by John Buchan
CHAPTER 4. EYES OF YOUTH
On the morning of Shrove Tuesday, in the year of our Lord 1249, SirAimery of Beaumanoir, the envoy of the most Christian king, Louis ofFrance, arrived in the port of Acre, having made the voyage from Cypruswith a fair wind in a day and a night in a ship of Genoa flying the redand gold banner of the Temple. Weary of the palms and sun-baked streetsof Limasol and the eternal wrangling of the Crusading hosts, he lookedwith favour at the noble Palestine harbour, and the gilt steeples andcarven houses of the fair city. From the quay he rode to the palace ofthe Templars and was admitted straightway to an audience with the GrandMaster. For he had come in a business of some moment.
The taste of Cyprus was still in his mouth; the sweet sticky air of thecoastlands; the smell of endless camps of packed humanity, set amongmountains of barrels and malodorous sprouting forage-stuffs; the narrowstreets lit at night by flares of tarry staves; and over all thatrotting yet acrid flavour which is the token of the East. The youngdamoiseau of Beaumanoir had grown very sick of it all since the royaldromonds first swung into Limasol Bay. He had seen his friends die likeflies of strange maladies, while the host waited on Hugh of Burgundy.Egypt was but four days off across the waters, and on its sands Louishad ordained that the War of the Cross should begin.
... But the King seemed strangely supine. Each day the enemy was thebetter forewarned, and each day the quarrels of Templar and Hospitallergrew more envenomed, and yet he sat patiently twiddling his thumbs, asif all time lay before him and not a man's brief life. And now when atlong last the laggards of Burgundy and the Morea were reported on theirway, Sir Aimery had to turn his thoughts from the honest field of war.Not for him to cry Montjole St. Denis by the Nile. For behold he was nowspeeding on a crazy errand to the ends of the earth.
There had been strange councils in the bare little chamber of the MostChristian King. Those locusts of the dawn whom men called Tartars, theevil seed of the Three Kings who had once travelled to Bethlehem, had,it seemed, been vouchsafed a glimpse of grace. True, they had plunderedand eaten the faithful and shed innocent blood in oceans, but they hatedthe children of Mahound worse than the children of Christ. On the eveof Christmas-tide four envoys had come from their Khakan, monstrous menwith big heads that sprang straight from the shoulder, and arms thathung below the knee, and short thin legs like gnomes. For forty weeksthey had been on the road, and they brought gifts such as no eye hadseen before--silks like gossamer woven with wild alphabets, sheeny jarsof jade, and pearls like moons. Their Khakan, they said, had espousedthe grandchild of Prester John, and had been baptized into the Faith. Hemarched against Bagdad, and had sworn to root the heresy of Mahound fromthe earth. Let the King of France make a league with him, and betweenthem, pressing from east and west, they would accomplish the holy task.Let him send teachers to expound the mysteries of God, and let himsend knights who would treat on mundane things. The letter, writtenin halting Latin and sealed with a device like a spider's web, urgedinstant warfare with Egypt. "For the present we dwell far apart," wrotethe Khakan; "therefore let us both get to business."
So Aimery had been summoned to the King's chamber, where he found hisgood master, the Count of St. Pol, in attendance with others. Afterprayer, Louis opened to them his mind. Pale from much fasting andnightly communing with God, his face was lit again with that light whichhad shone in it when on the Friday after Pentecost the year beforehe had received at St. Denis the pilgrim's scarf and the oriflamme ofFrance.
"God's hand is in this, my masters," he said. "Is it not written thatmany shall come from the east and from the west to sit down with Abrahamin his kingdom? I have a duty towards those poor folk, and I dare notfail."
There was no man present bold enough to argue with the white fire in theKing's eyes. One alone cavilled. He was a Scot, Sir Patrick, the Countof Dunbar, who already shook with the fever which was to be his death.
"This Khakan is far away, sire," he said. "If it took his envoys fortyweeks to reach us, it will be a good year before his armies are on theskirts of Egypt. As well make alliance with a star."
But Louis was in missionary mood. "God's ways are not as our ways. ToHim a thousand years are a day, and He can make the weakest confound amultitude. This far-away King asks for instruction, and I will send himholy men to fortify his young faith. And this knight, of whom you, mylord of St. Pol, speak well, shall bear the greetings of a soldier."
Louis' face, which for usual was grave like a wise child's, broke intoa smile which melted Aimery's heart. He scarcely heard the Count ofSt. Pol as that stout friend enlarged on his merits. "The knight ofBeaumanoir," so ran the testimony, "has more learning than any clerk. InSpain he learned the tongues of the heathen, and in Paris he read deepin their philosophy. Withal he is a devout son of Holy Church."
The boy blushed at the praise and the King's kindly regard. But St. Polspoke truth, for Aimery, young as he was, had travelled far both on thematerial globe and in the kingdom of the spirit. As a stripling he hadmade one of the Picardy Nation in the schools of Paris. He had studiedthe metaphysics of Aristotle under Aquinas, and voyaged strange seas ofthought piloted by Roger, the white-bearded Englishman. Thence, by thefavour of the Queen-mother, he had gone as squire to Alphonso's court ofCastile, where the Spanish doctors had opened windows for him into theclear dry wisdom of the Saracens. He had travelled with an embassyto the Emperor, and in Sicily had talked with the learned Arabswho clustered around the fantastic Frederick. In Italy he had metadventurers of Genoa and Venice who had shown him charts of unknownoceans and maps of Prester John's country and the desert roads thatled to Cambaluc, that city farther than the moon, and told him tales ofawful and delectable things hidden beyond the dawn. He had returned tohis tower by the springs of Canche, a young man with a name for uncannyknowledge, a searcher after concealed matters, negligent of religion andill at ease in his world.
Then Louis cast his spell over him. He saw the King first at a greathunting in Avesnes and worshipped from afar the slight body, royal inevery line of it, and the blue eyes which charmed and compelled, for hedivined there a spirit which had the secret of both earth and heaven.While still under the glamour he was given knighthood at the royalhands, and presently was weaned from unwholesome fancies by falling inlove. The girl, Alix of Valery, was slim like a poplar and her eyes weregrey and deep as her northern waters. She had been a maid of Blanchethe Queen, and had a nun's devoutness joined to a merry soul. Under herguiding Aimery made his peace with the Church, and became notable forhis gifts to God, for he derived great wealth from his Flemish forbears.Yet the yeast of youth still wrought in him, and by Alix's side at nighthe dreamed of other lands than his grey-green Picardy. So, when the Kingtook the croix d'outre mer and summoned his knights to the freeing ofJerusalem, Sir Aimery of Beaumanoir was the first to follow. For to him,as to others like him, the goal was no perishable city made by mortalhands, but that beata urbs without foundations which youth builds of itsdreams.
He heard mass by the King's side and, trembling with pride, kissed theroyal hands and set out on his journey. His last memory of Louis was ofa boyish figure in a surcoat of blue samite, gazing tenderly on him asof bidding farewell to a brother.
The Grand Master of the Templars, sitting in a furred robe in a warmupper chamber, for he had an ague on him, spoke gloomily of the mission.He would have preferred to make alliance with the Soldan of Egypt, andby his aid recover the Holy Cities. "What Khakan is this?" he cried, "towhom it is a journey of a lifetime to come nigh? What kind of Christianwill you make of men that have blood for drink and the flesh of babesfor food, and blow hither and thither on horses like sandstorms? Yoursis a mad venture, young sir, and I see no good that can come of it."Nevertheless he wrote letters of commendation to the Prince of Antiochand the Constable of Armenia; and he brought together all those aboutthe place who had travelled far inland to make a chart of the journey.
Aimery heeded little the Templar's forebodings, for his heart had grownhigh again and romance was kindling hi
s fancy. There was a knuckle ofcaution in him, for he had the blood of Flemish traders in his veins,though enriched by many nobler streams. "The profit is certain," a cynichad whispered to him ere they left Aigues Mortes. "Should we conquer weshall grow rich, and if we fail we shall go to heaven." The phrase hadfitted some of his moods, notably the black ones at Limasol, but now hewas all aflame with the quixotry of the Crusader. He neither needednor sought wealth, nor was he concerned about death. His feet trod thesacred soil of his faith, and up in the hills which rimmed theseaward plain lay all the holiness of Galilee and Nazareth, the threetabernacles built by St. Peter on the Mount of Transfiguration, thestone whence Christ ascended into heaven, the hut at Bethlehem whichhad been the Most High's cradle, the sanctuary of Jerusalem whose everystone was precious. Presently his King would win it all back for God.But for him was the sterner task--no clean blows in the mellay amongbrethren, but a lone pilgrimage beyond the east wind to the cradleof all marvels. The King had told him that he carried the hopes ofChristendom in his wallet; he knew that he bore within himself thedelirious expectation of a boy. Youth swelled his breast and steeled hissinews and made a golden mist for his eyes. The new, the outlandish,the undreamed-of!--Surely no one of the Seven Champions had had suchfortune! Scribes long after would write of the deeds of Aimery ofBeaumanoir, and minstrels would sing of him as they sang of Roland andTristan.
The Count of Jaffa, whose tower stood on the borders and who wastherefore rarely quit of strife, convoyed him a stage or two on his way.It was a slender company: two Franciscans bearing the present of Louisto the Khakan--a chapel-tent of scarlet cloth embroidered inside withpictures of the Annunciation and the Passion; two sumpter mules withbaggage; Aimery's squire, a lad from the Boulonnais; and Aimery himselfmounted on a Barbary horse warranted to go far on little fodder. Thelord of Jaffa turned back when the snows of Lebanon were falling behindon their right. He had nodded towards the mountains.
"There lives the Old Man and his Ishmaelites. Fear nothing, for hisfangs are drawn." And when Aimery asked the cause of the impotence ofthe renowned Assassins, he was told--"That Khakan whom ye seek."
After that they made good speed to the city of Antioch, where not solong before angels from heaven had appeared as knights in white armourto do battle for the forlorn Crusaders. There they were welcomed bythe Prince and sent forward into Armenia, guided by the posts of theConstable of that harassed kingdom. Everywhere the fame of the Tartarshad gone abroad, and with each mile they journeyed the tales becamestranger. Conquerers and warriors beyond doubt, but grotesque paladinsfor the Cross. Men whispered their name with averted faces, and in theeyes of the travelled ones there was the terror of sights rememberedoutside the mortal pale. Aimery's heart was stout, but he brooded muchas the road climbed into the mountains. Far off in Cyprus the Khakan hadseemed a humble devotee at Christ's footstool, asking only to serve andlearn; but now he had grown to some monstrous Cyclops beyond the statureof man, a portent like a thundercloud brooding over unnumbered miles.Besides, the young lord was homesick, and had long thoughts of Alix hiswife and the son she had borne him. As he looked at the stony hills heremembered that it would now be springtide in Picardy, when the younggreen of the willows fringed every watercourse and the plovers werecalling on the windy downs.
The Constable of Armenia dwelt in a castle of hewn stone about which alittle city clustered, with mountains on every side to darken the sky,He was as swarthy as a Saracen and had a long nose like a Jew, but hewas a good Christian and a wise ruler, though commonly at odds with hiscousin of Antioch. From him Aimery had more precise news of the Khakan.
There were two, said the Constable. "One who rules all Western Asia eastof the Sultan's principates. Him they call the Ilkhan for title, andHoulagou for name. His armies have eaten up the Chorasmians and theMuscovites and will presently bite their way into Christendom, unlessGod change their heart. By the Gospels, they are less and more than men.Swinish drinkers and gluttons, they rise from their orgies to sweep theearth like a flame. Here inside our palisade of rock we wait fearfully."
"And the other?" Aimery asked.
"Ah, he is as much the greater as the sun is greater than a star. Kublaithey name him, and he is in some sort the lord of Houlagou. I have nevermet the man who has seen him, for he dwells as far beyond the Ilkhan asthe Ilkhan is far from the Pillars of Hercules. But rumour has it thathe is a clement and beneficent prince, terrible in battle, but a loverof peace and all good men. They tell wonders about his land of Cathay,where strips of parchment stamped with the King's name take the placeof gold among the merchants, so strong is that King's honour. But thejourney to Cambaluc, the city of Kublai, would fill a man's lifetime."
One April morning they heard mass after the odd Syrian fashion, andturned their faces eastward. The Constable's guides led them through themountains, up long sword-cuts of valleys and under frowning snowdrifts,or across stony barrens where wretched beehive huts huddled by theshores of unquiet lakes. Presently they came into summer, and foundmeadows of young grass and green forests on the hills' skirts, and sawwide plains die into the blueness of morning. There the guides leftthem, and the little cavalcade moved east into unknown anarchies.
The sky grew like brass over their heads, and the land baked and ruttedwith the sun's heat. It seemed a country empty of man, though sometimesthey came on derelict ploughlands and towns of crumbling brick charredand glazed by fire. In sweltering days they struggled through flatswhere the grass was often higher than a horse's withers, and forded thetawny streams which brought down the snows of the hills. Now and thenthey would pass wandering herdsmen, who fled to some earth-burrow attheir appearance. The Constable had bidden them make for the risingsun, saying that sooner or later they would foregather with the Khakan'sscouts. But days passed into weeks and weeks into months, and still theymoved through a tenantless waste. They husbanded jealously the foodthey had brought, but the store ran low, and there were days of emptystomachs and light heads. Unless, like the King of Babylon, they were toeat grass in the fashion of beasts, it seemed they must soon famish.
But late in summertime they saw before them a wall of mountain, and inthree days climbed by its defiles to a pleasant land, where once morethey found the dwellings of man. It appeared that they were in a countrywhere the Tartars had been for some time settled and which had for yearsbeen free of the ravages of war. The folks were hunters and shepherdswho took the strangers for immortal beings and offered food on bentknees like oblations to a god. They knew where the Ilkhan dwelt, andfurnished guides for each day's journey. Aimery, who had been sick of alow fever in the plains, and had stumbled on in a stupor torn by flashesof homesickness, found his spirits reviving. He had cursed many timesthe futility of his errand. While the Franciscans were busied with theirpunctual offices and asked nothing of each fresh day but that it shouldbe as prayerful as the last, he found a rebellious unbelief rising inhis heart. He was travelling roads no Christian had ever trod, ona wild-goose errand, while his comrades were winning fame in thebattle-front. Alas! that a bright sword should rust in these barrens!
But with the uplands peace crept into his soul and some of the mysteryof his journey. It was a brave venture, whether it failed or no, for hehad already gone beyond the pale even of men's dreams. The face ofLouis hovered before him. It needed a great king even to conceive such amission.... He had been sent on a king's errand too. He stood alone forFrance and the Cross in a dark world. Alone, as kings should stand, forto take all the burden was the mark of kingship. His heart boundedat the thought, for he was young. His father had told him of that oldFlanders grandam, who had sworn that his blood came from proud kings.
But chiefly he thought of Louis with a fresh warmth of love. Surely theKing loved him, or he would not have chosen him out of many for thisfateful work. He had asked of him the ultimate service, as a friendshould. Aimery reconstructed in his inner vision all his memories of theKing: the close fair hair now thinning about the temples; the small facestill contoured like a boy'
s; the figure strung like a bow; the quick,eager gestures; the blue dove's eyes, kindly and humble, as became onewhose proudest title was to be a "sergeant of the Crucified." But thosesame eyes could also steel and blaze, for his father had been called theLion, his mother Semiramis, and his grandsire Augustus. In these wildsAimery was his vicegerent and bore himself proudly as the proxy of sucha monarch.
The hour came when they met the Tartar outposts. A cloud of horse sweptdown on them, each man riding loose with his hand on a taut bowstring.In silence they surrounded the little party, and their leader made signsto Aimery to dismount. The Constable had procured for him a letter inTartar script, setting out the purpose of his mission. This the outpostcould not read, but they recognised some word among the characters, andpointed it out to each other with uncouth murmurings. They were strangefolk, with eyes like pebbles and squat frames and short, broad faces,but each horse and man moved in unison like a centaur.
With gestures of respect the Tartars signalled to the Christians tofollow, and led them for a day and a night southward down a broadvalley, where vines and fruit trees grew and peace dwelt in villages.They passed encampments of riders like themselves, and little scurriesof horsemen would ride athwart their road and exchange greetings. On thesecond morning they reached a city, populous in men but not in houses.For miles stretched lines of skin tents, and in the heart of them by theriver's edge stood a great hall of brick, still raw from the builders.
Aimery sat erect on his weary horse with the hum of an outlandish hostabout him, himself very weary and very sick at heart. For the utterfolly of it all had come on him like the waking from a dream. These menwere no allies of the West. They were children of the Blue Wolf, asthe Constable had said, a monstrous brood, swarming from the unknownto blight the gardens of the world. A Saracen compared to such was acourteous knight.... He thought of Kublai, the greater Khakan. Perhapsin his court might dwell gentlehood and reason. But here was but a wolfpack in the faraway guise of man.
They gave the strangers food and drink--halfcooked fish and a porridgeof rye and sour spiced milk, and left them to sleep until sundown. Thenthe palace guards led them to the presence.
The hall was immense, dim and shapeless like the inside of a hill,not built according to the proportions of mankind. Flambeaux and wicksfloating in great basins of mutton fat showed a dense concourse ofwarriors, and through an aisle of them Aimery approached the throne. Infront stood a tree of silver, springing from a pedestal of four lionswhose mouths poured streams of wine, syrup, and mead into basins, whichwere emptied by a host of slaves, the cup-bearers of the assembly.There were two thrones side by side, on one of which sat a figure somotionless that it might have been wrought of jasper. Weighted witha massive head-dress of pearls and a robe of gold brocade, the littlegrandchild of Prester John seemed like a doll on which some princess hadlavished wealth and fancy. The black eyelashes lay quiet on her olivecheeks, and her breathing did not stir her stiff, jewelled bodice.
"I have seen death in life," thought Aimery as he shivered and lookedaside.
Houlagou, her husband, was a tall man compared with the others. Hisface was hairless, and his mouth fine and cruel. His eyes were hard likeagates, with no light in them. A passionless power lurked in the lowbroad forehead, and the mighty head sunk deep between the shoulders; butthe power not of a man, but of some abortion of nature, like storm orearthquake. Again Aimery shivered. Had not the prophets foretold thatone day Antichrist would be reborn in Babylon?
Among the Ilkhan's scribes was a Greek who spoke a bastard French andacted as interpreter. King Louis' letter was read, and in that hallits devout phrases seemed a mockery. The royal gifts were produced,the tent-chapel with its woven pictures and the sacred utensils. Thehalf-drunk captains fingered them curiously, but the eyes from thethrone scarcely regarded them.
"These are your priests," said the Khakan "Let them talk with my priestsand then go their own way. I have little concern with priestcraft."
Then Aimery spoke, and the Greek with many haltings translated. Hereminded Houlagou of the Tartar envoys who had sought from his Kinginstruction in the Christian faith and had proclaimed his baptism.
"Of that I know nothing," was the answer. "Maybe 'twas some whim of mybrother Kublai. I have all the gods I need."
With a heavy heart Aimery touched on the proposed alliance, the advanceon Bagdad, and the pinning of the Saracens between two fires. He spokeas he had been ordered, but with a bitter sense of futility, for whatkind of ally could be looked for in this proud pagan?
The impassive face showed no flicker of interest.
"I am eating up the Caliphs," he said, "but that food is for my owntable. As for allies, I have need of none. The children of the Blue Wolfdo not make treaties."
Then he spoke aside to his captains, and fixed Aimery with his agateeyes. It was like listening to a voice from a stone.
"The King of France has sent you to ask for peace. Peace, no doubt, isgood, and I will grant it of my favour. A tribute will be fixed in goldand silver, and while it is duly paid your King's lands will be safefrom my warriors. Should the tribute fail, France will be ours. I haveheard that it is a pleasant place."
The Ilkhan signed that the audience was over. The fountains of liquorceased to play, and the drunken gathering stood up with a howling likewild beasts to acclaim their King. Aimery went back to his hut, and satdeep in thought far into the night.
He perceived that the shadows were closing in upon him. He must get thefriars away, and with them a message to his master. For himself therecould be no return, for he could not shame his King who had trusted him.In the bestial twilight of this barbaric court the memory of Louis shonelike a star. He must attempt to reach Kublai, of whom men spoke well,though the journey cost him his youth and his life. It might mean yearsof wandering, but there was a spark of hope in it. There, in the bleakhut, he suffered the extreme of mental anguish. A heavy door seemed tohave closed between him and all that he held dear. He fell on his kneesand prayed to the saints to support his loneliness. And then he foundcomfort, for had not God's Son suffered even as he, and left the brightstreets of Paradise for loneliness among the lost?
Next morning he faced the world with a clearer eye. It was not difficultto provide for the Franciscans. They, honest men, understood nothingsave that the Tartar king had not the love of holy things for whichthey had hoped. They explained the offices of the Church as well as theycould to ribald and uncomprehending auditors, and continued placidly intheir devotions. As it chanced, a convoy was about to start for Muscovy,whence by ship they might come to Constantinople. The Tartars made noobjection to their journey, for they had some awe of these pale men andwere glad to be quit of foreign priestcraft. With them Aimery sent aletter in which he told the King that the immediate errand had beendone, but that no good could be looked for from this western Khakan. "Igo," he said, "to Kublai the Great, in Cathay, who has a heart more opento God. If I return not, know, Sire, that I am dead in your most lovingservice, joyfully and pridefully as a Christian knight dies for theCross, his King, and his lady." He added some prayers on behalf of thelittle household at Beaumanoir and sealed it with his ring. It was thering he had got from his father, a thick gold thing in which had beencut his cognisance of three lions' heads.
This done, he sought an audience with the Ilkhan, and told him of hispurpose. Houlagou did not speak for a little, and into his set faceseemed to creep an ill-boding shadow of a smile. "Who am I," he said atlength, "to hinder your going to my brother Kublai? I will give you anescort to my eastern borders."
Aimery bent his knee and thanked him, but from the courtiers rose ahubbub of mirth which chilled his gratitude. He was aware that he sailedon very desperate waters.
Among the Tartars was a recreant Genoese who taught them metal workand had once lived at the court of Cambaluc. The man had glimmerings ofhonesty, and tried hard to dissuade Aimery from the journey. "It isa matter of years," he told him, "and the road leads through desertsgreater than al
l Europe and over mountains so high and icy that birdsare frozen in the crossing. And a word in your ear, my lord. The Ilkhanpermits few to cross his eastern marches. Beware of treason, I say. Yourcompanions are the blood-thirstiest of the royal guards."
But from the Genoese he obtained a plan of the first stages of the road,and one morning in autumn he set out from the Tartar city, his squirefrom the Boulonnais by his side, and at his back a wild motley ofhorsemen, wearing cuirasses of red leather stamped with the blue wolf ofHoulagou's house.
October fell chill and early in those uplands, and on the fourth daythey came into a sprinkling of snow. At night round the fires theTartars made merry, for they had strong drink in many skin bottles, andAimery was left to his own cold meditations. If he had had any hope, itwas gone now, for the escort made it clear that he was their prisoner.Judging from the chart of the Genoese, they were not following any roadto Cambaluc, and the sight of the sky told him that they were circlinground to the south. The few Tartar words he had learned were not enoughto communicate with them, and in any case it was clear that they wouldtake no orders from him. He was trapped like a bird in the fowler'shands. Escape was folly, for in an hour their swift horses would haveridden him down. He had thought he had grown old, but the indignity wokehis youth again, and he fretted passionately. If death was his portion,he longed for it to come cleanly in soldier fashion.
One night his squire disappeared. The Tartars, when he tried to questionthem, only laughed and pointed westward. That was the last he heard ofthe lad from the Boulonnais.
And then on a frosty dawn, when the sun rose red-rimmed over thebarrens, he noted a new trimness in his escort. They rode in line, andthey rode before and behind him, so that his captivity was made patent.On a ridge far to the west he saw a great castle, and he knew the palaceof Houlagou. His guess had been right; he had been brought back by acircuit to his starting-point.
Presently he was face to face with the Ilkhan, who was hunting. TheGreek scribe was with him, so the meeting had been foreseen. The King'sface was dark with the weather and his stony eyes had a glow in them.
"O messenger of France," he said, "there is a little custom of ourpeople that I had forgotten. When a stranger warrior visits us it is ourfashion to pit him in a bout against one of our own folk, so that if heleaves us alive he may speak well of his entertainment."
"I am willing," said Aimery. "I have but my sword for weapon."
"We have no lack of swordsmen," said the Ilkhan. "I would fain see theFrankish way of it."
A man stepped out from the ring, a great square fellow shorter by a headthan Aimery, and with a nose that showed there was Saracen blood in him.He had a heavy German blade, better suited for fighting on horsebackthan on foot. He had no buckler, and no armour save a headpiece, so thecombatants were fairly matched.
It was a contest of speed and deftness against a giant's strength, fora blow from the great weapon would have cut deep into a man's vitals.Aimery was weary and unpractised, but the clash of steel gave life tohim. He found that he had a formidable foe, but one who lacked the finerarts of the swordsman. The Tartar wasted his strength in the air againstthe new French parries and guards, though he drew first blood and gashedhis opponent's left arm. Aimery's light blade dazzled his eyes, andpresently when breath had grown short claimed its due. A deft cut on theshoulder paralysed the Tartar's sword arm, and a breaststroke broughthim to his knees.
"Finish him," said the Ilkhan.
"Nay, sire," said Aimery, "it is not our custom to slay a disabled foe."
Houlagou nodded to one of his guards, who advanced swinging his sword.The defeated man seemed to know his fate, and stretched out his neck.With a single blow his head rolled on the earth.
"You have some skill of the sword, Frenchman," said the Ilkhan. "Hear,now, what I have decreed concerning you. I will have none of thisjourney to my brother Kublai. I had purposed to slay you, for you havedefied my majesty. You sought to travel to Cathay instead of bearing mycommands forthwith to your little King. But I am loath to kill so stouta warrior. Swear to me allegiance, and you shall ride with me againstthe Caliphs."
"And if I refuse?" Aimery asked.
"Then you die ere sundown."
"I am an envoy, sire, from a brother majesty, and of such it is thecustom to respect the persons."
"Tush!" said the Ilkhan, "there is no brother majesty save Kublai.Between us we rule the world."
"Hear me, then," said Aimery. The duel had swept all cobwebs from hisbrain and doubts from his heart. "I am a knight of the Sire Christ andof the most noble King Louis, and I can own no other lord. Do your work,King. I am solitary among your myriads, but you cannot bend me."
"So be it," said Houlagou.
"I ask two boons as one about to die. Let me fall in battle against yourwarriors. And let me spend the hours till sundown alone, for I wouldprepare myself for my journey."
"So be it," said Houlagou, and turned to his hounds.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The damoiseau of Beaumanoir sat on a ridge commanding for fifty milesthe snow-sprinkled uplands. The hum of the Tartars came faint from ahollow to the west, but where he sat he was in quiet and alone.
He had forgotten the ache of loss which had preyed on him.... His youthhad not been squandered. The joy of young manhood which had been alwayslike a tune in his heart had risen to a nobler song. For now, as itseemed to him, he stood beside his King, and had found a throne in thedesert. Alone among all Christian men he had carried the Cross to anew world, and had been judged worthy to walk in the footprints of hiscaptain Christ. A great gladness and a great humility possessed him.
He had ridden beyond the ken of his own folk, and no tale of his endwould ever be told in that northern hall of his when the hearth-fireflickered on the rafters. That seemed small loss, for they would knowthat he had ridden the King's path, and that can have but the oneending.... Most clear in his memory now were the grey towers by Canche,where all day long the slow river made a singing among the reeds. He sawAlix his wife, the sun on her hair, playing in the close with his littlePhilip. Even now in the pleasant autumn weather that curly-pate would bescrambling in the orchard for the ripe apples which his mother rolled tohim. He had thought himself born for a high destiny. Well, that destinyhad been accomplished. He would not die, but live in the son of hisbody, and his sacrifice would be eternally a spirit moving in the heartsof his seed. He saw the thing clear and sharp, as if in a magic glass.There was a long road before the house of Beaumanoir, and on the extremehorizon a great brightness.
Now he remembered that he had always known it, known it even when hishead had been busy with ardent hopes. He had loved life and had won lifeeverlasting. He had known it when he sought learning from wise books.When he kept watch by his armour in the Abbey church of Corbie andquestioned wistfully the darkness, that was the answer he had got. Inthe morning, when he had knelt in snow-white linen and crimson and steelbefore the high altar and received back his sword from God, the messagehad been whispered to his heart. In the June dawn when, barefoot, he wasgiven the pilgrim's staff and entered on his southern journey, he hadhad a premonition of his goal. But now what had been dim, like ashadow in a mirror, was as clear as the colours in a painted psaltery."Jerusalem, Jerusalem," he sighed, as his King was wont to sigh. For hewas crossing the ramparts of the secret city.
He tried to take the ring from his finger that he might bury it, for itirked him that his father's jewel should fall to his enemies. But thewound had swollen his left hand, and he could not move the ring.
He was looking westward, for that way lay the Holy Places, and likewiseAlix and Picardy. His minutes were few now, for he heard the bridles ofthe guards, as they closed in to carry him to his last fight.... He hadwith him a fragment of rye-cake and beside him on the ridge was a littlespring. In his helmet he filled a draught, and ate a morsel. For, by thegrace of the Church to the knight in extremity, he was now sealed of thepriesthood, and partook of the mystic body
and blood of his Lord....
Somewhere far off there was a grass fire licking the hills, and the sunwas setting in fierce scarlet and gold. The hollow of the sky seemeda vast chapel ablaze with lights, like the lifting of the Host atCandlemas.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The tale is not finished. For, as it chanced, one Maffeo of Venice,a merchant who had strayed to the court of Cambaluc and found favourthere, was sent by Kublai the next year on a mission to Europe, and hisway lay through the camp of Houlagou. He was received with honour, andshown the riches of the Tartar armies. Among other things he heard of aFrankish knight who had fallen in battle with Houlagou's champions,and won much honour, they said, having slain three. He was shown theshrivelled arm of this knight, with a gold ring on the third finger.Maffeo was a man of sentiment, and begged for and was given the poorfragment, meaning to accord it burial in consecrated ground when heshould arrive in Europe. He travelled to Bussorah, whence he came by seato Venice. Now at Venice there presently arrived the Count of St. Polwith a company of Frenchmen, bound on a mission to the Emperor. Maffeo,of whom one may still read in the book of Messer Marco Polo, was becomea famous man in the city, and strangers resorted to his house to hearhis tales and see his treasures. From him St. Pol learned of the deadknight, and, reading the cognisance on the ring, knew the fate of hisfriend. On his return journey he bore the relic to Louis at Paris,who venerated it as the limb of a saint; and thereafter took it toBeaumanoir, where the Lady Alix kissed it with proud tears. The arm ina rich casket she buried below the chapel altar, and the ring she woretill her death.
