 CHAPTER III The light was now verging low, yet served the night still to discern that they too were no longer alone in the desert, but were closely watched by a figure of great height and very thin, which skipped over rocks and bushes, with so much agility, as added to the wild and hessute appearance of the individual, reminded him of the fawns and silvens, whose images he had seen in the ancient temples of Rome. As the single-hearted Scottishman, head never for a moment doubted these gods of the ancient Gentiles to be actually devils, so he now hesitated not to believe that the blasphemous hymn of the Saracen had raised up an infernal spirit, but what wrecks it, said Stout Sir Kenneth to himself, down with the fiend and his worshippers. He did not, however, think it necessary to give the same warning of defiance to two enemies as he would unquestionably have afforded to one. His hand was upon his mace, and perhaps the unwary Saracen would have paid for his Persian poetry by having his brains dashed out on the spot, without any reason assigned for it, but the Scottish knight was spared from committing what would have been a saw-block in his shield of arms. The apparition, on which his eyes had been fixed for some time, had at first appeared to dog their path by concealing itself behind rocks and shrubs, using those advantages of the ground with great address, and surmounting its irregularities with surprising agility. At length, just as the Saracen paused in his song, the figure, which was that of a tall man clothed in goat-skins, sprung up into the midst of the path, and seized a reign of the Saracen's bridle near the hand, confronting thus and bearing back the noble horse, which unable to endure the manner in which the sudden assailant pressed the long-armed bit and the severe kerb, which, according to the eastern fashion, was a solid ring of iron, reared upright and finally fell backwards on his master, who, however, avoided the peril of the fall by lightly throwing himself to one side. The assailant then shifted his grasp from the bridle of the horse to the throat of the rider, flung himself above the struggling Saracen. Despite of his youth and activity, kept him undermost, breathing his long arms above those of his prisoner, who called out angrily, and yet half- laughing at the same time, Hamco, fool, unloose me, this passes thy privilege, unloose me, or I will use my dagger. Thy dagger, infidel dog, said the figure in the goat-skins, hold it in thy grip if thy canst. But in an instant he wrenched the Saracen's weapon out of its owner's hand, and brandished it over his head. "'Help, Nazarene!' cried Shercoff, now seriously alarmed. "'Help, or the Hamco was slimy!' "'Slay thee!' replied the deweller of the desert. "'And well the hast thou merited death, for singing thy blasphemous hymns, not only to the praise of thy false prophet, who is the foul fiend's harbinger, but to that of the author of evil himself.' The Christian knight had Hithero looked on as once stupefied. So strangely had this recontour contradicted in its progress and event, all that he had previously conjectured. He felt, however, at length, that it touched his honour to interfere in behalf of his discomfited companion, and therefore addressed himself to the victorious figure in the goat-skins. "'Whosoever thou art,' he said, and whether of good or of evil, know that I am sworn from the time to be true companion to the Saracen whom thou holdest under thee. Therefore I pray thee to let him arise, else I will do battle with thee in his behalf.' "'And a proper quarrel it were,' answered the Hamco, procrucated to do battle in, for the sake of an unbaptised dog, to combat one of his own holy faith. Art thou come forth to the wilderness, to fight for the Crescent against the Cross? A goodly soldier of God art thou, to listen to those who sing the praises of Satan. Yet while he spoke thus, he arose himself, and, suffering the Saracen to rise also, returned to him his Kangare, or poignard. Thou seest to what a point of peril thy presumption hath brought thee. And by what weak means thy practice skill and boasted agility can be foiled, when such is heaven's pleasure? Wherefore, beware, O ilgerim, for know that, were there not a twinkle in the star of thine activity, which promises for thee something that is good, and gracious in heaven's good time, we too had not parted till I had torn asunder the throat, which so lately trilled forth blasphemies." Hamako said the Saracen, without any appearance of resenting the violent language, and yet more violent assault to which he had been subjected. I pray thee, good Hamako, to beware how thou dost again urge thy privilege over far, for though, as a good Muslim, I respect those whom heaven hath deprived of ordinary reason, in order to endow them with the spirit of prophecy, yet I like not other man's hands on the bridle of my horse, neither upon my own person. Speak therefore what thou wilt, secure of any resentment from me, but gather so much senses to apprehend that if thou shalt again prefer me any violence, I will strike thy shagged head from thy meager shoulders. And to thee, friend Kenneth, he added, as he remounted his steed, I must need say that in a companion through the desert I love friendly deeds better than fair words. Of the last there has given me enough, but it is even better to have aided me more speedily in my struggle with this Hamako, who had well night taken my life in his frenzy. By my faith, said the night, I did somewhat fail, or somewhat tardy in rendering the instant help, but the strangeness of the assailant, the suddenness of the scene, it was as if thy wild and wicked lay had raised the devil among us, and such was my confusion that two or three minutes elapsed ere I could take my weapon. Though art but a cold and considerate friend, said the Saracen, and had the Hamako been one grain more frenetic, thy companion had been slain by thy side to thy eternal dishonour, without thy staring a finger in his aid, although thou sight is by, mounted and in arms. By my word, Saracen, said the Christian, if thou wilt have it in plain terms, I thought that strange figure was the devil, and being of thy lineage I knew not what family secret you might be communicating to each other, as you lay lovingly rolling together on the sand. I give is no answer, brother Kenneth, said the Saracen, for no, that had my assailant been in very deed the Prince of Darkness, thou would found not the less to enter into combat with him in thy comrade's behalf. No or so, that whatever there may be of foul or affiendish about the Hamako, belongs more to your lineage than to mine. This Hamako being in truth, the anchorite whom thou art to come hither to visit. This, said Sir Kenneth, looking at the athletic yet wasted figure before him, this, thou mockest Saracen, this cannot be the venerable Theodoric. Ask himself if that will not believe me, answered Sheikov, and ere the words had left his mouth, the hermit gave evidence in his own behalf. I am Theodoric of Engadi, he said, I am the walker of the desert, I am friend of the cross, and flail of all infidels, heretics, and devil-worshippers. Avoid ye, avoid ye, down with my hound, to my gount, and all their adherents. So saying, he pulled from under his shaggy garment, a sort of flail or jointed club, bound with iron, which he brandished round his head with singular dexterity. Else is thy saint! said the Saracen, laughing for the first time at the unmitigated astonishment with which Sir Kenneth looked on the wild gestures, and heard the wayward mutterings of Theodoric, who, after swinging his flail in every direction, apparently quite recklessly, whether it encountered the head of either of his companions, finally showed his own strength, and the soundness of the weapon, by striking into fragments a large stone which lay near him. "'This is a madman,' said Sir Kenneth. "'Not the worst saint!' returned the Muslim, speaking according to the well-known Eastern belief, that madmen are under the implements of immediate inspiration. No, Christian, that when one eye is extinguished, the other becomes more keen. When one hand is cut off, the other becomes more powerful. So, when our reason in human things is disturbed or destroyed, our view heavenward becomes more acute and perfect. Here the voice of the Saracen was drowned in that of the hermit, who began to hollow aloud in a wild, chanting tome. "'I am Theodoric of Engaddi. I am the torch-brand of the desert. I am the flail of the Infidels. The lion and the leopard shall be my comrades, and draw nigh to myself a shelter. Neither shall the goat be afraid of their fangs. I am the torch and the lantern.' Kairi Elison. He closed his song by a short race, and ended that again by three forward bounds, which would have done him great credit in a gymnastic academy. But became his character of hermit so indifferently, that the Scottish night was altogether confounded and bewildered. The Saracen seemed to understand him better. "'You see,' he said, that he expects us to follow him to his cell, which, indeed, is our only place of refuge for the night. You are the leopard, from the portrait of your shield. I am the lion, as my name imports, and by the goat, alluding to his garb of goatskins, he means himself. We must keep him in sight, however, for he is as fleet as a drummer-dairy.' In fact, the task was a difficult one. For though the reference guide stopped from time to time, and waved his hand as if to encourage them to come on, yet were acquainted with all the winding dwells and passes of the desert, and gifted with uncommon activity, which, perhaps, an unsettled state of mind kept in constant exercise, he led the nights through chasms and along footpaths, where even the light-armed Saracen, with his well-trained barb, was in considerable risk, and where the iron sheathed European, and his overburdened steed, found themselves in such imminent peril, as the rider would have gladly exchanged for the dangers of general action. Glad he was when, at length after this wild race, he beheld the holy man who had led it standing in front of a cavern, with a large torch in his hand, composed of a piece of wood dipped in butamin, which cast a broad and flickering light, and emitted a strong sulfurous smell. Undeterred by the stifling vapour, the night threw himself from his horse and entered the cavern, which afforded small appearance of accommodation. The cell was divided into two parts, in the outward of which were an altar of stone, and a crucifix made of reeds. This served the anchorite for his chapel. On one side of this outward cave, the Christian night, though not without scruple, arising from religious reverence to the objects around, fastened up his horse, and arranged him for the night in imitation of the Saracen, who gave him to understand that such was the custom of the place. The hermit, meanwhile, was busyed putting his inner apartment in order to receive his guests, and there they soon joined him. At the bottom of the outer cave, a small aperture, closed with a door of rough plank, led into the sleeping apartment of the hermit, who was more commodious. The floor had been brought to a rough level by the labour of the inhabitant, and then strewed with white sand, which he daily sprinkled with water from a small fountain, which bubbled out of the rock in one corner, affording in that stifling climate refreshment alike to the ear and the taste. Mattresses wrought of twisted flags, lay by the side of the cell. The sides, like the floor, had been roughly brought to shape, and several herbs and flowers were hung around them. The two wax and torches which the hermit lighted gave it cheerful air to the place, which was rendered agreeable by its fragrance and coolness. There were implements of labour in one corner of the apartment, in another was a niche for a rude statue of the Virgin. A table and two chairs showed that they must be the handiwork of the anchorite, being different in their form from oriental accommodations. The former was covered, not only with reeds and pulse, but also with dried flesh, which the adodric assiduously placed in such arrangements as should invite the appetite of his guests. This appearance of courtesy, though mute, and expressed by gestures only, seemed to sir Kenneth something entirely imreconcilable, with his former wild and violent demeanour. The movements of the hermit were now become composed, and apparently it was only a sense of religious humiliation, which prevented his features, emaciated as they were by his astute mode of life, from being majestic and noble. He trod his cell as one who seemed born to rule over men, but who had abdicated his empire to become the servant of heaven. Still, it must be alert that his gigantic size, the length of his unshaven locks and beard, and the fire of a deep set and wild eye, were rather attributes of a soldier than a recluse. Even the Saracen seemed to regard the anchorite with some veneration, while he was thus employed, and he whispered in a low tone to sir Kenneth. The hammocker is now in his better mind, but he will not speak until we have eaten, such as his vow. It was in silence, accordingly, that Theodoric mention to the scot to take his place on one of the low chairs, while Shirkov placed himself, after the custom of his nation, upon a cushion of mats. The hermit then held up both hands, as if blessing the refreshment which he had placed before his guests, and they proceeded to eat in silence as profound as his own. To the Saracen this gravity was natural, and the Christian imitated his taciturnity, while he employed his thoughts on the singularity of his own situation, and the contrast betwixt the wild, furious gesticulations, loud cries, and fierce actions of Theodoric when they first met him, and the demure, solemn, decorous asurity, with which he now performed the duties of hospitality. When their meal was ended, the hermit, who had not eaten himself a morsel, removed the fragments from the table, and placed him before the Saracen a picture of sherbet, assigned to the scot a flask of wine. Drink, he said, my children, they were the first words he had spoken, the gifts of God are to be enjoyed, when the giver is remembered. Having said this, he retired to the outward cell, probably for performance of his devotions, and left his guests together in the inner apartment, when Sir Kenneth endeavoured, by various questions, to draw from Shercoff what the emir knew concerning his host. He was interested by more than mere curiosity in these inquiries. Difficult as it was to reconcile the outrageous demeanour of the recluse at his first appearance, with his present humbled and placid behaviour, it seemed yet more impossible to think it consistent with the high consideration in which, according to what Sir Kenneth had learned, this hermit was held by the most enlightened divine to the Christian world. Theodoric, the hermit of Engadie, had in that character been the correspondent of popes and councils, to whom his letters, full of eloquent fervour, had described the miseries imposed by the unbelievers upon the Latin Christians in the Holy Land, in colours scarce inferior to those employed at the Council of Clermont by the Hermit Peter, when he preached the first crusade. To find, in a person so reverent and so much revered, the frantic gestures of a mad fakir induced the Christian night to pause, ere he could resolve to communicate to him certain important matters, which he had in charge from some of the leaders of the crusade. It had been a main object of Sir Kenneth's pilgrimage, attempted by a root so unusual, to make such communications. But what he had that night seen, induced him to pause and reflect, ere he proceeded to the execution of his commission. From the emir he could not extract much information, but the general tenor was as follows. That, as he had heard, the hermit had been once a brave and valiant soldier, wise in council and fortunate in battle, which last he could easily believe from the great strength and agility which he had often seen him displayed. That he had appeared at Jerusalem, in the character not of a pilgrim, but in that of one who had devoted himself to dwell for the remainder of his life in the Holyland. Shortly afterwards he fixed his residence and made the scenes of desolation where they now found him, respected by the Latins for his austere devotion, and by the Turks and Arabs on account of the symptoms of insanity which he displayed, in which they ascribed to inspiration. It was from them he had the name of Hamako, which expresses such a character in the Turkish language. Shirkof himself seemed at a loss how to rank their host. He had been, he said, a wise man, and could often, for many hours speak lessons of virtue or wisdom, without the slightest appearance of inaccuracy. At other times he was wild and violent, but never before had he seen him so mischievously disposed as he had that day appeared to be. His rage was chiefly provoked by an affront to his religion. And there was a story of some wandering Arabs, who had insulted his worship and defaced his altar, and whom he had on that account attacked and slain with a short flail, which he carried with him in lieu of all other weapons. This incident had made a great noise, and it was as much the fear of the hermit's iron flail as regard of his character as a Hamako, which caused the roving tribes to respect his dwelling and his chapel. His fame had spread so far that Saladin had issued particular orders that he should be spared and protected. He himself, and other Muslim lords of rank, had visited the cell more than once, partly from curiosity, partly that they expected from a man so learned as the Christian Hamako, some insight into the secrets of futurity. He had, continued the Saracen, a rashid or observatory of great height, contrived to view the heavenly bodies, and particularly the planetary system, by whose movements and influences, as both Christian and Muslim believed, the cause of human events was regulated and might be predicted. This was the substance of the Amir Shirkov's information, and it left Sir Kenneth in doubt whether the character of insanity arose from the occasional excessive fervour of the hermit's seal, or whether it was not altogether fictitious, and assumed for the sake of the immunities which he deforted. Yet it seemed that the infidels had carried their complacence towards him to an uncommon length, considering the fanaticisms of the followers of Muhammad in the midst of whom he was living, though the professed enemy of their faith. He also thought there was more intimacy of acquaintance betwixt the hermit and the Saracen than the words of the latter had induced him to anticipate, and it had not escaped him that the former had called the latter by a name different from what he himself had assumed, all these considerations authorised caution, if not suspicion. He determined to observe his host closely, and not to be overhasty and communicated with him on the important charge entrusted to him. Beware, Saracen," he said, movings our host's imagination wonders as well on the subject of names, as upon other matters. Thy name is Shirkov, and it called thee but now by another. My name, when in the tent of my father," replied the Kerdman, was Ilderim, and by this I am still distinguished by many. In the field and to soldiers, I am known as the Lion of the Mountain. Being their name, my good sword hath won for me. But hush, the hammocko comes. It is to warn us to rest. I know his custom. None must watch him at his vigils. The anchorite accordedly entered, and folding his arms on his bosom as he stood before them, said with a solemn voice, Blessed be his name, who ever pointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs, and to compose the troubled spirit. Both warriors replied, Amen, and arrived him from the table, prepared to partake themselves to the couches, which their host indicated by waving his hand, as, making a reference to each, he again withdrew from the apartment. The Knight of the Leopard then disarmed himself of his heavy panel-plea. His Saracen companion kindly assisting him to undo his bucklimate clasps, until he remained in the clothes-dress of Camus' leather, which knights and men-atoms used to wear under their harness. The Saracen, if he had bide the strength of his adversary when sheathed and steel, was now no less struck with the accuracy of proportion displayed in his nervous and well-compacted figure. The Knight, on the other hand, had as an exchange of courtesy. He assisted the Saracen to disrobe himself of his upper garments, that he might sleep with more convenience. Was on his side, at a loss to conceive how such slender proportions and slimness of figure could be reconciled with the vigor he had displayed in personal contest. Each warrior prayed ere he addressed himself to his place of rest. The Muslim turned towards his Kebla, the point to which the prayer of each follower of the Prophet was to be addressed, and murmured his heathen orisans. While the Christian, withdrawing from the contamination of the Infidel's neighbourhood, placed his huge cross-handled sword upright, and kneeling before it as a sign of salvation, told his rosary with a devotion which was enhanced by the recollections of the scenes through which he had passed, and the dangers from which he had been rescued in the course of the day. Both warriors, worn by toil and travel, were soon fast asleep, each on his separate palette. The Talisman by Sir Walter Scott Chapter 4 Kenneth the Scott was uncertain how long his senses had been lost in profound repose, when he was roused to recollection by a sense of oppression on his chest, which at first suggested a flirting dream of struggling with a powerful opponent, and at length recalled him fully to his senses. He was about to demand who was there, when, opening his eyes, he beheld the figure of the Anchorite, wild and savage-looking as we have described him, standing by his bedside, and pressing his right hand upon his breast, while he held a small silver lamp in the other. Be silent! said the Hermit, as the prostrate knight looked up in surprise. I have that to say to you, which yonder infidel was not here. These words he spoke in the French language, and not in the lingua franca, or compound of Eastern and European dialects, which had hitherto been used amongst them. Arise! he continued, put on thy mantle, speak not, but tread lightly and follow me. Sir Kenneth arose and took his sword. It needs not! answered the Anchorite in a whisper. We are going where spiritual arms avail much, and fleshly weapons are but as the reed and the decayed gourd. The knight deposited his sword by the bedside as before, and armed only with his dagger, from which in this perilous country he never parted, prepared to attend his mysterious host. The Hermit then moved slowly forwards, and was followed by the knight. Still under some uncertainty, whether the dark form which glided on before to show him the path was not, in fact, the creation of a disturbed dream. They passed like shadows into the outer apartment, without disturbing the pineamomere, who lay still buried in repose. Before the cross and altar in the outward room, a lamp was still burning, a missile was displayed, and on the floor lay a discipline, or pernitial scourge of small cord and wire, the lashes of which were recently stained with blood. A token, no doubt, of the severe penance of the recluse. Here Theodoric kneeled down, and pointed to the knight to take his place beside him upon the sharp flints, which seemed place for the purpose of rendering the posture of reverential devotion as uneasy as possible. He read many prayers at the Catholic Church, and chanted, in a low but earnest voice, three of the penitential psalms. These last he intermixed with sighs and tears and convulsive throbs, which bore witness how deeply he felt the divine poetry which he recited. The Scottish Knight assisted with profound sincerity at these acts of devotion. His opinion of his host beginning, in the meantime, to be so much changed, that he doubted whether, from the severity of his penance and the ardour of his prayers, he ought not regard him as a saint. And when they arose from the ground, he stood with reverence before him, as a pupil before an honoured master. The hermit was, on his side, silent and abstracted for the space of a few minutes. Look into yonder recesses, my son! He said, pointing to the farther corner of the cell. There thou wilt found a veil, bring it hither. The knight obeyed, and in a small aperture cut out of the wall, and secured with a door of wicker, he found the veil inquired for. When he brought it to the light, he discovered that it was torn and soiled in some place with some dark substance. The anchorite looked at it with a deep but smothered emotion. And ere he could speak to the Scottish Knight, was compelled to vent his feelings in a convulsive groan. Thou art now about to look upon the richest treasure that the earth possesses. He at length said, Woe is me that my eyes are unworthy to be lifted towards it, alas! I am but the vile and despise sign, which points out to the wearied traveller a harbour of rest and security, but must itself remain forever without doors. In vain have I fled to the very depths of the rocks, and the very bosom of the thirsty desert. My enemy have found me, even he who might have denied has pursued me to my fortress. He paused again for a moment, and turned into the Scottish Knight said, in a firmer tone of voice, you bring me a greeting from Richard of England. I come from the Council of Christian Princes, said the Knight, but the King of England being indisposed, I am not honoured with his Majesty's commands. Your token? demanded the recluse. Sir Kenneth hesitated. Former suspicions, and the marks of insanity which the Hermit had formally exhibited, rushed suddenly on his thoughts. But how suspect a man whose manners were so saintly? My password, he said at length, is this. King's begged of a beggar. It is right, said the Hermit, while he paused. I know you well, but the sentinel upon his post, and mine is an important one. Challenge his friend as well as foe. He then moved forward with the lamp, leading the way into the room which they had left. The Saracen lay on his couch, still fast asleep. The Hermit paused by his side, and looked down on him. He sleeps, he said, in darkness, and must not be awakened. The attitude of the Amir did indeed convey the idea of profound repose. One arm flung across his body, as he lay with his face half turned to the wall, concealed, with its long and loose sleeve, the greater part of his face. But the high forehead was yet visible. Its nerves, which, during his waking hours, were so uncommonly active, were now motionless, as if the face had been composed of dark marble. And his long, silken eyelashes, closed over his piercing and hawk-like eyes. The open and relaxed hand, and the deep, regular, and soft breathing, all gave tokens of the most profound repose. The slumberer formed a singular group, along with the tall forms of the Hermit in his shaggy dress of goatskins bearing the lamp, and the knight in his closed, leavened coat, the former with an austere expression of ascetic gloom, the latter with anxious curiosity deeply impressed on his manly features. He sleeps soundly, said the Hermit, in the same low tone as before, and, repeating the words, though he had changed the meaning from that which is literal to a metaphorical sense, he sleeps in darkness, but there shall be for him a day-spring. O elder him, thy walking thoughts are yet as vain and wild as those which are wheeling their giddy dance through thy sleeping brain, but the trumpet shall be heard, and the dream shall be dissolved. So saying, and making the knight a sign to follow him, the Hermit went towards the altar, and, passing behind it, pressed a spring, which, opening without a noise, showed a small iron door wrought in the side of the cavern, so as to be almost imperceptible, unless upon the most severe scrutiny. The Hermit, ere he ventured fully to open the drawer, dropped some oil on the hinges which the lamp supplied. A small staircase, hewn in the rock, was discovered when the iron door was at length completely opened. "'Take the veil which I hold,' said the Hermit, in a melancholy tone, and blind mine eyes, for I may not look on the treasure with thou art presently to behold, without sin and presumption. Without reply the knight hastily muffled the recluse's head in the veil, and the letter began to ascend the staircase, as one too much accustomed to the way to require the use of light, while at the same time he held the lamp to the Scott, who followed him for many steps up the narrow ascent. At length they rested in a small vault of irregular form, in one nook of which the staircase terminated, while in another corner a corresponding stair was seen to continue the ascent, and a third angle was a gothic door, very rudely ornamented, with the usual attributes of clustered columns and carving, and defined by a wicket, strongly guarded with iron, and studded with large nails. To this last point the Hermit directed his steps, which seemed to falter as he approached it. "'Put off thy shoes,' he said to his attendant, the ground on which thou standest is holy. Banish from thy innermost heart each profane and carnal thought, for to harbour such while in this place were a deadly impiety.' The knight laid aside his shoes as he was commanded, and the Hermit stood in the meanwhile, as if communing with his soul in secret prayer. And when he again moved, commanded the knight to knock at the wicket three times. He did so. The door opened spontaneously. At least Sir Kenneth beheld no one. And his senses were at once assembled by a stream of the purest light, and by a strong and almost oppressive sense of the richest perfumes. He stepped two or three paces back, and it was the space of a minute ere he recovered the dazzling and overpowering effects of the sudden change from darkness to light. When he entered the apartment in which this brilliant luster was displayed, he perceived that the light proceeded from a combination of silver lamps, fed with the purest oil, and sending forth the richest odours, hanging by a silver chain from the roof of a small gothic chapel, hewn, like most part of the Hermit's singular mansion, out of the sound and solid rock. But whereas in every other place which Sir Kenneth had seen, the labour employed upon the rock had been of the simplest and courses of description, it had in this chapel employed the invention and the chisels of the most able architects. The groined roofs rose from six columns on each side, carved with the rarest skill, and the manner in which the crossings of the concave arches were bound together, as it were with appropriate ornaments, were all in the finest tone of the architecture of the age. Corresponding to the line of pillars, there were on each side six richly wrought niches, each of which contained the image of one of the twelve apostles. At the upper and eastern end of the chapels to the altar, behind which a very rich curtain of Persian silk, embroidered with gold, covered of recess, containing unquestionably some image or relic of no ordinary sanctity, in honour of which this singular piece of worship had been erected. Under the persuasion that this must be the case, the night advanced to the shrine, and kneeling down before it, repeated his devotions with fervourancy, during which his attention was disturbed by the curtain being suddenly raised, or rather pulled aside, how or by whom he saw not. But in the niche which was thus disclosed, he beheld a cabinet of silver and ebony, with a double folding door. The hole formed into the miniature resemblance of a Gothic church, as he gauged with anxious curiosity on the shrine, the two folding doors also flew open, discovering a large piece of wood, on which were blazing the words, Vera Cruz, at the same time a choir of female voices sung, Gloria Patrie. The instant the strain had ceased, the shrine was closed, and the curtain again drawn, and the night who knelt at the altar might now continue his devotions undisturbed, in honour of the holy relic which had been just disclosed to his view. He did this under the profound impression of one who had witnessed, with his own eyes, an awful evidence of the truth of his religion. And it was some time ear, concluding his orisons, he arose, and ventured to look around him for the hermit, who had guided him to this sacred and mysterious spot. He beheld him, his head still muffled in the veil which he had himself wrapped around it, crouching like a rated hound upon the threshold of the chapel. But, apparently, without venturing to cross it, the holiest reverence, the most penitential remorse, was expressed by his posture, which seemed that of a man born down and crushed to the earth by the burden of his inward feelings. It seemed to the Scott that only the sense of the deepest penitence, remorse, and humiliation could have thus prostrated a frame so strong and a spirit so fiery. He approached him as if to speak, but the recluse anticipated his purpose, murmuring in stifled tones, from beneath the fold in which his head was muffled, and which sounded like a voice proceeding from the sermons of a corpse. Abide, abide, happy that thou mayest, the vision is not yet ended. So, saying, he reared himself from the ground, drew back from the threshold on which he had hitherto lamebrough straight, and closed the door of the chapel, which, secured by a spring bolt within, the snub of which resounded through the place, appeared so much like a part of the living rock from which the cavern was hewn, that Kenneth could hardly discern where the aperture had been. He was now alone in the lighted chapel, which contained the relic to which he had lately rendered his homage, without other arms than his dagger, or rather companion than his pious thoughts and dauntless courage. Uncertain what was next to happen, but resolved to abide the course of events, so Kenneth paced the solitary chapel to about the time of the earliest cock-crowing. At this dead season, when night and morning meet together, he heard, but from what quarter he could not discover, the sound of such a small silver bell, as it rung at the elevation of the host in the ceremony, or sacrifice, as it has been called, of the mass. The hour and the place rendered the sound fearfully solemn, and bold as he was, the night withdrew himself into the farther nook of the chapel, at the end opposite to the altar, in order to observe, without interruption, the consequences of this unexpected signal. He did not wait long ere the silken curtain was again withdrawn, and the relic again presented to his view. As he sunk reverentially on his knee, he heard the sound of the lords, or earliest office of the Catholic Church, sung by female voices, which united together in the performance as they had done in the former service. The night was soon aware that the voices were no longer stationary in the distance, but approached the chapel, and became louder. When a door, imperceptible when closed, like that by which he had himself entered, opened on the other side of the vault, and gave the tones of the choir more room to swell along the ribbed arches of the roof. The night fixed his eyes on the opening, with breathless anxiety, and, continuing to kneel in the attitude of devotion, which the place and scene required, expected the consequence of these preparations. A procession appeared about to issue from the door. First, four beautiful boys, whose arms, necks, and legs were bare, showing the bronze complexion of the east, and contrasting with the snow-white tunics which they wore, entered the chapel by two and two. The first pair bore senses, which they swung from side to side, adding double fragrance to the odours with which the chapel was already impregnated. The second pair scattered flowers. After these followed, in due and majestic order, the females who composed the choir. Six, who, from their black scalpelaries and black veils over their white garments, appeared to be professed nuns in the order of Mount Carmel, and as many whose veils, being white, argued them to be novices, or occasional inhabitants in the cloister, who were not as yet bound to it by vows. The former held in their hands large rosaries, while the younger and lighter figures who followed, carried each a chaplet of red and white roses. They moved in procession around the chapel, without appearing to take the slightest notice of Kenneth, although passing so near him that their robes almost touched him, while they continued to sing. The night doubted not that he was in one of those cloisters, where the noble Christian maidens had formally openly devoted themselves to the services of the church. Most of them had been suppressed, since the inhabitants had reconquered Palestine. But many, purchasing connivance by presence, or receiving it from the clemency or contempt of the victors, still continued to observe in private the ritual to which their vows had consecrated them. Yet, though Kenneth knew this to be the case, the solemnity of the place and hour, the surprise of the sudden appearance of these voteresses, and the visionary manner in which they moved past him, had such influence on his imagination, that he could scarce concede that the fair procession which he beheld was formed of creatures of this world. So much did they resemble a choir of supernatural beings, rendering homage to the universal object of adoration. Such was the night's first idea, as the procession passed him, scarce moving, so just sufficiently to continue their progress. So that, seen by the shadowy and religious light, which the lambs shared through the clouds of incense which darkened the apartment, they appeared rather to glide than to walk. But as a second time, in surrounding the chapel, they passed the spot on which he kneeled. One of the white-stolled maidens, as she glided by him, detached from the chaplet which she covered a rosebud, which she dropped from her fingers, perhaps unconsciously, on the foot of Sir Kenneth. The night started as if a dart had suddenly struck his person. Four, when the mind is wound up to a high pitch of feeling and expectation, the slightest incident, if unexpected, gives fire to the train which imagination has already laid. But he suppressed his emotion, recollecting how easily an incident so indifferent might have happened, and that it was only the uniform monotomy of the movement of the choristers, which made the incident in the slightest degree remarkable. Still, while the procession for the third time surrounded the chapel, the thoughts and the eyes of Kenneth followed exclusively the one among the novices who had dropped the rosebud. Her step, her face, her form, were so completely assimilated to the rest of the choristers, that it was impossible to perceive the least marks of individuality. And yet Kenneth's heart throbs like a bird that would burst from its cage, as if to assure him, by its sympathetic suggestions, that the female who held the right file on the second rank of the novices was dearer to him, not only than all the rest that were present, but then the whole sex besides. The romantic passion of love, as it was cherished, and indeed enjoined, by the rules of chivalry, associated well with the no less romantic feelings of devotion, and they might be said much more to enhance than to counteract each other. It was, therefore, with a glow of expectation that it something even of a religious character, that Sir Kenneth, his sensations thrilling from his heart to the ends of his fingers, expected some second sign of the presence of one whom, he strongly fancied, had already bestowed on him the first. Short as the space was during which the procession again completed a third preambulation of the chapel, it seemed an eternity to Kenneth. At length, the form which he had watched with such devoted attention drew nigh. There was no difference between that shrouded figure and the others, with whom it moved in concert and in unison, until, just as she passed for the third time the kneeling crusader, a part of a little and well-proportioned hand, so beautifully formed as to give the highest idea of the perfect proportions of the form to which it belonged, stalled through the folds of the gauze, like a moon-beam, through the fleecy cloud of a summer night, and again a rosebud lay at the feet of the night of the leopard. This second intimation could not be accidental. It could not be fortuitous. The resemblance of that half-seen but beautiful female hand, with one which his lips had once touched, and while they touched it, had internally sworn allegiance to the lovely owner, had further proof been wanting. There was the glimmer of that matchless ruby ring on that snow-white finger, whose invaluable worth Kenneth would yet have prized less than the slightest sign which that finger could have made. And, failed too as she was, he might see, by chance or by favour, a stray curl of that dark tresses, each hair of which was dearer to him a hundred times than a chain of massive gold. It was the lady of his love, but that she should be here, in the savage and sequestered desert, among vestials who rendered themselves habitants of wilds and of caverns, that they might perform in secret those Christian rites which they dared not assist in openly. That this should be so, in truth and in reality, seemed too incredible. It must be a dream, a delusive trance of the imagination. While these thoughts passed through the mind of Kenneth, the same passage by which the procession had entered the chapel, received them on their return. The young Sacristons, the sable nuns, vanished successively through the open door. At length, she from whom he had received this double intimation passed also. Yet, in passing, turned ahead, slightly indeed, but perceptibly, towards the place where he remained fixed as an image. He marked the last wave of her veil. It was gone, and a darkness sunk upon his soul, scarce less palpable, than that which almost immediately enveloped his external sense. For the last chorister had no sooner crossed the threshold of the door, than it shut with a loud sound, and at the same instant the voices of the choir were silent. The lights of the chapel were at once extinguished, and Sir Kenneth remained solitary and in total darkness. But to Kenneth, solitude and darkness, and the uncertainty of his mysterious situation, were as nothing. He thought not of them, cared not for them, cared for not in the world, so the fitting vision which had just glided past him, and the tokens of her favour which she had bestowed. To grope on the floor for the buds which she had dropped, to press them to his lips, to his bosom, now alternately, now together, to rivet his lips to the cold stones on which, as near as he could judge, she had so lately stepped. To play all the extravagances which strong affection suggests, and to vindicate to those who yield themselves up to it, were but the tokens of passionate love common to all ages. But it was peculiar to the times of chivalry, that, in his wildest rapture, the knight imagined of no attempt to follow, or to trace the object of such romantic attachment, that he thought of her as a deity, who, having deigned to show herself for an instant to her devoted worshipper, had again returned to the darkness of her sanctuary, or as an influential planet, which, having darted in some auspicious minute one favourable ray, wrapped itself again in its veil of mist. The motions of the lady of his love were to him those of a superior being, who was to move without watch or control, rejoice him by her appearance, or depress him by her absence, animate him by her kindness, or drive him to despair by her cruelty, all at her own free will. And, without other importunity or remonstrance, than that expressed by the most devoted services of the heart and sword of the champion, whose sole object in life was to fulfil her commands, and by the splendour of his own achievements, to exult her fame, such were the rules of chivalry, and of the love which was its ruling principle. But Sir Kenneth's attachment was rendered romantic by other, and still more peculiar circumstances. He had never even heard the sound of his lady's voice, though he had often beheld her beauty with rapture. She moved in a circle which his rank of knighthood permitted him indeed to approach, but not to mingle with. And highly as he stood distinguished for warlike skill and enterprise. Still, the poor Scottish soldier was compelled to worship his divinity at a distance, almost as great as divides the Persian from the sun which he adores. But when was the pride of a woman too lofty to overlook the passionate devotion of a lover, however inferior in degree? Her eye had been on him in the tournament. Her ear had heard his praises in the report of the battles which were daily fought. And while Count, Duke, and Lord contended for her grace, it flowed unwillingly perhaps at first, or even unconsciously, towards the poor knight of the leopard, who, to support his rank, had little besides his sword. When she looked and when she listened, the lady saw and heard enough to encourage her in a partiality which had at first crept on her unawares. If a knight's personal beauty was praised, even the most prudish dames of the military court of England would make an exception in favour of the Scottish Kenneth. And it often times happened that, notwithstanding the very considerable largesse, which princes and peers bestowed on the minstrels, an impartial spirit of independence would seize the poet. And the harp was swept to the heroism of one who had neither pelfries nor garments to bestow in the girdon of his applause. The moments when she listened to the praises of her lover became gradually more and more dear to the high-born Edith, relieving the flattery with which her ear was weary, and presenting to her a subject of secret contemplation, more worthy, as he seemed by general report, than those who surpassed him in rank and in the gifts of fortune. As her attention became constantly, though cautiously fixed on Sir Kenneth, she grew more and more convinced of his personal devotion to herself, and more and more certain in her mind that in Kenneth of Scotland she beheld the fated night doomed to share with her through wheel and woe. And the prospect looked gloomy and dangerous. The passionate attachment to which the poets of the age described such universal dominion, and which its manners and morals placed nearly on the same rank with devotion itself. Let us not disguise the truth from our readers. When Edith became aware of the state of her own sentiments, chivalrouses were her sentiments, becoming a maid not distant from the throne of England, gratified as her pride must have been, with the mute though unceasing homage rendered to her by the night whom she had distinguished. There were moments when the feelings of the woman, loving and beloved, murmured against the restraints of state and form by which she was surrounded. And when she almost blamed the timidity of her lover, who seemed resolved not to infringe them. The etiquette, to use a modern phrase, of birth and rank, had drawn around her a magic circle, beyond which Sir Kenneth might indeed bow and gaze. But within which he could know more path than an invoked spirit can transgress the boundaries prescribed by the rod of a powerful enchanter. The thought involuntary pressed on her, that she herself must venture, were it but the point of her fairy foot, beyond the prescribed boundary, if she ever hoped to give a lover so reserved and bashful, an opportunity of so slight a favour, as but to salute her shoo-tie. There was an example, the noted president of the king's daughter of Hungary, who thus generously encouraged the squire of low degree. And Edith, though of kingly blood, was no king's daughter, any more than her lover was of low degree, fortune had put no such extreme barrier and obstacle to their affections. Something, however, within the maiden's bosom, that modest pride which throws fetters even and love itself, forbade her, not to withstand in the superiority of her condition, to make these advances, which, in every case, delicacy assigns to the other sex. Above all, Sir Kenneth was a knight so gentle and honourable, so highly accomplished, as her imagination at least suggested, together with the strictest feelings of what was due to himself and to her. That, however, constrained her attitude might be while receiving his adorations, like the image of some deity, who is neither supposed to feel, nor to reply to the homage of his votaries. Still, the idol feared that to step prematurely from her pedestal would be to degrade herself in the eyes of her devoted worshipper. Yet the devout adora of an actual idol can even discover signs of approbation in the rigid and immovable features of a marble image. And it is no wonder that something, which could be as favourably interpreted, glanced from the bright eyes of the lovely Edith, whose beauty, indeed, consisted rather more in that very power of expression, than an absolute regularity of contour or brilliancy of complexion. Some slight marks of distinction had escaped from her, notwithstanding her own jealous vigilance. Else how could Sir Kenneth have so readily and so undoubtedly recognised the lovely hand of which scarce two fingers were visible from under the veil? Or how could he have rested so thoroughly assured that the two flowers, successively dropped on the spot, were intended as a recognition on the part of his lady-love? By what train of observation, by what secret signs, looks or gestures, by what instinctive freemasonry of love, this degree of intelligence came to subsist between Edith and her lover, we cannot attempt a trace? For we are old, and such slight vestiges of affection quickly discovered by younger eyes defy the power of ours. Enough that such affection did subsist between parties, who had never even spoken to one another. Though, on the side of Edith, it was checked by a deep sense of the difficulties and dangers, which must necessarily attend the further progress of their attachment. And upon that of the night, by a thousand doubts and fears, lest he had overestimated the slight tokens of the lady's notice, varied as they necessarily were, by long intervals of apparent coldness, during which either the fear of exciting the observation of others, and thus drawing danger upon her lover, or that of sinking in his esteem by seeming too willing to be one, may to behave with indifference, and as if unobservant of his presence. This narrative, tedious perhaps, but which the story renders necessary, may serve to explain this state of intelligence, if it deserves so strong a name, but tweaks the lovers, when Edith's unexpected appearance in the chapel produced so powerful an effect on the feelings of her night. The most profound silence, the deepest darkness, continued to brood for more than an hour over the chaplain, which we left the night of the leopard still kneeling, alternatively expressing thanks to heaven, and gratitude to his lady for the boon which had been vouched safe to him. His own safety, his own destiny, for which he was at all times little anxious, had not now the weight of a grain of dust in his reflections. He was in the neighbourhood of Lady Edith. He had received tokens of her grace. He was in a place hallowed by relics of the most awful sanctity. A Christian soldier, a devouted lover, could fear nothing, think nothing, but his duty to heaven and his devoir to his lady. At the lapse of the space of time which we have noticed, a shrill whistle, like that with which a falconer calls his hawk, was heard to ring sharply through the vaulted chapel. It was a sound ill-sued to the place, and reminded Sir Kenneth how necessary it was he should be upon his guard. He started from his knee and laid his hand upon his poignard. A creaking sound, as of screws or pulleys, succeeded, and a light streaming upwards, as from an opening in the floor, showed that a trapdoor had been raised or depressed. In less than a minute, a long, skinny arm, partly naked, partly clothed in a sleeve of red samite, arose out of the aperture, holding a lamp as high as it could stretch upwards. And the figure to which the arm belonged, ascended step by step to the level of the chapel floor. The form and face of the being, who thus presented himself, were those of a frightful dwarf, with a large head, a cape fantastically adorned with three peacock feathers, a dress of red samite, the richness of which rendered his ugliness more conspicuous, distinguished by gold bracelets and armlets, and a white silk sash, in which he wore a gold-hilted dagger. This singular figure had in his left hand a kind of broom. So soon as he stepped from the aperture through which he arose, he stood still, and, as if to show himself more distinctly, moved the lamp which he held slowly over his face and person, successively illuminating his wild and fantastic features, and his misshapen but nervous limbs. Though disproportioned in person, the dwarf was not so distorted as to argue any one to strengthen their activity. Whilst again if gazed on this disagreeable object, the popular creed occurred to his remembrance concerning the gnomes, or earthly spirits which make there about in the caverns of the earth. And so much did this figure correspond with ideas he had formed with their appearance, that he looked on it with disgust, mingled not indeed with fear, but that sort of awe which the presence of a supernatural creature may infuse into the most steady bosom. The dwarf again whistled, and summoned from beneath a companion. This second figure ascended in the same manner as the first. But it was a female arm in this second instance, which upheld the lamp from the subterranean vault, out of which these present mints arose. And it was a female form, much resembling the first in shape and proportions, which slowly emerged from the floor. Her dress was also a red semite, fantastically cut and flounced, as if she had been dressed for some exhibition of mimes or jugglers. And with the same minuteness which her predecessor had exhibited, she passed the lamp over her face into person, which seemed to rival the males in ugliness. But with all this most unfavourable exterior, there was one trait in the features of both, which argued alertness and intelligence in the most uncommon degree. This arose from the brilliancy of their eyes, which, deep set beneath black and shaggy brows, gleamed with a luster witch, like that in the eye of the toad, seemed to make some amends for the extreme ugliness of countenance and person. So Kenneth remained as if spellbound, while this unlovely pair, moving round the chapel close to each other, appeared to perform the duty of sweeping it, like menials. But as they used only one hand, the floor was not much benefited by the exercise, which they piled, with such oddity of gestures in manner, as befitted their bizarre and fantastic appearance. When they approached near to the night in the course of their occupation, they seized to use their brooms. And, placing themselves side by side, directly opposite to Sir Kenneth, they again slowly shifted the lights which they held, so as to allow him distinctly to survey features, which were not rendered more agreeable by being brought nearer, and to observe the extreme quickness and keenness, with which their black and glittering eyes flashed back the light of the lamps. They then turned the gleam of both lights upon the night, and, having accurately surveyed him, turned their faces to each other, and set up a loud yelling laugh which resounded in his ears. The sound was so ghastly that Sir Kenneth started adhering it, and hastily demanded, in the name of God, who they were who profound that holy place, and elrich exclamations, I am the dwarf Nectabanus, said the abortion-seeming male, in a voice corresponding to his figure, and resembling the voice of the night-crow more than any sound which is heard by daylight. And I am Gweneva, his lady and his love, replied the female, in tones which, being shriller, were yet wilder than those of a companion. Wherefore are you here? again demanded the night, scarcely yet assured that they were human beings which he saw before him. I am, replied the male dwarf, with much-assumed gravity and dignity, the twelve imam. I am Muhammad Mahadi, the guide and the conductor of the faithful. A hundred horses stand ready saddled for me, and my train at the holy city, and as many at the city of refuge. I am he who shall bear witness, and this is one of my Horus. Oh, liest! answered the female, interrupting a companion, in tones yet shriller than his own. I am none of thy Horus, and thou art to know such infidel trash as the Muhammad of whom thou speakest, may my curse rest upon his coffin. I tell thee, thou asavisica, thou art King Arthur of Britain, whom the fairy stole away from the field of Avalon, and I am Dame Gweneva, famed for her beauty. But in truth, noble sir, said the male dwarf, We are distressed princes, dwelling under the wing of King Guy of Jerusalem, until he was driven out from his own nest by the foul infidels. Heaven's bolts consume them. Hush! said a voice on the side upon which the night had entered. Hush! falls, and be gone. Your ministry is ended. The dwarves had no sooner heard the command than, give ring and discordant whispers to each other. They blew out their lights at once, and left the night in utter darkness, which, when the pattering of their retiring feet had died away, was soon accompanied by its fittest companion. Total silence! The night felt the departure of these unfortunate creatures a relief. He could not, from their language, manners, and appearance, doubt that they belonged to the degraded class of beings, whom deformity of person and weakness of intellect recommended to the painful situation of appendages to great families, where their personal appearance and imbecility were food for merriment to the household. Superior in no respect to the ideas and manners of his time, the Scottish night might, at another period, have been amused by the murmury of these poor effigies of humanity. But now their appearance, gesticulations, and language broke the train of deep and solemn feeling with which he was impressed, and he rejoiced in the disappearance of the unhappy objects. A few minutes after they had retired, the door at which he had entered opened slowly, and, remaining ajar, discovered a faint light arising from a lantern placed upon the threshold. Its doubtful and wavering gleam showed a dark form reclined beside the entrance, but without its precincts, which, on approaching it more nearly, he recognized to be the hermit, crouching in the same humble posture in which he had first laid himself down, and which doubtless he had retained during the whole time of his guests continuing in the chapel. All is over, said the hermit, as he heard the night approaching, and the most wretched of earthly sinners, with him who should think himself most honoured and most unhappy among the race of humanity, must retire from this place. Take the light, and guide me down the descent, for I must not uncover my eyes until I am far from this hallowed spot. The night of age in silence, for a solemn and yet ecstatic sense of what he had seen, had silenced even the eager workings of curiosity. He led the way, with considerable accuracy, through the various secret passages and stairs by which they had ascended, until at length they found themselves in the outward cell of the hermit's cavern. The condemned criminal is restored to his dungeon, reprived from one miserable day to another, until his awful judge shall at length appoint the well-deserved sentence to be carried into execution. As the hermit spoke these words, he laid aside the veil with which his eyes had been bound, and looked at it with a suppressed and hollow sigh. No sooner had he restored it to the crypt from which he had caused the scot to bring it, than he hastily and sternly said to his companion, Begone, begone, to rest, to rest, you may sleep, you can sleep, I neither can nor may. Respecting the profound agitation with which this was spoken, the night retired into the inner cell. But casting back his eye as he left the exterior grotto, he beheld the anchor-eyed stripping his shoulders with frantic haste of their shaggy mantle, and ere he could shut the frail door which separated the two compartments of the cavern, he heard the clang of the scourge, and the groans of the penitent under his self-inflicted penance. A cold shudder came over the night, as he reflected what could be the foulness of the sin, what the depth of the remorse, which, apparently, such severe penance could neither cleanse nor a surge. He told his beads devoutly, and flung himself on his rude couch, after a glance at the still sleeping Muslim, and, wearied by the various scenes of the day and the night, soon slept as sound as infancy. Upon his wakening in the morning, he held certain conferences with the hermit upon matters of importance, and the result of their intercourse induced him to remain for two days longer in the grotto. He was regular, as became a pilgrim, in his devotional exercises, but was not again admitted to the chapel, in which he had seen such wonders. The Talisman by Sir Walter Scott. Chapter 6 Now change the scene, and let the trumpet sound, for you must rouse the lion from his lair. Old play. The scene must change, as our programme has announced, from the mountain wilderness of Jordan, to the camp of King Richard of England, then stationed betwixt Shonda Care and Ascolon, and containing that army with which he of the Lionheart had promised himself a triumphant march to Jerusalem, and in which he would probably have succeeded, if not hindered by the jealousies of the Christian princes engaged in the same enterprise, and the offence taken by them at the uncurbed haughtiness of the English monarch, and Richard's unveiled contempt for his brother Sovereigns, who, his equals in rank, were yet far his inferiors in courage, hardyhood, and military talents. Such discords, and particularly those betwixt Richard and Philip of France, created disputes and obstacles, which impeded every active measure proposed by the heroic, though impetuous Richard, while the ranks of the crusaders were daily thinned, not only by the desertion of individuals, but of entire bands, headed by their respective feudal leaders, who withdrew from a contest in which they had ceased to hope for success. The effects of the climate became, as usual, fatal to soldiers from the north, and the more so that the disolutes license of the crusaders, forming a singular contrast to the principles and purpose of their taking up arms, rendered them more easy victims to the insolubrious influence of burning heat and chilling Jews. To this discouraging cause of loss was to be added the sword of the enemy, Saladin, then whom no greater name is recorded in Eastern history, had learned, to his fatal experience, that his light-armed followers were little able to meet in close encounter with the iron-clad Franks, and had been taught at the same time, to apprehend and dread the adventurous character of his antagonist Richard. But if his armies were more than once rooted with great slaughter, his numbers gave the Saracen the advantage in those lighter skirmishes, of which many were inevitable. As the army of his assailants decreased, the enterprises of the Sultan became more numerous and more bold in the species of petty warfare. The camp of the crusaders was surrounded and almost besieged by clouds of light cavalry, resembling swarms of wasps, easily crushed when they were once grasped, but furnished with wings to elude superior strength and stings to inflict harm and mischief. There were perpetual warfare of posts and forages, in which many valuable lives were lost, without any corresponding object being gained. Convoys were intercepted, and communications were cut off. The crusaders had to purchase the means of sustaining life, by life itself. And water, like that of the Whirl of Bethlehem, longed for by King David, one of its ancient monarchs, was then, as before, only obtained by the expenditure of blood. The evils were, in a great measure, counterbalanced by the stern resolution and restless activity of King Richard, who, with some of his best knights, was ever on horseback, ready to repair to any point where danger occurred, and often not only bringing unexpected succour to the Christians, but discomforting the infidels when they seemed most secure of victory. But even the iron frame of the core de Leon could not support without injury the alternations of the unwholesome climate, joined to Ceasar's exertions of body and mind. He became afflicted with one of those slow and wasting fevers peculiar to Asia, and, in spite of his great strength and still greater courage, grew first unfit to mount on horseback, and then unable to attend the Counts of War. Which were, from time to time, held by the Crusaders. It was difficult to say whether this state of personal inactivity was rendered more galling, or more indurable, to the English monarch, by the resolution of the Council to engage in a truce of thirty days, with the sultan Saladin. For, on the one hand, if he was incensed at the delay which this interposed to the progress of the great enterprise, he was, on the other, somewhat consoled by knowing that others were not acquiring laurels, while he remained inactive upon a sick bed. That, however, which core de Leon could least excuse, was the general inactivity which prevailed in the camp of the Crusaders, so soon as his illness assumed a serious aspect. And the reports which he extracted from his unwilling attendance, gave him to understand that the hopes of the host had abated in proportion to his illness, and that the interval of truce was employed, not in recruiting their numbers, reanimating their courage, fostering their spirit of conquest, and preparing for a speedy and determined advance upon the holy city, which was the object of their expedition. But in securing the camp occupied by the diminished followers, with trenches, palisades, and other fortifications, as if preparing rather to repel an attack from a powerful enemy, so soon as hostility should recommend, then to assume the proud character of conquerors and assailants. The English king chafed under these reports, like the imprisoned lion viewing his prey from the iron barriers of his cage. Naturally rash and impetuous, the irritability of his temper preyed on itself. He was dreaded by his attendants, and even the medical assistants, feared to assume the necessary authority which a physician, to do justice to his patient, must needs exercise over him. One faithful baron, who, perhaps, from the congenial nature of his disposition, was devoutly attached to the king's person, dared alone to come between the dragon and his wrath. And quietly, but firmly, maintained a control which no other dared assume over the dangerous invalid. And which Thomas de Moulton only exercised because he esteemed his sovereign's life and honour, more than he did the degree of favour which he might lose, or even the risk which he might incur, in nursing a patient so intractable, and whose displeasures were so perilous. Sir Thomas was the lord of Gilsland in Cumberland. And in an age when surnames and titles were not distinctly attached, as now to the individuals who bore them, he was called by the Normans, the lord of Orcs, and in English by the Saxons, who clung to their native language, and were proud of the share of Saxon blood in this renowned warrior's veins, he was termed Thomas. Or, more familiarly, Thomas of the Gils, or narrow valleys, from which his extensive domains derived their well-known appellation. This chief had been exercised in almost all the wars, where the wage betwixt England and Scotland, or amongst the various domestic factions which then tore the former country asunder, and in all had been distinguished, as well from his military conduct, as his personal prowess. He was, in other respects, a rude soldier, blunt and careless in his bearing, and taciturn, nay almost sullen, in his habits of society, and seeming at least to disclaim all knowledge of policy and of courtly art. There were men, however, who pretended to look deeply into character, who asserted that the lord of Orcs was not less shrewd and aspiring than he was blunt and bold, and who thought that, while he assimilated himself to the king's own character of blunt hardyhood, it was, in some degree at least, with an eye to establish his favour, and to gratify his own hopes of deep-laid ambition. But no one cared to thwart his schemes, if such he had, by rivaling him in the dangerous occupation of daily attendance on the sick-bed of a patient whose disease was pronounced infectious, and more especially when it was remembered that the patient was the core de Leon, suffering under all the furious impatience of a soldier withheld from battle, and a sovereign sequestered from authority. And the common soldiers, at least in the English army, were generally of opinion, that devorks attended on the king like comrade upon comrade, in the honest and disinterested frankness of military friendship, contrasted between the partakers of daily dangers. It was on the decline of Assyrian day that Richard lay on his couch of sickness, loathing it as much in mind as his illness made it irks him to his body. His bright blue eye, which at all times shone with uncommon keenness and splendour, had its vivacity augmented by fever and mental impatience, and glanced from among his curled and unshawn locks of yellow hair, as fitfully and as vividly, as the last gleams of the sun shot through the clouds of an approaching thunderstorm, which still however are gilded by its beams. His manly features showed the progress of wasting illness, and his beard, neglected and untrimmed, had overgrown both lips and chin, casting himself from side to side, now clutching towards him the coverings, which at the next moment he flung as impatiently from him. His tossed couch and impatient gestures showed at once the energy and the reckless impatience of the disposition whose natural sphere was that of the most active exertion. The sight his couch stood thommest evokes, in face, attitude and manner, the strongest possible contrast to the suffering monarch. His stature approached the gigantic, and his hair in thickness might have resembled that of Samson, though only after the Israelite's champion's locks had passed under the shears of the Philistines. For those of divorce were cut short, that they might be enclosed under his helmet. The light of his broad, large, hazel eye resembled that of the autumn morn, and it was only perturbed for a moment, when from time to time it was attracted by Richard's fear and marks of agitation and restlessness. His features, though massive like his person, might have been handsome before they were defaced with scars. His upper lip, after the fashion of the Normans, was covered with thick moustaches, which grew so long and luxuriously as to mingle with his hair, and, like his hair, were dark brown slightly brindled with grey. His frame seemed of that kind, which most readily defies both toil and climate. For he was thin flanked, broad-chested, long-armed, deep-breathed, and strong-limbered. He had not laid aside his buffcoat, which displayed the cross cut on the shoulder for more than three nights, enjoying but such momentary repose as the water of a sick monarch's couch might by snatches indulge. This baron rarely changed his posture, except to administer to Richard the medicine or refreshments, which none of his less favoured attendants could persuade the impatient monarch to take, and there was something affecting, in the kindly yet awkward manner, in which he discharged offices so strangely contrasted with his blunt and soldierly habits and manners. The pavilion, in which these personages were, had, as became the time, as well as the personal character of Richard, more of a warlike than a sumptuous or royal character. Weapons offensive and defensive, several of them strange and newly invented construction, were scattered about the tender department, or disposed upon the pillars which supported it. Skins of animals slain in the chase were stretched on the ground, or extended along the sides of the pavilion. And upon a heap of the sylvian spoils lay three allons, as they were then called, wolf-greyhounds, that is, of the largest size and as white as snow. Their faces, their faces, marked with many a scar from clutch and fang, showed their sharing collecting the trophies upon which they were posed. And their eyes, fixed from time to time, with an expressive stretch, nyawn upon the bed of Richard, invinced how much they marveled at, and regretted the unwanted inactivity which they were compelled to share. These were but the accompaniments of the soldier and huntsman. But on a small table close by the bed was placed a shield of wrought steel, of triangular form, bearing the three lines passant, first assumed by the chivalrous monarch. And before it the golden circlet, resembling much a dookal coronet, only that it was higher in front than behind. Which, with the purple velvet and embroidered tiara that lined it, formed then the emblem of England's sovereignty. Beside it, as if prompt for defending the regal symbol, lay a mighty kirtal axe, which would have wearied the arm of any other than Cordy Leon. In an outer petition of the pavilion, waited two or three officers as the royal household, depressed, anxious for their master's health, and not less for their own safety in case of his decease. Their gloomy apprehensions spread themselves to the waters without, who paced about in downcast and silent contemplation, or, resting on their halberds, stood motionless on their post, rather like armed trophies than living warriors. So, that has no better news to bring me from without Sir Thomas, said the king, after a long and perturbed silence, spent in the feverish agitation which we have endeavoured to describe. All our knights turned to women, and all our ladies become devotees, and neither a spark of valour nor of gallantry, to enlighten a camp which contains the choicest of Europe's chivalry. The truce, my lord, said de Vox, with the same patience, with which he had, twenty-three times, repeated the explanation. The truce prevents us bearing ourselves as men of action. And for the ladies, I am no great reveler, as is well known to your majesty, and seldom exchange seal and buff for velvet and gold. But thus far I know, that our choicest beauties are waiting upon the queen's majesty and the princess, to a pilgrimage to the convent of Engadie, to accomplish their vows for your highness's deliverance from this trouble. And is it thus, said Richard, with the impatience of intersposition, that royal matrons and maidens should risk themselves, where the dogs who defile the land have as little truth to man as they have faith towards God? Nay, my lord, said de Vox, they have Saladin's word for their safety. True, true, replied Richard, and I did the heathen soldier in justice, I owe him reparation for it. Would God I were but fit to offer it him upon my body, between the two hosts, Christiandom and heathenness both looking on? As Richard spoke, he thrust his right arm out of bed, negative the shoulder, and, painfully raising himself in his couch, shook his clenched hand, as if it grasped sword or battleaxe, and was then brandished over the dueled turban of the soldan. It was not without a gentle degree of violence, which the king would scarce have endured from another, that de Vox, in his character of sickness, compelled his royal master to replace himself in the couch, and confate his sinewy arm, neck, and shoulders, with the care which a mother bestows upon an impatient child. Though at a rough nurse, though a willing one, de Vox, said the king, laughing with a bitter expression, while he submitted to the strength which he was unable to resist. Me thinks a coiff would become thy lowering features, as well as a child's biggin would be seen mine. We should be babe and nurse to frighten girls with. We have frightened men in our time, my liege, said de Vox, and, I trust, may live to frighten them again. What is a fever fit, that we should not endure it patiently, in order to get rid of it easily? Fever fit! exclaimed Richard impetuously. Thou mayest think, and justly, that it is a fever fit with me. But what is it with all the other Christian princes, with Philippe of France, Dar-Lostrian, with him of Montserrat, with the hospitalityers, with the Templars? What is it with all them? I will tell thee. It is cold palsy, a dead lethargy, a disease that deprives them of speech and action, a canker that is eaten into the heart of all that is noble and chivalrous and virtuous among them. That has made them false to the noblest of our ever nights was sworn to, has made them indifferent to their fame, and forgetful of their God. For the love of heaven, my liege, said de Vox, take it less violently. You will be heard without doors, where such speeches are but too current already among the common soldiery, and engender discord and contention in the Christian host. Be think you that your illness mars the mainspring of their enterprise. A manganelle will work without screw and lever, better than the Christian host without King Richard. Thou flatterest me, de Vox, said Richard, and not insensible to the power of praise, he reclined his head on the pillow, with a more deliberate attempt to repose than he had yet exhibited. But Thomas de Vox was no courtier. The phrase which had offered had risen spontaneously to his lips, and he knew not how to pursue the pleasing theme, so as to soothe and prolong the vain which he had excited. He was silent, therefore, until, relapsing into his moody contemplations, the King demanded of him sharply. Desperadoe, this is smoothly said to soothe the sick man, but as a league of monarchs, an assemblage of nobles, a convocation of all the chivalry of Europe, dropped with the sickness of one man, though he chances to be King of England, why should Richard's illness, or Richard's death, check the march of thirty thousand men as bravest himself? When the master stag is struck down, the herd do not disperse upon his fall. When the falcon strikes the leading crane, another takes the guidance of the phalanx. Why do not the powers assemble, and choose someone to whom they may entrust the guidance of the host? For soothe, and if it please your majesty, said de Vox, I hear consultations have been held among the royal leaders, for some such purpose. Exclaimed Richard, his jealousy awakened, giving his mental irritation another direction. Am I forgotten by my ally's ear, I have taken the last sacrament? Do they hold me dead already? But no, no, they are right. And whom do they select as leader of the Christian host? Rank and dignity, said de Vox, point to the King of France. Oh, I! answered the English monarch, Philippe of France and Navarre, Denis Mountjoy, his Miss Christian Majesty, mouth-filling words these, there is between risk, that you might mistake the words, en arrière, for en avant, and lead us back to Parrot, instead of marching to Jerusalem. His political head is learned by this time, that there is more to be gotten by oppressing his feudatories and pillaging his allies, than fighting with the Turks for the Holy Sepulchre. They might choose the Archduke of Austria, said de Vox. What! because he is big and burly like they self-Thomas, nearly as thick-headed, but without thy indifference to danger and carelessness of offence? I tell thee that Austria has in all that mass of flesh no bolder animation than is afforded by the peevishness of a wasp and the courage of a wren, out upon him. He is a leader of chivalry to deeds of glory, give him a flagon of wrenish to drink, with his besmirched barren hoarders and lance-nests. There is the grand master of the Templars. Continued the barren, not sorry to keep his master's attention engaged on other topics than his own illness, though at the expense of the characters of Prince and Potentate. There is the grand master of the Templars. He continued, undaunted, skillful, brave in battle, and sage in council, having no separate kingdoms of his own to divert his attention from the recovery of the Holy Land. What thinks your majesty of the master as a general leader of the Christian host? You say aunt? answered the king. Oh! no exception can be taken to brother Giles Amuri. He understands the ordering of a battle, and the fighting in front when it begins. But, Sir Thomas, were it fair to take the Holy Land from the heathen Saladin, so full of all the virtues which may distinguished unchristian men, and give it to Giles Amuri, a worse pagan than himself, an idolator, a devil worshiper, a necromancer, who practices crimes the most dark and unnatural, in the vaults and secret places of abomination and darkness. The grand master of the hospitaliers ascent John of Jerusalem is not tainted by fame, either with heresy or magic. Sir Thomas devours. But is he not a sordid miser? said Richard hastily. Has he not been suspected, I more than suspected, of selling to the infidels those advantages, which they would never have won by fair force? Tushman! but to give the army to be made merchandise of, by Venetian skippers and Lombardi peddlers, then to trust it to the grand master of St. John. Well, then, I will venture but another guest. said the barren devorks. What say you to the gallant Marquess of Montserrat? So wise, so elegant, such a good man at arms. Wise, cunning, you would say. replied Richard. Elegant in a lady's chamber, if you will. Oh, I, Conratt of Montserrat, who knows not the Popping-Jay? Politic and versatile, he will change you his purposes as often as the trimmings of his doublet. Then you shall never be able to guess the hue of his innermost vestments from their outward colours. A man at arms. I, a fine figure on horseback, and can bear him well in the tiltyard, and at the barriers, when swords are blunted at point and edge, and spears are tipped with trenches of wood instead of steel pikes. What thou not with me when I say to the same gay Marquess? Here we be, three good Christians, and on yonder plain there pricks a band of some three-score Saracens. What say you to charge them briskly? There are but twenty unbelieving miscreants to each true night. I recollect the Marquess replied, said Divorx, that his limbs were of flesh, not of iron, and that he would rather bear the heart of a man than of a beast, though the beast were the lion. But I see how it is. We shall end where we began, without hope of praying at the sepulchre, until heaven shall restore King Richard to health. At this grave remark Richard broke out into a hearty fit of laughter, the first which he had for some time indulged in. Why, what a thing is conscience! He said, that through its means even such a thick-witted northern lord as thou, can spring thy sovereign to confess his folly. It is true that, did they not propose themselves as fit to hold my leading staff, little should I care for plucking the silken trappings of the puppets, thou has shown me in succession. What concerns it me, what fine tinsel robes they swagger in, unless when they are named as rivals in the glorious enterprise to which I have avowed myself? Yes, Divorx, I confess my weakness, and the wilfulness of my ambition. The Christian camp contains, doubtless, many a better night than Richard of England, and it would be wise and worthy to assign to the best of them the leading of the host. But, continued the warlike monarch, raising himself in his bed, and shaking the cover from his head, while his eyes sparkled, as they were wont to do on the eve of battle, was such a night to plant the banner of the cross on the temple of Jerusalem, while I was unable to bear my share in the noble task. He should, so soon as I were fit to lay lance in rest, undergo my challenge to mortal combat, for having diminished my fame, and pressed him before to the object of my enterprise. But Hark, or trumpets of those at a distance, those of King Philip, as I guess my liege, said the stout Englishman. Thou art dull of ear, Thomas, said the King, endeavouring to start up. Here is thou not the clash and clang, by heaven the Turks are in the camp. I hear they, lilias, open bracket, the warcriers of the Muslima, close bracket. He again endeavoured to get out of bed, and devorks was obliged to exercise his own great strength, and also to assumen the assistance of the chamberlains from the inner tent, to restrain him. Thou art a false traitor, devorks, said the incensed monarch, when, breathless and exhausted with struggling, he was compelled to submit to superior strength, and to repose in quiet on his couch. I would I were, and I would I were but strong enough to dash thy brains out with my basilax. I would you have the strength, my liege, said devorks, and would even take the risk of its being so employed. The odds would be in great favour of Christendom, were Thomas Malton dead, and Cordelion himself again. My non-instant faithful servant, said Richard, extending his hand which the Baron reverentially saluted, forgived by master's impatience of mood. It is this burning fever which chides thee, and not thy kind master, Richard of England. But go, O prithee, and bring me word what strangers are in the camp, for these sounds are not of Christendom. Devorks left the pavilion on the errand assigned, and in his absence, which he had resolved should be brief, he charged the chamberlains, pages, and attendants to redouble their attention on their sovereign, with threats of holding them to responsibility, which rather added to, than diminished, their timid anxiety in the discharge of their duty. For next, perhaps to the eye of the monarch himself, they dreaded that of the stern, an exhorable lord of Gilsland, Sir Thomas Malton of Gilsland.