soon as order was somewhat
restored, stated what had happened, and the earl was moved to fury at the
news of the outrage which had been perpetrated by the Baron of Wortham
upon his daughter and at the very gates of his castle, and also at the
thought that she should have been saved by the bravery and devotion of the
very men against whom he had so lately been vowing vengeance in the depths
of the forest.

"This is not a time," he said to Cnut, "for talk or making promises, but
be assured that henceforth the deer of Evesham Chase are as free to you
and your men as to me. Forest laws or no forest laws, I will no more lift
a hand against men to whom I owe so much. Come when you will to the
castle, my friends, and let us talk over what can be done to raise your
outlawry and restore you to an honest career again."

Cuthbert returned home tired, but delighted with his day's work, and Dame
Editha was surprised indeed with the tale of adventure he had to tell. The
next morning he went over to the castle, and heard that a grand council
had been held the evening before, and that it had been determined to
attack Wortham Castle and to raze it to the ground.

Immediately on hearing of his arrival, the earl, after again expressing
his gratitude for the rescue of his daughter, asked him if he would go
into the forest and invite the outlaws to join their forces with those of
the castle to attack the baron.

Cuthbert willingly undertook the mission, as he felt that this alliance
would further strengthen the position of the forest men.

When he arrived there was some considerable consultation and discussion
between the outlaws as to the expediency of mixing themselves in the
quarrels between the Norman barons. However, Cnut persuaded them that as
the Baron of Wortham was an enemy and oppressor of all Saxons, it was in
fact their own quarrel that they were fighting rather than that of the
earl, and they therefore agreed to give their aid, and promised to be at
the rendezvous outside the castle to be attacked soon after dawn next
morning. Cuthbert returned with the news which gave great satisfaction to
the earl.

The castle was now a scene of bustle and business; armorers were at work
repairing headpieces and breastplates, sharpening swords and battle-axes,
while the fletchers prepared sheaves of arrows. In the courtyard a number
of men were engaged oiling the catapults, ballistas, and other machines
for hurling stones. All were discussing the chances of the assault, for it
was no easy matter which they had set themselves to do. Wortham Hold was
an extremely strong one, and it needed all and more than all the machines
at their disposal to undertake so formidable an operation as a siege.

The garrison, too, were strong and desperate; and the baron, knowing what
must follow his outrage of the day before, would have been sure to send
off messengers round the country begging his friends to come to his
assistance. Cuthbert had begged permission of his mother to ask the earl
to allow him to join as a volunteer, but she would not hear of it. Neither
would she suffer him to mingle with the foresters. The utmost that he
could obtain was that he might go as a spectator, with strict injunctions
to keep himself out of the fray, and as far as possible beyond bow-shot of
the castle wall.

It was a force of some four hundred strong that issued from the wood early
next morning to attack the stronghold at Wortham. The force consisted of
some ten or twelve knights and barons, some one hundred and fifty or one
hundred and sixty Norman men-at-arms, a miscellaneous gathering of other
retainers, two hundred strong, and some eighty of the forest men. These
last were not to fight under the earl's banner, but were to act on their
own account. There were among them outlaws, escaped serfs, and some men
guilty of bloodshed. The earl then could not have suffered these men to
fight under his flag until purged in some way of their offenses.

This arrangement suited the foresters well.

Their strong point was shooting; and by taking up their own position, and
following their own tactics, under the leadership of Cnut, they would be
able to do far more execution, and that with less risk to themselves, than
if compelled to fight according to the fashion of the Normans.

As they approached the castle a trumpet was blown, and the herald
advancing, demanded its surrender, stigmatized the Baron of Wortham as a
false knight and a disgrace to his class and warned all those within the
castle to abstain from giving him aid or countenance, but to submit
themselves to the earl, Sir Walter of Evesham, the representative of King
Richard.

The reply to the summons was a burst of taunting laughter from the walls;
and scarcely had the herald withdrawn than a flight of arrows showed that
the besieged were perfectly ready for the fray.

Indeed the baron had not been idle. Already the dispute between himself
and the earl had come to such a point that it was certain that sooner or
later open hostilities would break out.

He had therefore been for some time quietly accumulating a large store of
provisions and munitions of war, and strengthening the castle in every
way.

The moat had been cleaned out, and filled to the brim with water. Great
quantities of heavy stones had been accumulated on the most exposed points
of the walls, in readiness to hurl upon any who might try to climb. Huge
sheaves of arrows and piles of crossbow bolts were in readiness, and in
all, save the number of men, Wortham had for weeks been prepared for the
siege.

On the day when the attempt to carry off the earl's daughter had failed,
the baron, seeing that his bold stroke to obtain a hostage which would
have enabled him to make his own terms with the earl had been thwarted,
knew that the struggle was inevitable.

Fleet messengers had been sent in all directions. To Gloucester and
Hereford, Stafford, and even Oxford, men had ridden, with letters to the
baron's friends, beseeching them to march to his assistance.

"I can," he said, "defend my hold for weeks. But it is only by aid from
without that I can finally hope to break the power of this baggart
[Transcriber's note: sic] earl."

Many of those to whom he addressed his call had speedily complied with his
demand, while those at a distance might be expected to reply later to the
appeal.

There were many among the barons who considered the mildness of the Earl
of Evesham toward the Saxons in his district to be a mistake, and who,
although not actually approving of the tyranny and brutality of the Baron
of Wortham, yet looked upon his cause to some extent as their own.

The Castle of Wortham stood upon ground but very slightly elevated above
the surrounding country. A deep and wide moat ran round it, and this
could, by diverting a rivulet, be filled at will.

From the edge of the moat the walls rose high, and with strong flanking
towers and battlements.

There were strong works also beyond the moat opposite to the drawbridge;
while in the center of the castle rose the keep, from whose summit the
archers, and the machines for casting stones and darts, could command the
whole circuit of defense.

As Cuthbert, accompanied by one of the hinds of the farm, took his post
high up in a lofty tree, where at his ease he could command a view of the
proceedings, he marveled much in what manner an attack upon so fair a
fortress would be commenced.

"It will be straightforward work to attack the outwork," he said, "but
that once won, I see not how we are to proceed against the castle itself.
The machines that the earl has will scarcely hurl stones strong enough
even to knock the mortar from the walls. Ladders are useless where they
cannot be planted; and if the garrison are as brave as the castle is
strong, methinks that the earl has embarked upon a business that will keep
him here till next spring."

There was little time lost in commencing the conflict.

The foresters, skirmishing up near to the castle, and taking advantage of
every inequality in the ground, of every bush and tuft of high grass,
worked up close to the moat, and then opened a heavy fire with their bows
against the men-at-arms on the battlements, and prevented their using the
machines against the main force now advancing to the attack upon the
outwork.

This was stoutly defended. But the impetuosity of the earl, backed as it
was by the gallantry of the knights serving under him, carried all
obstacles.

The narrow moat which encircled this work was speedily filled with great
bundles of brushwood, which had been prepared the previous night. Across
these the assailants rushed.

Some thundered at the gate with their battle-axes, while others placed
ladders by which, although several times hurled backward by the defenders,
they finally succeeded in getting a footing on the wall.

Once there, the combat was virtually over.

The defenders were either cut down or taken prisoners, and in two hours
after the assault began the outwork of Wortham Castle was taken.

This, however, was but the commencement of the undertaking, and it had
cost more than twenty lives to the assailants.

They were now, indeed, little nearer to capturing the castle than they had
been before.

The moat was wide and deep. The drawbridge had been lifted at the instant
that the first of the assailants gained a footing upon the wall. And now
that the outwork was captured, a storm of arrows, stones, and other
missiles was poured into it from the castle walls, and rendered it
impossible for any of its new masters to show themselves above it.

Seeing that any sudden attack was impossible, the earl now directed a
strong body to cut down trees, and prepare a moveable bridge to throw
across the moat.

This would be a work of fully two days; and in the meantime Cuthbert
returned to the farm.

CHAPTER III. — THE CAPTURE OF WORTHAM HOLD.

Upon his return home, after relating to his mother the events of the
morning's conflict, Cuthbert took his way to the cottage inhabited by an
old man who had in his youth been a mason.

"Have I not heard, Gurth," he said, "that you helped to build the Castle
of Wortham?"

"No, no, young sir," he said; "old as I am, I was a child when the castle
was built. My father worked at it, and it cost him, and many others, his
life."

"And how was that, prithee?" asked Cuthbert.

"He was, with several others, killed by the baron, the grandfather of the
present man, when the work was finished."

"But why was that, Gurth?"

"We were but Saxon swine," said Gurth bitterly, "and a few of us more or
less mattered not. We were then serfs of the baron. But my mother fled
with me on the news of my father's death. For years we remained far away
with some friends in a forest near Oxford. Then she pined for her native
air, and came back and entered the service of the franklin."

"But why should your mother have taken you away?" Cuthbert asked.

"She always believed, Master Cuthbert, that my father was killed by the
baron to prevent him giving any news of the secrets of the castle. He and
some others had been kept in the walls for many months, and were engaged
in the making of secret passages."

"That is just what I came to ask you, Gurth. I have heard something of
this story before, and now that we are attacking Wortham Castle, and the
earl has sworn to level it to the ground, it is of importance if possible
to find out whether any of the secret passages lead beyond the castle, and
if so, where. Almost all the castles have, I have been told, an exit by
which the garrison can at will make sorties or escape; and I thought that
maybe you might have heard enough to give us some clue as to the existence
of such a passage at Wortham."

The old man thought for some time in silence and then said:

"I may be mistaken, but methinks a diligent search in the copse near the
stream might find the mouth of the outlet."

"What makes you think that this is so, Gurth?"

"I had been with my mother to carry some clothes to my father on the last
occasion on which I saw him. As we neared the castle I saw my father and
three other of the workmen, together with the baron, coming down from the
castle toward the spot. As my mother did not wish to approach while the
baron was at hand, we stood within the trees at the edge of the wood and
watched what was being done. The baron came with them down to the bushes,
and then they again came out, crossed the river, and one of them cut some
willows, peeled them, and erected the white staves in a line toward the
castle. They walked for a bit on each side, and seemed to be making
calculations. Then they went back into the castle, and I never saw my
father again."

"Why did you not go in at once according to your intention?"

"Because my mother said that she thought some important work was on hand,
and that maybe the baron would not like that women should know aught of
it, for he was of suspicious and evil mind. More than this I know not. The
castle had already been finished and most of the masons discharged. There
were, however, a party of serfs kept at work, and also some masons, and
rumor had it that they were engaged in making the secret passages. Whether
it was so or not I cannot say, but I know that none of that party ever
left the castle alive. It was given out that a bad fever had raged there,
but none believed it; and the report went about, and was I doubt not true,
that all had been killed, to preserve the secret of the passage."

Cuthbert lost no time in making use of the information that he had gained.

Early next morning, at daybreak, he started on his pony to Wortham.

As he did not wish the earl or his followers to know the facts that he had
learned until they were proved, he made his way round the camp of the
besiegers, and by means of his whistle called one of the foresters to him.

"Where is Cnut?" he asked.

"He is with a party occupied in making ladders."

"Go to him," Cuthbert said, "and tell him to withdraw quietly and make his
way here. I have an important matter on which I wish to speak to him."

Cnut arrived in a few minutes, somewhat wondering at the message. He
brightened greatly when Cuthbert told him what he had learned.

"This is indeed important," he said. "We will lose no time in searching
the copse you speak of. You and I, together with two of my most trusty
men, with axes to clear away the brush, will do. At present a thing of
this sort had best be kept between as few as may be."

They started at once and soon came down upon the stream.

It ran at this point in a little valley, some twenty or thirty feet deep.
On the bank not far from the castle grew a small wood, and it was in this
that Cuthbert hoped to find the passage spoken of by Gurth.

The trees and brushwood were so thick that it was apparent at once that if
the passage had ever existed it had been unused for some years.

The woodmen were obliged to chop down dozens of young saplings to make
their way up from the water toward the steeper part of the bank.

The wood was some fifty yards in length, and as it was uncertain at which
point the passage had come out, a very minute search had to be made.

"What do you think it would be like, Cnut?" Cuthbert asked.

"Like enough to a rabbit-hole, or more likely still there would be no hole
whatever. We must look for moss and greenery, for it is likely that such
would have been planted, so as to conceal the door from any passer-by,
while yet allowing a party from inside to cut their way through it without
difficulty."

After a search of two hours, Cnut decided that the only place in the copse
in which it was likely that the entrance to a passage could be hidden was
a spot where the ground was covered thickly with ivy and trailing plants.

"It looks level enough with the rest," Cuthbert said.

"Ay, lad, but we know not what lies behind this thick screen of ivy.
Thrust in that staff."

One of the woodmen began to probe with the end of a staff among the ivy.
For some time he was met by the solid ground, but presently the butt of
the staff went through suddenly, pitching him on his head, amid a
suppressed laugh from his comrades.

"Here it is, if anywhere," said Cnut, and with their billhooks they at
once began to clear away the thickly grown creepers.

Five minutes' work was sufficient to show a narrow cut, some two feet
wide, in the hillside, at the end of which stood a low door.

"Here it is," said Cnut, with triumph, "and the castle is ours. Thanks,
Cuthbert, for your thought and intelligence. It has not been used lately,
that is clear," he went on. "These creepers have not been moved for years.
Shall we go and tell the earl of our discovery? What think you, Cuthbert?"

"I think we had better not," Cuthbert said.

"We might not succeed in getting in, as the passage may have fallen
further along; but I will speak to him and tell him that we have something
on hand which may alter his dispositions for fighting to-morrow."

Cuthbert made his way to the earl, who had taken possession of a small
cottage a short distance from the castle.

"What can I do for you?" Sir Walter said.

"I want to ask you, sir, not to attack the castle to-morrow until you see
a white flag waved from the keep."

"But how on earth is a white flag to be raised from the keep?"

"It may be," Cuthbert said, "that I have some friends inside who will be
able to make a diversion in our favor. However, sir, it can do no harm if
you will wait till then, and may save many lives. At what hour do you mean
to attack ?"

"The bridges and all other preparations to assist us across the moat will
be ready to-night. We will advance then under cover of darkness, and as
soon after dawn as may be attack in earnest."

"Very well, sir," Cuthbert said. "I trust that within five minutes after
your bugle has sounded the white flag will make its appearance on the
keep, but it cannot do so until after you have commenced an attack, or at
least a pretense of an attack."

Two or three hours before daylight Cuthbert accompanied Cnut and
twenty-five picked men of the foresters to the copse. They were provided
with crowbars, and all carried heavy axes. The door was soon pried open.
It opened silently and without a creak.

"It may be," Cnut said, "that the door has not been opened as you say for
years, but it is certain," and he placed his torch to the hinges, "that it
has been well oiled within the last two or three days. No doubt the baron
intended to make his escape this way, should the worst arrive. Now that we
have the door open we had better wait quiet until the dawn commences. The
earl will blow his bugle as a signal for the advance; it will be another
ten minutes before they are fairly engaged, and that will be enough for us
to break open any doors that there may be between this and the castle, and
to force our way inside."

It seemed a long time waiting before the dawn fairly broke—still
longer before the earl's bugle was heard to sound the attack. Then the
band, headed by Cnut and two or three of the strongest of the party
entered the passage.

Cuthbert had had some misgivings as to his mother's injunctions to take no
part in the fray, and it cannot be said that in accompanying the foresters
he obeyed the letter of her instructions. At the same time as he felt sure
that the effect of a surprise would be complete and crushing, and that the
party would gain the top of the keep without any serious resistance, he
considered the risk was so small as to justify him in accompanying the
foresters.

The passage was some five feet high, and little more than two feet wide.
It was dry and dusty, and save the marks on the ground of a human foot
going and returning, doubtless that of the man who had oiled the lock the
day before, the passage appeared to have been unused from the time that it
left the hands of its builders.

Passing along for some distance they came to another strong oaken door.
This, like the last, yielded to the efforts of the crowbars of the
foresters, and they again advanced. Presently they came to a flight of
steps.

"We must now be near the castle," Cnut said. "In fact, methinks I can hear
confused noises ahead."

Mounting the steps, they came to a third door; this was thickly studded
with iron, and appeared of very great strength. Fortunately the lock was
upon their side, and they were enabled to shoot the bolt; but upon the
other side the door was firmly secured by large bolts, and it was fully
five minutes before the foresters could succeed in opening it. It was not
without a good deal of noise that they at last did so; and several times
they paused, fearing that the alarm must have been given in the castle.
As, however, the door remained closed, they supposed that the occupants
were fully engaged in defending themselves from the attacks of the earl's
party.

When the door gave way they found hanging across in front of them a very
thick arras, and pressing this aside they entered a small room in the
thickness of the wall of the keep. It contained the merest slit for light,
and was clearly unused. Another door, this time unfastened, led into a
larger apartment, which was also at present unoccupied. They could hear
now the shouts of the combatants without, the loud orders given by the
leaders on the walls, the crack, as the stones hurled by the mangonels
struck the walls, and the ring of steel as the arrows struck against steel
cap and cuirass.

"It is fortunate that all were so well engaged, or they would certainly
have heard the noise of our forcing the door, which would have brought all
of them upon us. As it is, we are in the heart of the keep. We have now
but to make a rush up these winding steps, and methinks we shall find
ourselves on the battlements. They will be so surprised that no real
resistance can be offered to us. Now let us advance."

So saying Cnut led the way upstairs, followed by the foresters, Cuthbert,
as before, allowing five or six of them to intervene between him and the
leader. He carried his short sword and a quarterstaff, a weapon by no
means to be despised in the hands of an active and experienced player.

Presently, after mounting some fifty or sixty steps, they issued on the
platform of the keep. Here were gathered some thirty or forty men, who
were so busied in shooting with crossbows, and in working machines casting
javelins, stones, and other missiles upon the besiegers, that they were
unaware of the addition to their numbers until the whole of the foresters
had gathered on the summit, and at the order of Cnut suddenly fell upon
them with a loud shout.

Taken wholly by surprise by the foe, who seemed to have risen from the
bowels of the earth by magic, the soldiers of the Baron of Wortham offered
but a feeble resistance. Some were cast over the battlement of the keep,
some driven down staircases, others cut down, and then, Cuthbert fastening
a small white flag he had prepared to his quarterstaff, waved it above the
battlements.

Even now the combatants on the outer wall were in ignorance of what had
happened in the keep; so great was the din that the struggle which had
there taken place had passed unnoticed; and it was not until the
fugitives, rushing out into the courtyard, shouted that the keep had been
captured, that the besieged became aware of the imminence of the danger.

[Image: CUTHBERT FASTENED A SMALL WHITE FLAG TO HIS QUARTER-STAFF AND
WAVED IT ABOVE THE BATTLEMENTS.]

Hitherto the battle had been going well for the defenders of the castle.
The Baron of Wortham was indeed surprised at the feebleness of the
assault. The arrows which had fallen in clouds upon the first day's attack
upon the castle among his soldiers were now comparatively few and
ineffective. The besiegers scarcely appeared to push forward their bridges
with any vigor, and it seemed to him that a coldness had fallen upon them,
and that some disagreement must have arisen between the foresters and the
earl, completely crippling the energy of the attack.

When he heard the words shouted from the courtyard below he could not
believe his ears. That the keep behind should have been carried by the
enemy appeared to him impossible. With a roar he called upon the bravest
of his men to follow, and rushing across the courtyard, rapidly ascended
the staircase. The movement was observed from the keep, and Cnut and a few
of his men stationed themselves with their battle-axes at the top of
various stairs leading below.

The signal shown by Cuthbert had not passed unobserved. The earl, who had
given instructions to his followers to make a mere feint of attacking, now
blew the signal for the real onslaught. The bridges were rapidly run
across the moat, ladders were planted, and the garrison being paralyzed
and confused by the attack in their rear, as well as hindered by the
arrows which now flew down upon them from the keep above, offered but a
feeble resistance, and the assailants, led by Sir Walter himself, poured
over the walls.

Now there was a scene of confusion and desperate strife. The baron had
just gained the top of the stairs, and was engaged in a fierce conflict
with Cnut and his men, when the news reached him that the wall was carried
from without. With an execration he again turned and rushed down the
stairs, hoping by a vigorous effort to cast back the foe.

It was, however, all too late; his followers, disheartened and alarmed,
fought without method or order in scattered groups of threes and fours.
They made their last stand in corners and passages. They knew there was
but little hope of mercy from the Saxon foresters, and against these they
fought to the last. To the Norman retainers, however, of the earl they
offered a less determined resistance, throwing down their arms and
surrendering at discretion.

The baron, when fiercely fighting, was slain by an arrow from the keep
above, and with his fall the last resistance ceased. A short time was
spent in searching the castle, binding the prisoners, and carrying off the
valuables that the baron had collected in his raids. Then a light was set
to the timbers, the granaries were fired, and in a few minutes the smoke
wreathing out of the various loopholes and openings told the country round
that the stronghold had fallen, and that they were free from the oppressor
at last.

CHAPTER IV. — THE CRUSADES.

Warm thanks and much praise were bestowed upon Cuthbert for his share in
the capture of the castle, and the earl, calling the foresters round him,
then and there bestowed freedom upon any of them who might have been serfs
of his, and called upon all his knights and neighbors to do the same, in
return for the good service which they had rendered.

This was willingly done, and a number of Cnut's party, who had before
borne the stigma of escaped serfs, were now free men.

We are too apt to forget, in our sympathy with the Saxons, that, fond as
they were of freedom for themselves, they were yet severe masters, and
kept the mass of the people in a state of serfage. Although their laws
provided ample justice as between Saxon man and man, there was no justice
for the unhappy serfs, who were either the original inhabitants or
captives taken in war, and who were distinguished by a collar of brass or
iron round their neck.

Cnut's party had indeed long got rid of these badges, the first act of a
serf when he took to the woods being always to file off his collar; but
they were liable when caught to be punished, even by death, and were
delighted at having achieved their freedom.

"And what can I do for you, Cuthbert?" Sir Walter said, as they rode
homeward. "It is to you that I am indebted: in the first place for the
rescue of my daughter, in the second for the capture of that castle, which
I doubt me much whether we should ever have taken in fair fight had it not
been for your aid."

"Thanks, Sir Walter," the lad replied. "At present I need nothing, but
should the time come when you may go to the wars I would fain ride with
you as your page, in the hope of some day winning my spurs also in the
field."

"So shall it be," the earl said, "and right willingly. But who have we
here?"

As he spoke a horseman rode up and presented a paper to the earl.

"This is a notice," the earl said, after perusing it, "that King Richard
has determined to take up the cross, and that he calls upon his nobles and
barons to join him in the effort to free the holy sepulcher from the
infidels. I doubt whether the minds of the people are quite prepared, but
I hear that there has been much preaching by friars and monks in some
parts, and that many are eager to join in the war."

"Think you that you will go to the war, Sir Walter?" Cuthbert asked.

"I know not as yet; it must much depend upon the king's mood. For myself I
care not so greatly as some do about this question of the Holy Land. There
has been blood enough shed already to drown it, and we are no nearer than
when the first swarms of pilgrims made their way thither."

On Cuthbert's returning home and telling his mother all that had passed,
she shook her head, but said that she could not oppose his wishes to go
with the earl when the time should come, and that it was only right he
should follow in the footsteps of the good knight his father.

"I have heard much of these Crusades," he said; "canst tell me about
them?"

"In truth I know not much, my son; but Father Francis, I doubt not, can
tell you all the particulars anent the affair."

The next time that Father Francis, who was the special adviser of Dame
Editha, rode over from the convent on his ambling nag, Cuthbert eagerly
asked him if he would tell him what he knew of the Crusades.

"Hitherto, my son," he said, "the Crusades have, it must be owned, brought
many woes upon Europe. From the early times great swarms of pilgrims were
accustomed to go from all parts of Europe to the holy shrines.

"When the followers of the evil prophet took possession of the land, they
laid grievous burdens upon the pilgrims, heavily they fined them,
persecuted them in every way, and treated them as if indeed they were but
the scum of the earth under their feet.

"So terrible were the tales that reached Europe that men came to think
that it would be a good deed truly to wrest the sepulcher of the Lord from
the hands of these heathens. Pope Urban was the first to give authority
and strength to the movement, and at a vast meeting at Claremont of thirty
thousand clergy and four thousand barons, it was decided that war must be
made against the infidel. From all parts of France men flocked to hear
Pope Urban preach there; and when he had finished his oration the vast
multitude, carried away by enthusiasm, swore to win the holy sepulcher or
to die.

"Mighty was the throng that gathered for the First Crusade. Monks threw
aside their gowns and took to the sword and cuirass; even women and
children joined in the throng. What, my son, could be expected from a
great army so formed? Without leaders, without discipline, without
tactics, without means of getting food, they soon became a scourge of the
country through which they passed.

"Passing through Hungary, where they greatly ravaged the fields, they came
to Bulgaria. Here the people, struck with astonishment and dismay at this
great horde of hungry people who arrived among them like locusts, fell
upon them with the sword, and great numbers fell. The first band that
passed into that country perished miserably, and of all that huge
assembly, it may be said that, numbering at the start not less than two
hundred and fifty thousand persons, only about one hundred thousand
crossed into Asia Minor. The fate of these was no better than that of
those who had perished in Hungary and Bulgaria. After grievous suffering
and loss they at last reached Nicaea. There they fell into an ambuscade;
and out of the whole of the undisciplined masses who had followed Peter
the Hermit, it is doubtful whether ten thousand ever returned home.

"This first attempt to rescue the holy sepulcher was followed by others
equally wild, misguided, and unfortunate. Some of them indeed began their
evil deeds as soon as they had left their home. The last of these bodies
fell upon the Jews, who are indeed enemies of the Christian faith, but who
have now, at least, nothing to do with the question of the holy sepulcher.
As soon as they entered into Germany the Crusaders put them to death with
horrible torture. Plunder and rapine indeed appeared to be the object of
the Crusaders. On this as well as on most other preceding bands, their
misdeeds drew down the vengeance of the people. At an early period of
their march, and as soon as they reached Hungary, the people fell upon
them, and put the greater portion to the sword.

"Thus, in these irregular expeditions no less than five hundred thousand
people are supposed to have perished. Godfrey de Bouillon was the first
who undertook to lead a Crusade according to the military knowledge of the
day. With him were his brothers Eustace and Baldwin, the Counts of Anault
and St. Paul, and many other nobles and gentlemen, with their retainers,
well armed and under good order; and so firm was the discipline of Duke
Godfrey that they were allowed to pass freely by the people of the
countries who had opposed the previous bands.

"Through Hungary, Bulgaria, and Thrace he made his way; and though he met
with many difficulties from Alexius, the crafty and treacherous Emperor of
the Greeks, he at last succeeded in crossing into Asia. There he was
joined by many from England, as well as from France and other countries.
Duke Robert, the son of our first William, led a strong band of Normans to
the war, as did the other great princes of France and Spain.

"The army which crossed the narrow passage of the Hellespont is estimated
at no less than seven hundred thousand fighting men. Of these one hundred
thousand were knights clad in complete armor, the remainder were
men-at-arms and bowmen.

"Nicaea, the place which had been the scene of the massacre of Peter the
Hermit's hosts, was taken after a desperate conflict, lasting for many
weeks, and the Crusaders afterward defeated the Turks in a great battle
near the town of Doryleum. After these successes disputes arose among the
leaders, and Count Baldwin, brother of Duke Godfrey, left the main body
with about fifteen hundred men, and founded a kingdom for himself in
Mesopotamia.

"The main body, slowly and painfully, and suffering from disease, famine,
and the heat, made its way south. Antioch, a city of great strength and
importance, was besieged, but it proved so strong that it resisted for
many months, and was at last only taken by treachery.

"After the capture of this place the sufferings of the Crusaders so far
from being diminished were redoubled. They themselves during the siege had
bought up all the food that could be brought from the surrounding country,
while the magazines of the town were found, when an entry was effected, to
be entirely deserted. The enemy, aided by a great Persian host, came down,
and those who had been the besiegers were now besieged. However, when in
the last strait the Christian army sallied out, and inspired with
supernatural strength, defeated the Turks and Persians, with a slaughter
of one hundred thousand men. Another slow movement to the south brought
them into the Holy Land, and pressing forward, they came at last within
sight of Jerusalem itself.

"So fearful had been the losses of the Crusaders that of seven hundred
thousand who crossed the Hellespont, not more than forty thousand reached
the end of the pilgrimage. This fragment of an army, which had appeared
before a very strongly fortified town, possessed no means of capturing the
place—none of the machines of war necessary for the purpose, no
provisions or munitions of any kind. Water was scarce also; and it
appeared as if the remnant of the great army of Godfrey de Bouillon had
arrived before Jerusalem only to perish there.

"Happily just at this time a further band of Crusaders from Genoa, who had
reached Jaffa, made their appearance. They were provided with stores, and
had skilled workmen capable of making the machines for the siege. On July
14, 1099, the attack was made, and after resistance gallant and desperate
as the assault, the Crusaders burst into the city, massacred the whole of
the defenders and inhabitants, calculated at seventy thousand in number,
and so became masters of the holy sepulcher.

"The Sultan of Egypt was meanwhile advancing to the assistance of the
Mohammedans of Syria; but Godfrey, with twenty thousand of his best men,
advanced to meet the vast host, and scattered them as if they had been
sheep. Godfrey was now chosen King of Jerusalem, and the rest of his army—save
three hundred knights and two hundred soldiers, who agreed to remain with
him—returned to their home. The news of the victory led other armies
of Crusaders to follow the example of that of Godfrey; but as these were
almost as completely without organization or leadership as those of Peter
the Hermit, they suffered miserably on their way, and few indeed ever
reached the Holy Land. Godfrey died in 1100, and his brother Baldwin
succeeded him.

"The history of the last hundred years has been full of fresh efforts to
crush the Moslem power, but hitherto it cannot be said that fortune has
attended the efforts of the Christians. Had it not been indeed for the
devotion of the Knights of St. John and of the Templars, two great
companies formed of men who devoted their lives to the holding of the
sepulcher against the infidel, our hold of the Holy Land would have been
lost.

"Gradually the Saracens have wrested post after post from our hands.
Edessa was taken in 1144, and the news of this event created an intense
excitement. The holy St. Bernard stirred up all France, and Louis VII.
himself took the vow and headed a noble army. The ways of God are not our
ways, and although the army of Germany joined that of France, but little
results came of this great effort.

"The Emperor Conrad, with the Germans, was attacked by the Turk Saladin of
Iconium, and was defeated with a loss of sixty thousand men. The King of
France, with his army, was also attacked with fury, and a large portion of
his force were slaughtered. Nothing more came of this great effort, and
while the first Crusade seemed to show that the men-at-arms of Europe were
irresistible, the second on the contrary gave proof that the Turks were
equal to the Christian knights. Gradually the Christian hold of the Holy
Land was shaken. In 1187, although fighting with extraordinary bravery,
the small army of Christian Knights of the Temple and of St. John were
annihilated, the King of Jerusalem was made prisoner, and the Christian
power was crushed. Then Saladin, who commanded the Turks, advanced against
Jerusalem, and forced it to capitulate.

"Such, my boy, is the last sad news which has reached us; and no wonder
that it has stirred the hearts of the monarchs of Europe, and that every
effort will be again made to recapture the holy sepulcher, and to avenge
our brethren who have been murdered by the infidels."

"But, Father Francis, from your story it would seem that Europe has
already sacrificed an enormous number of lives to take the holy sepulcher,
and that after all the fighting, when she has taken it, it is only to lose
it again."

"That is so, my son; but we will trust that in future things will be
better managed. The Templars and Hospitalers now number so vast a number
of the best lances in Europe, and are grown to be such great powers, that
we may believe that when we have again wrested the holy sepulcher from the
hands of the infidels they will be able to maintain it against all
assaults. Doubtless the great misfortunes which have fallen upon the
Christian armies have been a punishment from heaven, because they have not
gone to work in the right spirit. It is not enough to take up lance and
shield, and to place a red cross upon the shoulder. Those who desire to
fight the battle of the Lord must cleanse their hearts, and go forth in
the spirit of pilgrims rather than knights. I mean not that they should
trust wholly to spiritual weapons—for in truth the infidel is a foe
not to be despised—but I mean that they should lay aside all
thoughts of worldly glory and rivalry one against another."

"And think you, Father, that such is the spirit with which King Richard
and the other kings and nobles now preparing to go to the Holy Land are
animated?"

Father Francis hesitated.

"It is not for me, my son, to judge motives, or to speak well or ill of
the instruments who have been chosen for this great work. It is of all
works the most praiseworthy, most holy. It is horrible to think that the
holy shrines of Jerusalem should be in the hands of men who believe not in
our Redeemer; and I hold it to be the duty of every man who can bear arms,
no matter what his rank or his station, to don his armor and to go forth
to battle in the cause. Whether success will crown the effort, or whether
God wills it otherwise, it is not for man to discuss; it is enough that
the work is there, and it is our duty to do it."

"And think you, Father, that it will do good to England?"

"That do I, my son, whether we gain the Holy Land or no. Methinks that it
will do good service to the nation that Saxon and Norman should fight
together under the holy cross. Hitherto the races have stood far too much
apart. They have seen each other's bad qualities rather than good; but
methinks that when the Saxon and the Norman stand side by side on the soil
of the Holy Land, and shout together for England, it must needs bind them
together, and lead them to feel that they are no longer Normans and
Saxons, but Englishmen. I intend to preach on the village green at Evesham
next Sunday morning on this subject, and as I know you are in
communication with the forest men, I would, Cuthbert, that you would
persuade them to come in to hear me. You were wondering what could be
found for these vagrants. They have many of them long since lost the
habits of honest labor. Many of them are still serfs, although most have
been freed by the good earl and the knights his followers. Some of those
who would fain leave the life in the woods still cling to it because they
think that it would be mean to desert their comrades, who being serfs are
still bound to lurk there; but methinks that this is a great opportunity
for them. They are valiant men, and the fact that they are fond of drawing
an arrow at a buck does not make them one whit the worse Christians. I
will do my best to move their hearts, and if they will but agree together
to take the cross, they would make a goodly band of footmen to accompany
the earl."

"Is the earl going?" Cuthbert asked eagerly.

"I know not for certain," said Father Francis; "but I think from what I
hear from his chaplain, Father Eustace, that his mind turns in that
direction."

"Then, Father, if he goes, I will go too," Cuthbert exclaimed. "He
promised to take me as his page the first time he went to war."

Father Francis shook his head.

"I fear me, Cuthbert, this is far from the spirit in which we awhile ago
agreed that men should go to the holy war."

Cuthbert hung his head a little.

"Ay, Father Francis, men; but I am a boy," he said, "and after all, boys
are fond of adventure for adventure's sake. However, Father," he said,
with a smile, "no doubt your eloquence on the green will turn me mightily
to the project, for you must allow that the story you have told me this
morning is not such as to create any very strong yearning in one's mind to
follow the millions of men who have perished in the Holy Land."

"Go to," said Father Francis, smiling, "thou art a pert varlet. I will do
my best on Sunday to turn you to a better frame of mind."

CHAPTER V. — PREPARATIONS.

Next Sunday a large number of people from some miles round were gathered
on the green at Evesham, to hear Father Francis preach on the holy
sepulcher. The forest men in their green jerkins mingled with the crowd,
and a look of attention and seriousness was on the faces of all, for the
news of the loss of the holy sepulcher had really exercised a great effect
upon the minds of the people in England as elsewhere.

Those were the days of pilgrimage to holy places, when the belief in the
sanctity of places and things was overwhelming, and when men believed that
a journey to the holy shrines was sufficient to procure for them a pardon
for all their misdeeds. The very word "infidel" in those days was full of
horror, and the thought that the holy places of the Christians were in the
hands of Moslems affected all Christians throughout Europe with a feeling
of shame as well as of grief.

Among the crowd were many of the Norman retainers from the castle and from
many of the holds around, and several knights with the ladies of their
family stood a little apart from the edge of the gathering; for it was
known that Father Francis would not be alone, but that he would be
accompanied by a holy friar who had returned from the East, and who could
tell of the cruelties which the Christians had suffered at the hands of
the Saracens.

Father Francis, at ordinary times a tranquil preacher, was moved beyond
himself by the theme on which he was holding forth. He did not attempt to
hide from those who stood around that the task to be undertaken was one of
grievous peril and trial; that disease and heat, hunger and thirst, must
be dared, as well as the sword of the infidel. But he spoke of the grand
nature of the work, of the humiliation to Christians, of the desecration
of the shrines, and of the glory which awaited those who joined the
Crusade, whether they lived or whether they died in the Holy Land.

His words had a strong effect upon the simple people who listened to him,
but the feelings so aroused were as naught to the enthusiasm which greeted
the address of the friar.

Meager and pale, with a worn, anxious face as one who had suffered much,
the friar, holding aloft two pieces of wood from the Mount of Olives tied
together in the form of a cross, harangued the crowd. His words poured
forth in a fiery stream, kindling the hearts, and stirring at once the
devotion and the anger of his listeners.

He told of the holy places, he spoke of the scenes of Holy Writ, which had
there been enacted; and then he depicted the men who had died for them. He
told of the knights and men-at-arms, each of whom proved himself again and
again a match for a score of infidels. He spoke of the holy women, who,
fearlessly and bravely, as the knights themselves, had borne their share
in the horrors of the siege and in the terrible times which had preceded
it.

He told them that this misfortune had befallen Christianity because of the
lukewarmness which had come upon them.

"What profited it," he asked, "if a few knights who remained to defend the
holy sepulcher were heroes? A few heroes cannot withstand an army. If
Christendom after making a mighty effort to capture the holy sepulcher had
not fallen away, the conquest which had been made with so vast an
expenditure of blood would not have been lost. This is a work in which no
mere passing fervor will avail; bravery at first, endurance afterward, are
needed. Many men must determine not only to assist to wrest the holy
sepulcher from the hands of the infidels, but to give their lives, so long
as they might last, to retaining it. It is scarce to be expected that men
with wives and families will take a view like this, indeed it is not to be
desired. But there are single men, men of no ties, who can devote their
whole lives, as did the Knights of the Orders of the Cross, to this great
object. When their life has come to an end doubtless others will take up
the banner that their hands can no longer hold. But for life it is,
indeed, that many of humble as well as of princely class must bind
themselves to take and defend to death the holy sepulcher."

So, gradually raising the tone of his speech, the friar proceeded; until
at length by his intense earnestness, his wild gesticulations, his
impassioned words, he drew the whole of his listeners along with him; and
when he ceased, a mighty shout of "To the Holy Land!" burst from his
hearers.

Falling upon their knees the crowd begged of him to give them the sign of
the cross, and to bestow his blessing upon their swords, and upon their
efforts.

Father Francis had prepared, in contemplation of such a movement, a large
number of small white crosses of cloth. These he and the friar now
fastened to the shoulders of the men as they crowded up to receive it,
holding their hands aloft, kissing the cross that the friar extended to
them, and swearing to give their lives, if need be, to rescue the holy
shrines from the infidel.

When all had received the holy symbol, Father Francis again ascended the
bank from which they had addressed the crowd:

"Now go to your homes, my sons," he said. "Think of the oath that you have
taken, and of the course that lies open to you when the time comes. When
King Richard is prepared to start, then will you be called upon to fulfill
your vows. It may be that all who have sworn may not be called upon to go.
It needs that the land here should be tilled, it needs that there should
be protectors for the women and children, it needs that this England of
ours should flourish, and we cannot give all her sons, however willing
they might be to take the cross. But the willingness which you will, I am
sure, show to go if needs be, and to redeem your vows, will be sufficient.
Some must go and some must stay; these are matters to be decided
hereafter; for the time let us separate; you will hear when the hour for
action arrives."

A fortnight later the Earl of Evesham, who had been on a long journey to
London, returned with full authority to raise and organize a force as his
contingent to the holy wars.

All was now bustle and activity in the castle. Father Francis informed him
of the willingness of such of the forest men as he deemed fit to enlist
under his banner; and the earl was much gratified at finding that the
ranks of heavily-armed retainers whom he would take with him were to be
swollen by the addition of so useful a contingent as that of one hundred
skillful archers.

Cuthbert was not long in asking for an interview with the earl.

He had indeed great difficulty in persuading Dame Editha that he was old
enough to share in the fatigues of so great an expedition, but he had
Father Francis on his side; and between the influence of her confessor,
and the importunities of her son, the opposition of the good lady fell to
the ground.

Cuthbert was already, for his age, well trained to arms. Many of the old
soldiers at the castle who had known and loved his father had been ever
ready to give lessons in the use of arms to Cuthbert, who was enthusiastic
in his desire to prove as good a knight as his father had been. His
friends, the outlaws, had taught him the use of the bow and of the
quarterstaff; and Cuthbert, strong and well-built for his age, and having
little to do save to wield the sword and the bow, had attained a very
considerable amount of skill with each.

He had too, which was unusual, a certain amount of book learning, although
this, true to say, had not been acquired so cheerfully or willingly as the
skill at arms. Father Francis had, however, taught him to read and to
write—accomplishments which were at that time rare, except in the
cloister. In those days if a knight had a firm seat in his saddle, a
strong arm, a keen eye, and high courage, it was thought to be of little
matter whether he could or could not do more than make his mark on the
parchment. The whole life of the young was given to acquiring skill in
arms; and unless intended for the convent, any idea of education would in
the great majority of cases have been considered as preposterous.

To do Cuthbert justice, he had protested with all his might against the
proposition of Father Francis to his mother to teach him some clerkly
knowledge. He had yielded most unwillingly at last to her entreaties,
backed as they were by the sound arguments and good sense of Father
Francis.

The Earl of Evesham received Cuthbert's application very graciously.

"Certainly, Cuthbert," he said, "you shall accompany me; first, on account
of my promise to you; secondly, because from the readiness you displayed
both in the matter of my daughter and of the attack on Wortham, you will
be a notable aid and addition to my party; thirdly, from my friendship for
your father and Dame Editha."

This point being settled, Cuthbert at once assumed his new duties. There
was plenty for him to do—to see that the orders of the earl were
properly carried out; to bear messages to the knights who followed the
earl's fortunes, at their various holds; to stand by and watch the
armorers at work, and the preparation of the stores of arms and missiles
which would be necessary for the expedition.

Sometimes he would go round to summon the tenants of the various farms and
lands, who held from the earl, to come to the castle; and here Sir Walter
would, as far as might be without oppression, beg of them to contribute
largely to the expedition.

In these appeals he was in no slight way assisted by Father Francis, who
pointed out loudly to the people that those who stayed behind were bound
to make as much sacrifice of their worldly goods as those who went to the
war might make of their lives. Life and land are alike at the service of
God. Could the land be sold, it would be a good deed to sell it; but as
this could not be, they should at least sell all that they could, and
pledge their property if they could find lenders, in order to contribute
to the needs of their lord, and the fitting out of this great enterprise.

The preparations were at last complete, and a gallant band gathered at the
castle ready for starting. It consisted of some two hundred men-at-arms
led by six knights, and of one hundred bowmen dressed in Lincoln green,
with quilted jerkins to keep out the arrows of the enemy. All the country
from around gathered to see the start. Dame Editha was there, and by her
side stood the earl's little daughter. The earl himself was in armor, and
beside him rode Cuthbert in the gay attire of a page.

Just at that moment, however, his face did not agree with his costume, for
although he strove his best to look bright and smiling, it was a hard task
to prevent the tears from filling his eyes at his departure from his
mother. The good lady cried unrestrainedly, and Margaret joined in her
tears. The people who had gathered round cheered lustily; the trumpets
blew a gay fanfaronade, and the squire threw to the wind the earl's
colors.

It was no mere pleasure trip on which they were starting, for all knew
that, of the preceding Crusades, not one in ten of those who had gone so
gladly forth had ever returned.

It must not be supposed that the whole of those present were animated by
any strong religious feeling. No doubt there existed a desire, which was
carefully fanned by the preaching of the priests and monks, to rescue the
holy sepulcher from the hands of the Saracens; but a far stronger feeling
was to be found in the warlike nature of the people in those days.
Knights, men-at-arms, and indeed men of all ranks were full of a combative
spirit. Life in the castle and hut was alike dull and monotonous, and the
excitement of war and adventure was greatly looked for, both as a means of
obtaining glory and booty, and for the change they afforded to the dreary
monotony of life.

There is little to tell of the journey of the Earl of Evesham's band
through England to Southampton, at which place they took ship and crossed
to France—or rather to Normandy, for in those days Normandy was
regarded, as indeed it formed, a part of England.

Cuthbert, as was natural to his age, was full of delight at all the
varying scenes through which they passed. The towns were to him an
especial source of wonder, for he had never visited any other than that of
Worcester, to which he had once or twice been taken on occasions of high
festival. Havre was in those days an important place, and being the
landing-place of a great portion of the English bands, it was full of
bustle and excitement. Every day ships brought in nobles and their
followings.

The King of England was already in Normandy hastening the preparations,
and each band, as it landed, marched down to the meeting-place on the
plains of Vezelay. Already they began to experience a taste of the
hardships which they were to endure.

In those days there was no regular supply train for an army, but each
division or band supported itself by purchase or pillage, as the case
might be, from the surrounding country.

As the English troops were marching through a friendly country, pillage
was of course strictly forbidden; but while many of the leaders paid for
all they had, it must be owned that among the smaller leaders were many
who took anything that they required with or without payment.

The country was eaten up.

The population in those days was sparse, and the movement of so large a
number of men along a certain route completely exhausted all the resources
of the inhabitants; and although willing to pay for all that his men
required, the Earl of Evesham had frequently to lie down on the turf
supperless himself.

"If this is the case now," he said to Cuthbert, "what will it be after we
have joined the French army? Methinks whatever we may do if we reach the
Holy Land, that we have a fair chance of being starved before we sail."

After a long succession of marches they arrived in sight of the great camp
at Vezelay. It was indeed rather a canvas town than a camp. Here were
gathered nearly one hundred thousand men, a vast host at any time, but in
those days far greater in proportion to the strength of the countries than
at present. The tents of the leaders, nobles, and other knights and
gentlemen rose in regular lines, forming streets and squares.

The great mass of troops, however, were contented to sleep in the open
air; indeed the difficulties of carriage were so great that it was only
the leaders who could carry with them their canvas abodes. Before each
tent stood the lance and colors of its owner, and side by side in the
center of the camp stood the royal pavilions of Philip of France and
Richard of England, round which could be seen the gonfalons of all the
nobles of Western Europe.

Nothing could be gayer than the aspect of this camp as the party rode into
it. They were rather late, and the great body of the host were already
assembled.

Cuthbert gazed with delight at the varied colors, the gay dresses, the
martial knights, and the air of discipline and order which reigned
everywhere.

This was indeed war in its most picturesque form, a form which, as far as
beauty is concerned, has been altogether altered, and indeed destroyed, by
modern arms.

In those days individual prowess and bravery went for everything. A
handful of armored knights were a match for thousands of footmen, and
battles were decided as much by the prowess and bravery of the leader and
his immediate following as by that of the great mass of the army.

The earl had the day before sent on a messenger to state that he was
coming, and as the party entered the camp they were met by a squire of the
camp-marshal, who conducted them to the position allotted to them.

The earl's tent was soon erected, with four or five grouped around it for
his knights, one being set aside for his squires and pages.

When this was done Cuthbert strolled away to look at the varied sights of
the camp. A military officer in these days would be scandalized at the
scenes which were going on, but the strict, hard military discipline of
modern times was then absolutely unknown.

A camp was a moving town, and to it flocked the country people with their
goods; smiths and armorers erected their forges; minstrels and troubadours
flocked in to sing of former battles, and to raise the spirits of the
soldiers by merry lays of love and war; simple countrymen and women came
in to bring their presents of fowls or cakes to their friends in camp;
knights rode to and fro on their gayly caparisoned horses through the
crowd; the newly-raised levies, in many cases composed of woodmen and
peasants who had not in the course of their lives wandered a league from
their birthplaces, gaped in unaffected wonder at the sights around them;
while last, but by no means least, the maidens and good wives of the
neighborhood, fond then as now of brave men and gay dresses, thronged the
streets of the camp, and joined in, and were the cause of, merry laughter
and jest.

Here and there, a little apart from the main stream of traffic, the
minstrels would take up their position, and playing a gay air, the soldier
lads and lasses would fall to and foot it merrily to the strains.
Sometimes there would be a break in the gayety, and loud shouts, and
perhaps fierce oaths, would rise. Then the maidens would fly like startled
fawns, and men hasten to the spot; though the quarrel might be purely a
private one, yet should it happen between the retainers of two nobles, the
friends of each would be sure to strike in, and serious frays would arise
before the marshal of the camp with his posse could arrive to interfere.
Sometimes, indeed, these quarrels became so serious and desperate that
alliances were broken up and great intentions frustrated by the quarrels
of the soldiery.

Here and there, on elevated platforms, or even on the top of a pile of
tubs, were friars occupied in haranguing the soldiers, and in inspiring
them with enthusiasm for the cause upon which they were embarked. The
conduct of their listeners showed easily enough the motives which had
brought them to war. Some stood with clasped hands and eager eyes,
listening to the exhortations of the priests, and ready, as might be seen
from their earnest gaze, to suffer martyrdom in the cause. More, however,
stood indifferently round, or, after listening to a few words, walked on
with a laugh or a scoff; indeed, preaching had already done all that lay
in its power. All those who could be moved by exhortations of this kind
were there, and upon the rest the discourses and sermons were thrown away.

Several times in the course of his stroll round the camp Cuthbert observed
the beginnings of quarrels, which were in each case only checked by the
intervention of some knight or other person in authority coming past, and
he observed that these in every instance occurred between men of the
English and those of the French army.

Between the Saxon contingent of King Richard's army and the French
soldiers there could indeed be no quarrel, for the Saxons understood no
word of their language; but with the Normans the case was different, for
the Norman-French, which was spoken by all the nobles and their retainers
in Britain, was as nearly as possible the same as that in use in France.

It seemed, however, to Cuthbert, watching narrowly what was going on, that
there existed by no means a good feeling between the men of the different
armies; and he thought that this divergence so early in the campaign boded
but little good for the final success of the expedition.

When he returned to the tent the earl questioned him as to what he had
seen, and Cuthbert frankly acknowledged that it appeared to him that the
feeling between the men of the two armies was not good.

"I have been," the earl said, "to the royal camp, and from what I hear,
Cuthbert, methinks that there is reason for what you say. King Richard is
the most loyal and gallant of kings, but he is haughty and hasty in
speech. The Normans, too, have been somewhat accustomed to conquer our
neighbors, and it may well be that the chivalry of France love us not.
However, it must be hoped that this feeling will die away, and that we
shall emulate each other only in our deeds on the battlefield."

CHAPTER VI. — THE LISTS.

The third day after the arrival of the Earl of Evesham there was a great
banquet given by the King of France to King Richard and his principal
nobles.

Among those present was the Earl of Evesham, and Cuthbert as his page
followed him to the great tent where the banquet was prepared.

Here, at the top of the tent, on a raised daïs, sat the King of France,
surrounded by his courtiers. The Earl of Evesham, having been conducted by
the herald to the daïs, paid his compliments to the king, and was saluted
by him with many flattering words.

The sound of a trumpet was heard, and Richard of England, accompanied by
his principal nobles, entered.

It was the first time that Cuthbert had seen the king.

Richard was a man of splendid stature and of enormous strength. His
appearance was in some respects rather Saxon than Norman, for his hair was
light and his complexion clear and bright. He wore the mustache and
pointed beard at that time in fashion; and although his expression was
generally that of frankness and good humor, there might be observed in his
quick motions and piercing glances signs of the hasty temper and unbridled
passion which went far to wreck the success of the enterprise upon which
he was embarked.

Richard possessed most of the qualities which make a man a great king and
render him the idol of his subjects, especially in a time of
semi-civilization, when personal prowess is placed at the summit of all
human virtues. In all his dominions there was not one man who in personal
conflict was a match for his king.

Except during his fits of passion, King Richard was generous, forgiving,
and royal in his moods. He was incapable of bearing malice. Although
haughty of his dignity, he was entirely free from any personal pride, and
while he would maintain to the death every right and privilege against
another monarch, he could laugh and joke with the humblest of his subjects
on terms of hearty good fellowship. He was impatient of contradiction,
eager to carry out whatever he had determined upon; and nothing enraged
him so much as hesitation or procrastination. The delays which were
experienced in the course of the Crusade angered him more than all the
opposition offered by the Saracens, or than the hardships through which
the Christian host had to pass.

At a flourish of trumpets all took their seats at dinner, their places
being marked for them by a herald, whose duty it was to regulate nicely
the various ranks and dignities.

The Earl of Evesham was placed next to a noble of Brabant. Cuthbert took
his place behind his lord and served him with wines and meats, the Brabant
being attended by a tall youth, who was indeed on the verge of manhood.

As the dinner went on the buzz of conversation became fast and furious. In
those days men drank deep, and quarrels often arose over the cups. From
the time that the dinner began Cuthbert noticed that the manner of Sir de
Jacquelin Barras, Count of Brabant, was rude and offensive.

It might be that he was accustomed to live alone with his retainers, and
that his manners were rude and coarse to all. It might be that he had a
special hostility to the English. At any rate, his remarks were calculated
to fire the anger of the earl.

He began the conversation by wondering how a Norman baron could live in a
country like England, inhabited by a race but little above pigs.

The earl at once fired up at this, for the Normans were now beginning to
feel themselves English, and to resent attacks upon a people for whom
their grandfathers had entertained contempt.

He angrily repelled the attack upon them by the Brabant knight, and
asserted at once that the Saxons were every bit as civilized, and in some
respects superior to the Normans or French.

The ill-feeling thus began at starting clearly waxed stronger as dinner
went on. The Brabant knight drank deeply, and although his talk was not
clearly directed against the English, yet he continued to throw out
innuendos and side attacks, and to talk with a vague boastfulness, which
greatly irritated Sir Walter.

Presently, as Cuthbert was about to serve his master with a cup of wine,
the tall page pushed suddenly against him, spilling a portion of the wine
over his dress.

"What a clumsy child!" he said scoffingly.

"You are a rough and ill-mannered loon," Cuthbert said angrily. "Were you
in any other presence I would chastise you as you deserve."

The tall page burst into a mocking laugh.

"Chastise me!" he said. "Why, I could put you in my pocket for a little
hop-of-my-thumb as you are."

"I think," said Sir Jacquelin—for the boys' voices both rose loud—to
the earl, "you had better send that brat home and order him to be
whipped."

"Sir count," said the earl, "your manners are insolent, and were we not
engaged upon a Crusade, it would please me much to give you a lesson on
that score."

Higher and higher the dispute rose, until some angry word caught the ear
of the king.

Amid the general buzz of voices King Philip rose, and speaking a word to
King Richard, moved from the table, thus giving the sign for the breaking
up of the feast.

Immediately afterward a page touched the earl and Sir Jacquelin upon the
shoulder, and told them that the kings desired to speak with them in the
tent of the King of France.

The two nobles strode through the crowd, regarding each other with eyes
much like those of two dogs eager to fly at each other's throat.

"My lords, my lords," said King Philip when they entered, "this is against
all law and reason. For shame, to be brawling at my table. I would not say
aught openly, but methinks it is early indeed for the knights and nobles
engaged in a common work to fall to words."

"Your majesty," said the Earl of Evesham, "I regret deeply what has
happened. But it seemed from the time we sat down to the meal that this
lord sought to pass a quarrel upon me, and I now beseech your majesty that
you will permit us to settle our differences in the lists."

King Richard gave a sound of assent, but the King of France shook his 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 confréres. 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.

[Image: 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 miséricorde 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 daïs 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 daïs 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 fêtes 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 mêlée 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 Rose, 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.

Before starting on the march for Jerusalem King Richard sullied his
reputation by causing all the defenders of Acre to be put to death, their
ransom not having arrived at the stipulated time.

Then the allied army set out upon their journey. The fleet cruised along
near them, and from it they obtained all that was requisite for their
wants, and yet, notwithstanding these advantages, the toil and fatigue
were terrible. Roads scarcely existed, and the army marched across the
rough and broken country. There was no straggling, but each kept his
place; and if unable to do so, fell and died. The blazing sun poured down
upon them with an appalling force; the dust which rose when they left the
rocks and came upon flat, sandy ground almost smothered them. Water was
only obtainable at the halts, and then was frequently altogether
insufficient for the wants of the army; while in front, on flank, and in
rear hovered clouds of the cavalry of Saladin.

At times King Richard would allow parties of his knights to detach
themselves from the force to drive off these enemies. But it was the chase
of a lion after a hare. The knights in their heavy armor and powerful
steeds were left behind as if standing still, by the fleet Bedouins on
their desert coursers; and the pursuers, exhausted and worn out, were
always glad to regain the ranks of the army.

These clouds of cavalry belonging to the enemy did not content themselves
with merely menacing and cutting off stragglers. At times, when they
thought they saw an opening, they would dash in and attack the column
desperately, sometimes gaining temporary advantages, killing and wounding
many, then fleeing away again into the desert.

Finding that it was impossible to catch these wary horsemen, King Richard
ordered his bowmen to march outside his cavalry, so that when the enemy's
horse approached within bowshot they should open upon them with arrows;
then, should the horsemen persist in charging, the archers were at once to
take refuge behind the lines of the knights.

Day after day passed in harassing conflicts. The distance passed over each
day was very small, and the sufferings of the men from thirst, heat, and
fatigue enormous. Cuthbert could well understand now what he had heard of
great armies melting away, for already men began to succumb in large
numbers to the terrible heat, and the path traversed by the army was
scattered with corpses of those who had fallen victims to sunstroke. Not
even at night did the attacks of the enemy cease, and a portion of the
harassed force was obliged to keep under arms to repel assaults.

So passed the time until the army arrived at Azotus, and there, to the
delight of the Crusaders, who only longed to get at their foes, they
beheld the whole force of Saladin, two hundred thousand strong, barring
their way. Had it not been for the stern discipline enforced by King
Richard the knights of England and France would have repeated the mistake
which had caused the extermination of the Christian force at Tiberias, and
would have leveled their lances and charged recklessly into the mass of
their enemies. But the king, riding round the flanks and front of the
force, gave his orders in the sternest way, with the threat that any man
who moved from the ranks should die by his hand.

The army was halted, the leaders gathered round the king, and a hasty
consultation was held. Richard insisted upon the fight being conducted
upon the same principles as the march—that the line of archers
should stand outside the knights, and should gall the advancing force with
arrows till the last moment, and then retire among the cavalry, only to
sally out again as the Bedouins fell back from the steel wall of horsemen.

Cuthbert had now for the first time donned full armor, and rode behind the
Earl of Evesham as his esquire, for the former esquire had been left
behind, ill with fever at Acre.

CHAPTER XII. — THE ACCOLADE.

It was now a year since they had left England, and Cuthbert had much grown
and widened out in the interval, and had never neglected an opportunity of
practicing with arms; and the earl was well aware that he should obtain as
efficient assistance from him in time of need as he could desire.

This was the first time that Cuthbert, and indeed the great proportion of
those present in the Christian host, had seen the enemy in force, and they
eagerly watched the vast array. It was picturesque in the extreme, with a
variety and brightness of color rivaling that of the Christian host. In
banners and pennons the latter made a braver show; but the floating robes
of the infidel showed a far brighter mass of color than the steel armor of
the Christians.

Here were people drawn from widely separated parts of Saladin's dominions.
Here were Nubians from the Nile, tall and powerful men, jet black in skin,
with lines of red and white paint on their faces, giving a ghastly and
wild appearance to them. On their shoulders were skins of lions and other
wild animals. They carried short bows, and heavy clubs studded with iron.
By them were the Bedouin cavalry, light, sinewy men, brown as berries,
with white turbans and garments. Near these were the cavalry from Syria
and the plains of Assyria—wild horsemen with semi-barbarous armor
and scarlet trappings. Here were the solid lines of the Egyptian infantry,
steady troops, upon whom Saladin much relied. Here were other tribes,
gathered from afar, each distinguished by its own particular marks. In
silence did this vast array view awhile the solid mass of the Christians.
Suddenly a strange din of discordant music from thousands of musical
instruments—conches and horns, cymbals and drums, arose in wild
confusion. Shouts of defiance in a dozen tongues and from two hundred
thousand throats rose wild and shrill upon the air, while clear above all
the din were heard the strange vibratory cries of the warriors from the
Egyptian highlands.

"One would think," said Cnut grimly to Cuthbert, "that the infidels
imagine we are a flock of antelopes to be frightened by an outcry. They
would do far better to save their wind for future use. They will want it,
methinks, when we get fairly among them. Who would have thought that a
number of men, heathen and infidel though they be, could have made so foul
an outcry?"

Cuthbert laughed.

"Every one fights according to his own method, Cnut; and I am not sure
that there is not some thing to be said for this outcry, for it is really
so wild and fearful that it makes my blood almost curdle in my veins; and
were it not that I know the proved valor of our knights and footmen, I
should feel shaken by this terrible introduction to the fight."

"I heed it no more," said Cnut, "than the outcry of wild fowl, when one
comes upon them suddenly on a lake in winter. It means no more than that;
and I reckon that they are trying to encourage themselves fully as much as
to frighten us. However, we shall soon see. If they can fight as well as
they can scream, they certainly will get no answering shouts from us. The
English bulldog fights silently, and bite as hard as he will, you will
hear little beyond a low growl. Now, my men," he said, turning to his
archers, "methinks the heathen are about to begin in earnest. Keep steady;
do not fire until you are sure that they are within range. Draw your bows
well to your ears, and straightly and steadily let fly. Never heed the
outcry or the rush, keep steady to the last moment. There is shelter
behind you, and fierce as the attack may be, you can find a sure refuge
behind the line of the knights."

Cnut with his archers formed part of the line outside the array of English
knights, and the arrows of the English bowmen fell fast as bands of the
Bedouin horse circled round them in the endeavor to draw the Christians on
to the attack. For some time Saladin persisted in these tactics. With his
immense superiority of force he reckoned that if the Christian chivalry
would but charge him, the victory of Tiberias would be repeated. Hemmed in
by numbers, borne down by the weight of armor and the effects of the
blazing sun, the knights would succumb as much to fatigue as to the force
of their foes. King Richard's orders, however, were well obeyed, and at
last the Moslem chief, urged by the entreaties of his leading emirs, who
felt ashamed that so large a force should hesitate to attack one so vastly
inferior in numbers, determined upon taking the initiative, and forming
his troops in a semicircle round the Christian army, launched his horsemen
to the attack. The instant they came within range a cloud of arrows from
the English archers fell among them, but the speed at which the desert
horses covered the ground rendered it impossible for the archers to
discharge more than one or two shafts before the enemy were upon them.
Quickly as they now slipped back and sought refuge under the lances of the
knights, many of them were unable to get back in time, and were cut down
by the Saracens. The rest crept between the horses or under their bellies
into the rear, and there prepared to sally out again as soon as the enemy
retired. The Christian knights sat like a wall of steel upon their horses,
their lances were leveled, and brave as the Bedouin horsemen were, they
felt to break this massive line was impossible. The front line, however,
charged well up to the points of the lances, against which they hewed with
their sharp scimiters, frequently severing the steel top from the ashpole,
and then breaking through and engaging in hand-to-hand conflict with the
knights. Behind the latter sat their squires, with extra spears and arms
ready to hand to their masters; and in close combat, the heavy maces with
their spike ends were weapons before which the light-clad horsemen went
down like reeds before a storm.

Hour after hour the Arab horsemen persisted in their attack, suffering
heavily, but determined to conquer if possible. Then Saladin suddenly
ordered a retreat, and at seeing their enemy fly, the impetuosity of the
Crusaders at last broke out. With a shout they dashed after the foe. King
Richard, knowing that his followers had already shown a patience far
beyond what he could have expected, now headed the onslaught, performing
prodigies of valor with his single arm, and riding from point to point to
see that all was well.

The early resistance of the infidel host was comparatively slight. The
heavy mass of the Christian cavalry, with their leveled lances, swept
through the ranks of the light horsemen, and trampled them down like grass
beneath their feet; but every moment the resistance became more stubborn.

Saladin, knowing the Christians would sooner or later assume the
offensive, had gathered his troops line in line behind the front ranks,
and as the force of the Crusaders' charge abated, so did the number of
foes in their front multiply. Not only this, but upon either side chosen
bands swept down, and ere long the Christians were brought to a stand, and
all were fighting hand to hand with their enemies. The lances were thrown
away now, and with ax and mace each fought for himself.

The Earl of Evesham was one of a group of knights whom King Richard had
that day ordered to keep close to his person, and around this group the
fight raged most furiously.

Saladin, aware of the extreme personal valor and warlike qualities of King
Richard, set the greatest value upon his death or capture, and had ordered
a large number of his best troops to devote their whole attention to
attacking the King of England.

The royal standard carried behind the king was a guide to their onslaught,
and great as was the strength and valor of King Richard, he with
difficulty was able to keep at bay the hosts that swept around him.

Now that the lance had been abandoned for battle-ax, Cuthbert was able to
take an active part in the struggle, his duties consisting mainly in
guarding the rear of his master, and preventing his being overthrown by
any sudden attack on the flank or from behind.

King Richard was bent not only on defending himself from the attacks of
his foes, but on directing the general course of the battle; and from time
to time he burst, with his own trusty knights, through the ring of foes,
and rode from point to point of the field, calling the knights together,
exhorting them to steadiness, and restoring the fight where its fortunes
seemed doubtful. At one time the impetuosity of the king led him into
extreme danger. He had burst through the enemy surrounding him, and these,
by order of their captain, allowed him to pass through their ranks, and
then threw themselves together in his rear, to cut him off from the
knights who rode behind. The maneuver was successful. The rush of horsemen
fairly carried away the Christian knights, and one or two alone were able
to make their way through.

Amid the wild confusion that raged, where each man was fighting for his
own life, and but little view of what was passing could be obtained
through the barred visor, the fact that the king was separated from them
was known to but few. Sir Walter himself was engaged fiercely in a
hand-to-hand fight with four Bedouins who surrounded him, when Cuthbert
shouted:

"The king, Sir Walter! the king! He is cut off and surrounded! For
heaven's sake ride to him. See! the royal standard is down."

With a shout the earl turned, brained one of his foes with a sweep of his
heavy ax, and, followed by Cuthbert, dashed to the assistance of the king.
The weight of his horse and armor cleft through the crowd, and in a brief
space he penetrated to the side of King Richard, who was borne upon by a
host of foes. Just as they reached them a Bedouin who had been struck from
his horse crawled beneath the noble charger of King Richard, and drove his
scimiter deep into its bowels. The animal reared high in its sudden pain,
and then fell on the ground, carrying the king, who was unable to
disengage himself quickly enough.

[Image: WITH A SHOUT THE EARL TURNED, FOLLOWED BY CUTHBERT, AND DASHED TO
THE ASSISTANCE OF THE KING.]

In an instant the Earl of Evesham had leaped from his horse and with his
broad triangular shield extended, sought to cover him from the press of
enemies. Cuthbert imitated his lord, and strove to defend the latter from
attacks from the rear. For a moment or two the sweep of the earl's heavy
ax and Cuthbert's circling sword kept back the foe, but this could not
last. King Richard in vain strove to extricate his leg from beneath his
fallen steed. Cuthbert saw at a glance that the horse still lived, and
with a sudden slash of his sword he struck it on the hind quarter. Goaded
by the pain the noble animal made a last effort to rise, but only to fall
back dead. The momentary action was, however, sufficient for King Richard,
who drew his leg from under it, and with his heavy battle-ax in hand, rose
with a shout, and stood by the side of the earl.

In vain did the Bedouins strive to cut down and overpower the two
champions; in vain did they urge their horses to ride over them. With each
sweep of his ax the king either dismounted a foe or clove in the head of
his steed, and a wall of slain around them testified to the tremendous
power of their arms. Still, even such warriors as these could not long
sustain the conflict. The earl had already received several desperate
wounds, and the king himself was bleeding from some severe gashes with the
keen-edged scimiters. Cuthbert was already down, when a shout of "St.
George!" was heard, and a body of English knights clove through the throng
of Saracens and reached the side of King Richard. Close behind these in a
mass pressed the British footmen with bill and pike, the enemy giving way
foot by foot before their steady discipline.

The king was soon on horseback again, and rallying his troops on, led them
for one more great and final charge upon the enemy.

The effect was irresistible. Appalled by the slaughter which they had
suffered, and by the tremendous strength and energy of the Christian
knights, the Saracens broke and fled; and the last reserves of Saladin
gave way as the king, shouting his war-cry of "God help the holy
sepulcher!" fell upon them. Once, indeed, the battle still seemed
doubtful, for a fresh band of the enemy at that moment arrived and joined
in the fray. The Crusaders were now, however, inspired with such courage
and confidence that they readily obeyed the king's war-cry, gathered in a
firm body, and hurled themselves upon this new foe. Then the Saracens
finally turned and fled, and the Christian victory was complete.

It was one of the features of this war that however thorough the victories
of the Christians, the Saracens very speedily recovered from their
effects. A Christian defeat was crushing and entire; the knights died as
they stood, and defeat meant annihilation. Upon the other hand, the
Saracens and Bedouins, when they felt that their efforts to win the battle
were unsuccessful, felt no shame or humiliation in scattering like sheep.
On their fleet horses and in their light attire they could easily distance
the Christians, who never, indeed, dreamed of pursuing them. The day after
the fight the enemy would collect again under their chiefs, and be as
ready as before to renew their harassing warfare.

On his return from the field the king assembled many of his principal
knights and leaders, and summoned the Earl of Evesham, with the message
that he was to bring his esquire with him. When they reached the tent the
king said:

"My lords, as some of you may be aware, I have this day had a narrow
escape from death. Separated from you in the battle, and attended only by
my standard-bearer, I was surrounded by the Saracens. I should doubtless
have cleft my way through the infidel dogs, but a foul peasant stabbed my
charger from below, and the poor brute fell with me. My standard-bearer
was killed, and in another moment my nephew Arthur would have been your
king, had it not been that my good lord here, attended by this brave lad,
appeared. I have seen a good deal of fighting, but never did I see a
braver stand than they made above my body. The Earl of Evesham, as you all
know, is one of my bravest knights, and to him I can simply say, 'Thanks;
King Richard does not forget a benefit like this.' But such aid as I might
well look for from so stout a knight as the Earl of Evesham I could hardly
have expected on the part of a mere boy like this. It is not the first
time that I have been under a debt of gratitude to him; for it was his
watchfulness and bravery which saved Queen Berengaria from being carried
off by the French in Sicily. I deemed him too young then for the order of
knighthood—although, indeed, bravery has no age; still for a private
benefit, and that performed against allies, in name at least, I did not
wish so far to fly in the face of usage as to make him a knight. I
promised him then, however, that the first time he distinguished himself
against the infidel he should win his spurs. I think that you will agree
with me, my lords, that he has done so. Not only did he stand over me, and
with great bravery defend Sir Walter from attacks from behind, but his
ready wit saved me when even his sword and that of Sir Walter would have
failed to do so. Penned down under poor Robin I was powerless to move
until our young esquire, in an interval of slashing at his assailants,
found time to give a sharp blow together with a shout to Robin. The poor
beast tried to rise, and the movement, short as it was, enabled me to draw
my leg from under him, and then with my mace I was enabled to make a stand
until you arrived at my side. I think, my lords, that you will agree with
me that Cuthbert, the son of Sir William de Lance, is fit for the honor of
knighthood."

A general chorus of approval arose from the assembly, and the king,
bidding Cuthbert kneel before him, drew his sword and laid it across his
shoulders, dubbing him Sir Cuthbert de Lance. When he had risen the great
barons of England pressed round to shake his hand, and Cuthbert, who was a
modest young fellow, felt almost ashamed at the honors which were bestowed
upon him. The usual ceremonies and penances which young knights had to
undergo before admission into the body—and which in those days were
extremely punctilious, and indeed severe, consisting, among other things,
in fasting, in watching the armor at night, in seclusion and religious
services—were omitted when the accolade was bestowed for bravery in
the field.

The king ordered his armorer at once to make for Cuthbert a suit of the
finest armor, and authorized him to carry on his shield a sword raising a
royal crown from the ground, in token of the deed for which the honor of
knighthood had been bestowed upon him.

Upon his return to the earl's camp the news of his new dignity spread at
once among the followers of Sir Walter, and many and hearty were the
cheers that went up from the throats of the Saxon foresters, led by Cnut.
These humble friends were indeed delighted at his success, for they felt
that to him they owed very much; and his kindness of manner and the gayety
of heart which he had shown during the hardships they had undergone since
their start had greatly endeared him to them.

Cuthbert was now to take rank among the knights who followed the banner of
the earl. A tent was erected for him, an esquire assigned to him, and the
lad as he entered his new abode felt almost bewildered at the change which
had taken place in one short day—that he, at the age of sixteen,
should have earned the honor of knighthood, and the approval of the King
of England, expressed before all the great barons of the realm, was indeed
an honor such as he could never have hoped for; and the thought of what
his mother would say should the news reach her in her quiet Saxon home
brought the tears into his eyes. He had not gone through the usual
religious ceremonies, but he knelt in his tent alone, and prayed that he
might be made worthy of the honors bestowed upon him; that he might
fulfill the duties of a Christian knight fearlessly and honorably; that
his sword might never be raised but for the right; that he might devote
himself to the protection of the oppressed, and the honor of God; that his
heart might be kept from evil; and that he might carry through life
unstained his new escutcheon.

If the English had thought that their victory would have gained them
immunity from the Saracen attacks they were speedily undeceived. The host,
indeed, which had barred their way had broken up; but its fragments were
around them, and the harassing attacks began again with a violence and
persistency even greater than before. The Crusaders, indeed, occupied only
the ground upon which they stood. It was death to venture one hundred
yards from the camp unless in a strong body; and the smallest efforts to
bring in food from the country round were instantly met and repelled. Only
in very strong bodies could the knights venture from camp even to forage
for their horses, and the fatigues and sufferings of all were in no way
relieved by the great victory of Azotus.

CHAPTER XIII. — IN THE HANDS OF THE SARACENS.

The English had hoped that after one pitched battle they should be able to
advance upon Jerusalem, but they had reckoned without the climate and
illness.

Although unconquered in the fray, the Christian army was weakened by its
sufferings to such an extent that it was virtually brought to a
standstill. Even King Richard, with all his impetuosity, dared not venture
to cut adrift from the seashore and to march direct upon Jerusalem; that
city was certainly not to be taken without a long siege, and this could
only be undertaken by an army strong enough, not only to carry out so
great a task, but to meet and defeat the armies which Saladin would bring
up to the rescue, and to keep open the line down to Joppa, by which alone
provisions and the engines necessary for the siege could be brought up.
Hence the war resolved itself into a series of expeditions and detached
fights.

The British camp was thoroughly fortified, and thence parties of the
knights sallied out and engaged in conflicts with the Saracens, with
varying success. On several of these expeditions Cuthbert attended the
earl, and behaved with a bravery which showed him well worthy of the
honors which he had received.

Upon one occasion the news reached camp that a party of knights, who had
gone out to guard a number of footmen cutting forage and bringing it into
camp, had been surrounded and had taken refuge in a small town, whose
gates they had battered in when they saw the approach of an overwhelming
host of the enemy. King Richard himself headed a strong force and advanced
to their assistance. Their approach was not seen until within a short
distance of the enemy, upon whom the Crusaders fell with the force of a
thunderbolt, and cleft their way through their lines. After a short pause
in the little town they prepared to again cut their way through, joined by
the party who had there been besieged. The task was now, however, far more
difficult; for the footmen would be unable to keep up with the rapid
charge of the knights, and it was necessary not only to clear the way, but
to keep it open for their exit. King Richard himself and the greater
portion of his knights were to lead the charge; another party were to
follow behind the footmen, who were ordered to advance at the greatest
speed of which they were capable, while their rearguard by charges upon
the enemy kept them at bay. To this latter party Cuthbert was attached.

The Saracens followed their usual tactics, and this time with great
success. Dividing as the king with his knights charged them, they suffered
these to pass through with but slight resistance, and then closed in upon
their track, while another and still more numerous body fell upon the
footmen and their guard. Again and again did the knights charge through
the ranks of the Moslems, while the billmen stoutly kept together and
resisted the onslaughts of the enemy's cavalry. In spite of their bravery,
however, the storm of arrows shot by the desert horsemen thinned their
ranks with terrible rapidity. Charging up to the very point of the spears,
these wild horsemen fired their arrows into the faces of their foe, and
although numbers of them fell beneath the more formidable missiles sent by
the English archers, their numbers were so overwhelming that the little
band melted away. The small party of knights, too, were rapidly thinned,
although performing prodigious deeds of valor. The Saracens when
dismounted or wounded still fought on foot, their object being always to
stab or hough the horses, and so dismount the riders. King Richard and his
force, though making the most desperate efforts to return to the
assistance of the rearguard, were baffled by the sturdy resistance of the
Saracens, and the position of those in the rear was fast becoming
hopeless.

One by one the gallant little band of knights fell, and a sea of turbans
closed over the fluttering plumes. Cuthbert, after defending himself with
extreme bravery for a long time, was at last separated from the small
remainder of his comrades by a rush of the enemy's horse, and when
fighting desperately he received a heavy blow at the back of the head from
the mace of a huge Nubian soldier, and fell senseless to the ground.

When he recovered his consciousness the first impression upon his mind was
the stillness which had succeeded to the din of battle; the shouts and
war-cries of the Crusaders, the wild yells of the Moslems were hushed, and
in their place was a quiet chatter in many unknown tongues, and the sound
of laughter and feasting. Raising his head and looking round, Cuthbert saw
that he and some ten of his comrades were lying together in the midst of a
Saracen camp, and that he was a prisoner to the infidels. The sun streamed
down with tremendous force upon them; there was no shelter; and though all
were wounded and parched with thirst, the Saracens of whom they besought
water, pointing to their mouths and making signs of their extreme thirst,
laughed in their faces, and signified by a gesture that it was scarcely
worth the trouble to drink when they were likely so soon to be put to
death.

It was late in the afternoon before any change was manifest. Then Cuthbert
observed a stir in the camp; the men ran to their horses, leaped on their
backs, and with wild cries of "Welcome!" started off at full speed.
Evidently some personage was about to arrive, and the fate of the
prisoners would be solved. A few words were from time to time exchanged
between these, each urging the other to keep up his heart and defy the
infidel. One or two had succumbed to their wounds during the afternoon,
and only six were able to stand erect when summoned to do so by some of
their guard, who made signs to them that a great personage was coming.
Soon the shouts of the horsemen and other sounds announced that the great
chief was near at hand, and the captives gathered from the swelling shouts
of the Arabs that the new arrival was Sultan Suleiman—or Saladin,
for he was called by both names—surrounded by a bodyguard of
splendidly-dressed attendants. The emir, who was himself plainly attired,
reined up his horse in front of the captives.

"You are English," he said, in the lingua-franca, which was the
medium of communication between the Eastern and Western peoples in those
days. "You are brave warriors, and I hear that before you were taken you
slaughtered numbers of my people. They did wrong to capture you and bring
you here to be killed. Your cruel king gives no mercy to those who fall
into his hands. You must not expect it here, you who without a pretense of
right invade my country, slaughter my people, and defeat my armies. The
murder of the prisoners of Acre has closed my heart to all mercy. There,
your king put ten thousand prisoners to death in cold blood, a month after
the capture of the place, because the money at which he had placed their
ransom had not arrived. We Arabs do not carry huge masses of gold about
with us; and although I could have had it brought from Egypt, I did not
think that so brave a monarch as Richard of England could have committed
so cruel an action in cold blood. When we are fresh from battle, and our
wounds are warm, and our hearts are full of rage and fury, we kill our
prisoners; but to do so weeks after a battle is contrary to the laws alike
of your religion and of ours. However, it is King Richard who has sealed
your doom, not I. You are knights, and I do not insult you with the offer
of turning from your religion and joining me. Should one of you wish to
save his life on these conditions, I will, however, promise him a place of
position and authority among us."

None of the knights moved to accept the offer, but each, as the eye of the
emir ran along the line, answered with an imprecation of contempt and
hatred. Saladin waved his hand, and one by one the captives were led
aside, walking as proudly to their doom as if they had been going to a
feast. Each wrung the hand of the one next to him as he turned, and then
without a word followed his captors. There was a dull sound heard, and one
by one the heads of the knights rolled in the sand.

Cuthbert happened to be last in the line, and as the executioners laid
hands upon him and removed his helmet, the eye of the sultan fell upon
him, and he almost started at perceiving the extreme youth of his captive.
He held his hand aloft to arrest the movements of the executioners, and
signaled for Cuthbert to be brought before him again.

"You are but a boy," he said. "All the knights who have hitherto fallen
into my hands have been men of strength and power; how is it that I see a
mere youth among their ranks, and wearing the golden spurs of knighthood?"

"King Richard himself made me a knight," Cuthbert said proudly, "after
having stood across him when his steed had been foully stabbed at the
battle of Azotus, and the whole Moslem host were around him."

"Ah!" said the emir, "were you one of the two who, as I have heard,
defended the king for some time against all assaults? It were hard indeed
to kill so brave a youth. I doubt me not that at present you are as firmly
determined to die a Christian knight as those who have gone before you?
But time may change you. At any rate for the present your doom is
postponed."

He turned to a gorgeously dressed noble next to him, and said:

"Your brother, Ben Abin, is Governor of Jerusalem, and the gardens of the
palace are fair. Take this youth to him as a present, and set him to work
in his gardens. His life I have spared, in all else Ben Abin will be his
master."

Cuthbert heard without emotion the words which changed his fate from death
to slavery. Many, he knew, who were captured in these wars were carried
away as slaves to different parts of Asia, and it did not seem to him that
the change was in any way a boon. However, life is dear, and it was but
natural that a thought should leap into his heart that soon either the
Crusaders might force a way into Jerusalem and there rescue him, or that
he himself might in some way escape.

The sultan having thus concluded the subject, turned away, and galloped
off surrounded by his bodyguard.

Those who had captured the Christians now stripped off the armor of
Cuthbert; then he was mounted on a barebacked steed, and with four
Bedouins, with their long lances, riding beside him, started for
Jerusalem. After a day of long and rapid riding the Arabs stopped suddenly
on the crest of a hill, with a shout of joy, and throwing themselves from
their horses bent with their foreheads to the earth at the sight of their
holy city.

Cuthbert, as he gazed at the stately walls of Jerusalem, and the noble
buildings within, felt bitterly that it was not thus that he had hoped to
see the holy city. He had dreamed of arriving before it with his comrades,
proud and delighted at their success so far, and confident in their power
soon to wrest the town before them from the hands of the Moslems. Instead
of this he was a slave—a slave to the infidel, perhaps never more to
see a white face, save that of some other unfortunate like himself.

Even now in its fallen state no city is so impressive at first sight as
Jerusalem; the walls, magnificent in height and strength, and picturesque
in their deep embattlements, rising on the edge of a deep valley. Every
building has its name and history. Here is the church built by the first
Crusaders; there the mighty mosque of Suleiman on the site of the Temple;
far away on a projecting ridge the great building known as the Tomb of
Moses; on the right beyond the houses rise the towers on the Roman walls;
the Pool of Bethsaida lies in the hollow; in the center are the cupolas of
the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Among all the fairest cities of the
world, there are none which can compare in stately beauty with Jerusalem.
Doubtless it was a fairer city in those days, for long centuries of
Turkish possession have reduced many of the former stately palaces to
ruins. Then, as now, the banner of the Prophet floated over the high
places; but whereas at present the population is poor and squalid, the
city in those days contained a far larger number of inhabitants,
irrespective of the great garrison collected for its defense.

The place from which Cuthbert had his first sight of Jerusalem is that
from which the best view is to be obtained—the crest of the Mount of
Olives. After a minute or two spent in looking at the city the Arabs with
a shout continued their way down into the valley. Crossing this they
ascended the steep road to the walls, brandishing their lances and giving
yells of triumph; then riding two upon each side of their prisoner, to
protect him from any fanatic who might lay a hand upon him, they passed
under the gate known as the Gate of Suleiman into the city.

The populace thronged the streets; and the news brought by the horsemen
that a considerable portion of the Christian host had been defeated and
slain passed from mouth to mouth, and was received with yells of
exultation. Execrations were heaped upon Cuthbert, who rode along with an
air as quiet and composed as if he were the center of an ovation instead
of that of an outburst of hatred.

He would, indeed, speedily have been torn from his guards, had not these
shouted that he was placed in their hands by Saladin himself for conduct
to the governor. As the emir was as sharp and as ruthless with his own
people as with the prisoners who fell into his hands, the name acted as a
talisman, and Cuthbert and his escort rode forward without molestation
until they reached the entrance to the palace.

Dismounting, Cuthbert was now led before the governor himself, a stern and
grave-looking man, sitting cross-legged on a divan surrounded by officers
and attendants. He heard in silence the account given him by the escort,
bowed his head at the commands of Suleiman, and, without addressing a word
to Cuthbert, indicated to two attendants that he was to be removed into
the interior of the house. Here the young knight was led to a small
dungeon-like room; bread and dates with a cruse of water, were placed
before him; the door was then closed and locked without, and he found
himself alone with his thoughts.

No one came near him that night, and he slept as soundly as he would have
done in his tent in the midst of the Christian host. He was resolved to
give no cause for ill-treatment or complaint to his captors, to work as
willingly, as cheerfully, as was in his power, and to seize the first
opportunity to make his escape, regardless of any risk of his life which
he might incur in doing so.

In the morning the door opened, and a black slave led him into the garden,
which was surrounded by a very high and lofty wall. It was large, and full
of trees and flowers, and far more beautiful than any garden that Cuthbert
had seen in his native land. There were various other slaves at work; and
an Arab, who appeared to be the head of the gardeners, at once appointed
to Cuthbert the work assigned to him. A guard of Arabs with bow and spear
watched the doings of the slaves.

With one glance round, Cuthbert was assured that escape from this garden,
at least, was not to be thought of, and that for the present patience
alone was possible. Dismissing all ideas of that kind from his mind, he
set to work with a steady attention to his task. He was very fond of
flowers, and soon he became so absorbed in his work as almost to forget
that he was a slave. It was not laborious—digging, planting, pruning
and training the flowers, and giving them copious draughts of water from a
large fountain in the center of the garden.

The slaves were not permitted to exchange a word with each other. At the
end of the day's work they were marched off to separate chambers, or, as
they might be called, dungeons. Their food consisted of water, dried
dates, and bread, and they had little to complain of in this respect;
indeed, the slaves in the gardens of the governor's house at Jerusalem
enjoyed an exceptionally favored existence. The governor himself was
absorbed in the cares of the city. The head gardener happened to be a man
of unusual humanity, and it was really in his hands that the comfort of
the prisoners was placed.

Sometimes in the course of the day veiled ladies would issue in groups
from the palace, attended by black slaves with drawn scimiters. They
passed without unveiling across the point where the slaves were at work,
and all were forbidden on pain of death to look up, or even to approach
the konak or pavilion, where the ladies threw aside their veils, and
enjoyed the scent and sight of the flowers, the splash of murmuring
waters, and the strains of music touched by skillful hands.

Although Cuthbert wondered in his heart what these strange wrapped-up
figures might look like when the veils were thrown back, he certainly did
not care enough about the matter to run any risk of drawing the anger of
his guards upon himself by raising his eyes toward them; nor did he ever
glance up at the palace, which was also interdicted to the slaves. From
the lattice casements during the day the strains of music and merry
laughter often came down to the captives; but this, if anything, only
added to the bitterness of their position, by reminding them that they
were shut off for life from ever hearing the laughter of the loved ones
they had left behind.

For upward of a month Cuthbert remained steadily at work, and during that
time no possible plan of escape had occurred to him, and he had indeed
resigned himself to wait, either until, as he hoped, the city would be
taken by the Christians, or until he himself might be removed from his
present post and sent into the country, where, although his lot would
doubtless be far harder, some chance of escape might open before him.

One night, long after slumber had fallen upon the city, Cuthbert was
startled by hearing his door open. Rising to his feet, he saw a black
slave, and an old woman beside him. The latter spoke first in the lingua-franca:

"My mistress, the wife of the governor, has sent me to ask your story. How
is it that, although but a youth, you are already a knight? How is it that
you come to be a slave to our people? The sultan himself sent you to her
lord. She would fain hear through me how it has happened. She is the
kindest of ladies, and the sight of your youth has touched her heart."

With thanks to the unknown lady who had felt an interest in him, Cuthbert
briefly related the events which had led to his captivity. The old woman
placed on the ground a basket containing some choice fruit and white
bread, and then departed with the negro as quietly as she had come,
leaving Cuthbert greatly pleased at what had taken place.

"Doubtless," he said to himself, "I shall hear again; and it may be that
through the pity of this lady some means of escape may open to me."

Although for some little time no such prospect appeared, yet the visits of
the old woman, which were frequently repeated, were of interest to him,
and seemed to form a link between him and the world.

After coming regularly every night for a week she bade the young knight
follow her, holding her finger to her lips in sign that caution must be
observed. Passing through several passages, he was at length led into a
room where a lady of some forty years of age, surrounded by several slaves
and younger women, was sitting. Cuthbert felt no scruple in making a deep
obeisance to her; the respect shown to women in the days of chivalry was
very great, and Cuthbert, in bowing almost to the ground before the lady
who was really his mistress, did not feel that he was humiliating himself.

"Young slave," she said, "your story has interested us. We have frequently
watched from the windows, and have seen how willingly and patiently you
have worked; and it seems strange indeed that one so young should have
performed such feats of bravery as to win the honor of knighthood from the
hand of that greatest of warriors, Richard of England. What is it, we
would fain learn from your lips, that stirs up the heart of the Christian
world that they should launch their armies against us, who wish but to be
left alone, and who have no grudge against them? This city is as holy to
us as it is to you; and as we live around it, and all the country for
thousands of miles is ours, is it likely that we should allow it to be
wrested from us by strangers from a distance?"

This was spoken in some Eastern language of which Cuthbert understood no
word, but its purport was translated to him by the old woman who had
hitherto acted as his mistress' messenger.

Cuthbert reported the circumstances of the fight at Azotus, and endeavored
to explain the feelings which had given rise to the Crusade. He then, at
the orders of the lady, related the incidents of his voyage out, and
something of his life at home, which was more interesting even than the
tale of his adventures to his hearers, as to them the home-life of these
fierce Christian warriors was entirely unknown.

After an audience of two hours Cuthbert was conducted back to his cell,
his mistress assuring him of her good-will, and promising to do all in her
power to make his captivity as light as possible.

CHAPTER XIV. — AN EFFORT FOR FREEDOM.

Two or three nights afterward the old woman again came to Cuthbert, and
asked him, in her mistress' name, if in any way he could suggest a method
of lightening his captivity, as his extreme youth and bravery of demeanor
had greatly pleased her.

Cuthbert replied that nothing but freedom could satisfy his longings; that
he was comfortable and not over-worked, but that he pined to be back again
with his friends.

The old woman brought him on the following night a message to the effect
that his mistress would willingly grant him his liberty, but as he was
sent to her husband by the sultan, it would be impossible to free him
openly.

"From what she said," the old woman continued, "if you could see some plan
of making your escape, she would in no way throw difficulties in your
path; but it must not be known that the harem in any way connived at your
escape, for my lord's wrath would be terrible, and he is not a man to be
trifled with."

Looking round at the high walls that surrounded the garden, Cuthbert said
that he could think of no plan whatever for escaping from such a place;
that he had often thought it over, but that it appeared to him to be
hopeless. Even should he manage to scale these walls, he would only find
himself in the town beyond, and his escape from that would be altogether
hopeless. "Only," he said, "if I were transported to some country palace
of the governor could I ever hope to make my escape." The next night the
messenger brought him the news that his mistress was disposed to favor his
escape in the way he had pointed out, and that she would in two or three
days ask the governor for permission to pay a visit to their palace beyond
the walls, and that with her she would take a number of gardeners—among
them Cuthbert—to beautify the place. Cuthbert returned the most
lively and hearty thanks to his patroness for her kind intentions, and
hope began to rise rapidly in his heart.

It is probable, however, that the black guards of the harem heard
something of the intentions of their mistress, and that they feared the
anger of the governor should Cuthbert make his escape, and should it be
discovered that this was the result of her connivance. Either through this
or through some other source the governor obtained an inkling that the
white slave sent by the sultan was receiving unusual kindness from the
ladies of the harem.

Two nights after Cuthbert had begun to entertain bright hopes of his
liberty, the door of the cell was softly opened. He was seized by four
slaves, gagged, tied hand and foot, covered with a thick burnous, and
carried out from his cell. By the sound of their feet he heard that they
were passing into the open air, and guessed that he was being carried
through the garden; then a door opened and was closed after them; he was
flung across a horse like a bale of goods, a rope or two were placed
around him to keep him in that position, and then he felt the animal put
in motion, and heard by the trampling of feet that a considerable number
of horsemen were around him. For some time they passed over the rough,
uneven streets of the city; then there was a pause and exchange of
watchword and countersign, a creaking of doors, and a lowering of a
drawbridge, and the party issued out into the open country. Not for very
long did they continue their way; a halt was called, and Cuthbert was
taken off his horse.

On looking round, he found that he was in the middle of a considerable
group of men. Those who had brought him were a party of the governor's
guards; but he was now delivered over to a large band of Arabs, all of
whom were mounted on camels. One of these creatures he was ordered to
mount, the bonds being loosed from his arms and feet. An Arab driver, with
lance, bows, and arrows, and other weapons, took his seat on the neck of
the animal, and then with scarcely a word the caravan marched off with
noiseless step, and with their faces turned southward.

It seemed to Cuthbert almost as a dream. A few hours before he had been
exalted with the hope of freedom; now he was being taken away to a slavery
which would probably end but with his life. Although he could not
understand any of his captors, the repetition of a name led him to believe
that he was being sent to Egypt as a present to some man in high authority
there; and he doubted not that the Governor of Jerusalem, fearing that he
might escape, and dreading the wrath of the sultan should he do so, had
determined to transfer the troublesome captive to a more secure position
and to safer hands.

For three days the journey continued; they had now left the fertile
lowlands of Palestine, and their faces were turned west. They were
entering upon that sandy waste which stretches between the southern corner
of Palestine and the land of Egypt, a distance which can be traveled by
camels in three days, but which occupied the children of Israel forty
years.

At first the watch had been very sharply kept over the captive; but now
that they had entered the desert the Arabs appeared to consider that there
was no chance of an attempt to escape. Cuthbert had in every way
endeavored to ingratiate himself with his guard. He had most willingly
obeyed their smallest orders, had shown himself pleased and grateful for
the dates which formed the staple of their repasts. He had assumed so
innocent and quiet an appearance that the Arabs had marveled much among
themselves, and had concluded that there must have been some mistake in
the assertion of the governor's guard who had handed the prisoner over to
them, that he was one of the terrible knights of King Richard's army.

Cuthbert's heart had not fallen for a moment. He knew well that if he once
reached Cairo all hope of escape was at an end; and it was before reaching
that point that he determined if possible to make an effort for freedom.
He had noticed particularly the camel which appeared to be the fleetest of
the band; it was of lighter build than the rest, and it was with
difficulty that its rider had compelled it to accommodate itself to the
pace of the others. It was clear from the pains he took with it, by the
constant patting and the care bestowed upon its watering and feeding, that
its rider was extremely proud of it; and Cuthbert concluded that if an
escape was to be made, this was the animal on which he must accomplish it.

Upon arriving at the end of each day's journey the camels were allowed to
browse at will, a short cord being tied between one of their hind and one
of their fore-feet. The Arabs then set to work to collect sticks and to
make a fire—not for cooking, for their only food was dried dates and
some black bread, which they brought with them—but for warmth, as
the nights were damp and somewhat chilly, as they sat round the fire,
talked, and told stories. Before finally going off to rest each went out
into the bushes and brought in his camel; these were then arranged in a
circle around the Arabs, one of the latter being mounted as sentry to
prevent any sudden surprise—not indeed that they had the smallest
fear of the Christians, who were far distant; but then, as now, the Arabs
of the desert were a plundering race, and were ever ready to drive off
each other's camels or horses. Cuthbert determined that if flight was
possible, it must be undertaken during the interval after the arrival at
the halting-place and before the bringing in of the camels. Therefore,
each day upon the halt he had pretended great fatigue from the rough
motion of the camel, and had, after hastily eating the dates handed to
him, thrown himself down, covered himself with his Arab robe, and feigned
instant sleep. Thus they had in the three days from starting come to look
upon his presence sleeping close to them as a matter of course.

The second day after entering the desert, however, Cuthbert threw himself
down by the side of an uprooted shrub of small size and about his own
length. He covered himself as usual with his long, dark-blue robe, and
pretended to go to sleep. He kept his eyes, however, on the alert through
an aperture beneath his cloth, and observed particularly the direction in
which the camel upon which he had set his mind wandered into the bushes.
The darkness came on a very few minutes after they had halted, and when
the Arabs had once settled round their fire Cuthbert very quietly shifted
the robe from himself to the long low bush near him, and then crawled
stealthily off into the darkness.

He had no fear of his footfall being heard upon the soft sand, and was
soon on his feet, looking for the camels. He was not long in finding them,
or in picking out the one which he had selected. The bushes were
succulent, and close to the camping-ground; indeed, it was for this that
the halting-places were always chosen. It was not so easy, however, to
climb into the high wooden saddle, and Cuthbert tried several times in
vain. Then he repeated in a sharp tone the words which he had heard the
Arabs use to order their camels to kneel, striking the animal at the same
moment behind the fore-legs with a small switch. The camel immediately
obeyed the order to which he was accustomed, and knelt down, making,
however, as he did so, the angry grumble which those creatures appear to
consider it indispensable to raise when ordered to do anything.
Fortunately this noise is so frequently made, and the camels are so given
to quarrel among themselves that although in the still air it might have
been heard by the Arabs sitting a short hundred yards away, it attracted
no notice, and Cuthbert, climbing into the seat, shook the cord that
served as a rein, and the animal, rising, set off at a smooth, steady
swing in the direction in which his head was turned—that from which
they had that day arrived.

Once fairly away from the camping-ground, Cuthbert, with blows of his
stick, increased the speed of the camel to a long shuffling trot, and the
fire in the distance soon faded out into the darkness.

Cuthbert trusted to the stars as guides. He was not unarmed, for as he
crawled away from his resting-place he had picked up one of the Arabs'
spears and bow and arrows, and a large bag of dates from the spot where
they had been placed when their owner dismounted. He was already clad in
Eastern garb, and was so sunburnt and tanned that he had no fear whatever
of any one at a distance detecting that he was a white man.

Steering his course by the stars, he rode all night without stopping. He
doubted not that he would have at least three hours' start, for the Arabs
were sure to have sat that time round the fires before going out to bring
in their camels. Even then they would suppose for some time that the
animal upon which he was seated had strayed, and no pursuit would be
attempted until it was discovered that he himself had made his escape,
which might not be for a long time, as the Arabs would not think of
looking under the cloth to see if he were there. He hoped, therefore, that
he would reach the cultivated land long before he was overtaken. He had
little fear but that he should then be able to journey onward without
attracting attention.

A solitary Arab when traveling rides straight, and his communications to
those whom he meets are confined to the set form of two or three words,
"May Allah protect you!" the regular greeting of Moslems when they meet.

When morning broke Cuthbert, even when ascending to the top of a somewhat
lofty mound, could see no signs of pursuers in the vast stretch of desert
behind him. In front the ground was already becoming dotted here and there
with vegetation, and he doubted not that after a few hours' ride he should
be fairly in the confines of cultivated country. He gave his camel a meal
of dates, and having eaten some himself, again set the creature in motion.
These camels, especially those of good breed, will go on for three or four
days with scarcely a halt; and there was no fear of that on which he rode
breaking down from fatigue, for the journeys hitherto had been
comparatively short.

By midday Cuthbert had reached the cultivated lands of Palestine. Here and
there over the plain villages were dotted, and parties of men and camels
were to be seen. Cuthbert now arranged his robes carefully in Arab
fashion, slung the long spear across his shoulders, and went boldly
forward at a slinging trot, having little fear that a passer-by would have
any suspicion whatever as to his being other than an Arab bent upon some
rapid journey. He soon found that his hopes were justified. Several times
he came upon parties of men whom he passed with the salute, and who
scarcely raised their eyes as he trotted by them. The plain was an open
one, and though cultivated here and there, there were large tracts lying
unworked. There was no occasion therefore to keep to the road; so riding
across country, and avoiding the villages as far as possible, stopping
only at a stream to give his camel water, Cuthbert rode without ceasing
until nightfall. Then he halted his camel near a wood, turned it in to
feed on the young foliage, and wrapping himself in his burnous was soon
asleep, for he ached from head to foot with the jolting motion which had
now been continued for so many hours without an interval. He had little
fear of being overtaken by the party he had left behind; they would, he
was convinced, be many hours behind, and it was extremely improbable that
they would hit upon the exact line which he had followed, so that even if
they succeeded in coming up to him, they would probably pass him a few
miles either to the right or left.

So fatigued was he with his long journey that the next day he slept until
after the sun had risen. He was awakened suddenly by being seized by a
party of Arabs, who, roughly shaking him, questioned him as to where he
came from, and what he was doing there. He saw at a glance that they were
not with the party from which he had escaped, and he pointed to his lips
to make signs that he was dumb. The Arabs evidently suspected that
something was wrong. They examined the camel, and then the person of their
captive. The whiteness of his skin at once showed them that he was a Frank
in disguise, and without more ado or questioning, they tied him hand and
foot, flung him across the camel, and, mounting their own animals, rode
rapidly away.

From the position of the sun Cuthbert saw that they were making their
course nearly due east, and therefore that it could not be their intention
to take him to Jerusalem, which was to the north of the line they were
following. A long day's journey, which to Cuthbert seemed interminable,
found them on the low spit of sand which runs along by the side of the
Dead Sea. Behind, lofty rocks rose almost precipitously, but through a
cleft in these the Arabs had made their way. Cuthbert saw at once that
they belonged to some desert tribe over whom the authority of Suleiman was
but nominal. When summoned for any great effort, these children of the
desert would rally to his armies and fight for a short time; but at the
first disaster, or whenever they became tired of the discipline and
regularity of the army, they would mount their camels and return to the
desert, generally managing on the way to abstract from the farms of those
on their route either a horse, cattle, or some other objects which would
pay them for the labors they had undergone.

They were now near the confines of their own country, and apparently had
no fear whatever of pursuit. They soon gathered some of the dead wood cast
on the shores of the sea, and with these a fire was speedily lighted, and
an earthenware pot was taken down from among their baggage: it was filled
with water from a skin, and then grain having been placed in it, it was
put among the wood ashes. Cuthbert, who was weary and aching in every limb
from the position in which he had been placed on the camel, asked them by
signs for permission to bathe in the lake. This was given principally
apparently from curiosity, for but very few Arabs were able to swim;
indeed, as a people they object so utterly to water that the idea of any
one bathing for his amusement was to them a matter of ridicule.

Cuthbert, who had never heard of the properties of the Dead Sea, was
perfectly astonished upon entering the water to find that instead of
wading in it up to the neck before starting to swim, as he was accustomed
to do at home, the water soon after he got waist-deep took him off his
feet, and a cry of astonishment burst from him as he found himself on
rather than in the fluid. The position was so strange and unnatural that
with a cry of alarm he scrambled over on to his feet, and made the best of
his way to shore, the Arabs indulging in shouts of laughter at his
astonishment and alarm. Cuthbert was utterly unable to account for the
strange sensations he had experienced; he perceived that the water was
horribly salt, and that which had got into his mouth almost choked him. He
was, however, unaware that saltness adds to the weight of water, and so to
the buoyancy of objects cast into it. The saltness of the fluid he was
moreover painfully conscious of by the smarting of the places on his
wrists and ankles where the cords had been bound that fastened him to the
camel. Goaded, however, by the laughter of the Arabs, he determined once
more to try the experiment of entering this strange sheet of water, which
from some unaccountable cause appeared to him to refuse to allow anybody
to sink in it. This time he swam about for some time, and felt a little
refreshed. When he returned to the shore he soon re-attired himself in his
Bedouin dress, and seated himself a little distance from his captors, who
were now engaged in discussing the materials prepared by themselves. They
made signs to Cuthbert that he might partake of their leavings, for which
he was not a little grateful, for he felt utterly exhausted and worn out
with his cruel ride and prolonged fasting.

The Arabs soon wrapped themselves in their burnouses, and feeling
confident that their captive would not attempt to escape from them in a
place where subsistence would be impossible, paid no further attention to
him beyond motioning to him to lie down at their side.

Cuthbert, however, determined to make another effort to escape; for
although he was utterly ignorant of the place in which he found himself,
or of the way back, he thought that anything would be better than to be
carried into helpless slavery into the savage country beyond the Jordan.
An hour, therefore, after his captors were asleep he stole to his feet,
and fearing to arouse them by exciting the wrath of one of the camels by
attempting to mount him, he struck up into the hills on foot. All night he
wandered, and in the morning found himself at the edge of a strange
precipice falling abruptly down to a river, which, some fifty feet wide,
ran at its foot. Upon the opposite side the bank rose with equal rapidity,
and to Cuthbert's astonishment he saw that the cliffs were honeycombed by
caves.

Keeping along the edge for a considerable distance, he came to a spot
where it was passable, and made his way down to the river bank. Here he
indulged in a long drink of fresh water, and then began to examine the
caves which perforated the rocks. These caves Cuthbert knew had formerly
been the abode of hermits. It was supposed to be an essentially sacred
locality, and between the third and fourth centuries of Christianity some
twenty thousand monks had lived solitary lives on the banks of that river.
Far away he saw the ruins of a great monastery, called Mar Saba, which had
for a long time been the abode of a religious community, and which at the
present day is still tenanted by a body of monks. Cuthbert made up his
mind at once to take refuge in these caves. He speedily picked out one
some fifty feet up the face of the rock, and approachable only with the
greatest difficulty and by a sure foot. First he made the ascent to
discover the size of the grotto, and found that although the entrance was
but four feet high and two feet wide, it opened into an area of
considerable dimensions. Far in the corner, when his eyes became
accustomed to the light, he discovered a circle of ashes, and his
conjectures that these caves had been the abode of men were therefore
verified. He again descended, and collected a large bundle of grass and
rushes for his bed. He discovered growing among the rocks many edible
plants, whose seeds were probably sown there centuries before, and
gathering some of these he made his way back to the cavern. The grass
furnished him with an excellent bed, and he was soon asleep.

CHAPTER XV. — A HERMIT'S TALE.

The next day he discovered on his excursions plenty of eatable berries on
the bushes; and now that he had no longer fear of hunger he resolved to
stay for some little time, until his wounds, which had festered badly, had
recovered, before making an attempt to rejoin the Christian army.

One day when employed in gathering berries he was surprised by meeting a
wild-looking figure, who appeared suddenly from one of the caves. It was
that of a very old man, with an extremely long white beard flowing to his
waist; his hair, which was utterly unkempt, fell to the same point. He was
thin to an extraordinary extent, and Cuthbert wondered how a man could
have been reduced to such a state of starvation, with so plentiful a
supply of fruit and berries at hand.

The old man looked at Cuthbert attentively, and then made the sign of the
cross. Cuthbert gave a cry of joy, and repeated the sign. The old man at
once came down from his cavern, and looked at him with surprise and
astonishment, and then addressed him in the French language.

"Are you a Christian truly; and if so, whence do you come?"

Cuthbert at once explained that he had been taken prisoner when with King
Richard's army, and had effected his escape. He also told the old man that
he had been remaining for the last four days in a cave higher up the
stream. The hermit—for he was one—beckoned him to follow him,
and Cuthbert found himself in a cave precisely similar to that which he
himself inhabited. There were no signs of comfort of any kind; a bed-place
made of great stones stood in one corner, and Cuthbert, remembering the
comforts of his own grassy couch, shuddered at the thought of the intense
discomfort of such a sleeping-place. In another corner was an altar, upon
which stood a rough crucifix, before which the hermit knelt at once in
prayer, Cuthbert following his example. Rising again, the hermit motioned
to him to sit down, and then began a conversation with him.

It was so long since the hermit had spoken to any living being that he had
almost lost the use of his tongue, and his sentences were slow and
ill-formed. However, Cuthbert was able to understand him, and he to gather
the drift of what Cuthbert told him. The old man then showed him that by
touching a stone in the corner of his cave the apparently solid rock
opened, and revealed an entrance into an inner cave, which was lit by a
ray of light which penetrated from above.

"This," he said, "was made centuries ago, and was intended as a refuge
from the persecutors of that day. The caves were then almost all inhabited
by hermits, and although many recked not of their lives, and were quite
ready to meet death through the knife of the infidel, others clung to
existence, and preferred to pass many years of penance on earth for the
sake of atoning for their sins before called upon to appear before their
Maker. If you are pursued it will be safer for you to take up your abode
here. I am known to all the inhabitants of this country, who look upon me
as mad, and respect me accordingly. None ever interfere with me, or with
the two or three other hermits, the remains of what was once almost an
army, who now alone survive. I can offer you no hospitality beyond that of
a refuge; but there is water in the river below, fruits and berries in
abundance on the shrubs. What would you have more?"

Cuthbert accepted the invitation with thanks; for he thought that even at
the worst the presence of this holy man would be a protection to him from
any Arabs who might discover him.

For three or four days he resided with the hermit, who, although he
stretched his long lean body upon the hard stones of his bed, and passed
many hours of the night kneeling on the stone floor in front of his altar,
yet had no objection to Cuthbert making himself as comfortable as he could
under the circumstances.

At the end of the fourth day Cuthbert asked him how long he had been
there, and how he came to take up his abode in so desolate and fearsome a
place. The hermit was silent for a time, and then said:

"It is long indeed since my thoughts have gone back to the day when I was
of the world. I know not whether it would not be a sin to recall them; but
I will think the matter over to-night, and if it appears to me that you
may derive good from my narrative, I will relate it to you to-morrow."

The next day Cuthbert did not renew the request, leaving it to the hermit
to speak should he think fit. It was not until the evening that he alluded
to the subject; and then taking his seat on a bank near the edge of the
river, he motioned to Cuthbert to sit beside him, and began:

"My father was a peer of France, and I was brought up at the court.
Although it may seem strange to you, looking upon this withered frame,
sixty-five years back I was as bold and comely a knight as rode in the
train of the king, for I am now past ninety, and for sixty years I have
resided here. I was a favorite of the king's, and he loaded me with wealth
and honor. He, too, was young, and I joined with him in the mad carousals
and feastings of the court. My father resided for the most part at one of
his castles in the country, and I, an only son, was left much to myself. I
need not tell you that I was as wild and as wicked as all those around me;
that I thought little of God, and feared neither Him nor man.

"It chanced that one of the nobles—I need not mention his name—whose
castle lay in the same province as that of my father, had a lovely
daughter, who, being an only child, would be his heiress. She was
considered one of the best matches in France, and reports of her exceeding
beauty had reached the court. Although my allowance from my father, and
from the estates which the king had given me personally, should have been
more than enough for my utmost wants, gambling and riotous living
swallowed up my revenue faster than it came in, and I was constantly
harassed by debt.

"Talking one night at supper with a number of bold companions as to the
means we should take for restoring our wasted fortunes, some said in jest
that the best plan would be for one of us to marry the beauty of Dauphiny.
I at once said that I would be the man to do it; the idea was a wild one,
and a roar of laughter greeted my words. Her father was known to be a
stern and rigid man, and it was certain that he would not consent to give
his daughter to a spendthrift young noble like myself. When the laughter
had subsided I repeated my intention gravely, and offered to wager large
sums with all around the table that I would succeed.

"On the morrow I packed up a few of my belongings, put in my valise the
dress of a wandering troubadour, and taking with me only a trusty servant,
started for Dauphiny. It would be tedious to tell you the means I resorted
to to obtain the affections of the heiress. I had been well instructed in
music and could play on the lute, and knew by heart large numbers of
ballads, and could myself, in case of necessity, string verses together
with tolerable ease. As a troubadour I arrived at the castle gate, and
craved permission to enter to amuse its occupants. Troubadours then, as
now, were in high esteem in the south, and I was at once made a welcome
guest.

"Days passed, and weeks; still I lingered at the castle, my heart being
now as much interested as my pride in the wager which I had undertaken.
Suffice it to say that my songs, and perhaps my appearance—for I
cannot be accused of vanity now in saying nature had been bountiful to me—won
my way to her heart. Troubadours were licensed folk, and even in her
father's presence there was naught unseemly in my singing songs of love.
While he took them as the mere compliments of a troubadour, the lady, I
saw, read them as serious effusions of my heart.

"It was only occasionally that we met alone; but ere long she confessed
that she loved me. Without telling her my real name, I disclosed to her
that I was of her own rank and that I had entered upon the disguise I wore
in order to win her love. She was romantic, and was flattered by my
devotion. I owned to her that hitherto I had been wild and reckless; and
she told me at once that her father destined her for the son of an old
friend of his, to whom it appeared she had been affianced while still a
baby. She was positive that nothing would move her father. For the man she
was to marry she entertained no kind of affection, and indeed had never
seen him, as she had been brought up in a convent to the age of fifteen;
and just before she had returned thence he had gone to finish his
education at Padua.

"She trembled when I proposed flight; but I assured her that I was certain
of the protection of the king, and that he would, I was sure, when the
marriage was once celebrated, use his influence with her father to obtain
his forgiveness.

"The preparations for her flight were not long in making. I purchased a
fleet horse in addition to my own, and ordered my servant to bring it to a
point a short distance from the castle gate. I had procured a long rope
with which to lower her down from her lattice to the moat below, which was
at present dry, intending myself to slide after her. The night chosen was
one when I knew that the count was to have guests, and I thought that they
would probably, as is the custom, drink heavily, and that there would be
less fear of any watch being kept.

"The guests arrived just at nightfall. I had feigned illness, and kept my
room. From time to time I heard through the windows of the banqueting hall
bursts of laughter. These gradually ceased; and at last when all was still
I, after waiting some time, stole from my room with a rope in my hand to
the apartment occupied by her. A slight tap at the door, as arranged, was
at once answered, and I found her ready cloaked and prepared for the
enterprise. She trembled from head to foot, but I cheered her to the best
of my power, and at last she was in readiness to be lowered. The window
was at a considerable height from the ground; but the rope was a long one,
and I had no fear of its reaching the bottom. Fastening it round her
waist, I began to lower her from the window.

"The night was a windy one, and she swung backward and forward as she went
down. By what chance it was I know not—for I had examined the rope
and found it secure—but methinks in swaying backward and forward it
may have caught a sharp stone, maybe it was a punishment from Heaven upon
me for robbing a father of his child—but suddenly I felt there was
no longer a weight on my arms. A fearful shriek rang through the air, and,
looking out, I saw far below a white figure stretched senseless in the
mud!

"For a minute I stood paralyzed. But the cry had aroused others, and,
turning round, I saw a man at the door with a drawn sword. Wild with grief
and despair, and thinking, not of making my escape, or of concealing my
part in what had happened, but rushing without an instant's delay to the
body of her I loved so well, I drew my sword, and like a madman rushed
upon him who barred the door. The combat was brief but furious, and nerved
by the madness of despair I broke down his guard and ran him through the
body. As he fell back, his face came in the full light of the moon, which
streamed through the open door of the passage, and to my utter horror and
bewilderment I saw that I had slain my father.

"What happened after that night I know not. I believe that I made my
escape from the castle and rushed round to the body of her whose life I
had destroyed, and that there finding her dead, I ran wildly across the
country. When I came to my senses months had passed, and I was the inmate
of an asylum for men bereaved of their senses, kept by noble monks. Here
for two years I remained, the world believing that I was dead. None knew
that the troubadour whose love had cost the lady her life, who had slain
the guest of her father, and had then disappeared, was the unhappy son of
that guest. My friends in Paris when they heard of the tragedy of course
associated it with me, but they all kept silent. The monks, to whom I
confessed the whole story, were shocked indeed, but consoled me in my
grief and despair by the assurance that however greatly I had sinned, the
death of the lady had been accidental, and that if I were a parricide it
was at least unintentionally.

"My repentance was deep and sincere; and after awhile, under another name,
I joined the army of the Crusaders, to expiate my sin by warring for the
holy sepulcher. I fought as men fight who have no wish to live; but while
all around me fell by sword and disease, death kept aloof from me. When
the Crusade had failed I determined to turn forever from the world, and to
devote my life to prayer and penance; and so casting aside my armor I made
my way here, and took up my abode in a cave in this valley, where at that
time were many thousands of other hermits—for the Saracens, while
they gained much money from fines and exactions from pilgrims who came to
Jerusalem, and fought stoutly against those who sought to capture that
city, were in the main tolerant, and offered no hindrance to the community
of men whom they looked upon as mad.

"Here, my son, for more than sixty years have I prayed, with much fasting
and penance. I trust now that the end is nearly at hand, and that my long
life of mortification may be deemed to have obliterated the evil deeds
which I did in my youth. Let my fate be a warning to you. Walk steadily in
the right way; indulge not in feasting and evil companionship; and above
all, do not enter upon evil deeds, the end of which no man can see."

The hermit was silent, and Cuthbert, seeing that his thoughts had again
referred to the past, wandered away, and left him sitting by the river
side. Some hours later he returned and found the hermit kneeling before
the altar; and the next morning the latter said:

"I presume, my son, you do not wish to remain here as a hermit, as I have
done? Methinks it were well that we made our arrangements for your return
to the Christian host, who will, I hope, ere long be at the gates of
Jerusalem."

"I should like nothing better," Cuthbert said. "But ignorant as I am of
the nature of the country, it seems to be nigh impossible to penetrate
through the hosts of the Saracens to reach the camp of King Richard."

"The matter is difficult and not without danger," the hermit said. "As to
the nature of the country, I myself know but little, for my dealings with
the natives have been few and simple. There are, however, several
Christian communities dwelling among the heathen. They are poor, and are
forced to live in little-frequented localities. Their Christianity may be
suspected by their neighbors, but as they do no man harm, and carry on
their worship in secret, they are little interfered with. There is one
community among the hills between this and Jerusalem, and I can give you
instructions for reaching this, together with a token which will secure
you hospitality there, and they will no doubt do their best to forward you
to another station. When you approach the flat country where the armies
are maneuvering you must doubtless trust to yourself; but as far as the
slopes extend, methinks that our friends will be able to pass you without
great difficulty."

Cuthbert's heart rose greatly at the prospect of once again entering upon
an active life, and the next evening, with many thanks for his kindness,
he knelt before the aged hermit to receive his blessing.

With the instructions given him he had no difficulty in making his way
through the mountains, until after some five hours' walk he found himself
at a little village situated in a narrow valley.

Going to the door of the principal hut he knocked, and upon entering
showed the owner—who opened the door—a rosette of peculiar
beads and repeated the name of Father Anselm. The peasant at once
recognized it and bade Cuthbert welcome. He knew but a few words of
French, although doubtless his ancestors had been of European extraction.
In the morning he furnished Cuthbert with the sheepskin and short tunic
which formed the dress of a shepherd, and dyeing his limbs and face a deep
brown he himself started with Cuthbert on his journey to the next
Christian community.

This was a small one consisting of two huts only, built almost on the
summit of a mountain, the inhabitants living partly on the milk and cheese
of their goats and partly upon the scanty vegetables which grew around the
huts.

His welcome was as cordial as that of the night before; and the next
morning, his former guide taking leave of him, the peasant in whose house
he had slept again conducted him forward to another community. This was
the last station and stood in a narrow gorge on the face of the hills
looking down over the plain, beyond which in the far distance a faint line
of blue sea was visible.

This community was far more prosperous and well-to-do than those at which
the previous nights had been passed. The head of the village appeared to
be a personage of some importance; and although clinging in secret to his
Christian faith, he and his belongings had so far adopted the usages of
the Mussulmen that apparently no thought of their Christianity entered
into the minds of the authorities. He was the owner of two or three horses
and of some extensive vineyards and olive grounds. He was also able to
speak French with some degree of fluency.

At considerable length he explained to Cuthbert the exact position of the
Christian army, which had moved some distance along the coast since
Cuthbert had left it. It was, he said, exposed to constant attacks by the
Saracens, who harassed it in every way, and permitted it no repose. He
said that the high hopes which had been raised by the defeat of the
Saracens at Azotus had now fallen, and that it was feared the Christians
would not be able to force their way forward to Jerusalem. The great
portion of their animals had died, and the country was so eaten up by the
Saracen hosts that an advance upon Jerusalem without a large baggage train
was next to impossible; and indeed if the Christians were to arrive before
that city, they could effect nothing without the aid of the heavy machines
necessary for battering the walls or effecting an escalade.

Cuthbert was vastly grieved when he heard of the probable failure of the
expedition, and he burned with eagerness to take his part again in the
dangers and difficulties which beset the Christian army. His host pointed
out to him the extreme difficulty and danger of his crossing the enemy's
lines, but at the same time offered to do all in his power to assist him.
After two days' stay at the village, and discussing the pros and cons of
all possible plans, it was decided that the best chance lay in a bold
effort. The host placed at his disposal one of his horses, together with
such clothes as would enable him to ride as an Arab chief of rank and
station; a long lance was furnished him, a short and heavy mace, and
scimitar; a bag of dates was hung at the saddlebow; and with the sincerest
thanks to his protector, and with a promise that should the Christian host
win their way to Jerusalem the steed should be returned with ample
payment, Cuthbert started on his journey.

CHAPTER XVI. — A FIGHT OF HEROES.

The horse was a good and spirited one, and when he had once descended to
the plains, Cuthbert rode gayly along, exulting in his freedom, and in
once again possessing arms to defend himself should it be needed. His
appearance was so exactly that of the horsemen who were continually
passing and repassing that no observation whatever was attracted by it.
Through villages, and even through camps, Cuthbert rode fearlessly, and
arrived, without having once been accosted, near the main camp of the
Saracens, which extended for miles parallel to the sea. But at a distance
of some three leagues beyond could be seen the white tents of the
Christian host, and Cuthbert felt that the time of trial was now at hand.

He dismounted for an hour to allow his steed to rest itself, fed it with
dates from his wallet, and gave it a drink of water at the stream. Then,
when he felt that it had thoroughly recovered its strength and freshness,
he remounted, and rode briskly on as before. He passed unchallenged,
attracting no more notice than a person nowadays would do in walking along
a crowded street. Without hesitation he passed through the tents and
started across the open country. Bands of horsemen were seen here and
there, some going, and some coming from the direction of the Christian
camp. As it was doubtless supposed that he was on his way to join some
band that had gone on in advance, the passage of the solitary horseman
excited no comment until he approached within about two miles of the
Christian camp. There were now, so far as he could see, no enemies between
him and the point he so longed to gain. But at this minute a group of Arab
horsemen, gathered, apparently on the lookout against any movement of the
Christians, shouted to him "Halt!" demanding whither he was going.

Up to this point Cuthbert had ridden at a gentle canter; but at the
challenge he put spurs into his steed and made across the plain at full
speed. With a wild yell the Arabs started in pursuit. They lay at first
some two hundred yards on his right, and he had therefore a considerable
start of them. His horse was fairly fresh, for the journey that he had
made had only been about fifteen miles—an inconsiderable distance to
an Arab steed. For half a mile he did not think that his pursuers gained
much upon him, riding as they had done sideways. They had now gathered in
his rear, and the nearest was some one hundred and fifty yards behind him.
A quarter of a mile further he again looked around, and found that two of
the Arabs, far better mounted than the others, had come within half the
distance which separated them from him when he last glanced back. His
horse was straining to the utmost, and he felt that it could do no more;
he therefore prepared himself for a desperate fight should his pursuers
overtake him. In another quarter of a mile they were but a short distance
behind, and an arrow whizzing by Cuthbert's ear told him they had betaken
themselves to their bows.

Half a mile ahead he saw riding toward him a group of Christian knights;
but he felt that it was too late for him to hope to reach them, and that
his only chance now was to boldly encounter his pursuers. The main body of
the Arabs was fully two hundred yards behind—a short distance when
going at a gallop—which left him but little time to shake off the
pursuit of the two immediately behind him.

A sharp stinging pain in his leg told him that it was time to make his
effort; and checking his horse, he wheeled suddenly round. The two Arabs
with a yell rode at him with pointed lance. With his right hand Cuthbert
grasped the short heavy mace which hung at his saddlebow, and being well
practiced in the hurling of this weapon—which formed part of the
education of a good knight—he cast it with all his force at the
chest of the Arab approaching on that side. The point of the spear was
within a few yards of his breast as he flung the mace; but his aim was
true, for it smote the Saracen full on the chest, and hurled him from his
horse as if struck with a thunderbolt. At the same instant Cuthbert threw
himself flat on the neck of his steed and the lance of the Arab who came
up on the other side passed harmlessly between his shoulders, tearing his
clothes as it went. In an instant Cuthbert had wheeled his horse, and
before the Arab could turn his steed Cuthbert, coming up from behind, had
run him through the body.

Short as the delay had been, the main body of the pursuers were scarcely
fifty yards away; but Cuthbert now continued his flight toward the
knights, who were galloping forward at full speed; and a moment afterward
glancing back, he saw that his pursuers had turned and were in full
flight.

With a shout of joy he rode forward to the party who had viewed with
astonishment this conflict between what appeared to be three of the
infidels. Even louder than his first shout of exultation was the cry of
joy which he raised at seeing among the party to whom he rode up the Earl
of Evesham, who reined in his horse in astonishment, and drew his sword as
the supposed enemy galloped toward him.

"My lord, my lord!" Cuthbert said. "Thank Heaven I am safe with you
again."

The earl lowered his sword in astonishment.

"Am I mad," he said, "or dreaming, or is this really Sir Cuthbert?"

"It is I, sure enough," Cuthbert exclaimed, "although truly I look more
like a Bedouin soldier than a Christian knight."

"My dear boy!" exclaimed the earl, galloping forward and throwing his arms
around Cuthbert's neck, "we thought you were dead. But by what wonderful
fortune have you succeeded in escaping?"

In a few words Cuthbert related the principal incidents of his adventures,
and he was heartily congratulated by the assembled knights.

There was, however, no time for long explanations. Large bodies of the
Saracen horse were already sweeping down to capture, if possible, this
small band of knights who had ventured so far from the camp; and as King
Richard's orders were that none should venture upon conflicts except by
his orders, the party reluctantly turned their horses and galloped back to
the camp.

Great as had been the earl's joy, it was, if possible, exceeded by that of
Cnut on discovering in the Arab chief who rode up alongside the earl the
lad he loved so well. Loud and hearty were the cheers which rang out from
the earl's camp as the news spread, and Cuthbert was compelled to shake
hands with the whole party before entering the earl's tent, to refresh
himself and give the narrative of what had happened.

Cuthbert, retiring to his tent with the Earl of Evesham, inquired of him
what had taken place during his absence.

"For," he said, "although but a short three days' march from here, I have
been as one of the dead, and have heard nothing whatever of what has taken
place."

"Nothing could have gone worse," the earl said. "We have had nothing but
dissensions and quarrels. First, the king fell out with the Archduke of
Austria."

"On what ground did this happen?" Cuthbert asked.

"For once," the earl said, "the king our master was wholly in the wrong,
which is not generally the case. We had just taken Ascalon, and were hard
at work fortifying the place. King Richard with his usual zeal, in order
to encourage the army, seized heavy stones and himself bore them into
their place. The archduke stood near with some of his knights: and it may
be that the haughty Austrian looked somewhat superciliously at our king
thus laboring.

"'Why do you not make a show of helping?' King Richard said, going up to
him. 'It would encourage the men, and show that the labor upon which we
are engaged can be undertaken by all without derogation.'

"To this the archduke replied:

"'I am not the son of a mason!'

"Whereupon Richard, whose blood no doubt had been excited by the air of
the Austrian, struck him with his hand a fierce blow across the face. We
nearly betook ourselves to our swords on both sides; but King Richard
himself could have scattered half the Austrians, and these, knowing that
against his impetuous valor they could do nothing, simply withdrew from
our camp, and sailed the next day for home. Then the king, in order to
conciliate some at least of his allies, conferred the crown of Jerusalem
upon Conrad of Montferat. No sooner had he done this than Conrad was
mysteriously wounded. By whom it was done none knew. Some say that it was
by emissaries of the Old Man of the Mountain. Others affirm that it was
the jealousy of some of the knights of the holy orders. But be that as it
may, he died. Some of the French, ever jealous of the valor of our king,
ascribed it to his orders. This monstrous accusation coming to the ears of
King Richard, he had hot words with the Duke of Burgundy. In this I blame
him not, for it is beyond all reason that a man like the king, whose
faults, such as they are, arise from too much openness, and from the want
of concealment of such dislikes as he may have, should resort to poison to
free himself of a man whom he himself had but a day or two before
appointed King of Jerusalem. However it be, the consequences were most
unfortunate, for the result of the quarrel was that the Duke of Burgundy
and his Frenchmen followed the example of the Austrians, and we were left
alone. Before this we had marched upon Jerusalem. But the weather had been
so bad, and our train was so insufficient to carry the engines of war,
that we had been forced to fall back again. King Richard again advanced,
and with much toil we went as far as the village of Bethany."

"Why," Cuthbert exclaimed, "I passed through that village, and it is but
three miles from the holy city."

"That is so," the earl said; "and many of us, ascending the hill in front,
saw Jerusalem. But even then it was certain that we must again retrace our
steps; and when we asked King Richard to come to the crest of the hill to
see the holy city, he refused to do so, saying, 'No; those who are not
worthy of conquering Jerusalem should not look at it!' This was but a
short time since, and we are now retracing our steps to Acre, and are
treating with Saladin for a peace."

"Then," Cuthbert said sadly, "all our hopes and efforts are thrown away;
all this blood has been shed for nothing; and after the three great powers
of Europe have engaged themselves solemnly in the war, we are baffled, and
have to fall back before the hordes of the infidels."

"Partly before them," the earl said, "partly as the result of our own
jealousies and passions. Had King Richard been a lesser man than he is, we
might have conquered Jerusalem. But he is so extraordinary a warrior that
his glory throws all others into the shade. He is a good general, perhaps
the best in Europe; and had he done nothing but lead, assuredly we should
have carried out our purpose. See how ably he maneuvered the army at the
fight of Azotus. Never was a more complete defeat than that which he
inflicted there upon the Saracens; and although the fact that his
generalship achieved this, might have caused some jealousy to the other
commanders, this might have died away could he between the battles have
been a general, and nothing more. But, alas! he is in addition a
knight-errant—and such a knight-errant as Europe has never seen
before. Wherever there is danger, Richard will plunge into the midst.
There are brave men in all the three armies; but the strongest and bravest
are as children to King Richard. Alone he can dart into ranks of the
infidels, and cut a lane for himself by the strength of his right arm.
More than this, when danger has threatened he has snatched up his
battle-ax and dashed into the fray without helm or cuirass, performing
such prodigies of valor and strength that it has been to his prowess alone
that victory was to be ascribed. Hence he is the idol of all the soldiers,
whatever their nationality; for he is as ready to rush to the rescue of a
French or Austrian knight when pressed as to that of his own men. But the
devotion which the whole army felt for him was as gall and wormwood to the
haughty Austrian and the indolent Frenchman; and the retirement of the
King of France, which left Richard in supreme command, was in every way
unfortunate."

Upon the following day the army again marched, and Cuthbert could not but
notice the difference, not only in number but in demeanor, from the
splendid array which had left Acre a few months before. There was little
now of the glory of pennon and banner; the bright helms and cuirasses were
rusted and dinted, and none seemed to care aught for bravery of show. The
knights and men-at-arms were sunburnt and thin, and seemed but half the
weight that they had been when they landed. Fatigue, hardship, and the
heat had done their work; disease had swept off vast numbers. But the
remains of the army were so formidable in their fighting powers that the
Saracens, although following them at a distance in vast numbers, did not
venture an attack upon them.

A few days after their arrival at Acre, the king gave orders for the
embarkation of the troops. Just as they were preparing to enter the ships
a small vessel was seen entering the harbor. It drew up to the shore, and
a knight leaped from it, and, inquiring where King Richard was to be
found, made his way to the king, who was standing superintending the
embarkation of some of the horses.

"The Saracens, sire!" he exclaimed. "The Saracens are besieging Jaffa, and
the place must be lost unless assistance arrives in a day or two."

The king leaped on board the nearest ship, shouted to his leading officers
to follow him, and gave orders to others to bring down the troops with all
possible speed, to waste not a moment, and to see that all was done, and
then, in five minutes after the receipt of the news he started for Jaffa.
The Earl of Evesham and Cuthbert had been standing near the king when the
order was given, and followed him at once on board the bark which he had
chosen.

"Ah, my gallant young knight," the king exclaimed, "I am right glad to see
you with me. We shall have more fighting before we have done, and I know
that that suits your mood as well as my own."

The king's vessel was far in advance of any of the others, when early the
following morning it arrived at Jaffa.

"Your eyes are better than mine," the king said to Cuthbert. "Tell me what
is that flag flying on the top of the town."

Cuthbert looked at it earnestly.

"I fear, sire, that it is the crescent. We have arrived too late."

"By the holy cross," said King Richard, "that shall not be so; for if the
place be taken, we will retake it."

As the vessel neared the shore a monk ran out into the water up to his
shoulders, and said to the king that the citadel still held out, and that
even now the Saracens might be driven back. Without delay the king leaped
into the water, followed by the knights and men-at-arms, and entering the
gate, threw himself upon the infidels within, who, busy plundering, had
not noticed the arrival of the ship.

The war cry of "St. George! St. George!" which the king always shouted in
battle, struck panic among the infidels; and although the king was
followed but by five knights and a few men-at-arms, the Saracens, to the
number of three thousand, fled before him, and all who tarried were
smitten down. The king followed them out upon the plain, driving them
before him as a lion would drive a flock of sheep, and then returned
triumphant into the city.

The next day, some more ships having arrived, King Richard found that in
all, including the garrison, he could muster two thousand combatants. The
enemy renewed the attack in great numbers, and the assaults upon the walls
were continuous and desperate. King Richard, who loved fighting in the
plain rather than behind walls, was impatient at this, and at one time so
fierce was the attack that he resolved to sally out. Only ten horses
remained in the town, and King Richard, mounting one, called upon nine of
the knights to mount and sally out with him. The little band of ten
warriors charged down upon the host of the Saracens and swept them before
them. It was a marvelous sight indeed to see so small a group of horsemen
dashing through a crowd of Saracen warriors. These, although at first
beaten back, yet rallied, and the ten knights had great difficulty in
fighting their way back to the town. When near the walls the Christians
again made a stand, and a few knights sallied out from the town on foot
and joined them. Among these was Cuthbert, the Earl of Evesham having
accompanied King Richard in his charge. In all, seventeen knights were now
rallied round the king. So fierce was the charge of the Saracens that the
king ordered those on horseback to dismount, and with their horses in the
center, the little body knelt with their lances opposed to the Saracens.
Again and again the wild cavalry swept down upon this little force, but in
vain did they attempt to break their ranks. The scene was indeed an
extraordinary one. At last the king, seeing that the enemy were losing
heart, again ordered the knights to mount, and these dashing among the
enemy, completed their defeat.

While this had been going on news came to the king that the Saracens from
another side had made their way into Jaffa, and were massacring the
Christians. Without, an instant's delay he flew to their succor, followed
only by two knights and a few archers, the rest being so worn by their
exertions as to be unable to move. The Mamelukes, the chosen guard of
Saladin, had headed the attack; but even these were driven out from the
town, and Richard dashed out from the city in their pursuit. One Saracen
emir, distinguished for his stature and strength, ventured to match
himself against the king, and rode boldly at him. But with one blow
Richard severed his head, and his right shoulder and arm, from his body.
Then having, by his single arm, put to rout the Saracens at this point, he
dashed through them to the aid of the little band of knights who had
remained on the defensive when he left them at the alarm of the city being
entered. These were almost sinking with fatigue and wounds; but King
Richard opened a way around them by slaying numbers of the enemy, and then
charged again alone into the midst of the Mussulman host, and was lost to
the sight of his companions. All thought that they would never see him
again. But he soon reappeared, his horse covered with blood, but himself
unwounded; and the attack of the enemy ceased.

From the hour of daybreak, it is said, Richard had not ceased for a moment
to deal out his blows, and the skin of his hand adhered to the handle of
his battle-ax. This narration would appear almost fabulous, were it not
that it is attested in the chronicles of several eye-witnesses, and for
centuries afterward the Saracen women hushed their babes when fractious by
threatening them with Malek-Rik, the name which they gave to King Richard.

Glorious as was the success, it was a sad one, for several of the most
devoted of the followers of King Richard were wounded badly, some few to
death. Among these last, to the terrible grief of Cuthbert, was his friend
and patron, the Earl of Evesham. The king, on taking off his armor,
hurried to his tent.

"The glory of this day is marred indeed," he said to the wounded knight,
"if I am to lose you, Sir Walter."

"I fear that it must even be so, my lord," the dying earl said. "I am glad
that I have seen this day, for never did I think to witness such feats as
those which your majesty has performed; and though the Crusade has failed,
and the holy city remains in the hands of the infidel, yet assuredly no
shadow of disgrace has fallen upon the English arms, and, indeed, great
glory has accrued to us. Whatever may be said of the Great Crusade, it
will at least be allowed by all men, and for all time, that had the
princes and soldiers of other nations done as your majesty and your
followers have done, the holy city would have fallen into our hands within
a month of our putting foot upon the soil. Your majesty, I have a boon to
ask."

"You have but to name it, Sir Walter, and it is yours."

"Sir Cuthbert, here," he said, pointing to the young knight, who was
sorrowfully kneeling by his bedside, "is as a son to me. The relationship
by blood is but slight, but by affection it is as close as though he were
mine own. I have, as your majesty knows, no male heirs, and my daughter is
but young, and will now be a royal ward. I beseech your majesty to bestow
her in marriage, when the time comes, upon Sir Cuthbert. They have known
each other as children, and the union will bring happiness, methinks, to
both, as well as strength and protection to her; and further, if it might
be, I would fain that you should bestow upon him my title and dignity."

"It shall be so," the king said. "When your eyes are closed, Sir Walter,
Sir Cuthbert shall be Earl of Evesham, and, when the time comes, the
husband of your daughter."

Cuthbert was too overwhelmed with grief to feel a shadow of exaltation at
the gracious intimation of the king; although, even then, a thought of
future happiness in the care of the fair young lady Marguerite passed
before his mind. For the last time the king gave his hand to his faithful
servant, who pressed it to his lips, and a few minutes afterward breathed
his last.

CHAPTER XVII. — AN ALPINE STORM.

The tremendous exertions which King Richard had made told upon him, and
attacks of fever succeeded each other at short intervals. This, however,
mattered the less, since negotiations were now proceeding between him and
Saladin. It was impossible, with the slight means at his disposal, for
Richard further to carry on the Crusade alone. Moreover, pressing news had
arrived from his mother in England, urging him to return, as his brother
John was intriguing against him, and had already assumed all but the
kingly title. Saladin was equally desirous of peace. His wild troops were,
for the most part, eager to return to their homes, and the defeats which
they had suffered, and the, to them, miraculous power of King Richard's
arm, had lowered their spirit and made them eager to be away. Therefore he
consented without difficulty to the terms proposed. By these, the
Christians were to surrender Ascalon, but were to keep Jaffa, Tyre, and
the fortresses along the coast. All hostilities were to be suspended on
both sides for the space of three years, three months, three weeks, three
days, and three hours, when Richard hoped to return again and to
recommence the struggle.

Between the sultan and King Richard a feeling approaching that of
friendship had sprung up during the campaign. Saladin was himself brave in
the extreme, and exposed his life as fearlessly as did his Christian
rival, and the two valiant leaders recognized the great qualities of each
other. Several times during the campaign when Richard had been ill, the
emir had sent him presents of fruit and other matters, to which Richard
had responded in the same spirit. An interview had taken place between
them which further cemented their friendship; and when Richard promised to
return again at the end of the truce with a far larger army, and to
accomplish the rescue of the holy city, the sultan smiled, and said that
it appeared that valor alone was not sufficient to conquer in the Holy
Land, but that if Jerusalem were to fall into the hands of the Christians,
it could fall into no worthier hands than those of Malek-Rik.

So, with many mutual courtesies, the great rivals separated, and soon
after King Richard and the little remnant of his army embarked on board
ship, and set sail for England.

It was on October 11, 1192, that Richard Coeur de Lion left Palestine.
Soon after they started a storm suddenly burst upon them, and dispersed
them in various directions. The ship in which Queen Berengaria was carried
arrived safely in Sicily; but that in which King Richard was borne was
missing, and none of his fellow-voyagers knew what had become of him. Sir
Cuthbert was in the same vessel as the king, and the bark was driven upon
the Island of Corfu. All reached shore in safety, and King Richard then
hired three small vessels, in which he sailed to the port of Zara, whence
he hoped to reach the domains of his nephew, Otho of Saxony, the son of
his sister Matilda. The king had with him now but two of his knights,
Baldwin of Béthune, and Cuthbert of Evesham. Cnut was with his feudal
chief—for such Cuthbert had now, by his accession to the rank of
Earl of Evesham, become—and three or four English archers.

"I fear, my lords," the king said to his knights as he sat in a little
room in an inn at Zara, "that my plight is a bad one. I am surrounded by
enemies, and, alas! I can no longer mount my steed and ride out as at
Jaffa to do battle with them. My brother, John Lackland, is scheming to
take my place upon the throne of England. Philip of France, whose mind is
far better at such matters than at setting armies in the field, is in
league with him. The Emperor Henry has laid claim to the throne of Sicily.
Leopold of Austria has not forgiven me the blow I struck him in the face
at Ascalon, and the friends of Conrad of Montferat are spreading far and
wide the lie that I was the instigator of his murder. Sure never had a
poor king so many enemies, and few have ever had so small a following as I
have now. What think you, my lords? What course would you advise that I
should adopt? If I can reach Saxony doubtless Otho will aid me. But hence
to Dresden is a long journey indeed. I have neither credit nor funds to
hire a ship to take us by sea. Nor would such a voyage be a safe one, when
so many of my enemies' ships are on the main. I must needs, I think, go in
disguise, for my way lies wholly through the country of my enemies."

"Surely," Cuthbert said, "no potentate could for very shame venture to
detain your majesty on your way from the Holy Land, where you have wrought
such great deeds. Were I in your place, I would at once proclaim myself,
mount my horse, have my banner carried before me, and ride openly on. You
have, too, another claim, namely, that of being shipwrecked, and even in
war-time nations respect those whom the force of God has thrown upon their
shores."

"I fear me, Sir Cuthbert," Sir Baldwin said, "that you overrate the
chivalry of our master's enemies. Had we been thrown on the shores of
France, Philip perhaps would hesitate to lay hands upon the king; but
these petty German princelings have no idea of the observances of true
chivalry. They are coarse and brutal in their ways; and though in outward
form following the usage of knighthood, they have never been penetrated
with its spirit. If the friends of Conrad of Montferat lay hands upon King
Richard I fear that no scruples will prevent them from using their
advantage to the utmost. Even their emperor I would not trust. The course
which you advise would no doubt be in accordance with the spirit of King
Richard; but it would be madness for him to judge other people's spirit by
his own, and it would be rushing into the lion's den to proclaim himself
here. I should recommend, if I might venture to do so, that his majesty
should assume a false name, and that we should travel in small parties so
as to attract no attention, each making his way to Saxony as best he may."

There was silence for a minute or two, and then the king with a sigh said:

"I fear that you are right, Sir Baldwin, and that there is no chivalry
among these swinish German lords. You shall accompany me. Not, Sir
Cuthbert," he observed kindly, noticing a look of disappointment upon the
face of the young knight, "that I estimate your fidelity one whit lower
than that of my brave friend; but he is the elder and the more versed in
European travel, and may manage to bring matters through better than you
would do. You will have dangers enough to encounter yourself, more even
than I shall, for your brave follower, Cnut, can speak no language but his
own, and your archers will be hard to pass as any other than what they
are. You must be my messenger to England, should you arrive there without
me. Tell my mother and wife where you left me, and that, if I do not come
home I have fallen into the hands of one or other of my bitter foes. Bid
them bestir themselves to hold England for me against my brother John,
and, if needs be, to move the sovereigns of Europe to free me from the
hands of my enemies. Should a ransom be needed, I think that my people of
England will not grudge their goods for their king."

The following day the king bade farewell to his faithful followers, giving
his hand to kiss, not only to Sir Cuthbert, but to Cnut and his archers.

"You have done me brave service," he said, "and I trust may yet have
occasion to do it again. These are bad times when Richard of England has
naught wherewith to reward his friends. But," he said, taking a gold chain
from his neck and breaking it with his strong fingers into five fragments,
"that is for you, Cnut, and for your four archers, in remembrance of King
Richard."

The men, albeit hardened by many scenes of warfare, yet shed tears
plenteously at parting with the king.

"We had better," Cuthbert said to them when they were alone, "delay here
for a few days. If we are taken, the news that some Englishmen have been
captured making their way north from Zara will spread rapidly, and may
cause the enemies of Richard to be on the lookout for him, suspecting that
the ship which bore us may also have carried him; for the news that he is
missing will spread rapidly through Europe, and will set all his enemies
on the alert."

In accordance with this plan they delayed for another ten days at Zara,
and then, hiring a small boat, were landed some thirty miles further along
the coast. Cuthbert had obtained for Cnut the dress of a palmer, as in
this he would pass almost unquestioned, and his silence might be accounted
for on the ground that he had taken a vow of silence. He himself had
placed on his coat armor a red cross, instead of the white cross borne by
the English knights, and would now pass as a French knight. Similar
changes were made in the dress of his followers, and he determined to pass
as a French noble who had been wrecked on his way home, and who was
returning through Germany to France. The difficulties in his own case
would not be serious, as his French would pass muster anywhere in Germany.
The greatest difficulty would be with his attendants; but he saw no way of
avoiding this.

Cuthbert's object, when with his little party he separated from King
Richard, was to make his way to Verona, thence cross by Trent into
Bavaria, and so to journey to Saxony. Fortunately he had at the storming
of Acre become possessed of a valuable jewel, and this he now sold, and
purchased a charger for himself. He had little fear of any trouble in
passing through the north of Italy, for this was neutral ground, where
knights of all nations met, and where, neither as an English nor a French
Crusader, would he attract either comment or attention.

It was a slow journey across the northern plains, as of course he had to
accommodate his pace to that of his men. Cnut and the archers had grumbled
much at the change of the color of the cross upon their jerkins; and, as
Cnut said, would have been willing to run greater perils under their true
colors than to affect to belong to any other nationality. On their way
they passed through Padua, and there stopped a few days. Cuthbert could
but feel, in looking at the splendor of this Italian city, the courteous
manner of its people, and the university, which was even then famous, how
far in advance were those stately cities of Italy to Western Europe. His
followers were as much surprised as himself at the splendors of the city.
Here they experienced no trouble or annoyance whatever, for to the cities
of Italy knights of all nations resorted, learned men came to study,
philosophers to dispute, and as these brought their attendants with them,
you might in the streets of Padua and its sister cities hear every
language in Europe spoken.