 CHAPTER XVIII. When at last the State of Richard's affairs had been reduced, by the causes mentioned in the last chapter to a very low ebb, he suddenly succeeded in greatly improving them by a battle. This battle is known in history as the Battle of Jaffa. It was fought in the early part of the summer of 1192. As soon as he had issued his proclamation declaring to his soldiers that he would positively remain in Palestine for a year, he began to make preparations for another campaign. The best way, he thought, to prevent the army from wasting away its energies in internal conflicts between the different divisions of it, was to give those energies employment against the common enemy, so he put everything in motion for a new march into the interior. He left garrisons in the cities of the coast, sufficient, as he judged, to protect them from any force which the Saracens were likely to send against them in his absence, and forming the remainder in order of march, he set out from his headquarters at Jaffa, and began to advance once more toward Jerusalem. Of course, this movement revived in some degree the spirit of his army, and awakened in them new hopes. Still, Richard himself was extremely uneasy, and his mind was filled with solicitude and anxiety. Messengers were continually coming from Europe with intelligence which was growing more and more alarming at every arrival. His brother John, they said, in England, was forming schemes to take possession of the kingdom in his own name. In France, Philip was invading his Norman provinces, and was evidently preparing for still greater aggression. He must return soon, his mother wrote him, or he would lose all. Of course, he was in a great rage at what he called the treachery of Philip and John, and burned to get back and make them feel his vengeance. But he was so tied up with the embarrassments and difficulties that he was surrounded with in the Holy Land, that he thought it absolutely necessary to make a desperate effort to strike at least one decisive blow before he could possibly leave his army, and it was in this desperate state of mind that he set out upon his march. It was near the end of May. The army advanced for several days. They met with not much direct opposition from the Saracens, for Saladin had withdrawn to Jerusalem, and was employed in strengthening the fortifications there, and making everything ready for Richard's approach. But the difficulties which they encountered from other causes, and the sufferings of the army and consequence of them, were terrible. The country was dry and barren, and the weather hot and unhealthy. The soldiers fell sick in great numbers, and those that were well suffered extremely from thirst and other privations incident to a march of many days, through such a country in such a season. There were no trees or shelter of any kind to protect them from the scorching rays of the sun, and scarcely any water to be found to quench their thirst. The streams were very few, and all the wells that could be found were soon drunk dry. Then there was great difficulty in respect to provisions. A sufficient supply for so many thousands could not be brought up from the coast, and all that the country itself had produced, which was in fact very little, was carried away by the Saracens as Richard advanced. Thus the army found itself environed with great difficulties, and before many days it was reduced to a condition of actual distress. The expedition succeeded, however, in advancing to the immediate vicinity of Jerusalem. Early in June they encamped at Hebron, which is about six miles from Jerusalem toward the south. Here they halted, and Richard remained here some days, weighed down with perplexity and distress, and extremely harassed in mind, being wholly unable to decide what was best to be done. From a hill in the neighborhood of Hebron Jerusalem was in sight. There lay the prize which he had so long been striving to obtain, all before him, and yet he was utterly powerless to take it. For this he had been maneuvering and planning for years. For this he had exhausted all the resources of his empire, and had put to imminent hazard all the rights and interests of the crown. For this he had left his native land, and had brought on, by a voyage of three thousand miles, all the fleets and armies of his kingdom. And now, with the prize before him, and all Europe looking on to see him grasp it, his hand had become powerless, and he must turn back and go away as he came. Richard saw it once that it must be so, for while on the one hand his army was well nigh exhausted, and was reduced to a state of such privation and distress to make it nearly helpless. Saladin was established in Jerusalem almost impregnably. While the divisions of Richard's army had been quarreling with each other on the sea-coast, he had been strengthening the walls and other defenses of the city, until they were now more formidable than ever. Richard received information too, that all the wells and cisterns of water around the city had been destroyed by the Saracens, so that if they were to advance to the walls and commence a siege, they would soon be obliged to raise it, or perish there with thirst. So great was Richard's distress of mind under these circumstances, that it is said, when he was conducted to the hill from which Jerusalem was to be seen, he could not bear to look at it. He held his shield up before his eyes to shut out the side of it, and said that he was not worthy to look upon the city, since he had shown himself unable to redeem it. There was a council of war held to consider what it was best to do. It was a council of perplexity and despair. Nobody could tell what it was best to do. To go back was disgrace. To go forward was destruction, and it was impossible for them to remain where they were. In his desperation Richard conceived of a new plan, that of marching southward in seizing Cairo. The Saracens derived almost all the stores of provisions for the use of their armies from Cairo, and Hebron was on the road to it. The way was open for Richard's army to march in that direction, and by carrying this plan into action, they would at least get something to eat. Besides, it would be a motive withdrawing from Jerusalem that would not be quite a retreat. Still, these reasons were wholly insufficient to justify such a measure, and it is not probable that Richard seriously entertained the plan. It is much more likely that he proposed the idea of a march upon Cairo as a means of amusing the minds of his knights and soldiers, and diminishing the extreme disappointment and vexation, which they must have felt in relinquishing the plan of an attack upon Jerusalem, and that he intended, after proceeding a short distance on the way toward Egypt, to find some pretext for turning down toward the seashore and re-establishing himself in his cities on the coast. At any rate, whether it was the original plan or not, such was the result. As soon as the encampment was broken up, and the army commenced its march, and the troops learned that the hope of recovering the Holy Sepulcher and all the other lofty aspirations and desires which had led them so far, and through so many hardships and dangers, were now to be abandoned, they were first enraged, and then they sank into a condition of utter recklessness and despair. All discipline was at an end. No one seemed now to care what became of the expedition nor of themselves. The French soldiers, under the Duke of Burgundy, revolted openly, and declared they would go no farther. The troops from Germany joined them. So Richard gave up the plan, or seemed to give it up, and gave orders to march to Acre. And there, at last, the army arrived in a state of almost utter dissolution. In a short time the news came to them that Saladin had followed them down and had seized upon Jaffa. He had taken the town and shut up the garrison in the citadel, whether they had fled for safety, and tidings came that, unless Richard very soon came to the rescue, the citadel would be compelled to surrender. Richard immediately ordered that all the troops that were in a condition to march should set out immediately to proceed down the coast from Acre to Jaffa. He himself, he said, would hasten on by sea, for the wind was fair, and a part of his force, all that he had ships enough in readiness to convey, could go much quicker by water than by land, besides the advantage of being fresh on their arrival for an attack on the enemy. So he assembled as many ships as could be got ready, and embarked a select body of troops on board of them. There were seven of the ships. He took the command of one of them himself. The Duke of Burgundy, with the French troops under his command, refused to go. The little fleet set sail immediately and ran down the coast very rapidly. When they came to Jaffa they found that the town was really in possession of the Saracens, and that large bodies of the enemy were assembled on the shore to prevent the landing of Richard's forces. This array appeared so formidable that all the knights and officers on board the ships urged Richard not to attack them, but to wait until the body of the army should arrive by land. But Richard was desperate and reckless. He declared that he would land, and he uttered an awful implication against those who should hesitate to follow him. He brought the boats up as near the shore as possible, and then with his battle-axe in his right hand, and his shield hung about his neck, so as to have his left hand at liberty, he leaped into the water, calling upon the rest to come on. They all followed his example, and as soon as they gained the shore, they made a dreadful onset upon the Saracens that were gathered on the beach. The Saracens were driven back. Richard made such havoc among them with his battle-axe, and the men following him were made so resolute and reckless by his example, that the ranks of the enemy were broken through, and they fled in all directions. Richard and his men then rushed on to the gates of the town, and almost before the Saracens who were in possession of them could recover from their surprise, the gates were seized, those who had been stationed at them were slain or driven away, and then Richard and his troops, rushing through, closed them, and the Saracens that were within the town were shut in. They were soon all overpowered and slain, and thus the possession of the town was recovered. But this was not the end, as Richard and his men knew full well. Though they had possession of the town itself, they were surrounded by a great army of Saracens that were hovering around them on the plain, and rapidly increasing in numbers, for Saladin had sent orders to the interior directing all possible assistance to be sent to him. Richard himself, on the other hand, was hourly expecting the arrival of the main body of his troops by land. They arrived the next day, and then came on the great contest. Richard's troops on their arrival attacked the Saracens from without, while he himself, issuing from the gates, assaulted them from the side next to the town. The Crusaders fought with the utmost desperation. They knew very well that it was the crisis of their fate. To lose that battle was to lose all. The Saracens, on the other hand, were not under any such urgent pressure. If overpowered, they could retire again to the mountains and be as secure as before. They were overpowered. The battle was fought long and obstinately, but at length Richard was victorious, and the Saracens were driven off the ground. Various accounts are given by the different writers who have narrated the history of this crusade, of a present of a horse made by Saladin to Richard in the course of the war, and the incident has been often commented upon as an evidence of the high and generous sentiments which animated the combatants in this terrible crusade in their personal feelings toward each other. One of the stories makes the case an incident of this battle. The Saracens, flying from the field, came to Saladin, who was watching the contest, and in conversation with him they pointed out Richard, who was standing among his knights on a small rising ground. Why, he is on foot, exclaimed Saladin. Richard was on foot. His favorite charger, Favel, was killed under him that morning, and as he had come from acre and haste and by sea there was no other horse at hand to supply his place. Saladin immediately said that that was not as it should be. The King of England said he should not fight on foot like a common soldier. He immediately sent over to Richard with a flag of truce two splendid horses. King Richard accepted the present, and during the remainder of the day he fought on one of the horses which his enemy had thus sent him. One account adds a romantic embellishment to this story by saying that Saladin sent only one horse at first, the one that he supposed most worthy of being sent as a gift from one sovereign to another, but that Richard, before mounting him himself, directed one of his knights to mount him and give him a trial. The knight found the horse wholly unmanageable. The animal took the bits between his teeth and galloped furiously back to the camp of Saladin, carrying his rider with him, a hopeless prisoner. Saladin was exceedingly chagrined at this result. He was afraid Richard might suppose that he had sent him an unruly horse from a treacherous design to do him some injury. He accordingly received the knight who had been born so unwillingly to his camp in the most courteous manner, and providing another horse for him, he dismissed him with presence. He also sent a second horse to Richard, more beautiful than the first, and one which he caused Richard to be assured that he might rely upon as perfectly well-trained. CHAPTER XIX The result of the Battle of Jaffa greatly strengthened and improved the condition of the Crusaders, and in the same proportion it weakened and discouraged Saladin and the Saracens. But after all, instead of giving to either party the predominance, it only placed them more nearly on a footing of equality than before. It began to be pretty plain that neither of the contending parties was strong enough, or would soon be likely to be strong enough to accomplish its purpose. Richard could not take Jerusalem from Saladin, nor could Saladin drive Richard out of the Holy Land. In this state of things it was finally agreed upon between Richard and Saladin that a truce should be made. The negotiations for this truce were protected through several weeks, and the summer was gone before it was concluded. It was a truce for a long period, the duration of it being more than three years. Still it was strictly a truce, not a peace, since a termination was assigned to it. Richard preferred to make a truce rather than a peace for the sake of appearances at home. He did not wish that it should be understood that, in leaving the Holy Land and returning home, he abandoned all design of recovering the Holy Sepulcher. He allowed three years on the supposition that that would be time enough for him to return home, to set everything in order in his dominions, to organize a new crusade on a larger scale and to come back again. In the meantime he reserved, by a stipulation of the treaty, the right to occupy by such portion of his army as he should leave behind, the portion of territory on the coast which he had conquered, and which he then held, with the exception of one of the cities which he was to give up. The terms of the treaty in detail were as follows. STIPULATIONS OF THE TREATY 1. The three great cities of Tyre, Acre, and Jaffa, with all the smaller towns and castles on the coast between them, with the territory adjoining, were to be left in possession of the Christians, and Saladin bound himself that they should not be attacked or molested in any way during the continuation of the truce. 2. Askallon, which lay further to the south, and was not necessary for the uses of Richard's army, was to be given up, but Saladin was to pay, on receiving it, the estimated cost which Richard had incurred in rebuilding the fortifications. Saladin, however, was not to occupy it himself as a fortified town. It was to be so far dismantled as only to be used as a commercial city. 3. The Christians bound themselves to remain within their territory in peace, to make no excursions from it for warlike purposes into the interior, nor in any manner to injure or oppress the inhabitants of the surrounding country. 4. All persons who might desire to go to Jerusalem in a peaceful way, as visitors or pilgrims, whether they were knights or soldiers belonging to the army, or actual pilgrims arriving at Acre from the different Christian countries of Europe, were to be allowed to pass freely to and fro, and Saladin bound himself to protect them from all harm. 5. The truce thus agreed upon was to continue in force three years, three months, three weeks, three days and three hours, and at the end of that time each party was released from all obligations arising under the treaty, and either was at liberty immediately to resume the war. The signing of the treaty was the signal for general rejoicing in all divisions of the army. One of the first fruits of it was that the knights and soldiers all immediately began to form parties for visiting Jerusalem. It was obvious that all could not go at once, and Richard told the French soldiers who were under the Duke of Burgundy that he did not think they were entitled to go at all. They had done nothing, he said, to help on the war, but everything to embarrass and impede it, and now he thought that they did not deserve to enjoy any share of the fruits of it. 3. Three large parties were formed and they proceeded, one after the other, to visit the holy city. There was some difficulty in respect to the first party, and it required all Saladin's authority to protect them from insult or injury by the Saracen people. The animosity and anger which they had been so long cherishing against these invaders of their country had not had time to subside, and many of them were very eager to avenge the wrongs which they had suffered. The friends and relatives of the hostages whom Richard had massacred at Acre were particularly excited. They came in a body to Saladin's palace, and falling on their knees before him begged and implored him to allow them to take their revenge on the inhuman murderers now that they had them in their power, but Saladin would not listen to them a moment. He refused their prayer in the most absolute and positive manner, and he took very official measures for protecting the party of Christians during the whole duration of their visit. The question being thus settled that the Christian visitors to Jerusalem were to be protected, the excitement among the people gradually subsided, and indeed before long the current of feeling inclined the other way, so that when the second party arrived they were received with great kindness. Perhaps the first party had taken care to conduct themselves in such a manner during their visit and in going and returning as to conciliate the goodwill of their enemies. At any rate, after their visit there was no difficulty, and many in the camp who had been too distrustful of Saracenic faith to venture with them now began to join the other parties that were forming, for all had a great curiosity to see the city for the sake of which they encountered so many dangers and toils. With the third party a bishop ventured to go. It was far more dangerous for a high dignitary of the Christian church to join such an expedition than for a knight or a common soldier, both because such a man was a more obnoxious object of a Mohammedan fanaticism and thus more likely perhaps to be attacked, and also because, in case of an attack, being unarmed and defenseless, he would be unable to protect himself and be less able even to act efficiently in making his escape than a military man, who, as such, was accustomed to all sorts of surprises and phrase. The bishop, however, experienced no difficulty. On the contrary, he was received with marks of great distinction. Saladin made special arrangements to do him honour. He invited him to his palace, and there treated him with great respect, and held a long conversation with him. In the course of the conversation Saladin desired to know what was commonly said of him in the Christian camp. What is the common opinion in your army? he asked, in respect to Richard and to me. He wished to know which was regarded as the greatest hero. My king, replied the bishop, is regarded the first of all men living, both in regard to his valorous deeds and to the generosity of his character. That I cannot deny. But your fame is also very exalted among us, and it is the universal opinion in our army that if you were only converted to Christianity, there would not be in the world two such princes as Richard and you. In the course of further conversation Saladin admitted that Richard was a great hero, and said that he had a great admiration for him. But then he said he does wrong and acts very unwisely in exposing himself so recklessly to personal danger, when there is no sufficient end in view to justify it. To act thus evinces rashness and recklessness rather than true courage. For myself I prefer the reputation of wisdom and prudence rather than that of mere blind and thoughtless daring. The bishop, in his conversation with Saladin, represented to him that it was necessary for the comfort of the pilgrims, who should from time to time visit Jerusalem, that there should be some public establishment to receive and entertain them. And he asked the sultan's permission to found such institutions. Saladin acceded to this request, and measures were immediately adopted by the bishop to carry the arrangement into effect. Richard himself did not visit Jerusalem. The reason he assigned for this was that he was sick at the time. Perhaps the real reason was that he could not endure the humiliation of paying a visit, by the mere permission of an enemy, to the city which he had so long set his heart upon entering triumphantly as a conqueror. One of the chief objects which Richard had in view in concluding the truce with Saladin was to be able to have an honorable pretext for leaving the Holy Land and setting out on his return to England. He had received many letters from his mother urging him to come, and giving him alarming accounts of the state of things, both in England and Normandy. In England the reader will perhaps recollect that Richard, when he set out on the crusade, had appointed his brother John, Regent, in connection with his mother Eleonora, but that he had also, in order to raise money, appointed several noblemen of high standing in influence to offices of responsibility, which they were to exercise in a great measure independent of John. And not content with appointing a suitable number of these officers, he multiplied them unnecessarily, and in some instances conveyed the same jurisdiction as it were to different persons, thus virtually selling the same office to two different men. Of course this was not done openly and avowedly. The transactions were more or less covered up and concealed under different disguises. For example, after selling the post of Chief Justice Cieri, which was an office of great power and emolument to one noblemen, and receiving as much money for it as the noblemen was willing to pay, he afterward appointed other noblemen as assistant justices, exacting, of course, a large sum of money from each of them, and granting them, in consideration of it, much the same powers as he had bestowed upon the Chief Justice Cieri. Of course, such a proceeding as this could only result in continual contentions and quarrels among the appointees to break out as soon as Richard should be gone, but the King cared little for that, so long as he could get the money. The quarrels did break out immediately after Richard sailed. There were various parties to them. There were Eleonora and John, each claiming to be the regent. Then there were two powerful noblemen, both maintaining that they had been invested with the supreme power by virtue of the offices which they held. The name of one of them was Longchamp. He contrived to place himself for a time quite at the head of affairs, and the whole country was distracted by the wars which were waged between him and his partisans and the partisans of John. Longchamp was at last defeated and was obliged to fly from the kingdom in disguise. He was found one day by some fisherman's wives on the beach near Dover in the disguise of an old woman, with a roll of cloth under his arm, and a yardstick in his hand. He was waiting for a boat which was to take him across the Channel into France. He disguised himself in that way that he might not be known, and when seen from behind the metamorphosis was almost complete. The woman, however, observed something suspicious in the appearance of the figure, and so contrived to come nearer and get a peep under the bonnet, and there they saw the black beard and whiskers of a man. Notwithstanding this discovery, Longchamp succeeded in making his escape. As to Normandy, Richard's interests were in still greater danger than in England. King Philip had taken the most solemn oaths before he left the Holy Land, by which he bound himself not to molest any of Richard's dominions, or take any steps hostile to him, while he, that is, Richard, remained away, and that if he should have any cause of quarrel against him he would abstain from all attempts to enforce his rights until at least six months after Richard's return. It was only on condition of this agreement that Richard was consent to remain in Palestine in command of the Crusade and allow Philip to return. But notwithstanding this solemn agreement and all the oaths by which it was confirmed, no sooner was Philip safe in France than he commenced operations against Richard's dominions. He began to make arrangements for an invasion of some of Richard's territories in Normandy under pretext of taking possession again of Alice's Dower, which it was agreed by the treaty made at Messina should be restored to him. But it had also been agreed, at that treaty, that the time for the restoration of the dowry should be after Richard's return, so that the plans of invasion which Philip was now forming involved clearly a very gross breach of faith committed without any pretense or justification whatever. This instance and multitudes of others like it to be found in the histories of those times show how little there was that was genuine and reliable in the lofty sense of honour so often highly lauded as one of the characteristics of chivalry. In justice, however, to all concerned, it must be stated that Philip's knights and nobles remonstrated so earnestly against this breach of faith that Philip was compelled to give up his plan and to content himself in his operations against Richard with secret intrigues instead of open war. As he knew that John was endeavouring to supplant Richard in his kingdom, he sent to him and proposed to join him in this plan and to help him carry it into execution, and he offered him the hand of Alice, the princess whom Richard had discarded, to seal and secure the alliance. John was quite pleased with this proposal, and information of these intrigues, more or less definite, came to Richard in Palestine about the time of the Battle of Jaffa, from Eleonora, who contrived in some way to find out what was going on. The tidings threw Richard into a fever of anxiety to leave Palestine and return home. It was about the first of October that Richard set sail from Acre on his return, with a small squadron containing his immediate attendants. He himself embarked in a warship. The Queens, taking with them the captive princess of Cyprus and the other members of their family, went as they came, in a vessel specially arranged for them, and under the care of their old protector, Stephen of Ternum. The Queens embarked first in their vessel and sailed away. Richard followed soon afterward. His plan was to leave the coast as quietly and in as private a manner as possible. If it were to be understood in France and England that he was on his return, he did not know what plans might be formed to intercept him. So he kept his departure as much as possible a secret, and the more completely to carry out this design, he gave up for the voyage all his royal style and pretensions, and dressed himself as a simple knight. The vessel slipped away from the coast, one after another, in the evening, in a manner to attract as little attention as possible. They made but little progress during the night. In the morning the shore was still in view, though fast disappearing. Richard gazed upon it as he stood on the deck of his galley, and then took leave of it by stretching out his hands and exclaiming, Most holy land, farewell, I commend thee to God's keeping and care. May he give me life and health to return and rescue thee from the hands of the infidel. The effect of this apostrophe on the bystanders, and on those to whom the bystanders reported it, was excellent, and it was probably for the sake of this effect that Richard uttered it. It was now late in the season, and the autumnal gales had begun to blow. It was but a very short time after the vessels left the port before so severe a storm came on that the fleet was dispersed, and many of the vessels were driven upon the neighbouring coasts and destroyed. The crusaders that had been left in Acre and Jaffa were rather pleased at this than otherwise. They had been indignant at Richard and the knights who were with him for having left them to return home, and they said now that the storm was a judgment from heaven against the men on board the vessels for abandoning their work, and going away from the Holy Land, and leaving the tomb in the cross of Christ unredeemed. Some of the ships, it is said, were thrown on the coasts of Africa, and the seamen and knights, as fast as they escaped onto the shore, were seized and made slaves. Richard's ship, and also the one in which the queens were embarked, being stronger and better man than the others, weathered the gale. After it was over the queen's vessel steered for Sicily, where in due time they arrived in safety. Richard did not intend to trust himself to go to any place where he was known. Accordingly, as soon as he found himself fairly separated from all the other vessels he suddenly changed his course, and turned northward toward the mouth of the Adriatic Sea. He landed at the island of Corfu. Here he dismissed his ship and took three small galleys instead to go up to the head of the Adriatic Sea, and thence to make his way homeward by land through the heart of Germany. He probably thought that this was the safest and best course that he could take. He did not dare to go through France for fear of Philip. To go all the way by sea, which would require him to sail out through the Straits of Gibraltar into the Atlantic, would require altogether too long and dangerous a voyage for so late a season of the year. The only alternative left was to attempt to pass through Germany, and as the German powers were hostile to him it was not safe for him to undertake this unless he went in disguise. So he sailed in the three galleys which he procured in Corfu to the head of the Adriatic Sea, and landed at a place called Zara. Here he put on the dress of a pilgrim. He had suffered his hair and beard to grow long, and this, with the flowing robes of his pilgrim's dress and the crossier which he borne his hand, completed his disguise. But though he might make himself look a pilgrim he could not act like one. He was well provided with money and his motive spending it, though it might have been perhaps very sparing for a king, was very lavish for a pilgrim, and the people, as he passed along, wondered who the party of strangers could be. Partly to account for the comparative ease and comfort with which he travelled, Richard pretended that he was a merchant, and though making his pilgrimage on foot was by no means poor. Richard knew very well that he was incurring a great risk in attempting to pass through Germany in this way, for the country was full of his foes. The Emperor of Germany was his special enemy, on account of his having supported Tankred's cause in Sicily, the Emperor himself, as the husband of the Lady Constance, having been designated by the former King of Sicily as his successor. Richard's route led, too, through the dominions of the Archduke of Austria, whom he had quarreled with and incensed so bitterly in the Holy Land. Besides this there were various chieftains in that part of the country, relatives of Conrad of Montferrat, whom everybody believed that Richard had caused to be murdered. Richard was thus passing through a country full of enemies, and he might naturally be supposed to feel some anxiety about the result. But instead of proceeding cautiously and watching against the dangers that beset him, he went on quite at his ease, believing that his good fortune would carry him safely through. He went on for some days, travelling by lonely roads through the mountains, until at length he approached a large town. The Governor of the town was a man named Maynard, a near relative of Conrad, and it seems that in some way or other he had learned that Richard was returning to England, and had reason to suppose that he might endeavour to pass that way. Richard did not think it prudent to attempt to go through the town without a passport, so he sent forward a page whom he had in his party to get one. He gave the page a very valuable ruby ring to present to the Governor, directing him to say that it was a present from a pilgrim merchant, who with a priest and a few other attendants was travelling through the country and wished for permission to go through his town. The Governor took the ring, and after examining it attentively and observing its value, he said to the page, This is not the present of a pilgrim but of a prince. Tell your master that I know who he is. He is Richard, King of England. Nevertheless he may come and go in peace. Richard was very much alarmed when the page brought back the message. That very night he procured horses for himself and one or two others, and drove on as fast as he could go, leaving the rest of the party behind. The next day those that were left were all taken prisoners, and the news was noise to broad over the country that King Richard was passing through in disguise, and a large reward was offered by the Government for his apprehension. Of course now everybody was on the watch for him. The King, however, succeeded in avoiding observation and going on some distance farther, until at length, at a certain town where he stopped, he was seen by a knight who had known him in Normandy. The knight at once recognized him but would not betray him. On the contrary he concealed him for the night and provided for him a fresh horse the next day. This horse was a fleet one, so that Richard could gallop away upon him and make his escape, in case of any sudden surprise. Here Richard dismissed all his remaining attendants except his page, and they too set out together. They travelled three days and three nights, pursuing the most retired roads that they could find, and not entering any house during all that time. The only rest that they got was by halting at lonely places by the roadside, in the forests or among the mountains. In these places Richard would remain concealed, while the boy went to a village, if there was any village near, to buy food. He generally got very little and sometimes none at all. The horse ate whatever he could find. Thus at the end of three days they were all nearly starved. Besides this they had lost their way, and were now drawing near to the great city of Vienna, the most dangerous place for Richard to approach in all the land. He was, however, exhausted with hunger and fatigue, and from these and other causes he fell sick, so that he could proceed no farther. So he went into a small village near the town, and sent the boy into the market to buy something to eat, and also to procure some other comforts which he greatly needed. The people in the town observed the peculiar dress of the boy, and his foreign air, and their attention was still more excited by noticing how plentifully he was supplied with money. They asked him who he was. He said he was the servant of a foreign merchant who was travelling through the country, and who had been taken sick nearby. The people seemed satisfied with his explanation, and so they let the boy go. Richard was so exhausted and so sick that he could not travel again immediately, and so he had occasion, in a day or two, to send the boy into town again. This continued for some days, and the curiosity of the people became more and more awakened. At last they observed about the page some articles of dress such as were worn only by attendants upon kings. It is surprising that Richard should have been so thoughtless as to have allowed him to wear them. But such was his character. The people finally seized the boy, and the authorities ordered him to be whipped to make him tell who he was. The boy bore the pain very heroically, but at length they threatened to put him to the torture, and among other things to cut out his tongue if he did not tell. He was so terrified by this that he at last confessed the truth and told them where they might find the king. A band of soldiers was immediately sent to seize him. The story is that Richard, at the time when the soldiers arrived, was in the kitchen turning the spit to roast the dinner. After surrounding the house to prevent the possibility of an escape, the soldiers demanded at the door if King Richard was there. The man answered, No, not unless the Templar was he who was turning the spit in the kitchen. So the soldiers went in to see. The leader exclaimed, Yes, that is he, take him. But Richard seized his sword and rushing into a position where he could defend himself to clear to the soldiers that he would not surrender to any but their chief. So the soldiers, deeming it desirable to take him alive, paused until they could send for the Archduke. The Archduke had left the Holy Land and returned some time before. Richard, however, did not probably know that he was passing through his dominions. When the Archduke came, Richard, knowing that resistance would be of no avail, delivered up his sword and became a prisoner. You're very fortunate, said Leopold. In becoming my prisoner, you ought to consider yourself as having fallen into the hands of a deliverer rather than an enemy. If you had been taken by any of Conrad's friends, who are hunting for you everywhere, you would have been instantly torn to pieces, they are so indignant against you. When the Archduke had thus secured Richard, he sent him for safekeeping to a castle in the country belonging to one of his barons, and gave notice to the emperor of what had occurred. The name of the castle in which Richard was confined was Ternstein. As soon as the emperor heard that Richard was taken, he was overjoyed. He immediately sent to Leopold the Archduke and claimed the prisoner as his. You cannot rightfully hold him, said he. A duke cannot presume to imprison a king. That duty belongs to an emperor. But the Archduke was not willing to give Richard up. A negotiation was, however, opened, and finally he consented to sell his prisoner for a large sum of money. The emperor took him away and what he did with him for a long time nobody knew. In the meanwhile, during the period occupied by the voyage of Richard up the Adriatic, by his long and slow journey by land, and by the time of his imprisonment in Ternstein, the winter had passed away, and it was now the spring of eleven ninety-three. CHAPTER XXII During all this time the people of England were patiently waiting for Richard's return and wondering what had become of him. They knew that he had sailed from Palestine in October and various were the conjectures as to his fate. Some thought that he had been shipwrecked, others that he had fallen into the hands of the Moors, but all was uncertainty, for no tidings had been heard of him since he sailed from Acre. Beringaria had arrived safely at Messina after remaining there a little time she proceeded on her journey under the care of Stephen, as far as Rome, very anxious all the time about her husband. Here she stopped, not daring to go any farther. She felt safe in Rome under the protection of the Pope. The Emperor attempted to keep Richard's imprisonment a secret. On removing him from Ternstein he shut him up in one of his own castles on the Danube named Durinstein. Here the king was closely imprisoned. He did not, however, yield to any depression of spirits in view of his hard fate, but spent his time in composing and singing songs, and in drinking and carousing with the people of the castle. Here he remained during the spring and summer of eleven ninety-three, and all the world were wondering what had become of him. At length rumors began gradually to circulate in respect to him among the neighboring countries, and the conduct of the Emperor, in seizing and imprisoning him, was very generally condemned. How the intelligence first reached England is not precisely known. One story is that a celebrated troubadour named Blondel, who had known Richard in Palestine, was travelling through Germany, and in his journey he passed along the road in front of the castle where Richard was confined. As he went he was singing one of his songs. Richard knew the song, and so, when the troubadour had finished a stanza he sang the next one through the bars of his prison window. Blondel recognized the voice and instantly understood that Richard had been made a prisoner. He, however, said nothing, but went on, and immediately took measures to make known in England what he had learned. Another account is that the Emperor himself wrote to Philip, King of France, informing him of the King of England's imprisonment in one of his castles, and that some person betrayed a copy of this letter to Richard's friends in England. It is said that Beringaia received the first intimation in respect to Richard's fate by seeing a belt of jewels offered for sale in Rome which she knew he had about his person when he left Acre. She made all the inquiry that she could in respect to the belt, but she could only learn that Richard must be somewhere in Germany. It was a relief to her mind to find that he was alive, but she was greatly distressed to think that he was probably a prisoner, and she implored the Pope to interpose his aid and procure his release. The Pope did interpose. He immediately excommunicated Leopold for having seized Richard and imprisoned him, and he threatened to excommunicate the Emperor himself if he did not release him. In the meantime, the tidings in respect to Richard's situation produced a great excitement throughout England. John was glad to hear it, and he hoped most avowaly that his brother would never be released. He immediately began to take measures in concert with Philip to secure the crown to himself. The people, on the other hand, were very indignant against the Emperor of Germany, and everyone was eager to take some efficient measures to secure the king's release. A great meeting was called of the barons, the bishops, and all the great officers of the realm at Oxford, where, when they had assembled, they renewed their oaths of allegiance to their sovereign, and then appointed a delegation, consisting of two abbots, to go and visit the king and confer with him in respect to what was best to be done. They chose two ecclesiastics for their messengers, thinking that they would be more likely to be allowed to go and come without molestation, than knights or barons or any other military men. The abbots proceeded to Germany, and they are the first interview which they had with Richard was on the road, as the Emperor was taking him to the capital in order to bring him before a great assembly of the Empire, called the Diet, for the purpose of trial. Richard was overjoyed to see his friends. He was, however, very much vexed when he heard from them of the plans which John and Philip were engaged in for dispossessing him of his kingdom. He said, however, that he had very little fear of anything that they could do. My brother, John, he said, has not courage enough to accomplish anything. He will never get a kingdom by his valor. When he arrived at the town where the Diet was to be held, Richard had an interview with the Emperor. The Emperor had two objects in view in detaining Richard a prisoner. One was to prevent his having it in his power to help Tancred in keeping him, the Emperor, out of possession of the kingdom of Sicily. And the other was to obtain, when he should set him at liberty at last, a large sum of money for a ransom. When he told Richard what sum of money he would take, Richard refused the offer, saying that he would rather die than degrade his crown by submitting to such terms and impoverishing his kingdom in raising the money. The Emperor, then, in order to bring a heavier pressure to bear upon him, arraigned him before the Diet as a criminal. The following were the charges which he brought against him. One, that he had formed an alliance with Tancred, the usurper of Sicily, and thus made himself a partaker in Tancred's crimes. Two, that he had invaded the dominions of Isaac, the Christian king of Cyprus, deposed the king, laid waste his dominions, and plundered his treasures. And finally, had sent the unhappy king to pine away and die in a Syrian dungeon. Three, that while in the Holy Land he had offered repeated and unpardonable insults to the Archduke of Austria, and threw him to the whole German nation. Four, that he had been the cause of the failure of the Crusade and consequence of the quarrels which he had excited between himself and the French king by his domineering and violent behavior. Five, that he had employed assassins to murder Conrad of Montferrat. Six, that finally he had betrayed the Christian cause by concluding a base truce with Saladin and leaving Jerusalem in his hands. It is possible that the motive which led the Emperor to make these charges against Richard was not any wish or design to have him convicted and punished, but only to impress him more strongly with the sense of the danger of his situation, with a view to bringing him to consent to the payment of a ransom. At any rate, the trial resulted in nothing but a negotiation in respect to the amount of ransom money to be paid. Finally, a sum was agreed upon. Richard was sent back to his prison, and the Abbot's return to England to see what could be done in respect to raising the money. The people of England undertook the task not only with willingness but with alacrity. The amount required was nearly a million of dollars, which in those days was a very large sum even for a kingdom to pay. The amount was to be paid in silver. Two-thirds of it was to go to the Emperor and the other third to the Archduke, who, when he sold his prisoner to the Emperor, had reserved a ride to a portion of the ransom money whenever it should be paid. As soon as two-thirds of the whole amount was paid, Richard was to be released on condition of his giving hostages as security for the remainder. It took a long time to raise all this money, and various embarrassments were created in the course of the transaction by the Emperor's bad faith, for he changed his terms from time to time, demanding more and more as he found that the interest which the people of England took in the case would bear. At last, however, in February 1194, about two years after Richard was first imprisoned, a sufficient sum arrived to make up the first payment, and Richard was set free. After meeting with various adventurers on his journey home, he arrived on the English coast about the middle of March. The people of the country were filled with joy at hearing of his return, and they gave him a magnificent reception. One of the German barons who came home with him said, when he saw the enthusiasm of the people, that if the Emperor had known how much interest in his faith the people of England were, he would not have let him off with so small a ransom. John was, of course, in great terror when he heard that Richard was coming home. He abandoned everything and fled to Normandy. Richard issued a decree that if he did not come back and give himself up within forty days, his estates should all be confiscated. John was thrown into a state of great perplexity by this, and did not know what to do. As soon as Richard had arranged his affairs a little in England, he determined to be crowned again anew, as if his two years of captivity had broken the continuity of his reign. Accordingly, a new coronation was arranged, and it was celebrated, as the first one had been, with the greatest pomp and splendor. After this Richard determined to proceed to Normandy, with a view of there making more upon Philip and punishing him for his treachery. On his landing in Normandy, John came to him in a most abject and submissive manner, and throwing himself at his feet begged his forgiveness. Eleonora joined him in the petition. Richard said that, out of regard to his mother's wishes, he would pardon him. And I hope, said he, that I shall as easily forget the injuries he has done me, as he will forget my forbearance in pardoning him. Poor Baron Garia was very illly rewarded for the devotion which she had manifested to her husband's interests, and for the effort she had made to secure his release. She had come home from Rome a short time before her husband arrived, but he, when he came, manifested no interest in rejoining her. Instead of that, he connected himself with a number of wicked associates, both male and female, whom he had known before he went to the Holy Land, and lived a life of open profligacy with them, leaving Baron Garia to pine in neglect, alone and forsaken. She was almost heartbroken to be thus abandoned, and several of the principal ecclesiastics of the kingdom remonstrated very strongly with Richard for this wicked conduct. But these remonstrances were of no avail. Richard abandoned himself more and more to drunkenness and profligacy, until at last his character became truly infamous. One day, in eleven ninety-five, when he was hunting in the forest of Normandy, he was met by a hermit, who boldly expostulated with him on account of the wickedness of his life. The hermit told him that, by the course he was pursuing, he was grievously offending God, and that unless he stopped short in his course and repented of his sins, he was doomed to be brought very soon to a miserable end by a special judgment from heaven. The king pretended not to pay much attention to this prophecy, but not long afterward he was suddenly seized with a severe illness, and then he became exceedingly alarmed. He sent for all the monks and priests within ten miles around to come to him, and began to confess his sins with apparently very deep compunction for them, and begged them to pray for God's forgiveness. He promised them solemnly that, if God would spare his life, he would return to Baron Garia and then's forth be a true and faithful husband to her as long as he recovered from his sickness, and he so far kept the vows which he had made as to seek a reconciliation with Baron Garia and to live with her afterward, ostensibly at least on good terms. For three years after this Richard was engaged in wars with Philip chiefly on the frontiers between France and Normandy. At last, in the midst of this contest, he suddenly came to his death under circumstances of a remarkable character. He had heard that a peasant in the territory of one of his barons, named Vitamar, in plowing the field, had come upon a trap door in the ground which covered and concealed the entrance to a cave, and that, ongoing down into the cave, he had found a number of golden statues, with vases full of diamonds, and other treasures, and that the whole had been taken out and carried to the castle Chaluse, belonging to Vitamar. Richard immediately proceeded to Vitamar and demanded that the treasure should be given up to him as the sovereign. Vitamar replied that the rumor which had been spread was false, that nothing had been found but a pot of old Roman coins, which Richard was welcome to have if he desired them. Richard replied that he did not believe that story, and that unless Vitamar delivered up the statues and jewels, he would storm the castle. Vitamar repeated that he had no statues and jewels, and so Richard brought up his troops and opened the siege. During the siege, a knight named Bertrand de Gordon, standing on the wall and seeing Richard on the ground below in a position where he thought he could reach him with an arrow, drew his bow and took aim. As he shot he prayed to God to speed it well. The arrow struck Richard in the shoulder. In trying to draw it out they broke the shaft, thus leaving the barb in the wound. Richard was born to his tent, and a surgeon was sent for to cut out the barb. This made the wound greater, and in a short time inflammation set in, mortification ensued, and death grew nigh. When he found that all was over with him, and that his end had come, he was overwhelmed with remorse, and he died at length in anguish and despair. His death took place in the spring of 1199. He had reigned over England ten years, though not one of these years had he spent in that kingdom. Beringaria lived afterward for thirty years. Richard I is known in history as the Lion-hearted, and well did he deserve the name. It is characteristic of the lion to be fierce, reckless, and cruel, intent only on pursuing the aims which his own lordly and impetuous appetites and passions demand, without the least regard to any rights of others that he may trample underfoot, or to the sufferings that he may inflict on the innocent and helpless. This was Richard's character precisely, and he was proud of it. His glory consisted in his reckless and brutal ferocity. He pretended to be the champion and defender of the cause of Christ, but it is hardly possible to conceive of a character more completely antagonistic than his to the just, gentle, and forgiving spirit which the precepts of Jesus are calculated to form. End of CHAPTER XXII The End of Richard I by Jacob Abbott