More Bywords Read online

  On a cliff looking down on the Arab camp, and above it on the dark mass of the castle, where, in the watch-tower, Sigbert had left a lamp burning, they halted just as the half-moon was dipping below the heights towards the Mediterranean. Here the Lady Mabel and her guard were to wait until they heard the sounds which to their practised ears would show how the fight went.

  The Arab shout of victory they knew only too well, and it was to be the signal of flight towards Tiberias; but if success was with the assailants, the war-cry 'Deus vult,' and 'St. Hubert for Hundberg,' were to be followed by the hymn of victory as the token that it was safe to descend.

  All was dark, save for the magnificent stars of an Eastern night, as Mabel, her nurse, and the five men, commanded by the wounded Roger, stood silently praying while listening intently to the muffled tramp of their own people, descending on the blacker mass denoting the Saracen tents.

  The sounds of feet died away, only the jackal's whine and moan, were heard. Then suddenly came a flash of lights in different directions, and shouts here, there, everywhere, cries, yells, darkness, an undistinguishable medley of noise, the shrill shriek of the Moslem, and the exulting war-cry of the Christian ringing farther and farther off, in the long valley leading towards the Jordan fords.

  Dawn began to break-overthrown tents could be seen. Mabel had time to wonder whether she was forgotten, when the hymn began to sound, pealing on her ears up the pass, and she had not had time for more than an earnest thanksgiving, and a few steps down the rocky pathway, before a horse's tread was heard, and a man-at-arms came towards her leading a slender, beautiful Arab horse. "All well! the young lord and all. The Saracens, surprised, fled without ever guessing the number of their foes. The Sheik made prisoner in his tent. Ay, and a greater still, the Emir Hussein Bey, who had arrived to take possession of the castle only that very evening. What a ransom he would pay! Horses and all were taken, the spoil of the country round, and Master Sigbert had sent this palfrey for Lady Mabel to ride down."

  Perhaps Sigbert, in all his haste and occupation, had been able to discern that the gentle little mare was not likely to display the Arab steed's perilous attachment to a master, for Mabel was safely mounted, and ere sunrise was greeted by her joyous and victorious brother. "Is not this noble, sister? Down went the Pagan dogs before my good sword! There are a score of them dragged off to the dead man's hollow for the jackals and vultures; but I kept one fellow uppermost to show you the gash I made! Come and see."

  Roger here observed that the horse might grow restive at the carcase, and Mabel was excused the sight, though Walter continued to relate his exploits, and demand whether he had not won his spurs by so grand a ruse and victory.

  "Truly I think Sigbert has," said his sister. "It was all his doing."

  "Sigbert, an English churl! What are you thinking of, Mabel?"

  "I am thinking to whom the honour is due."

  "You are a mere child, sister, or you would know better. Sigbert is a very fair squire; but what is a squire's business but to put his master in the way of honour? Do not talk such folly."

  Mabel was silenced, and after being conducted across the bare trampled ground among the tents of the Arabs, she re-entered the castle, where in the court groups of disarmed Arabs stood, their bournouses pulled over their brows, their long lances heaped in a corner, grim and disconsolate at their discomfiture and captivity.

  A repast of stewed kid, fruit, and sherbet was prepared for her and her brother from the spoil, after which both were weary enough to throw themselves on their cushions for a long sound sleep.

  Mabel slept the longer, and when she awoke, she found that the sun was setting, and that supper was nearly ready.

  Walter met her just as she had arranged her dress, to bid nurse make ready her bales, for they were to start at dawn on the morrow for Tiberias. It was quite possible that the enemy might return in force to deliver their Emir. A small garrison, freshly provisioned, could hold out the castle until relief could be sent; but it would be best to conduct the two important prisoners direct to the King, to say nothing of Walter's desire to present them and to display these testimonies of his prowess before the Court of Jerusalem.

  The Emir was a tall, slim, courteous Arab, with the exquisite manners of the desert. Both he and the Sheik were invited to the meal. Both looked startled and shocked at the entrance of the fair-haired damsel, and the Sheik crouched in a corner, with a savage glare in his eye like a freshly caught wild beast, though the Emir sat cross-legged on the couch eating, and talking in the lingua Franca, which was almost a native tongue, to the son and daughter of the Crusader. From him Walter learnt that King Fulk was probably at Tiberias, and this quickened the eagerness of all for a start. It took place in the earliest morning, so as to avoid the heat of the day. How different from the departure in the dark underground passage!

  Horses enough had been captured to afford the Emir and the Sheik each his own beautiful steed (the more readily that the creatures could hardly have been ridden by any one else), and their parole was trusted not to attempt to escape. Walter, Mabel, Sigbert, and Roger were also mounted, and asses were found in the camp for the nurse, and the men who had been hurt in the night's surprise.

  The only mischance on the way was that in the noontide halt, just as the shimmer of the Lake of Galilee met their eyes, under a huge terebinth-tree, growing on a rock, when all, except Sigbert, had composed themselves to a siesta, there was a sudden sound of loud and angry altercation, and, as the sleepers started up, the Emir was seen grasping the bridle of the horse on which the Sheik sat downcast and abject under the storm of fierce indignant words hurled at him for thus degrading his tribe and all Islam by breaking his plighted word to the Christian.

  This was in Arabic, and the Emir further insisted on his prostrating himself to ask pardon, while he himself in lingua Franca explained that the man was of a low and savage tribe of Bedouins, who knew not how to keep faith.

  Walter broke out in loud threats, declaring that the traitor dog ought to be hung up at once on the tree, or dragged along with hands tied behind him; but Sigbert contented himself with placing a man at each side of his horse's head, as they proceeded on their way to the strongly fortified town of the ancient Herods, perched at the head of the dark gray Lake of Galilee, shut in by mountain peaks. The second part of the journey was necessarily begun in glowing heat, for it was most undesirable to have to spend a night in the open country, and it was needful to push on to a fortified hospice or monastery of St. John, which formed a half-way house.

  Weary, dusty, athirst, they came in sight of it in the evening; and Walter and Roger rode forward to request admittance. The porter begged them to wait when he heard that the party included women and Saracen prisoners; and Walter began to storm. However, a few moments more brought a tall old Knight Hospitalier to the gate, and he made no difficulties as to lodging the Saracens in a building at the end of the Court, where they could be well guarded; and Mabel and her nurse were received in a part of the precincts appropriated to female pilgrims.

  It was a bare and empty place, a round turret over the gateway, with a stone floor, and a few mats rolled up in the corner, mats which former pilgrims had not left in an inviting condition.

  However, the notions of comfort of the twelfth century were not exacting. Water to wash away the dust of travel was brought to the door, and was followed by a substantial meal on roasted kid and thin cakes of bread. Sigbert came up with permission for the women to attend compline, though only strictly veiled; and Mabel knelt in the little cool cryptlike chapel, almost like the late place of her escape, and returned thanks for the deliverance from their recent peril.

  Then, fresh mats and cushions having been supplied, the damsel and her nurse slept profoundly, and were only roused by a bell for a mass in the darkness just before dawn, after which they again set forth, the commander of the Hospice himself, and three or four knights, accompanying them, and conversing familiarly with the Emir on the current in
terests of Palestine.

  About half-way onward, the glint and glitter of spears was seen amid a cloud of dust on the hill-path opposite. The troop drew together on their guard, though, as the Hospitalier observed, from the side of Tiberias an enemy could scarcely come. A scout was sent forward to reconnoitre; but, even before he came spurring joyously back, the golden crosses of Jerusalem had been recognised, and confirmed his tidings that it was the rearguard of the army, commanded by King Fulk himself, on the way to the relief of the Castle of Gebel-Aroun.

  In a brief half-hour more, young Walter de Hundberg, with his sister by his side, was kneeling before an alert, slender, wiry figure in plain chamois leather, with a worn sunburnt face and keen blue eyes-Fulk of Anjou-who had resigned his French county to lead the crusading cause in Palestine.

  "Stand up, fair youth, and tell thy tale, and how thou hast forestalled our succour."

  Walter told his tale of the blockaded castle, the underground passage, and the dexterous surprise of the besiegers, ending by presenting, not ungracefully, his captives to the pleasure of the King.

  "Why, this is well done!" exclaimed Fulk. "Thou art a youth of promise, and wilt well be a prop to our grandson's English throne. Thou shalt take knighthood from mine own hand as thy prowess well deserveth. And thou, fair damsel, here is one whom we could scarce hold back from rushing with single hand to deliver his betrothed. Sir Raymond of Courtwood, you are balked of winning thy lady at the sword's point, but thou wilt scarce rejoice the less."

  A dark-eyed, slender young knight, in bright armour, drew towards Mabel, and she let him take her hand; but she was intent on something else, and exclaimed-

  "Oh, sir, Sir King, let me speak one word! The guerdon should not be only my brother's. The device that served us was-our squire's."

  The Baron of Courtwood uttered a fierce exclamation. Walter muttered, "Mabel, do not be such a meddling fool"; but the King asked, "And who may this same squire be?"

  "An old English churl," said Walter impatiently. "My father took him as his squire for want of a better."

  "And he has been like a father to us," added Mabel

  "Silence, sister! It is not for you to speak!" petulantly cried Walter. "Not that the Baron of Courtwood need be jealous," added he, laughing somewhat rudely. "Where is the fellow? Stand forth, Sigbert."

  Travel and heat-soiled, sunburnt, gray, and ragged, armour rusted, leathern garment stained, the rugged figure came forward, footsore and lame, for he had given up his horse to an exhausted man-at-arms. A laugh went round at the bare idea of the young lady's preferring such a form to the splendid young knight, her destined bridegroom.

  "Is this the esquire who hath done such good service, according to the young lady?" asked the King.

  "Ay, sir," returned Walter; "he is true and faithful enough, though nothing to be proud of in looks; and he served us well in my sally and attack."

  "It was his-" Mabel tried to say, but Sigbert hushed her.

  "Let be, let be, my sweet lady; it was but my bounden duty."

  "What's that? Speak out what passes there," demanded young Courtwood, half-jealously still.

  "A mere English villein, little better than a valet of the camp!" were the exclamations around. "A noble damsel take note of him! Fie for shame!"

  "He has been true and brave," said the King. "Dost ask a guerdon for him, young sir?" he added to Walter.

  "What wouldst have, old Sigbert?" asked Walter, in a patronising voice.

  "I ask nothing, sir," returned the old squire. "To have seen my lord's children in safety is all I wish. I have but done my duty."

  King Fulk, who saw through the whole more clearly than some of those around, yet still had the true Angevin and Norman contempt for a Saxon, here said: "Old man, thou art trusty and shrewd, and mayst be useful. Wilt thou take service as one of my men-at-arms?"

  "Thou mayst," said Walter; "thou art not bound to me. England hath enough of Saxon churls without thee, and I shall purvey myself an esquire of youthful grace and noble blood."

  Mabel looked at her betrothed and began to speak.

  "No, no, sweet lady, I will have none of that rough, old masterful sort about me."

  "Sir King," said Sigbert, "I thank thee heartily. I would still serve the Cross; but my vow has been, when my young lord and lady should need me no more, to take the Cross of St. John with the Hospitaliers."

  "As a lay brother? Bethink thee," said Fulk of Anjou. "Noble blood is needed for a Knight of the Order."

  Sigbert smiled slightly, in spite of all the sadness of his face, and the Knight Commander who had ridden with them, a Fleming by birth, said-

  "For that matter, Sir King, we are satisfied. Sigbert, the son of Sigfrid, hath proved his descent from the old English kings of the East Saxons, and the Order will rejoice to enrol in the novitiate so experienced a warrior."

  "Is this indeed so?" asked Fulk. "A good lineage, even if English!"

  "But rebel," muttered Courtwood.

  "It is so, Sir King," said Sigbert. "My father was disseised of the lands of Hundberg, and died in the fens fighting under Hereward le Wake. My mother dwelt under the protection of the Abbey of Colchester, and, by and by, I served under our Atheling, and, when King Henry's wars in Normandy were over, I followed the Lord of Hundberg's banner, because the men-at-arms were mine own neighbours, and his lady my kinswoman. Roger can testify to my birth and lineage."

  "So, thou art true heir of Hundberg, if that be the name of thine English castle?"

  "Ay, sir, save for the Norman! But I would not, if I could, meddle with thee, my young lord, though thou dost look at me askance, spite of having learnt of me to ride and use thy lance. I am the last of the English line of old Sigfrid the Wormbane, and a childless man, and I trust the land and the serfs will be well with thee, who art English born, and son to Wulfrida of Lexden. And I trust that thou, my sweet Lady Mabel, will be a happy bride and wife. All I look for is to end my days under the Cross, in the cause of the Holy Sepulchre, whether as warrior or lay brother. Yes, dear lady, that is enough for old Sigbert."

  And Mabel had to acquiesce and believe that her old friend found peace and gladness beneath the eight-pointed Cross, when she and her brother sailed for England, where she would behold the green fields and purple heather of which he had told her amid the rocks of Palestine.

  Moreover, she thought of him when on her way through France, she heard the young monk Bernard, then rising into fame, preach on the beleaguered city, saved by the poor wise man; and tell how, when the city was safe, none remembered the poor man. True, the preacher gave it a mystic meaning, and interpreted it as meaning the emphatically Poor Man by Whom Salvation came, and Whom too few bear in mind. Yet such a higher meaning did not exclude the thought of one whose deserts surpassed his honours here on earth.

  THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY

  An Alderman bold, Henry Smith was enrolled,

  Of the Silversmiths' Company;

  Highly praised was his name, his skill had high fame,

  And a prosperous man was he.

  Knights drank to his health, and lauded his wealth;

  Sailors came from the Western Main,

  Their prizes they sold, of ingots of gold,

  Or plate from the galleys of Spain.

  Then beakers full fine, to hold the red wine,

  Were cast in his furnace's mould,

  Or tankards rich chased, in intricate taste,

  Gimmal rings of the purest gold.

  On each New Year's morn, no man thought it scorn-

  Whether statesman, or warrior brave-

  The choicest device, of costliest price,

  For a royal off'ring to crave.

  "Bring here such a toy as the most may joy

  The eyes of our gracious Queen,

  Rows of orient pearls, gold pins for her curls,

  Silver network, all glistening sheen."

  Each buyer who came-lord, squire, or dame-

  Behaved in most courteous guise,<
br />
  Showing honour due, as to one they knew

  To be at once wealthy and wise.

  In London Guild Hall, the citizens all,

  Esteemed him their future Lord Mayor;

  Not one did he meet, in market or street,

  But made him a reverence fair.

  "Ho," said Master Smith, "I will try the pith

  Of this smooth-faced courtesy;

  Do they prize myself, do they prize my pelf,

  Do they value what's mine or me?"

  His gold chain of pride he hath laid aside,

  And furred gown of the scarlet red;

  He set on his back a fardel and pack,

  And a hood on his grizzled head.

  His 'prentices all he hath left in stall,

  But running right close by his side,

  In spite of his rags, guarding well his bags,

  His small Messan dog would abide.

  So thus, up and down, through village and town,

  In rain or in sunny weather,

  Through Surrey's fair land, his staff in his hand,

  Went he and the dog together.

  "Good folk, hear my prayer, of your bounty spare,

  Help a wanderer in his need;

  Better days I have seen, a rich man I have been,

  Esteemed both in word and deed."

  In the first long street, certain forms he did meet,

  But scarce might behold their faces;

  From matted elf-locks eyes stared like an ox,

  And shambling were their paces!

  Not one gave him cheer, nor would one come near,

  As he turned him away to go,

  Then a heavy stone at the dog was thrown,

  To deal a right cowardly blow.

  In Mitcham's fair vale, the men 'gan to rail,

  "Not a vagabond may come near;"

  Each mother's son ran, each boy and each man,

  To summon the constable here.