by G. A. Henty
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.
From Padua they journeyed to Verona, marveling greatly at the richness of the country. The footmen, however, grumbled at the flatness of the plain, and said that it was as bad as marching in the Holy Land. On their right, however, the slopes of the Alps, thickly clad with forests, reached down nearly to the road, and Cuthbert assured them that they would have plenty of climbing before they had done. At Verona they tarried again, and wondered much at the great amphitheater, then almost perfect. Cuthbert related to Cnut and the archers how men had there been set to fight while the great stone benches round were thronged with men and women looking on at their death struggles, and said that not unfre
quently British captives were brought hither and made to contend in the arena. The honest fellows were full of indignation and horror at the thought of men killing themselves to give sport to others. They were used to hard knocks, and thought but little of their life, and would have betaken themselves to their bows and bills without hesitation in case of a quarrel. But to fight in cold blood for amusement seemed to them very terrible.
Cuthbert would then have traveled on to Milan, at that time next to Rome the richest city in Europe, but he longed to be back in England, and was the more anxious as he knew that King Richard would be passing through great dangers, and he hoped to meet him at the court of Saxony. His money, too, was fast running out, and he found that it would be beyond his slender means to extend his journey so far. At Verona, then, they turned their back on the broad plains of Lombardy, and entered the valley of the Trent.
So far no observation whatever had been excited by the passage of the English knight. So many Crusaders were upon their way home, many in grievous plight, that the somewhat shabby retinue passed unnoticed. But they were now leaving Italy, and entering a country where German was spoken. Trent, in those days an important city, was then, and is still, the meeting place of Italy and Germany. Both tongues are here spoken; but while the Italian perhaps preponderates, the customs, manners, and mode of thought of the people belong to those of the mountaineers of the Tyrol rather than of the dwellers on the plains.
“You are choosing a stormy time,” the landlord of the hostelry where they put up said to Cuthbert. “The winter is now at hand, and storms sweep across the passes with terrible violence. You had better, at the last village you come to in the valley, obtain the services of a guide, for should a snowstorm come on when you are crossing, the path will be lost, and nothing will remain but a miserable death. By daylight the road is good. It has been cut with much trouble, and loaded mules can pass over without difficulty. Poles have been erected at short distances to mark the way when the snow covers it. But when the snowstorms sweep across the mountains it is impossible to see ten paces before you, and if the traveler leaves the path he is lost.”
