by David Ker
CHAPTER XXVI
Crescent and Cross
On the same day that witnessed the deliverance of Rennes, the risingsun, lighting up a wild mountain pass in southern Spain, revealed twoshadowy figures crouching behind a huge briar-clad rock, halfway up thehillside. Both kept glancing impatiently down the gorge, as ifexpecting some one from that side, but both seemed anxious to avoidbeing seen themselves.
The watchers had the light hair and fair faces of northern Europe, andwore armour of English fashion, which made their presence all thestranger in a region where, at that time, any Christian who dared enterit took his life in his hand. For the Moorish power in Spain, thoughtottering, still held all Andalusia; and hence the passes of the SierraMorena (which, dividing that province from New Castile, formed thefrontier between Christian and Moslem) were then, owing to theceaseless raids of the light Saracen cavalry, one of the most perilousregions in Spain.
"They come not yet," said the taller man, who wore the gold spurs of aknight, glancing down the pass for the tenth time; "but they willdoubtless haste to cross the border with their booty ere daylightovertake them. They cannot be much longer now."
"Unless they have taken another road and escaped us," growled theother, a square, sturdy man-at-arms, whose dinted armour told of hardservice.
"I think not so," said the knight, calmly. "Yon shepherd who broughtword of their coming must know these mountains well, and has littlecause to love the Saracen robbers, who have taken his all; and this istheir nearest way to their own land. Trust me, by this pass they willcome; and while a hope is left of meeting them, and rescuing ourfellow-Christians whom they are carrying into bondage, here will Iabide, as surely as my name is Alured de Claremont."
It was indeed Brother Michael's penitent knight, who had had many astrange experience since that memorable evening on the hilltop aboveCarcassonne.
Setting himself zealously to the work assigned him by the pilgrim-monk,he had led his wild followers into Spain, and thrown himself, heart andsoul, into the age-long Crusade, by which the Spanish Christians werewinning back their own land, foot by foot, from its Moslem conquerors.No task was too hard for him, no peril too great; and though everforemost in danger, he seemed always to escape unharmed.
So striking, in fact, was this strange immunity, that his men believedhim made proof against weapons by the special grace of Heaven; and hisMoorish foes were equally convinced that he was a mighty enchanter,against whom neither skill nor valour could avail. Such, indeed, wastheir superstitious awe of "The White Knight" (as they called him fromhis bright armour and the snowy plume in his helmet), that when he wasknown to be abroad, the boldest Saracen raiders were chary of venturingover the border.
It was to intercept one of these raiding parties that he was now inambush with some of his best men; for the rocky ridges flanking thegorge, voiceless and lifeless as they seemed beneath their shroud ofthin white mist, were all alive with armed men, ready to leap fromtheir covert at the first gleam of steel far down the shadowy valley,and straining their ears for the hoof-tramp of the returning spoilers.
At last their patience was rewarded. Faint and far, through thetomb-like silence, came a dull, distant sound, growing ever louder andnearer, and shaping itself into the trample of hoofs, and the rattle ofloose stones, and the ring of steel, and the hoarse voices of men, tilla line of turbaned riders began to emerge like spectres from theghostly dimness.
And now the hovering mists rolled away before the mounting sun like thesmoke of a battle, revealing at last to the unseen watchers above thewhole length of the Moorish train.
A sad and fearful sight it was, but only too common in that age ofunceasing war. Every weapon was red with murder, and on many aspear-point was the head of some brave man who had vainly defended hishome against a foe to whom pity was unknown. The spoils of the foraydangled at the saddles of the fierce Moslems, whose dark, lean facesglowed with savage triumph; and mingling with their exulting shoutscame cruel taunts and ferocious curses, flung at the wretched captiveswho, with bound hands and bleeding feet, toiled wearily up the steep,stony path, goaded by the merciless spear-points of the ruffians whowere dragging them away to hopeless slavery.
More than one of the unseen watchers above felt a pang of remorse atthe thought of how often he had himself been guilty of the sameoutrages as the "heathen hounds" whom he abhorred; but this onlyinflamed the righteous wrath of these wild free-lances. Many a stronghand gripped its sword-hilt as if it would dint the metal, and many astout archer drew his arrow to the head as he took sure aim at thesavage throng below, who, with God's name on their lips, were doing thedevil's work.
"Mash' Allah!" (praise to God) cried a tall, gaunt, wild-looking Moor,evidently one of the leaders. "Yet one short league, and we are on ourown ground once more, and then let the Christian dogs follow us if theywill!"
"They will follow to their death, if they do!" said a second man, witha savage grin. "There is yet room on our spear-points for more of theirunsainted heads, and the more the better!"
Just then their talk was interrupted by a scream of pain from a thin,pale, worn-looking woman amid the train of captives, who had gashed herbare foot deeply on one of the sharp stones that strewed the flintypath.
"Wilt thou be ever stumbling, mother of asses?" roared the fierce Moor,who held the cord that bound her bruised and bleeding wrists. "Getforward quickly, or thou shalt smart for it!"
And with his heavy spear-shaft he struck the poor creature savagelyacross the shoulders, forcing from her a fresh shriek of agony.
But hardly was the cowardly blow dealt, when a shaft, whizzing from thethicket above, pierced through steel and bone to the ruffian's cruelheart; and, with a shout that made the air ring, the avengers camedashing down the hillside on their startled foes.
It was a terrible scene that followed; for in that death-grapple ofwarring creeds and races, there could be no thought of mercy. Taken bysurprise, and attacked on both sides at once, the Saracens had not achance; and had not some of the assailants been drawn away from thefight by their eagerness to free the fainting captives, not one Moorwould have been left. As it was, the few whose knowledge of the countryenabled them to plunge into the thickets and escape, were but amiserable gleaning of that great harvest of death.
While the fight lasted, Alured's black steed and white plume wereforemost in the fray, bearing down all before them. He was just cuttingthe cords that coupled some of the hindmost captives, when he came faceto face with a tall, stately Moorish cavalier, splendidly armed andmounted, whose green turban showed that he claimed kindred with theProphet himself.
This was the leader of the Saracen troop, who, riding with therearguard, had taken what he held to be the post of danger, theseover-confident raiders never dreaming of being attacked in front.Without a word, the two chiefs clashed together, each seeing in theother the destroyer of his race and the foe of his religion.
For a few moments, the rattle of their blows on helm and harness was asquick and fierce as the patter of hailstones on a roof. But so equallywere they matched, that no one could have told how the fray was likelyto go; and at last, as if by mutual consent, they paused for breath.
"Christian," said the Moor, with stern admiration, "I would thou wertriding with the servants of the Prophet instead of these dogs of Spain,for thou art the best warrior I have ever faced!"
"I may well say the same of thee," cried the Englishman, heartily, inthe Saracen's own tongue, with which his campaigns on the Moorishborder had made him familiar. "Wilt thou yield to my mercy? See, thymen are scattered, and the day is ours!"
In fact, the Moorish leader was now the only man left fighting, andaround him De Claremont's men were closing on every side. But not oneoffered to lay hand on him, it being so fully recognized a custom ofthat age for two commanders to get up a private fight of their own amidthe general battle, that no one ever dreamed of interfering with it.
"Yield?" echoed
the Moor, disdainfully; "were I alone in the fieldagainst ye all, to no unbeliever, even to so good a champion as thou,should Ismail El Zagal (Ishmael the Valiant) yield himself!"
"Art thou indeed El Zagal?" cried Alured, eyeing him with a newinterest; for though he had never met this man before, there were fewSpanish knights on the whole Andalusian border who had not somemarvellous tale to tell of his feats of arms.
"I am," said the emir; "and thou, Christian chief--thou too hast surelya name that is famed in war. May I know it?"
"I am he whom thy people call 'The White Knight.'"
"The White Knight?" cried El Zagal, with a fierce gleam in his largeblack eyes. "Nay, if thou be indeed that fell foe of my race and of thetrue faith, my blade shall reach thee, though Azrael (the Angel ofDeath) claim me the next moment!"
Down came his blade on Alured's helmet, with such a thunder-stroke thatthe knight reeled in his saddle, and his barred visor, broken from itsclasps, fell clanking to the earth.
But, so far from seconding a blow that had brought victory within hisgrasp, the Moor let fall his terrible scimitar, and stared at his foe'srevealed face in mute and stony horror. Had the falling visor discloseda skeleton or a demon, instead of the knight's noble face, El Zagalcould not have looked more astounded and dismayed.
Alured, though not in the least understanding his foe's sudden panic,was swift to profit by it. Quick as thought, he clutched the emir'swrists, while the Moor, as if actually paralyzed, made no resistance,and only muttered--
"Is this an illusion of magic, or art thou more than mortal?"
"What mean'st thou, brave Moor?" asked the wondering knight, while hismen (who had closed up to prevent the emir's escape) looked on insilent amazement.
"HE STARED AT HIS FOE'S REVEALED FACE"]
"When I left Grenada one moon ago, a Christian slave was at our king'scourt whom he prized so highly, that he would not even let him gobeyond the Alhambra's gates, lest he should escape; yet now standeth hebefore me in thy likeness--for, as truly as the sun shineth above us,thy face and form, yea, thy very voice, are his!"
