The Prince and the Page: A Story of the Last Crusade by Charlotte M. Yonge (ebook reader .TXT) 📖

said Richard.  “I have his brotherly kindness.  I have the opportunity of redeeming my name.  Nay, I should even regret any honour that took me from the services I now perform.  Simon, didst thou but know his love for our father!”

“Silence, base caitiff!” thundered Simon; “I know his deeds, and that is enough for me!  Look here, mean-spirited as thou wert to be taken with his hypocrisy, I have pity on thee yet.  I would spare thee what awaits thee in the camp!”

“For heaven’s sake, Simon, dost know of any attack of the Emir?  The Princess must at once be conveyed into the town!  As thou art a man, a Christian, speak plainly!”

“Foolish lad, the infidels are quiet enough!  No peril threatens the camp!  Only if thou wilt run thy head into it, thou art like to find it too hot to hold thee!”

“I am afraid of no accusations,” said Richard; “my Lord knows and trusts me.”

Simon laughed a loud ringing scornful laugh.

“Wilful will to water,” he said.  “Well, thou besotted lad, if it be not too late when thou getst into the hands of Crookbacked Edmund and Red Gilbert, remember the way to Galilee, that is all!”

“I tell thee, Simon,” said Richard, turning round and fully facing him; “I would rather perish an innocent man by the hands of the Provost Marshal, than darken my soul with thy counsels of blood.  O Simon!  What thy purpose may be I know not; but canst thou deem it faithfulness to our father, saint as he was, to live this dark wild life, so utterly abhorrent to him?”

“Let those look to that who slew him, and made me such as I am,” returned Simon, turning from him, and gazing steadfastly down into the camp.  Suddenly a gleam of fierce exultation lighted up his face, and again facing Richard he exclaimed, “Yes, go home, tame cringing spaniel, and see whether a Montfort is still in favour below there!  See if proud Edward is still ready to meet thy fawning with his scornful patronage!  See if the honour of a murdered father has not been left in better hands than thine!  And when thou hast had thy lesson, find the way to Ain Gebel, or ask Nick Dustifoot.”

Richard, with a startled exclamation, looked down, but could discern nothing unusual in the camp.  The royal banner hung in heavy folds over the Prince’s pavilions, and all was evidently still in the same noontide repose, or rather exhaustion, to which the Syrian sun reduced even the hardy active Englishmen.  “What mean you?” he began; but Simon was no longer beside him.  He called, but echo alone answered; and all he could do was to throw himself on his horse, and hurry down the mountain side, with a vague presentiment of evil, and a burning desire to warn his lord or share his peril.

He understood Simon’s position.  Many of the almost inaccessible rocks, where the sons of Anak had built their Cyclopean fortresses, and which had been abodes of almost fabulous beauty and strength in the Herodian days, had been resorted to again by the crusaders, and had served as isolated strongholds whence to annoy the enemy.  Frightfully lawless had, in too many instances, been the life there led, more especially by the Levant-born sons of Europeans; and in the universal disorganization of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, that took place in consequence of the disputed rights of Cyprus and Hohenstaufen, most of them had become free from all control.  If the garrisons bore the Christian name at all, it chiefly was as an excuse for preying on all around; but too often they were renegades of every variety of nation, drawn together by the vilest passions, commanded by some reckless adventurer, and paying a species of allegiance to any power that either endangered them, or afforded them the hopes of plunder.  Bloodthirsty and voluptuous alike, they were viewed with equal terror by the Frank pilgrim, the Syriac villager, the Armenian merchant, and the Saracen hadji—whose ransom and whose spoil enriched their chambers, with all that the licentious tastes of East and West united could desire.  There were comparatively few of these nests of iniquity in these latter days of the Crusades, but some still survived; and Richard had seen some of their captains with their followers at the siege of Nazareth, where the atrocities they had committed had been such as to make the English army stand aghast.  As a member of such a crew, Simon could hardly fail to find means of attempting that revenge on which it was but too evident that he was still bent; and Richard, as every possible risk rose before him, urged his horse to perilous speed down the steep descent, and chid every obstacle, though in fact the descent which ordinarily occupied two hours, for men who cared for their own necks, was effected by him in a quarter of the time.  He came to the entrenched camp.  The entrance, where the Prince made so strict a point of keeping a sentinel, was completely unguarded.  The foremost tents were empty, but there was a sound as of the murmuring voices of numbers towards the centre of the camp.  The next moment he met Hamlyn de Valence riding quickly, and followed by two attendants.

“Hamlyn! a moment!” he gasped.  “Has aught befallen the Prince?”

“You were aware of it, then!” said Hamlyn, checking his horse, and looking him full in the face.

“Answer me, for Heaven’s sake!  Is all well with the Princes?”

“As well as your house desires—or it may be somewhat better,” said Hamlyn; “but let me pass.  I am on an errand of life or death.”

So saying, Hamlyn dashed forwards; and Richard, in double alarm, made his way to the space in the centre of the camp, where he found himself on the outskirts of a crowd, talking in the various tongues of English, French, and Lingua Franca.  “He lives—the good Princess—the dogs of infidels—poison—” were the words he caught.  He flung himself from his horse, and was about to interrogate the nearest man, when John of Dunster came hurrying towards him from the tents, and threw himself upon him, sobbing with agitation and dismay.

“What is it?  Speak, John!  The Prince!”

“Oh, if you had but been there!  It will not cease bleeding.  O Richard, he looks worse than my father when he came home!”

“Let me hear!  Where?  How is he hurt?”

“In the arm and brow,” said the boy.

“The arm!” said Richard, much relieved.

“Ah, but they say the dagger is poisoned!  Stay, Richard, I’ll tell you all.  Dame Idonea turned me out of the tent, and she will not let any one in.  It was thus—even now the Prince was lying on the day-bed in his own outer tent, no one else there save myself.  I believe everybody was asleep, I know I was—when Nick Dustifoot called me, and bade me tell the Prince there was a messenger from the Emir of Joppa, asking to see him.  So the Prince roused himself up, and bade him come in.  He was one of those quick-eyed Moorish-looking infidels, in the big turbans and great goat’s hair cloaks; and he went down on his knees, and hit the ground with his forehead, and said Salam aleikum—traitor that he was—and gave the Prince a letter.  Well, the Prince muttered something about his head aching so sorely that he could scarce see the writing, and had just put up his hand to shade his eyes from the light, when the dog was out with a dagger and fell on him!  The Prince’s arm being raised, caught the stroke, you see; and that moment his foot was up,” said John, acting the kick, “and down went the rogue upon his back!  And I—I threw myself right down over him!”

“Did you, my brave little fellow?  Well done of you!” cried Richard.

“And the Prince wrested the dagger out of the rogue’s hand, only he tore his own forehead sorely, as the point flew up with the shock—and then stabbed the villain to the heart—see how the blood rushed over me!  Then the Prince pulled me up, and called me a brave lad, and set me on my feet, and asked me if I were sure I was not hurt.  And by that time the archers were coming in, when all was over; and Long Robin must needs snatch up a joint stool and have a stroke at the Moor’s head.  I trow the Prince was wrath with the cowardly clown for striking a dead man.  He said I alone had been any aid!”

“‘Well?” anxiously asked Richard, gathering intense alarm as he saw that the boy’s trouble still exceeded his elation, even at such commendation as this.

“But then,” said John sadly, “even while he called it nothing, there came a dizziness over him.  And even then the Princess had heard the outcry, and came in haste with Dame Idonea.  And so soon as the Dame had picked up the dagger and looked well at it, and smelt it, she said there was poison on it.  No sooner did the Princess hear that, than, without one word, she put her lips to his arm to suck forth the venom.  He was for withholding her, but the Dame said that was the only safeguard for his life; and she looked—oh, so imploring!”

“Blessings on the sweet Princess and true wife!” cried the men-at-arms, great numbers of whom had gathered round the little eye-witness to hear his account.

“And so is he saved?” said Richard, with a long breath.

“Ah! but,” said John, his eyes beginning to fill with tears, “there is the Grand Master of the Templars come now, and he says that to suck the poison is of no avail; and that nothing will save him but cutting away the living flesh as I would carve the wing of a bustard; and Dame Idonea says that is just the way King Cœur de Lion died, and the Princess is weeping, and the wound will not stop bleeding; and Hamlyn is gone to Acre for a surgeon, and they are all wrangling, and Dame Idonea boxed my ears at last, and said I was gaping there.”  The boy absolutely burst into sobs and tears, and at the same moment a growl arose among the archers, of “Curses on the Moslem hounds!  Not one shall escape!  Death to every captive in our hands!”

“Nay, nay,” exclaimed Richard, looking up in horror; “the poor captives are utterly guiltless!  Far more justly make me suffer,” murmured he sadly.

“All tarred with the same stick,” said the nearest; “serve them as they deserve.”

“Think,” added Richard, “if the Prince would see no dishonour done to the dead carcase of the murderer himself, would he be willing to have ill worked on living men, sackless of the wrong?  English turning butchers—that were fit work for Paynims.”

“No, no, not one shall live to laugh at our Edward’s fall,” burst out the men; and a voice among them added, “Sure the young squire seems to know a vast deal about the guilty and the guiltless—the Montfort!  Ay!  Away with all foes to our Edward—”

“Best withdraw yourself, Sir,” said Hob Longbow; “their blood is up.  Baulk them of their prey, and they will set on you next.”

Richard just then beheld a person from whose interposition he had much greater hopes, namely the Earl of Gloucester, who, though still a young man, was the chief English noble in the camp, and whose special charge the Saracen captives were.  He hurried towards him, and asked tidings of the Prince.

“Ill tidings, I trow,” said the Earl, bitterly.  “Ay, Richard de Montfort, you had best take heed to yourself, he was your best friend; and a sore lookout it is for us all.  Between the old dotard his father and the poor babes his children, England is in woeful plight.  Would that your father’s wits were among us still!  There’s some curse on this fools’ errand of a Crusade, for here is the sixth prince it hath slain, and well if we lose not our Princess too.  But what is all this uproar!”

“The men-at-arms, my Lord,” said Richard, “fierce to visit the crime on the captives.”

“A good riddance!” said Earl Gilbert; “the miscreants eat as much as ten score yeomen, and my knaves are weary with guarding them.  If this matter brings all the pagans in Palestine on our hands, we shall have enough to do without looking after this nest of heathens.”

“But would the Prince have it so?”

“I fear me the Prince is like to have little will in the matter!  No, no, I’m not the man to order a butchery, but if the honest fellows must needs shed blood for blood, I’m not going to meddle between them and the heathen wolves.”

Assuredly nothing was to be done with the Red de Clare, and Richard pushed on, with throbbing dismayed heart, to the tent, dreading to behold the condition of him whom he best loved and honoured on earth.  The tent was crowded, but Richard’s unusual height enabled him to see, over the heads of those nearest, that Edward was sitting on the edge of his couch, his wife and Dame