 CHAPTER 15 The feathered songster, Chanda Clear, had woned his bugle horn, and told the early villager the coming of the morn. King Edward saw the ruddy streaks of light eclipse the grey, and heard the raven's croaking throat proclaim the fated day. Thou art right, he said, for by the god that sits enthroned on high, Charles Baldwin and his fellow's twain, this day shall surely die. On the evening on which Sir Kenneth assumed his post, Richard, after the stormy event which disturbed its tranquillity, had retired to rest in the plentitude of confidence, inspired by his unbounded courage, and the superiority which he had displayed, incurring the point he aimed at in presence of the whole Christian host and its leaders, many of whom he was aware, regarded in their secret souls a disgrace of the Austrian duke as a triumph over themselves. So that his pride felt gratified, that in prostrating one enemy he had mortified a hundred, another monarch would have doubled his guards on the evening after such a scene, and kept at least a part of his troops under arms. But Cordy-Leon dismissed, upon the occasion, even his ordinary watch, and assigned to his soldiers a donative of wine to celebrate his recovery, and to drink to the banner of St. George, and his court of the camp would have assumed a character totally devoid of vigilance and military preparation, but that Sir Thomas de Vaux, the earl of Salisbury and other nobles, took precautions to preserve order and discipline among the revelers. The physician attended the king from his retiring to bed, till midnight was passed, and twice administered medicine to him during that period, always previously observing the quarter of heaven occupied by the full moon, whose influences he declared to be most sovereign, almost baleful to the effect of his drugs. It was three hours after midnight, Ea El-Hakim withdrew from the royal tent, to one which had been pitched for himself and his retinue. In his way thither he visited the tent of Sir Kenneth of the Leopard, in order to see the condition of his first patient in the Christian camp, Old Strawkin, as the Knights of Squire was named. Inquiring there for Sir Kenneth himself, Ea El-Hakim learned on what duty he was employed, and probably this information led him to St. George's Mount, where he found him whom he sought in the disastrous circumstances alluded to in the last chapter. It was about the hour of sunrise, when a slow, armed tread was heard, approaching the king's pavilion, and Ea Devorks, who slumbered beside his master's bed, as lightly as ever sleep sat upon the eyes of a watchdog, had time to do more than arise and say, Who comes? The Knight of the Leopard entered the tent, with the deep and devoted gloom seated upon his manly features. Wents this bold intrusion, Sir Knight, said Devorks sternly, yet in a tone which respected his master's slumbers. Hold, Devorks! said Richard, awaking on the instant. Sir Kenneth cometh like a good soldier to render an account of his guard, to such the general's tent is ever accessible. Then, rising from his slumbering posture, and leaning on his elbow, he fixed his large bright eye upon the warrior. Speak, Sir Scott, thou come to tell me if they vigilant, safe and honourable watch, does thou not? The rustling of the folds of the banner of England were enough to guard it, even without the body of such a knight as men hold thee. As men will hold me no more, said Sir Kenneth, my watch hath neither been vigilant, safe, nor honourable. The banner of England has been carried off. And thou are live to tell it? In a tone of derisive incredulity, away it cannot be. There is not even a scratch on thy face. Why does thou stand thus mute? Speak the truth. It is ill-gesting with a king, yet I will forgive thee if thou has lied. Lides a king, return the unfortunate night, with fierce emphasis, and one glance of fire from his eyes, bright and transient as the flash from the cold and stony flint. But this also must be endured, I have spoken the truth. By God and by St. George, said the king, bursting into fury, which, however, he instantly checked. Dvorkes gave you the spot. This fever has disturbed his brain. This cannot be. The man's courage is proof. It cannot be. Go speedily, or send if thou wilt not go. The king was interrupted by Sir Henry Neville, who came, breathless, to say that the banner was gone, and the knight who guarded it overpowered, and most probably murdered, as there was a pool of blood with the banner spearly shivered. But whom do I see here? said Neville, his eyes suddenly resting upon Sir Kenneth. A traitor, said the king, starting to his feet, and seasoned the Kirtilax, which was ever near his bed. A traitor, whom thou shalt see die a traitor's death! And he drew back the weapon as inact a strike. Colorless but firm as a marble statue, the scot stood before him, with his bare head uncovered by any protection. His eyes cast down to the earth, his lips scarcely moving, yet muttering probably in prayer. Opposite to him, and within the due reach for a blow, stood King Richard. His large person wrapped in the folds of his camisca, or ample gown of linen, except where the violence of his action had flung the covering from his right arm, shoulder, and a part of his breast, leaving to view a specimen of a frame which might have merited his Saxon predecessor's epithet of iron side. He stood for an instant prompt a strike. Then, sinking the head of the weapon towards the ground, he exclaimed, But there was blood, Neville, there was blood upon the place. Hark, thesis scot, brave thou wert once, for I have seen thee fight. Say thou hast slain two of the thieves in defence of the standard. Say but one, say thou hast struck but a good blow in our behalf, and get thee out of the camp, with thy life and thy infamy. You have called me a liar, my Lord King, replied Kenneth firmly. And there, in its least, you have done me wrong. Know that there was no bloodshed in defence of the standard, save that of a poor hound, which, more faithful than his master, defended the charge which he deserted. Now, by St. George, said Richard, again heaving up his arm, but aworks through and sell between the King and the object of his vengeance, and spoke with the blunt truth of his character. My lead, this must not be, here, nor by your hand. It is enough of folly for one night and day to have entrusted your banner to a scot. Said I not they were ever fair and false? Such were the terms in which the English used to speak of their poor northern neighbours. Forgetting that their own encroachments upon the independence of Scotland obliged the weaker nation to defend themselves by policy as well as force. The disgrace must be divided between Edward I and Edward III, who enforced their domination over a free country, and the Scots, who were compelled to take compulsory oaths without any purpose of keeping them. Thou didst aworks, thou wast right, and I confess it. Said Richard, I should have known him better. I should have remembered how the fox William deceived me touching this crusade. My lord, said Sir Kenneth, William of Scotland never deceived, but circumstances prevented his bring in his forces. Peace shameless! said the king, thou sulliest the name of a prince, even by speaking it. And yet, devorks, it is strange, he added, to see the bearing of the man. Coward or traitor he must be, yet he abode the blow of Richard Plantagen as our arm had been raised to lay knighthood on his shoulder. Had he shown the slightest sign of fear, had but a joint trembled or an eyelid quivered, I had shattered his head like a crystal goblet. But I cannot strike where there is neither fear nor resistance. There was a pause. My lord, said Kenneth, Ha! replied Richard, interrupting him. Has thou found thy speech? Ask grace for heaven, but none from me. For England is to sonnet through thy fault, and word thou mine own and only brother, there is no pardon for thy fault. I speak not to demand grace of mortal men, said the Scott. It is in your grace's pleasure to give, or refuse me time for Christian shrift. If man denies it, may God grant me the absolution which I would otherwise ask of his church. But whether I die on the instant, or half an hour hence, I equally beseech your grace for one moment's opportunity, to speak that to royal person which highly concerns your fame as a Christian king. Say on. said the king, making no doubt that he was about to hear some confession concerning the loss of the banner. What I have to speak, said Sir Kenneth, touches the royalty of England, and must be said to no ears but thine own. Begone with yourself, says, said the king, to Neville and D'Vorx. The first obeyed, but the latter were not stirred from the king's presence. If you said I was in the right, replied D'Vorx to his sovereign, I will be treated as one should be, who hath been found to be right, that is, I will have my own will. I leave you not with this false scot." How, D'Vorx! said Richard angrily, and stamping slightly, darest thou not venture our person with one traitor? It is in vain you frown and stamp, my lord, said D'Vorx. I venture not a sick man with a sound one, a naked man with one armed in proof. It matters not, said the Scottish Knight. I seek no excuse to put off time. I will speak in presence of the lord of Gilsland. He is a good lord and true. But half an hour since, said D'Vorx, with a groan implying a mixture of sour and vexation, and I had said as much for thee. There is treason around you, King of England. continued Sir Kenneth. It may well be as thou sayest, replied Richard, I have a pregnant example. Treason that will injure thee more deeply than the loss of a hundred banners in a pitched field. The—the— Sir Kenneth hesitated, and at length continued, in a lower tone. The Lady Edith. Ha! said the King, drawing himself suddenly into a state of haughty attention, and fixing his eyes firmly on the supposed criminal. What of her? What of her? What is she to do with this matter? My lord! said the Scott. There is a scheme on foot to disgrace your royal lineage, by bestowing the hand of the Lady Edith on the Saracen soul-dan, and thereby to purchase a peace most dishonourable to Christendom, by an alliance most shameful to England. The communication had precisely the contrary effect from that which Sir Kenneth expected. Richard Plantagent was one of those who, in Iago's words, would not serve God because it was the devil who bade him. A device or information often affected him less according to its real import, than through the tinge which it took, from the supposed character and views by those whom it was communicated. Unfortunately, the mention of his relative's name renewed his recollection of what he had considered as extreme presumption in the night of the Leopard, even when he stood high in the roll of chivalry, but which, in his present condition, appeared an insult sufficient to drive the fiery monarch into a frenzy of passion. Silence! he said. Infamous and audacious! By heaven I will have thy tongue torn out with hot pincers, for mentioning the very name of a noble Christian damsel. No degenerate traitor, that I was already aware to what height thou has dared to raise thine eyes, and endured it, though it were insolence, even when thou hadst cheated us, for thou art all a deceit, into holding the ears of some name and fame. But now, with lips blistered with the confession of thine own dishonour, that thou should now dare to name our noble kinswoman, as one in whose fate thou has part or interest? Or does it to thee if she marries Saracen or Christian? What is it to thee if, in a camp where princes turn cowards by day and robbers by night, where brave knights turn to paltry deserters and traitors? What is it I say to thee or any one, if I should please to ally myself to truth and to valour, in the presence of Saladin? Tell to me, indeed, to whom all the world will soon be as nothing," answered Sir Kenneth boldly. But where I now stretched on the rack, I would tell thee that what I have said is much to thine own conscience and thine own fame. I tell thee, Sir King, that if thou dost but in thought entertain the purpose of wedding thy kinswoman, the lady Edith, name her not, and for an instant think not of her," said the King, again straining the kirtal axe in his grip, until the muscle started above his brawny arm, like the cordage formed by the ivy around the limb of an oak. Not to name her, not to think of her," answered Sir Kenneth, his spirit stunned as they were by self-depression, beginning to recover their elasticity from this species of controversy. Now by the cross, on which I place my hope, her name shall be the last word in my mouth, her image the last thought on my mind. Try they both to strengthen this bear-brow, and see if thou canst prevent my purpose. He will drive me mad," said Richard, who, in his despite, was once more staggered in his purpose, by the dauntless determination of the criminal. Air Thomas of Gilslam could reply. Some bustle was heard without, and the arrival of the Queen was announced from the outer part of the pavilion. Detain her, detain her, Neville! cried the King. This is no sight for a woman. Fire that I have suffered such a paltry traitor to chafe me thus. Away with him to Vorks, he whispered, through the back-endurance of our tent, coop him up close, and answer for his safe custody with your life. And hark he, he is presently to die, let him have a ghostly father. We would not kill soul and body. And stay, hark thee, we will not have him dishonoured. He shall die night-like, in his belt and spurs. For, if his treachery be as black as hell, his boldness may match that of the devil himself. Devorks, right glad if the truth may be guessed, that the scene ended without Richard's descending into the unkingly act of himself slaying an unresisting prisoner, made haste to remove Sir Kenneth by a private issue to a separate tent, where he was disarmed and put in fetters for security. Devorks looked on with a steady and melancholy attention, while the provost officers, to whom Sir Kenneth was now committed, took these severe precautions. When they were ended, he said solemnly to the unhappy criminal, It is King Richard's pleasure that you die undergraded, without mutilation of your body or shame to your arms, and that your head be severed from the trunk by the sword of the executioner. It is kind, said the knight, in a low and rather submissive tone of voice, as one who received an unexpected favour. My family will not then hear the worst of the tale. Oh, my father, my father! This muttered invocation did not escape the blunt but kindly-nated Englishman, and he brushed the back of his large hand over his rough features ere he could proceed. It is Richard of England's further pleasure, he said at length, that you have speak with a holy man, and I have met on the passage hither with a carmelite friar, who may fit you for your passage. He waits without, until you are in frame of mind to receive him. Let it be instantly, said the knight. In this also, Richard is kind. I cannot be more fit to see the good father at any time than now. For life and die have taken farewell, as two travellers who have arrived at the cross-way, where their roads separate. It is well, said to walk slowly and solemnly. For it irks me somewhat to say that which sums my message. It is King Richard's pleasure that you prepare for instant death. God's pleasure and the King's be done. Replied the knight patiently. I neither contest the justice of the sentence, nor desire delay of the execution. Devorks began to leave the tent, but, very slowly, paused at the door and looked back at the scot, for whose aspect thoughts of the world seemed banished, as he feels composing himself into deep devotion. The feelings of the stout English barren were in general none of the most acute, and yet, on the present occasion, his sympathy overpowered him in an unusual manner. He came hastily back to the bundle of reeds in which the captive lay. Took one of his vetted hands, and said, with as much softness as his rough voice was capable of expressing, Sir Kenneth, thou art yet young, thou hast a father. My Ralph, whom I left training in his little galloway nag on the banks of the Irving, may one day attain thy years. And, but for last night, wood to God I saw his youth bear such promise as thine. Can nothing be said or done in thy behalf? Nothing was the melancholy answer. I have deserted my charge, the banner entrusted to me is lost. When the headsman and block are prepared, the head and trunk are ready to part company. Nay, then, God have mercy! said Devorks. Yet, would I rather than my best horse, I had taken that to watch myself. There is mystery in it, young man, as a plain man may describe, though he cannot see through it. Cowardess? No coward ever forward as I have seen thee do. Treachery? I cannot think traitors die in their treason so calmly. Thou has been trained from thy post by some deep guile, some well-devised stratagem, the cry of some distressed maiden has caught thine ear, or the lawful look of some merry one has taken thine eye. Never blush for it, we have all been led aside by such gear. Come, I pray thee, make a clean conscience of it to me, instead of the priest. Richardful is merciful when his mood is abated. Has thou nothing to entrust to me? The unfortunate knight turned his face from the kind warrior, and answered, Nothing. And Devorks, who had exhausted his topics of persuasion, arose and left the tent with folded arms, and in melancholy deeper than he thought the occasion merited, even angry with himself to find that so simple a matter as the death of a Scottish man could affect him so nearly. Yet, he said to himself, Though the rough-footed nays be our enemies in Cumberland, in Palestine one almost considers them as brethren. CHAPTER XVI It is not her sense, for sure in that there's nothing more than common, and all her wit is only chat, like any other woman. Song The high-born Beringeria, daughter of Sanchez king of Navarre, and the queen consort of the heroic Richard, was accounted one of the most beautiful women of the period. Her form was slight, though exquisitely moulded. She was graced with a complexion not common in her country. A profusion of fair hair, and features so extremely juvenile, as to make her look several years younger than she really was. Though in reality she was not above one and twenty. Perhaps it was under the consciousness of this extremely juvenile appearance, that she affected, or at least practised, a little childish petulance and wilfulness of manner. Not unbefitting, she might suppose, a youthful bride, whose rank and age gave her a right to have her fantasies indulged and attended to. She was, by nature, perfectly good-humoured, and if her due share of admiration and homage, in her opinion a very large one, was duly resigned to her, no one could possess her better temper or more friendly disposition. But then, like all despots, the more power that was voluntarily yielded to her, the more she desired to extend her sway. Sometimes, even when all her ambition was gratified, she chose to be a little out of health and a little out of spirits. And physicians had to toil their wits to invent names for imaginary maladies, while her ladies racked their imagination, for new games, new headgear, and new court scandal, to pass away those unpleasant hours, during which their own situation was scarce to be greatly envied. Their most frequent resource for diverting this melody was some trick or piece of mischief practised upon each other, and the good queen, in the buoyancy of her reviving spirit, was, to speak truth, rather too indifferent, whether the frolics thus practised, were entirely befitting her own dignity, or whether the pain which those suffered upon whom they were inflicted was, not beyond the proportion of pleasure which she herself derived from them. She was confident in her husband's favour, in her high rank, and in her supposed powers to make good, whatever such pranks might cost others. In a word, she gambled with the freedom of a young lioness, who is unconscious of the weight of her own paws, when laid on those whom she sports with. The queen Beringeria loved her husband passionately, but she feared the loftiness and roughness of his character, and as she felt herself not to be his matching intellect, was not much pleased to see that he would often talk with Edith Plantagent, in preference to herself. Simply because he found more amusement in her conversation, a more comprehensive understanding, and a more noble cast of thoughts and sentiments, than his beautiful consort exhibited. Beringeria did not hate Edith on this account, far less mediate her any harm, for, allowing for some selfishness, her character was, on the whole, innocent and generous. But the ladies of her train, sharp-sighted in such matters, had for some time discovered that a poignant jest at the expense of the lady Edith, was as specific for relieving her grace of England's low spirits, and the discoveries saved their imagination much toil. There was something ungenerous in this, because the lady Edith was understood to be an orphan, and though she was called Plantagent, and the fair maid of Anjou, and admitted by Richard to certain privileges only granted to the royal family, and held her place in the circle accordingly, yet few knew, and none acquainted with the court of England venture to ask, in what exact degree of relationship she stood to the court of Lyon. She had come with Eleanor, the celebrated Queen Mother of England, and joined Richard at Messina, as one of the ladies destined, to attend on Beringeria, whose nuptials then approached. Richard treated his kinswoman with much respectful observance, and the Queen made her her most constant attendant, and, even despite of the petty jealousy which we have observed, treated her generally with suitable respect. The ladies of the household had, for a long time, no further advantage over Edith, there might be afforded by an opportunity of centering, a less artfully disposed head attire, or an unbecoming robe. For the lady was judged to be inferior in these mysteries. The silent devotion of the Scottish knight did not indeed pass unnoticed. His liveries, his cognizance, his feats of arms, his mottos and devices, were nearly watched, and occasionally made the subject of a passing jest. But then came the pilgrimage of the Queen and her ladies to Angadi, a journey which the Queen had undertaken, under a vow for the recovery of her husband's health, and which she had been encouraged to carry into effect by the archbishop of Tyre for a political purpose. It was then, and in the chapel at the holy place, connected from above with a calmer light and honoree, from beneath with the cell of the anchorite, that one of the Queen's attendants remarked that secret sign of intelligence which Edith had made to a lover, and failed not instantly to communicate it to Her Majesty. The Queen returned from her pilgrimage, enriched with this admirable recipe against dullness or ennui, and her train was at the same time augmented by a present of two wretched dwarfs from the dethroned Queen of Jerusalem, as deformed and as crazy, the excellent of that unhappy species, as any Queen could have desired. One of Burangaria's idle amusements had been to try the effect of the sudden appearance of such ghastly and fantastic forms on the nerves the night when left alone in the chapel. But the chest had been lost by the composure of the scot, and the interference of the anchorite. She had now tried another, of which the consequences promised to be more serious. The ladies again met after Sir Kenneth had retired from the tent. And the Queen, at first little moved by Edith's angry expostulations, only replied to her by upbraiding her prudery, and by indulging her wit at the expense of the garb, nation, and above all the poverty of the night of the leopard. In which she displayed a good deal of playful malice, mingled with some humour, until Edith was compelled to carry her anxiety to her separate apartment. But when, in the morning, a female whom Edith had entrusted to make inquiry brought word that the standard was missing, and its champion vanished, she burst into the Queen's apartment, and implored her to rise and proceed to the King's tent without delay, and use her powerful mediation to prevent the evil consequences of her jest. The Queen, frightened in her turn, cast as is usual the blame of her own folly on those around her, an endeavour to comfort Edith's grief, and appease her displeasure by a thousand inconsistent arguments. She was sure no harm had chanced. The night was sleeping, she fancied, after his night-watch. What, though, for fear of the King's displeasure, he had deserted with the standard. It was but a piece of silk, and he but an idiot adventurer. Or, if he was put under warding for a time, she would soon get the King to pardon him. It was but waiting to let Richard's mood pass away. Thus she continued talking thick and fast, and heaping together all sorts of inconsistencies, with the vain expectation of persuading both Edith and herself, that no harm could come of her frolic, which in her heart she now bitterly repented. The twirl Edith in vain strove to intercept this torrent of idle talk. She caught the eye of one of the ladies who ended the Queen's apartment. There was death in her look of a fright and horror. And Edith, as the first glance of her countenance, had sunk at once on the earth, had not strong necessity, and her own elevation of character, enabled her to maintain at least external composure. Madam, she said to the Queen, lose not another word in speaking, but save life. If indeed, she added, her voice choking as she said it, life may yet be saved. It may, it may, answered the Lady Callister. I have just heard that he has been brought before the King. It is not yet over. But— she added, bursting into a vehement flood of weeping, in which personal apprehension said some share, it will soon, unless some course be taken. I will vow a golden candlestick to the Holy Sepulchre, a shrine of silver to a lady of Ingadi, a pole worth one hundred Byzants to Saint Thomas of Orthes, said the Queen in extremity. Up, up, Madam, said Edith, call on the Saints if you list, but be on your best Saint. Indeed, Madam, said the terrified attendant, the Lady Edith speaks truth, up, Madam, and let us to King Richard's tent and beg the poor gentleman's life. I will go, I will go instantly, said the Queen, rising and trembling excessively, while her woman, in as great confusion as herself, were unable to render her those duties which were indispensable to a levy. Calm, composed, only pale as death, Edith ministered to the Queen with her own hand, and alone supplied the deficiencies of her numerous attendance. How you wait, winches! said the Queen, not able even then to forget frivolous distinctions. Suffer you the Lady Edith to do the duties of your attendants. Seize thou, Edith, they can do nothing. I shall never be tired in time. We will send for the Archbishop of Tyre and employ him as a mediator. Oh, no, no! exclaimed Edith. You have done the evil, do you confer the remedy? I will go, I will go, said the Queen. But if Richard be in his mood, I dare not speak to him, he will kill me. Yet go, gracious Madam! said the Lady Calista, who best knew her mistress's temper. Not a lion in his fury could look upon such a face and form, and retain so much an angry thought, far less a true love-night like the royal Richard, to whom your slightest word would be a command. Does thou think so, Calista? said the Queen. Ah, thou little nose yet I will go. But see you here, what means this? You have bedenced me in green, a colour he detests. Below you let me have a blue robe and—search for the ruby carkinet, which was part of the King of Cyprus's ransom. It is either in the steel casket or somewhere else. This, and demand's life at stake? said Edith indignantly. It passes human patience. Remain at your ease, madam. I will go to King Richard. I am a party interested. I will know if the honour of poor maiden of his blood is to be so far tampered with, that her name shall be abused to train a brave gentleman from his duty, bring him within the compass of death and infamy, and make at the same time the glory of England a laughing-stock to the whole Christian army. At this unexpected burst of passion, Boingaria listened with an almost stupefied look of fear and wonder. But as Edith was about to leave the tent, she exclaimed, though faintly, Stop her! Stop her! You must indeed stop, noble Lady Edith, said Kalista, taking her arm gently. And you, Royal Madam, I am sure will go, and without further dallying. If the Lady Edith goes alone to the King, he will be dreadfully incensed, nor will it be one life that will stay his fury. I will go. I will go," said the Queen, yielding to necessity. And Edith reluctantly halted to wait her movements. They were now as speedily as she could have desired. The Queen hastily wrapped herself in a large loose mantle, which covered all inaccuracies of a toilet. In this guise, attended by Edith and her women, and proceeded and followed by a few officers in men-at-hands, she hastened to the tent of her lion-like husband. This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. upon his head a life. And every life were to be supplicated by numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled. Life after life should out like waning stars before the daybreak, or as festive lamps, which have lent luster to the midnight revel, each after each a quenched when guests depart. Old play. The entrance of Queen Beringaria into the interior of Richard's pavilion was withstood, in the most respectful and reverential manner indeed, but still withstood, by the chamberlains who watched in the outer tent. She could hear the stern command of the King from within, prohibiting their entrance. You see, said the Queen, appealing to Edith, as if she had exhausted all means of intercession in her power. I knew it, the King will not receive us. At the same time, they heard Richard speak to someone within. Go, speed thine office quickly, Sira, for in that consists thy mercy. Ten buys answered thou d-list on him at one blow. And Hark thee, villain, observe if his cheek looses colour, or his eye falters. Mark me the smallest twitch of the features, or wink of the eyelid. I love to know how brave souls meet death. If he sees my blade waved aloft without shrinking, he is the first ever did so. Answered a harsh deep voice, which a sense of unusual awe had softened into a sound much lower than its usual coarse tones. Edith could remain silent no longer. If your grace, she said to the Queen, make not your own way. I make it for you, not for your majesty for myself at least. Chamberlain, the Queen demands to see King Richard, the wife to speak with her husband. Noble Lady, said the officer, luring his wand of office. It grieves me to gain say you, but his Majesty is busied on matters of life and death. And we seek also to speak with him on matters of life and death, said Edith. I will make entrance for your grace. And putting aside the Chamberlain with one hand, she laid hold on the curtain with the other. I dare not gain say in her Majesty's pleasure, said the Chamberlain, yielding to the vehemence of the fair petitioner. And as he gave way, the Queen found herself obliged to enter the apartment of Richard. The monarch was lying on his couch, and at some distance, as awaiting his further commands, stood a man whose profession it was not difficult to conjecture. He was clothed in a jerking of red cloth, which reached scantily below the shoulders, leaving the arms bare from about half way above the elbow. And as an upper garment he wore, when about as at present betake himself to his dreadful office, a coat or tabard without sleeves, something like that of a herald, made of dressed bullseye, and stained in the front with many a broad spot and speckle of dull crimson. The jerkin and the tabard over it reached the knee, and the nether socks or covering of the legs were of the same leather which composed the tabard. A cup of rough shag served to hide the upper part of a visage, which, like that of a screech-ow, seemed desirous to conceal itself from light. The lower part of the face being obscured by huge red beard, mingling with shaggy locks of the same colour. What features were seen were stern and misanthropic. The man's figure was short, strongly made, with a neck like a bull, very broad shoulders, arms of great and disproportionate length, a huge square trunk, and thick bandy legs. This truselant official lent on a sword, the blade of which was nearly four feet and a half in length. While the handle of twenty inches, surrounded by a ring of lead plummets to counterpose the weight of such a blade, rose considerably above the man's head, as he rested his arm upon its hilt, waiting for King Richard's further directions. On the sudden entrance of the ladies, Richard, who was then lying on his couch with his face towards the entrance, and resting on his elbow as he spoke to his grisly attendant, flung himself hastily, as if displeased and surprised, to the other side, turning his back to the queen and to the females of her train, and drawing around him the covering of his couch, which, by his own choice, or more probably the flattering selection of his chamberlins, consisted of two large lion-skins dressed in Venice with such admirable skill that they seemed softer than the hide of the deer. Beringeria, such as we have described her, knew well what woman knows not her own road to victory. After a hurried glance of undisguised and unaffected terror at the ghastly companion of her husband's secret councils, she rushed at once to the side of Richard's couch, dropped on her knees, flung her mantle from her shoulders, showing, as they hung down at their full length, her beautiful golden tresses. And while her countenance seemed like the sun bursting through a cloud, yet bearing on its pallid front traces that its splendours had been obscured, she seized upon the right hand of the king, which, as he assumed he wanted posture, had been employed in dragging the covering over his couch. And gradually pulling it to her with a force which was resisted, though but faintly, she possessed herself of that arm, the prop of Christendom, and the dread of the heatheness. And, imprisoning its strength in both her little fairy hands, she bent upon it her brow, and united to it her lips. What needs this, Beringeria? said Richard, his head still averted, but his hand remaining under her control. Send that man away, his look kills me! muttered Beringeria. Begone, Sira! said Richard, still without looking round. What waits thou for? heart thou fit to look on these ladies? Your highness' pleasure touching their head, said the man. Out with the dog! answered Richard, a Christian burial. The man disappeared, after casting a look upon the beautiful queen in her deranged dress and natural loveliness, with a smile of admiration more hideous on its expression than even his usual scale of cynical hatred against humanity. And now foolish went, what wishes thou? said Richard, turning slowly and half reluctantly round to his royal suppliant. But it was not in nature for any one, far less an admirer of beauty like Richard, to whom it stood only in the second rank to glory, to look without emotion on the countenance and the terror of a creature so beautiful as Beringeria, or to feel without sympathy, that her lips, her brow were on his hand, and that it was wetted by her tears. By degrees, he turned on her his manly countenance, with the softest expression of which his large blue eye, which so often gleamed with insufferable light, was capable. Caressing her fair head, and mingling his large fingers in her beautiful and dishevelled locks, he raised and tenderly kissed the cherub countenance, which seemed asirous to hide itself in his hand. The robust form, the broad, noble brow, and majestic looks, the naked arm and shoulder, the lion-skins among which he lay, and the fair fragile, feminine creature that kneeled by his side might have served for a model of Hercules reconciling himself, after a quarrel to his wife Diana. And once more, what seeks the lady of my heart in a night's pavilion at this early and unwanted hour? Pardon my most gracious liege, pardon! said the queen, whose fears began again to unfit her for the duty of intercessor. Pardon? for what? asked the king. First, for entering a royal presence too boldly and unadvisedly, she stopped. Thou, too boldly, the summat is well asked pardon because his rays entered the window of some wretched dungeon, but I was busy with work unfit for thee to witness, my gentle one, and I was unwilling, besides, that thou should risk thy precious health where sickness had been so lately rife. But thou art now well, said the queen, still delaying the communication which she feared to make. Well enough to break a lance on the bold crest of that champion, who shall refuse to acknowledge thee the fairest aim in Christendom. Thou will not then refuse me one boon, only one, only a poor life? Ha! proceed! said King Richard, bending his brows. This unhappy Scottish night! murmured the queen. Speak not of him, madam! exclaimed Richard Sternley. He dies, his doom is fixed. Hey, my royal legion love! Tis but a silk and banner neglected. Burring area will give thee another broided with her own hand, and riches ever dallied with the wind. Every pearl I have shall go to bedecquet, and with every pearl I will drop a tear of thankfulness to my generous knight. Thou knows not what thou sayest, said the king, interrupting her in anger. Pearls! Can all the pearls of the east atone for a speck upon England's honour? All the tears that ever women's eyes wept wash away a stain on Richard's fame? Go to, madam, know your place, and your time, and your sphere. At present we have duties in which you cannot be our partner. Thou hearest, Edith, whispered the queen. We shall but incense him. Be it so, said Edith, stepping forward. My lord, I, your poor kinswoman, crave you for justice rather than mercy. And to the cry of justice the ears of a monarch should be open at every time, place, and circumstance. Ha! a cousin, Edith! said Richard, rising and sitting upright on the side of his couch, covered with his long camisca. She speaks ever kinglike, and kinglike will I answer her, so she bring no request unworthy herself or me. The beauty of Edith was of a more intellectual and less voluptuous cast than that of the queen. But impatience and anxiety had given her countenance a glow, which it sometimes wanted, and her mean had a character of energetic dignity that imposed silence for a moment even on Richard himself, who, to judge by his looks, would willingly have interrupted her. My lord, she said, this good night, whose blood you are about to spill, hath done in his time service to Christian dem. He has fallen from his duty through a snare set for him in mere folly and eyed on a suspirit. A message sent to him in the name of one who—why should I not speak it?—it was my own—induced him for an instant to leave his post. What night in the Christian cap might not have thus far transgressed a command of a maiden? Who, poor hassle ever in other qualities, hath yet the blood of Plantagent in her veins? And you saw him then, cousin? replied the king, biting his lips to keep down his passion. I did my liege, said Edith. It is no time to explain wherefore. I am here neither to expulate myself nor to blame others. And where did you do him such a grace? In the tent of Her Majesty the Queen. A far royal consort? said Richard. Now by heaven I sent George of England, and by a realth Saint that treads its crystal-floor. This is too audacious. I have noticed and overlooked this warrior's insolent admiration of one so far above him, and I grudged him not that one of my blood should shed from her high-born sphere such influence as the sun bestows on the world beneath. But heaven and earth, that you should have admitted him to an audience by night, in the very tent of our royal consort, and dare to offer this as an excuse for his disobedience and desertion? For my father's soul, Edith, thou shalt rule this thy life long in a monastery. My liege, said Edith, your greatness licensed tyranny. My honour, Lord King, is as little touched as yours, and my Lady the Queen can prove it if she think fit. But I have already said I am not here to excuse myself, or incopulate others. I ask you but to extend to one, whose fault was committed under strong temptation, that mercy, which even you yourself, Lord King, must one day supplicated a higher tribunal, and for faults perhaps less venial. Can this be Edith Plantagent? said the King Bitterly. Edith Plantagent, the wise and the noble, or is it some lovesick woman who cares not for her own fame in comparison of the life of her paramour? From now, by King Henry's soul, little hinders but I order thy minions' skull to be brought from the gibbet, and fixed as a perpetual ornament by the crucifix in thy cell. And if thou dost send it from the gibbet to be placed for ever in my sight? Said Edith, I will say it is a relic of a good night, cruelly and unworthily done to death by—she checked herself. By one of whom I shall only say, he should have known better how to reward chivalry. Minion callest thou him? She continued, with increasing vehemence. He was indeed my lover, and a most true one, but never sought he grace from me by look or word, contended with such humble observances as men pay to the saints, and the good, the valiant, the faithful must die for this? Or peace, peace, for pity's sake! whispered the Queen, who to but offend him more. I can not! said Edith, the spotless virgin fears not the raging lion, letting work his will on this worthy night. Edith, for whom he dies, will know how to weep his memory. To me no one shall speak more of political alliances, to be sanctioned with this poor hand. I could not, I would not, have been his bride living. Our degrees were too distant, but death unites the high and the low. I am henceforth the spouse of the grave. The King was about to answer with much anger, when a calmer light monk entered the apartment hastily. His head and person muffled in the long mantle, and a hood as striped cloth of the course's texture which distinguished his order. And, flinging himself on his knees before the King, conjured him by every holy word and sign to stop the execution. Now, by both sword and scepter, said Richard, the world is leagued to drive me mad. Fools, women, and monks cross me at every step. How comes he to live still? My gracious liege, said the monk, I entreat you to the Lord of Girlsland to stay the execution, and to learn to throw myself at your royal. And he was willful enough to grant thy request, said the King. But it is a peace with his wanted obstinacy, and what is it thou hast to say, speak in the fiend's name? My Lord, there is a weighty secret, but it rests under the seal of confession. I dare not tell or even whisper it. But I swear to thee by my holy order, by the habit which I wear, by the blessed Elias, our founder, even him who was translated without suffering the ordinary pangs of mortality, that this youth has divulged me a secret, which, if I might confide it to thee, would utterly turn thee from thy bloody purpose in regard to him. Good Father, said Richard, that I reverence the Church, let the arms which I now wear for her sake bear witness. Give me to know this secret, and I will do what shall seem fitting in the matter. But I am no blind bayard, to take a leap in the dark under the stroke of a pair of priestly spurs. My Lord! said the holy man, throwing back his cowl and upper vesture, and discovering under the latter a garment of goatskin, and, from beneath the former, a visage so wildly wasted by climate, fast and penance, as to resemble rather the apparition of an animated skeleton than a human face. For twenty years have I miscreated this miserable body in the caverns of Engadie, doing penance for a great crime. Think you I, who am dead to the world, would contrive a falsehood to endanger my own soul? Or that one, bound by the most sacred oaths to the contrary, one such as I, who have but one longing wish connected with earth, to which the rebuilding of our Christian Zion would portray the secrets of the confessional? Both are alike a parent to my very soul. So, answered the King, Thou art the hermit of whom men speak so much. Thou art, I confess, like enough to those spirits which walk in dry places. But Richard fears no hobgoblins. And now art he too, as I bethink me, to whom the Christian princes sent this very criminal to an open communication with the soldown? Even while I, who ought to have been first consulted, lay on my sick bed? Thou and they may content themselves, and not put my neck into the loop of a carmelite's girdle. As for your envoy, he shall die the rather and the sooner that thou dost entreat for him. Now, God, be gracious to thee, Lord King! said the hermit with much emotion. Thou art set in that mischief on foot, which thou wilt hereafter wish thou hath stopped, though it had cost thee a limb. Rashed blinded man, yet forbear. Away away! cried the King, stamping. The sun has risen on the dishonour of England, and it is not yet avenged. Ladies and priests withdraw. If you would not hear orders which would displease you, for, by St. George, I swear. Swear not! said the voice, who had just then entered the pavilion. Ha! my learned akeem! said the King. Calm, my hope, to tax our generosity. I came to request instant speech with you, instant, and touching matters of deep interest. First look on my wife akeem, and let her know in you the persevere of her husband. It is not for me, said the physician, folding his arms to the nail of oriental modesty and reverence, and bending his eyes on the ground. It is not for me to look upon beauty unveiled, and armed in its splendours. Retire then, Beringaria! said the monarch. And Edith, do you retire also? Nay, renew not your importunities. This I give to them that the execution shall not be till high noon. Go and be pacified, dearest Beringaria, be gone. Edith! He added, with a glance which struck terror even into the courageous soul of his kinswoman. Go, if you're wise. The females withdrew, or rather hurried from the tent, ran conseremony forgotten, much like a flock of wildfowl huddled together, against whom the falcon has made a recent stoop. They returned from thence to the Queen's pavilion, to indulge in regrets and recriminations equally unavailing. Edith was the only one who seemed to disdain these ordinary channels of sorrow. Without a sigh, without a tear, without a word of abrading, she attended upon the Queen, whose weak temperament showed her sorrow in violent hysterical ecstasies and passionate hypochondrial effusions, in the course of which Edith sedulously, and even affectionately attended her. It is impossible she could have loved this night. said Floresta Calista, her senior in attendance upon the Queen's person. We have been mistaken. She is a bit sorry for his fate, as for a stranger who has come to trouble on her account. Hush! Hush! answered her more experienced and more observant comrade. She is of that proud house of plentagent, who never owned the to hurt grieves them. While they have themselves been bleeding to death under a mortal wound, they have been known to bind up the scratches sustained by their more faint-hearted comrades. Oh, Florets, we have done frightfully wrong, and for my own part, I would buy with every jewel I have that our fatal jest had remained unacted. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of The Talisman This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lizzie Driver The Talisman by Sir Walter Scott Chapter 18 This work desires a planetary intelligence of Jupiter and Soul, and those great spirits are proud, fantastical. It asks great charges to entice them from the guiding of their spheres to wait on mortals. Alba Mazar The hermit followed the ladies from the pavilion of Richard. A shadow follows a beam of sunshine when the clouds are driving over the face of the sun. But he turned on the threshold, and held up his hand towards the king in a warning, of almost a menacing posture, as he said, Woe to him who rejects the council of the church, and but take themself to the fowl to van of the infidel. King Richard, I do not yet shake the dust from my feet, and depart from thy encabement. The sword falls not, but it hangs by a hair. Horty Monarch, we shall meet again. Be it so, Horty Priest, returned Richard, proud or unlike goatskins and princes in purple and fine linen. The hermit vanished from the tent, and the king continued, addressing the Arabian. Do the dervishes of the east wise akeem use such familiarity with their princes? The dervish, replied Ellenbeck, should be either a sage or a madman. There is no middle course for him who wears the kirkah. Literally the torn robe. The habit of the dervishes is so called. Who walks by night and fast by day. Hence hath he either wisdom enough to bear himself discreetly in the presence of princes, or else, having no reason bestowed on him, he is not responsible for his own actions. Me thinks our monks have adopted chiefly the latter character, said Richard. But to the matter, in what can I pleasure you, my learned physician? Great King! said El Hakeem, making his profound oriental obeisance. Let thy servant speak one word, and yet live. I would remind thee that thou o'est, not to me, their humble instrument, but to the intelligences, whose benefits I dispense to mortals, a life. And I warrant me, thou, was to have another in requital? Ha! Interrupted the king. Such is my humble prayer, said the hekeem, to the great Melachric. Even a life of this good night, who is doomed to die, and but for such fault as was committed by the sultan Adam, sir named El Beskar, or the father of all men. And thy wisdom might remind thee, Hekeem, that Adam died for it. Said the king, somewhat sternly. And then began to pace the narrow space of his tent with some emotion, and talk to himself. Why, God, a mercy! I knew what he desired as soon as he even entered the pavilion. Here is one poor life justly condemned to extinction. And I, a king and a soldier, who have slain thousands by my command and scores with my own hand, am to have no power over it, although the honour of my arms, of my house, of my very queen, had been attained by the culprit. By St. George it makes me laugh. By St. Louis it reminds me of Blondel's tale of an enchanted castle, where the destined knight was visited successively in his purpose of entrance, by forms and figures the most dissimilar, but all hostile to his undertaking. No sooner one sunk than another appeared. Wife, kinswoman, hermit, Hekeem, each appears in the list as soon as the other is defeated. Why, this is a single knight fighting against the whole melee of the tournament. And Richard laughed aloud, for he had in fact begun to change his mood, his resentment being usually too violent to be of long endurance. The physician, meanwhile, looked on him with a countenance of surprise, not unmingled with contempt. For the eastern people make no allowance for these mercurial changes in the temper, and consider open laughter upon almost any account as derogatory to the dignity of man, and becoming only to women and children. At length the sage addressed the king when he saw him more composed. A doom of death should not issue from laughing lips. Let thy servant hope that thou has granted him this man's life. Take the freedom of a thousand captives instead," said Richard. Restores so many of thy countrymen to thy tents and families, and I will give the warrant instantly. This man's life can avail thee nothing, and it is forfeited. All our lives are forfeited," said the Hekeem, putting his hand to his cap. But the great Creator is merciful, and extracts not the pledge rigorously nor untimely. Thou can't show me, said Richard, no special interest thou has to become intercessor betwixt me, and the execution of justice, to which I am sworn as a crowned king. Thou art sworn to the dealing forth mercy as well as justice, said El Hekeem. But what thou seekest, great king, is the execution of thine own will. And for the concern I have in this request know that many a man's life depends upon thy granting this boon. Explain thy words, said Richard, but think not to impose upon me by false pretexts. Be it far from thy servant, said Adam Beck. Know, then, that the medicine to which thou, sir King, and many one besides, owe their recovery, is a talisman, composed under certain aspects of the heavens, when the divine intelligences are most propitious. I am but the poor administrator of its virtues. I dip it in a cup of water, observe the fitting hour to administer it to the patient, and the potency of the draft works the cure. A most rare medicine, said the king, and a commodius, and, as it may be carried in the leeches' purse, would save the whole caravan of camels which they require to convey drugs, and physics stuff. I marvel there is any other in use. It is written, answer the Hekeem, with imperturbable gravity. Abuse not the steed which hath borne thee from the battle. Know that such talismans might indeed be framed, but where has been the number of adepts who have dared to undertake the application of their virtue? Severe restrictions, painful observances, fast and penance, are necessary on the part of the sage who uses this mode of cure, and if, through neglect of these preparations, by his love of ease, or his indulgence of sensual appetite, he omits to cure at least twelve persons within the course of each moon, the virtue of the divine gift departs from the amulet, and both the last patient and the physician will be exposed to speedy misfortune. Neither will they survive the year. I require yet one life to make up the appointed number. Go out into the camp, good Hekeem, without will find a many. Said the king, and do not seek to rob my headsman of his patience. It is unbecoming a medicineer of thine eminence to interfere with the practice of another. Besides, I cannot see how delivering a criminal from the death he deserves should go to make up by tell of miraculous cures. When thou can show why a draught of cold water should have cured thee when the most precious drugs failed. Said the Hekeem, thou mayest reason on the other mysteries attendant on this matter. For myself I am inefficient to the great work, having this morning touched an unclean animal. Ask therefore no further questions. It is enough that, by sparing this man's life at my request, you will deliver yourself, great king, and thy servant, from a great danger. Hark, the Adambeck! replied the king. They have no objection that leeches should wrap their words in mist, and pretend to derive knowledge from the stars. But when you bid richer plantagent fear that a danger will fall upon him from some idle omen, or omitted ceremonial, you speak to no ignorant Saxon or doting old woman, who forgoes her purpose because her hair crosses the path, a raven croaks or a cat sneezes. I cannot hinder your doubt of my words, said Adambeck, but yet let my lord the king grant that truth is on the tongue of his servant. Will he think it just a deprive the world, and every wretch who may suffer by the pains which so lately reduced him to that couch, of the benefit of this most virtuous talisman, rather than extend his forgiveness to one poor criminal? We thank you, Lord King, that though thou's can slay thousands, thou canst not restore one man to hell. Kings have the power of Satan to torment, sages that are valid to heal. Beware how by hindrance the good to humanity, which thou canst not thyself render. Thou canst cut off the head, but not cure the aching tooth. This is over-insolent, said the king, hardening himself, as the hekim assumed a more lofty and almost a commanding tone. We take thee for our leech, not for our counsellor or conscience-keeper. And it is thus the most renowned Prince of Fragastar, and repays benefit done to his royal person. Sadell hekim, exchanging the humble and stooping posture in which he had hithero solicited the king, for an attitude lofty and commanding. No, then, he said, that every court of Europe and Asia, to Muslim and Nazarene, to knight and lady, wherever harp is heard and sword worn, wherever honour is loved and infirmity detested, to every court of the world will I denounce thee, melachric, as thankless and ungenerous, and even the lands, if there be any such, that never heard of thy renown shall yet be acquainted with thy shame. Are these terms to me vile infidel? said Richard, striding up to him in fury. Hot weary of thy life? Strike, Sadell hekim, thine own deed shall then paint thee more worthless than could my words, though each had a hornet's sting. Richard turned fiercely from him, folded his arms, traversed the tenters before, and then exclaimed, thankless and ungenerous, as will be termed cowed and infidel. Hakeem, thou has chosen thy boon, and thou oid rather thou hast asked my crown jewels, yet I may not, king-like, refuse thee. Take the scot, therefore, to thy keeping. The provost will deliver him to thee on this warrant. He hastily traced one or two lines, and gave them to the physician. Use them as thy bond-slave, to be disposed of as thy wilt, only let him be aware how he comes before the eyes of Richard. Hark thee, thou art wise, he hath been overbold among those in whose fair looks and weak judgments we trust our honour, as you of the east lodge your treasures in casks of silver wire, as fine and as frail as the whip of a gossamer. Thy servant understands the words of the king, said the sage, at once resuming the reverent style of address in which he had commenced. When the rich carp it is soiled, the full pointeth to the stain, the wise man covers it with his mantle. I have heard my lord's pleasure, and to hear is to obey. It is well, said the king. Let him consult his own safety, and never appear in my presence more. Is there aught else in which I may do thee pleasure? The bounty of the king hath filled my cup to the brim, said the sage. Ye, it hath been abundant as the fountain, which sprung up amid the camp of the descendants of Israel, when the rock was stricken by the rod of Mossa Ben Amram. I, but, said the king, smiling. It required, as in the desert, a hard blow on the rock ere it yielded its treasures. I would that I knew something to pleasure thee, which I might yield as freely as the natural fountain sends forth its waters. Let me touch that victorious hand, said the sage. In token that, if Adombeck el-Hakim should hear after demand a boon of Richard of England, he may do so, yet plead his command. Thou hast hand and glove upon it, man, replied Richard. Only if thou couldst consistently make up thy tale of patience, without craving me to deliver from punishment those who have deserved it, I would more willingly discharge my debt in some other form. May thy days be multiplied! answered the Hakim, and withdrew from the apartment after the usual deep obeisance. King Richard gazed after him as he departed, like one but half satisfied with what had passed. Strange pertinacity! he said, in this Hakim, and a wonderful chance to interfere between that audacious scot and the chastisement he has merited so richly. He had let him live. There is one brave man, the more in the world, and now for the Austrian. Ho! is a baron of gildsland therewithout? Sir Thomas D'Vorx thus summoned. His bulky form speedily darkened the opening of the pavilion, while behind him glided as a spectre, unannounced yet unopposed, the savage form of the hermit of Angadi, wrapped in his goatskin mantle. Richard, without noticing his presence, called in a loud tone to the baron. Sir Thomas D'Vorx of Lannacost and Gildsland, take trumpet and herald, and go instantly to the tent of him whom they call Archduke of Austria, and see when it be when the press of his knights and vassals is greatest around him, and is likely at this hour. For the German bore breakfasts ere he hears mass. Enter his presence with as little reverence as thou mayest, and impeach him, on the part of Richard of England, that he hath this night by his own hand, or that of others, stolen from its staff the banner of England. Wherefore say to him our pleasure that within an hour from the time of my speaking he restored the said banner with all reverence? He himself and his principal barons waiting the whilst with heads uncovered, and without their robes of honour. And that moreover he pitch it beside it, on the one hand, his own banner of Austria reversed, as that which had been dishonoured by theft and felony, and on the other a lance, bearing the bloody head of him who was his nearest councillor or assistant, in his base injury. And say, that such our behest is being punctually discharged, we will, for the sake of our vile and the will of the Holy Land, forgive his other forfeits. And how, if the Duke of Austria deny all accession to this act of wrong and a felony, said Thomas de Vox, tell him, replied the King, we will prove it upon his body. I weigh back with his two bravest champions. Night like we will prove it, on foot or on horse, in the desert or in the field, time, place, and arms all at his own choice. Bethink you of the peace of God and the church, my liege lord, said the baron of Gilsland, among those princes engaged in this holy crusade. Bethink you how to execute to my commands, my liege vassal, answered Richard impatiently. Methics may expect to turn our purpose by their breath, as boys blow feathers to and fro, peace of the church, who, I prithee, minds it. The peace of the church, among crusaders, implies war with the Saracens, with whom the princes have made truce, and the one ends with the other. And besides, see you not how every prince of them is seeking his own several ends? I will seek mine also, and that is honour, for honour I came hither, and if I may not win it upon the Saracens, at least I will not lose a jot from any respect to this paltry duke, though he were bull-walked and buttressed by every prince of the crusade. DeVox turned to obey the king's mandate, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, the bluntness of his nature being unable to conceal that its tenor went against his judgment. But the hermit of Engaddy stepped forward, and assumed the air of one charged with higher commands than those of a mere earthly potentate. Indeed, his dress of shaggy skins, his uncombed and untrimmed hair and beard, his lean, wild and contorted features, and the almost insane fire which gleamed from under his bushy eyebrows, made him approach nearly to our idea of some seer of scripture. Who, charged with high mission to the sinful kings of Judea or Israel, descended from the rocks and caverns in which he dwelt in abstracted solitude, to abash earthly tyrants in the midst of their pride, by discharging on them the blighting denunciations of divine majesty, even as the cloud discharges the lightnings, with which it is fraught on the pinnacles and towers of castles and palaces. In the midst of his most wayward mood, Richard respected the church and its ministers. And though offended at the intrusion of the hermit into his tent, he greeted him with respect, at the same time, however, making a sign to the Thomas Divorx to hasten on his message. But the hermit prohibited the baron, by gesture, look and word, to stir a yard on such an errand, and, holding up his bare arm, from which the goatskin mantle fell back in the violence of his action, he waved a deloft, meagre with famine, and wheeled with the blows of discipline. In the name of God and of the Most Holy Father, the Vicerant of the Christian Church upon Earth, I prohibit this most profane, blood-thirsty, and brutal defiance betwixt two Christian princes, whose shoulders are sieged with the blessed mark under which they swore brotherhood, woe to him by whom it is broken! Richard of England, recall the most unhallowed message that has given to that baron. Danger and death are nigh thee, the degrays glancing at thy very throat. Danger and death are playmates to Richard, answered the monarch proudly, and he hath braved too many swords to fear a dagger. Danger and death are near, replied the seer, and, singing his voice to a hollow, unearthly, Tony added, and, after death, the judgment. Good and holy Father, said Richard, are reverents thy person and thy sanctity. Reverence not me, interrupted the hermit. Reverence sooner the vile insect that crawls by the shore of the Dead Sea, and feeds upon its accursed slime. But reverence him who commands, I speak, reverence him who sepulchre you avowed to rescue, revere the oath of concord which you have sworn, and break not the silver cord of union and fidelity with which you have bound yourself to your princely confederates. Good Father, said the King, you of the Church seem to me to presume somewhat, if a layman may say so much, upon the dignity of your holy character. Without challenging your right to take charge of our conscience, we think you might leave us the charge of our own honour. Presume, replied the hermit, it is for me to presume, Royal Richard, who am but to the bell obeying the hand of the sexton. But the senseless and worthless trumpet carrying the command of him who sounds it. See, on my knees I throw myself before thee, imploring thee to have mercy on Christendom, on England, and on myself. Rise, rise! said Richard, compelling him to stand up. It besiems not that knees, which are so frequently bended to the deity, should press the ground in honour of man. What danger awaits us, Reverend Father? And when stood the power of England so low that the noisy bluster of this new-made duke's displeasure should alarm her or her monarch? I have looked forth from my mountain turret upon the starry host of heaven, as each in his midnight circuit uttered wisdom to another, and knowledge to the few who can understand their voice. There sits an enemy in thy house of life, Lord King, malign at once to thy fame and my prosperity. An emanation of satin, menacing thee with instant and bloody peril, and which, but thou yield thy proud will to the rule of thy deity, who presently crush thee even in thy pride. Away, away, this is heathen science. Said the King, Christians practice it not, wise men believe it not, old man, thou dotest. I don't not, Richard, answered the hermit. I am not so happy, I know my condition, and that some portion of reason is yet permitted me, not my own use, but that of the church and the advancement of the cross. I am the blind man who holds a torch to others, though it yields no light to himself. Ask me touching what concerns the will of Christendom and of this crusade, and I will speak with thee as the wisest counsellor on whose tongue persuasion ever sat. I speak to me of my own wretched being, and my word to be those of the maniac outcast which I am. I would not break the band of unity asunder among the princes of the crusade," said Richard, with a mitigated tone and manner. But what a torment can they render me for the injustice and insult which I have sustained. Even of that I am prepared and commissioned to speak by the council, which, meeting hastily at the summons of Philip of France, have taken measures for that effect. Strange, replied Richard, that others should treat of what is due to the wounded majesty of England. They are willing to anticipate your demands, if it be possible. Answered the hermit. In a body, they consent that the banner of England be replaced on St George's Mount, and they lay under ban and condemnation the audacious criminal, or criminals, by whom it was outraged, and will announce a princely reward to any who shall denounce the delinquents' guilt, and give his flesh to the wolves and ravens. And Ostria, said Richard, upon whom rest such strong presumptions that he was the author of the deed. To prevent escort in the host, replied the hermit, Ostria will clear himself of the suspicion, by submitting to whatsoever order the patriarch of Jerusalem shall impose. Will he clear himself by the trial by combat? said King Richard. His oath prohibits it, said the hermit. And, moreover, the council of the princes, will neither authorise battle against the Saracens, interrupted Richard, nor against anyone else. But it is enough, Father, thou has shown me the folly of proceedings as I designed in this matter. You shall soon alight your torch in a puddle of rain, then bring a spark out of a cold-blooded coward. There is no honour to be gained on Ostria, and so let him pass. I will have him purging himself, however, I will insist on the ordeal. How I shall laugh to hear his clumsy fingers hiss, as he grasps a red-hot globe of iron. I, or his huge mouth, ribbon, and his gullet swelling to suffocation, as he endeavours to swallow the consecrated bread. Peace, Richard! said the hermit. Oh, peace for shame, if not for charity! Who shall praise or honour princes who insult and countenate each other? Alas! the two creatures so noble as thou art! So accomplished and princely thoughts and princely daring, so fitted to honour Christian done by thy actions, and, in thy calmer mood, to rule her by thy wisdom, should yet have the brute and wild fury of the lion mingled with the dignity and courage of that king of the forest. He remained an instant musing with his eyes fixed on the ground, and then proceeded. But heaven, that knows our imperfect nature, accepts of our imperfect obedience, and hath delayed, though not averted, the bloody end of thy daring life. The destroying angel hath stood still, as of old by the threshing floor of Aruna, the Jebusite, and the blade is drawn in his hand. By which, at no distant date, Richard, the lion-hearted shall be as low as the meanest peasant. Must it then be so soon? said Richard. Yet, even so be it, may my course be bright, if it be but brief. Alas! noble king! said the solitary, and it seemed as if a tear, unwanted guest, were gathering in his dry and glazed eye. Sure to melancholy, marked with mortification and calamity and captivity, is the span that divides thee from the grave which yawns for thee, a grave in which thou shalt be laid without lineage to succeed thee, without the tears of a people, exhausted by thy ceaseless wars to lament thee, without having extended the knowledge of thy subjects, without having done ought to enlarge their happiness. But not without renown, monk, not without the tears of the lady of my love, these consolations, which thou canst neither know nor estimate, await upon Richard to his grave. Do I not know? can I not estimate the value of minstrel's praise and of lady's love? retorted the hermit. Do I not know? can I not estimate the value of minstrel's praise and of lady's love? retorted the hermit. In a tone which, for a moment, seemed to emulate the enthusiasm of Richard himself. King of England! He continued, extending his emaciated arm. The blood which boils in thy blue veins is not more noble than that which stagnates in mine. Few and cold as the drops are, they still are of the blood of the royal Luscanan, of the heroic and sainted Godfrey. I am, that is, I was, when in the world. Albrecht Mortimer. Whose deeds, said Richard, have so often filled fame's trumpet. Is it so? can it be so? Could such a lighter sign fall from the horizon of chivalry? And yet men be uncertain where its embers have alighted. Seek a fallen star. Said the hermit, and now shalt only light on some foul jelly. Which, in shooting through the horizon, has assumed for a moment an appearance of splendour. Richard, if I thought that rending the bloody veil from my horrible fate could make thy proud heart stoop to the discipline of the church, I could find in my heart to tell thee a tale, which I have hitherto kept gnawing at my vitals in concealment. Like the self-devoted youth of heaviness. Listen then, Richard, and may the grief and despair which cannot avail this Richard remnant of what was once a man be as powerful as an example to so noble, yet so wild a being as thou art. Yes, I will. I will, to open the long-hidden wounds, although in thy very presence they should bleed to death. Richard, upon whom the history of Albrecht of Mortimer had made a deep impression in his early years, when Minstals were regaling his father's halls with legends of the Holy Land, listened with respect to the outlines of a tale. Which, darkly and imperfectly sketched, indicated sufficiently the cause of the partial insanity of this singular and most unhappy being. I need not, he said, tell thee that I was noble in birth, high in fortune, strong in arms, wise in counsel—all this I was. But, while the noblest ladies in Palestine strove, which should wind garlands from my helmet, my love was fixed, unalterably and devotedly fixed, on a maiden of low degree. Her father, an ancient soldier of the cross, saw our passion, and, knowing the difference betwixt us, saw no other refuge for his daughter's honour than to place her within the shadow of the cloister. I returned from a distant expedition, loaded with spoils and honour, to find where happiness was destroyed for ever. I, too, sought the cloister. And Satan, who had marked me for his own, breathed into my heart a vapour of spiritual pride, which could only have had its source in his own infernal regions. I had risen as high in the church as before in the state. I was, for soothe, the wise, the self-sufficient, the impeachable. I was the counsellor of councils. I was the director of prelates. How should I stumble? Wherefore should I fear temptation? Alas! I became confessor to a sisterhood. And, amongst that sisterhood, I found the long-lived, the long-lost. Spare my further confession. A fallen nun, whose guilt was avenged by self-murder, sleep soundlessly in the vaults of Ingadi. While above her very grave, gibbers, moans, and rows accreted to whom but so much reason is left as mace of fight, to rend him completely sensible to his fate. Unhappy man! said Richard. I wander no longer at thy middory. How dost thou escape the doom which the cannons denounced against thy offence? Ask one who is yet in the gall of worldly bitterness. Said the hermit, and he will speak up a life spared for personal respects, and from consideration to high berth. But, Richard, I tell thee that providence hath preserved me to lift me on high, as a light and beacon, whose ashes, when this earthly fuel is burnt out, must yet be flung into the tophet. Withered and shrunk as his poor form is, it is yet animated with two spirits, one active, shrewd, and piercing, to advocate the cause of the Church of Jerusalem. One mean, abject, and despairing, fluctuating between madness and misery, to mourn over my own wretchedness, and to guard holy relics on which it would be most sinful for me even to cast my eye. Pity me not. It is but sin to pity the loss of such an abject. Pity me not, but profit from my example. Thou standest on the highest, and, therefore, on the most dangerous pinnacle occupied by any Christian prince. Thou art proud of heart, loose of life, bloody of hand. Put from thee the sins which utter thee as daughters, though they be dear to the sinful Adam. Expel these adopted furies from thy breast, thy pride, thy luxury, thy bloodthirstiness. He raves, said Richard, turning from the solitary to devorx, as one who felt some pain from a sarcasm, which yet he could not resent. Then turned him calmly, and somewhat scornfully, to the anchorite, as he replied. Thou hast found a fair baby of daughters, Rev. and Father, to one who hath been but a few months married, but since I must put them from my roof, it were but like a father to provide them with suitable matches. Therefore I will part with my pride to the noble cannons of the church, my luxury, as thou callest it, to the monks of the royal, and my bloodthirstiness to the knights of the temple. Oh, heart of steel and hand of iron! said the anchorite, upon whom, example, as well as advice, is alike thrown away. Yet shalt thou be spared for a season, in case it be thou shouldest turn, and do that which is acceptable in the sight of heaven. For me I must return to my place. Kyrie a lison. I am he through whom the rays of heavenly grey start like those of the sun, through a burning glass. Concentrating them on other objects, until they kindle and blaze, while the glass itself remains cold and uninfluenced. Kyrie a lison. The poor must be called, for the rich have refused the banquet. Kyrie a lison. So saying, he burst from the tent uttering loud cries. A mad priest, said Richard, from whose mind the frantic exclamations of the hermit had partly obliterated the impression produced by the detail of his personal history and misfortunes. After him devorks and see he comes to no harm, for, crusaders as we are, a jugler hath more reverence against our violets than a priest or a saint. And they may, perchance, put some scorn upon him. The night obeyed, and Richard presently gave way to the thoughts which the wild prophecy of the monk had inspired. To die early, without lineage, without lamentation, a heavy sentence, and while that it is not passed by a more competent judge. Yet the Saracens, who are accomplished in mystical knowledge, will often maintain that he, in whose eyes the wisdom of the sage is but as folly, inspires wisdom and prophecy into the seeming folly of the madman. Yonder Hermit is said to read the stars, too. An art generally practised in these lands, where the heavenly host was of yore the object of adultery. I would, I had asked him, touching the loss of my banner. For not the blessed Hishbite, the founder of his order, could see more wildly wrapped out of himself, or speak with the tongue more resembling that of a prophet. Oh, now devorks, what news are the mad priest? Mad priest, call you him, my lord? Answered devorks. Me thinks he resembles more the blessed Baptist himself, just issued from the wilderness. He hath placed himself on one of the military engines, and from thence he preaches to the soldiers, as never man preached since the time of Peter the Hermit. The camp, alarmed by his cries, crowd around him in thousands, and, breaking off every now and then from the main thread of discourse, he addresses the several nations, each in their own language, and presses upon each the arguments best qualified to urge them to perseverance and the delivery of Palestine. By this light a noble Hermit, said King Richard. But what else could come from the blood of Godfrey? He despair of safety. Because he hath in former days lived paramours, I will have the Pope send him an ample remission, and I would not less willingly be intercessor had his bellamy been an abyss. As he spoke, the Archbishop of Tyre craved audience, for the purpose of requesting Richard's attendance, should his health permit, on a secret conclave of the chiefs of the crusade, and to explain to him the military and political incidents which had occurred during his illness.