The Talisman by Walter Scott (which ebook reader txt) 📖

CHAPTER X. And now I will unclasp a secret book, And, to your quick-conceiving discontent, I'll read you matter deep and dangerous. HENRY IV., PART I.

The Marquis of Montserrat and the Grand Master of the Knights Templars stood together in the front of the royal pavilion, within which this singular scene had passed, and beheld a strong guard of bills and bows drawn out to form a circle around it, and keep at distance all which might disturb the sleeping monarch. The soldiers wore the downcast, silent, and sullen looks with which they trail their arms at a funeral, and stepped with such caution that you could not hear a buckler ring or a sword clatter, though so many men in armour were moving around the tent. They lowered their weapons in deep reverence as the dignitaries passed through their files, but with the same profound silence.

“There is a change of cheer among these island dogs,” said the Grand Master to Conrade, when they had passed Richard's guards. “What hoarse tumult and revel used to be before this pavilion!—nought but pitching the bar, hurling the ball, wrestling, roaring of songs, clattering of wine pots, and quaffing of flagons among these burly yeomen, as if they were holding some country wake, with a Maypole in the midst of them instead of a royal standard.”

“Mastiffs are a faithful race,” said Conrade; “and the King their Master has won their love by being ready to wrestle, brawl, or revel amongst the foremost of them, whenever the humour seized him.”

“He is totally compounded of humours,” said the Grand Master. “Marked you the pledge he gave us! instead of a prayer, over his grace-cup yonder.”

“He would have felt it a grace-cup, and a well-spiced one too,” said the Marquis, “were Saladin like any other Turk that ever wore turban, or turned him to Mecca at call of the muezzin. But he affects faith, and honour, and generosity, as if it were for an unbaptized dog like him to practise the virtuous bearing of a Christian knight. It is said he hath applied to Richard to be admitted within the pale of chivalry.”

“By Saint Bernard!” exclaimed the Grand Master, “it were time then to throw off our belts and spurs, Sir Conrade, deface our armorial bearings, and renounce our burgonets, if the highest honour of Christianity were conferred on an unchristened Turk of tenpence.”

“You rate the Soldan cheap,” replied the Marquis; “yet though he be a likely man, I have seen a better heathen sold for forty pence at the bagnio.”

They were now near their horses, which stood at some distance from the royal tent, prancing among the gallant train of esquires and pages by whom they were attended, when Conrade, after a moment's pause, proposed that they should enjoy the coolness of the evening breeze which had arisen, and, dismissing their steeds and attendants, walk homewards to their own quarters through the lines of the extended Christian camp. The Grand Master assented, and they proceeded to walk together accordingly, avoiding, as if by mutual consent, the more inhabited parts of the canvas city, and tracing the broad esplanade which lay between the tents and the external defences, where they could converse in private, and unmarked, save by the sentinels as they passed them.

They spoke for a time upon the military points and preparations for defence; but this sort of discourse, in which neither seemed to take interest, at length died away, and there was a long pause, which terminated by the Marquis of Montserrat stopping short, like a man who has formed a sudden resolution, and gazing for some moments on the dark, inflexible countenance of the Grand Master, he at length addressed him thus: “Might it consist with your valour and sanctity, reverend Sir Giles Amaury, I would pray you for once to lay aside the dark visor which you wear, and to converse with a friend barefaced.”

The Templar half smiled.

“There are light-coloured masks,” he said, “as well as dark visors, and the one conceals the natural features as completely as the other.”

“Be it so,” said the Marquis, putting his hand to his chin, and withdrawing it with the action of one who unmasks himself; “there lies my disguise. And now, what think you, as touching the interests of your own order, of the prospects of this Crusade?”

“This is tearing the veil from my thoughts rather than exposing your own,” said the Grand Master; “yet I will reply with a parable told to me by a santon of the desert. 'A certain farmer prayed to Heaven for rain, and murmured when it fell not at his need. To punish his impatience, Allah,' said the santon, 'sent the Euphrates upon his farm, and he was destroyed, with all his possessions, even by the granting of his own wishes.'”

“Most truly spoken,” said the Marquis Conrade. “Would that the ocean had swallowed up nineteen parts of the armaments of these Western princes! What remained would better have served the purpose of the Christian nobles of Palestine, the wretched remnant of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem. Left to ourselves, we might have bent to the storm; or, moderately supported with money and troops, we might have compelled Saladin to respect our valour, and grant us peace and protection on easy terms. But from the extremity of danger with which this powerful Crusade threatens the Soldan, we cannot suppose, should it pass over, that the Saracen will suffer any one of us to hold possessions or principalities in Syria, far less permit the existence of the Christian military fraternities, from whom they have experienced so much mischief.”

“Ay, but,” said the Templar, “these adventurous Crusaders may succeed, and again plant the Cross on the bulwarks of Zion.”

“And what will that advantage either the Order of the Templars, or Conrade of Montserrat?” said the Marquis.

“You it may advantage,” replied the Grand Master. “Conrade of Montserrat might become Conrade King of Jerusalem.”