



Produced by Ted Garvin, Annika Feilbach and PG Distributed Proofreaders









THE BOY KNIGHT.

A TALE OF THE CRUSADES.


BY G.A. HENTY,

_Author of "The Young Buglers," "Through the Fray," "The Cornet of
Horse," "The Young Colonists," "In Times of Peril," etc., etc._




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.
The Outlaws.

CHAPTER II.
A Rescue.

CHAPTER III.
The Capture of Wortham Hold.

CHAPTER IV.
The Crusades.

CHAPTER V.
Preparations.

CHAPTER VI.
The Lists.

CHAPTER VII.
Revenge.

CHAPTER VIII.
The Attack.

CHAPTER IX.
The Princess Berengaria.

CHAPTER X.
Pirates.

CHAPTER XI.
In the Holy Land.

CHAPTER XII.
The Accolade.

CHAPTER XIII.
In the Hands of the Saracens.

CHAPTER XIV.
An Effort for Freedom.

CHAPTER XV.
A Hermit's Tale.

CHAPTER XVI.
A Fight of Heroes.

CHAPTER XVII.
An Alpine Storm.

CHAPTER XVIII.
Sentenced to Death.

CHAPTER XIX.
Dresden.

CHAPTER XX.
Under the Greenwood.

CHAPTER XXI.
The Attempt on the Convent.

CHAPTER XXII.
A Dastardly Stratagem.

CHAPTER XXIII.
The False and Perjured Knight.

CHAPTER XXIV.
The Siege of Evesham Castle.

CHAPTER XXV.
In Search of the King.

CHAPTER XXVI.
King Richard's Return to England.





THE BOY KNIGHT.




CHAPTER I.

THE OUTLAWS.


It was a bright morning in the month of August, when a lad of some
fifteen years of age, sitting on a low wall, watched party after party
of armed men riding up to the castle of the Earl of Evesham. A casual
observer glancing at his curling hair and bright open face, as also at
the fashion of his dress, would at once have assigned to him a purely
Saxon origin; but a keener eye would have detected signs that Norman
blood ran also in his veins, for his figure was lither and lighter, his
features more straightly and shapely cut, than was common among Saxons.
His dress consisted of a tight-fitting jerkin, descending nearly to his
knees. The material was a light-blue cloth, while over his shoulder hung
a short cloak of a darker hue. His cap was of Saxon fashion, and he wore
on one side a little plume of a heron. In a somewhat costly belt hung a
light short sword, while across his knees lay a crossbow, in itself
almost a sure sign of its bearer being of other than Saxon blood. The
boy looked anxiously as party after party rode past toward the castle.

"I would give something," he said, "to know what wind blows these knaves
here. From every petty castle in the Earl's feu the retainers seem
hurrying here. Is he bent, I wonder, on settling once and for all his
quarrels with the Baron of Wortham? or can he be intending to make a
clear sweep of the woods? Ah! here comes my gossip Hubert; he may tell
me the meaning of this gathering."

Leaping to his feet, the speaker started at a brisk walk to meet a
jovial-looking personage coming down from the direction of the castle.
The newcomer was dressed in the attire of a falconer, and two dogs
followed at his heels.

"Ah, Master Cuthbert," he said, "what brings you so near to the castle?
It is not often that you favor us with your presence."

"I am happier in the woods, as you well know, and was on my way thither
but now, when I paused at the sight of all these troopers flocking in to
Evesham. What enterprise has Sir Walter on hand now, think you?"

"The earl keeps his own counsel," said the falconer, "but methinks a
shrewd guess might be made at the purport of the gathering. It was but
three days since that his foresters were beaten back by the landless
men, whom they caught in the very act of cutting up a fat buck. As thou
knowest, my lord though easy and well-disposed to all, and not fond of
harassing and driving the people as are many of his neighbors, is yet to
the full as fanatical anent his forest privileges as the worst of them.
They tell me that when the news came in of the poor figure that his
foresters cut with broken bows and draggled plumes--for the varlets had
soused them in a pond of not over savory water--he swore a great oath
that he would clear the forest of the bands. It may be, indeed, that
this gathering is for the purpose of falling in force upon that
evil-disposed and most treacherous baron, Sir John of Wortham, who has
already begun to harry some of the outlying lands, and has driven off, I
hear, many heads of cattle. It is a quarrel which will have to be fought
out sooner or later, and the sooner the better, say I. Although I am no
man of war, and love looking after my falcons or giving food to my dogs
far more than exchanging hard blows, yet would I gladly don the buff and
steel coat to aid in leveling the keep of that robber and tyrant, Sir
John of Wortham."

"Thanks, good Hubert," said the lad. "I must not stand gossiping here.
The news you have told me, as you know, touches me closely, for I would
not that harm should come to the forest men."

"Let it not out, I beseech thee, Cuthbert, that the news came from me,
for temperate as Sir Walter is at most times, he would, methinks, give
me short shift did he know that the wagging of my tongue might have
given warning through which the outlaws of the Chase should slip through
his fingers."

"Fear not, Hubert; I can be mum when the occasion needs. Can you tell
me further, when the bands now gathering are likely to set forth?"

"In brief breathing space," the falconer replied. "Those who first
arrived I left swilling beer, and devouring pies and other provisions
cooked for them last night, and from what I hear, they will set forth as
soon as the last comer has arrived. Whichever be their quarry, they will
try to fall upon it before the news of their arrival is bruited abroad."

With a wave of his hand to the falconer the boy started. Leaving the
road, and striking across the slightly undulated country dotted here and
there by groups of trees, the lad ran at a brisk trot, without stopping
to halt or breathe, until after half an hour's run he arrived at the
entrance of a building, whose aspect proclaimed it to be the abode of a
Saxon franklin of some importance. It would not be called a castle, but
was rather a fortified house, with a few windows looking without, and
surrounded by a moat crossed by a drawbridge, and capable of sustaining
anything short of a real attack. Erstwood had but lately passed into
Norman hands, and was indeed at present owned by a Saxon. Sir William de
Lance, the father of the lad who is now entering its portals, was a
friend and follower of the Earl of Evesham; and soon after his lord had
married Gweneth, the heiress of all these fair lands--given to him by
the will of the king, to whom by the death of her father she became a
ward--Sir William had married Editha, the daughter and heiress of the
franklin of Erstwood, a cousin and dear friend of the new Countess of
Evesham.

In neither couple could the marriage at first have been called one of
inclination on the part of the ladies, but love came after marriage.
Although the knights and barons of the Norman invasion would, no doubt,
be considered rude and rough in these days of broadcloth and
civilization, yet their manners were gentle and polished by the side of
those of the rough though kindly Saxon franklins; and although the Saxon
maids were doubtless as patriotic as their fathers and mothers, yet the
female mind is greatly led by gentle manners and courteous address.
Thus, then, when bidden or forced to give their hands to the Norman
knights, they speedily accepted their lot, and for the most part grew
contented and happy enough. In their changed circumstances it was
pleasanter to ride by the side of their Norman husbands, surrounded by a
gay cavalcade, to hawk and to hunt, than to discharge the quiet duties
of mistress of a Saxon farmhouse. In many cases, of course, their lot
was rendered wretched by the violence and brutality of their lords; but
in the majority they were well satisfied with their lot, and these mixed
marriages did more to bring the peoples together and weld them in one
than all the laws and decrees of the Norman sovereigns.

This had certainly been the case with Editha, whose marriage with Sir
William had been one of the greatest happiness. She had lost him three
years before the story begins, fighting in Normandy, in one of the
innumerable wars in which our first Norman kings were constantly
involved. On entering the gates of Erstwood Cuthbert had rushed hastily
to the room where his mother was sitting, with three or four of her
maidens, engaged in work.

"I want to speak to you at once, mother," he said.

"What is it now, my son?" said his mother, who was still young and very
comely. Waving her hand to the girls they left her.

"Mother," he said, when they were alone, "I fear me that Sir Walter is
about to make a great raid upon the outlaws. Armed men have been coming
in all the morning from the castles round, and if it be not against the
Baron de Wortham that these preparations are intended, and methinks it
is not, it must needs be against the landless men."

"What would you do, Cuthbert?" his mother asked anxiously. "It will not
do for you to be found meddling in these matters. At present you stand
well in the favor of the earl, who loves you for the sake of his wife,
to whom you are kin, and of your father, who did him good liegeman's
service."

"But, mother, I have many friends in the wood. There is Cnut, their
chief, your own first cousin, and many others of our friends, all good
men and true, though forced by the cruel Norman laws to refuge in the
woods."

"What would you do?" again his mother asked.

"I would take Ronald my pony and ride to warn them of the danger that
threatens."

"You had best go on foot, my son. Doubtless men have been set to see
that none from the Saxon homesteads carry the warning to the woods. The
distance is not beyond your reach, for you have often wandered there,
and on foot you can evade the eye of the watchers; but one thing, my
son, you must promise, and that is, that in no case, should the earl and
his bands meet with the outlaws, will you take part in any fray or
struggle."

"That will I willingly, mother," he said. "I have no cause for offense
against the castle or the forest, and my blood and my kin are with both.
I would fain save shedding of blood in a quarrel like this. I hope that
the time may come when Saxon and Norman may fight side by side, and I
may be there to see."

A few minutes later, having changed his blue doublet for one of more
sober and less noticeable color, Cuthbert started for the great forest,
which then stretched to within a mile of Erstwood. In those days a large
part of the country was covered with forest, and the policy of the
Normans in preserving these woods for the chase tended to prevent the
increase of cultivation.

The farms and cultivated lands were all held by Saxons, who although
nominally handed over to the nobles to whom William and his successors
had given the fiefs, saw but little of their Norman masters. These
stood, indeed, much in the position in which landlords stand to their
tenants, payment being made, for the most part, in produce. At the edge
of the wood the trees grew comparatively far apart, but as Cuthbert
proceeded further into its recesses, the trees in the virgin forest
stood thick and close together. Here and there open glades ran across
each other, and in these his sharp eye, accustomed to the forest, could
often see the stags starting away at the sound of his footsteps.

It was a full hour's journey before Cuthbert reached the point for which
he was bound. Here, in an open space, probably cleared by a storm ages
before, and overshadowed by giant trees, was a group of men of all ages
and appearances. Some were occupied in stripping the skin off a buck
which hung from the bough of one of the trees. Others were roasting
portions of the carcass of another deer. A few sat apart, some talking,
others busy in making arrows, while a few lay asleep on the greensward.
As Cuthbert entered the clearing several of the party rose to their
feet.

"Ah, Cuthbert," shouted a man of almost gigantic stature, who appeared
to be one of the leaders of the party, "what brings you here, lad, so
early? You are not wont to visit us till even, when you can lay your
crossbow at a stag by moonlight."

"No, no, Cousin Cnut," Cuthbert said, "thou canst not say that I have
ever broken the forest laws, though I have looked on often and often,
while you have done so."

"The abettor is as bad as the thief," laughed Cnut, "and if the
foresters caught us in the act, I wot they would make but little
difference whether it was the shaft of my longbow or the quarrel from
thy crossbow which brought down the quarry. But again, lad, why comest
thou here? for I see by the sweat on your face and by the heaving of
your sides that you have run fast and far."

"I have, Cnut; I have not once stopped for breathing since I left
Erstwood. I have come to warn you of danger. The earl is preparing for a
raid."

Cnut laughed somewhat disdainfully.

"He has raided here before, and I trow has carried off no game. The
landless men of the forest can hold their own against a handful of
Norman knights and retainers in their own home."

"Ay," said Cuthbert, "but this will be no common raid. This morning
bands from all the holds within miles round are riding in, and at least
five hundred men-at-arms are likely to do chase to-day."

"Is it so?" said Cnut, while exclamations of surprise, but not of
apprehension, broke from those standing round. "If that be so, lad, you
have done us good service indeed. With fair warning we can slip through
the fingers of ten times five hundred men, but if they came upon us
unawares, and hemmed us in, it would fare but badly with us, though we
should, I doubt not, give a good account of them before their
battle-axes and maces ended the strife. Have you any idea by which road
they will enter the forest, or what are their intentions?"

"I know not," Cuthbert said; "all that I gathered was that the earl
intended to sweep the forest, and to put an end to the breaches of the
laws, not to say of the rough treatment that his foresters have met with
at your hands. You had best, methinks, be off before Sir Walter and his
heavily-armed men are here. The forest, large as it is, will scarce hold
you both, and methinks you had best shift your quarters to Langholm
Chase until the storm has passed."

"To Langholm be it, then," said Cnut, "though I love not the place. Sir
John of Wortham is a worse neighbor by far than the earl. Against the
latter we bear no malice, he is a good knight and a fair lord; and could
he free himself of the Norman notions that the birds of the air, and the
beasts of the field, and the fishes of the water, all belong to Normans,
and that we Saxons have no share in them, I should have no quarrel with
him. He grinds not his neighbors, he is content with a fair tithe of the
produce, and as between man and man is a fair judge without favor. The
baron is a fiend incarnate; did he not fear that he would lose by so
doing, he would gladly cut the throats, or burn, or drown, or hang every
Saxon within twenty miles of his hold. He is a disgrace to his order,
and some day, when our band gathers a little stronger, we will burn his
nest about his ears."

"It will be a hard nut to crack," Cuthbert said, laughing. "With such
arms as you have in the forest the enterprise would be something akin to
scaling the skies."

"Ladders and axes will go far, lad, and the Norman men-at-arms have
learned to dread our shafts. But enough of the baron; if we must be his
neighbors for a time, so be it."

"You have heard, my mates," he said, turning to his comrades gathered
around him, "what Cuthbert tells us. Are you of my opinion, that it is
better to move away till the storm is past than to fight against heavy
odds, without much chance of either booty or victory?"

A general chorus proclaimed that the outlaws approved of the proposal
for a move to Langholm Chase. The preparations were simple. Bows were
taken down from the boughs on which they were hanging, quivers slung
across the backs, short cloaks thrown over the shoulders. The deer was
hurriedly dismembered, and the joints fastened to a pole slung on the
shoulders of two of the men. The drinking-cups, some of which were of
silver, looking strangely out of place among the rough horn implements
and platters, were bundled together, carried a short distance and
dropped among some thick bushes for safety; and then the band started
for Wortham.

With a cordial farewell and many thanks to Cuthbert, who declined their
invitations to accompany them, the retreat to Langholm commenced.

Cuthbert, not knowing in which direction the bands were likely to
approach, remained for awhile motionless, intently listening.

In a quarter of an hour he heard the distant note of a bugle.

It was answered in three different directions, and Cuthbert, who knew
every path and glade of the forest, was able pretty accurately to
surmise those by which the various bands were commencing to enter the
wood.

Knowing that they were still a long way off, he advanced as rapidly as
he could in the direction in which they were coming. When by the sound
of distant voices and the breaking of branches he knew that one, at
least, of the parties was near at hand, he rapidly climbed a thick tree
and ensconced himself in the branches, and there watched, secure and
hidden from the sharpest eye, the passage of a body of men-at-arms fully
a hundred strong, led by Sir Walter himself, accompanied by some half
dozen of his knights.

When they had passed Cuthbert again slipped down the tree and made at
all speed for home. He reached it, so far as he knew, without having
been observed by a single passer-by.

After a brief talk with his mother he started for the castle, as his
appearance there would divert any suspicion that might arise; and it
would also appear natural that seeing the movements of so large a body
of men, he should go up to gossip with his acquaintances there.

When distant a mile from Evesham he came upon a small party.

On a white palfrey rode Margaret, the little daughter of the earl. She
was accompanied by her nurse and two retainers on foot.

Cuthbert--who was a great favorite with the earl's daughter, for whom he
frequently brought pets, such as nests of young owlets, falcons, and
other creatures--was about to join the party when from a clump of trees
near burst a body of ten mounted men.

Without a word they rode straight at the astonished group. The retainers
were cut to the ground before they had thought of drawing a sword in
defense.

The nurse was slain by a blow with a battle-ax, and Margaret, snatched
from her palfrey, was thrown across the saddlebow of one of the mounted
men, who then with his comrades dashed off at full speed.




CHAPTER II.

A RESCUE.


The whole of the startling scene of the abduction of the Earl of
Evesham's daughter occupied but a few seconds. Cuthbert was so astounded
at the sudden calamity that he remained rooted to the ground at the spot
where, fortunately for himself, unnoticed by the assailants, he had
stood when they first burst from their concealment.

For a short time he hesitated as to the course he should take.

The men-at-arms who remained in the castle were scarce strong enough to
rescue the child, whose captors would no doubt be reinforced by a far
stronger party lurking near.

The main body of Sir Walter's followers were deep in the recesses of the
forest, and this lay altogether out of the line for Wortham, and there
would be no chance whatever of bringing them up in time to cut off the
marauders on their way back.

There remained only the outlaws, who by this time would be in Langholm
Forest, perhaps within a mile or two of the castle itself.

The road by which the horsemen would travel would be far longer than
the direct line across country, and he resolved at once to strain every
nerve to reach his friends in time to get them to interpose between the
captors of the Lady Margaret and their stronghold.

For an instant he hesitated whether to run back to Erstwood to get a
horse; but he decided that it would be as quick to go on foot, and far
easier so to find the outlaws.

These thoughts occupied but a few moments, and he at once started at the
top of his speed for his long run across the country.

Had Cuthbert been running in a race of hare and hound, he would
assuredly have borne away the prize from most boys of his age. At
headlong pace he made across the country, every foot of which, as far as
the edge of Langholm Chase, he knew by heart.

The distance to the woods was some twelve miles, and in an hour and a
half from the moment of his starting Cuthbert was deep within its
shades. Where he would be likely to find the outlaws he knew not; and,
putting a whistle to his lips, he shrilly blew the signal, which would,
he knew, be recognized by any of the band within hearing.

He thought that he heard an answer, but was not certain, and again
dashed forward, almost as speedily as if he had but just started.

Five minutes later a man stood in the glade up which he was running. He
recognized him at once as one of Cnut's party.

"Where are the band?" he gasped.

"Half a mile or so to the right," replied the man.

Guided by the man, Cuthbert ran at full speed, till, panting and scarce
able to speak, he arrived at the spot where Cnut's band were gathered.

In a few words he told them what had happened, and although they had
just been chased by the father of the captured child, there was not a
moment of hesitation in promising their aid to rescue her from a man
whom they regarded as a far more bitter enemy, both of themselves and
their race.

"I fear we shall be too late to cut them off," Cnut said, "they have so
long a start; but at least we will waste no time in gossiping."

Winding a horn to call together some of the members of the band who had
scattered, and leaving one at the meeting-place to give instructions to
the rest, Cnut, followed by those assembled there, went off at a
swinging trot through the glades toward Wortham Castle.

After a rapid calculation of distances, and allowing for the fact that
the baron's men--knowing that Sir Walter's retainers and friends were
all deep in the forest, and even if they heard of the outrage could not
be on their traces for hours--would take matters quietly, Cnut concluded
that they had arrived in time.

Turning off, they made their way along the edge of the wood, to the
point where the road from Evesham ran through the forest.

Scarcely had the party reached this point when they heard a faint
clatter of steel.

"Here they come!" exclaimed Cuthbert.

Cnut gave rapid directions, and the band took up their posts behind the
trees, on either side of the path.

"Remember," Cnut said, "above all things be careful not to hit the
child, but pierce the horse on which she is riding. The instant he
falls, rush forward. We must trust to surprise to give us the victory."

Three minutes later the head of a band of horsemen was seen through the
trees. They were some thirty in number, and, closely grouped as they
were together, the watchers behind the trees could not see the form of
the child carried in their midst.

When they came abreast of the concealed outlaws Cnut gave a sharp
whistle, and fifty arrows flew from tree and bush into the closely
gathered party of horsemen. More than half their number fell at once;
some, drawing their swords, endeavored to rush at their concealed foes,
while others dashed forward in the hope of riding through the snare into
which they had fallen. Cuthbert had leveled his crossbow, but had not
fired; he was watching with intense anxiety for a glimpse of the
bright- dress of the child. Soon he saw a horseman separate
himself from the rest and dash forward at full speed. Several arrows
flew by him, and one or two struck the horse on which he rode.

The animal, however, kept on its way.

Cuthbert leveled his crossbow on the low arm of a tree, and as the rider
came abreast of him touched the trigger, and the steel-pointed quarrel
flew true and strong against the temple of the passing horseman. He fell
from his horse like a stone, and the well-trained animal at once stood
still by the side of his rider.

Cuthbert leaped forward, and to his delight the child at once opened her
arms and cried in a joyous tone:

"Cuthbert!"

The fight was still raging fiercely, and Cuthbert, raising her from the
ground, ran with her into the wood, where they remained hidden until the
combat ceased, and the last survivors of the baron's band had ridden
past toward the castle.

Then Cuthbert went forward with his charge and joined the band of
outlaws, who, absorbed in the fight, had not witnessed the incident of
her rescue, and now received them with loud shouts of joy and triumph.

"This is a good day's work indeed for all," Cuthbert said; "it will make
of the earl a firm friend instead of a bitter enemy; and I doubt not
that better days are dawning for Evesham Forest."

A litter was speedily made with boughs; on this Margaret was placed, and
on the shoulders of two stout foresters started for home, Cnut and
Cuthbert walking beside, and a few of the band keeping at a short
distance behind, as a sort of rearguard, should the baron attempt to
regain his prey.

There was now no cause for speed, and Cuthbert in truth could scarce
drag one foot before another, for he had already traversed over twenty
miles, the greater portion of the distance at his highest rate of speed.

Cnut offered to have a litter made for him also, but this Cuthbert
indignantly refused; however, in the forest they came upon the hut of a
small cultivator, who had a rough forest pony, which was borrowed for
Cuthbert's use.

It was late in the afternoon before they came in sight of Evesham
Castle. From the distance could be seen bodies of armed men galloping
toward it, and it was clear that only now the party were returning from
the wood, and had learned the news of the disappearance of the earl's
daughter, and of the finding of the bodies of her attendants.

Presently they met one of the mounted retainers riding at headlong
speed.

"Have you heard or seen anything," he shouted, as he approached, "of the
Lady Margaret? She is missing, and foul play has taken place."

"Here I am, Rudolph," cried the child, sitting up on the rude litter.

The horseman gave a cry of astonishment and pleasure, and without a word
wheeled his horse and galloped past back at headlong speed toward the
castle.

As Cuthbert and the party approached the gate the earl himself,
surrounded by his knights and followers, rode out hastily from the gate
and halted in front of the little party. The litter was lowered, and as
he dismounted from his horse his daughter sprang out and leaped into his
arms.

For a few minutes the confusion and babble of tongues were too great for
anything to be heard, but Cuthbert, as soon as order was somewhat
restored, stated what had happened, and the earl was moved to fury at
the news of the outrage which had been perpetrated by the Baron of
Wortham upon his daughter and at the very gates of his castle, and also
at the thought that she should have been saved by the bravery and
devotion of the very men against whom he had so lately been vowing
vengeance in the depths of the forest.

"This is not a time," he said to Cnut, "for talk or making promises, but
be assured that henceforth the deer of Evesham Chase are as free to you
and your men as to me. Forest laws or no forest laws, I will no more
lift a hand against men to whom I owe so much. Come when you will to the
castle, my friends, and let us talk over what can be done to raise your
outlawry and restore you to an honest career again."

Cuthbert returned home tired, but delighted with his day's work, and
Dame Editha was surprised indeed with the tale of adventure he had to
tell. The next morning he went over to the castle, and heard that a
grand council had been held the evening before, and that it had been
determined to attack Wortham Castle and to raze it to the ground.

Immediately on hearing of his arrival, the earl, after again expressing
his gratitude for the rescue of his daughter, asked him if he would go
into the forest and invite the outlaws to join their forces with those
of the castle to attack the baron.

Cuthbert willingly undertook the mission, as he felt that this alliance
would further strengthen the position of the forest men.

When he arrived there was some considerable consultation and discussion
between the outlaws as to the expediency of mixing themselves in the
quarrels between the Norman barons. However, Cnut persuaded them that as
the Baron of Wortham was an enemy and oppressor of all Saxons, it was in
fact their own quarrel that they were fighting rather than that of the
earl, and they therefore agreed to give their aid, and promised to be at
the rendezvous outside the castle to be attacked soon after dawn next
morning. Cuthbert returned with the news which gave great satisfaction
to the earl.

The castle was now a scene of bustle and business; armorers were at work
repairing headpieces and breastplates, sharpening swords and
battle-axes, while the fletchers prepared sheaves of arrows. In the
courtyard a number of men were engaged oiling the catapults, ballistas,
and other machines for hurling stones. All were discussing the chances
of the assault, for it was no easy matter which they had set themselves
to do. Wortham Hold was an extremely strong one, and it needed all and
more than all the machines at their disposal to undertake so formidable
an operation as a siege.

The garrison, too, were strong and desperate; and the baron, knowing
what must follow his outrage of the day before, would have been sure to
send off messengers round the country begging his friends to come to
his assistance. Cuthbert had begged permission of his mother to ask the
earl to allow him to join as a volunteer, but she would not hear of it.
Neither would she suffer him to mingle with the foresters. The utmost
that he could obtain was that he might go as a spectator, with strict
injunctions to keep himself out of the fray, and as far as possible
beyond bow-shot of the castle wall.

It was a force of some four hundred strong that issued from the wood
early next morning to attack the stronghold at Wortham. The force
consisted of some ten or twelve knights and barons, some one hundred and
fifty or one hundred and sixty Norman men-at-arms, a miscellaneous
gathering of other retainers, two hundred strong, and some eighty of the
forest men. These last were not to fight under the earl's banner, but
were to act on their own account. There were among them outlaws, escaped
serfs, and some men guilty of bloodshed. The earl then could not have
suffered these men to fight under his flag until purged in some way of
their offenses.

This arrangement suited the foresters well.

Their strong point was shooting; and by taking up their own position,
and following their own tactics, under the leadership of Cnut, they
would be able to do far more execution, and that with less risk to
themselves, than if compelled to fight according to the fashion of the
Normans.

As they approached the castle a trumpet was blown, and the herald
advancing, demanded its surrender, stigmatized the Baron of Wortham as a
false knight and a disgrace to his class and warned all those within
the castle to abstain from giving him aid or countenance, but to submit
themselves to the earl, Sir Walter of Evesham, the representative of
King Richard.

The reply to the summons was a burst of taunting laughter from the
walls; and scarcely had the herald withdrawn than a flight of arrows
showed that the besieged were perfectly ready for the fray.

Indeed the baron had not been idle. Already the dispute between himself
and the earl had come to such a point that it was certain that sooner or
later open hostilities would break out.

He had therefore been for some time quietly accumulating a large store
of provisions and munitions of war, and strengthening the castle in
every way.

The moat had been cleaned out, and filled to the brim with water. Great
quantities of heavy stones had been accumulated on the most exposed
points of the walls, in readiness to hurl upon any who might try to
climb. Huge sheaves of arrows and piles of crossbow bolts were in
readiness, and in all, save the number of men, Wortham had for weeks
been prepared for the siege.

On the day when the attempt to carry off the earl's daughter had failed,
the baron, seeing that his bold stroke to obtain a hostage which would
have enabled him to make his own terms with the earl had been thwarted,
knew that the struggle was inevitable.

Fleet messengers had been sent in all directions. To Gloucester and
Hereford, Stafford, and even Oxford, men had ridden, with letters to the
baron's friends, beseeching them to march to his assistance.

"I can," he said, "defend my hold for weeks. But it is only by aid from
without that I can finally hope to break the power of this baggart
[Transcriber's note: sic] earl."

Many of those to whom he addressed his call had speedily complied with
his demand, while those at a distance might be expected to reply later
to the appeal.

There were many among the barons who considered the mildness of the Earl
of Evesham toward the Saxons in his district to be a mistake, and who,
although not actually approving of the tyranny and brutality of the
Baron of Wortham, yet looked upon his cause to some extent as their own.

The Castle of Wortham stood upon ground but very slightly elevated above
the surrounding country. A deep and wide moat ran round it, and this
could, by diverting a rivulet, be filled at will.

From the edge of the moat the walls rose high, and with strong flanking
towers and battlements.

There were strong works also beyond the moat opposite to the drawbridge;
while in the center of the castle rose the keep, from whose summit the
archers, and the machines for casting stones and darts, could command
the whole circuit of defense.

As Cuthbert, accompanied by one of the hinds of the farm, took his post
high up in a lofty tree, where at his ease he could command a view of
the proceedings, he marveled much in what manner an attack upon so fair
a fortress would be commenced.

"It will be straightforward work to attack the outwork," he said, "but
that once won, I see not how we are to proceed against the castle
itself. The machines that the earl has will scarcely hurl stones strong
enough even to knock the mortar from the walls. Ladders are useless
where they cannot be planted; and if the garrison are as brave as the
castle is strong, methinks that the earl has embarked upon a business
that will keep him here till next spring."

There was little time lost in commencing the conflict.

The foresters, skirmishing up near to the castle, and taking advantage
of every inequality in the ground, of every bush and tuft of high grass,
worked up close to the moat, and then opened a heavy fire with their
bows against the men-at-arms on the battlements, and prevented their
using the machines against the main force now advancing to the attack
upon the outwork.

This was stoutly defended. But the impetuosity of the earl, backed as it
was by the gallantry of the knights serving under him, carried all
obstacles.

The narrow moat which encircled this work was speedily filled with great
bundles of brushwood, which had been prepared the previous night. Across
these the assailants rushed.

Some thundered at the gate with their battle-axes, while others placed
ladders by which, although several times hurled backward by the
defenders, they finally succeeded in getting a footing on the wall.

Once there, the combat was virtually over.

The defenders were either cut down or taken prisoners, and in two hours
after the assault began the outwork of Wortham Castle was taken.

This, however, was but the commencement of the undertaking, and it had
cost more than twenty lives to the assailants.

They were now, indeed, little nearer to capturing the castle than they
had been before.

The moat was wide and deep. The drawbridge had been lifted at the
instant that the first of the assailants gained a footing upon the wall.
And now that the outwork was captured, a storm of arrows, stones, and
other missiles was poured into it from the castle walls, and rendered it
impossible for any of its new masters to show themselves above it.

Seeing that any sudden attack was impossible, the earl now directed a
strong body to cut down trees, and prepare a moveable bridge to throw
across the moat.

This would be a work of fully two days; and in the meantime Cuthbert
returned to the farm.




CHAPTER III.

THE CAPTURE OF WORTHAM HOLD.


Upon his return home, after relating to his mother the events of the
morning's conflict, Cuthbert took his way to the cottage inhabited by an
old man who had in his youth been a mason.

"Have I not heard, Gurth," he said, "that you helped to build the Castle
of Wortham?"

"No, no, young sir," he said; "old as I am, I was a child when the
castle was built. My father worked at it, and it cost him, and many
others, his life."

"And how was that, prithee?" asked Cuthbert.

"He was, with several others, killed by the baron, the grandfather of
the present man, when the work was finished."

"But why was that, Gurth?"

"We were but Saxon swine," said Gurth bitterly, "and a few of us more or
less mattered not. We were then serfs of the baron. But my mother fled
with me on the news of my father's death. For years we remained far away
with some friends in a forest near Oxford. Then she pined for her native
air, and came back and entered the service of the franklin."

"But why should your mother have taken you away?" Cuthbert asked.

"She always believed, Master Cuthbert, that my father was killed by the
baron to prevent him giving any news of the secrets of the castle. He
and some others had been kept in the walls for many months, and were
engaged in the making of secret passages."

"That is just what I came to ask you, Gurth. I have heard something of
this story before, and now that we are attacking Wortham Castle, and the
earl has sworn to level it to the ground, it is of importance if
possible to find out whether any of the secret passages lead beyond the
castle, and if so, where. Almost all the castles have, I have been told,
an exit by which the garrison can at will make sorties or escape; and I
thought that maybe you might have heard enough to give us some clue as
to the existence of such a passage at Wortham."

The old man thought for some time in silence and then said:

"I may be mistaken, but methinks a diligent search in the copse near the
stream might find the mouth of the outlet."

"What makes you think that this is so, Gurth?"

"I had been with my mother to carry some clothes to my father on the
last occasion on which I saw him. As we neared the castle I saw my
father and three other of the workmen, together with the baron, coming
down from the castle toward the spot. As my mother did not wish to
approach while the baron was at hand, we stood within the trees at the
edge of the wood and watched what was being done. The baron came with
them down to the bushes, and then they again came out, crossed the
river, and one of them cut some willows, peeled them, and erected the
white staves in a line toward the castle. They walked for a bit on each
side, and seemed to be making calculations. Then they went back into the
castle, and I never saw my father again."

"Why did you not go in at once according to your intention?"

"Because my mother said that she thought some important work was on
hand, and that maybe the baron would not like that women should know
aught of it, for he was of suspicious and evil mind. More than this I
know not. The castle had already been finished and most of the masons
discharged. There were, however, a party of serfs kept at work, and also
some masons, and rumor had it that they were engaged in making the
secret passages. Whether it was so or not I cannot say, but I know that
none of that party ever left the castle alive. It was given out that a
bad fever had raged there, but none believed it; and the report went
about, and was I doubt not true, that all had been killed, to preserve
the secret of the passage."

Cuthbert lost no time in making use of the information that he had
gained.

Early next morning, at daybreak, he started on his pony to Wortham.

As he did not wish the earl or his followers to know the facts that he
had learned until they were proved, he made his way round the camp of
the besiegers, and by means of his whistle called one of the foresters
to him.

"Where is Cnut?" he asked.

"He is with a party occupied in making ladders."

"Go to him," Cuthbert said, "and tell him to withdraw quietly and make
his way here. I have an important matter on which I wish to speak to
him."

Cnut arrived in a few minutes, somewhat wondering at the message. He
brightened greatly when Cuthbert told him what he had learned.

"This is indeed important," he said. "We will lose no time in searching
the copse you speak of. You and I, together with two of my most trusty
men, with axes to clear away the brush, will do. At present a thing of
this sort had best be kept between as few as may be."

They started at once and soon came down upon the stream.

It ran at this point in a little valley, some twenty or thirty feet
deep. On the bank not far from the castle grew a small wood, and it was
in this that Cuthbert hoped to find the passage spoken of by Gurth.

The trees and brushwood were so thick that it was apparent at once that
if the passage had ever existed it had been unused for some years.

The woodmen were obliged to chop down dozens of young saplings to make
their way up from the water toward the steeper part of the bank.

The wood was some fifty yards in length, and as it was uncertain at
which point the passage had come out, a very minute search had to be
made.

"What do you think it would be like, Cnut?" Cuthbert asked.

"Like enough to a rabbit-hole, or more likely still there would be no
hole whatever. We must look for moss and greenery, for it is likely that
such would have been planted, so as to conceal the door from any
passer-by, while yet allowing a party from inside to cut their way
through it without difficulty."

After a search of two hours, Cnut decided that the only place in the
copse in which it was likely that the entrance to a passage could be
hidden was a spot where the ground was covered thickly with ivy and
trailing plants.

"It looks level enough with the rest," Cuthbert said.

"Ay, lad, but we know not what lies behind this thick screen of ivy.
Thrust in that staff."

One of the woodmen began to probe with the end of a staff among the ivy.
For some time he was met by the solid ground, but presently the butt of
the staff went through suddenly, pitching him on his head, amid a
suppressed laugh from his comrades.

"Here it is, if anywhere," said Cnut, and with their billhooks they at
once began to clear away the thickly grown creepers.

Five minutes' work was sufficient to show a narrow cut, some two feet
wide, in the hillside, at the end of which stood a low door.

"Here it is," said Cnut, with triumph, "and the castle is ours. Thanks,
Cuthbert, for your thought and intelligence. It has not been used
lately, that is clear," he went on. "These creepers have not been moved
for years. Shall we go and tell the earl of our discovery? What think
you, Cuthbert?"

"I think we had better not," Cuthbert said.

"We might not succeed in getting in, as the passage may have fallen
further along; but I will speak to him and tell him that we have
something on hand which may alter his dispositions for fighting
to-morrow."

Cuthbert made his way to the earl, who had taken possession of a small
cottage a short distance from the castle.

"What can I do for you?" Sir Walter said.

"I want to ask you, sir, not to attack the castle to-morrow until you
see a white flag waved from the keep."

"But how on earth is a white flag to be raised from the keep?"

"It may be," Cuthbert said, "that I have some friends inside who will be
able to make a diversion in our favor. However, sir, it can do no harm
if you will wait till then, and may save many lives. At what hour do you
mean to attack ?"

"The bridges and all other preparations to assist us across the moat
will be ready to-night. We will advance then under cover of darkness,
and as soon after dawn as may be attack in earnest."

"Very well, sir," Cuthbert said. "I trust that within five minutes after
your bugle has sounded the white flag will make its appearance on the
keep, but it cannot do so until after you have commenced an attack, or
at least a pretense of an attack."

Two or three hours before daylight Cuthbert accompanied Cnut and
twenty-five picked men of the foresters to the copse. They were provided
with crowbars, and all carried heavy axes. The door was soon pried open.
It opened silently and without a creak.

"It may be," Cnut said, "that the door has not been opened as you say
for years, but it is certain," and he placed his torch to the hinges,
"that it has been well oiled within the last two or three days. No doubt
the baron intended to make his escape this way, should the worst arrive.
Now that we have the door open we had better wait quiet until the dawn
commences. The earl will blow his bugle as a signal for the advance; it
will be another ten minutes before they are fairly engaged, and that
will be enough for us to break open any doors that there may be between
this and the castle, and to force our way inside."

It seemed a long time waiting before the dawn fairly broke--still longer
before the earl's bugle was heard to sound the attack. Then the band,
headed by Cnut and two or three of the strongest of the party entered
the passage.

Cuthbert had had some misgivings as to his mother's injunctions to take
no part in the fray, and it cannot be said that in accompanying the
foresters he obeyed the letter of her instructions. At the same time as
he felt sure that the effect of a surprise would be complete and
crushing, and that the party would gain the top of the keep without any
serious resistance, he considered the risk was so small as to justify
him in accompanying the foresters.

The passage was some five feet high, and little more than two feet wide.
It was dry and dusty, and save the marks on the ground of a human foot
going and returning, doubtless that of the man who had oiled the lock
the day before, the passage appeared to have been unused from the time
that it left the hands of its builders.

Passing along for some distance they came to another strong oaken door.
This, like the last, yielded to the efforts of the crowbars of the
foresters, and they again advanced. Presently they came to a flight of
steps.

"We must now be near the castle," Cnut said. "In fact, methinks I can
hear confused noises ahead."

Mounting the steps, they came to a third door; this was thickly studded
with iron, and appeared of very great strength. Fortunately the lock was
upon their side, and they were enabled to shoot the bolt; but upon the
other side the door was firmly secured by large bolts, and it was fully
five minutes before the foresters could succeed in opening it. It was
not without a good deal of noise that they at last did so; and several
times they paused, fearing that the alarm must have been given in the
castle. As, however, the door remained closed, they supposed that the
occupants were fully engaged in defending themselves from the attacks of
the earl's party.

When the door gave way they found hanging across in front of them a very
thick arras, and pressing this aside they entered a small room in the
thickness of the wall of the keep. It contained the merest slit for
light, and was clearly unused. Another door, this time unfastened, led
into a larger apartment, which was also at present unoccupied. They
could hear now the shouts of the combatants without, the loud orders
given by the leaders on the walls, the crack, as the stones hurled by
the mangonels struck the walls, and the ring of steel as the arrows
struck against steel cap and cuirass.

"It is fortunate that all were so well engaged, or they would certainly
have heard the noise of our forcing the door, which would have brought
all of them upon us. As it is, we are in the heart of the keep. We have
now but to make a rush up these winding steps, and methinks we shall
find ourselves on the battlements. They will be so surprised that no
real resistance can be offered to us. Now let us advance."

So saying Cnut led the way upstairs, followed by the foresters,
Cuthbert, as before, allowing five or six of them to intervene between
him and the leader. He carried his short sword and a quarterstaff, a
weapon by no means to be despised in the hands of an active and
experienced player.

Presently, after mounting some fifty or sixty steps, they issued on the
platform of the keep. Here were gathered some thirty or forty men, who
were so busied in shooting with crossbows, and in working machines
casting javelins, stones, and other missiles upon the besiegers, that
they were unaware of the addition to their numbers until the whole of
the foresters had gathered on the summit, and at the order of Cnut
suddenly fell upon them with a loud shout.

Taken wholly by surprise by the foe, who seemed to have risen from the
bowels of the earth by magic, the soldiers of the Baron of Wortham
offered but a feeble resistance. Some were cast over the battlement of
the keep, some driven down staircases, others cut down, and then,
Cuthbert fastening a small white flag he had prepared to his
quarterstaff, waved it above the battlements.

Even now the combatants on the outer wall were in ignorance of what had
happened in the keep; so great was the din that the struggle which had
there taken place had passed unnoticed; and it was not until the
fugitives, rushing out into the courtyard, shouted that the keep had
been captured, that the besieged became aware of the imminence of the
danger.

[Illustration: CUTHBERT FASTENED A SMALL WHITE FLAG TO HIS QUARTER-STAFF
AND WAVED IT ABOVE THE BATTLEMENTS.]

Hitherto the battle had been going well for the defenders of the
castle. The Baron of Wortham was indeed surprised at the feebleness of
the assault. The arrows which had fallen in clouds upon the first day's
attack upon the castle among his soldiers were now comparatively few and
ineffective. The besiegers scarcely appeared to push forward their
bridges with any vigor, and it seemed to him that a coldness had fallen
upon them, and that some disagreement must have arisen between the
foresters and the earl, completely crippling the energy of the attack.

When he heard the words shouted from the courtyard below he could not
believe his ears. That the keep behind should have been carried by the
enemy appeared to him impossible. With a roar he called upon the bravest
of his men to follow, and rushing across the courtyard, rapidly ascended
the staircase. The movement was observed from the keep, and Cnut and a
few of his men stationed themselves with their battle-axes at the top of
various stairs leading below.

The signal shown by Cuthbert had not passed unobserved. The earl, who
had given instructions to his followers to make a mere feint of
attacking, now blew the signal for the real onslaught. The bridges were
rapidly run across the moat, ladders were planted, and the garrison
being paralyzed and confused by the attack in their rear, as well as
hindered by the arrows which now flew down upon them from the keep
above, offered but a feeble resistance, and the assailants, led by Sir
Walter himself, poured over the walls.

Now there was a scene of confusion and desperate strife. The baron had
just gained the top of the stairs, and was engaged in a fierce conflict
with Cnut and his men, when the news reached him that the wall was
carried from without. With an execration he again turned and rushed down
the stairs, hoping by a vigorous effort to cast back the foe.

It was, however, all too late; his followers, disheartened and alarmed,
fought without method or order in scattered groups of threes and fours.
They made their last stand in corners and passages. They knew there was
but little hope of mercy from the Saxon foresters, and against these
they fought to the last. To the Norman retainers, however, of the earl
they offered a less determined resistance, throwing down their arms and
surrendering at discretion.

The baron, when fiercely fighting, was slain by an arrow from the keep
above, and with his fall the last resistance ceased. A short time was
spent in searching the castle, binding the prisoners, and carrying off
the valuables that the baron had collected in his raids. Then a light
was set to the timbers, the granaries were fired, and in a few minutes
the smoke wreathing out of the various loopholes and openings told the
country round that the stronghold had fallen, and that they were free
from the oppressor at last.




CHAPTER IV.

THE CRUSADES.


Warm thanks and much praise were bestowed upon Cuthbert for his share in
the capture of the castle, and the earl, calling the foresters round
him, then and there bestowed freedom upon any of them who might have
been serfs of his, and called upon all his knights and neighbors to do
the same, in return for the good service which they had rendered.

This was willingly done, and a number of Cnut's party, who had before
borne the stigma of escaped serfs, were now free men.

We are too apt to forget, in our sympathy with the Saxons, that, fond as
they were of freedom for themselves, they were yet severe masters, and
kept the mass of the people in a state of serfage. Although their laws
provided ample justice as between Saxon man and man, there was no
justice for the unhappy serfs, who were either the original inhabitants
or captives taken in war, and who were distinguished by a collar of
brass or iron round their neck.

Cnut's party had indeed long got rid of these badges, the first act of a
serf when he took to the woods being always to file off his collar; but
they were liable when caught to be punished, even by death, and were
delighted at having achieved their freedom.

"And what can I do for you, Cuthbert?" Sir Walter said, as they rode
homeward. "It is to you that I am indebted: in the first place for the
rescue of my daughter, in the second for the capture of that castle,
which I doubt me much whether we should ever have taken in fair fight
had it not been for your aid."

"Thanks, Sir Walter," the lad replied. "At present I need nothing, but
should the time come when you may go to the wars I would fain ride with
you as your page, in the hope of some day winning my spurs also in the
field."

"So shall it be," the earl said, "and right willingly. But who have we
here?"

As he spoke a horseman rode up and presented a paper to the earl.

"This is a notice," the earl said, after perusing it, "that King Richard
has determined to take up the cross, and that he calls upon his nobles
and barons to join him in the effort to free the holy sepulcher from the
infidels. I doubt whether the minds of the people are quite prepared,
but I hear that there has been much preaching by friars and monks in
some parts, and that many are eager to join in the war."

"Think you that you will go to the war, Sir Walter?" Cuthbert asked.

"I know not as yet; it must much depend upon the king's mood. For myself
I care not so greatly as some do about this question of the Holy Land.
There has been blood enough shed already to drown it, and we are no
nearer than when the first swarms of pilgrims made their way thither."

On Cuthbert's returning home and telling his mother all that had passed,
she shook her head, but said that she could not oppose his wishes to go
with the earl when the time should come, and that it was only right he
should follow in the footsteps of the good knight his father.

"I have heard much of these Crusades," he said; "canst tell me about
them?"

"In truth I know not much, my son; but Father Francis, I doubt not, can
tell you all the particulars anent the affair."

The next time that Father Francis, who was the special adviser of Dame
Editha, rode over from the convent on his ambling nag, Cuthbert eagerly
asked him if he would tell him what he knew of the Crusades.

"Hitherto, my son," he said, "the Crusades have, it must be owned,
brought many woes upon Europe. From the early times great swarms of
pilgrims were accustomed to go from all parts of Europe to the holy
shrines.

"When the followers of the evil prophet took possession of the land,
they laid grievous burdens upon the pilgrims, heavily they fined them,
persecuted them in every way, and treated them as if indeed they were
but the scum of the earth under their feet.

"So terrible were the tales that reached Europe that men came to think
that it would be a good deed truly to wrest the sepulcher of the Lord
from the hands of these heathens. Pope Urban was the first to give
authority and strength to the movement, and at a vast meeting at
Claremont of thirty thousand clergy and four thousand barons, it was
decided that war must be made against the infidel. From all parts of
France men flocked to hear Pope Urban preach there; and when he had
finished his oration the vast multitude, carried away by enthusiasm,
swore to win the holy sepulcher or to die.

"Mighty was the throng that gathered for the First Crusade. Monks threw
aside their gowns and took to the sword and cuirass; even women and
children joined in the throng. What, my son, could be expected from a
great army so formed? Without leaders, without discipline, without
tactics, without means of getting food, they soon became a scourge of
the country through which they passed.

"Passing through Hungary, where they greatly ravaged the fields, they
came to Bulgaria. Here the people, struck with astonishment and dismay
at this great horde of hungry people who arrived among them like
locusts, fell upon them with the sword, and great numbers fell. The
first band that passed into that country perished miserably, and of all
that huge assembly, it may be said that, numbering at the start not less
than two hundred and fifty thousand persons, only about one hundred
thousand crossed into Asia Minor. The fate of these was no better than
that of those who had perished in Hungary and Bulgaria. After grievous
suffering and loss they at last reached Nicaea. There they fell into an
ambuscade; and out of the whole of the undisciplined masses who had
followed Peter the Hermit, it is doubtful whether ten thousand ever
returned home.

"This first attempt to rescue the holy sepulcher was followed by others
equally wild, misguided, and unfortunate. Some of them indeed began
their evil deeds as soon as they had left their home. The last of these
bodies fell upon the Jews, who are indeed enemies of the Christian
faith, but who have now, at least, nothing to do with the question of
the holy sepulcher. As soon as they entered into Germany the Crusaders
put them to death with horrible torture. Plunder and rapine indeed
appeared to be the object of the Crusaders. On this as well as on most
other preceding bands, their misdeeds drew down the vengeance of the
people. At an early period of their march, and as soon as they reached
Hungary, the people fell upon them, and put the greater portion to the
sword.

"Thus, in these irregular expeditions no less than five hundred thousand
people are supposed to have perished. Godfrey de Bouillon was the first
who undertook to lead a Crusade according to the military knowledge of
the day. With him were his brothers Eustace and Baldwin, the Counts of
Anault and St. Paul, and many other nobles and gentlemen, with their
retainers, well armed and under good order; and so firm was the
discipline of Duke Godfrey that they were allowed to pass freely by the
people of the countries who had opposed the previous bands.

"Through Hungary, Bulgaria, and Thrace he made his way; and though he
met with many difficulties from Alexius, the crafty and treacherous
Emperor of the Greeks, he at last succeeded in crossing into Asia. There
he was joined by many from England, as well as from France and other
countries. Duke Robert, the son of our first William, led a strong band
of Normans to the war, as did the other great princes of France and
Spain.

"The army which crossed the narrow passage of the Hellespont is
estimated at no less than seven hundred thousand fighting men. Of these
one hundred thousand were knights clad in complete armor, the remainder
were men-at-arms and bowmen.

"Nicaea, the place which had been the scene of the massacre of Peter the
Hermit's hosts, was taken after a desperate conflict, lasting for many
weeks, and the Crusaders afterward defeated the Turks in a great battle
near the town of Doryleum. After these successes disputes arose among
the leaders, and Count Baldwin, brother of Duke Godfrey, left the main
body with about fifteen hundred men, and founded a kingdom for himself
in Mesopotamia.

"The main body, slowly and painfully, and suffering from disease,
famine, and the heat, made its way south. Antioch, a city of great
strength and importance, was besieged, but it proved so strong that it
resisted for many months, and was at last only taken by treachery.

"After the capture of this place the sufferings of the Crusaders so far
from being diminished were redoubled. They themselves during the siege
had bought up all the food that could be brought from the surrounding
country, while the magazines of the town were found, when an entry was
effected, to be entirely deserted. The enemy, aided by a great Persian
host, came down, and those who had been the besiegers were now besieged.
However, when in the last strait the Christian army sallied out, and
inspired with supernatural strength, defeated the Turks and Persians,
with a slaughter of one hundred thousand men. Another slow movement to
the south brought them into the Holy Land, and pressing forward, they
came at last within sight of Jerusalem itself.

"So fearful had been the losses of the Crusaders that of seven hundred
thousand who crossed the Hellespont, not more than forty thousand
reached the end of the pilgrimage. This fragment of an army, which had
appeared before a very strongly fortified town, possessed no means of
capturing the place--none of the machines of war necessary for the
purpose, no provisions or munitions of any kind. Water was scarce also;
and it appeared as if the remnant of the great army of Godfrey de
Bouillon had arrived before Jerusalem only to perish there.

"Happily just at this time a further band of Crusaders from Genoa, who
had reached Jaffa, made their appearance. They were provided with
stores, and had skilled workmen capable of making the machines for the
siege. On July 14, 1099, the attack was made, and after resistance
gallant and desperate as the assault, the Crusaders burst into the city,
massacred the whole of the defenders and inhabitants, calculated at
seventy thousand in number, and so became masters of the holy sepulcher.

"The Sultan of Egypt was meanwhile advancing to the assistance of the
Mohammedans of Syria; but Godfrey, with twenty thousand of his best men,
advanced to meet the vast host, and scattered them as if they had been
sheep. Godfrey was now chosen King of Jerusalem, and the rest of his
army--save three hundred knights and two hundred soldiers, who agreed to
remain with him--returned to their home. The news of the victory led
other armies of Crusaders to follow the example of that of Godfrey; but
as these were almost as completely without organization or leadership as
those of Peter the Hermit, they suffered miserably on their way, and few
indeed ever reached the Holy Land. Godfrey died in 1100, and his brother
Baldwin succeeded him.

"The history of the last hundred years has been full of fresh efforts to
crush the Moslem power, but hitherto it cannot be said that fortune has
attended the efforts of the Christians. Had it not been indeed for the
devotion of the Knights of St. John and of the Templars, two great
companies formed of men who devoted their lives to the holding of the
sepulcher against the infidel, our hold of the Holy Land would have been
lost.

"Gradually the Saracens have wrested post after post from our hands.
Edessa was taken in 1144, and the news of this event created an intense
excitement. The holy St. Bernard stirred up all France, and Louis VII.
himself took the vow and headed a noble army. The ways of God are not
our ways, and although the army of Germany joined that of France, but
little results came of this great effort.

"The Emperor Conrad, with the Germans, was attacked by the Turk Saladin
of Iconium, and was defeated with a loss of sixty thousand men. The King
of France, with his army, was also attacked with fury, and a large
portion of his force were slaughtered. Nothing more came of this great
effort, and while the first Crusade seemed to show that the men-at-arms
of Europe were irresistible, the second on the contrary gave proof that
the Turks were equal to the Christian knights. Gradually the Christian
hold of the Holy Land was shaken. In 1187, although fighting with
extraordinary bravery, the small army of Christian Knights of the Temple
and of St. John were annihilated, the King of Jerusalem was made
prisoner, and the Christian power was crushed. Then Saladin, who
commanded the Turks, advanced against Jerusalem, and forced it to
capitulate.

"Such, my boy, is the last sad news which has reached us; and no wonder
that it has stirred the hearts of the monarchs of Europe, and that every
effort will be again made to recapture the holy sepulcher, and to avenge
our brethren who have been murdered by the infidels."

"But, Father Francis, from your story it would seem that Europe has
already sacrificed an enormous number of lives to take the holy
sepulcher, and that after all the fighting, when she has taken it, it is
only to lose it again."

"That is so, my son; but we will trust that in future things will be
better managed. The Templars and Hospitalers now number so vast a number
of the best lances in Europe, and are grown to be such great powers,
that we may believe that when we have again wrested the holy sepulcher
from the hands of the infidels they will be able to maintain it against
all assaults. Doubtless the great misfortunes which have fallen upon the
Christian armies have been a punishment from heaven, because they have
not gone to work in the right spirit. It is not enough to take up lance
and shield, and to place a red cross upon the shoulder. Those who desire
to fight the battle of the Lord must cleanse their hearts, and go forth
in the spirit of pilgrims rather than knights. I mean not that they
should trust wholly to spiritual weapons--for in truth the infidel is a
foe not to be despised--but I mean that they should lay aside all
thoughts of worldly glory and rivalry one against another."

"And think you, Father, that such is the spirit with which King Richard
and the other kings and nobles now preparing to go to the Holy Land are
animated?"

Father Francis hesitated.

"It is not for me, my son, to judge motives, or to speak well or ill of
the instruments who have been chosen for this great work. It is of all
works the most praiseworthy, most holy. It is horrible to think that the
holy shrines of Jerusalem should be in the hands of men who believe not
in our Redeemer; and I hold it to be the duty of every man who can bear
arms, no matter what his rank or his station, to don his armor and to go
forth to battle in the cause. Whether success will crown the effort, or
whether God wills it otherwise, it is not for man to discuss; it is
enough that the work is there, and it is our duty to do it."

"And think you, Father, that it will do good to England?"

"That do I, my son, whether we gain the Holy Land or no. Methinks that
it will do good service to the nation that Saxon and Norman should fight
together under the holy cross. Hitherto the races have stood far too
much apart. They have seen each other's bad qualities rather than good;
but methinks that when the Saxon and the Norman stand side by side on
the soil of the Holy Land, and shout together for England, it must needs
bind them together, and lead them to feel that they are no longer
Normans and Saxons, but Englishmen. I intend to preach on the village
green at Evesham next Sunday morning on this subject, and as I know you
are in communication with the forest men, I would, Cuthbert, that you
would persuade them to come in to hear me. You were wondering what could
be found for these vagrants. They have many of them long since lost the
habits of honest labor. Many of them are still serfs, although most have
been freed by the good earl and the knights his followers. Some of those
who would fain leave the life in the woods still cling to it because
they think that it would be mean to desert their comrades, who being
serfs are still bound to lurk there; but methinks that this is a great
opportunity for them. They are valiant men, and the fact that they are
fond of drawing an arrow at a buck does not make them one whit the worse
Christians. I will do my best to move their hearts, and if they will but
agree together to take the cross, they would make a goodly band of
footmen to accompany the earl."

"Is the earl going?" Cuthbert asked eagerly.

"I know not for certain," said Father Francis; "but I think from what I
hear from his chaplain, Father Eustace, that his mind turns in that
direction."

"Then, Father, if he goes, I will go too," Cuthbert exclaimed. "He
promised to take me as his page the first time he went to war."

Father Francis shook his head.

"I fear me, Cuthbert, this is far from the spirit in which we awhile ago
agreed that men should go to the holy war."

Cuthbert hung his head a little.

"Ay, Father Francis, men; but I am a boy," he said, "and after all, boys
are fond of adventure for adventure's sake. However, Father," he said,
with a smile, "no doubt your eloquence on the green will turn me
mightily to the project, for you must allow that the story you have told
me this morning is not such as to create any very strong yearning in
one's mind to follow the millions of men who have perished in the Holy
Land."

"Go to," said Father Francis, smiling, "thou art a pert varlet. I will
do my best on Sunday to turn you to a better frame of mind."




CHAPTER V.

PREPARATIONS.


Next Sunday a large number of people from some miles round were gathered
on the green at Evesham, to hear Father Francis preach on the holy
sepulcher. The forest men in their green jerkins mingled with the crowd,
and a look of attention and seriousness was on the faces of all, for the
news of the loss of the holy sepulcher had really exercised a great
effect upon the minds of the people in England as elsewhere.

Those were the days of pilgrimage to holy places, when the belief in the
sanctity of places and things was overwhelming, and when men believed
that a journey to the holy shrines was sufficient to procure for them a
pardon for all their misdeeds. The very word "infidel" in those days was
full of horror, and the thought that the holy places of the Christians
were in the hands of Moslems affected all Christians throughout Europe
with a feeling of shame as well as of grief.

Among the crowd were many of the Norman retainers from the castle and
from many of the holds around, and several knights with the ladies of
their family stood a little apart from the edge of the gathering; for
it was known that Father Francis would not be alone, but that he would
be accompanied by a holy friar who had returned from the East, and who
could tell of the cruelties which the Christians had suffered at the
hands of the Saracens.

Father Francis, at ordinary times a tranquil preacher, was moved beyond
himself by the theme on which he was holding forth. He did not attempt
to hide from those who stood around that the task to be undertaken was
one of grievous peril and trial; that disease and heat, hunger and
thirst, must be dared, as well as the sword of the infidel. But he spoke
of the grand nature of the work, of the humiliation to Christians, of
the desecration of the shrines, and of the glory which awaited those who
joined the Crusade, whether they lived or whether they died in the Holy
Land.

His words had a strong effect upon the simple people who listened to
him, but the feelings so aroused were as naught to the enthusiasm which
greeted the address of the friar.

Meager and pale, with a worn, anxious face as one who had suffered much,
the friar, holding aloft two pieces of wood from the Mount of Olives
tied together in the form of a cross, harangued the crowd. His words
poured forth in a fiery stream, kindling the hearts, and stirring at
once the devotion and the anger of his listeners.

He told of the holy places, he spoke of the scenes of Holy Writ, which
had there been enacted; and then he depicted the men who had died for
them. He told of the knights and men-at-arms, each of whom proved
himself again and again a match for a score of infidels. He spoke of the
holy women, who, fearlessly and bravely, as the knights themselves, had
borne their share in the horrors of the siege and in the terrible times
which had preceded it.

He told them that this misfortune had befallen Christianity because of
the lukewarmness which had come upon them.

"What profited it," he asked, "if a few knights who remained to defend
the holy sepulcher were heroes? A few heroes cannot withstand an army.
If Christendom after making a mighty effort to capture the holy
sepulcher had not fallen away, the conquest which had been made with so
vast an expenditure of blood would not have been lost. This is a work in
which no mere passing fervor will avail; bravery at first, endurance
afterward, are needed. Many men must determine not only to assist to
wrest the holy sepulcher from the hands of the infidels, but to give
their lives, so long as they might last, to retaining it. It is scarce
to be expected that men with wives and families will take a view like
this, indeed it is not to be desired. But there are single men, men of
no ties, who can devote their whole lives, as did the Knights of the
Orders of the Cross, to this great object. When their life has come to
an end doubtless others will take up the banner that their hands can no
longer hold. But for life it is, indeed, that many of humble as well as
of princely class must bind themselves to take and defend to death the
holy sepulcher."

So, gradually raising the tone of his speech, the friar proceeded; until
at length by his intense earnestness, his wild gesticulations, his
impassioned words, he drew the whole of his listeners along with him;
and when he ceased, a mighty shout of "To the Holy Land!" burst from his
hearers.

Falling upon their knees the crowd begged of him to give them the sign
of the cross, and to bestow his blessing upon their swords, and upon
their efforts.

Father Francis had prepared, in contemplation of such a movement, a
large number of small white crosses of cloth. These he and the friar now
fastened to the shoulders of the men as they crowded up to receive it,
holding their hands aloft, kissing the cross that the friar extended to
them, and swearing to give their lives, if need be, to rescue the holy
shrines from the infidel.

When all had received the holy symbol, Father Francis again ascended the
bank from which they had addressed the crowd:

"Now go to your homes, my sons," he said. "Think of the oath that you
have taken, and of the course that lies open to you when the time comes.
When King Richard is prepared to start, then will you be called upon to
fulfill your vows. It may be that all who have sworn may not be called
upon to go. It needs that the land here should be tilled, it needs that
there should be protectors for the women and children, it needs that
this England of ours should flourish, and we cannot give all her sons,
however willing they might be to take the cross. But the willingness
which you will, I am sure, show to go if needs be, and to redeem your
vows, will be sufficient. Some must go and some must stay; these are
matters to be decided hereafter; for the time let us separate; you will
hear when the hour for action arrives."

A fortnight later the Earl of Evesham, who had been on a long journey to
London, returned with full authority to raise and organize a force as
his contingent to the holy wars.

All was now bustle and activity in the castle. Father Francis informed
him of the willingness of such of the forest men as he deemed fit to
enlist under his banner; and the earl was much gratified at finding that
the ranks of heavily-armed retainers whom he would take with him were to
be swollen by the addition of so useful a contingent as that of one
hundred skillful archers.

Cuthbert was not long in asking for an interview with the earl.

He had indeed great difficulty in persuading Dame Editha that he was old
enough to share in the fatigues of so great an expedition, but he had
Father Francis on his side; and between the influence of her confessor,
and the importunities of her son, the opposition of the good lady fell
to the ground.

Cuthbert was already, for his age, well trained to arms. Many of the old
soldiers at the castle who had known and loved his father had been ever
ready to give lessons in the use of arms to Cuthbert, who was
enthusiastic in his desire to prove as good a knight as his father had
been. His friends, the outlaws, had taught him the use of the bow and of
the quarterstaff; and Cuthbert, strong and well-built for his age, and
having little to do save to wield the sword and the bow, had attained a
very considerable amount of skill with each.

He had too, which was unusual, a certain amount of book learning,
although this, true to say, had not been acquired so cheerfully or
willingly as the skill at arms. Father Francis had, however, taught him
to read and to write--accomplishments which were at that time rare,
except in the cloister. In those days if a knight had a firm seat in his
saddle, a strong arm, a keen eye, and high courage, it was thought to be
of little matter whether he could or could not do more than make his
mark on the parchment. The whole life of the young was given to
acquiring skill in arms; and unless intended for the convent, any idea
of education would in the great majority of cases have been considered
as preposterous.

To do Cuthbert justice, he had protested with all his might against the
proposition of Father Francis to his mother to teach him some clerkly
knowledge. He had yielded most unwillingly at last to her entreaties,
backed as they were by the sound arguments and good sense of Father
Francis.

The Earl of Evesham received Cuthbert's application very graciously.

"Certainly, Cuthbert," he said, "you shall accompany me; first, on
account of my promise to you; secondly, because from the readiness you
displayed both in the matter of my daughter and of the attack on
Wortham, you will be a notable aid and addition to my party; thirdly,
from my friendship for your father and Dame Editha."

This point being settled, Cuthbert at once assumed his new duties. There
was plenty for him to do--to see that the orders of the earl were
properly carried out; to bear messages to the knights who followed the
earl's fortunes, at their various holds; to stand by and watch the
armorers at work, and the preparation of the stores of arms and missiles
which would be necessary for the expedition.

Sometimes he would go round to summon the tenants of the various farms
and lands, who held from the earl, to come to the castle; and here Sir
Walter would, as far as might be without oppression, beg of them to
contribute largely to the expedition.

In these appeals he was in no slight way assisted by Father Francis, who
pointed out loudly to the people that those who stayed behind were bound
to make as much sacrifice of their worldly goods as those who went to
the war might make of their lives. Life and land are alike at the
service of God. Could the land be sold, it would be a good deed to sell
it; but as this could not be, they should at least sell all that they
could, and pledge their property if they could find lenders, in order to
contribute to the needs of their lord, and the fitting out of this great
enterprise.

The preparations were at last complete, and a gallant band gathered at
the castle ready for starting. It consisted of some two hundred
men-at-arms led by six knights, and of one hundred bowmen dressed in
Lincoln green, with quilted jerkins to keep out the arrows of the enemy.
All the country from around gathered to see the start. Dame Editha was
there, and by her side stood the earl's little daughter. The earl
himself was in armor, and beside him rode Cuthbert in the gay attire of
a page.

Just at that moment, however, his face did not agree with his costume,
for although he strove his best to look bright and smiling, it was a
hard task to prevent the tears from filling his eyes at his departure
from his mother. The good lady cried unrestrainedly, and Margaret joined
in her tears. The people who had gathered round cheered lustily; the
trumpets blew a gay fanfaronade, and the squire threw to the wind the
earl's colors.

It was no mere pleasure trip on which they were starting, for all knew
that, of the preceding Crusades, not one in ten of those who had gone so
gladly forth had ever returned.

It must not be supposed that the whole of those present were animated by
any strong religious feeling. No doubt there existed a desire, which was
carefully fanned by the preaching of the priests and monks, to rescue
the holy sepulcher from the hands of the Saracens; but a far stronger
feeling was to be found in the warlike nature of the people in those
days. Knights, men-at-arms, and indeed men of all ranks were full of a
combative spirit. Life in the castle and hut was alike dull and
monotonous, and the excitement of war and adventure was greatly looked
for, both as a means of obtaining glory and booty, and for the change
they afforded to the dreary monotony of life.

There is little to tell of the journey of the Earl of Evesham's band
through England to Southampton, at which place they took ship and
crossed to France--or rather to Normandy, for in those days Normandy was
regarded, as indeed it formed, a part of England.

Cuthbert, as was natural to his age, was full of delight at all the
varying scenes through which they passed. The towns were to him an
especial source of wonder, for he had never visited any other than that
of Worcester, to which he had once or twice been taken on occasions of
high festival. Havre was in those days an important place, and being the
landing-place of a great portion of the English bands, it was full of
bustle and excitement. Every day ships brought in nobles and their
followings.

The King of England was already in Normandy hastening the preparations,
and each band, as it landed, marched down to the meeting-place on the
plains of Vezelay. Already they began to experience a taste of the
hardships which they were to endure.

In those days there was no regular supply train for an army, but each
division or band supported itself by purchase or pillage, as the case
might be, from the surrounding country.

As the English troops were marching through a friendly country, pillage
was of course strictly forbidden; but while many of the leaders paid for
all they had, it must be owned that among the smaller leaders were many
who took anything that they required with or without payment.

The country was eaten up.

The population in those days was sparse, and the movement of so large a
number of men along a certain route completely exhausted all the
resources of the inhabitants; and although willing to pay for all that
his men required, the Earl of Evesham had frequently to lie down on the
turf supperless himself.

"If this is the case now," he said to Cuthbert, "what will it be after
we have joined the French army? Methinks whatever we may do if we reach
the Holy Land, that we have a fair chance of being starved before we
sail."

After a long succession of marches they arrived in sight of the great
camp at Vezelay. It was indeed rather a canvas town than a camp. Here
were gathered nearly one hundred thousand men, a vast host at any time,
but in those days far greater in proportion to the strength of the
countries than at present. The tents of the leaders, nobles, and other
knights and gentlemen rose in regular lines, forming streets and
squares.

The great mass of troops, however, were contented to sleep in the open
air; indeed the difficulties of carriage were so great that it was only
the leaders who could carry with them their canvas abodes. Before each
tent stood the lance and colors of its owner, and side by side in the
center of the camp stood the royal pavilions of Philip of France and
Richard of England, round which could be seen the gonfalons of all the
nobles of Western Europe.

Nothing could be gayer than the aspect of this camp as the party rode
into it. They were rather late, and the great body of the host were
already assembled.

Cuthbert gazed with delight at the varied colors, the gay dresses, the
martial knights, and the air of discipline and order which reigned
everywhere.

This was indeed war in its most picturesque form, a form which, as far
as beauty is concerned, has been altogether altered, and indeed
destroyed, by modern arms.

In those days individual prowess and bravery went for everything. A
handful of armored knights were a match for thousands of footmen, and
battles were decided as much by the prowess and bravery of the leader
and his immediate following as by that of the great mass of the army.

The earl had the day before sent on a messenger to state that he was
coming, and as the party entered the camp they were met by a squire of
the camp-marshal, who conducted them to the position allotted to them.

The earl's tent was soon erected, with four or five grouped around it
for his knights, one being set aside for his squires and pages.

When this was done Cuthbert strolled away to look at the varied sights
of the camp. A military officer in these days would be scandalized at
the scenes which were going on, but the strict, hard military discipline
of modern times was then absolutely unknown.

A camp was a moving town, and to it flocked the country people with
their goods; smiths and armorers erected their forges; minstrels and
troubadours flocked in to sing of former battles, and to raise the
spirits of the soldiers by merry lays of love and war; simple countrymen
and women came in to bring their presents of fowls or cakes to their
friends in camp; knights rode to and fro on their gayly caparisoned
horses through the crowd; the newly-raised levies, in many cases
composed of woodmen and peasants who had not in the course of their
lives wandered a league from their birthplaces, gaped in unaffected
wonder at the sights around them; while last, but by no means least, the
maidens and good wives of the neighborhood, fond then as now of brave
men and gay dresses, thronged the streets of the camp, and joined in,
and were the cause of, merry laughter and jest.

Here and there, a little apart from the main stream of traffic, the
minstrels would take up their position, and playing a gay air, the
soldier lads and lasses would fall to and foot it merrily to the
strains. Sometimes there would be a break in the gayety, and loud
shouts, and perhaps fierce oaths, would rise. Then the maidens would fly
like startled fawns, and men hasten to the spot; though the quarrel
might be purely a private one, yet should it happen between the
retainers of two nobles, the friends of each would be sure to strike in,
and serious frays would arise before the marshal of the camp with his
posse could arrive to interfere. Sometimes, indeed, these quarrels
became so serious and desperate that alliances were broken up and great
intentions frustrated by the quarrels of the soldiery.

Here and there, on elevated platforms, or even on the top of a pile of
tubs, were friars occupied in haranguing the soldiers, and in inspiring
them with enthusiasm for the cause upon which they were embarked. The
conduct of their listeners showed easily enough the motives which had
brought them to war. Some stood with clasped hands and eager eyes,
listening to the exhortations of the priests, and ready, as might be
seen from their earnest gaze, to suffer martyrdom in the cause. More,
however, stood indifferently round, or, after listening to a few words,
walked on with a laugh or a scoff; indeed, preaching had already done
all that lay in its power. All those who could be moved by exhortations
of this kind were there, and upon the rest the discourses and sermons
were thrown away.

Several times in the course of his stroll round the camp Cuthbert
observed the beginnings of quarrels, which were in each case only
checked by the intervention of some knight or other person in authority
coming past, and he observed that these in every instance occurred
between men of the English and those of the French army.

Between the Saxon contingent of King Richard's army and the French
soldiers there could indeed be no quarrel, for the Saxons understood no
word of their language; but with the Normans the case was different, for
the Norman-French, which was spoken by all the nobles and their
retainers in Britain, was as nearly as possible the same as that in use
in France.

It seemed, however, to Cuthbert, watching narrowly what was going on,
that there existed by no means a good feeling between the men of the
different armies; and he thought that this divergence so early in the
campaign boded but little good for the final success of the expedition.

When he returned to the tent the earl questioned him as to what he had
seen, and Cuthbert frankly acknowledged that it appeared to him that the
feeling between the men of the two armies was not good.

"I have been," the earl said, "to the royal camp, and from what I hear,
Cuthbert, methinks that there is reason for what you say. King Richard
is the most loyal and gallant of kings, but he is haughty and hasty in
speech. The Normans, too, have been somewhat accustomed to conquer our
neighbors, and it may well be that the chivalry of France love us not.
However, it must be hoped that this feeling will die away, and that we
shall emulate each other only in our deeds on the battlefield."




CHAPTER VI.

THE LISTS.


The third day after the arrival of the Earl of Evesham there was a great
banquet given by the King of France to King Richard and his principal
nobles.

Among those present was the Earl of Evesham, and Cuthbert as his page
followed him to the great tent where the banquet was prepared.

Here, at the top of the tent, on a raised dais, sat the King of France,
surrounded by his courtiers. The Earl of Evesham, having been conducted
by the herald to the dais, paid his compliments to the king, and was
saluted by him with many flattering words.

The sound of a trumpet was heard, and Richard of England, accompanied by
his principal nobles, entered.

It was the first time that Cuthbert had seen the king.

Richard was a man of splendid stature and of enormous strength. His
appearance was in some respects rather Saxon than Norman, for his hair
was light and his complexion clear and bright. He wore the mustache and
pointed beard at that time in fashion; and although his expression was
generally that of frankness and good humor, there might be observed in
his quick motions and piercing glances signs of the hasty temper and
unbridled passion which went far to wreck the success of the enterprise
upon which he was embarked.

Richard possessed most of the qualities which make a man a great king
and render him the idol of his subjects, especially in a time of
semi-civilization, when personal prowess is placed at the summit of all
human virtues. In all his dominions there was not one man who in
personal conflict was a match for his king.

Except during his fits of passion, King Richard was generous, forgiving,
and royal in his moods. He was incapable of bearing malice. Although
haughty of his dignity, he was entirely free from any personal pride,
and while he would maintain to the death every right and privilege
against another monarch, he could laugh and joke with the humblest of
his subjects on terms of hearty good fellowship. He was impatient of
contradiction, eager to carry out whatever he had determined upon; and
nothing enraged him so much as hesitation or procrastination. The delays
which were experienced in the course of the Crusade angered him more
than all the opposition offered by the Saracens, or than the hardships
through which the Christian host had to pass.

At a flourish of trumpets all took their seats at dinner, their places
being marked for them by a herald, whose duty it was to regulate nicely
the various ranks and dignities.

The Earl of Evesham was placed next to a noble of Brabant. Cuthbert took
his place behind his lord and served him with wines and meats, the
Brabant being attended by a tall youth, who was indeed on the verge of
manhood.

As the dinner went on the buzz of conversation became fast and furious.
In those days men drank deep, and quarrels often arose over the cups.
From the time that the dinner began Cuthbert noticed that the manner of
Sir de Jacquelin Barras, Count of Brabant, was rude and offensive.

It might be that he was accustomed to live alone with his retainers, and
that his manners were rude and coarse to all. It might be that he had a
special hostility to the English. At any rate, his remarks were
calculated to fire the anger of the earl.

He began the conversation by wondering how a Norman baron could live in
a country like England, inhabited by a race but little above pigs.

The earl at once fired up at this, for the Normans were now beginning to
feel themselves English, and to resent attacks upon a people for whom
their grandfathers had entertained contempt.

He angrily repelled the attack upon them by the Brabant knight, and
asserted at once that the Saxons were every bit as civilized, and in
some respects superior to the Normans or French.

The ill-feeling thus began at starting clearly waxed stronger as dinner
went on. The Brabant knight drank deeply, and although his talk was not
clearly directed against the English, yet he continued to throw out
innuendos and side attacks, and to talk with a vague boastfulness, which
greatly irritated Sir Walter.

Presently, as Cuthbert was about to serve his master with a cup of wine,
the tall page pushed suddenly against him, spilling a portion of the
wine over his dress.

"What a clumsy child!" he said scoffingly.

"You are a rough and ill-mannered loon," Cuthbert said angrily. "Were
you in any other presence I would chastise you as you deserve."

The tall page burst into a mocking laugh.

"Chastise me!" he said. "Why, I could put you in my pocket for a little
hop-of-my-thumb as you are."

"I think," said Sir Jacquelin--for the boys' voices both rose loud--to
the earl, "you had better send that brat home and order him to be
whipped."

"Sir count," said the earl, "your manners are insolent, and were we not
engaged upon a Crusade, it would please me much to give you a lesson on
that score."

Higher and higher the dispute rose, until some angry word caught the ear
of the king.

Amid the general buzz of voices King Philip rose, and speaking a word
to King Richard, moved from the table, thus giving the sign for the
breaking up of the feast.

Immediately afterward a page touched the earl and Sir Jacquelin upon the
shoulder, and told them that the kings desired to speak with them in the
tent of the King of France.

The two nobles strode through the crowd, regarding each other with eyes
much like those of two dogs eager to fly at each other's throat.

"My lords, my lords," said King Philip when they entered, "this is
against all law and reason. For shame, to be brawling at my table. I
would not say aught openly, but methinks it is early indeed for the
knights and nobles engaged in a common work to fall to words."

"Your majesty," said the Earl of Evesham, "I regret deeply what has
happened. But it seemed from the time we sat down to the meal that this
lord sought to pass a quarrel upon me, and I now beseech your majesty
that you will permit us to settle our differences in the lists."

King Richard gave a sound of assent, but the King of France shook his
head gravely.

"Do you forget," he said, "the mission upon which you are assembled
here? Has not every knight and noble in these armies taken a solemn oath
to put aside private quarrels and feuds until the holy sepulcher is
taken? Shall we at this very going off show that the oath is a mere form
of words? Shall we show before the face of Christendom that the knights
of the cross are unable to avoid flying at each other's throats, even
while on their way to wrest the holy sepulcher from the infidel? No,
sirs, you must lay aside your feuds, and must promise me and my good
brother here that you will keep the peace between you until this war is
over. Whose fault it was that the quarrel began I know not. It may be
that my Lord of Brabant was discourteous. It may be that the earl here
was too hot. But whichever it be, it matters not."

"The quarrel, sire," said Sir Jacquelin, "arose from a dispute between
our pages, who were nigh coming to blows in your majesty's presence. I
desired the earl to chide the insolence of his varlet, and instead of so
doing he met my remarks with scorn."

"Pooh, pooh," said King Richard, "there are plenty of grounds for
quarrel without two nobles interfering in the squabbles of boys. Let
them fight; it will harm no one. By the bye, your Majesty," he said,
turning to the King of France with a laugh, "if the masters may not
fight, there is no reason in the world why the varlets should not. We
are sorely dull for want of amusement. Let us have a list to-morrow, and
let the pages fight it out for the honor of their masters and their
nations."

"It were scarce worth while to have the lists set for two boys to
fight," said the King of France.

"Oh, we need not have regular lists," said King Richard. "Leave that
matter in my hands. I warrant you that if the cockerels are well
plucked, they will make us sport. What say you, gentlemen?"

The Brabant noble at once assented, answering that he was sure that his
page would be glad to enter the lists; and the earl gave a similar
assent, for he had not noticed how great was the discrepancy between the
size of the future combatants.

"That is agreed, then," said King Richard joyously. "I will have a piece
of ground marked out on the edge of the camp to-morrow morning. It shall
be kept by my men-at-arms, and there shall be a raised place for King
Philip and myself, who will be the judges of the conflict. Will they
fight on foot or on horse?"

"On foot, on foot," said the King of France. "It would be a pity that
knightly exercises should be brought to scorn by any failure on their
part on horseback. On foot at least it will be a fair struggle."

"What arms shall they use?" the Brabant knight asked.

"Oh, swords and battle-axes, of course," said King Richard with a laugh.

"Before you go," King Philip said, "you must shake hands, and swear to
let the quarrel between you drop, at least until after our return. If
you still wish to shed each other's blood, I shall offer no hindrance
thereto."

The earl and Count Jacquelin touched each other's hands in obedience to
the order, went out of the tent together, and strode off without a word
in different directions.

"My dear lad," the Earl of Evesham said on entering his tent where his
page was waiting him, "this is a serious business. The kings have
ordered this little count and myself to put aside our differences till
after the Crusade, in accordance with our oath. But as you have in no
wise pledged yourself in the same fashion, and as their majesties feel
somewhat dull while waiting here, it is determined that the quarrel
between the count and me, and between you and the count's page, shall be
settled by a fight between you two in the presence of the kings."

"Well, sir," Cuthbert said, "I am glad that it should be, seeing the
varlet insulted me without any cause, and purposely upset the cup over
me."

"What is he like?" the earl asked. "Dost think that you are a fair
match?"

"I doubt not that we are fair match enough," Cuthbert said. "As you
know, sir, I have been well trained to arms of all kinds, both by my
father and by the men-at-arms at the castle, and could hold my own
against any of your men with light weapons, and have then no fear that
this gawky loon, twenty years old though he seems to be, will bring
disgrace upon me or discredit upon my nation."

"If thou thinkest so," the earl said, "the matter can go on. But had it
been otherwise I would have gone to the king and protested that the
advantage of age was so great that it would be murder to place you in
the lists together."

"There is," Cuthbert said, "at most no greater difference between us
than between a strong man and a weak one, and these, in the ordeal of
battle, have to meet in the lists. Indeed I doubt if the difference is
so great, for if he be a foot taller than I, methinks that round the
shoulders I should have the advantage of him."

"Send hither my armorer," the earl said; "we must choose a proper suit
for you. I fear that mine would be of little use; but doubtless there
are some smaller suits among my friends."

"The simpler and lighter the better," Cuthbert said. "I'd rather have a
light coat of mail and a steel cap than heavy armor and a helmet which
would press me down, and a visor through which I could scarce see. The
lighter the better, for after all if my sword cannot keep my head,
sooner or later the armor would fail to do so too."

The armorer speedily arrived, and the knights and followers of the earl
being called in and the case stated, there was soon found a coat of fine
linked mail, which fitted Cuthbert well. As to the steel cap there was
no difficulty whatever.

"You must have a plume at least," the earl said, and took some feathers
from his own casque and fastened them in. "Will you want a light sword
and battle-ax?"

"No," Cuthbert said, "my arms are pretty well used to those of the
men-at-arms. I could wield my father's sword, and that was a heavy
one."

The lightest of the earl's weapons were chosen, and it was agreed that
all was now ready for the conflict to-morrow.

In the morning there was a slight bustle in the camp.

The news that a fight was to take place between an English and a Brabant
page, by the permission of the kings of England and France, that their
majesties were to be present, and that all was to be conducted on
regular rules, caused a stir of excitement and novelty in the camp.

Nowhere is life duller than among a large body of men kept together for
any time under canvas, and the thought of a combat of this novel kind
excited general interest.

In a meadow at a short distance from the camp a body of King Richard's
men-at-arms marked off an oval space of about an acre. Upon one side of
this a tent was pitched for the kings, and a small tent was placed at
each end for the combatants. Round the inclosure the men-at-arms formed
the ring, and behind them a dense body of spectators gathered, a place
being set aside for nobles, and others of gentle blood.

At the hour fixed the kings of England and France arrived together. King
Richard was evidently in a state of high good humor, for he preferred
the clash of arms and the sight of combat to any other pleasure.

The King of France, on the other hand, looked grave. He was a far wiser
and more politic king than Richard; and although he had consented to
the sudden proposal, yet he felt in his heart that the contest was a
foolish one, and that it might create bad feeling among the men of the
two nationalities whichever way it went. He had reserved to himself the
right of throwing down the baton when the combat was to cease, and he
determined to avail himself of this right to put a stop to the conflict
before either party was likely to sustain any deadly injury.

When the monarchs had taken their places the trumpeters sounded their
trumpets, and the two combatants advanced on foot from their ends of the
lists. A murmur of surprise and dissatisfaction broke from the crowd.
"My Lord of Evesham," the king said angrily to the earl, who with Count
Jacquelin was standing by the royal party, "thou shouldst have said that
the difference between the two was too great to allow the combat to be
possible. The Frenchman appears to be big enough to take your page under
his arm and walk off with him."

The difference was indeed very striking. The French champion was arrayed
in a full suit of knightly armor--of course without the gold spurs which
were the distinguishing mark of that rank--and with his helmet and lofty
plume of feathers he appeared to tower above Cuthbert, who, in his
close-fitting steel cap and link armor seemed a very dwarf by the side
of a giant.

"It is not size, sire, but muscle and pluck will win in a combat like
this. Your majesty need not be afraid that my page will disgrace me. He
is of my blood, though the kinship is not close. He is of mixed Saxon
and Norman strain, and will, believe me, do no discredit to either."

The king's brow cleared, for in truth he was very proud of his English
nationality, and would have been sorely vexed to see the discomfiture of
an English champion, even though that champion were a boy.

"Brother Philip," he said, turning to the king, "I will wager my gold
chain against yours on yonder stripling."

"Methinks that it were robbery to take your wager," the King of France
said. "The difference between their bulk is disproportionate. However, I
will not balk your wish. My chain against yours."

The rule of the fight was that they were to commence with swords, but
that either could, if he chose, use his battle-ax.

The fight need scarcely be described at length, for the advantage was
all one way. Cuthbert was fully a match in strength for his antagonist,
although standing nigh a foot shorter. Constant exercise, however, had
hardened his muscles into something like steel, while the teaching that
he had received had embraced all what was then known of the use of arms.

Science in those days there was but little of; it was a case rather of
hard, heavy hitting, than of what we now call swordsmanship.

With the sword Cuthbert gained but slight advantage over his adversary,
whose superior height enabled him to rain blows down upon the lad, which
he was with difficulty enabled to guard; but when the first paroxysm of
his adversary's attack had passed he took to the offensive, and drove
his opponent back step by step. With his sword, however, he was unable
to cut through the armor of the Frenchman, but in the course of the
encounter, guarding a severe blow aimed at him, his sword was struck
from his hand, and he then, seizing his ax, made such play with it that
his foe dropped his own sword and took to the same weapon.

In this the superior height and weight of his opponent gave him even a
greater advantage than with the sword, and Cuthbert knowing this, used
his utmost dexterity and speed to avoid the sweeping blows showered upon
him. He himself had been enabled to strike one or two sweeping strokes,
always aiming at the same place, the juncture of the visor with the
helmet. At last the Frenchman struck him so heavy a blow that it beat
down his guard and struck his steel cap from his head, bringing him to
the knee. In an instant he was up, and before his foe could be again on
guard, he whirled his ax round with all its force, and bringing it just
at the point of the visor which he had already weakened with repeated
blows, the edge of the ax stove clean through the armor, and the page
was struck senseless to the ground.

A great shout broke from the English portion of the soldiery as
Cuthbert leaned over his prostrate foe, and receiving no answer to the
question "Do you yield?" rose to his feet, and signified to the squire
who had kept near that his opponent was insensible.

King Richard ordered the pursuivant to lead Cuthbert to the royal
inclosure.

"Thou art a brave lad and a lusty," the king said, "and hast borne thee
in the fight as well as many a knight would have done. Wert thou older,
I would myself dub thee knight; and I doubt not that the occasion will
yet come when thou wilt do as good deeds upon the bodies of the Saracens
as thou hast upon that long-shanked opponent of thine. Here is a gold
chain; take it as a proof that the King of England holds that you have
sustained well the honor of his country; and mark me, if at any time you
require a boon, bring or send me that chain, and thou shalt have it
freely. Sir Walter," he said, turning to the earl, "in this lad thou
hast a worthy champion, and I trust me that thou wilt give him every
chance of distinguishing himself. So soon as thou thinkest him fit for
the knightly rank I myself will administer the accolade."




CHAPTER VII.

REVENGE.


After his interview with the king Cuthbert was led to his tent amid the
hearty plaudits of the English troops.

His own comrades flocked round him; the men of the greenwood, headed by
Cnut, were especially jubilant over his victory.

"Who would have thought," said the tall forester, "that the lad who but
a short time ago was a child should now have sustained the honor of the
country? We feel proud of you, Cuthbert; and trust us some day or other
to follow wherever you may lead, and to do some deed which will attain
for you honor and glory, and show that the men of Evesham are as doughty
as any under King Richard's rule."

"You must be wary, Cuthbert," the earl said to him that evening.
"Believe me that you and I have made a foe, who, although he may not
have the power, has certainly the will to injure us to the death. I
marked the eye of Count Jacquelin during the fight, and again when you
were led up to the king. There was hatred and fury in his eye. The page
too, I hear, is his own nephew, and he will be the laughing-stock of the
French camp at having been conquered by one so much younger than
himself. It will be well to keep upon your guard, and not to go out at
night unattended. Keep Cnut near you; he is faithful as a watch-dog, and
would give his life, I am sure, for you. I will myself be also upon my
guard, for it was after all my quarrel, and the fury of this fierce
knight will vent itself upon both of us if the opportunity should come.
I hear but a poor account of him among his confreres. They say he is one
of those disgraces to the name of knight who are but a mixture of robber
and soldier; that he harries all the lands in his neighborhood; and that
he has now only joined the Crusade to avoid the vengeance which the
cries of the oppressed people had invoked from his liege lord. I am told
indeed that the choice was given him to be outlawed, or to join the
Crusades with all the strength he could raise. Naturally he adopted the
latter alternative; but he has the instincts of the robber still, and
will do us an evil turn, if he have the chance."

Two days later the great army broke up its camp and marched south. After
a week's journeying they encamped near a town, and halted there two or
three days in order to collect provisions for the next advance; for the
supplies which they could obtain in the country districts were wholly
insufficient for so great a host of men. Here the armies were to
separate, the French marching to Genoa, the English to Marseilles, the
town at which they were to take ship.

One evening the earl sent Cuthbert with a message to another English
lord, staying in the town at the palace of the bishop, who was a friend
of his.

Cnut accompanied Cuthbert, for he now made a point of seldom letting him
out of his sight. It was light when they reached the bishop's palace,
but here they were delayed for some time, and night had fallen when they
sallied out.

The town was already quiet, for the inhabitants cared not to show
themselves in the streets now that such a large army of fierce men were
in the neighborhood.

The orders indeed of the monarchs were stringent, but discipline there
was but little of, and the soldiery in those days regarded peaceful
citizens as fair game; hence, when they came from the palace the streets
of the city were already hushed and quiet, for the orders of the king
had been peremptory that no men-at-arms, or others except those on duty,
were to be away from their camp after nightfall. This order had been
absolutely necessary, so many were the complaints brought in by country
peasants and farmers of the doings of bands of soldiers.

Cnut and Cuthbert proceeded along the streets unmolested for some
distance. Occasionally a solitary passer-by, with hooded cape, hurried
past. The moon was half full, and her light was welcome indeed, for in
those days the streets were unlighted, and the pavement so bad that
passage through the streets after dark was a matter of difficulty, and
even of danger.

Here and there before some roadside shrine a lamp dimly burned; before
these they paused, and, as good Catholics, Cnut and Cuthbert crossed
themselves. Just as they had passed one of these wayside shrines, a
sudden shout was heard, and a party of eight or ten men sprang out from
a side street and fell upon them.

Cnut and Cuthbert drew their swords and laid about them heartily, but
their assailants were too strong. Cnut was stricken to the ground, and
Cuthbert, seeing that defense was hopeless, took to his heels and ran
for his life. He was already wounded, but happily not so severely as in
any way to disable him.

Seeing that it was speed, and speed alone, which now could save him, he
flung aside his belt and scabbard as he ran, and with rapid steps flew
along the streets, not knowing whither he went, and striving only to
keep ahead of his pursuers. They, more incumbered by arms and armor,
were unable to keep up with the flying footsteps of a lad clothed in the
light attire of a page; but Cuthbert felt that the blood running from
his wound was weakening him fast, and that unless he could gain some
refuge his course must speedily come to an end. Happily he saw at some
little distance ahead of him a man standing by a door. Just as he
arrived the door opened, and a glow of light from within fell on the
road, showing that the person entering was a monk.

Without a moment's hesitation Cuthbert rushed through the door, shouting
"Sanctuary!" and sank almost fainting on the ground.

The monks, accustomed to wild pursuits and scenes of outrage in those
warlike days, hastily closed the door, barring it securely. In a moment
there was a rush of men against it from without.

One of the monks opened a lattice above the door.

"What mean you," he said, "by this outrage? Know ye not that this is the
Monastery of St. John, and that it is sacrilege to lay a hand of
violence even against its postern? Begone," he said, "or we'll lodge a
complaint before the king."

The assailants, nothing daunted, continued to batter at the door; but at
this moment the monks, aroused from their beds, hastened to the spot,
and seizing bill and sword--for in those days even monks were obliged at
times to depend upon carnal weapons--they opened the door, and flung
themselves upon the assailants with such force that the latter,
surprised and discomfited, were forced to make a hasty retreat.

The doors were then again barred, and Cuthbert was carried up to a cell
in the building, where the leech of the monastery speedily examined his
wound, and pronounced that although his life was not in danger by it, he
was greatly weakened by the loss of blood, that the wound was a serious
one and that it would be some time before the patient would recover.

[Illustration: THE DOORS WERE AGAIN BARRED, AND CUTHBERT WAS CARRIED TO
A CELL.]

It was two days before Cuthbert was sufficiently restored to be able to
speak. His first question to the monk was as to his whereabouts, and how
long he had been there. Upon being answered, he entreated that a
messenger might be dispatched to the camp of the Earl of Evesham, to beg
that a litter might be sent for him, and to inquire what had become of
Cnut, whom he had last seen stricken down.

The monk replied, "My son, I grieve to tell you that your request cannot
be complied with. The army moved away yesternoon, and is now some
twenty-five miles distant. There is nothing for you but patience, and
when restored you can follow the army, and rejoin your master before he
embarks at Marseilles. But how is it that a lad so young as you can have
incurred the enmity of those who sought your life? For it is clear from
the pertinacity with which they urged their attack that their object was
not plunder, of which indeed they would get but little from you, but to
take your life."

Cuthbert recounted the circumstances which had led to the feud of the
Count of Brabant against him, for he doubted not that this truculent
knight was at the bottom of the attack.

"After what has happened," the monk said, "you will need have caution
when you leave here. The place where you have taken refuge is known to
them, and should this wild noble persist in his desire for vengeance
against you, he will doubtless leave some of his ruffians to watch the
monastery. We will keep a lookout, and note if any strangers are to be
seen near the gates; if we find that it is so, we shall consider what is
best to be done. We could of course appeal to the mayor for protection
against them, and could even have the strangers ejected from the town or
cast into prison; but it is not likely that we should succeed in
capturing more than the fellow who may be placed on the lookout, and the
danger would be in no wise lessened to yourself. But there is time to
talk over this matter before you leave. It will be another fortnight at
least before you will be able to pursue your journey."

Cuthbert gained strength more rapidly than the monk had expected. He was
generously fed, and this and his good constitution soon enabled him to
recover from the loss of blood; and at the end of five days he expressed
his hope that he could on the following day pursue his journey. The monk
who attended him shook his head.

"Thou mightst, under ordinary circumstances, quit us to-morrow, for thou
art well enough to take part in the ordinary pursuits of a page; but to
journey is a different thing. You may have all sorts of hardships to
endure; you may have even to trust for your life to your speed and
endurance; and it would be madness for you to go until your strength is
fully established. I regret to tell you that we have ascertained beyond
a doubt that the monastery is closely watched. We have sent some of the
acolytes out, dressed in the garbs of monks, and attended by one of our
elder brethren; and in, each case, a monk who followed at a distance of
fifty yards was able to perceive that they were watched. The town is
full of rough men, the hangers-on of the army; some, indeed, are
followers of laggard knights, but the greater portion are men who merely
pursue the army with a view to gain by its necessities, to buy plunder
from the soldiers, and to rob, and, if necessary, to murder should there
be a hope of obtaining gold. Among these men your enemies would have
little difficulty in recruiting any number, and no appeal that we could
make to the mayor would protect you from them when you have left the
walls. We must trust to our ingenuity in smuggling you out. After that,
it is upon your own strength and shrewdness that you must rely for an
escape from any snares that may be laid for you. You will see, then,
that at least another three or four days are needed before you can set
forth. Your countrymen are so far away that a matter of a few days will
make but little difference. They will in any case be delayed for a long
time at Marseilles before they embark; and whether you leave now or a
month hence, you would be equally in time to join them before their
embarkation--that is, supposing that you make your way through the
snares which beset you."

Cuthbert saw the justice of the reasoning, and it was another week
before he announced himself as feeling absolutely restored to strength
again, and capable of bearing as much exertion as he could have done
before his attack.

A long consultation was held with the prior and a monk who had acted as
his leech, as to the best plan of getting Cuthbert beyond the walls of
the city. Many schemes were proposed and rejected. Every monk who
ventured beyond the walls had been closely scrutinized, and one or two
of short stature had even been jostled in the streets, so as to throw
back their hoods and expose a sight of their faces. It was clear, then,
that it would be dangerous to trust to a disguise. Cuthbert proposed
that he should leave at night, trusting solely to their directions as to
the turnings he should take to bring him to the city walls, and that,
taking a rope, he should there let himself down, and make the best of
his way forward. This, however, the monks would not consent to, assuring
him that the watch was so strictly kept round the monastery that he
would inevitably be seen.

"No," the prior said, "the method, whatever it is, must be as open as
possible; and though I cannot at this moment hit upon a plan, I will
think it over to-night, and putting my ideas with those of Father Jerome
here, and the sacristan, who has a shrewd head, it will be hard if we
cannot between us contrive some plan to evade the watch of those robber
villains who beset the convent."

The next morning, when the prior came in to see Cuthbert, the latter
said: "Good father, I have determined not to endeavor to make off in
disguise. I doubt not that your wit could contrive some means by which I
should get clear of the walls without observation from the scouts of
this villain noble. But once in the country, I should have neither horse
nor armor, and should have hard work indeed to make my way down through
France, even though none of my enemies were on my track. I will
therefore, if it please you, go down boldly to the mayor and claim a
protection and escort. If he will but grant me a few men-at-arms for one
day's ride from the town, I can choose my own route, and riding out in
mail, can then take my chance of finding my way down to Marseilles."

"I will go down with you, my son," the prior said, "to the mayor. Two of
my monks shall accompany us; and assuredly no insult will be offered to
you in the street thus accompanied." Shortly afterward Cuthbert started
as arranged, and soon arrived at the house of the mayor, Sir John de
Cahors.

Upon the prior making known to this knight whom he had brought with him
the mayor exclaimed:

"_Peste!_ young gentleman; you have caused us no small trouble and
concern. We have had ridings to and fro concerning you, and furious
messages from your fiery king. When in the morning a tall, stalwart
knave dressed in green was found, slashed about in various places, lying
on the pavement, the townsmen, not knowing who he was, but finding that
he still breathed, carried him to the English camp, and he was claimed
as a follower of the Earl of Evesham. There was great wrath and anger
over this; and an hour later the earl himself came down and stated that
his page was missing, and that there was reason to believe that he had
been foully murdered, as he had accompanied the man found wounded.
Fortunately the bulk of the armies had marched away at early dawn, and
the earl had only remained behind in consequence of the absence of his
followers. I assured the angry Englishman that I would have a thorough
search made in the town; and although in no way satisfied, he rode off
after his king with all his force, carrying with him the long-limbed man
whom we had picked up. Two days after a message came back from King
Richard himself, saying that unless this missing page were discovered,
or if, he being killed, his murderers were not brought to justice and
punished, he would assuredly on his return from the Holy Land burn the
town over our ears. Your king is not a man who minces matters. However,
threatened men live long, especially when the person who threatens is
starting for a journey, from which, as like as not, he may never return.
However, I have had diligent search made for you. All the houses of bad
repute have been examined and their inhabitants questioned. But there
are so many camp-followers and other rabble at present in the town that
a hundred men might disappear without our being able to obtain a clew. I
doubted not indeed that your body had been thrown in the river, and
that we should never hear more of you. I am right glad that you have
been restored; not indeed from any fear of the threats of the king your
master, but because, from what the Earl of Evesham said, you were a lad
likely to come to great fame and honor. The earl left in my charge your
horse, and the armor which he said you wore at a tournament lately, in
case we should hear aught of you."

Cuthbert gave an exclamation of pleasure. His purse contained but a few
pieces of silver, and being without arms except for his short dagger, or
means of locomotion, the difficulties of the journey down to Marseilles
had sorely puzzled him. But with his good horse between his knees, and
his suit of Milan armor on his back, he thought that he might make his
way through any dangers which threatened him.

The prior now told the knight that circumstances had occurred which
showed that it was known to the assailants of Cuthbert that he had taken
refuge in the convent, over which a strict watch had been kept by
Cuthbert's enemies.

"If I could find the varlets I would hang them over the gates of the
town," the knight said wrathfully. "But as at the present moment there
are nearly as many rogues as honest men in the place it would be a
wholesale hanging indeed to insure getting hold of the right people.
Moreover, it is not probable that another attempt upon his life will be
made inside our walls; and doubtless the main body of this gang are
somewhere without, intending to assault him when he continues his
journey, and they have left but a spy or two here to inform them as to
his movements. I will give you any aid in my power, young sir. The army
is by this time nigh Marseilles, and, sooth to say, I have no body of
men-at-arms whom I could send as your escort for so long a distance. I
have but a small body here, and they are needed, and sorely, too, to
keep order within the walls."

"I thought, sir," Cuthbert said, "that if you could lend me a party of
say four men-at-arms to ride with me for the first day I could then
trust to myself, especially if you could procure me one honest man to
act as guide and companion. Doubtless they suppose that I should travel
by the main road south; but by going the first day's journey either east
or west, and then striking some southward road, I should get a fair
start of them, throw all their plans out, and perchance reach Marseilles
without interruption."

The knight willingly agreed to furnish four men-at-arms, and a
trustworthy guide who would at least take him as far south as Avignon.

"I will," he said, "tell the men-at-arms off to-night. They shall be at
the western gate at daybreak, with the pass permitting them to ride
through. The guide shall be at the convent door half an hour earlier. I
will send up to-night your armor and horse. Here is a purse which the
Earl of Evesham also left for your use. Is there aught else I can do for
you?"

"Nothing, sir," Cuthbert said; "and if I regain the army in safety I
shall have pleasure in reporting to King Richard how kindly and
courteously you have treated me."

The arrangements were carried out.

An hour before daybreak Cuthbert was aroused, donned his armor and steel
casque, drank a flask of wine, and ate a manchet of bread which the
prior himself brought him, and then, with a cordial adieu to the kind
monks, issued forth.

The guide had just reached the gate, and together they trotted down the
narrow streets to the west gate of the city, where four men-at-arms were
awaiting them.

The gates were at once opened, and Cuthbert and his little troop sallied
forth.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE ATTACK.


All day they rode with their faces west, and before nightfall had made a
journey of over forty miles. Then bestowing a largess upon the
men-at-arms, Cuthbert dismissed them, and took up his abode at a
hostelry, his guide looking to the two horses.

Cuthbert was pleased with the appearance of the man who had been placed
at his disposal. He was a young fellow of twenty-two or twenty-three,
with an honest face. He was, he told Cuthbert, the son of a small farmer
near Avignon; but having a fancy for trade, he had been apprenticed to a
master smith. Having served his apprenticeship, he found that he had
mistaken his vocation, and intended to return to the paternal vineyards.

Cuthbert calculated that he would make at least four days' journey to
the south before he could meet with any dangers. Doubtless his exit from
the convent had been discovered, and the moment the gates of the city
were opened the spy would have proceeded south to warn his comrades, and
these would doubtless have taken a road which at a distance would again
take them on to that by which Cuthbert would be now traveling. As,
however, he rode fast, and made long marches each day, he hoped that he
might succeed in distancing them. Unfortunately, upon the third day his
horse cast his shoe, and no smith could be met with until the end of the
day's journey. Consequently, but a short distance could be done and this
at a slow pace. Upon the fifth day after their first start they arrived
at a small town.

The next morning Cuthbert on rising found that his guide did not present
himself as usual. Making inquiries he found that the young man had gone
out the evening before, and had not returned. Extremely uneasy at the
circumstance, Cuthbert went to the city guard, thinking that perhaps his
guide might have got drunk, and been shut up in the cells. No news,
however, was to be obtained there, and after waiting some hours, feeling
sure that some harm had befallen him, he gave notice to the authorities
of his loss, and then mounting his horse, and leaving some money with
the landlord of the hostelry to give to his guide in case the latter
should return, he started at midday by the southern road.

He felt sure now that he was overtaken, and determined to keep his eyes
and faculties thoroughly on watch.

The roads in those days were mere tracks. Here and there a little
village was to be met with; but the country was sparsely cultivated, and
traveling lonely work. Cuthbert rode fast, carefully avoiding all
copses and small woods through which the road ran, by making a circuit
round them and coming on to it again on the other side.

His horse was an excellent one, the gift of the earl, and he had little
fear, with his light weight, of being overtaken if he could once leave
his enemies behind him.

At length he approached an extensive forest, which stretched for miles
on either side.

Half a mile before he reached it the track divided.

He had for some little time eased his horse down to a walk, as he felt
that the wood would be the spot where he would in all probability be
attacked, and he needed that his steed should be possessed of its utmost
vigor.

At the spot where the track branched a man in the guise of a mendicant
was sitting. He begged for alms, and Cuthbert threw him a small coin.

A sudden thought struck him as he heard a rustling in the bushes near.

"Which is the nearest and best road to Avignon?" he said.

"The right-hand road is the best and shortest," the beggar said. "The
other makes a long circuit and leads through several marshes, which your
honor will find it hard to pass."

Cuthbert thanked him and moved forward, still at a walk, along the
right-hand road.

When he had gone about two hundred yards, and was hidden from the sight
of the man he had left--the country being rough, and scattered with
clumps of bushes--he halted, and, as he expected, heard the sound of
horses' hoofs coming on at full gallop along the other road.

"Your master must have thought me young indeed," he said, "to try and
catch me with such a transparent trick as that. I do not suppose that
accursed page has more than ten men with him, and doubtless has placed
five on each road. This fellow was placed here to see which track I
would follow, and has now gone to give the party on the left hand the
news that I have taken this way. Had it not been for him I should have
had to run the gantlet with four or five of my enemies. As it is, the
path will doubtless be clear."

So saying, he turned his horse, galloped back to the spot where the
tracks separated, and then followed the left-hand route.

As he had hoped, he passed through the wood without incident or
interruption, and arrived safely that night at a small town, having seen
no signs of his enemies.

The next day he started again early, and rode on until midday, when he
halted at a large village, at which was the only inn between the place
from which he started and his destination. He declined the offer of the
servant of the inn to take his horse round to the stable, telling the
man to hold him outside the door and give him from a sieve a few
handfuls of grain.

Then he entered the inn and ate a hearty meal. As he appeared at the
door he saw several men gathered near. With a single spring he threw
himself into the saddle, just as a rush forward was made by those
standing round. The man next to him sprang upon him, and endeavored to
drag him from the saddle. Cuthbert drew the little dagger called a
_misericorde_ from his belt, and plunged it into his throat. Then
seizing the short mace which hung at the saddlebow, he hurled it with
all his force full in the face of his enemy, the page of Sir Philip, who
was rushing upon him sword in hand. The heavy weapon struck him fairly
between the eyes, and with a cry he fell back, his face completely
smashed in by the blow, the sword which he held uplifted to strike
flying far through the air.

Cuthbert struck his spurs into his horse, and the animal dashed forward
with a bound, Cuthbert striking with his long sword at one or two men
who made a snatch at the reins. In another minute he was cantering out
of the village, convinced that he had killed the leader of his foes, and
that he was safe now to pursue the rest of his journey on to Marseilles.

So it turned out.

Without further incident he traveled through the south of France, and
arrived at the great seaport. He speedily discovered the quarters in
which the Earl of Evesham's contingent were encamped, and made toward
this without delay. As he entered a wild shout of joy was heard, and
Cnut ran forward with many gestures of delight.

"My dear Cuthbert, my dear Cuthbert!" he exclaimed. "Can it be true that
you have escaped? We all gave you up; and although I did my best, yet
had you not survived it I should never have forgiven myself, believing
that I might have somehow done better, and have saved you from the
cutthroats who attacked us."

"Thanks, thanks, my good Cnut," Cuthbert cried. "I have been through a
time of peril, no doubt; but as you see, I am hale and well--better,
methinks, than you are, for you look pale and ill; and I doubt not that
the wound which I received was a mere scratch to that which bore you
down. It sounded indeed like the blow of a smith's hammer upon an
anvil."

"Fortunately, my steel cap saved my head somewhat," Cnut said, "and the
head itself is none of the thinnest; but it tried it sorely, I confess.
However, now that you are back I shall, doubt not, soon be as strong as
ever I was. I think that fretting for your absence has kept me back more
than the inflammation from the wound itself--but there is the earl at
the door of his tent."

Through the foresters and retainers who had at Cnut's shout of joy
crowded up, Cuthbert made his way, shaking hands right and left with the
men, among whom he was greatly loved, for they regarded him as being in
a great degree the cause of their having been freed from outlawry, and
restored to civil life again. The earl was really affected. As Cuthbert
rode up he held out both arms, and as his page alighted he embraced him
as a father.

"My dear Cuthbert!" he exclaimed. "What anxiety have we not suffered.
Had you been my own son, I could not have felt more your loss. We did
not doubt for an instant that you had fallen into the hands of some of
the retainers of that villain count; and from all we could learn, and
from the absence of any dead body by the side of that of Cnut, I
imagined that you must have been carried off. It was clear that your
chance of life, if you fell into the hands of that evil page, or his
equally vile master, was small indeed. The very day that Cnut was
brought in I visited the French camp, and accused him of having been the
cause of your disappearance and Cnut's wounds. He affected the greatest
astonishment at the charge. He had not, as he said, been out of the camp
for two days. My accusation was unfounded and malicious, and I should
answer this as well as the previous outrage, when the vow of the
Crusaders to keep peace among themselves was at an end. Of course I had
no means of proving what I said, or I would have gone direct to the king
and charged him with the outrage. As it was I gained nothing by my
pains. He has accompanied the French division to Genoa; but when we meet
at Sicily, where the two armies are to rendezvous, I will bring the
matter before the king, as the fact that his page was certainly
concerned in it must be taken as showing that he was the instigator."

"It would, my lord earl, be perhaps better," Cuthbert said, "if I might
venture to advise, to leave the matter alone. No doubt the count would
say that he had discharged his page after the tournament, and that the
latter was only carrying out his private feud with me. We should not be
able to disprove the story, and should gain no satisfaction by the
matter."

The earl admitted the justice of Cuthbert's reasoning, but reserved to
himself the task of punishing the author of the outrage upon the first
fitting opportunity.

There was a weary delay at Marseilles before the expedition set sail.
This was caused by the fact of the English fleet, which had been ordered
to be there upon their arrival, failing to keep the agreement.

The words English fleet badly describe the vessels which were to carry
the English contingent to their destination. They were ships belonging
to the maritime nations of Italy--the Venetians, Genoese, Pisans, etc.;
for England at that time had but few of her own, and these scarcely
fitted for the stormy navigation of the Bay of Biscay.

King Richard, impatient as ever of delay, at last lost his temper, and
embarked on board a ship with a few of his chosen knights, and set sail
by himself for Sicily, the point at which the two armies of the
expedition were to reunite. A few days after his departure the
long-looked-for fleet arrived, and a portion of the English host
embarked at once, and set sail for Sicily, where they were to be
landed, and the ships were to return to fetch the remaining contingent.

A sea voyage of this kind in those days was a serious matter. Long
voyages were rare, and troops were carried very much upon the principle
of herrings; that is, were packed as close as they could be, without any
reference to their comfort. As the voyages seldom lasted more than
twenty-four hours, this did not much matter, but during long voyages the
discomforts, or as may be said sufferings, of the troops were
considerable. So tightly packed were the galleys in which the English
set sail from Marseilles that there was no walking about. Every man
slept where he sat, and considered himself lucky indeed if he could
obtain room sufficient to stretch himself at full length. Most slept
sitting against bulwarks or other supports. In the cabins, where the
knights, their pages and squires were placed, the crowding was of course
less excessive, but even here the amount of space, which a subaltern
traveling to India for the first time nowadays would grumble at, was
considered amply sufficient for half a dozen knights of distinction. It
was a week after sailing, when Cnut touched Cuthbert's arm as he came on
deck one morning, and said:

"Look, look, Cuthbert! that mountain standing up in the water has caught
fire on the top. Did you ever see such a thing?"

The soldiers crowded to the side of the vessel in intense astonishment
and no little awe. From the top of a lofty and rugged hill, rising
almost straight from the sea, flames were roaring up, smoke hung over
the island, and stones were thrown into the air and rattled down the
side of the hill, or fell into the sea with a splash.

"That is a fearsome sight," Cnut said, crossing himself.

"It looks as if it was the mouth of purgatory," exclaimed another,
standing by.

Cuthbert himself was amazed, for the instruction he had received from
Father Francis was of too slight a nature to include the story of
volcanoes. A priest, however, who accompanied the ship in the character
of leech and confessor, explained the nature of the phenomenon to his
astonished listeners, and told them that over on the mainland was a
mountain which at times vomited forth such masses of stones and of
liquid rock that it had swallowed up and covered many great cities.
There was also, he told them, another mountain of the same sort, even
more vast, on the island of Sicily itself; but that this had seldom, as
far back as man could remember, done any great harm.

Sailing on, in another day they arrived off the coast of Sicily itself,
and sailing up the straits between it and the mainland they landed at
Messina. Here a considerable portion of the French army had already
arrived, having been brought down from Genoa.

There was no news of the King of England; and, as often happens, the
saying "The more haste the less speed," had been verified here.

It was some days later before King Richard arrived, having been driven
from his course by tempests, well-nigh cast ashore, and having besides
gone through many adventures. Three weeks later the whole of the army of
the Crusaders were gathered around Messina, where it was intended to
remain some little time before starting. It was a gay time; and the
kings vied with each other in entertainments, joustings, and
tournaments. The Italian knights also made a brave show, and it might
have been thought that this huge army of men were gathered there simply
for amusement and feasting. In the tournaments every effort was made to
prevent any feeling of national rivalry, and although parties of knights
held their own against all comers, these were most carefully selected to
represent several nationalities, and therefore victory, on whichsoever
side it fell, excited no feelings of bitterness.

Alone, King Richard was undoubtedly the strongest cavalier of the two
armies. Against his ponderous strength no knight could keep his seat;
and this was so palpable that after many victories King Richard was
forced to retire from the lists from want of competitors, and to take
his place on the dais with the more peace-loving King of France.

The gayety of the camp was heightened by the arrival of many nobles and
dames from Italy. Here, too, came the Queen of Navarre, bringing with
her the beautiful Princess Berengaria.

"Methinks," the Earl of Evesham said to Cuthbert a fortnight after the
arrival of the queen "that unless my eyes deceive me the princess is
likely to be a cause of trouble."

"In what way?" asked Cuthbert with surprise, for he had been struck with
her marvelous beauty, and wondered greatly what mischief so fair a being
could do.

"By the way in which our good lord, the king, gazes upon her, methinks
that it were like enough that he broke off his engagement with the
Prince of France for the sake of the fair eyes of this damsel."

"That were indeed a misfortune," Cuthbert said gravely, for he saw at
once the anger which such a course would excite in the minds of the
French king and his knights, who would naturally be indignant in the
extreme at the slight put upon their princess. As day after day passed
it became evident to all that the King of England was infatuated by the
princess. Again he entered the lists himself, and as some fresh Italian
knights and others had arrived, he found fresh opponents, and
conspicuously laid the spoils of victory at the feet of the princess,
whom he selected as the Queen of Beauty.

All sorts of rumors now became current in camp; violent quarrels between
the kings, and bad feelings between the French and English knights broke
out again in consequence, and this more violently than before.




CHAPTER IX.

THE PRINCESS BERENGARIA.


One night it chanced that Cuthbert was late in his return to camp, and
his road took him through a portion of the French encampment; the night
was dark, and Cuthbert presently completely lost all idea as to his
bearings. Presently he nearly ran against a tent; he made his way to the
entrance in order to crave directions as to his way--for it was a wet
night; the rain was pouring in torrents, and few were about of whom he
could demand the way--and, as he was about to draw aside the hangings,
he heard words said in a passionate voice which caused him to withdraw
his hand suddenly.

"I tell you," said a voice, "I would rather drive a dagger myself into
her heart than allow our own princess to be insulted by this hot-headed
island dog."

"It is sad indeed," said another, but in a calmer smoother tone, "that
the success of a great expedition like this, which has for its object
the recovery of the holy sepulcher from the infidels, should be wrecked
by the headstrong fancies of one man. It is even, as is told by the old
Grecian poet, as when Helen caused a great war between people of that
nation."

"I know nothing," another voice said, "either of Helen or the Greeks, or
of their poets. They are a shifty race, and I can believe aught that is
bad of them. But touching this princess of Navarre, I agree with our
friend, it would be a righteous deed to poniard her, and so to remove
the cause of dispute between the two kings, and, indeed, the two
nations. This insult laid upon our princess is more than we, as French
knights and gentlemen, can brook; and if the king says the word there is
not a gentleman in the army but will be ready to turn his sword against
the islanders."

Then the smooth voice spoke again.

"It would, my brethren, be wrong and useless to shed blood; but methinks
that if this apple of discord could be removed a good work would be done
not, as our friend the count has suggested, by a stab of the dagger;
that indeed would be worse than useless. But surely there are scores of
religious houses, where this bird might be placed in a cage without a
soul knowing where she was, and where she might pass her life in prayer
that she may be pardoned for having caused grave hazards of the failure
of an enterprise in which all the Christian world is concerned."

The voices of the speakers now fell, and Cuthbert was straining his ear
to listen, when he heard footsteps approaching the tent, and he glided
away into the darkness.

With great difficulty be recovered the road to the camp, and when he
reached his tent he confided to the Earl of Evesham what he had heard.

"This is serious indeed," the earl said, "and bodes no little trouble
and danger. It is true that the passion which King Richard has conceived
for Berengaria bids fair to wreck the Crusade, by the anger which it has
excited in the French king and his nobles; but the disappearance of the
princess would no less fatally interfere with it, for the king would be
like a raging lion deprived of his whelps, and would certainly move no
foot eastward until he had exhausted all the means in his power of
tracing his lost lady love. You could not, I suppose, Cuthbert, point
out the tent where this conversation took place?"

"I could not," Cuthbert answered; "in the darkness one tent is like
another. I think I should recognize the voices of the speakers did I
hear them again; indeed, one voice I did recognize; it was that of the
Count of Brabant, with whom we had trouble before."

"That is good," the earl said, "because we have at least an object to
watch. It would never do to tell the king what you have heard. In the
first place, his anger would be so great that it would burst all bounds,
and would cause, likely enough, a battle at once between the two armies;
nor would it have any good effect, for he of Brabant would of course
deny the truth of your assertions, and would declare it was merely a
got-up story to discredit him with the king, and so to wipe out the old
score now standing between us. No, if we are to succeed, alike in
preventing harm happening to the princess, and an open break between the
two monarchs, it must be done by keeping a guard over the princess,
unsuspected by all, and ourselves frustrating any attempt which may be
made."

Cuthbert expressed his willingness to carry out the instructions which
the earl might give him; and, much disturbed by the events of the day,
both earl and page retired to rest, to think over what plan had best be
adopted.

The princess was staying at the palace of the bishop of the town; this
he, having another residence a short distance outside the walls, had
placed at the disposal of the Queen of Navarre and her suite; and the
first step of Cuthbert in the morning was to go into the town, to
reconnoiter the position and appearance of the building. It was a large
and irregular pile, and communicated with the two monasteries lying
alongside of it. It would therefore clearly be a most difficult thing to
keep up a complete watch on the exterior of so large a building. There
were so many ways in which the princess might be captured and carried
off by unscrupulous men that Cuthbert in vain thought over every plan by
which it could be possible to safeguard her. She might be seized upon
returning from a tournament or entertainment; but this was improbable,
as the queen would always have an escort of knights with her, and no
attempt could be successful except at the cost of a public fracas and
much loss of blood. Cuthbert regarded as out of the question that an
outrage of this kind would be attempted.

The fact that one of the speakers in the tent had used the words "my
sons," showed that one priest or monk, at least, was connected with the
plot. It was possible that this man might have power in one of the
monasteries, or he might be an agent of the bishop himself; and Cuthbert
saw that it would be easy enough in the night for a party from one or
other of the monasteries to enter by the door of communication with the
palace, and carry off the princess without the slightest alarm being
given. Once within the walls of the convent she could be either hidden
in the dungeons or secret places, which buildings of that kind were sure
to possess, or could be at once carried out by some quiet entrance, and
taken into the country, or transferred to some other building in the
town.

When Cuthbert joined the earl he told him the observations that he had
made, and Sir Walter praised the judgment which he had shown in his
conclusions. The earl was of opinion that it would be absolutely
necessary to get some clew as to the course which the abductors purposed
to take; indeed it was possible that on after-consideration they might
drop their plan altogether, for the words which Cuthbert had overheard
scarcely betokened a plan completely formed and finally decided upon.

The great point he considered, therefore, was that the tent of his old
enemy should be carefully watched, and that an endeavor should be made
to hear something of what passed within, which might give a clew to the
plan fixed upon. They did not, of course, know whether the tent in which
the conversation had been heard by Cuthbert was that of Sir de Jacquelin
Barras, or of one of the other persons who had spoken; and Cuthbert
suggested that the first thing would be to find out whether the count,
after nightfall, was in the habit of going to some other tent, or
whether, on the other hand, he remained within and was visited by
others.

It was easy, of course, to discover which was his tent; and Cuthbert
soon got its position, and then took Cnut into his counsels.

"The matter is difficult," Cnut said, "and I see no way by which a watch
can be kept up by day; but after dark--I have several men in my band who
can track a deer, and surely could manage to follow the steps of this
baron without being observed. There is little Jack, who is no bigger
than a boy of twelve, although he can shoot, and run, and play with the
quarterstaff, or, if need be, with the bill, against the best man in the
troop. I warrant me that if you show him the tent he will keep such
sharp watch that no one shall enter or depart without his knowing where
they go to. On a dark night he will be able to slip among the tents, and
to move here and there without being seen. He can creep on his stomach
without moving a leaf, and trust me the eyes of these French
men-at-arms will look in vain for a glimpse of him."

"You understand, Cnut, all that I want to know is whether the other
conspirators in this matter visit his tent, or whether he goes to
theirs."

"I understand," Cnut said. "That is the first point to be arrived at."

Three days later Cnut brought news that each night after dark a party of
five men met in the tent that was watched; that one of the five always
came out when all had assembled, and took his station before the
entrance of the tent, so as to be sure that no eavesdropper was near.

Cuthbert smiled.

"It is a case of locking the door after the horse has gone."

"What is to be done now?" Cnut asked.

"I will talk with the earl before I tell you, Cnut. This matter is too
serious for me to take a step without consulting Sir Walter."

That night there was a long talk between the earl and his page as to the
best course to be pursued. It was clear that their old enemy was the
leading person in the plot, and that the only plan to baffle it with any
fair chances of success was to keep a constant eye upon his movements,
and also to have three or four of the sturdiest men of the band told off
to watch, without being perceived, each time that the princess was in
her palace.

The Earl of Evesham left the arrangements entirely in the hands of his
page, of whose good sense and sagacity he had a very high opinion.

His own first impulse had been to go before the king and denounce the
Count of Brabant. But the ill-will between them was already well known;
for not only was there the original dispute at the banquet, but when the
two armies had joined at Sicily, King Richard, who had heard from the
earl of the attempt at the assassination of Cuthbert, had laid a
complaint before King Philip of the conduct of his subject.

Sir de Jacquelin Barras, however, had denied that he had any finger in
the matter.

"He had," he said, "discharged his page after the encounter with
Cuthbert, and knew nothing further whatever of his movements."

Although it was morally certain that the page could not have purchased
the services of the men who assisted him, from his own purse, or gain
them by any means of persuasion, but that they were either the followers
of the Count of Brabant, or ruffians hired with his money, as no proof
could be obtained the matter was allowed to drop.

The earl felt, however, that an accusation against the count by him of
an intention to commit a high crime, and this merely on the evidence of
his page, would appear like an attempt to injure the fame of his rival.

Feeling, therefore, that nothing could be done save to watch, he left
the matter entirely in the hands of his page, telling him that he could
take as many men-at-arms or archers as he might choose and use them in
his name.

Cnut entered warmly into Cuthbert's plans; and finally it was arranged
between them that six of the archers should nightly keep watch opposite
the various entrances of the bishop's palace and of the two monasteries
joining. Of course, they could not patrol up and down without attracting
attention, but they were to take up posts where they could closely
observe the entrances, and were either to lie down and feign drunken
sleep, or to conceal themselves within the shadow of an arch or other
hiding-place.

Down on the seashore Cuthbert made an arrangement with one of the owners
of small craft lying there that ten of his men should sleep on board
every night, together with some fishermen accustomed to the use of the
oar.

Cuthbert himself determined to be always with this party.

Night after night passed, and so long a time went by that Cuthbert began
to think the design must have been given up.

However, he resolved to relax none of his watchfulness during the
remaining time that the expedition might stop in Sicily.

It was in January, three weeks after the first watch had been set, when
one of the men who had been placed to watch the entrance to one of the
monasteries leaped on board the craft and shook Cuthbert by the
shoulder.

"A party of some five men," he said, "have just issued out from the
monastery. They are bearing a burden--what, I cannot see. They were
making in the direction of the water. I whistled to Dion who was next to
me in the lane. He is following them, and I came on to tell you to
prepare."

The night was pitch-dark, and it was difficult in the extreme to see any
one moving at a short distance off.

There were two or three streets that led from the monastery, which stood
at the top of the town, toward the sea; and a party coming down might
take any of these, according to the position in which the boat they were
seeking was placed.

Cuthbert now instantly sent five or six of his men with instructions to
avoid all noise, along the line of the port, with orders to bring in
word should anyone come down and take boat, or should they hear any
noise in the town. He himself with the sailors loosed the ropes which
fastened the boat to shore, got out the oars, and prepared to put off at
a moment's notice.

He was of course ignorant whether the abductor would try to carry the
princess off by water, or would hide her in one of the convents of the
town; but he was inclined to think that the former would be the course
adopted; for the king in his wrath would be ready to lay the town in
flames, and to search every convent from top to bottom for the princess.
Besides, there would be too many aware of the secret.

Cuthbert was not wrong in his supposition.

Soon the man he had sent to the extreme right came running up with the
news that a boat had embarked at the further end with a party of some
ten men on board. As he came along he had warned the others, and in five
minutes the whole party were collected in the craft, numbering in all
twelve of Cuthbert's men and six sailors. They instantly put out, and
rowed in the direction in which the boat would have gone, the boatmen
expressing their opinion that probably the party would make for a vessel
which was lying anchored at some little distance from shore. The
bearings of the position of this ship was known to the boatmen, but the
night was so dark that they were quite unable to find it. Orders had
been given that no sound or whisper was to be heard on board the boat;
and after rowing as far as they could the boatmen said they were in the
direction of the ship.

The boatmen all lay on their oars, and all listened intently. Presently
the creaking of a pulley was heard in the still night, at a distance of
a few hundred yards. This was enough. It was clear that the vessel was
getting up sail. The boat's head was turned in that direction; the crew
rowed steadily but noiselessly, and in a few minutes the tall mast of a
vessel could be seen faintly against the sky. Just as they perceived the
situation, a hail from on board showed that their approach was now
observed.

"Stretch to your oars," Cuthbert said, "we must make a dash for it now."

The rowers bent to their work and in a minute the boat ran alongside the
craft.

As Cuthbert and his followers scrambled upon the deck they were attacked
by those of the crew and passengers who were standing near; but it was
evident at once that the chiefs of the expedition had not heard the
hail, and that there was no general plan of defense against them.

It was not until the last of them had gained a footing and were
beginning to fight their way along the vessel that from below three or
four men-at-arms ran up, and one in a tone of authority demanded what
was the matter. When he heard the clash of swords and the shouts of the
combatants he put himself at once at the head of the party and a fierce
and obstinate fight now took place.

The assailants had, however, the advantage.

Cuthbert and his men were all lightly clad, and this on the deck of a
ship lumbered with ropes and gear, and in the dark, was a great
advantage, for the mailed men-at-arms frequently stumbled and fell. The
fight lasted for several minutes. Cnut, who was armed with a heavy mace,
did great service, for with each of his sweeping blows he broke down the
guard of an opponent, and generally leveled him to the deck.

The numbers at the beginning of the fight were not unequal, but the men
to whom the vessel belonged made but a faint resistance when they
perceived that the day was going against them. The men-at-arms, however,
consisting of three, who appeared to be the leaders, and of eight
pikemen fought stubbornly and well.

Cuthbert was not long in detecting in the tones of the man who was
clearly at the head of affairs the voice of Sir de Jacquelin Barras. To
do him justice he fought with extreme bravery, and when almost all his
followers were cut down or beaten overboard, he resisted stanchly and
well. With a heavy two-handed sword he cleaved a space at the end of the
boat, and kept the whole of Cuthbert's party at bay.

At last Cnut, who had been engaged elsewhere, came to the front, and a
tough fight ensued between them.

It might have ended badly for the brave forester, for his lack of armor
gave an enormous advantage to his opponent. Soon, however, the count's
foot slipped on the boards of the deck, and before he could recover
himself the mace of Cnut descended with tremendous force upon his head,
which was unprotected, as he had taken off his casque on arriving at the
ship. Without a word or a cry the count fell forward on the deck, killed
as a bullock by a blow of a poleax.

While this conflict had been going on, occasionally the loud screams of
a woman had been heard below.

Cuthbert, attended by Cnut and two of his followers, now descended.

At the bottom of the steps they found a man-at-arms placed at the door
of a cabin. He challenged as they approached, but being speedily
convinced that the vessel was in their hands, and that his employer and
party were all conquered, he made a virtue of necessity, and laid down
his arms.

"You had better go in alone," Cnut said, "Master Cuthbert. The lady is
less likely to be frightened by your appearance than by us, for she must
wonder indeed what is going on."

On entering the cabin, which had evidently been fitted up for the use of
a lady, Cuthbert saw standing at the other end the princess, whom of
course he knew well by sight. A lamp was burning in the cabin, and by
its light he could see that her face was deadly pale. Her robes were
torn and disarranged, and she wore a look at once of grave alarm and
surprise upon seeing a handsomely dressed page enter with a deep
reverence.

"What means this outrage, young sir? Whoever you be, I warn you that the
King of England will revenge this indignity."

"Your highness," Cuthbert said, "you have no further reason for alarm;
the knaves who carried you off from the bishop's palace and conveyed you
to this ship are all either killed or in our power. I am the page of the
Earl of Evesham, a devoted follower of King Richard. Some of the designs
of the bold men came to the ears of my lord, and he ordered me and a
band of his followers to keep good guard over the palace and buildings
adjoining. We were unable to gather our strength in time to prevent your
being taken on board, but we lost no time in putting forth when we found
that your abductors had taken boat, and by good fortune arrived here in
time; a few minutes later, and the knaves would have succeeded in their
object, for the sails were already being hoisted, and the vessel making
way, when we arrived. Your abductors are all either killed or thrown
overboard, and the vessel's head is now turned toward the shore, and I
hope in a few minutes to have the honor of escorting you to the palace."

The princess, with a sigh of much satisfaction and relief, sank on to a
couch.

"I am indeed indebted to you, young sir," she said. "Believe me, the
Princess Berengaria is not ungrateful, and should it be ever in her
power to do aught for your lord, or for yourself, or for those who have
accompanied you to rescue her, believe me that she will do it."

"May I be so bold as to ask a boon?" Cuthbert said, dropping on one knee
before her.

"It is granted at once, whatever it be, if in my power."

"My boon is, lady," he said, "that you will do your best to assuage the
natural anger which the King of England will feel at this bold and most
violent attempt. That he should be told, is of course necessary; but,
lady, much depends upon the telling, and I am sure that at your request
the king would restrain his anger. Were it not for that, I fear that
such quarrels and disputes might arise as would bring the two armies to
blows, and destroy forever all hope of the successful termination of
our joint enterprise."

"You are a wise and good youth," the princess said, holding out her hand
to Cuthbert, which, as duty bound, he placed to his lips. "Your request
is wise and most thoughtful. I will use any poor influence which I may
possess"--and Cuthbert could see that the blood came back now to the
white face--"to induce King Richard to allow the matter to pass over.
There is no reason why he should take up the case. I am no more under
his protection than under that of the King of France, and it is to the
latter I should appeal, for as I believe the men who abducted me were
his subjects."

"The leader of them, madam, was a certain Sir de Jacquelin Barras, a
Count of Brabant, with whom my master has had an old feud, and who has
been just killed by the leader of our men-at-arms. The others, who have
had the most active hand in the matter, have also perished; and it
would, I think be doubtful whether any clew could be obtained of those
who were in league with them. The only man in the party who is alive was
placed as a sentry at your door, and as he is but a man-at-arms we may
be sure that he knows naught of the enterprise, but has merely carried
out the orders of his master."

The vessel had by this time brought up close to the port. The princess
determined to wait on board until the first dawn was seen in the skies,
and then under the escort of her deliverers to go back to the palace,
before the town was moving. This plan was carried out, and soon after
dawn the princess was safe in the palace from which she had been carried
a few hours previously.




CHAPTER X.

PIRATES.


It was not possible that a matter of this sort could be entirely hushed
up. Not many hours passed before rumors were current of events which had
taken place, though none knew what those events were.

There were reports that the tire-woman of the Princess Berengaria had in
the night discovered that her mistress' couch was unoccupied, that she
had found signs of a struggle, and had picked up a dagger on the floor,
where it had evidently fallen from the sheath; also it was said that the
princess had returned at daylight escorted by an armed party, and that
she was unable to obtain entrance to the palace until one of the ladies
of the queen had been fetched down to order the sentries at the gate to
allow her to enter.

This was the news which rumor carried through the camp. Few, however,
believed it, and none who could have enlightened them opened their lips
upon the subject.

It was known, however, that a messenger had come to King Richard early,
and that he had at once mounted and ridden off to the bishop's palace.
What had happened there none could say, but there were rumors that his
voice had been heard in furious outbursts of passion. He remained there
until the afternoon, when he sent for a number of his principal nobles.

When these arrived they found him standing on a dais in the principal
hall of the palace, and he there formally introduced to them the
Princess Berengaria as his affianced wife. The ceremony of the marriage,
he told them, would shortly take place.

This announcement caused a tremendous stir in both armies. The English,
who had never been favorable to the alliance with the French princess,
were glad to hear that this was broken off, and were well content that
the Princess Berengaria should be their future queen, for her beauty,
high spirit, and kindness had won all hearts.

On the part of the French, on the other hand, there was great
indignation, and for some time it was feared that the armies would come
to open blows.

King Philip, however, although much angered, was politic enough to
deprecate any open outbreak. He knew that a dispute now began would not
only at once put a stop to the Crusade, but that it might lead to more
serious consequences at home. The fiery bravery of the English king,
backed as it would be by the whole strength of his subjects, might
render him a very formidable opponent; and the king felt that private
grievances must be laid aside where the good of France was concerned.

Still the coldness between the armies increased, their camps were moved
further apart, and during the time that they remained in Sicily there
was but little commerce between the two forces.

As soon as the winter had broken the French monarch broke up his camp,
and in March sailed for the Holy Land.

The English had expected that the marriage ceremony of the king and
Princess Berengaria would be celebrated before they left Sicily, but
this was not the case. There were high joustings and _fetes_ in honor of
the princess, but the marriage was delayed. A fortnight after the French
had sailed the English embarked in the two hundred ships which had been
prepared, and sailed also on their way to Acre.

It must not be supposed that the attempted abduction of the Princess
Berengaria was unimportant in its results to Cuthbert.

After returning from the palace the king, who had heard from her the
details of what had taken place, and the names of her rescuers, sent for
the Earl of Evesham. The latter had of course learned from Cuthbert all
that had happened, and had expressed his high approval of his conduct,
and his gratification at the result.

"I learn, Sir Earl," said King Richard, "that it is to you that I am
indebted for the rescue of the princess. She tells me that suspecting
some plot you placed a guard around the bishop's palace, with a strong
body on the shore ready to rescue her from the hands of any who might
attempt to take her to sea."

"It is as you say, sire," replied the earl; "but the whole merit of the
affair rests upon my page, the lad whom you may remember as having
fought with and conquered the French page, and of whose conduct you then
approved highly. You may also remember that he escaped by some display
of bravery and shrewdness the further attempts to assassinate him, and
your majesty was good enough to make a complaint to King Philip of the
conduct of one of his nobles on that head. It seems that some two months
since the lad in coming through the French camp at night missed his way,
and accidentally overheard a few words spoken in a voice which he
recognized as that of his enemy. The name of your majesty being
mentioned, he deemed it his duty to listen, and thus discovered that a
plot was on foot for carrying off the princess. After consultation with
me, we agreed upon the course to be adopted, namely, to place sentries
round the bishop's place and the buildings adjoining, who should follow
and bring word should she be taken to another place in town, while a
band was placed on the shore in readiness to interfere at once to
prevent her being carried away by sea. He undertook the management of
all details, having with him a trusty squire who commands my Saxon
bowmen."

"For your own part I thank you, my lord," the king said, "and, believe
me, you shall not find Richard ungrateful. As to your page, he appears
brave and wise beyond his years. Were it not that I think that it would
not be good for him, and might attract some envy upon the part of
others, I would at once make him a knight. He already has my promise
that I will do so on the first occasion when he can show his prowess
upon the infidels. Bring him to me to-morrow, when the princess will be
here with the Queen of Navarre at a banquet. I would fain thank him
before her; and, although I have agreed--at the princess' earnest
solicitation--to take no further notice of the matter, and to allow it
to pass as if it had not been, yet I cannot forgive the treachery which
has been used, and without letting all know exactly what has occurred
would fain by my reception of your page let men see that something of
great import has happened, of the nature of which I doubt not that rumor
will give some notion."

Upon the following day, therefore, Cuthbert to his confusion found
himself the center of the royal circle. The king expressed himself to
him in the most gracious manner, patting him on the shoulder, and said
that he would be one day one of the best and bravest of his knights. The
princess and the Queen of Navarre gave him their hands to kiss, and
somewhat overwhelmed, he withdrew from the royal presence, the center of
attention, and, in some minds, of envy.

Cnut too did not pass unrewarded.

His majesty, finding that Cnut was of gentle Saxon blood, gave him a
gold chain in token of his favor, and distributed a heavy purse among
the men who had followed him.

When the British fleet, numbering two hundred ships, set sail from
Sicily, it was a grand and martial sight. From the masts were the colors
of England and those of the nobles who commanded; while the pennons of
the knights, the bright plumes and mantles, the flash of armor and arms
made the decks alive with light and color.

The king's ship advanced in the van, and round him were the vessels
containing his principal followers. The Queen of Navarre and the
Princess Berengaria were with the fleet. Strains of music rose from the
waters, and never were the circumstances of war exhibited in a more
picturesque form.

For two days the expedition sailed on, and then a change of a sudden and
disastrous kind took place.

"What is all this bustle about?" Cuthbert said to Cnut. "The sailors are
running up the ladders, all seems confusion."

"Methinks," said Cnut, "that we are about to have a storm. A few minutes
ago scarce a cloud was to be seen; now that bank over there has risen
halfway up the sky. The sailors are accustomed to these treacherous
seas, and the warnings which we have not noticed have no doubt been
clear enough to them."

With great rapidity the sails of the fleet came down, and in five
minutes its whole aspect was changed; but quickly as the sailors had
done their work, the storm was even more rapid in its progress. Some of
the ships whose crews were slower or less skillful than the others were
caught by the gale before they could get their sails snug, and the great
sheets of white canvas were blown from the bolt-ropes as if made of
paper, and a blackness which could almost be felt covered the sea, the
only light being that given by the frothing waters. There was no longer
any thought of order. Each ship had to shift for herself; and each
captain to do his best to save those under his charge, without thought
of what might befall the others.

In the ship which carried the Earl of Evesham's contingent, order and
discipline prevailed. The earl's voice had been heard at the first puff
of wind, shouting to the men to go below, save a few who might be of use
to haul at ropes. His standard was lowered, the bright flags removed
from the sides of the ship, the shields which were hanging over the
bulwarks were hurriedly taken below, and when the gale smote them the
ship was trim, and in readiness to receive it. A few square yards of
sail alone were all that the captain had thought it prudent to keep
spread, and in a minute from the time she was struck the lofty hulk was
tearing along through the waters at a tremendous speed. Four of the best
hands were placed at the helm; and here the captain took his post.

The danger was now that in the darkness they might run against one of
their consorts. Even in the war of the elements they could hear from
time to time crashes as of vessels striking against each other, with
shouts and cries. Once or twice from the darkness ships emerged, close
on one hand or the other; but the steadiness of the captain in each case
saved the ship from collision.

As the storm continued these glimpses of other vessels became more and
more rare, and the ship being a very fast sailer, the captain indulged
the hope that he was now clear of the rest of the fleet.

He now attempted to lie-to to the storm, but the wind was too strong.
The ships in those days, too, were so high out of the water, and offered
in themselves such a target to the wind, that it was useless to adopt
any other maneuver than to run before it.

For two days and nights the tempest raged.

"What think you," the earl said to the captain, "of our position? Where
are we, and where will the course upon which we are running take us?"

"I cannot say with certainty," the captain said, "for the wind has
shifted several times. I had hoped to gain the shelter of Rhodes, but a
shift of wind bore us away from there, and I much fear that from the
direction in which we have been running we must be very nigh on the
coast of Africa."

"_Peste!_" the earl said. "That would indeed be a speedy end to our
Crusade. These Moors are pirates and cutthroats to a man; and even
should we avoid the risk of being dashed to pieces, we should end our
lives as slaves to one of these black infidels."

Three hours later the captain's prophecies turned out right. Breakers
were seen in various points in front, and with the greatest difficulty
the vessel was steered through an opening between them; but in another
few minutes she struck heavily, one of her masts went over the side, and
she lay fast and immovable. Fortunately, the outside bank of sand acted
as a sort of breakwater; had she struck upon this the good ship would
have gone to pieces instantly; but although the waves still struck her
with considerable force, the captain had good hope that she would not
break up. Darkness came on; the tempest seemed to lull. As there was no
immediate danger, and all were exhausted by the tossing which they had
received during the last forty-eight hours, the crew of the Rose slept
soundly.

In the morning the sun rose brilliantly, and there was no sign of the
great storm which had scattered the fleet of England. The shore was to
be seen at a distance of some four miles. It was low and sandy, with
lofty mountains in the distance. Far inland a white town with minaret
and dome could be seen.

"Know you where we are?" the earl asked.

"As far as I can tell," the captain said, "we have been driven up the
bay called the Little Syrtis--a place full of shoals and shallows, and
abounding with pirates of the worst kind."

"Think you that the ship has suffered injury?"

"Whether she has done so or not," the captain said, "I fear greatly
that she is fast in the sand, and even the lightening of all her cargo
will scarce get her off; but we must try at least."

"It is little time that we shall have to try, Master Captain," Cuthbert,
who was standing close, said. "Me thinks those two long ships which are
putting out from that town will have something to say to that."

"It is too true," the captain said. "Those are the galleys of the
Moorish corsairs. They are thirty or forty oars, draw but little water,
and will be here like the wind."

"What do you advise?" asked the earl. "The falconets which you have upon
the poop can make but a poor resistance to boats that can row around us,
and are no doubt furnished with heavy metal. They will quickly perceive
that we are aground and defenseless, and will be able to plump their
shot into us until they have knocked the good ship to pieces. However,
we will fight to the last. It shall not be said that the Earl of Evesham
was taken by infidel dogs and sold as a slave, without striking a blow
in his defense."

Cuthbert stood watching the corsairs, which were now rowing toward them
at all speed.

"Methinks, my lord," he said presently, "if I might venture to give an
opinion, that we might yet trick the infidel."

"As how, Cuthbert?" the earl said. "Speak out; you know that I have
great faith in your sagacity."

"I think, sir," the page said, "that did we send all your men below,
leaving only the crew of the vessel on deck, they would take us for a
merchant ship which has been wrecked here, and exercise but little care
how they approach us. The men on deck might make a show of firing once
or twice with the falconets. The pirates, disdaining such a foe, would
row alongside. Once there, we might fasten one or both to our side with
grapnels, and then, methinks, that English bill and bow will render us
more than a match for Moorish pirates, and one of these craft can
scarcely carry more men than we have. I should propose to take one of
them by force, and drive the pirates overboard; take possession of, if
possible, or beat off her consort; and then take the most valuable
stores from the ship and make our way as best we can to the north."

"Well thought of!" exclaimed the earl cordially. "You have indeed
imagined a plan which promises well. What think you, captain?"

"I think, my lord," the Genoese said, "that the plan is an excellent
one, and promises every success. If your men will all go below, holding
their arms in readiness for the signal, mine shall prepare grapnels and
ropes, and the first of these craft which comes alongside they will lash
so securely to the Rose that I warrant me she gets not away."

These preparations were soon made.

The soldiers, who at first had been filled with apprehension at the
thought of slavery among the infidels, were now delighted at the
prospect of a struggle ending in escape.

The archers prepared their bows and arrows, and stood behind the
portholes in readiness to pour a volley into the enemy; the men-at-arms
grasped their pikes and swords; while above, the sailors moved hither
and thither as if making preparations for defense, but in reality
preparing the grapnels and ropes.

One of the pirates was faster than the other, and soon coming within
reach, opened fire upon the Rose with a heavy cannon, which she carried
in her bow.

The crew of the Rose replied with their falconets and sakers from the
poop.

The corsair at first did not keep her course direct for the ship, but
rowed once or twice round her, firing as she did so. Then, apparently
satisfied that no great precaution need be observed with a feebly-manned
ship in so great a strait as the Rose, they set up a wild cry of
"Allah!" and rowed toward her.

In two minutes the corsair was alongside of the Rose, and the fierce
crew were climbing up her sides. As she came alongside the sailors cast
grapnels into her rigging, and fastened her to the Rose; and then a loud
shout of "Hurrah for England!" was heard; the ports opened, and a volley
of arrows was poured upon the astonished corsair; and from the deck
above the assailants were thrown back into the galley, and a swarm of
heavily armed men leaped down from the ship upon them.

Taken by surprise, and indeed outnumbered, the resistance of the
corsairs was but slight. In a close fierce _melee_ like this the
light-armed Moors had but little chance with the mail-clad English,
whose heavy swords and axes clove their defenses at a blow. The fight
lasted but three minutes, and then the last of the corsairs was
overboard.

The men who rowed the galley had uttered the most piercing cries while
this conflict had been raging. They were unable to take any part in it,
had they been disposed to do so, for they were all slaves chained to the
oars.

Scarcely had the conflict ended when the other galley arrived upon the
scene; but seeing what had happened, and that her consort had fallen
into the hands of the English, she at once turned her head, and rowed
back rapidly to the town from which she had come.

Among the slaves who rowed the galley were many white men, and their
cries of joy at their liberation greatly affected those who had thus
unexpectedly rescued them. Hammers were soon brought into requisition,
the shackles struck off them, and a scene of affecting joy took place.
The slaves were of all nationalities, but Italians and Spaniards, French
and Greeks formed the principal part. There was no time, however, to be
lost; the arms and munitions of war were hastily removed from the Rose,
together with the most valuable of the stores.

The galley-slaves again took their places, and this time willingly, at
the oars, the places of the weakest being supplied by the English,
whose want of skill was made up by the alacrity with which they threw
their strength into the work; and in an hour from the time that the
galley had arrived alongside of the Rose, her head was turned north, and
with sixty oars she was rowing at all speed for the mouth of the bay.




CHAPTER XI.

IN THE HOLY LAND.


As soon as the galley which had escaped reached the town from which it
had started, it with three others at once set out in pursuit; while from
a narrow creek two other galleys made their appearance.

There were a few words of question among the English whether to stop and
give battle to these opponents, or to make their way with all speed. The
latter counsel prevailed; the earl pointing out that their lives were
now scarcely their own, and that they had no right on their way to the
holy sepulcher to risk them unnecessarily.

Fortunately they had it in their hands to fight or escape, as they
chose; for doubly banked as the oars now were there was little chance of
the enemy's galleys overtaking them. Gradually as they rowed to sea the
pursuing vessels became smaller and smaller to view, until at last they
were seen to turn about and make again for land.

After some consultation between the earl and the captain of the lost
ship it was determined to make for Rhodes. This had been settled as a
halting point for the fleet, and the earl thought it probable that the
greater portion of those scattered by the storm would rendezvous there.

So it proved; after a voyage, which although not very long was tedious,
owing to the number of men cramped up in so small a craft, they came
within sight of the port of Rhodes, and were greatly pleased at seeing a
perfect forest of masts there, showing that at least the greater portion
of the fleet had survived the storm.

This was indeed the fact, and a number of other single ships dropped in
during the next day or two.

There was great astonishment on the part of the fleet when the long,
swift galley was seen approaching, and numerous conjectures were offered
as to what message the pirates could be bringing--for there was no
mistaking the appearance of the long, dangerous-looking craft.

When, upon her approach, the standard of the Earl of Evesham was seen
flying on the bow, a great shout of welcome arose from the fleet; and
King Richard himself, who happened to be on the deck of the royal ship,
shouted to the earl to come on board and tell him what masquerading he
was doing there. The earl of course obeyed the order, anchoring near the
royal vessel, and going on board in a small boat, taking with him his
page and squire.

The king heard with great interest the tale of the adventures of the
Rose; and when the Earl of Evesham said that it was to Cuthbert that was
due the thought of the stratagem by which the galley was captured, and
its crew saved from being carried away into hopeless slavery, the king
patted the boy on the shoulder with such hearty force as nearly to throw
Cuthbert off his feet.

"By St. George!" said the monarch, "you are fated to be a very pink of
knights. You seem as thoughtful as you are brave; and whatever your age
may be, I declare that the next time your name is brought before me I
will call a chapter of knights, and they shall agree that exception
shall be made in your favor, and that you shall at once be admitted to
the honorable post. You will miss your page, Sir Walter; but I am sure
you will not grudge him that."

"No, no, sire," said the earl. "The lad, as I have told your majesty, is
a connection of mine--distant it is true, but one of the nearest I
have--and it will give me the greatest pleasure to see him rising so
rapidly, and on a fair way to distinguish himself so highly. I feel
already as proud of him as if he were my own son."

The fleet remained some two or three weeks at Rhodes, for many of the
vessels were sorely buffeted and injured, masts were carried away as
well as bulwarks battered in, and the efforts of the crews and of those
of the whole of the artificers of Rhodes were called into requisition.
Light sailing craft were sent off in all directions, for the king was in
a fever of anxiety. Among the vessels still missing was that which bore
the Queen of Navarre and the fair Berengaria.

One day a solitary vessel was seen approaching. "Another of our lost
sheep," the earl said, looking out over the poop.

She proved, however, to be a merchant ship of Greece, and newly come
from Cyprus.

Her captain went on board the royal ship, and delivered a message to the
king, to the effect that two of the vessels had been cast upon the coast
of Cyprus, that they had been plundered by the people, the crews
ill-treated and made prisoners by the king, and that the Queen of
Navarre and the princess were in their hands.

This roused King Richard into one of his furies. "Before I move a step
toward the Holy Land," he said, "I will avenge these injuries upon this
faithless and insolent king. I swear that I will make him pay dearly for
having laid a hand upon these ladies."

At once the signal was hoisted for all the vessels in a condition to
sail to take on board water and provisions, and to prepare to sail for
Cyprus; and the next morning at daybreak the fleet sailed out, and made
their way toward that island, casting anchor off the harbor of
Famagosta.

King Richard sent a messenger on shore to the king, ordering him at once
to release the prisoners; to make the most ample compensation to them;
to place ships at their service equal to those which had been destroyed;
and to pay a handsome sum of money as indemnity.

The King of Cyprus, however, an insolent and haughty despot, sent back
a message of defiance. King Richard at once ordered the anchors to be
raised, and all to follow the royal ship.

The fleet entered the harbor of Famagosta; the English archers began the
fight by sending a flight of arrows into the town. This was answered
from the walls by a shower of stones and darts from the machines.

There was no time wasted. The vessels were headed toward the shore, and
as the water was deep, many of them were able to run close alongside the
rocky wharves. In an instant, regardless of the storm of weapons poured
down by the defenders, the English leaped ashore.

The archers kept up so terrible a rain of missiles against the
battlements that the defenders could scarcely show themselves for an
instant there, and the men-at-arms, placing ladders against them,
speedily mounted, and putting aside all opposition, poured into the
town. The effeminate Greek soldiers of the monarch could offer no
effectual resistance whatever, and he himself fled from the palace and
gained the open country, followed by a few adherents. The English gained
a considerable booty, for in those days a town taken by assault was
always looked upon as the property of the captors. The Queen of Navarre
and the princess were rescued.

King Richard, however, was not satisfied with the success he had gained,
and was determined to punish this insolent little king. Accordingly the
English were set in motion into the interior, and town after town
speedily fell, or opened their gate to him. The king, deserted by his
troops, and detested by his people for having brought so terrible a
scourge upon them by his reckless conduct, now sued for peace; but King
Richard would give him no terms except dethronement, and this he was
forced to accept. He was deprived of his crown, and banished from the
island.

The king now, to the surprise of his barons, announced his intention of
at once marrying the Princess Berengaria.

Popular as he was, there was yet some quiet grumbling among his troops;
as they said, with justice, they had been waiting nearly six months in
the island of Sicily, and the king might well have married there,
instead of a fresh delay being caused when so near their place of
destination.

However, the king as usual had his own way, and the marriage was
solemnized amid great rejoicing and solemnity.

It was a brilliant scene indeed in the cathedral of Limasol. There were
assembled all the principal barons of England, together with a great
number of the nobles of Cyprus.

Certainly no better matched pair ever stood at the altar together, for
as King Richard was one of the strongest and bravest men of his own or
any other time, so Berengaria is admitted to have been one of the
loveliest maidens.

The air was rent with the acclamations of the assembled English host
and of the numerous inhabitants of Limasol as they emerged from the
cathedral. For a fortnight the town was given up to festivity;
tournaments, joustings, banquets succeeded each other day after day, and
the islanders, who were fond of pleasure, and indeed very wealthy, vied
with the English in the entertainments which they gave in honor of the
occasion.

The festivities over, the king gave the welcome order to proceed on
their voyage. They had now been joined by all the vessels left behind at
Rhodes, and it was found that only a few were missing, and that the
great storm, terrible as it had been, had inflicted less damage upon the
fleet than was at first feared.

Two days' sail brought them within sight of the white walls of Acre, and
it was on June 8, 1191, that the fleet sailed into the port of that
town. Tremendous acclamations greeted the arrival of the English army by
the host assembled on the shores.

Acre had been besieged for two years, but in vain; and even the arrival
of the French army under Philip Augustus had failed to turn the scale.
The inhabitants defended themselves with desperate bravery; every
assault upon the walls had been repulsed with immense slaughter; and at
no great distance off the Sultan Saladin, with a large army, was
watching the progress of the siege.

The fame of King Richard and the English was so great, however, that the
besiegers had little doubt that his arrival would change the position of
things; and even the French, in spite of the bad feeling which had
existed in Sicily, joined with the knights and army of the King of
Jerusalem in acclaiming the arrival of the English.

Philip Augustus, the French king, was of a somewhat weak and wavering
disposition. It would have been thought that after his dispute with King
Richard he would have gladly done all in his power to carry Acre before
the arrival of his great rival. To the great disappointment of the
French, however, he declared that he would take no step in the general
assault until the arrival of Richard; and although the French had given
some assistance to the besiegers, the army had really remained passive
for many weeks.

Now, however, that the English had arrived, little time was lost; for
the moment the dissensions and jealousies between the monarchs were
patched up, the two hosts naturally imitated the example of their
sovereigns, and French and English worked side by side in throwing up
trenches against the walls, in building movable towers for the attack,
and in preparing for the great onslaught.

The French were the first to finish their preparations, and they
delivered a tremendous assault upon the walls. The besieged, however,
did not lose heart, and with the greatest bravery repulsed every
attempt. The scaling ladders were hurled backward, the towers were
destroyed by Greek fire; boiling oil was hurled down upon the men who
advanced under the shelter of machines to undermine the walls; and
after desperate fighting the French fell back, baffled and beaten.

There was some quiet exultation in the English lines at the defeat of
the French, for they believed that a better fortune would crown their
own efforts. Such, however, to their surprise and mortification, was not
the case. When their preparations were completed they attacked with
splendid bravery. They were fighting under the eyes of their king and in
sight of the French army, who had a few days before been baffled; and if
bravery and devotion could have carried the walls of Acre, assuredly
King Richard's army would have accomplished the task.

It was, however, too great for them, and with vast loss the army fell
back to its camp, King Richard raging like a wounded lion. Many of his
barons had been killed in the assault, and the pikemen and men-at-arms
had suffered heavily. The Earl of Evesham had been wounded; Cuthbert had
taken no part in the assault, for the earl, knowing his bravery, had
forbidden his doing so, as he foresaw the struggle would be of the most
desperate character; and as it was not usual for pages to accompany
their lords on the battlefield, Cuthbert could not complain of his being
forbidden to take part in the fight.

The earl, however, permitted him to accompany Cnut and the bowmen, who
did great service by the accuracy of their aim, preventing by their
storm of arrows the men on the battlements from taking steady aim and
working their machines, and so saved the Earl of Evesham's troop and
those fighting near him from suffering nearly as heavy loss as some of
those engaged in other quarters.

But while successful in beating off all assaults, the defenders of Acre
were now nearly at the end of their resources. The Emperor Saladin,
although he had collected an army of two hundred thousand men, yet
feared to advance and give battle to the Crusaders in their own
lines--for they had thrown up round their camp strong intrenchments to
prevent the progress of the siege being disturbed by forces from
without.

The people of Acre seeing the time pass and no sign of a rescuing force,
their provisions being utterly exhausted, and pestilence and fever
making frightful ravages in the city, at last determined to surrender.

For over two years they had made a resistance of the most valiant
description, and now, despairing of success or rescue, and seeing the
hosts of their besiegers increasing day by day, they hoisted a flag upon
the walls and sent a deputation to the kings, asking for terms if they
submitted. They would have done well had they submitted upon the arrival
of the French and English reinforcements. For the monarchs, annoyed by
the defeat of their forces and by the heavy losses they had sustained,
and knowing that the besieged were now at their last crust, were not
disposed to be merciful.

However, the horrors which then attended the capture of cities in a war
in which so little quarter was given on either side were avoided. The
city was to be surrendered; the much-prized relic contained within its
walls--said to be a piece of the true cross which had been captured by
the Saracens at the battle of Tiberias, in which they had almost
annihilated the Christian armies a few years before--was to be
surrendered; the Christian prisoners in their hands were to be given up
unharmed; and the inhabitants undertook to pay two hundred thousand
pieces of gold to the kings within forty days, under the condition that
the fighting men now taken prisoners were to be put to death should this
ransom not be paid.

The conquest of Acre was hailed throughout Christendom as a triumph of
the highest importance. It opened again the gates of the Holy Land; and
so tremendous was the strength of the fortress that it was deemed that
if this stronghold were unable to resist effectually the arms of the
Crusaders, and that if Saladin with so great an army did not dare to
advance to its rescue, then the rest of the Holy Land would speedily
fall under the hands of the invading army.

With the fall of Acre, however, the dissensions between the two kings,
which had for awhile been allowed to rest while the common work was to
be done, broke out again with renewed intensity. The jealousy of Philip
Augustus was raised to the highest point by the general enthusiasm of
the combined armies for the valiant King of England, and by the
authority which that monarch exercised in the councils. He therefore
suddenly announced his intention of returning to France.

This decision at first occasioned the greatest consternation in the
ranks of the Crusaders; but this feeling was lessened when the king
announced that he should leave a large portion of the French army
behind, under the command of the Duke of Burgundy. The wiser councilors
were satisfied with the change. Although there was a reduction of the
total fighting force, yet the fact that it was now centered under one
head, and that King Richard would now be in supreme command, was deemed
to more than counterbalance the loss of a portion of the French army.

Before starting on the march for Jerusalem King Richard sullied his
reputation by causing all the defenders of Acre to be put to death,
their ransom not having arrived at the stipulated time.

Then the allied army set out upon their journey. The fleet cruised along
near them, and from it they obtained all that was requisite for their
wants, and yet, notwithstanding these advantages, the toil and fatigue
were terrible. Roads scarcely existed, and the army marched across the
rough and broken country. There was no straggling, but each kept his
place; and if unable to do so, fell and died. The blazing sun poured
down upon them with an appalling force; the dust which rose when they
left the rocks and came upon flat, sandy ground almost smothered them.
Water was only obtainable at the halts, and then was frequently
altogether insufficient for the wants of the army; while in front, on
flank, and in rear hovered clouds of the cavalry of Saladin.

At times King Richard would allow parties of his knights to detach
themselves from the force to drive off these enemies. But it was the
chase of a lion after a hare. The knights in their heavy armor and
powerful steeds were left behind as if standing still, by the fleet
Bedouins on their desert coursers; and the pursuers, exhausted and worn
out, were always glad to regain the ranks of the army.

These clouds of cavalry belonging to the enemy did not content
themselves with merely menacing and cutting off stragglers. At times,
when they thought they saw an opening, they would dash in and attack the
column desperately, sometimes gaining temporary advantages, killing and
wounding many, then fleeing away again into the desert.

Finding that it was impossible to catch these wary horsemen, King
Richard ordered his bowmen to march outside his cavalry, so that when
the enemy's horse approached within bowshot they should open upon them
with arrows; then, should the horsemen persist in charging, the archers
were at once to take refuge behind the lines of the knights.

Day after day passed in harassing conflicts. The distance passed over
each day was very small, and the sufferings of the men from thirst,
heat, and fatigue enormous. Cuthbert could well understand now what he
had heard of great armies melting away, for already men began to succumb
in large numbers to the terrible heat, and the path traversed by the
army was scattered with corpses of those who had fallen victims to
sunstroke. Not even at night did the attacks of the enemy cease, and a
portion of the harassed force was obliged to keep under arms to repel
assaults.

So passed the time until the army arrived at Azotus, and there, to the
delight of the Crusaders, who only longed to get at their foes, they
beheld the whole force of Saladin, two hundred thousand strong, barring
their way. Had it not been for the stern discipline enforced by King
Richard the knights of England and France would have repeated the
mistake which had caused the extermination of the Christian force at
Tiberias, and would have leveled their lances and charged recklessly
into the mass of their enemies. But the king, riding round the flanks
and front of the force, gave his orders in the sternest way, with the
threat that any man who moved from the ranks should die by his hand.

The army was halted, the leaders gathered round the king, and a hasty
consultation was held. Richard insisted upon the fight being conducted
upon the same principles as the march--that the line of archers should
stand outside the knights, and should gall the advancing force with
arrows till the last moment, and then retire among the cavalry, only to
sally out again as the Bedouins fell back from the steel wall of
horsemen.

Cuthbert had now for the first time donned full armor, and rode behind
the Earl of Evesham as his esquire, for the former esquire had been left
behind, ill with fever at Acre.




CHAPTER XII.

THE ACCOLADE.


It was now a year since they had left England, and Cuthbert had much
grown and widened out in the interval, and had never neglected an
opportunity of practicing with arms; and the earl was well aware that he
should obtain as efficient assistance from him in time of need as he
could desire.

This was the first time that Cuthbert, and indeed the great proportion
of those present in the Christian host, had seen the enemy in force, and
they eagerly watched the vast array. It was picturesque in the extreme,
with a variety and brightness of color rivaling that of the Christian
host. In banners and pennons the latter made a braver show; but the
floating robes of the infidel showed a far brighter mass of color than
the steel armor of the Christians.

Here were people drawn from widely separated parts of Saladin's
dominions. Here were Nubians from the Nile, tall and powerful men, jet
black in skin, with lines of red and white paint on their faces, giving
a ghastly and wild appearance to them. On their shoulders were skins of
lions and other wild animals. They carried short bows, and heavy clubs
studded with iron. By them were the Bedouin cavalry, light, sinewy men,
brown as berries, with white turbans and garments. Near these were the
cavalry from Syria and the plains of Assyria--wild horsemen with
semi-barbarous armor and scarlet trappings. Here were the solid lines of
the Egyptian infantry, steady troops, upon whom Saladin much relied.
Here were other tribes, gathered from afar, each distinguished by its
own particular marks. In silence did this vast array view awhile the
solid mass of the Christians. Suddenly a strange din of discordant music
from thousands of musical instruments--conches and horns, cymbals and
drums, arose in wild confusion. Shouts of defiance in a dozen tongues
and from two hundred thousand throats rose wild and shrill upon the air,
while clear above all the din were heard the strange vibratory cries of
the warriors from the Egyptian highlands.

"One would think," said Cnut grimly to Cuthbert, "that the infidels
imagine we are a flock of antelopes to be frightened by an outcry. They
would do far better to save their wind for future use. They will want
it, methinks, when we get fairly among them. Who would have thought that
a number of men, heathen and infidel though they be, could have made so
foul an outcry?"

Cuthbert laughed.

"Every one fights according to his own method, Cnut; and I am not sure
that there is not some thing to be said for this outcry, for it is
really so wild and fearful that it makes my blood almost curdle in my
veins; and were it not that I know the proved valor of our knights and
footmen, I should feel shaken by this terrible introduction to the
fight."

"I heed it no more," said Cnut, "than the outcry of wild fowl, when one
comes upon them suddenly on a lake in winter. It means no more than
that; and I reckon that they are trying to encourage themselves fully as
much as to frighten us. However, we shall soon see. If they can fight as
well as they can scream, they certainly will get no answering shouts
from us. The English bulldog fights silently, and bite as hard as he
will, you will hear little beyond a low growl. Now, my men," he said,
turning to his archers, "methinks the heathen are about to begin in
earnest. Keep steady; do not fire until you are sure that they are
within range. Draw your bows well to your ears, and straightly and
steadily let fly. Never heed the outcry or the rush, keep steady to the
last moment. There is shelter behind you, and fierce as the attack may
be, you can find a sure refuge behind the line of the knights."

Cnut with his archers formed part of the line outside the array of
English knights, and the arrows of the English bowmen fell fast as bands
of the Bedouin horse circled round them in the endeavor to draw the
Christians on to the attack. For some time Saladin persisted in these
tactics. With his immense superiority of force he reckoned that if the
Christian chivalry would but charge him, the victory of Tiberias would
be repeated. Hemmed in by numbers, borne down by the weight of armor and
the effects of the blazing sun, the knights would succumb as much to
fatigue as to the force of their foes. King Richard's orders, however,
were well obeyed, and at last the Moslem chief, urged by the entreaties
of his leading emirs, who felt ashamed that so large a force should
hesitate to attack one so vastly inferior in numbers, determined upon
taking the initiative, and forming his troops in a semicircle round the
Christian army, launched his horsemen to the attack. The instant they
came within range a cloud of arrows from the English archers fell among
them, but the speed at which the desert horses covered the ground
rendered it impossible for the archers to discharge more than one or two
shafts before the enemy were upon them. Quickly as they now slipped back
and sought refuge under the lances of the knights, many of them were
unable to get back in time, and were cut down by the Saracens. The rest
crept between the horses or under their bellies into the rear, and there
prepared to sally out again as soon as the enemy retired. The Christian
knights sat like a wall of steel upon their horses, their lances were
leveled, and brave as the Bedouin horsemen were, they felt to break this
massive line was impossible. The front line, however, charged well up to
the points of the lances, against which they hewed with their sharp
scimiters, frequently severing the steel top from the ashpole, and then
breaking through and engaging in hand-to-hand conflict with the knights.
Behind the latter sat their squires, with extra spears and arms ready to
hand to their masters; and in close combat, the heavy maces with their
spike ends were weapons before which the light-clad horsemen went down
like reeds before a storm.

Hour after hour the Arab horsemen persisted in their attack, suffering
heavily, but determined to conquer if possible. Then Saladin suddenly
ordered a retreat, and at seeing their enemy fly, the impetuosity of the
Crusaders at last broke out. With a shout they dashed after the foe.
King Richard, knowing that his followers had already shown a patience
far beyond what he could have expected, now headed the onslaught,
performing prodigies of valor with his single arm, and riding from point
to point to see that all was well.

The early resistance of the infidel host was comparatively slight. The
heavy mass of the Christian cavalry, with their leveled lances, swept
through the ranks of the light horsemen, and trampled them down like
grass beneath their feet; but every moment the resistance became more
stubborn.

Saladin, knowing the Christians would sooner or later assume the
offensive, had gathered his troops line in line behind the front ranks,
and as the force of the Crusaders' charge abated, so did the number of
foes in their front multiply. Not only this, but upon either side chosen
bands swept down, and ere long the Christians were brought to a stand,
and all were fighting hand to hand with their enemies. The lances were
thrown away now, and with ax and mace each fought for himself.

The Earl of Evesham was one of a group of knights whom King Richard had
that day ordered to keep close to his person, and around this group the
fight raged most furiously.

Saladin, aware of the extreme personal valor and warlike qualities of
King Richard, set the greatest value upon his death or capture, and had
ordered a large number of his best troops to devote their whole
attention to attacking the King of England.

The royal standard carried behind the king was a guide to their
onslaught, and great as was the strength and valor of King Richard, he
with difficulty was able to keep at bay the hosts that swept around him.

Now that the lance had been abandoned for battle-ax, Cuthbert was able
to take an active part in the struggle, his duties consisting mainly in
guarding the rear of his master, and preventing his being overthrown by
any sudden attack on the flank or from behind.

King Richard was bent not only on defending himself from the attacks of
his foes, but on directing the general course of the battle; and from
time to time he burst, with his own trusty knights, through the ring of
foes, and rode from point to point of the field, calling the knights
together, exhorting them to steadiness, and restoring the fight where
its fortunes seemed doubtful. At one time the impetuosity of the king
led him into extreme danger. He had burst through the enemy surrounding
him, and these, by order of their captain, allowed him to pass through
their ranks, and then threw themselves together in his rear, to cut him
off from the knights who rode behind. The maneuver was successful. The
rush of horsemen fairly carried away the Christian knights, and one or
two alone were able to make their way through.

Amid the wild confusion that raged, where each man was fighting for his
own life, and but little view of what was passing could be obtained
through the barred visor, the fact that the king was separated from them
was known to but few. Sir Walter himself was engaged fiercely in a
hand-to-hand fight with four Bedouins who surrounded him, when Cuthbert
shouted:

"The king, Sir Walter! the king! He is cut off and surrounded! For
heaven's sake ride to him. See! the royal standard is down."

With a shout the earl turned, brained one of his foes with a sweep of
his heavy ax, and, followed by Cuthbert, dashed to the assistance of the
king. The weight of his horse and armor cleft through the crowd, and in
a brief space he penetrated to the side of King Richard, who was borne
upon by a host of foes. Just as they reached them a Bedouin who had been
struck from his horse crawled beneath the noble charger of King Richard,
and drove his scimiter deep into its bowels. The animal reared high in
its sudden pain, and then fell on the ground, carrying the king, who was
unable to disengage himself quickly enough.

[Illustration: WITH A SHOUT THE EARL TURNED, FOLLOWED BY CUTHBERT, AND
DASHED TO THE ASSISTANCE OF THE KING.]

In an instant the Earl of Evesham had leaped from his horse and with his
broad triangular shield extended, sought to cover him from the press of
enemies. Cuthbert imitated his lord, and strove to defend the latter
from attacks from the rear. For a moment or two the sweep of the earl's
heavy ax and Cuthbert's circling sword kept back the foe, but this could
not last. King Richard in vain strove to extricate his leg from beneath
his fallen steed. Cuthbert saw at a glance that the horse still lived,
and with a sudden slash of his sword he struck it on the hind quarter.
Goaded by the pain the noble animal made a last effort to rise, but only
to fall back dead. The momentary action was, however, sufficient for
King Richard, who drew his leg from under it, and with his heavy
battle-ax in hand, rose with a shout, and stood by the side of the earl.

In vain did the Bedouins strive to cut down and overpower the two
champions; in vain did they urge their horses to ride over them. With
each sweep of his ax the king either dismounted a foe or clove in the
head of his steed, and a wall of slain around them testified to the
tremendous power of their arms. Still, even such warriors as these could
not long sustain the conflict. The earl had already received several
desperate wounds, and the king himself was bleeding from some severe
gashes with the keen-edged scimiters. Cuthbert was already down, when a
shout of "St. George!" was heard, and a body of English knights clove
through the throng of Saracens and reached the side of King Richard.
Close behind these in a mass pressed the British footmen with bill and
pike, the enemy giving way foot by foot before their steady discipline.

The king was soon on horseback again, and rallying his troops on, led
them for one more great and final charge upon the enemy.

The effect was irresistible. Appalled by the slaughter which they had
suffered, and by the tremendous strength and energy of the Christian
knights, the Saracens broke and fled; and the last reserves of Saladin
gave way as the king, shouting his war-cry of "God help the holy
sepulcher!" fell upon them. Once, indeed, the battle still seemed
doubtful, for a fresh band of the enemy at that moment arrived and
joined in the fray. The Crusaders were now, however, inspired with such
courage and confidence that they readily obeyed the king's war-cry,
gathered in a firm body, and hurled themselves upon this new foe. Then
the Saracens finally turned and fled, and the Christian victory was
complete.

It was one of the features of this war that however thorough the
victories of the Christians, the Saracens very speedily recovered from
their effects. A Christian defeat was crushing and entire; the knights
died as they stood, and defeat meant annihilation. Upon the other hand,
the Saracens and Bedouins, when they felt that their efforts to win the
battle were unsuccessful, felt no shame or humiliation in scattering
like sheep. On their fleet horses and in their light attire they could
easily distance the Christians, who never, indeed, dreamed of pursuing
them. The day after the fight the enemy would collect again under their
chiefs, and be as ready as before to renew their harassing warfare.

On his return from the field the king assembled many of his principal
knights and leaders, and summoned the Earl of Evesham, with the message
that he was to bring his esquire with him. When they reached the tent
the king said:

"My lords, as some of you may be aware, I have this day had a narrow
escape from death. Separated from you in the battle, and attended only
by my standard-bearer, I was surrounded by the Saracens. I should
doubtless have cleft my way through the infidel dogs, but a foul peasant
stabbed my charger from below, and the poor brute fell with me. My
standard-bearer was killed, and in another moment my nephew Arthur would
have been your king, had it not been that my good lord here, attended by
this brave lad, appeared. I have seen a good deal of fighting, but never
did I see a braver stand than they made above my body. The Earl of
Evesham, as you all know, is one of my bravest knights, and to him I can
simply say, 'Thanks; King Richard does not forget a benefit like this.'
But such aid as I might well look for from so stout a knight as the Earl
of Evesham I could hardly have expected on the part of a mere boy like
this. It is not the first time that I have been under a debt of
gratitude to him; for it was his watchfulness and bravery which saved
Queen Berengaria from being carried off by the French in Sicily. I
deemed him too young then for the order of knighthood--although, indeed,
bravery has no age; still for a private benefit, and that performed
against allies, in name at least, I did not wish so far to fly in the
face of usage as to make him a knight. I promised him then, however,
that the first time he distinguished himself against the infidel he
should win his spurs. I think that you will agree with me, my lords,
that he has done so. Not only did he stand over me, and with great
bravery defend Sir Walter from attacks from behind, but his ready wit
saved me when even his sword and that of Sir Walter would have failed to
do so. Penned down under poor Robin I was powerless to move until our
young esquire, in an interval of slashing at his assailants, found time
to give a sharp blow together with a shout to Robin. The poor beast
tried to rise, and the movement, short as it was, enabled me to draw my
leg from under him, and then with my mace I was enabled to make a stand
until you arrived at my side. I think, my lords, that you will agree
with me that Cuthbert, the son of Sir William de Lance, is fit for the
honor of knighthood."

A general chorus of approval arose from the assembly, and the king,
bidding Cuthbert kneel before him, drew his sword and laid it across his
shoulders, dubbing him Sir Cuthbert de Lance. When he had risen the
great barons of England pressed round to shake his hand, and Cuthbert,
who was a modest young fellow, felt almost ashamed at the honors which
were bestowed upon him. The usual ceremonies and penances which young
knights had to undergo before admission into the body--and which in
those days were extremely punctilious, and indeed severe, consisting,
among other things, in fasting, in watching the armor at night, in
seclusion and religious services--were omitted when the accolade was
bestowed for bravery in the field.

The king ordered his armorer at once to make for Cuthbert a suit of the
finest armor, and authorized him to carry on his shield a sword raising
a royal crown from the ground, in token of the deed for which the honor
of knighthood had been bestowed upon him.

Upon his return to the earl's camp the news of his new dignity spread at
once among the followers of Sir Walter, and many and hearty were the
cheers that went up from the throats of the Saxon foresters, led by
Cnut. These humble friends were indeed delighted at his success, for
they felt that to him they owed very much; and his kindness of manner
and the gayety of heart which he had shown during the hardships they had
undergone since their start had greatly endeared him to them.

Cuthbert was now to take rank among the knights who followed the banner
of the earl. A tent was erected for him, an esquire assigned to him, and
the lad as he entered his new abode felt almost bewildered at the
change which had taken place in one short day--that he, at the age of
sixteen, should have earned the honor of knighthood, and the approval of
the King of England, expressed before all the great barons of the realm,
was indeed an honor such as he could never have hoped for; and the
thought of what his mother would say should the news reach her in her
quiet Saxon home brought the tears into his eyes. He had not gone
through the usual religious ceremonies, but he knelt in his tent alone,
and prayed that he might be made worthy of the honors bestowed upon him;
that he might fulfill the duties of a Christian knight fearlessly and
honorably; that his sword might never be raised but for the right; that
he might devote himself to the protection of the oppressed, and the
honor of God; that his heart might be kept from evil; and that he might
carry through life unstained his new escutcheon.

If the English had thought that their victory would have gained them
immunity from the Saracen attacks they were speedily undeceived. The
host, indeed, which had barred their way had broken up; but its
fragments were around them, and the harassing attacks began again with a
violence and persistency even greater than before. The Crusaders,
indeed, occupied only the ground upon which they stood. It was death to
venture one hundred yards from the camp unless in a strong body; and the
smallest efforts to bring in food from the country round were instantly
met and repelled. Only in very strong bodies could the knights venture
from camp even to forage for their horses, and the fatigues and
sufferings of all were in no way relieved by the great victory of
Azotus.




CHAPTER XIII.

IN THE HANDS OF THE SARACENS.


The English had hoped that after one pitched battle they should be able
to advance upon Jerusalem, but they had reckoned without the climate and
illness.

Although unconquered in the fray, the Christian army was weakened by its
sufferings to such an extent that it was virtually brought to a
standstill. Even King Richard, with all his impetuosity, dared not
venture to cut adrift from the seashore and to march direct upon
Jerusalem; that city was certainly not to be taken without a long siege,
and this could only be undertaken by an army strong enough, not only to
carry out so great a task, but to meet and defeat the armies which
Saladin would bring up to the rescue, and to keep open the line down to
Joppa, by which alone provisions and the engines necessary for the siege
could be brought up. Hence the war resolved itself into a series of
expeditions and detached fights.

The British camp was thoroughly fortified, and thence parties of the
knights sallied out and engaged in conflicts with the Saracens, with
varying success. On several of these expeditions Cuthbert attended the
earl, and behaved with a bravery which showed him well worthy of the
honors which he had received.

Upon one occasion the news reached camp that a party of knights, who had
gone out to guard a number of footmen cutting forage and bringing it
into camp, had been surrounded and had taken refuge in a small town,
whose gates they had battered in when they saw the approach of an
overwhelming host of the enemy. King Richard himself headed a strong
force and advanced to their assistance. Their approach was not seen
until within a short distance of the enemy, upon whom the Crusaders fell
with the force of a thunderbolt, and cleft their way through their
lines. After a short pause in the little town they prepared to again cut
their way through, joined by the party who had there been besieged. The
task was now, however, far more difficult; for the footmen would be
unable to keep up with the rapid charge of the knights, and it was
necessary not only to clear the way, but to keep it open for their exit.
King Richard himself and the greater portion of his knights were to lead
the charge; another party were to follow behind the footmen, who were
ordered to advance at the greatest speed of which they were capable,
while their rearguard by charges upon the enemy kept them at bay. To
this latter party Cuthbert was attached.

The Saracens followed their usual tactics, and this time with great
success. Dividing as the king with his knights charged them, they
suffered these to pass through with but slight resistance, and then
closed in upon their track, while another and still more numerous body
fell upon the footmen and their guard. Again and again did the knights
charge through the ranks of the Moslems, while the billmen stoutly kept
together and resisted the onslaughts of the enemy's cavalry. In spite of
their bravery, however, the storm of arrows shot by the desert horsemen
thinned their ranks with terrible rapidity. Charging up to the very
point of the spears, these wild horsemen fired their arrows into the
faces of their foe, and although numbers of them fell beneath the more
formidable missiles sent by the English archers, their numbers were so
overwhelming that the little band melted away. The small party of
knights, too, were rapidly thinned, although performing prodigious deeds
of valor. The Saracens when dismounted or wounded still fought on foot,
their object being always to stab or hough the horses, and so dismount
the riders. King Richard and his force, though making the most desperate
efforts to return to the assistance of the rearguard, were baffled by
the sturdy resistance of the Saracens, and the position of those in the
rear was fast becoming hopeless.

One by one the gallant little band of knights fell, and a sea of turbans
closed over the fluttering plumes. Cuthbert, after defending himself
with extreme bravery for a long time, was at last separated from the
small remainder of his comrades by a rush of the enemy's horse, and when
fighting desperately he received a heavy blow at the back of the head
from the mace of a huge Nubian soldier, and fell senseless to the
ground.

When he recovered his consciousness the first impression upon his mind
was the stillness which had succeeded to the din of battle; the shouts
and war-cries of the Crusaders, the wild yells of the Moslems were
hushed, and in their place was a quiet chatter in many unknown tongues,
and the sound of laughter and feasting. Raising his head and looking
round, Cuthbert saw that he and some ten of his comrades were lying
together in the midst of a Saracen camp, and that he was a prisoner to
the infidels. The sun streamed down with tremendous force upon them;
there was no shelter; and though all were wounded and parched with
thirst, the Saracens of whom they besought water, pointing to their
mouths and making signs of their extreme thirst, laughed in their faces,
and signified by a gesture that it was scarcely worth the trouble to
drink when they were likely so soon to be put to death.

It was late in the afternoon before any change was manifest. Then
Cuthbert observed a stir in the camp; the men ran to their horses,
leaped on their backs, and with wild cries of "Welcome!" started off at
full speed. Evidently some personage was about to arrive, and the fate
of the prisoners would be solved. A few words were from time to time
exchanged between these, each urging the other to keep up his heart and
defy the infidel. One or two had succumbed to their wounds during the
afternoon, and only six were able to stand erect when summoned to do so
by some of their guard, who made signs to them that a great personage
was coming. Soon the shouts of the horsemen and other sounds announced
that the great chief was near at hand, and the captives gathered from
the swelling shouts of the Arabs that the new arrival was Sultan
Suleiman--or Saladin, for he was called by both names--surrounded by a
bodyguard of splendidly-dressed attendants. The emir, who was himself
plainly attired, reined up his horse in front of the captives.

"You are English," he said, in the _lingua-franca_, which was the medium
of communication between the Eastern and Western peoples in those days.
"You are brave warriors, and I hear that before you were taken you
slaughtered numbers of my people. They did wrong to capture you and
bring you here to be killed. Your cruel king gives no mercy to those who
fall into his hands. You must not expect it here, you who without a
pretense of right invade my country, slaughter my people, and defeat my
armies. The murder of the prisoners of Acre has closed my heart to all
mercy. There, your king put ten thousand prisoners to death in cold
blood, a month after the capture of the place, because the money at
which he had placed their ransom had not arrived. We Arabs do not carry
huge masses of gold about with us; and although I could have had it
brought from Egypt, I did not think that so brave a monarch as Richard
of England could have committed so cruel an action in cold blood. When
we are fresh from battle, and our wounds are warm, and our hearts are
full of rage and fury, we kill our prisoners; but to do so weeks after a
battle is contrary to the laws alike of your religion and of ours.
However, it is King Richard who has sealed your doom, not I. You are
knights, and I do not insult you with the offer of turning from your
religion and joining me. Should one of you wish to save his life on
these conditions, I will, however, promise him a place of position and
authority among us."

None of the knights moved to accept the offer, but each, as the eye of
the emir ran along the line, answered with an imprecation of contempt
and hatred. Saladin waved his hand, and one by one the captives were led
aside, walking as proudly to their doom as if they had been going to a
feast. Each wrung the hand of the one next to him as he turned, and then
without a word followed his captors. There was a dull sound heard, and
one by one the heads of the knights rolled in the sand.

Cuthbert happened to be last in the line, and as the executioners laid
hands upon him and removed his helmet, the eye of the sultan fell upon
him, and he almost started at perceiving the extreme youth of his
captive. He held his hand aloft to arrest the movements of the
executioners, and signaled for Cuthbert to be brought before him again.

"You are but a boy," he said. "All the knights who have hitherto fallen
into my hands have been men of strength and power; how is it that I see
a mere youth among their ranks, and wearing the golden spurs of
knighthood?"

"King Richard himself made me a knight," Cuthbert said proudly, "after
having stood across him when his steed had been foully stabbed at the
battle of Azotus, and the whole Moslem host were around him."

"Ah!" said the emir, "were you one of the two who, as I have heard,
defended the king for some time against all assaults? It were hard
indeed to kill so brave a youth. I doubt me not that at present you are
as firmly determined to die a Christian knight as those who have gone
before you? But time may change you. At any rate for the present your
doom is postponed."

He turned to a gorgeously dressed noble next to him, and said:

"Your brother, Ben Abin, is Governor of Jerusalem, and the gardens of
the palace are fair. Take this youth to him as a present, and set him to
work in his gardens. His life I have spared, in all else Ben Abin will
be his master."

Cuthbert heard without emotion the words which changed his fate from
death to slavery. Many, he knew, who were captured in these wars were
carried away as slaves to different parts of Asia, and it did not seem
to him that the change was in any way a boon. However, life is dear, and
it was but natural that a thought should leap into his heart that soon
either the Crusaders might force a way into Jerusalem and there rescue
him, or that he himself might in some way escape.

The sultan having thus concluded the subject, turned away, and galloped
off surrounded by his bodyguard.

Those who had captured the Christians now stripped off the armor of
Cuthbert; then he was mounted on a barebacked steed, and with four
Bedouins, with their long lances, riding beside him, started for
Jerusalem. After a day of long and rapid riding the Arabs stopped
suddenly on the crest of a hill, with a shout of joy, and throwing
themselves from their horses bent with their foreheads to the earth at
the sight of their holy city.

Cuthbert, as he gazed at the stately walls of Jerusalem, and the noble
buildings within, felt bitterly that it was not thus that he had hoped
to see the holy city. He had dreamed of arriving before it with his
comrades, proud and delighted at their success so far, and confident in
their power soon to wrest the town before them from the hands of the
Moslems. Instead of this he was a slave--a slave to the infidel, perhaps
never more to see a white face, save that of some other unfortunate like
himself.

Even now in its fallen state no city is so impressive at first sight as
Jerusalem; the walls, magnificent in height and strength, and
picturesque in their deep embattlements, rising on the edge of a deep
valley. Every building has its name and history. Here is the church
built by the first Crusaders; there the mighty mosque of Suleiman on the
site of the Temple; far away on a projecting ridge the great building
known as the Tomb of Moses; on the right beyond the houses rise the
towers on the Roman walls; the Pool of Bethsaida lies in the hollow; in
the center are the cupolas of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Among
all the fairest cities of the world, there are none which can compare in
stately beauty with Jerusalem. Doubtless it was a fairer city in those
days, for long centuries of Turkish possession have reduced many of the
former stately palaces to ruins. Then, as now, the banner of the Prophet
floated over the high places; but whereas at present the population is
poor and squalid, the city in those days contained a far larger number
of inhabitants, irrespective of the great garrison collected for its
defense.

The place from which Cuthbert had his first sight of Jerusalem is that
from which the best view is to be obtained--the crest of the Mount of
Olives. After a minute or two spent in looking at the city the Arabs
with a shout continued their way down into the valley. Crossing this
they ascended the steep road to the walls, brandishing their lances and
giving yells of triumph; then riding two upon each side of their
prisoner, to protect him from any fanatic who might lay a hand upon him,
they passed under the gate known as the Gate of Suleiman into the city.

The populace thronged the streets; and the news brought by the horsemen
that a considerable portion of the Christian host had been defeated and
slain passed from mouth to mouth, and was received with yells of
exultation. Execrations were heaped upon Cuthbert, who rode along with
an air as quiet and composed as if he were the center of an ovation
instead of that of an outburst of hatred.

He would, indeed, speedily have been torn from his guards, had not these
shouted that he was placed in their hands by Saladin himself for conduct
to the governor. As the emir was as sharp and as ruthless with his own
people as with the prisoners who fell into his hands, the name acted as
a talisman, and Cuthbert and his escort rode forward without molestation
until they reached the entrance to the palace.

Dismounting, Cuthbert was now led before the governor himself, a stern
and grave-looking man, sitting cross-legged on a divan surrounded by
officers and attendants. He heard in silence the account given him by
the escort, bowed his head at the commands of Suleiman, and, without
addressing a word to Cuthbert, indicated to two attendants that he was
to be removed into the interior of the house. Here the young knight was
led to a small dungeon-like room; bread and dates with a cruse of water,
were placed before him; the door was then closed and locked without, and
he found himself alone with his thoughts.

No one came near him that night, and he slept as soundly as he would
have done in his tent in the midst of the Christian host. He was
resolved to give no cause for ill-treatment or complaint to his captors,
to work as willingly, as cheerfully, as was in his power, and to seize
the first opportunity to make his escape, regardless of any risk of his
life which he might incur in doing so.

In the morning the door opened, and a black slave led him into the
garden, which was surrounded by a very high and lofty wall. It was
large, and full of trees and flowers, and far more beautiful than any
garden that Cuthbert had seen in his native land. There were various
other slaves at work; and an Arab, who appeared to be the head of the
gardeners, at once appointed to Cuthbert the work assigned to him. A
guard of Arabs with bow and spear watched the doings of the slaves.

With one glance round, Cuthbert was assured that escape from this
garden, at least, was not to be thought of, and that for the present
patience alone was possible. Dismissing all ideas of that kind from his
mind, he set to work with a steady attention to his task. He was very
fond of flowers, and soon he became so absorbed in his work as almost to
forget that he was a slave. It was not laborious--digging, planting,
pruning and training the flowers, and giving them copious draughts of
water from a large fountain in the center of the garden.

The slaves were not permitted to exchange a word with each other. At the
end of the day's work they were marched off to separate chambers, or,
as they might be called, dungeons. Their food consisted of water, dried
dates, and bread, and they had little to complain of in this respect;
indeed, the slaves in the gardens of the governor's house at Jerusalem
enjoyed an exceptionally favored existence. The governor himself was
absorbed in the cares of the city. The head gardener happened to be a
man of unusual humanity, and it was really in his hands that the comfort
of the prisoners was placed.

Sometimes in the course of the day veiled ladies would issue in groups
from the palace, attended by black slaves with drawn scimiters. They
passed without unveiling across the point where the slaves were at work,
and all were forbidden on pain of death to look up, or even to approach
the konak or pavilion, where the ladies threw aside their veils, and
enjoyed the scent and sight of the flowers, the splash of murmuring
waters, and the strains of music touched by skillful hands.

Although Cuthbert wondered in his heart what these strange wrapped-up
figures might look like when the veils were thrown back, he certainly
did not care enough about the matter to run any risk of drawing the
anger of his guards upon himself by raising his eyes toward them; nor
did he ever glance up at the palace, which was also interdicted to the
slaves. From the lattice casements during the day the strains of music
and merry laughter often came down to the captives; but this, if
anything, only added to the bitterness of their position, by reminding
them that they were shut off for life from ever hearing the laughter of
the loved ones they had left behind.

For upward of a month Cuthbert remained steadily at work, and during
that time no possible plan of escape had occurred to him, and he had
indeed resigned himself to wait, either until, as he hoped, the city
would be taken by the Christians, or until he himself might be removed
from his present post and sent into the country, where, although his lot
would doubtless be far harder, some chance of escape might open before
him.

One night, long after slumber had fallen upon the city, Cuthbert was
startled by hearing his door open. Rising to his feet, he saw a black
slave, and an old woman beside him. The latter spoke first in the
_lingua-franca_:

"My mistress, the wife of the governor, has sent me to ask your story.
How is it that, although but a youth, you are already a knight? How is
it that you come to be a slave to our people? The sultan himself sent
you to her lord. She would fain hear through me how it has happened. She
is the kindest of ladies, and the sight of your youth has touched her
heart."

With thanks to the unknown lady who had felt an interest in him,
Cuthbert briefly related the events which had led to his captivity. The
old woman placed on the ground a basket containing some choice fruit and
white bread, and then departed with the <DW64> as quietly as she had
come, leaving Cuthbert greatly pleased at what had taken place.

"Doubtless," he said to himself, "I shall hear again; and it may be that
through the pity of this lady some means of escape may open to me."

Although for some little time no such prospect appeared, yet the visits
of the old woman, which were frequently repeated, were of interest to
him, and seemed to form a link between him and the world.

After coming regularly every night for a week she bade the young knight
follow her, holding her finger to her lips in sign that caution must be
observed. Passing through several passages, he was at length led into a
room where a lady of some forty years of age, surrounded by several
slaves and younger women, was sitting. Cuthbert felt no scruple in
making a deep obeisance to her; the respect shown to women in the days
of chivalry was very great, and Cuthbert, in bowing almost to the ground
before the lady who was really his mistress, did not feel that he was
humiliating himself.

"Young slave," she said, "your story has interested us. We have
frequently watched from the windows, and have seen how willingly and
patiently you have worked; and it seems strange indeed that one so young
should have performed such feats of bravery as to win the honor of
knighthood from the hand of that greatest of warriors, Richard of
England. What is it, we would fain learn from your lips, that stirs up
the heart of the Christian world that they should launch their armies
against us, who wish but to be left alone, and who have no grudge
against them? This city is as holy to us as it is to you; and as we
live around it, and all the country for thousands of miles is ours, is
it likely that we should allow it to be wrested from us by strangers
from a distance?"

This was spoken in some Eastern language of which Cuthbert understood no
word, but its purport was translated to him by the old woman who had
hitherto acted as his mistress' messenger.

Cuthbert reported the circumstances of the fight at Azotus, and
endeavored to explain the feelings which had given rise to the Crusade.
He then, at the orders of the lady, related the incidents of his voyage
out, and something of his life at home, which was more interesting even
than the tale of his adventures to his hearers, as to them the home-life
of these fierce Christian warriors was entirely unknown.

After an audience of two hours Cuthbert was conducted back to his cell,
his mistress assuring him of her good-will, and promising to do all in
her power to make his captivity as light as possible.




CHAPTER XIV.

AN EFFORT FOR FREEDOM.


Two or three nights afterward the old woman again came to Cuthbert, and
asked him, in her mistress' name, if in any way he could suggest a
method of lightening his captivity, as his extreme youth and bravery of
demeanor had greatly pleased her.

Cuthbert replied that nothing but freedom could satisfy his longings;
that he was comfortable and not over-worked, but that he pined to be
back again with his friends.

The old woman brought him on the following night a message to the effect
that his mistress would willingly grant him his liberty, but as he was
sent to her husband by the sultan, it would be impossible to free him
openly.

"From what she said," the old woman continued, "if you could see some
plan of making your escape, she would in no way throw difficulties in
your path; but it must not be known that the harem in any way connived
at your escape, for my lord's wrath would be terrible, and he is not a
man to be trifled with."

Looking round at the high walls that surrounded the garden, Cuthbert
said that he could think of no plan whatever for escaping from such a
place; that he had often thought it over, but that it appeared to him to
be hopeless. Even should he manage to scale these walls, he would only
find himself in the town beyond, and his escape from that would be
altogether hopeless. "Only," he said, "if I were transported to some
country palace of the governor could I ever hope to make my escape." The
next night the messenger brought him the news that his mistress was
disposed to favor his escape in the way he had pointed out, and that she
would in two or three days ask the governor for permission to pay a
visit to their palace beyond the walls, and that with her she would take
a number of gardeners--among them Cuthbert--to beautify the place.
Cuthbert returned the most lively and hearty thanks to his patroness for
her kind intentions, and hope began to rise rapidly in his heart.

It is probable, however, that the black guards of the harem heard
something of the intentions of their mistress, and that they feared the
anger of the governor should Cuthbert make his escape, and should it be
discovered that this was the result of her connivance. Either through
this or through some other source the governor obtained an inkling that
the white slave sent by the sultan was receiving unusual kindness from
the ladies of the harem.

Two nights after Cuthbert had begun to entertain bright hopes of his
liberty, the door of the cell was softly opened. He was seized by four
slaves, gagged, tied hand and foot, covered with a thick burnous, and
carried out from his cell. By the sound of their feet he heard that they
were passing into the open air, and guessed that he was being carried
through the garden; then a door opened and was closed after them; he was
flung across a horse like a bale of goods, a rope or two were placed
around him to keep him in that position, and then he felt the animal put
in motion, and heard by the trampling of feet that a considerable number
of horsemen were around him. For some time they passed over the rough,
uneven streets of the city; then there was a pause and exchange of
watchword and countersign, a creaking of doors, and a lowering of a
drawbridge, and the party issued out into the open country. Not for very
long did they continue their way; a halt was called, and Cuthbert was
taken off his horse.

On looking round, he found that he was in the middle of a considerable
group of men. Those who had brought him were a party of the governor's
guards; but he was now delivered over to a large band of Arabs, all of
whom were mounted on camels. One of these creatures he was ordered to
mount, the bonds being loosed from his arms and feet. An Arab driver,
with lance, bows, and arrows, and other weapons, took his seat on the
neck of the animal, and then with scarcely a word the caravan marched
off with noiseless step, and with their faces turned southward.

It seemed to Cuthbert almost as a dream. A few hours before he had been
exalted with the hope of freedom; now he was being taken away to a
slavery which would probably end but with his life. Although he could
not understand any of his captors, the repetition of a name led him to
believe that he was being sent to Egypt as a present to some man in high
authority there; and he doubted not that the Governor of Jerusalem,
fearing that he might escape, and dreading the wrath of the sultan
should he do so, had determined to transfer the troublesome captive to a
more secure position and to safer hands.

For three days the journey continued; they had now left the fertile
lowlands of Palestine, and their faces were turned west. They were
entering upon that sandy waste which stretches between the southern
corner of Palestine and the land of Egypt, a distance which can be
traveled by camels in three days, but which occupied the children of
Israel forty years.

At first the watch had been very sharply kept over the captive; but now
that they had entered the desert the Arabs appeared to consider that
there was no chance of an attempt to escape. Cuthbert had in every way
endeavored to ingratiate himself with his guard. He had most willingly
obeyed their smallest orders, had shown himself pleased and grateful for
the dates which formed the staple of their repasts. He had assumed so
innocent and quiet an appearance that the Arabs had marveled much among
themselves, and had concluded that there must have been some mistake in
the assertion of the governor's guard who had handed the prisoner over
to them, that he was one of the terrible knights of King Richard's army.

Cuthbert's heart had not fallen for a moment. He knew well that if he
once reached Cairo all hope of escape was at an end; and it was before
reaching that point that he determined if possible to make an effort for
freedom. He had noticed particularly the camel which appeared to be the
fleetest of the band; it was of lighter build than the rest, and it was
with difficulty that its rider had compelled it to accommodate itself to
the pace of the others. It was clear from the pains he took with it, by
the constant patting and the care bestowed upon its watering and
feeding, that its rider was extremely proud of it; and Cuthbert
concluded that if an escape was to be made, this was the animal on which
he must accomplish it.

Upon arriving at the end of each day's journey the camels were allowed
to browse at will, a short cord being tied between one of their hind and
one of their fore-feet. The Arabs then set to work to collect sticks and
to make a fire--not for cooking, for their only food was dried dates and
some black bread, which they brought with them--but for warmth, as the
nights were damp and somewhat chilly, as they sat round the fire,
talked, and told stories. Before finally going off to rest each went out
into the bushes and brought in his camel; these were then arranged in a
circle around the Arabs, one of the latter being mounted as sentry to
prevent any sudden surprise--not indeed that they had the smallest fear
of the Christians, who were far distant; but then, as now, the Arabs of
the desert were a plundering race, and were ever ready to drive off each
other's camels or horses. Cuthbert determined that if flight was
possible, it must be undertaken during the interval after the arrival at
the halting-place and before the bringing in of the camels. Therefore,
each day upon the halt he had pretended great fatigue from the rough
motion of the camel, and had, after hastily eating the dates handed to
him, thrown himself down, covered himself with his Arab robe, and
feigned instant sleep. Thus they had in the three days from starting
come to look upon his presence sleeping close to them as a matter of
course.

The second day after entering the desert, however, Cuthbert threw
himself down by the side of an uprooted shrub of small size and about
his own length. He covered himself as usual with his long, dark-blue
robe, and pretended to go to sleep. He kept his eyes, however, on the
alert through an aperture beneath his cloth, and observed particularly
the direction in which the camel upon which he had set his mind wandered
into the bushes. The darkness came on a very few minutes after they had
halted, and when the Arabs had once settled round their fire Cuthbert
very quietly shifted the robe from himself to the long low bush near
him, and then crawled stealthily off into the darkness.

He had no fear of his footfall being heard upon the soft sand, and was
soon on his feet, looking for the camels. He was not long in finding
them, or in picking out the one which he had selected. The bushes were
succulent, and close to the camping-ground; indeed, it was for this that
the halting-places were always chosen. It was not so easy, however, to
climb into the high wooden saddle, and Cuthbert tried several times in
vain. Then he repeated in a sharp tone the words which he had heard the
Arabs use to order their camels to kneel, striking the animal at the
same moment behind the fore-legs with a small switch. The camel
immediately obeyed the order to which he was accustomed, and knelt down,
making, however, as he did so, the angry grumble which those creatures
appear to consider it indispensable to raise when ordered to do
anything. Fortunately this noise is so frequently made, and the camels
are so given to quarrel among themselves that although in the still air
it might have been heard by the Arabs sitting a short hundred yards
away, it attracted no notice, and Cuthbert, climbing into the seat,
shook the cord that served as a rein, and the animal, rising, set off at
a smooth, steady swing in the direction in which his head was
turned--that from which they had that day arrived.

Once fairly away from the camping-ground, Cuthbert, with blows of his
stick, increased the speed of the camel to a long shuffling trot, and
the fire in the distance soon faded out into the darkness.

Cuthbert trusted to the stars as guides. He was not unarmed, for as he
crawled away from his resting-place he had picked up one of the Arabs'
spears and bow and arrows, and a large bag of dates from the spot where
they had been placed when their owner dismounted. He was already clad in
Eastern garb, and was so sunburnt and tanned that he had no fear
whatever of any one at a distance detecting that he was a white man.

Steering his course by the stars, he rode all night without stopping. He
doubted not that he would have at least three hours' start, for the
Arabs were sure to have sat that time round the fires before going out
to bring in their camels. Even then they would suppose for some time
that the animal upon which he was seated had strayed, and no pursuit
would be attempted until it was discovered that he himself had made his
escape, which might not be for a long time, as the Arabs would not think
of looking under the cloth to see if he were there. He hoped, therefore,
that he would reach the cultivated land long before he was overtaken. He
had little fear but that he should then be able to journey onward
without attracting attention.

A solitary Arab when traveling rides straight, and his communications to
those whom he meets are confined to the set form of two or three words,
"May Allah protect you!" the regular greeting of Moslems when they meet.

When morning broke Cuthbert, even when ascending to the top of a
somewhat lofty mound, could see no signs of pursuers in the vast stretch
of desert behind him. In front the ground was already becoming dotted
here and there with vegetation, and he doubted not that after a few
hours' ride he should be fairly in the confines of cultivated country.
He gave his camel a meal of dates, and having eaten some himself, again
set the creature in motion. These camels, especially those of good
breed, will go on for three or four days with scarcely a halt; and there
was no fear of that on which he rode breaking down from fatigue, for the
journeys hitherto had been comparatively short.

By midday Cuthbert had reached the cultivated lands of Palestine. Here
and there over the plain villages were dotted, and parties of men and
camels were to be seen. Cuthbert now arranged his robes carefully in
Arab fashion, slung the long spear across his shoulders, and went boldly
forward at a slinging trot, having little fear that a passer-by would
have any suspicion whatever as to his being other than an Arab bent upon
some rapid journey. He soon found that his hopes were justified. Several
times he came upon parties of men whom he passed with the salute, and
who scarcely raised their eyes as he trotted by them. The plain was an
open one, and though cultivated here and there, there were large tracts
lying unworked. There was no occasion therefore to keep to the road; so
riding across country, and avoiding the villages as far as possible,
stopping only at a stream to give his camel water, Cuthbert rode without
ceasing until nightfall. Then he halted his camel near a wood, turned it
in to feed on the young foliage, and wrapping himself in his burnous was
soon asleep, for he ached from head to foot with the jolting motion
which had now been continued for so many hours without an interval. He
had little fear of being overtaken by the party he had left behind; they
would, he was convinced, be many hours behind, and it was extremely
improbable that they would hit upon the exact line which he had
followed, so that even if they succeeded in coming up to him, they would
probably pass him a few miles either to the right or left.

So fatigued was he with his long journey that the next day he slept
until after the sun had risen. He was awakened suddenly by being seized
by a party of Arabs, who, roughly shaking him, questioned him as to
where he came from, and what he was doing there. He saw at a glance that
they were not with the party from which he had escaped, and he pointed
to his lips to make signs that he was dumb. The Arabs evidently
suspected that something was wrong. They examined the camel, and then
the person of their captive. The whiteness of his skin at once showed
them that he was a Frank in disguise, and without more ado or
questioning, they tied him hand and foot, flung him across the camel,
and, mounting their own animals, rode rapidly away.

From the position of the sun Cuthbert saw that they were making their
course nearly due east, and therefore that it could not be their
intention to take him to Jerusalem, which was to the north of the line
they were following. A long day's journey, which to Cuthbert seemed
interminable, found them on the low spit of sand which runs along by the
side of the Dead Sea. Behind, lofty rocks rose almost precipitously, but
through a cleft in these the Arabs had made their way. Cuthbert saw at
once that they belonged to some desert tribe over whom the authority of
Suleiman was but nominal. When summoned for any great effort, these
children of the desert would rally to his armies and fight for a short
time; but at the first disaster, or whenever they became tired of the
discipline and regularity of the army, they would mount their camels and
return to the desert, generally managing on the way to abstract from the
farms of those on their route either a horse, cattle, or some other
objects which would pay them for the labors they had undergone.

They were now near the confines of their own country, and apparently had
no fear whatever of pursuit. They soon gathered some of the dead wood
cast on the shores of the sea, and with these a fire was speedily
lighted, and an earthenware pot was taken down from among their baggage:
it was filled with water from a skin, and then grain having been placed
in it, it was put among the wood ashes. Cuthbert, who was weary and
aching in every limb from the position in which he had been placed on
the camel, asked them by signs for permission to bathe in the lake. This
was given principally apparently from curiosity, for but very few Arabs
were able to swim; indeed, as a people they object so utterly to water
that the idea of any one bathing for his amusement was to them a matter
of ridicule.

Cuthbert, who had never heard of the properties of the Dead Sea, was
perfectly astonished upon entering the water to find that instead of
wading in it up to the neck before starting to swim, as he was
accustomed to do at home, the water soon after he got waist-deep took
him off his feet, and a cry of astonishment burst from him as he found
himself on rather than in the fluid. The position was so strange and
unnatural that with a cry of alarm he scrambled over on to his feet, and
made the best of his way to shore, the Arabs indulging in shouts of
laughter at his astonishment and alarm. Cuthbert was utterly unable to
account for the strange sensations he had experienced; he perceived that
the water was horribly salt, and that which had got into his mouth
almost choked him. He was, however, unaware that saltness adds to the
weight of water, and so to the buoyancy of objects cast into it. The
saltness of the fluid he was moreover painfully conscious of by the
smarting of the places on his wrists and ankles where the cords had been
bound that fastened him to the camel. Goaded, however, by the laughter
of the Arabs, he determined once more to try the experiment of entering
this strange sheet of water, which from some unaccountable cause
appeared to him to refuse to allow anybody to sink in it. This time he
swam about for some time, and felt a little refreshed. When he returned
to the shore he soon re-attired himself in his Bedouin dress, and seated
himself a little distance from his captors, who were now engaged in
discussing the materials prepared by themselves. They made signs to
Cuthbert that he might partake of their leavings, for which he was not a
little grateful, for he felt utterly exhausted and worn out with his
cruel ride and prolonged fasting.

The Arabs soon wrapped themselves in their burnouses, and feeling
confident that their captive would not attempt to escape from them in a
place where subsistence would be impossible, paid no further attention
to him beyond motioning to him to lie down at their side.

Cuthbert, however, determined to make another effort to escape; for
although he was utterly ignorant of the place in which he found himself,
or of the way back, he thought that anything would be better than to be
carried into helpless slavery into the savage country beyond the Jordan.
An hour, therefore, after his captors were asleep he stole to his feet,
and fearing to arouse them by exciting the wrath of one of the camels by
attempting to mount him, he struck up into the hills on foot. All night
he wandered, and in the morning found himself at the edge of a strange
precipice falling abruptly down to a river, which, some fifty feet wide,
ran at its foot. Upon the opposite side the bank rose with equal
rapidity, and to Cuthbert's astonishment he saw that the cliffs were
honeycombed by caves.

Keeping along the edge for a considerable distance, he came to a spot
where it was passable, and made his way down to the river bank. Here he
indulged in a long drink of fresh water, and then began to examine the
caves which perforated the rocks. These caves Cuthbert knew had formerly
been the abode of hermits. It was supposed to be an essentially sacred
locality, and between the third and fourth centuries of Christianity
some twenty thousand monks had lived solitary lives on the banks of that
river. Far away he saw the ruins of a great monastery, called Mar Saba,
which had for a long time been the abode of a religious community, and
which at the present day is still tenanted by a body of monks. Cuthbert
made up his mind at once to take refuge in these caves. He speedily
picked out one some fifty feet up the face of the rock, and
approachable only with the greatest difficulty and by a sure foot. First
he made the ascent to discover the size of the grotto, and found that
although the entrance was but four feet high and two feet wide, it
opened into an area of considerable dimensions. Far in the corner, when
his eyes became accustomed to the light, he discovered a circle of
ashes, and his conjectures that these caves had been the abode of men
were therefore verified. He again descended, and collected a large
bundle of grass and rushes for his bed. He discovered growing among the
rocks many edible plants, whose seeds were probably sown there centuries
before, and gathering some of these he made his way back to the cavern.
The grass furnished him with an excellent bed, and he was soon asleep.




CHAPTER XV.

A HERMIT'S TALE.


The next day he discovered on his excursions plenty of eatable berries
on the bushes; and now that he had no longer fear of hunger he resolved
to stay for some little time, until his wounds, which had festered
badly, had recovered, before making an attempt to rejoin the Christian
army.

One day when employed in gathering berries he was surprised by meeting a
wild-looking figure, who appeared suddenly from one of the caves. It was
that of a very old man, with an extremely long white beard flowing to
his waist; his hair, which was utterly unkempt, fell to the same point.
He was thin to an extraordinary extent, and Cuthbert wondered how a man
could have been reduced to such a state of starvation, with so plentiful
a supply of fruit and berries at hand.

The old man looked at Cuthbert attentively, and then made the sign of
the cross. Cuthbert gave a cry of joy, and repeated the sign. The old
man at once came down from his cavern, and looked at him with surprise
and astonishment, and then addressed him in the French language.

"Are you a Christian truly; and if so, whence do you come?"

Cuthbert at once explained that he had been taken prisoner when with
King Richard's army, and had effected his escape. He also told the old
man that he had been remaining for the last four days in a cave higher
up the stream. The hermit--for he was one--beckoned him to follow him,
and Cuthbert found himself in a cave precisely similar to that which he
himself inhabited. There were no signs of comfort of any kind; a
bed-place made of great stones stood in one corner, and Cuthbert,
remembering the comforts of his own grassy couch, shuddered at the
thought of the intense discomfort of such a sleeping-place. In another
corner was an altar, upon which stood a rough crucifix, before which the
hermit knelt at once in prayer, Cuthbert following his example. Rising
again, the hermit motioned to him to sit down, and then began a
conversation with him.

It was so long since the hermit had spoken to any living being that he
had almost lost the use of his tongue, and his sentences were slow and
ill-formed. However, Cuthbert was able to understand him, and he to
gather the drift of what Cuthbert told him. The old man then showed him
that by touching a stone in the corner of his cave the apparently solid
rock opened, and revealed an entrance into an inner cave, which was lit
by a ray of light which penetrated from above.

"This," he said, "was made centuries ago, and was intended as a refuge
from the persecutors of that day. The caves were then almost all
inhabited by hermits, and although many recked not of their lives, and
were quite ready to meet death through the knife of the infidel, others
clung to existence, and preferred to pass many years of penance on earth
for the sake of atoning for their sins before called upon to appear
before their Maker. If you are pursued it will be safer for you to take
up your abode here. I am known to all the inhabitants of this country,
who look upon me as mad, and respect me accordingly. None ever interfere
with me, or with the two or three other hermits, the remains of what was
once almost an army, who now alone survive. I can offer you no
hospitality beyond that of a refuge; but there is water in the river
below, fruits and berries in abundance on the shrubs. What would you
have more?"

Cuthbert accepted the invitation with thanks; for he thought that even
at the worst the presence of this holy man would be a protection to him
from any Arabs who might discover him.

For three or four days he resided with the hermit, who, although he
stretched his long lean body upon the hard stones of his bed, and passed
many hours of the night kneeling on the stone floor in front of his
altar, yet had no objection to Cuthbert making himself as comfortable as
he could under the circumstances.

At the end of the fourth day Cuthbert asked him how long he had been
there, and how he came to take up his abode in so desolate and fearsome
a place. The hermit was silent for a time, and then said:

"It is long indeed since my thoughts have gone back to the day when I
was of the world. I know not whether it would not be a sin to recall
them; but I will think the matter over to-night, and if it appears to me
that you may derive good from my narrative, I will relate it to you
to-morrow."

The next day Cuthbert did not renew the request, leaving it to the
hermit to speak should he think fit. It was not until the evening that
he alluded to the subject; and then taking his seat on a bank near the
edge of the river, he motioned to Cuthbert to sit beside him, and began:

"My father was a peer of France, and I was brought up at the court.
Although it may seem strange to you, looking upon this withered frame,
sixty-five years back I was as bold and comely a knight as rode in the
train of the king, for I am now past ninety, and for sixty years I have
resided here. I was a favorite of the king's, and he loaded me with
wealth and honor. He, too, was young, and I joined with him in the mad
carousals and feastings of the court. My father resided for the most
part at one of his castles in the country, and I, an only son, was left
much to myself. I need not tell you that I was as wild and as wicked as
all those around me; that I thought little of God, and feared neither
Him nor man.

"It chanced that one of the nobles--I need not mention his name--whose
castle lay in the same province as that of my father, had a lovely
daughter, who, being an only child, would be his heiress. She was
considered one of the best matches in France, and reports of her
exceeding beauty had reached the court. Although my allowance from my
father, and from the estates which the king had given me personally,
should have been more than enough for my utmost wants, gambling and
riotous living swallowed up my revenue faster than it came in, and I was
constantly harassed by debt.

"Talking one night at supper with a number of bold companions as to the
means we should take for restoring our wasted fortunes, some said in
jest that the best plan would be for one of us to marry the beauty of
Dauphiny. I at once said that I would be the man to do it; the idea was
a wild one, and a roar of laughter greeted my words. Her father was
known to be a stern and rigid man, and it was certain that he would not
consent to give his daughter to a spendthrift young noble like myself.
When the laughter had subsided I repeated my intention gravely, and
offered to wager large sums with all around the table that I would
succeed.

"On the morrow I packed up a few of my belongings, put in my valise the
dress of a wandering troubadour, and taking with me only a trusty
servant, started for Dauphiny. It would be tedious to tell you the
means I resorted to to obtain the affections of the heiress. I had been
well instructed in music and could play on the lute, and knew by heart
large numbers of ballads, and could myself, in case of necessity, string
verses together with tolerable ease. As a troubadour I arrived at the
castle gate, and craved permission to enter to amuse its occupants.
Troubadours then, as now, were in high esteem in the south, and I was at
once made a welcome guest.

"Days passed, and weeks; still I lingered at the castle, my heart being
now as much interested as my pride in the wager which I had undertaken.
Suffice it to say that my songs, and perhaps my appearance--for I cannot
be accused of vanity now in saying nature had been bountiful to me--won
my way to her heart. Troubadours were licensed folk, and even in her
father's presence there was naught unseemly in my singing songs of love.
While he took them as the mere compliments of a troubadour, the lady, I
saw, read them as serious effusions of my heart.

"It was only occasionally that we met alone; but ere long she confessed
that she loved me. Without telling her my real name, I disclosed to her
that I was of her own rank and that I had entered upon the disguise I
wore in order to win her love. She was romantic, and was flattered by my
devotion. I owned to her that hitherto I had been wild and reckless; and
she told me at once that her father destined her for the son of an old
friend of his, to whom it appeared she had been affianced while still a
baby. She was positive that nothing would move her father. For the man
she was to marry she entertained no kind of affection, and indeed had
never seen him, as she had been brought up in a convent to the age of
fifteen; and just before she had returned thence he had gone to finish
his education at Padua.

"She trembled when I proposed flight; but I assured her that I was
certain of the protection of the king, and that he would, I was sure,
when the marriage was once celebrated, use his influence with her father
to obtain his forgiveness.

"The preparations for her flight were not long in making. I purchased a
fleet horse in addition to my own, and ordered my servant to bring it to
a point a short distance from the castle gate. I had procured a long
rope with which to lower her down from her lattice to the moat below,
which was at present dry, intending myself to slide after her. The night
chosen was one when I knew that the count was to have guests, and I
thought that they would probably, as is the custom, drink heavily, and
that there would be less fear of any watch being kept.

"The guests arrived just at nightfall. I had feigned illness, and kept
my room. From time to time I heard through the windows of the banqueting
hall bursts of laughter. These gradually ceased; and at last when all
was still I, after waiting some time, stole from my room with a rope in
my hand to the apartment occupied by her. A slight tap at the door, as
arranged, was at once answered, and I found her ready cloaked and
prepared for the enterprise. She trembled from head to foot, but I
cheered her to the best of my power, and at last she was in readiness to
be lowered. The window was at a considerable height from the ground; but
the rope was a long one, and I had no fear of its reaching the bottom.
Fastening it round her waist, I began to lower her from the window.

"The night was a windy one, and she swung backward and forward as she
went down. By what chance it was I know not--for I had examined the rope
and found it secure--but methinks in swaying backward and forward it
may have caught a sharp stone, maybe it was a punishment from Heaven
upon me for robbing a father of his child--but suddenly I felt there was
no longer a weight on my arms. A fearful shriek rang through the air,
and, looking out, I saw far below a white figure stretched senseless in
the mud!

"For a minute I stood paralyzed. But the cry had aroused others, and,
turning round, I saw a man at the door with a drawn sword. Wild with
grief and despair, and thinking, not of making my escape, or of
concealing my part in what had happened, but rushing without an
instant's delay to the body of her I loved so well, I drew my sword, and
like a madman rushed upon him who barred the door. The combat was brief
but furious, and nerved by the madness of despair I broke down his guard
and ran him through the body. As he fell back, his face came in the full
light of the moon, which streamed through the open door of the passage,
and to my utter horror and bewilderment I saw that I had slain my
father.

"What happened after that night I know not. I believe that I made my
escape from the castle and rushed round to the body of her whose life I
had destroyed, and that there finding her dead, I ran wildly across the
country. When I came to my senses months had passed, and I was the
inmate of an asylum for men bereaved of their senses, kept by noble
monks. Here for two years I remained, the world believing that I was
dead. None knew that the troubadour whose love had cost the lady her
life, who had slain the guest of her father, and had then disappeared,
was the unhappy son of that guest. My friends in Paris when they heard
of the tragedy of course associated it with me, but they all kept
silent. The monks, to whom I confessed the whole story, were shocked
indeed, but consoled me in my grief and despair by the assurance that
however greatly I had sinned, the death of the lady had been accidental,
and that if I were a parricide it was at least unintentionally.

"My repentance was deep and sincere; and after awhile, under another
name, I joined the army of the Crusaders, to expiate my sin by warring
for the holy sepulcher. I fought as men fight who have no wish to live;
but while all around me fell by sword and disease, death kept aloof from
me. When the Crusade had failed I determined to turn forever from the
world, and to devote my life to prayer and penance; and so casting aside
my armor I made my way here, and took up my abode in a cave in this
valley, where at that time were many thousands of other hermits--for the
Saracens, while they gained much money from fines and exactions from
pilgrims who came to Jerusalem, and fought stoutly against those who
sought to capture that city, were in the main tolerant, and offered no
hindrance to the community of men whom they looked upon as mad.

"Here, my son, for more than sixty years have I prayed, with much
fasting and penance. I trust now that the end is nearly at hand, and
that my long life of mortification may be deemed to have obliterated the
evil deeds which I did in my youth. Let my fate be a warning to you.
Walk steadily in the right way; indulge not in feasting and evil
companionship; and above all, do not enter upon evil deeds, the end of
which no man can see."

The hermit was silent, and Cuthbert, seeing that his thoughts had again
referred to the past, wandered away, and left him sitting by the river
side. Some hours later he returned and found the hermit kneeling before
the altar; and the next morning the latter said:

"I presume, my son, you do not wish to remain here as a hermit, as I
have done? Methinks it were well that we made our arrangements for your
return to the Christian host, who will, I hope, ere long be at the gates
of Jerusalem."

"I should like nothing better," Cuthbert said. "But ignorant as I am of
the nature of the country, it seems to be nigh impossible to penetrate
through the hosts of the Saracens to reach the camp of King Richard."

"The matter is difficult and not without danger," the hermit said. "As
to the nature of the country, I myself know but little, for my dealings
with the natives have been few and simple. There are, however, several
Christian communities dwelling among the heathen. They are poor, and are
forced to live in little-frequented localities. Their Christianity may
be suspected by their neighbors, but as they do no man harm, and carry
on their worship in secret, they are little interfered with. There is
one community among the hills between this and Jerusalem, and I can give
you instructions for reaching this, together with a token which will
secure you hospitality there, and they will no doubt do their best to
forward you to another station. When you approach the flat country where
the armies are maneuvering you must doubtless trust to yourself; but as
far as the <DW72>s extend, methinks that our friends will be able to pass
you without great difficulty."

Cuthbert's heart rose greatly at the prospect of once again entering
upon an active life, and the next evening, with many thanks for his
kindness, he knelt before the aged hermit to receive his blessing.

With the instructions given him he had no difficulty in making his way
through the mountains, until after some five hours' walk he found
himself at a little village situated in a narrow valley.

Going to the door of the principal hut he knocked, and upon entering
showed the owner--who opened the door--a rosette of peculiar beads and
repeated the name of Father Anselm. The peasant at once recognized it
and bade Cuthbert welcome. He knew but a few words of French, although
doubtless his ancestors had been of European extraction. In the morning
he furnished Cuthbert with the sheepskin and short tunic which formed
the dress of a shepherd, and dyeing his limbs and face a deep brown he
himself started with Cuthbert on his journey to the next Christian
community.

This was a small one consisting of two huts only, built almost on the
summit of a mountain, the inhabitants living partly on the milk and
cheese of their goats and partly upon the scanty vegetables which grew
around the huts.

His welcome was as cordial as that of the night before; and the next
morning, his former guide taking leave of him, the peasant in whose
house he had slept again conducted him forward to another community.
This was the last station and stood in a narrow gorge on the face of the
hills looking down over the plain, beyond which in the far distance a
faint line of blue sea was visible.

This community was far more prosperous and well-to-do than those at
which the previous nights had been passed. The head of the village
appeared to be a personage of some importance; and although clinging in
secret to his Christian faith, he and his belongings had so far adopted
the usages of the Mussulmen that apparently no thought of their
Christianity entered into the minds of the authorities. He was the owner
of two or three horses and of some extensive vineyards and olive
grounds. He was also able to speak French with some degree of fluency.

At considerable length he explained to Cuthbert the exact position of
the Christian army, which had moved some distance along the coast since
Cuthbert had left it. It was, he said, exposed to constant attacks by
the Saracens, who harassed it in every way, and permitted it no repose.
He said that the high hopes which had been raised by the defeat of the
Saracens at Azotus had now fallen, and that it was feared the Christians
would not be able to force their way forward to Jerusalem. The great
portion of their animals had died, and the country was so eaten up by
the Saracen hosts that an advance upon Jerusalem without a large baggage
train was next to impossible; and indeed if the Christians were to
arrive before that city, they could effect nothing without the aid of
the heavy machines necessary for battering the walls or effecting an
escalade.

Cuthbert was vastly grieved when he heard of the probable failure of the
expedition, and he burned with eagerness to take his part again in the
dangers and difficulties which beset the Christian army. His host
pointed out to him the extreme difficulty and danger of his crossing the
enemy's lines, but at the same time offered to do all in his power to
assist him. After two days' stay at the village, and discussing the pros
and cons of all possible plans, it was decided that the best chance lay
in a bold effort. The host placed at his disposal one of his horses,
together with such clothes as would enable him to ride as an Arab chief
of rank and station; a long lance was furnished him, a short and heavy
mace, and scimitar; a bag of dates was hung at the saddlebow; and with
the sincerest thanks to his protector, and with a promise that should
the Christian host win their way to Jerusalem the steed should be
returned with ample payment, Cuthbert started on his journey.




CHAPTER XVI.

A FIGHT OF HEROES.


The horse was a good and spirited one, and when he had once descended to
the plains, Cuthbert rode gayly along, exulting in his freedom, and in
once again possessing arms to defend himself should it be needed. His
appearance was so exactly that of the horsemen who were continually
passing and repassing that no observation whatever was attracted by it.
Through villages, and even through camps, Cuthbert rode fearlessly, and
arrived, without having once been accosted, near the main camp of the
Saracens, which extended for miles parallel to the sea. But at a
distance of some three leagues beyond could be seen the white tents of
the Christian host, and Cuthbert felt that the time of trial was now at
hand.

He dismounted for an hour to allow his steed to rest itself, fed it with
dates from his wallet, and gave it a drink of water at the stream. Then,
when he felt that it had thoroughly recovered its strength and
freshness, he remounted, and rode briskly on as before. He passed
unchallenged, attracting no more notice than a person nowadays would do
in walking along a crowded street. Without hesitation he passed through
the tents and started across the open country. Bands of horsemen were
seen here and there, some going, and some coming from the direction of
the Christian camp. As it was doubtless supposed that he was on his way
to join some band that had gone on in advance, the passage of the
solitary horseman excited no comment until he approached within about
two miles of the Christian camp. There were now, so far as he could see,
no enemies between him and the point he so longed to gain. But at this
minute a group of Arab horsemen, gathered, apparently on the lookout
against any movement of the Christians, shouted to him "Halt!" demanding
whither he was going.

Up to this point Cuthbert had ridden at a gentle canter; but at the
challenge he put spurs into his steed and made across the plain at full
speed. With a wild yell the Arabs started in pursuit. They lay at first
some two hundred yards on his right, and he had therefore a considerable
start of them. His horse was fairly fresh, for the journey that he had
made had only been about fifteen miles--an inconsiderable distance to an
Arab steed. For half a mile he did not think that his pursuers gained
much upon him, riding as they had done sideways. They had now gathered
in his rear, and the nearest was some one hundred and fifty yards behind
him. A quarter of a mile further he again looked around, and found that
two of the Arabs, far better mounted than the others, had come within
half the distance which separated them from him when he last glanced
back. His horse was straining to the utmost, and he felt that it could
do no more; he therefore prepared himself for a desperate fight should
his pursuers overtake him. In another quarter of a mile they were but a
short distance behind, and an arrow whizzing by Cuthbert's ear told him
they had betaken themselves to their bows.

Half a mile ahead he saw riding toward him a group of Christian knights;
but he felt that it was too late for him to hope to reach them, and that
his only chance now was to boldly encounter his pursuers. The main body
of the Arabs was fully two hundred yards behind--a short distance when
going at a gallop--which left him but little time to shake off the
pursuit of the two immediately behind him.

A sharp stinging pain in his leg told him that it was time to make his
effort; and checking his horse, he wheeled suddenly round. The two Arabs
with a yell rode at him with pointed lance. With his right hand Cuthbert
grasped the short heavy mace which hung at his saddlebow, and being well
practiced in the hurling of this weapon--which formed part of the
education of a good knight--he cast it with all his force at the chest
of the Arab approaching on that side. The point of the spear was within
a few yards of his breast as he flung the mace; but his aim was true,
for it smote the Saracen full on the chest, and hurled him from his
horse as if struck with a thunderbolt. At the same instant Cuthbert
threw himself flat on the neck of his steed and the lance of the Arab
who came up on the other side passed harmlessly between his shoulders,
tearing his clothes as it went. In an instant Cuthbert had wheeled his
horse, and before the Arab could turn his steed Cuthbert, coming up from
behind, had run him through the body.

Short as the delay had been, the main body of the pursuers were scarcely
fifty yards away; but Cuthbert now continued his flight toward the
knights, who were galloping forward at full speed; and a moment
afterward glancing back, he saw that his pursuers had turned and were in
full flight.

With a shout of joy he rode forward to the party who had viewed with
astonishment this conflict between what appeared to be three of the
infidels. Even louder than his first shout of exultation was the cry of
joy which he raised at seeing among the party to whom he rode up the
Earl of Evesham, who reined in his horse in astonishment, and drew his
sword as the supposed enemy galloped toward him.

"My lord, my lord!" Cuthbert said. "Thank Heaven I am safe with you
again."

The earl lowered his sword in astonishment.

"Am I mad," he said, "or dreaming, or is this really Sir Cuthbert?"

"It is I, sure enough," Cuthbert exclaimed, "although truly I look more
like a Bedouin soldier than a Christian knight."

"My dear boy!" exclaimed the earl, galloping forward and throwing his
arms around Cuthbert's neck, "we thought you were dead. But by what
wonderful fortune have you succeeded in escaping?"

In a few words Cuthbert related the principal incidents of his
adventures, and he was heartily congratulated by the assembled knights.

There was, however, no time for long explanations. Large bodies of the
Saracen horse were already sweeping down to capture, if possible, this
small band of knights who had ventured so far from the camp; and as King
Richard's orders were that none should venture upon conflicts except by
his orders, the party reluctantly turned their horses and galloped back
to the camp.

Great as had been the earl's joy, it was, if possible, exceeded by that
of Cnut on discovering in the Arab chief who rode up alongside the earl
the lad he loved so well. Loud and hearty were the cheers which rang out
from the earl's camp as the news spread, and Cuthbert was compelled to
shake hands with the whole party before entering the earl's tent, to
refresh himself and give the narrative of what had happened.

Cuthbert, retiring to his tent with the Earl of Evesham, inquired of him
what had taken place during his absence.

"For," he said, "although but a short three days' march from here, I
have been as one of the dead, and have heard nothing whatever of what
has taken place."

"Nothing could have gone worse," the earl said. "We have had nothing but
dissensions and quarrels. First, the king fell out with the Archduke of
Austria."

"On what ground did this happen?" Cuthbert asked.

"For once," the earl said, "the king our master was wholly in the wrong,
which is not generally the case. We had just taken Ascalon, and were
hard at work fortifying the place. King Richard with his usual zeal, in
order to encourage the army, seized heavy stones and himself bore them
into their place. The archduke stood near with some of his knights: and
it may be that the haughty Austrian looked somewhat superciliously at
our king thus laboring.

"'Why do you not make a show of helping?' King Richard said, going up to
him. 'It would encourage the men, and show that the labor upon which we
are engaged can be undertaken by all without derogation.'

"To this the archduke replied:

"'I am not the son of a mason!'

"Whereupon Richard, whose blood no doubt had been excited by the air of
the Austrian, struck him with his hand a fierce blow across the face. We
nearly betook ourselves to our swords on both sides; but King Richard
himself could have scattered half the Austrians, and these, knowing that
against his impetuous valor they could do nothing, simply withdrew from
our camp, and sailed the next day for home. Then the king, in order to
conciliate some at least of his allies, conferred the crown of Jerusalem
upon Conrad of Montferat. No sooner had he done this than Conrad was
mysteriously wounded. By whom it was done none knew. Some say that it
was by emissaries of the Old Man of the Mountain. Others affirm that it
was the jealousy of some of the knights of the holy orders. But be that
as it may, he died. Some of the French, ever jealous of the valor of our
king, ascribed it to his orders. This monstrous accusation coming to the
ears of King Richard, he had hot words with the Duke of Burgundy. In
this I blame him not, for it is beyond all reason that a man like the
king, whose faults, such as they are, arise from too much openness, and
from the want of concealment of such dislikes as he may have, should
resort to poison to free himself of a man whom he himself had but a day
or two before appointed King of Jerusalem. However it be, the
consequences were most unfortunate, for the result of the quarrel was
that the Duke of Burgundy and his Frenchmen followed the example of the
Austrians, and we were left alone. Before this we had marched upon
Jerusalem. But the weather had been so bad, and our train was so
insufficient to carry the engines of war, that we had been forced to
fall back again. King Richard again advanced, and with much toil we went
as far as the village of Bethany."

"Why," Cuthbert exclaimed, "I passed through that village, and it is but
three miles from the holy city."

"That is so," the earl said; "and many of us, ascending the hill in
front, saw Jerusalem. But even then it was certain that we must again
retrace our steps; and when we asked King Richard to come to the crest
of the hill to see the holy city, he refused to do so, saying, 'No;
those who are not worthy of conquering Jerusalem should not look at it!'
This was but a short time since, and we are now retracing our steps to
Acre, and are treating with Saladin for a peace."

"Then," Cuthbert said sadly, "all our hopes and efforts are thrown away;
all this blood has been shed for nothing; and after the three great
powers of Europe have engaged themselves solemnly in the war, we are
baffled, and have to fall back before the hordes of the infidels."

"Partly before them," the earl said, "partly as the result of our own
jealousies and passions. Had King Richard been a lesser man than he is,
we might have conquered Jerusalem. But he is so extraordinary a warrior
that his glory throws all others into the shade. He is a good general,
perhaps the best in Europe; and had he done nothing but lead, assuredly
we should have carried out our purpose. See how ably he maneuvered the
army at the fight of Azotus. Never was a more complete defeat than that
which he inflicted there upon the Saracens; and although the fact that
his generalship achieved this, might have caused some jealousy to the
other commanders, this might have died away could he between the battles
have been a general, and nothing more. But, alas! he is in addition a
knight-errant--and such a knight-errant as Europe has never seen before.
Wherever there is danger, Richard will plunge into the midst. There are
brave men in all the three armies; but the strongest and bravest are as
children to King Richard. Alone he can dart into ranks of the infidels,
and cut a lane for himself by the strength of his right arm. More than
this, when danger has threatened he has snatched up his battle-ax and
dashed into the fray without helm or cuirass, performing such prodigies
of valor and strength that it has been to his prowess alone that victory
was to be ascribed. Hence he is the idol of all the soldiers, whatever
their nationality; for he is as ready to rush to the rescue of a French
or Austrian knight when pressed as to that of his own men. But the
devotion which the whole army felt for him was as gall and wormwood to
the haughty Austrian and the indolent Frenchman; and the retirement of
the King of France, which left Richard in supreme command, was in every
way unfortunate."

Upon the following day the army again marched, and Cuthbert could not
but notice the difference, not only in number but in demeanor, from the
splendid array which had left Acre a few months before. There was little
now of the glory of pennon and banner; the bright helms and cuirasses
were rusted and dinted, and none seemed to care aught for bravery of
show. The knights and men-at-arms were sunburnt and thin, and seemed but
half the weight that they had been when they landed. Fatigue, hardship,
and the heat had done their work; disease had swept off vast numbers.
But the remains of the army were so formidable in their fighting powers
that the Saracens, although following them at a distance in vast
numbers, did not venture an attack upon them.

A few days after their arrival at Acre, the king gave orders for the
embarkation of the troops. Just as they were preparing to enter the
ships a small vessel was seen entering the harbor. It drew up to the
shore, and a knight leaped from it, and, inquiring where King Richard
was to be found, made his way to the king, who was standing
superintending the embarkation of some of the horses.

"The Saracens, sire!" he exclaimed. "The Saracens are besieging Jaffa,
and the place must be lost unless assistance arrives in a day or two."

The king leaped on board the nearest ship, shouted to his leading
officers to follow him, and gave orders to others to bring down the
troops with all possible speed, to waste not a moment, and to see that
all was done, and then, in five minutes after the receipt of the news he
started for Jaffa. The Earl of Evesham and Cuthbert had been standing
near the king when the order was given, and followed him at once on
board the bark which he had chosen.

"Ah, my gallant young knight," the king exclaimed, "I am right glad to
see you with me. We shall have more fighting before we have done, and I
know that that suits your mood as well as my own."

The king's vessel was far in advance of any of the others, when early
the following morning it arrived at Jaffa.

"Your eyes are better than mine," the king said to Cuthbert. "Tell me
what is that flag flying on the top of the town."

Cuthbert looked at it earnestly.

"I fear, sire, that it is the crescent. We have arrived too late."

"By the holy cross," said King Richard, "that shall not be so; for if
the place be taken, we will retake it."

As the vessel neared the shore a monk ran out into the water up to his
shoulders, and said to the king that the citadel still held out, and
that even now the Saracens might be driven back. Without delay the king
leaped into the water, followed by the knights and men-at-arms, and
entering the gate, threw himself upon the infidels within, who, busy
plundering, had not noticed the arrival of the ship.

The war cry of "St. George! St. George!" which the king always shouted
in battle, struck panic among the infidels; and although the king was
followed but by five knights and a few men-at-arms, the Saracens, to the
number of three thousand, fled before him, and all who tarried were
smitten down. The king followed them out upon the plain, driving them
before him as a lion would drive a flock of sheep, and then returned
triumphant into the city.

The next day, some more ships having arrived, King Richard found that in
all, including the garrison, he could muster two thousand combatants.
The enemy renewed the attack in great numbers, and the assaults upon
the walls were continuous and desperate. King Richard, who loved
fighting in the plain rather than behind walls, was impatient at this,
and at one time so fierce was the attack that he resolved to sally out.
Only ten horses remained in the town, and King Richard, mounting one,
called upon nine of the knights to mount and sally out with him. The
little band of ten warriors charged down upon the host of the Saracens
and swept them before them. It was a marvelous sight indeed to see so
small a group of horsemen dashing through a crowd of Saracen warriors.
These, although at first beaten back, yet rallied, and the ten knights
had great difficulty in fighting their way back to the town. When near
the walls the Christians again made a stand, and a few knights sallied
out from the town on foot and joined them. Among these was Cuthbert, the
Earl of Evesham having accompanied King Richard in his charge. In all,
seventeen knights were now rallied round the king. So fierce was the
charge of the Saracens that the king ordered those on horseback to
dismount, and with their horses in the center, the little body knelt
with their lances opposed to the Saracens. Again and again the wild
cavalry swept down upon this little force, but in vain did they attempt
to break their ranks. The scene was indeed an extraordinary one. At last
the king, seeing that the enemy were losing heart, again ordered the
knights to mount, and these dashing among the enemy, completed their
defeat.

While this had been going on news came to the king that the Saracens
from another side had made their way into Jaffa, and were massacring the
Christians. Without, an instant's delay he flew to their succor,
followed only by two knights and a few archers, the rest being so worn
by their exertions as to be unable to move. The Mamelukes, the chosen
guard of Saladin, had headed the attack; but even these were driven out
from the town, and Richard dashed out from the city in their pursuit.
One Saracen emir, distinguished for his stature and strength, ventured
to match himself against the king, and rode boldly at him. But with one
blow Richard severed his head, and his right shoulder and arm, from his
body. Then having, by his single arm, put to rout the Saracens at this
point, he dashed through them to the aid of the little band of knights
who had remained on the defensive when he left them at the alarm of the
city being entered. These were almost sinking with fatigue and wounds;
but King Richard opened a way around them by slaying numbers of the
enemy, and then charged again alone into the midst of the Mussulman
host, and was lost to the sight of his companions. All thought that they
would never see him again. But he soon reappeared, his horse covered
with blood, but himself unwounded; and the attack of the enemy ceased.

From the hour of daybreak, it is said, Richard had not ceased for a
moment to deal out his blows, and the skin of his hand adhered to the
handle of his battle-ax. This narration would appear almost fabulous,
were it not that it is attested in the chronicles of several
eye-witnesses, and for centuries afterward the Saracen women hushed
their babes when fractious by threatening them with Malek-Rik, the name
which they gave to King Richard.

Glorious as was the success, it was a sad one, for several of the most
devoted of the followers of King Richard were wounded badly, some few to
death. Among these last, to the terrible grief of Cuthbert, was his
friend and patron, the Earl of Evesham. The king, on taking off his
armor, hurried to his tent.

"The glory of this day is marred indeed," he said to the wounded knight,
"if I am to lose you, Sir Walter."

"I fear that it must even be so, my lord," the dying earl said. "I am
glad that I have seen this day, for never did I think to witness such
feats as those which your majesty has performed; and though the Crusade
has failed, and the holy city remains in the hands of the infidel, yet
assuredly no shadow of disgrace has fallen upon the English arms, and,
indeed, great glory has accrued to us. Whatever may be said of the Great
Crusade, it will at least be allowed by all men, and for all time, that
had the princes and soldiers of other nations done as your majesty and
your followers have done, the holy city would have fallen into our hands
within a month of our putting foot upon the soil. Your majesty, I have a
boon to ask."

"You have but to name it, Sir Walter, and it is yours."

"Sir Cuthbert, here," he said, pointing to the young knight, who was
sorrowfully kneeling by his bedside, "is as a son to me. The
relationship by blood is but slight, but by affection it is as close as
though he were mine own. I have, as your majesty knows, no male heirs,
and my daughter is but young, and will now be a royal ward. I beseech
your majesty to bestow her in marriage, when the time comes, upon Sir
Cuthbert. They have known each other as children, and the union will
bring happiness, methinks, to both, as well as strength and protection
to her; and further, if it might be, I would fain that you should bestow
upon him my title and dignity."

"It shall be so," the king said. "When your eyes are closed, Sir Walter,
Sir Cuthbert shall be Earl of Evesham, and, when the time comes, the
husband of your daughter."

Cuthbert was too overwhelmed with grief to feel a shadow of exaltation
at the gracious intimation of the king; although, even then, a thought
of future happiness in the care of the fair young lady Marguerite passed
before his mind. For the last time the king gave his hand to his
faithful servant, who pressed it to his lips, and a few minutes
afterward breathed his last.




CHAPTER XVII.

AN ALPINE STORM.


The tremendous exertions which King Richard had made told upon him, and
attacks of fever succeeded each other at short intervals. This, however,
mattered the less, since negotiations were now proceeding between him
and Saladin. It was impossible, with the slight means at his disposal,
for Richard further to carry on the Crusade alone. Moreover, pressing
news had arrived from his mother in England, urging him to return, as
his brother John was intriguing against him, and had already assumed all
but the kingly title. Saladin was equally desirous of peace. His wild
troops were, for the most part, eager to return to their homes, and the
defeats which they had suffered, and the, to them, miraculous power of
King Richard's arm, had lowered their spirit and made them eager to be
away. Therefore he consented without difficulty to the terms proposed.
By these, the Christians were to surrender Ascalon, but were to keep
Jaffa, Tyre, and the fortresses along the coast. All hostilities were to
be suspended on both sides for the space of three years, three months,
three weeks, three days, and three hours, when Richard hoped to return
again and to recommence the struggle.

Between the sultan and King Richard a feeling approaching that of
friendship had sprung up during the campaign. Saladin was himself brave
in the extreme, and exposed his life as fearlessly as did his Christian
rival, and the two valiant leaders recognized the great qualities of
each other. Several times during the campaign when Richard had been ill,
the emir had sent him presents of fruit and other matters, to which
Richard had responded in the same spirit. An interview had taken place
between them which further cemented their friendship; and when Richard
promised to return again at the end of the truce with a far larger army,
and to accomplish the rescue of the holy city, the sultan smiled, and
said that it appeared that valor alone was not sufficient to conquer in
the Holy Land, but that if Jerusalem were to fall into the hands of the
Christians, it could fall into no worthier hands than those of
Malek-Rik.

So, with many mutual courtesies, the great rivals separated, and soon
after King Richard and the little remnant of his army embarked on board
ship, and set sail for England.

It was on October 11, 1192, that Richard Coeur de Lion left Palestine.
Soon after they started a storm suddenly burst upon them, and dispersed
them in various directions. The ship in which Queen Berengaria was
carried arrived safely in Sicily; but that in which King Richard was
borne was missing, and none of his fellow-voyagers knew what had become
of him. Sir Cuthbert was in the same vessel as the king, and the bark
was driven upon the Island of Corfu. All reached shore in safety, and
King Richard then hired three small vessels, in which he sailed to the
port of Zara, whence he hoped to reach the domains of his nephew, Otho
of Saxony, the son of his sister Matilda. The king had with him now but
two of his knights, Baldwin of Bethune, and Cuthbert of Evesham. Cnut
was with his feudal chief--for such Cuthbert had now, by his accession
to the rank of Earl of Evesham, become--and three or four English
archers.

"I fear, my lords," the king said to his knights as he sat in a little
room in an inn at Zara, "that my plight is a bad one. I am surrounded by
enemies, and, alas! I can no longer mount my steed and ride out as at
Jaffa to do battle with them. My brother, John Lackland, is scheming to
take my place upon the throne of England. Philip of France, whose mind
is far better at such matters than at setting armies in the field, is in
league with him. The Emperor Henry has laid claim to the throne of
Sicily. Leopold of Austria has not forgiven me the blow I struck him in
the face at Ascalon, and the friends of Conrad of Montferat are
spreading far and wide the lie that I was the instigator of his murder.
Sure never had a poor king so many enemies, and few have ever had so
small a following as I have now. What think you, my lords? What course
would you advise that I should adopt? If I can reach Saxony doubtless
Otho will aid me. But hence to Dresden is a long journey indeed. I have
neither credit nor funds to hire a ship to take us by sea. Nor would
such a voyage be a safe one, when so many of my enemies' ships are on
the main. I must needs, I think, go in disguise, for my way lies wholly
through the country of my enemies."

"Surely," Cuthbert said, "no potentate could for very shame venture to
detain your majesty on your way from the Holy Land, where you have
wrought such great deeds. Were I in your place, I would at once proclaim
myself, mount my horse, have my banner carried before me, and ride
openly on. You have, too, another claim, namely, that of being
shipwrecked, and even in war-time nations respect those whom the force
of God has thrown upon their shores."

"I fear me, Sir Cuthbert," Sir Baldwin said, "that you overrate the
chivalry of our master's enemies. Had we been thrown on the shores of
France, Philip perhaps would hesitate to lay hands upon the king; but
these petty German princelings have no idea of the observances of true
chivalry. They are coarse and brutal in their ways; and though in
outward form following the usage of knighthood, they have never been
penetrated with its spirit. If the friends of Conrad of Montferat lay
hands upon King Richard I fear that no scruples will prevent them from
using their advantage to the utmost. Even their emperor I would not
trust. The course which you advise would no doubt be in accordance with
the spirit of King Richard; but it would be madness for him to judge
other people's spirit by his own, and it would be rushing into the
lion's den to proclaim himself here. I should recommend, if I might
venture to do so, that his majesty should assume a false name, and that
we should travel in small parties so as to attract no attention, each
making his way to Saxony as best he may."

There was silence for a minute or two, and then the king with a sigh
said:

"I fear that you are right, Sir Baldwin, and that there is no chivalry
among these swinish German lords. You shall accompany me. Not, Sir
Cuthbert," he observed kindly, noticing a look of disappointment upon
the face of the young knight, "that I estimate your fidelity one whit
lower than that of my brave friend; but he is the elder and the more
versed in European travel, and may manage to bring matters through
better than you would do. You will have dangers enough to encounter
yourself, more even than I shall, for your brave follower, Cnut, can
speak no language but his own, and your archers will be hard to pass as
any other than what they are. You must be my messenger to England,
should you arrive there without me. Tell my mother and wife where you
left me, and that, if I do not come home I have fallen into the hands
of one or other of my bitter foes. Bid them bestir themselves to hold
England for me against my brother John, and, if needs be, to move the
sovereigns of Europe to free me from the hands of my enemies. Should a
ransom be needed, I think that my people of England will not grudge
their goods for their king."

The following day the king bade farewell to his faithful followers,
giving his hand to kiss, not only to Sir Cuthbert, but to Cnut and his
archers.

"You have done me brave service," he said, "and I trust may yet have
occasion to do it again. These are bad times when Richard of England has
naught wherewith to reward his friends. But," he said, taking a gold
chain from his neck and breaking it with his strong fingers into five
fragments, "that is for you, Cnut, and for your four archers, in
remembrance of King Richard."

The men, albeit hardened by many scenes of warfare, yet shed tears
plenteously at parting with the king.

"We had better," Cuthbert said to them when they were alone, "delay here
for a few days. If we are taken, the news that some Englishmen have been
captured making their way north from Zara will spread rapidly, and may
cause the enemies of Richard to be on the lookout for him, suspecting
that the ship which bore us may also have carried him; for the news that
he is missing will spread rapidly through Europe, and will set all his
enemies on the alert."

In accordance with this plan they delayed for another ten days at Zara,
and then, hiring a small boat, were landed some thirty miles further
along the coast. Cuthbert had obtained for Cnut the dress of a palmer,
as in this he would pass almost unquestioned, and his silence might be
accounted for on the ground that he had taken a vow of silence. He
himself had placed on his coat armor a red cross, instead of the white
cross borne by the English knights, and would now pass as a French
knight. Similar changes were made in the dress of his followers, and he
determined to pass as a French noble who had been wrecked on his way
home, and who was returning through Germany to France. The difficulties
in his own case would not be serious, as his French would pass muster
anywhere in Germany. The greatest difficulty would be with his
attendants; but he saw no way of avoiding this.

Cuthbert's object, when with his little party he separated from King
Richard, was to make his way to Verona, thence cross by Trent into
Bavaria, and so to journey to Saxony. Fortunately he had at the storming
of Acre become possessed of a valuable jewel, and this he now sold, and
purchased a charger for himself. He had little fear of any trouble in
passing through the north of Italy, for this was neutral ground, where
knights of all nations met, and where, neither as an English nor a
French Crusader, would he attract either comment or attention.

It was a slow journey across the northern plains, as of course he had to
accommodate his pace to that of his men. Cnut and the archers had
grumbled much at the change of the color of the cross upon their
jerkins; and, as Cnut said, would have been willing to run greater
perils under their true colors than to affect to belong to any other
nationality. On their way they passed through Padua, and there stopped a
few days. Cuthbert could but feel, in looking at the splendor of this
Italian city, the courteous manner of its people, and the university,
which was even then famous, how far in advance were those stately cities
of Italy to Western Europe. His followers were as much surprised as
himself at the splendors of the city. Here they experienced no trouble
or annoyance whatever, for to the cities of Italy knights of all
nations resorted, learned men came to study, philosophers to dispute,
and as these brought their attendants with them, you might in the
streets of Padua and its sister cities hear every language in Europe
spoken.

From Padua they journeyed to Verona, marveling greatly at the richness
of the country. The footmen, however, grumbled at the flatness of the
plain, and said that it was as bad as marching in the Holy Land. On
their right, however, the <DW72>s of the Alps, thickly clad with forests,
reached down nearly to the road, and Cuthbert assured them that they
would have plenty of climbing before they had done. At Verona they
tarried again, and wondered much at the great amphitheater, then almost
perfect. Cuthbert related to Cnut and the archers how men had there been
set to fight while the great stone benches round were thronged with men
and women looking on at their death struggles, and said that not
unfrequently British captives were brought hither and made to contend in
the arena. The honest fellows were full of indignation and horror at the
thought of men killing themselves to give sport to others. They were
used to hard knocks, and thought but little of their life, and would
have betaken themselves to their bows and bills without hesitation in
case of a quarrel. But to fight in cold blood for amusement seemed to
them very terrible.

Cuthbert would then have traveled on to Milan, at that time next to Rome
the richest city in Europe, but he longed to be back in England, and was
the more anxious as he knew that King Richard would be passing through
great dangers, and he hoped to meet him at the court of Saxony. His
money, too, was fast running out, and he found that it would be beyond
his slender means to extend his journey so far. At Verona, then, they
turned their back on the broad plains of Lombardy, and entered the
valley of the Trent.

So far no observation whatever had been excited by the passage of the
English knight. So many Crusaders were upon their way home, many in
grievous plight, that the somewhat shabby retinue passed unnoticed. But
they were now leaving Italy, and entering a country where German was
spoken. Trent, in those days an important city, was then, and is still,
the meeting place of Italy and Germany. Both tongues are here spoken;
but while the Italian perhaps preponderates, the customs, manners, and
mode of thought of the people belong to those of the mountaineers of the
Tyrol rather than of the dwellers on the plains.

"You are choosing a stormy time," the landlord of the hostelry where
they put up said to Cuthbert. "The winter is now at hand, and storms
sweep across the passes with terrible violence. You had better, at the
last village you come to in the valley, obtain the services of a guide,
for should a snowstorm come on when you are crossing, the path will be
lost, and nothing will remain but a miserable death. By daylight the
road is good. It has been cut with much trouble, and loaded mules can
pass over without difficulty. Poles have been erected at short distances
to mark the way when the snow covers it. But when the snowstorms sweep
across the mountains it is impossible to see ten paces before you, and
if the traveler leaves the path he is lost."

"But I suppose," Cuthbert said, "that even in winter travelers pass
over?"

"They do," the host said. "The road is as open in winter as in summer,
although, of course, the dangers are greater. Still, there is nothing to
prevent vigorous men from crossing over when the storms come on. Now,
too, with the snow already lying in the upper forests, the wolves are
abroad, and should you be attacked by one of those herds, you will find
it hard work to defend your lives. Much has been done to render the
road safe. At the distance of every league stone houses have been
erected, where travelers can find shelter either from the storm or from
the attacks of wolves or bears, for these, too, abound in the forests,
and in summer there is fine hunting among them. You are, as I see,
returning from the Holy Land, an are therefore used to heat rather than
cold, so I should advise you before you leave this city to buy some
rough cloaks to shield you from the cold. You can obtain them for your
followers very cheaply, made of the mountain goat or of sheepskins, and
even those of bearskin well dressed are by no means dear."

Obtaining the address of a merchant who kept these things, Cuthbert
proceeded thither; and purchased five cloaks of goatskin with hoods to
pull over their heads for his followers while for himself he obtained
one of rather finer material.

Another two days' journey brought them to the foot of the steep ascent,
and here they hired the services of a guide. The ascent was long and
difficult, and in spite of the praises which the host had bestowed upon
the road, it was so steep that Cuthbert was, for the most part, obliged
to walk, leading his steed, whose feet slipped on the smooth rock, and
as in many places a false step would have thrown them down many hundreds
of feet into the valley below, Cuthbert judged it safer to trust himself
to his own feet. He disincumbered himself of his helmet and gorget, and
placed these upon the horse's back. At nightfall they had attained a
very considerable height, and stopped at one of the small refuges of
which the landlord had spoken.

"I like not the look of the weather," the guide said in the morning--at
least that was what Cuthbert judged him to say, for he could speak no
word of the man's language. His actions, however, as he looked toward
the sky, and shook his head, spoke for themselves, and Cuthbert, feeling
his own powerlessness in a situation so novel to him, felt serious
misgivings at the prospect.

The scenery was now very wild. On all sides crags and mountain tops
covered with snow glistened in the sun. The woods near the path were
free of snow; but higher up they rose black above the white ground. The
wind blew keenly, and all rejoiced in the warm cloaks which they had
obtained; for even with the protection of these they had found the cold
bitter during the night.

"I like not this country," Cnut said. "We grumbled at the heat of
Palestine, but I had rather march across the sand there than in this
inhospitable frozen region. The woods look as if they might contain
specters. There is a silence which seems to be unnatural, and my
courage, like the warmth of my body, is methinks oozing out from my
fingers."

Cuthbert laughed.

"I have no doubt that your courage would come again much quicker than
the warmth, Cnut, if there were any occasion for it. A brisk walk will
set you all right again, and banish these uneasy fancies. To-night we
shall be at the highest point, and to-morrow begin to descend toward
Germany."

All day the men kept steadily on. The guide from time to time looked
apprehensively at the sky; and although in the earlier part of the day
Cuthbert's inexperienced eye saw nothing to cause the slightest
uneasiness, toward the afternoon the scene changed. Light clouds began
to gather on the top of all the hills and to shut the mountain peaks
entirely from view. The wind moaned between the gorges and occasionally
swept along in such sudden gusts that they could with difficulty retain
their feet. The sky became gradually overcast, and frequently light
specks of snow, so small as to be scarcely perceptible, were driven
along on the blast, making their faces smart by the force with which
they struck them.

"It scarcely needs our guide's face," Cuthbert said, "to tell us that a
storm is at hand, and that our position is a dangerous one. As for me, I
own that I feel better pleased now that the wind is blowing, and the
silence is broken, than at the dead stillness which prevailed this
morning. After all, methinks that a snowstorm cannot be more dreaded
than a sandstorm, and we have faced those before now."

Faster and faster the snow came down, until at last the whole air seemed
full of it, and it was with difficulty that they could stagger forward.
Where the path led across open places the wind swept away the snow as
fast as it fell, but in the hollows the track was already covered; and
feeling the difficulty of facing the blinding gale, Cuthbert now
understood the urgency with which his host had insisted upon the danger
of losing the track. Not a word was spoken among the party as they
plodded along. The guide kept ahead, using the greatest caution wherever
the path was obliterated by the snow, sometimes even sounding with his
iron-shod staff to be sure that they were upon the level rock. In spite
of his warm cloak Cuthbert felt that he was becoming chilled to the
bone. His horse could with difficulty keep his feet; and Cnut and the
archers lagged behind.

"You must keep together, lads," he shouted. "I have heard that in these
mountains when sleepiness overpowers the traveler, death is at hand.
Therefore, come what may, we must struggle on."

Many times the gale was so violent that they were obliged to pause and
take shelter under the side of a rock or precipice until the fury of the
blast had passed; and Cuthbert eagerly looked out for the next refuge.
At last they reached it, and the guide at once entered. It was not that
in which he had intended to pass the night, for this lay still higher;
but it would have been madness to attempt to go further in the face of
such a gale. He signed to Cuthbert that it was necessary at once to
collect firewood, and he himself proceeded to light some brands which
had been left by previous travelers. Cuthbert gave directions to Cnut
and the archers; and these, feeling that life depended upon a good fire
being kept up, set to with a will, cutting down shrubs and branches
growing in the vicinity of the hut. In half an hour a huge fire blazed
in the refuge; and as the warmth thawed their limbs, their tongues were
unloosened, and a feeling of comfort again prevailed.

"If this be mountaineering, my lord," Cnut said, "I trust that never
again may it be my fortune to venture among the hills. How long, I
wonder, do the storms last here? I was grumbling all the way up the hill
at the load of provisions which the guide insisted that each of us
should bring with him. As it was to be but a three days' journey before
we reached a village on the other side, I wondered why he insisted upon
our taking food enough to last us at least for a week. But I understand
now, and thank him for his foresight; for if this storm goes on we are
assuredly prisoners here for so long as it may continue."

The horse had to be brought into the hut, for it would have been death
for it to have remained outside.

"What is that?" Cnut said presently, as a distant howl was heard between
the lulls of the storm. The guide muttered some word which Cuthbert did
not understand. But he said to Cnut, "I doubt not that it is wolves.
Thank God that we are safe within this refuge, for here not even the
most ravenous beasts could make their way."

"Pooh!" Cnut said contemptuously. "Wolves are no bigger than dogs. I
have heard my grandfather say that he shot one in the forest, and that
it was no bigger than a hound. We should make short work of them."

"I know not," Cuthbert said. "I have heard tales of these animals which
show that they must be formidable opponents. They hunt in great packs,
and are so furious that they will attack parties of travelers; many of
these have perished miserably, horses and men, and nothing but their
swords and portions of their saddles have remained to tell where the
battle was fought."




CHAPTER XVIII.

SENTENCED TO DEATH.


Just before arriving at the refuge they had passed along a very steep
and dangerous path. On one side the rock rose precipitously, ten feet
above their heads. On the other was a fall into the valley below. The
road at this point was far wider than usual.

Presently the howl of a wolf was heard near, and soon the solitary call
was succeeded by the howling of great numbers of animals. These speedily
surrounded the hut, and so fierce were their cries that Cnut changed his
opinion as to the ease with which they could be defeated, and allowed
that he would rather face an army of Saracens than a troop of these
ill-conditioned animals. The horse trembled in every limb at the sound
of the howling of the wolves; and cold as was the night, in spite of the
great fire that blazed on the hearth, his coat became covered with the
lather of fear. Even upon the roof above the trampling of the animals
could be heard; and through the open slits of the windows which some
travelers before them had stuffed with straw, they could hear the fierce
breathing and snorting of the savage beasts, who scratched and tore to
make an entrance.

"Methinks," Cuthbert said, "that we might launch a few arrows through
these loopholes. The roof appears not to be over strong; and should some
of them force an entrance, the whole pack might follow."

Dark as was the night, the black bodies were visible against the white
snow, and the archers shot several arrows forth, each stretching a wolf
dead on the ground. Those killed were at once pounced upon by their
comrades and torn to pieces; and this mark of savageness added to the
horror which those within felt of the ferocious animals. Suddenly there
was a pause in the howling around the hut, and then Cnut, looking forth
from the loophole, declared that the whole body had gone off at full
speed along the path by which they had reached the refuge. Almost
immediately afterward a loud shout for help was heard, followed by the
renewed howling and yelping of the wolves.

"Good heavens!" Cuthbert exclaimed. "Some traveler coming after us is
attacked by these horrible beasts. Let us sally out, Cnut. We cannot
hear a Christian torn to pieces by these beasts, without lending him a
hand."

In spite of the angry shouts and entreaties of the guide, the door was
thrust open, and the party, armed with their axes and bows, at once
rushed out into the night. The storm had for the moment abated and they
had no difficulty in making their way along the track. In fifty yards
they came to a bend of the path, and saw, a little distance before them,
a black mass of animals covering the road, and congregated round a
figure who stood with his back to the rock. With a shout of
encouragement they sprang forward, and in a few moments were in the
midst of the savage animals, who turned their rage against them at once.
They had fired two or three arrows apiece, as they approached, into
them; and now throwing down their bows, the archers betook themselves to
their swords, while Cuthbert with his heavy battle-axe hewed and cut at
the wolves as they sprang toward him. In a minute they had cleared their
way to the figure, which was that of a knight in complete armor. He
leaned against the rock completely exhausted, could only mutter a word
of thanks through his closed visor. At a short distance off a number of
the wolves were gathered, rending and tearing the horse of the knight;
but the rest, soon recovering from their surprise, attacked with fury
the little party. The thick cloaks of the archers stood them in good
stead against the animal's teeth, and standing in a group with their
backs to the rock, they hewed and cut vigorously at their assailants.
The numbers of these, however, appeared almost innumerable, and fresh
stragglers continued to come along the road, and swell their body. As
fast as those in front fell, their heads cleft with the axes of the
party, fresh ones sprang forward; and Cuthbert saw that in spite of the
valor and strength of his men, the situation was well-nigh desperate. He
himself had been saved from injury by his harness, for he still had on
his greaves and leg pieces.

"Keep together," he shouted to his men, "and each lend aid to the other
if he sees him pulled down. Strike lustily for life, and hurry not your
blows, but let each toll." This latter order he gave perceiving that
some of the archers, terrified by this furious army of assailants with
gaping mouths and glistening teeth, were striking wildly, and losing
their presence of mind.

The combat, although it might have been prolonged, could yet have had
but one termination, and the whole party would have fallen. At this
moment, however, a gust of wind, more furious than any which they had
before experienced, swept along the gorge, and the very wolves had to
crouch on their stomachs to prevent themselves being hurled by its fury
into the ravine below. Then even above the storm a deep roar was heard.
It grew louder and louder. The wolves, as if struck with terror, leaped
to their feet, and scattered on either way along the path at full
speed.

"What sound can this be?" Cnut exclaimed in an awe-struck voice. "It
sounds like thunder; but it is regular and unbroken; and, my lord,
surely the earth quakes under our feet!"

Louder and louder grew the roar.

"Throw yourselves down against the wall of rock," Cuthbert shouted,
himself setting the example.

A moment afterward, from above a mighty mass of rock and snow poured
over like a cascade, with a roar and sound which nigh stunned them. For
minutes--it seemed for hours to them--the deluge of snow and rock
continued. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ceased, and a silence
as of death reigned over the place.

"Arise," Cuthbert said; "the danger, methinks, is past. It was what men
call an avalanche--a torrent of snow slipping down from the higher
peaks. We have had a narrow escape indeed."

By this time the knight whom they had rescued was able to speak, and
raising his visor, he returned his deepest thanks to those who had come
so opportunely to his aid.

"I was well-nigh exhausted," he said, "and it was only my armor which
saved me from being torn to pieces. A score of them had hold of me; but
fortunately my mail was of Milan proof, and even the jaws and teeth of
these enormous beasts were unable to pierce it."

"The refuge is near at hand," Cuthbert said. "It is but a few yards
round yonder point. It is well that we heard your voice. I fear that
your horse has fallen a victim."

Assisting the knight, who in spite of his armor was sorely bruised and
exhausted, they made their way back to the refuge. Cnut and the archers
were all bleeding freely from various wounds inflicted upon them in the
struggle, breathless and exhausted from their exertions, and thoroughly
awe-struck by the tremendous phenomenon of which they had been
witnesses, and which they had only escaped from their good fortune in
happening to be in a place so formed that the force of the avalanche had
swept over their heads. The whole of the road, with the exception of a
narrow piece four feet in width, had been carried away. Looking upward,
they saw that the forest had been swept clear, not a tree remaining in a
wide track as far as they could see up the hill. The great bowlders
which had strewn the hillside, and many of which were as large as
houses, had been swept away like straws before the rush of snow, and for
a moment they feared that the refuge had also been carried away. Turning
the corner, however, they saw to their delight that the limits of the
avalanche had not extended so far, the refuges, as they afterward
learned, being so placed as to be sheltered by overhanging cliffs from
any catastrophe of this kind.

They found the guide upon his knees, muttering his prayers before a
cross, which he had formed of two sticks laid crosswise on the ground
before him; and he could scarce believe his eyes when they entered, so
certain had he considered it that they were lost. There were no longer
any signs of the wolves. The greater portion, indeed, of the pack had
been overwhelmed by the avalanche, and the rest, frightened and scared,
had fled to their fastnesses in the woods.

The knight now removed his helmet, and discovered a handsome young man
of some twenty-four or twenty-five years old.

"I am," he said, "Baron Ernest of Kornstein. To whom do I owe my life?"

"In spite of my red cross," Cuthbert said, "I am English. My name is Sir
Cuthbert, and I am Earl of Evesham. I am on my return from the Holy Land
with my followers; and as we are passing through countries where many
of the people are hostile to England, we have thought it as well for a
time to drop our nationality. But to you I do not hesitate to tell the
truth."

"You do well," the young knight said, "for, truth to say, the people of
these parts bear but little love to your countrymen. You have saved my
life when I was in the sorest danger. I had given myself up for lost,
for even my armor could not have saved me long from these wretches; and
my sword and life are at your disposal. You are young indeed," he said,
looking with surprise at Cuthbert, who had now thrown back the hood of
his cloak, "to have gained the honor of knighthood. You scarce look
eighteen years of age, although, doubtless, you are older."

"I am scarce seventeen," Cuthbert said; "but I have had the good fortune
to attract the notice of King Richard, and to have received the
knighthood from his sword."

"None more worthy," said the young knight, "for although King Richard
may be fierce and proud, he is the worthiest knight in Christendom, and
resembles the heroes of romance rather than a Christian king."

"He is my lord and master," Cuthbert said, "and I love him beyond all
men, and would give my life for his. He is the kindest and best of
masters; and although it be true that he brooks no opposition, yet is it
only because his own bravery and eagerness render hateful to him the
indolence and cowardice of others."

They now took their seats round the fire. The archers, by the advice of
the guide, rubbed their wounds with snow, and then applied bandages to
them. The wallets were opened, and a hearty supper eaten; and all,
wrapping themselves in their fur cloaks, were soon asleep.

For four days the gale continued, keeping the party prisoners in the
hut. On the fifth the force of the wind abated, and the snow ceased to
fall. They were forced to take the door off its hinges to open it, for
the snow had piled up so high that the chimney alone of the hut remained
above its surface. With great difficulty and labor they cleared a way
out, and then the guide again placing himself at their head, they
proceeded on their way. The air was still and cold, and the sky of a
deep, dark blue, which seemed even darker in contrast with the whiteness
of the snow. At times they had great difficulty in struggling through
the deep drifts; but for the most part the wind had swept the path
clear. Where it was deepest, the tops of the posts still showed above
the snow, and enabled the guide to direct their footsteps. They were,
however, obliged to travel slowly, and it was three days before they
gained the village on the northern <DW72> of the mountains, having slept
at refuges by the road.

"What are your plans?" the knight asked Sir Cuthbert that night, as they
sat by the fire of the hostelry. "I would warn you that the town which
you will first arrive at is specially hostile to your people, for the
baron, its master, is a relation of Conrad of Montferat, who is said to
have been killed by order of your king."

"It is false," Cuthbert said. "King Richard had appointed him King of
Jerusalem; and, though he liked him not, thought him the fittest of
those there to exercise sovereignty. He was the last man who would have
had an enemy assassinated; for so open is he of disposition that he
would have fought hand to hand with the meanest soldier of his army had
he desired to kill him."

"I doubt not that it is so, since you tell me," the knight said
courteously. "But the people here have taken that idea into their minds,
and it will be hard to disabuse them. You must therefore keep up your
disguise as a French knight while passing through this neighborhood.
Another week's journeying, and you will reach the confines of Saxony,
and there you will, as you anticipate, be safe. But I would not answer
for your life were you discovered here to be of English birth. And now
tell me if there is aught that I can do for you. I will myself accompany
you into the town, and will introduce you as a French knight, so that no
suspicion is likely to lie upon you, and will, further, ride with you to
the borders of Saxony. I am well known, and trust that my company will
avert all suspicion from you. You have told me that your purse is
ill-supplied; you must suffer me to replenish it. One knight need not
fear to borrow of another; and I know that when you have returned to
your home you will bestow the sum which I now give you upon some holy
shrine in my name, and thus settle matters between us."

Cuthbert without hesitation accepted the offer, and was well pleased at
finding his purse replenished, for its emptiness had caused him serious
trouble. Cuthbert's steed was led by one of the archers, and he himself
walked gayly alongside of Sir Ernest, followed by his retainers. Another
long day's march brought them down to Innsbruck, where they remained
quietly for a week. Then they journeyed on until they emerged from the
mountains, crossed the Bavarian frontier, and arrived at Fussen, a
strong city, with well-built walls and defenses.

They at once proceeded to the principal hostelry, where the young baron
was well known, and where great interest was excited by the news of the
narrow escape which he had had from the attack of the wolves. A journey
across the Alps was in those days regarded as a very perilous enterprise
in the winter season, and the fact that he should have been rescued from
such a strait appeared almost miraculous. They stayed for two days
quietly in the city, Cuthbert declining the invitation of the young
noble to accompany him to the houses of his friends, as he did not wish
that any suspicion should be excited as to his nationality, and
preferred remaining quiet to having forced upon him the necessity of
making false statements. As to his followers, there was no fear of the
people among whom they mixed detecting that they were English. To the
Bavarian inhabitants, all languages, save their native German, were
alike unintelligible; and even had French been commonly spoken, the
dialects of that tongue, such as would naturally be spoken by archers
and men-at-arms, would have been a Greek to those accustomed only to
Norman French.

Upon the third day, however, an incident occurred which upset Cuthbert's
calculations, and nearly involved the whole party in ruin. The town was,
as the young baron had said, governed by a noble who was a near relation
of Conrad of Montferat, and who was the bitter enemy of the English. A
great _fete_ had been given in honor of the marriage of his daughter,
and upon this day the young pair were to ride in triumph through the
city. Great preparations had been made; masks and pageants of various
kinds manufactured; and the whole townspeople, dressed in their holiday
attire, were gathered in the streets. Cuthbert had gone out, followed by
his little band of retainers, and taken their station to see the passing
show. First came a large body of knights and men-at-arms, with gay
banners and trappings. Then rode the bridegroom, with the bride carried
in a litter by his side. After this came several allegorical
representations. Among these was the figure of a knight bearing the arms
of Austria. Underneath his feet, on the car, lay a figure clad in a
royal robe, across whom was thrown a banner with the leopards of
England. The knight stood with his foot on this figure.

This representation of the dishonor of England at the hands of Austria
elicited great acclamations from the crowd. Cuthbert clinched his teeth
and grasped his sword angrily, but had the sense to see the folly of
taking any notice of the insult. Not so with Cnut. Furious it the insult
offered to the standard of his royal master, Cnut, with a bound, burst
through the ranks of the crowd, leaped on to the car, and with a buffet
smote the figure representing Austria into the road, and lifted the flag
of England from the ground. A yell of indignation and rage was heard.
The infuriated crowd rushed forward. Cnut, with a bound, sprang from the
car, and, joining his comrades, burst through those who attempted to
impede them, and darted down a by-street.

Cuthbert, for the moment amazed at the action of his follower, had on
the instant drawn his sword and joined the archers. In the crowd,
however, he was for a second separated from them; and before he could
tear himself from the hands of the citizens who had seized him, the
men-at-arms accompanying the procession surrounded him, and he was led
away by them to the castle, the guards with difficulty protecting him
from the enraged populace. Even at this moment Cuthbert experienced a
deep sense of satisfaction at the thought that his followers had
escaped. But he feared that alone, and unacquainted with the language of
the country, they would find it difficult indeed to escape the search
which would be made for them, and to manage to find their way back to
their country. For himself, he had little hopes of liberty, and scarcely
more of life. The hatred of the baron toward the English would now be
heightened by the daring act of insult to the arms of Austria, and this
would give a pretext for any deed of violence which might be wrought.

Cuthbert was, after a short confinement, brought before the lord baron
of the place, in the great hall of the castle.

"Who art thou, sir," the noble exclaimed, "who darest to disturb the
marriage procession of my daughter, and to insult the standard of the
emperor my master?"

"I am Sir Cuthbert, Earl of Evesham, a baron of England," Cuthbert said
fearlessly, "and am traveling homeward from the Holy Land. My garb as a
Crusader should protect me from all interruption; and the heedless
conduct of my retainer was amply justified by the insult offered to the
arms of England. There is not one of the knights assembled round you who
would not in like manner have avenged an insult offered to those of
Austria; and I am ready to do battle in the lists with any who choose to
say that the deed was a foul or improper one. In the Holy Land Austrians
and English fought side by side; and it is strange indeed to me that on
my return, journeying through the country of the emperor, I should find
myself treated as an enemy, and see the arms of King Richard exposed to
insult and derision by the burghers of this city."

As Cuthbert had spoken he threw down his mailed glove, and several of
the knights present stepped forward to pick it up. The baron, however,
waved them back.

"It is no question," he said, "of honorable fight. This is a follower of
the murderer of my good cousin of Montferat, who died under the hands of
assassins set upon him by Richard of England."

"It is false!" Cuthbert shouted. "I denounce it as a foul lie, and will
maintain it with my life."

"Your life is already forfeited," the baron said, "both by your past
connection with Richard of England and as the insulter of the arms of
Austria. You die, and to-morrow at noon your head shall be struck off in
the great square before my castle."

Without another word Cuthbert was hurried off to his cell, and there
remained, thinking moodily over the events of the day, until nightfall.
He had no doubt that his sentence would be carried out, and his anxiety
was rather for his followers than for himself. He feared that they would
make some effort on his behalf, and would sacrifice their own lives in
doing so, without the possibility of assisting him.

The next morning he was led out to the square before the castle. It was
a large flagged courtyard. Upon one side was the entrance to the castle,
one of whose wings also formed a second side to the square. The side
facing this was formed by the wall of the city, and the fourth opened
upon a street of the town. This side of the square was densely filled
with citizens, while the men-at-arms of the baron and a large number of
knights were gathered behind a scaffold erected in the center. Upon this
was a block, and by the side stood a headsman. As Cuthbert was led
forward a thrill of pleasure ran through him at perceiving no signs of
his followers, who he greatly feared might have been captured in the
night, and brought there to share his fate.

As he was led forward the young noble whose life he had saved advanced
to the baron, and dropping on one knee before him, craved the life of
Cuthbert, relating the event by which he had saved his life in the
passage of the mountains. The baron frowned heavily.

"Though he had saved the life of every noble in Bavaria," he said, "he
should die. I have sworn an oath that every Englishman who fell into my
hands should expiate the murder of my kinsman; and this fellow is,
moreover, guilty of an outrage to the arms of Austria."

The young Sir Ernest drew himself up haughtily.

"My lord baron," he said, "henceforth I renounce all allegiance to you,
and I will lay the case before the emperor, our common master, and will
cry before him at the outrage which has thus been passed upon a noble
gentleman. He has thrown down the glove, and challenged any of your
knights, and I myself am equally ready to do battle in his cause."

The baron grew red with passion, and he would have ordered the instant
arrest of the young man, but as Sir Ernest was connected by blood with
many present, and was indeed one of the most popular among the nobles of
the province, the baron simply waved him aside, and ordered Cuthbert to
be led to the block. The young Englishman was by the executioner
divested of his armor and helmet, and stood in the simple attire worn by
men of rank at that time. He looked around, and holding up his hand,
conveying alike a farewell and a command to his followers to remain in
concealment, he gazed round the crowd, thinking that he might see among
them in some disguise or other the features of Cnut, whose tall figure
would have rendered him conspicuous in a crowd. He failed, however, to
see any signs of him, and turning to the executioner, signified by a
gesture that he was ready.

At this instant an arrow from the wall above pierced the brain of the
man, and he fell dead in his tracks. A roar of astonishment burst from
the crowd. Upon the city wall at this point was a small turret, and on
this were five figures. The wall around was deserted, and for the moment
these men were masters of the position.

"Seize those insolent varlets!" the baron shouted, shaking his sword
with a gesture of fury at them.

His words, however, were arrested, for at the moment another arrow
struck him in the throat, and he fell back into the arms of those around
him.

Quickly now the arrows of the English archers flew into the courtyard.
The confusion which reigned there was indescribable. The citizens with
shouts of alarm took to their heels. The men-at-arms were powerless
against this rain of missiles, and the knights, hastily closing their
visors, shouted contradictory orders, which no one obeyed.

In the confusion no one noticed the prisoner. Seizing a moment when the
attention of all was fixed upon the wall, he leaped from the platform,
and making his way unnoticed through the excited crowd of men-at-arms,
darted down a narrow lane that divided the castle from the wall. He ran
along until, one hundred yards further, he came to a staircase by which
access to the battlements was obtained. Running lightly up this, he kept
along the wall until he reached the turret.

"Thanks, my noble Cnut!" he exclaimed, "and you, my brave fellows. But I
fear you have forfeited your lives. There is no escape. In a minute the
whole force of the place will recover from their confusion, and be down
upon us from both sides."

"We have prepared for that," Cnut said. "Here is a rope hanging down
into the moat."

Glancing over, Cuthbert saw that the moat was dry; and after a final
discharge of arrows into the crowd, the six men slid one after another
down the rope and made their way at full speed across the country.




CHAPTER XIX.

DRESDEN.


It was some ten minutes before the men-at-arms rallied sufficiently from
their surprise to obey orders. Two bodies were then drawn up, and
proceeded at a rapid pace toward the staircases leading to the wall, one
on each side of the turret in which they believed that the little body
of audacious assailants were still lying. Having reached the wall, the
soldiers advanced, covering themselves with their shields, for they had
learned the force with which an English clothyard shaft drawn by a
strong hand flies. Many had been killed by these missiles passing
through and through the cuirass and backpiece. No reply being obtained
to the summons to surrender, they proceeded to break in with their
battle-axes the door of the little turret. Rushing in with ax and pike,
they were astonished to find the place empty. A glance over the wall
showed the rope still hanging, and the manner of the escape became
manifest. The fugitives were already out of sight, and the knights,
furious at the escape of the men who had bearded them in the heart of
the city with such audacity, and had slain the lord baron and several of
his knights, gave orders that an instant pursuit should be organized. It
was, however, a full half hour before the city gates were thrown open,
and a strong troop of knights and mounted men issued out.

Cuthbert had been certain that an instant pursuit would be set on foot,
and the moment that he was out of sight of the battlements he changed
the direction in which he had started, and turning at right angles,
swept round the city, still keeping at a distance, until he reached the
side next the mountains, and then plunged into the woods on the lower
<DW72>s of the hills.

"They will," he said, as they halted breathless from their run, "follow
the road toward the south, and scour the country for awhile before it
occurs to their thick German skulls that we have doubled back on our
tracks. Why, what is it, Cnut?"

This exclamation was provoked by the forester throwing himself on his
knees before Sir Cuthbert, and imploring his pardon for the dire strait
into which his imprudence had drawn him.

"It was a dire strait, certainly, Cnut. But if you got me into it, at
least you have extricated me; and never say more about it, for I myself
was near committing the imprudence to which you gave way, and I can well
understand that your English blood boiled at the sight of the outrage to
the flag of England. Now, let us waste no time in talk, but, keeping to
the foot of this mountain, make along as far as we can to the west. We
must cling to the hills for many days' march before we venture again to
try to cross the plains. If possible, we will keep on this way until we
reach the confines of the country of the Swiss, who will assuredly give
us hospitality, and who will care little for any threats of these German
barons, should they hear that we have reached their asylum."

By nightfall they had already traveled many leagues, and making a fire
in the wood, Cuthbert asked Cnut for an account of what had taken place
on the previous day.

"We ran for life, Sir Cuthbert, and had not noticed that you had been
drawn into the fray. Had we done so, we would have remained, and sold
our lives with yours; but hoping that you had passed unnoticed in the
crowd, and that you would find some means to rejoin us we kept upon our
way. After running down three streets we passed a place where a
courtyard with stables ranged round it was open. There were none about,
and we entered, and taking refuge in a loft hid ourselves beneath some
provender. There we remained all night, and then borrowing some apparel
which some of the stablemen had hung upon the walls, we issued into the
town. As we neared the great square we saw some men employed in erecting
a platform in the midst, and a suspicion that all might not be right,
and that you might have fallen into the hands of these German dogs,
beset our minds. After much consultation we determined to see what the
affair meant, and making our way on to the walls which, indeed, were
entirely deserted, we took refuge in that turret where you saw us.
Seeing the crowd gather, and being still more convinced that some
misfortune was about to occur, I again went back to the stables, where I
had noticed a long rope used by the carters for fastening their loads to
the wagons. With this I returned, for it was clear that if we had to
mingle in this business it would be necessary to have a mode of escape.
Of the rest you are aware. We saw the knights coming out of the castle,
with that portly baron, their lord, at their head. We saw the block and
the headsman upon the platform, and were scarcely surprised when you
were led out, a prisoner, from the gates. We judged that what did happen
would ensue. Seeing that the confusion wrought by a sudden attack from
men perched up aloft as we were, commanding the courtyard, and being
each of us able to hit a silver mark at the distance of one hundred
yards, would be great indeed, we judged that you might be able to slip
away unobserved, and were sure that your quick wit would seize any
opportunity which might offer. Had you not been able to join us, we
should have remained in the turret and sold our lives to the last, as,
putting aside the question that we could never return to our homes,
having let our dear lord die here, we should not, in our ignorance of
the language and customs of the country, have ever been able to make our
way across it. We knew, however, that before this turret was carried we
could show these Germans how five Englishmen, when brought to bay, can
sell their lives."

They had not much difficulty in obtaining food in the forest, for game
abounded, and they could kill as many deer as seemed fit to them. As
Cnut said, it was difficult to believe that they were not back again in
the forest near Evesham, so similar was their life to that which they
had led three years before. To Cnut and the archers, indeed, it was a
pleasanter time than any which they had passed since they had left the
shores of England, and they blithely marched along, fearing little any
pursuit which might be set on foot, and, indeed, hearing nothing of
their enemies. After six days' travel they came upon a rude village, and
here Cuthbert learned from the people--with much difficulty, however,
and pantomime, for neither could understand a word spoken by the
other--that they were now in one of the Swiss cantons, and therefore
secure from all pursuit by the Germans. Without much difficulty Cuthbert
engaged one of the young men of the village to act as their guide to
Basle, and here, after four days' traveling, they arrived safely. Asking
for the residence of the burgomaster, Cuthbert at once proceeded
thither, and stated that he was an English knight on the return from the
Crusades; that he had been foully entreated by the Lord of Fussen, who
had been killed in a fray by his followers; and that he besought
hospitality and refuge from the authorities of Basle.

"We care little," the burgomaster said, "what quarrel you may have had
with your neighbors. All who come hither are free to come and go as they
list, and you, as a knight on the return from the Holy Land, have a
claim beyond that of an ordinary traveler."

The burgomaster was himself able to speak French, and summoning several
of the councilors of the town, he requested Cuthbert to give a narrative
of his adventures; which he did. The councilors agreed with the
burgomaster that Cuthbert must be received hospitably; but the latter
saw that there was among many of them considerable doubt as to the
expediency of quarreling with a powerful neighbor. He therefore said to
the burgomaster:

"I have no intention, honorable sir, of taking up any prolonged
residence here. I only ask to be furnished with a charger and arms, and
in payment of these I will leave this gold chain, the gift of King
Richard himself, as a gage, and will on my return to my country forward
to you the value of the arms and horse, trusting that you will return
the chain to me."

The burgomaster, however, said that the city of Basle was not so poor
that it need take the gage of an honorable knight, but that the arms and
charger he required should be given him in a few hours, and that he
might pay the value in London to a Jew merchant there who had relations
with one at Basle. Full instructions were given to him, and he resolved
to travel down upon the left bank of the Rhine, until he reached
Lorraine, and thence to cross into Saxony. The same afternoon the
promised horse and arms were provided, and Cuthbert, delighted again to
be in harness, and thanking courteously the burgomaster and council for
their kindness, started with his followers on his journey north. These
latter had been provided with doublets and other garments suitable to
the retinue of a knight, and made a better show than they had done since
they first left England.

Leaving Basle, they traveled along the left side of the Rhine by easy
stages. The country was much disturbed, owing to the return and
disbandment of so many of the troops employed in the Crusades. These,
their occupation being gone, scattered over the country, and France and
Germany alike were harassed by bands of military robbers. The wild
country between the borders of Switzerland and Lorraine was specially
vexed, as the mountains of the Vosges afforded shelter, into which the
freebooters could not be followed by the troops of the duke.

Upon the evening of the third day they reached a small inn standing in a
lonely position near the foot of the mountains.

"I like not the look of this place," Cuthbert said; "but as we hear that
there is no other within a distance of another ten miles, we must e'en
make the best of it."

The host received them with extreme and even fawning civility, which by
no means raised him in the estimation of Cuthbert or Cnut. A rough meal
was taken, and they then ascended to the rude accommodation which had
been provided. It was one large room barely furnished. Upon one side
straw was thickly littered down--for in those days beds among the common
people were unknown. In a sort of alcove at the end was a couch with a
rough mattress and coverlet. This Cuthbert took possession of, while his
followers stretched themselves upon the straw.

"Methinks," Cnut said, "that it were well that one should keep watch at
the door. I like not the look of our host, and we are near the spot
where the bands of the robbers are said to be busy."

Toward morning the archer on guard reported that he could hear the sound
of many approaching footsteps. All at once sprang to their feet, and
betook themselves to their arms. Looking from the window they saw a
large party of rough men, whose appearance at once betokened that they
were disbanded soldiers--a title almost synonymous in those days with
that of robber. With the united strength of the party the truckle bed
was carried from the alcove and placed against the door. Cuthbert then
threw open the window, and asked in French what they wanted. One of the
party, who appeared to be the leader, said that the party had better
surrender immediately. He promised them good treatment, and said that
the knight would be put to ransom, should it be found that the valuables
upon his person were not sufficient to pay the worshipful company
present for the trouble which they had taken in waiting upon him. This
sally was received with shouts of laughter. Cuthbert replied quietly
that he had no valuables upon his person; that if they took him there
were none would pay as much as a silver mark for the ransom of them all;
and that the only things that they had to give were sharp arrows and
heavy blows.

"You talk bravely, young sir," the man said. "But you have to do with
men versed in fight, and caring but little either for knocks or for
arrows. We have gone through the Crusades, and are therefore held to be
absolved from all sin, even that so great as would be incurred in the
cutting of your knightly throat."

"But we have gone through the Crusades also," Cuthbert said, "and our
persons are sacred. The sin of slitting our weazands, which you speak
of, would therefore be so great that even the absolution on which you
rely would barely extend to it."

"We know most of those who have served in the Holy Land," the man said
more respectfully than he had yet spoken, "and would fain know with whom
we speak."

"I am an Englishman, and a follower of King Richard," Cuthbert said,
"and am known as Sir Cuthbert of Evesham. As I was the youngest among
the knights who fought for the holy sepulcher, it may be that my
appearance is known to you?"

"Ah," the other said, "you are he whom they called the Boy Knight, and
who was often in the thick of the fray, near to Richard himself. How
comes it, Sir Cuthbert, that you are here?"

"The fleet was scattered on its return," Cuthbert replied, "and I landed
with my followers, well-nigh penniless, at Zara, and have since made my
way across the Tyrol. I have, then, as you may well suppose, neither
silver nor gold about my person; and assuredly neither Philip of France
nor John of Austria would give a noble for my ransom; and it would be
long, methinks, to wait ere John of England would care to ransom one of
King Richard's followers."

The brigands spoke for awhile among themselves, and then the leader
said:

"You speak frankly and fairly, Sir Knight, and as you have proved
yourself indeed a doughty giver of hard blows, and as I doubt not that
the archers with you can shoot as straight and as fast as the rest of
the Saxon breed, we will e'en let you go on your way, for your position
is but little better than ours, and dog should not rob dog."

"Thanks, good fellow," Cuthbert said. "We trust that in any case we
might have made a strong defense against you; but it would be hard if
those who have fought together in the Holy Land should slay each other
in this lonely corner of Lorraine."

"Are you seeking adventures or employment, Sir Knight? For if so,
myself and comrades here would gladly take service with you; and it may
be that with a clump of spears you might obtain engagement, either under
the Duke of Lorraine or he of Cleves."

"Thanks for your offer," Cuthbert replied; "but at present my face is
turned toward England. King Richard needs all his friends; and there is
so little chance of sack or spoil, even should we have--which God
forfend--civil war, that I fear I could ill reward the services which
you offer me."

The leader and his men shouted an adieu to Cuthbert and departed for the
mountains, leaving the latter well pleased with his escape from a fight
of which the result was doubtful.

Journeying on without further adventure, they came to Nancy, and were
there kindly received by the duke, who was not at that time upon good
terms with Philip of France, and was therefore well disposed toward the
English. Cuthbert inquired from him whether any news had been heard of
King Richard? but received as a reply that the duke had heard nothing of
him since he sailed from Palestine.

"This is strange," Cuthbert said, "for I myself have journeyed but
slowly, and have met with many delays. King Richard should long ere this
have reached Saxony; and I fear much that some foul treatment has
befallen him. On our way we found how bitter was the feeling among those
related to Conrad of Montferat against him; and the Archduke John is
still smarting from the blow which King Richard struck him at Ascalon.
But surely they would not be so unknightly as to hinder so great a
champion of Christendom as King Richard on his homeward way?"

"The Archduke John is crafty and treacherous," the duke said; "and the
emperor himself would, I think, be not sorry to lay hand upon the King
of England, were it only to do pleasure to Philip of France. Assuredly,
however the anger and indignation of all Christendom will be aroused
should the king's passage be interrupted, for it were indeed a gross
breach of hospitality to seize upon a man who has the double claim of
being a champion of Christendom and a shipwrecked man. However, it is
early yet to be uneasy, and it may be that in a few days we may have
news of the arrival of the king in Saxony. He may have encountered
difficulties similar to those which you yourself have met with. The
country is everywhere disturbed, and it is not only in my forests that
bands of outlawed men are to be met with. At present there is peace in
Europe. It may last indeed but a short time. But so long as it
continues, so long must the mountains and woods be full of desperate
men. Were war declared between any two princes these would flock to the
banners of him who would pay them highest, and a war which could end in
the entire destruction of the armies of both combatants would be a
blessing to Europe."

After entertaining Cuthbert courteously for three days, the Duke of
Lorraine bade him adieu, and gave him an escort of men-at-arms to the
borders of the Rhine, where he would find the way open to the domains of
the Duke of Saxony. Without adventure Cuthbert and his followers arrived
at Dresden, and he immediately presented himself at the castle of the
duke. The instant that he sent in his name as Sir Cuthbert of Evesham, a
knight of King Richard, he was conducted to the presence of the duke and
of his wife, the sister of King Richard.

"Are you bearer of news of my brother Richard?" the duke said, advancing
a step to meet the young knight as he entered the hall.

"Alas! my lord duke, I am not," Cuthbert said; "but had hoped to gain
tidings from you."

"From me?" the duke said in surprise. "What should lead you to believe
that I have any news of King Richard later than that which others have
received? The last I heard of him was upon the day of his departure from
the Holy Land, before the storm arose which scattered his fleet, and I
am ignorant whether he has foundered at sea, or whether, as some
suppose, his vessel may have been taken captive by the Moors."

"I bear you later tidings," Cuthbert said, "than those you have
received. I was on board the ship with King Richard. We were wrecked
upon the Island of Corfu and there hiring a small ship, we proceeded to
Zara. King Richard determined to make his way across the Tyrol to this
place; but he thought that it would attract attention to him were he
accompanied by so large a party. Therefore he, with Sir Baldwin of
Bethune, and a few followers, started north, while I with my men kept
west through the north of Italy, and then crossed by the pass over
Trent."

"How long is it since you left my brother?" the duchess asked anxiously.

"It is now over a month since I bade him adieu," Cuthbert answered.

"Then he should have been heard of long since," the duchess said. "What
fate can have befallen him?"

"Judging from my own experience," Cuthbert said, "I fear that he may
have come to harm at the hands of the friends of Conrad of Montferat,
who falsely allege that the death of their kinsman was caused by King
Richard. The Archduke John, too, owes him no good-will; and even the
emperor is evilly disposed toward him. The king traveled under an
assumed name; but it might well be that he would be recognized upon the
way. His face was known to all who fought in the East; and his lordly
manner and majestic stature could ill be concealed beneath a merchant's
garb. Still, lady, as I have been so long in making my way across, it
may be that King Richard has been similarly delayed without danger
befalling him, and it could hardly be that so important a man as the
King of England would be detained, or come to any misfortune, without
the news being bruited abroad."

In spite of Cuthbert's reassuring words, the duke and duchess were
greatly alarmed at the news of King Richard's disappearance, although
indeed consoled to find that their previous fears, that he had been
drowned in the storm or captured by the Moorish corsairs, were
unfounded.

They now requested from Cuthbert the story of what had befallen him
since he left the king; and this he related at some length. The duke was
greatly interested, and begged Cuthbert at least to remain at his court
until some news might arrive of King Richard.

For a month Cuthbert tarried at the castle of the Duke of Saxony, where
he was nobly entertained, and treated as a guest of much honor. Cnut and
the archers were delighted at the treatment they received, for never in
their lives had they been so royally entertained. Their Saxon tongue was
nigh enough akin to the language spoken here to be understood; and their
tales of adventure in the Holy Land rendered them as popular among the
retainers of the duke as their master became with the duke and duchess.




CHAPTER XX.

UNDER THE GREENWOOD.


At the end of a month, news came from England that Sir Baldwin of
Bethune had returned there, bearing the news that the king had been
arrested at Gortz, only two days' journey north of the Adriatic--that he
had been recognized, and at once captured. He had offered no resistance,
finding indeed that it would be hopeless so to do. Sir Baldwin had been
permitted to depart without molestation. He believed that the folk into
whose hands he had fallen were retainers of the Archduke John. This
news, although sad in itself, was yet in some degree reassuring to the
duke and his wife; for they felt that while the followers of Conrad of
Montferat would not hesitate to put King Richard to death should he fall
into their hands, the Archduke John would not dare to bring upon himself
the indignation of Europe by such treatment of his royal captive.
Cuthbert at once determined to return to England to see Sir Baldwin, and
to ascertain what steps were being taken for the discovery of the prison
in which King Richard was confined, and for his release therefrom; and
also to establish himself in his new dignity as Earl of Evesham.
Therefore, bidding adieu to the duke and duchess, he started north. The
duke furnished him with letters of introduction to the princes through
whose countries he would travel; and again crossing the Rhine, he
journeyed through the territories of the Dukes of Cleves and Brabant,
and reached the mouth of Scheldt without interruption. There taking
ship, he sailed for London.

It was a long and stormy passage between the mouth of the Scheldt and
London. The vessel in which Cuthbert had shipped was old and somewhat
unseaworthy, and several times in the force of the gale all on board
gave up hope for their lives. At last, however, they reached the mouth
of the Thames, and dropping up with the tide, reached London eight days
after their embarkation. The noble charger which the King of Saxony had
presented to Cuthbert had suffered greatly, and he feared at one time
that the poor animal would succumb to the effects of the tempest.
However, after entering into smooth water it recovered itself, and on
landing near the Tower he found that it was able to support his weight.
Cnut and the archers were, like Cuthbert, delighted to have their feet
again upon English soil; and although London did not now strike them
with the same wonder which it would have done had they first visited it
before starting on their journey--for in many respects it was greatly
behind some of the continental cities--yet the feeling of home, and the
pleasure of being able to understand the conversation of those around
them, made the poor fellows almost beside themselves with joy. Beyond
the main political incidents Cuthbert had heard little of what had
passed in England since his departure; and putting up at a hostelry, he
inquired of the host whether Sir Baldwin of Bethune was in London, or
whether he was away on his estates. The landlord did not know. There
were, he said, but few nobles at court, and London was never so dull as
at present. As Cuthbert did not wish his coming home to be known to John
until he had learned something of the position of affairs, he dispatched
Cnut to the Tower to inquire privately of some of the officials about
the place whether Sir Baldwin was there. Cnut soon returned with the
news that he had not been at the court since his return from the Holy
Land, and that he was living at his castle down in Dorsetshire. After
some hesitation Cuthbert resolved to set out to see his friend, and
after six days' travel he arrived at the castle of the knight.

Sir Baldwin received him with immense joy. He had not heard of him since
they parted at Zara, and he feared that a fate similar to that which had
befallen King Richard had overtaken Cuthbert, even if he were still
alive.

"Have you seen aught of the king, our master?" the good knight inquired.

"Nothing," Cuthbert said. "I know no more than yourself. Indeed, I hoped
to have learned something from you as to the king."

"I was separated from him at Gortz, and while he was taken a prisoner to
the archduke, I was allowed to pursue my way. I had many difficulties
and dangers, and was some weeks in finding my way back. Nothing was
known of the king when I returned. Indeed, I was the first bearer of any
definite news concerning him since the day when he sailed from Acre.
Three weeks ago, as you may have learned, the news came that he is now
detained in captivity by the emperor, who demanded his delivery by the
Archduke John, into whose hands he first fell. But where he is no one
exactly knows. The news has created an immense excitement in the
kingdom, and all are resolved to sacrifice any of their treasures which
may be demanded in order to satisfy the ransom which the recreant
emperor has placed upon the king. Shame is it indeed that a Christian
sovereign should hold another in captivity. Still more, when that other
was returning through his dominions as a Crusader coming from the Holy
Land, when his person should be safe, even to his deadliest enemy. It
has long been suspected that he was in the hands either of the emperor
or of the archduke, and throughout Europe the feeling of indignation has
been strong; and I doubt not, now that the truth is known, this feeling
will be stronger than ever."

"But now that it is known," Cuthbert said, "I suppose there will be no
delay in ransoming the king."

"There will be no delay in raising the ransom," Sir Baldwin said. "But
the kingdom is very impoverished by war, by the exactions of Prince
John, and by those of Langley, who held it for King Richard. He was a
loyal servant of the king, but an exacting and rapacious prelate.
However, I doubt not that the rents of the English nobles will soon be
charged with sums sufficient for the ransom; and if this avail not, not
one of them will grudge their silver flagons and vessels to melt down to
make the total required. But we must not flatter ourselves that he will
obtain his liberty so soon as the money is raised. Prince John has long
been yearning for sovereignty. He has long exercised the real, if not
the nominal, power, and he has been intriguing with the pope and Philip
of France for their support for his seizing the crown. He will throw
every obstacle in the way, as, we may be sure, will Philip of France,
Richard's deadly enemy. And now about yourself, Sir Cuthbert; tell me
what has befallen you since we last met."

Cuthbert related the adventures which had befallen him, and heard those
of Sir Baldwin.

"You have not, I suppose," the latter remarked, "as yet seen Prince
John?"

"No," Cuthbert replied, "I thought it better to come down to ask you to
advise me on the position of affairs before I attempted to see him."

"You did well," Sir Baldwin said. "When I arrived, I found that the
proper officials had, according to King Richard's instructions, draw up
the patent conferring upon you the lands and title of Earl of Evesham,
before leaving Acre, and had received the king's signature to it. This
was attested by several of the nobles who were with us and who returned
safely to England. Prince John, however, declared that he should not
give any heed to the document; that King Richard's power over this realm
had ceased before he made it; and that he should bestow the earldom upon
whomsoever he chose. As a matter of fact, it has been given to Sir
Rudolph Fleming, a Norman knight and a creature of the prince. The king
has also, I hear, promised to him the hand of the young Lady Margaret,
when she shall become of marriageable age. At present she is placed in a
convent in Worcester. The abbess is, I believe, a friend of the late
earl, and the girl had been with her for some time previously. Indeed
she went there, I think, when her father left England. This lady was
ordered to give up her charge to the guardianship of Sir Rudolph; but
she refused to do so, saying that it would not be convenable for a young
lady to be under the guardianship of a bachelor knight having no lady at
the head of his establishment, and that therefore she should retain her,
in spite of the orders of the prince. Prince John, I hear, flew into a
fury at this; but he did not dare to provoke the anger of the whole of
the clergy by ordering the convent to be violated. And indeed, not only
would the clergy have been indignant, but many of the great nobles would
also have taken their part, for there can be no doubt that the
contention of the abbess was reasonable; and there is among all the
friends of King Richard a very strong feeling of anger at your having
been deprived of the earldom. This, however, has so far not found much
vent in words, for as it was uncertain whether you would ever return to
claim your rights, it was worth no one's while to embroil himself
unnecessarily with the prince on such a subject. God knows that there
are subjects enough of dispute between John Lackland and the English
barons without any fresh ones arising. The kingdom is in a state of
disturbance. There have been several risings against Prince John's
authority; but those have been, so far, suppressed. Now that we know
where King Richard is, and hope for his return ere very long, it is
probable that peace will be maintained; but should treachery prevail,
and King Richard's return be prevented, you may be sure that John will
not be permitted to mount the throne without the determined resistance
of a large number of the nobles."

"But," Cuthbert said, "John is not the successor to the throne. Prince
Arthur of Brittany was named by King Richard from the first as his
successor. He is so by blood and by right, and John can have no pretense
to the throne so long as he lives."

"That is so," Sir Baldwin said. "But unhappily in England at present
might makes right, and you may be sure that at King Richard's death, be
it when it may, Prince John will make a bold throw for the throne, and,
aided as he will be by the pope and by Philip of France, methinks that
his chances are better than those of the young prince. A man's power, in
warlike times, is more than a boy's. He can intrigue and promise and
threaten, while a boy must be in the hands of partisans. I fear that
Prince Arthur will have troubled times indeed before he mounts the
throne of England. Should Richard survive until he becomes of age to
take the field himself and head armies, he may succeed, for all speak
well of him as a boy of singular sweetness of disposition, while Prince
John is detested by all save those who flatter and live by him. But
enough for the present of politics, Cuthbert; let us now to table. It is
long since we two feasted together; and, indeed, such meals as we took
in the Holy Land could scarcely have been called feasts. A boar's head
and a good roasted capon are worthy all the strange dishes that we had
there. I always misdoubted the meat, which seemed to me to smack in
flavor of the Saracens, and I never could bring myself to inquire whence
that strange food was obtained. A stoup of English ale, too, is worth
all the Cyprus wines, especially when the Cyprus wines are half-full of
the sand of the desert. Pah! it makes my throat dry to think of those
horrible meals. So you have brought Cnut and your four archers safely
back with you?"

"Yes," Cuthbert said, smiling. "But they were, I can assure you, a heavy
weight on me, in spite of their faithfulness and fidelity. Their
ignorance of the language brought most of my troubles upon me, and Cnut
had something of the nature of a bull in him. There are certain things
which he cannot stomach, and when he seeth them he rageth like a wild
beast, regardless altogether of safety or convenience."

In the evening the two knights again talked over the course which
Cuthbert should adopt. The elder knight's opinion was that his young
friend had best formally claim the title by writing to the king-at-arms,
and should also announce his return to Prince John, signing himself "Sir
Cuthbert, Earl of Evesham;" but that, in the present state of things, it
would be unwise for him to attempt to regain his position, should, as
was certain to be the case, Prince John refuse to recognize him.

"You are very young yet," Sir Baldwin said, "not eighteen, I think, and
can afford to wait, at any rate, to see whether King Richard returns.
Should he come back, he will see all these wrongs are righted; and one
of his first cares would assuredly be to cast this usurper out of his
stolen dignities. How old is the Lady Margaret?"

"She is fifteen," Cuthbert said. "She was three years younger than I."

"I wish she had been younger," Sir Baldwin said. "At fifteen she is not
by custom fairly marriageable; but men can strain these points when they
choose; and I fear that the news of your coming will hasten both the
prince and Sir Rudolph in their determination to strengthen the claim of
this usurper by marriage with the heiress of Evesham. The Lady Margaret
and her friends can of course claim that she is a royal ward, and that
as such the king alone can dispose of her person and estates. But
unfortunately force overrides argument."

"But surely," Cuthbert said, "they will never venture to take her by
force from the convent?"

"They venture a great many strange things in England now," Sir Baldwin
said; "and Worcester is perilously near to Evesham. With a clump of
twenty spears, Sir Rudolph might break into the convent and carry off
the young lady, and marry her by force; and although the Church might
cry out, crying would be of little avail when the deed was done; and a
handsome present on the part of Sir Rudolph might go far to shut the
mouths of many of the complainants, especially as he will be able to say
that he has the king's sanction for what he did."

"Methinks," Cuthbert said, "that if such be the case it would be
perilous indeed to wait for King Richard's return. Assuredly Sir Rudolph
would not tarry until she attained the age of seventeen, and it may well
be that two years may yet pass before King Richard comes back. It seems
to me the wiser part will be that I should give Prince John no notice
that I am in England. As you say, such notice would be of no avail in
recovering my lands and title, but it would put the prince upon his
guard; and assuredly he and his minions would press forward their
measures to obtain possession of the person of the Lady Margaret;
while, on the other hand, no harm can come of my maintaining silence."

"I think that you are right, Sir Cuthbert. It were indeed best that your
enemies should suppose you either dead or in some dungeon in the Tyrol.
What would you then do?"

"I would return to my old home," Cuthbert said. "My lady mother is, I
trust, still alive. But I will not appear at her house, but will take
refuge in the forest there. Cnut, and the archers with him, were all at
one time outlaws living there, and I doubt not that there are many good
men and true still to be found in the woods. Others will assuredly join
when they learn that Cnut is there, and that they are wanted to strike a
blow for my rights. I shall then bide my time. I will keep a strict
watch over the castle and over the convent. As the abbess is a friend
and relative of Lady Margaret's, I may obtain an interview with her, and
warn her of the dangers that await her, and ask if she be willing to
fulfill the promise of her father and King Richard's will, in accepting
me as her husband when due time shall arrive, and whether she will be
willing that I should take such steps as I may to deliver her from the
persecution of Sir Rudolph. If, as I trust, she assents to this, I will
keep a watch over the convent as well as the castle, and can then either
attack the latter or carry her off from the former, as the occasion may
appear to warrant. There are plenty of snug cottages round the forest,
where she can remain in concealment in the care of some good farmer's
wife for months, and we shall be close at hand to watch over her. With
the aid of the forest men, Sir Walter took the castle of Sir John of
Wortham; and although Evesham is a far grander pile than that, yet
methinks it could be carried by a sudden assault; and we know more of
war now than we did then. Prince John may deny me the right of being
the Earl of Evesham; but methinks before many months I can, if I choose,
become its master."

"Be not too hasty in that matter," Sir Baldwin said. "You might capture
the castle with the aid of your outlaws; but you could scarcely hold it.
The prince has, ere now, with the aid of those faithful to him and his
foreign mercenaries, captured stronger holds than that of Evesham; and
if you turn his favorite out, you would have a swarm of hornets around
you such as the walls of Evesham could not keep out. It would therefore
be worse than useless for you to attempt what would be something like an
act of rebellion against Prince John's authority, and would give him
what now he has no excuse for, a ground for putting a price upon your
head--and cutting it off if he got the opportunity. You might now
present yourself boldly at court, and although he might refuse to
recognize your title of earl, yet, as a knight and a Crusader who has
distinguished himself greatly in the Holy Land, he dare not interfere
with your person, for this would be resented by the whole of the
chivalry of England. Still, I agree with you that your best course is to
keep your return a secret. You will then be unwatched and unnoticed, and
your enemies will take their time in carrying their designs into
effect."

Two days later Cuthbert, attended by his faithful retainers, left Sir
Baldwin's castle, and traveled by easy stages through Wiltshire and the
confines of Gloucestershire up to Worcester. He had been supplied by Sir
Baldwin with suitable attire for himself and his followers, and now rode
as a simple knight, without arms or cognizance, journeying from one part
to another. All the crosses and other crusading signs were laid aside,
and there was nothing to attract any attention to him upon his passage.
Cuthbert had at first thought of going direct to the convent of
Worcester, and asking for an interview with Lady Margaret; but he
reflected that it might be possible that some of the myrmidons of Sir
Rudolph might be keeping a watch over that building to see that Lady
Margaret was not secretly removed to some other place of refuge, and
that the appearance of a knight before its doors would excite comment
and suspicion. He therefore avoided the town, and journeyed straight to
the forest, where he had so often roamed with Cnut and the outlaws.

Here he found that matters had but little changed since he was last
there. Many of those who had fought with him in the Holy Land, and who
had returned by sea, had again taken to the forest, joined by many new
men whom the exactions of Sir Rudolph had already goaded into revolt.
Cnut was received with enthusiasm, and when he presented Cuthbert to
them as the rightful heir of Evesham and the well-known friend of the
foresters, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. They at once accepted him as
their lord and master, and promised to obey his orders, and to lay down
their lives, if necessary, in his cause, as they knew that it was he who
had formerly obtained the pardon of the forest band, and who had fought
with them in their attack on Wortham Castle.

To Cuthbert's great delight he heard that his mother was in good health,
although she had for some months been grievously fretting over his
disappearance and supposed death. Cuthbert hesitated whether he should
proceed at once to see her; but he feared that the shock of his
appearance might be too much for her, and that her expressions of joy
might make the retainers and others aware of his arrival, and the news
might in some way reach the ears of those at the castle. He therefore
dispatched Cnut to see her, and break the news to her cautiously, and to
request her to arrange for a time when she would either see Cuthbert at
some place at a distance from the house, or would so arrange that the
domestics should be absent and that he would have an interview with her
there unobserved.

Cnut was absent some hours, and on his return told Cuthbert that he had
seen Dame Editha, and that her joy on hearing of her son's safe arrival
had caused her no harm, but rather the reverse. The news that King
Richard had bestowed upon him the title and lands of Evesham was new to
her, and she was astonished indeed to hear of his elevation. Having
heard much of the character of the pretending earl, she had great fears
for the safety of Cuthbert, should his residence in the neighborhood get
to his ears; and although sure of the fidelity of all her retainers, she
feared that in their joy at their young master's return they might let
slip some incautious word which would come to the ears of some of those
at the castle. She therefore determined to meet him at a distance. She
had arranged that upon the following day she would give out that she
intended to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Dunstan, which lay at
the edge of the forest, to thank him for her recovery from illness, and
to pray for the safety of her son. She would be carried thither in a
litter, and her journey would excite no comment whatever. She would take
with her four of her most trusted retainers, and would on her arrival at
the shrine send them to a distance, in order to pay her devotions
undisturbed. Cuthbert was to be near, and the moment he saw them depart,
to enter.

This arrangement was carried out, and the joy of Dame Editha at again
meeting her son was deep indeed. He had left her a lad of fifteen. He
now returned a youth of nearly eighteen, stout and strong beyond his
age, and looking far older than he was, from the effect of the hot sun
of Syria and of the hardships through which he had gone. That he should
win his spurs upon the first opportunity the earl had promised her, and
she doubted not that he would soon attain the rank which his father had
held. But that he should return to her a belted earl was beyond her
wildest thoughts. This, however, was but little in her mind then. It was
her son, and not the Earl of Evesham, whom she clasped in her arms.

As the interview must necessarily be a short one, Cuthbert gave her but
a slight outline of what had happened since they parted, and the
conversation then turned upon the present position, and upon the steps
which had best be taken.

"Your peril is, I fear, as great here as when you were fighting the
infidels in the Holy Land," she said. "Sir Rudolph has not been here
long; but he has proved himself a cruel and ruthless master. He has
driven forth many of the old tenants and bestowed their lands upon his
own servants and retainers. The forest laws he carries out to the
fullest severity, and has hung several men who were caught infringing
them. He has laid such heavy burdens on all the tenants that remain that
they are fairly ruined, and if he stay here long he will rule over a
desert. Did he dream of your presence here, he would carry fire and
sword through the forest. It is sad indeed to think that so worthless a
knave as this should be a favorite of the ruler of England. But all men
say that he is so. Thus were you to attack him, even did you conquer and
kill him, you would have the enmity of Prince John to contend with; and
he spareth none, man or woman, who stand in his way. It will be a bad
day indeed for England should our good King Richard not return. I will,
as you wish me, write to my good cousin, the Lady Abbess of St. Anne's,
and will ask that you may have an interview with the Lady Margaret, to
hear her wishes and opinions concerning the future, and will pray her to
do all that she can to aid your suit with the fair young lady, and to
keep her at all events safe from the clutches of the tyrant of Evesham."

Three days later a boy employed as a messenger by Dame Editha brought a
note to Cuthbert, saying that she had heard from the Abbess of St.
Anne's, who would be glad to receive a visit from Cuthbert. The abbess
had asked his mother to accompany him; but this she left for him to
decide. Cuthbert sent back a message in reply that he thought it would
be dangerous for her to accompany him, as any spy watching would report
her appearance, and inquiries were sure to be set on foot as to her
companion. He said that he himself would call at the convent on the
following evening after nightfall, and begged her to send word to the
abbess to that effect, in order that he might, when he presented
himself, be admitted at once.




CHAPTER XXI.

THE ATTEMPT ON THE CONVENT.


Upon the following evening Cuthbert proceeded to Worcester. He left his
horse some little distance outside the town, and entered on foot. Having
no apprehension of an attack, he had left all his pieces of armor
behind, and was in the quiet garb of a citizen. Cnut attended him--for
that worthy follower considered himself as responsible that no harm of
any sort should befall his young master. The consequences of his own
imprudence in the Tyrol were ever before his mind, and he determined
that from henceforth there should be no want of care on his part. He
accompanied Cuthbert to within a short distance of the convent, and took
up his position in the shade of a house, whence he could watch should
any one appear to be observing Cuthbert's entrance.

Upon ringing the bell Cuthbert told the porteress, as had been arranged,
that he had called on a message from Dame Editha, and he was immediately
ushered into the parlor of the convent, where, a minute or two later, he
was joined by the lady abbess. He had when young been frequently to the
convent, and had always been kindly received.

"I am indeed glad to see you, Sir Cuthbert," she said, "though I
certainly should not have recognized the lad who used to come here with
my cousin in the stalwart young knight I see before me. You are indeed
changed and improved. Who would think that my gossip Editha's son would
come to be the Earl of Evesham! The Lady Margaret is eager to see you;
but I think that you exaggerate the dangers of her residence here. I
cannot think that even a minion of Prince John would dare to violate the
sanctity of a convent."

"I fear, good mother," Cuthbert said, "that when ambition and greed are
in one scale, reverence for the holy church will not weigh much in the
other. Had King Richard been killed upon his way home, or so long as
nothing was heard of him, Sir Rudolph might have been content to allow
matters to remain as they were, until at least Lady Margaret attained an
age which would justify him in demanding that the espousal should be
carried out. But the news which has now positively been ascertained,
that the king is in the hands of the emperor, and the knowledge that
sooner or later his freedom will be obtained, will hasten the friends of
the usurper to make the most of their advantage. He knows that the king
would at once upon his return annul the nomination of Sir Rudolph to the
earldom which had previously been bestowed upon me. But he may well
think that if before that time he can secure in marriage the person of
the late earl's daughter, no small share of the domains may be allotted
to him as her dowry, even if he be obliged to lay by his borrowed
honors. You will, unless I am greatly mistaken, hear from him before
long."

The abbess looked grave.

"There is much in what you say, Sir Cuthbert; and indeed a certain
confirmation is given to it by the fact that only yesterday I received a
letter from Sir Rudolph, urging that now the Lady Margaret is past the
age of fifteen, and may therefore be considered marriageable, the will
of the prince should be carried into effect, and that she should for the
present be committed to the charge of the Lady Clara Boulger, who is
the wife of a friend and associate of Sir Rudolph. He says that he
should not wish to press the marriage until she attains the age of
sixteen, but that it were well that his future wife should become
accustomed to the outside world, so as to take her place as Castellan of
Evesham with a dignity befitting the position. I wrote at once to him
saying that in another year it would, in my poor judgment, be quite time
to think about such worldly matters; that at the present the Lady
Margaret was receiving an education suitable to her rank; that she was
happy here; and that unless constrained by force--of which, I said, I
could not suppose that any possibility existed--I should not surrender
the Lady Margaret into any hands whatsoever, unless, indeed, I received
the commands of her lawful guardian, King Richard."

"You said well, holy mother," Sir Cuthbert said. "But you see the hawks
scent the danger from afar, and are moving uneasily already. Whether
they consider it so pressing that they will dare to profane the convent,
I know not. But I am sure that should they do so, they will not hesitate
a moment at the thought of the anger of the church. Prince John has
already shown that he is ready, if need be, to oppose the authority of
the holy father, and he may well, therefore, despise any local wrath
that might be excited by an action which he can himself disavow, and for
which, even at the worst, he need only inflict some nominal punishment
upon his vassal. Bethink thee, lady, whether it would not be safer to
send the Lady Margaret to the care of some person, where she may be
concealed from the search of Sir Rudolph."

"I would gladly do so," the abbess said, "did I know of such a person or
such a place. But it is difficult indeed, for a young lady of rank to be
concealed from such sharp searchers as Sir Rudolph would be certain to
place upon her track. Your proposal that she should take refuge in the
house of some small franklin near the forest, I cannot agree to. In the
first place, it would demean her to be so placed; and in the second, we
could never be sure that the report of her residence there might not
reach the ears of Sir Rudolph. As a last resource, of course, such a
step would be justifiable, but not until at least overt outrages have
been attempted. Now I will call Lady Margaret in."

The young girl entered with an air of frank gladness, but was startled
at the alteration which had taken place in her former playfellow, and
paused and looked at the abbess, as if inquiring whether this could be
really the Cuthbert she had known. Lady Margaret was fifteen in years;
but she looked much younger. The quiet seclusion in which she had lived
in the convent had kept her from approaching that maturity which as an
earl's daughter, brought up in the stir and bustle of a castle, she
would doubtless have attained.

"This is indeed Sir Cuthbert," the abbess said, "your old playfellow,
and the husband destined for you by your father and by the will of the
king."

Struck with a new timidity, the girl advanced, and, according to the
custom of the times, held up her cheek to be kissed. Cuthbert was almost
as timid as herself.

"I feel, Lady Margaret," he said, "a deep sense of my own unworthiness
of the kindness and honor which the dear lord your father bestowed upon
me; and were it not that many dangers threaten, and that it were
difficult under the circumstances to find one more worthy of you, I
would gladly resign you into the hands of such a one were it for your
happiness. But believe me that the recollection of your face has
animated me in many of the scenes of danger in which I have been placed;
and although even in fancy my thoughts scarcely ventured to rise so
high, yet I felt as a true knight might feel for the lady of his love."

"I always liked you, Sir Cuthbert," the girl said frankly, "better than
any one else next to my father, and gladly submit myself to his will. My
own inclinations indeed, so far as is maidenly, go with his. These are
troubled times," she said anxiously, "and our holy mother tells me that
you fear some danger is overhanging me."

"I trust that the danger may not be imminent," Cuthbert answered. "But
knowing the unscrupulous nature of the false Earl of Evesham, I fear
that the news that King Richard is found will bestir him to early
action. But you can rely, dear lady, on a careful watch being kept over
you night and day; and should any attempt be made to carry you away, or
to put force upon you, be assured that assistance will be at hand. Even
should any attempt succeed, do not lose heart, for rescue will certainly
be attempted; and I must be dead, and my faithful followers crushed,
before you can become the bride of Sir Rudolph."

Then turning to other subjects, he talked to her of the life he had led
since he last saw her. He told her of the last moments of her father,
and of the gallant deeds he had done in the Holy Land.

After waiting for two hours, the abbess judged that the time for
separation had arrived; and Cuthbert, taking a respectful adieu of his
young mistress, and receiving the benediction of the abbess, departed.

He found Cnut on guard at the point where he had left him.

"Have you seen aught to give rise to suspicion?" Cuthbert asked.

"Yes," Cnut said, "the place is undoubtedly watched. Just after you had
entered a man came from that house yonder and went up to the gate, as if
he would fain learn by staring at its iron adornments the nature of him
who had passed in. Then he re-entered his house, and if I mistake not is
still on the watch at that casement. If we stand here for a minute or
two, perchance he may come out to see what delays you in this dark
corner, in which case I may well give him a clout with my ax which will
settle his prying."

"Better not," Cuthbert said. "We can retire round this corner and so
avoid his observation; and were his body found slain here, suspicion
would be at once excited in the mind of his employer. At present he can
have no ground for any report which may make the knight uneasy, for he
can but know that a gentleman has entered, and remained for two hours at
the convent, and he will in no way connect my visit with the Lady
Margaret."

They had just turned the corner which Cuthbert indicated, when a man
came up rapidly behind them and almost brushed them as he passed,
half-turning round and trying to gaze into their faces. Cnut at once
assumed the aspect of an intoxicated person, and stretching forth his
foot, with a dexterous shove pushed the stranger into the gutter. The
latter rose with a fierce cry of anger; but Cnut with a blow of his
heavy fist again stretched him on the ground, this time to remain quiet
until they had walked on and passed out of sight.

"A meddling fool," Cnut grumbled. "He will not, methinks, have much to
report to Sir Rudolph this time. Had I thought that he had seen your
face, I would have cleft his skull with no more hesitation than I send
an arrow into the brain of a stag in the forest."

As they journeyed along Cuthbert informed Cnut of what the abbess had
told him; and the latter agreed that a watch must be placed on the
convent, and that a force must be kept as near as possible at hand so
as to defeat any attempt which might be made.

The next day one of the forest men who had been a peaceable citizen, but
who had been charged with using false weights and had been condemned to
lose his ears, repaired to Worcester. His person was unknown there, as
he had before lived at Gloucester. He hired a house in the square in
which the convent was situated, giving out that he desired to open a
house of business for the sale of silks, and for articles from the Low
Countries. As he paid down earnest-money for the rent no suspicion
whatever was excited. He at once took up his abode there, having with
him two stout serving-men, and a 'prentice boy; and from that time two
sets of watchers observed without ceasing what passed at the Convent of
St. Anne.

At a distance of half a mile from the road leading between Worcester and
Evesham stood a grange, which had for some time been disused, the ground
belonging to it having been sequestrated and given to the lord of an
adjoining estate, who did not care to have the grange occupied. In this
ten men, headed by Cnut, took up their residence, blocking up the window
of the hall with hangings, so that the light of the fire kindled within
would not be observed.

Two months passed on without any incident of importance. The feeling
between the outlaws in the forest and the retainers of the false Earl of
Evesham was becoming much imbittered. Several times the foresters of the
latter, attempting pursuit of men charged with breaking the game laws,
were roughly handled. These on making their report were sent back again,
supported by a force of footmen; but these, too, were driven back, and
the authority of Sir Rudolph was openly defied.

Gradually it came to his ears that the outlaws were commanded by a man
who had been their leader in times gone by, but who had been pardoned,
and had, with a large number of his band, taken service in the army of
the Crusaders; also, that there was present a stranger, whose manner and
the deference paid to him by Cnut proclaimed him to be of gentle blood.
This news awakened grave uneasiness on the part of Sir Rudolph. The
knight caused inquiries to be made, and ascertained that Cnut had been
especially attached to the young Cuthbert, and that he had fought under
the Earl of Evesham's banner. It seemed possible then that with him had
returned the claimant for the earldom; and in that case Sir Rudolph felt
that danger menaced him, for the bravery of the Earl of Evesham's
adopted son had been widely spoken of by those who had returned from the
Holy Land.

Sir Rudolph was a man of forty, tall and dark, with Norman features. He
held the Saxons in utter contempt, and treated them as beings solely
created to till the land for the benefit of their Norman lords. He was
brave and fearless, and altogether free from the superstition of the
times. Even the threats of the pope, which although Prince John defied
them yet terrified him at heart, were derided by his follower, who
feared no one thing in the world, save, perhaps, the return of King
Richard from captivity.

No sooner had the suspicion that his rival was in the neighborhood
possessed him than he determined that one of two things must be carried
out: either Sir Cuthbert must be killed, or the Lady Margaret must be
carried off and forced to accept him as her husband. First he endeavored
to force Sir Cuthbert to declare himself and to trust to his own arm to
put an end to his rival. To that end he caused a proclamation to be
written, and to be affixed to the door of the village church at the fair
of Evesham.

Cnut and several of his followers were there, all quietly dressed as
yeomen. Seeing a crowd round the door of the church, he pressed forward.
Being himself unable to read writing, he asked one of the burgesses what
was written upon the paper which caused such excitement.

"It is," the burgess said, "in the nature of a cartel or challenge from
our present lord, Sir Rudolph. He says that it having come to his ears
that a Saxon serf, calling himself Sir Cuthbert, Earl of Evesham, is
lurking in the woods and consorting with outlaws and robbers, he
challenges him to appear, saying that he will himself, grievously
although he would demean himself by so doing, yet condescend to meet him
in the lists with sword and battle-ax, and to prove upon his body the
falseness of his averments. Men marvel much," the burgess continued, "at
this condescension on the earl's part. We have heard indeed that King
Richard, before he sailed for England, did, at the death of the late
good earl, bestow his rank and the domains of Evesham upon Sir Cuthbert,
the son of the Dame Editha. Whether it be true or not, we cannot say;
but it seems strange that such honor should have been bestowed upon one
so young. In birth indeed he might aspire to the rank, since his father,
Sir Walter, was a brave knight, and the mother, Dame Editha, was of good
Saxon blood, and descended from those who held Evesham before the
arrival of the Normans."

Cnut's first impulse was to stride forward and to tear down the
proclamation. But the remembrance of his solemn determination not in
future to act rashly came across him, and he decided to take no steps
until he had reported the facts to his master, and taken his counsel
thereon.

Cuthbert received the news with much indignation.

"There is naught that I should like better," he said, "than to try my
strength against that of this false traitor. But although I have proved
my arm against the Saracens, I think not that it is yet strong enough to
cope against a man who, whatsoever be his faults, is said to be a
valiant knight. But that would not deter me from attempting the task. It
is craftily done on the part of Sir Rudolph. He reckons that if I appear
he will kill me; that if I do not appear, I shall be branded as a
coward, and my claims brought into disrepute. It may be, too, that it is
a mere ruse to discover if I be in the neighborhood. Some rumors thereof
may have reached him, and he has taken this course to determine upon
their truth. He has gone too far, and honest men will see in the cartel
itself a sign that he misdoubts him that my claims are just; for were I,
as he says, a Saxon serf, be sure that he would not condescend to meet
me in the lists as he proposes. I trust that the time will come when I
may do so. But at present I will submit to his insult rather than
imperil the success of our plans, and, what is of far greater
importance, the safety and happiness of the Lady Margaret, who, did
aught befall me, would assuredly fall into his hands."

After some thought, however, Cuthbert drew up an answer to the knight's
proclamation. He did not in this speak in his own name, but wrote as if
the document were the work of Cnut. It was worded as follows: "I, Cnut,
a free Saxon and a leader of bowmen under King Richard in the Holy Land,
do hereby pronounce and declare the statements of Sir Rudolph, miscalled
the Earl of Evesham, to be false and calumnious. The earldom was, as
Rudolph well knows, and as can be proved by many nobles and gentlemen of
repute who were present with King Richard, granted to Sir Cuthbert, King
Richard's true and faithful follower. When the time shall come Sir
Cuthbert will doubtless be ready to prove his rights. But at present
right has no force in England, and until the coming of our good King
Richard must remain in abeyance. Until then, I support the title of Sir
Cuthbert, and do hereby declare Sir Rudolph a false and perjured knight;
and warn him that if he falls into my hands it will fare but badly with
him, as I know it will fare but badly with me should I come into his."

At nightfall the cartel of Sir Rudolph was torn down from the church and
that of Cnut affixed in its place. The reading thereof caused great
astonishment in Evesham, and the rage of Sir Rudolph, when the news came
to his ears, was very great. Cuthbert was sure that this affair would
quicken the intentions of Sir Rudolph with regard to the Lady Margaret,
and he received confirmation of this in a letter which the abbess sent
him, saying that she had received another missive from Sir Rudolph,
authoritatively demanding in the king's name the instant surrender of
Lady Margaret to him. That night forty archers stole, one by one,
quietly into Worcester, entering the town before the gates were shut,
and so mingling with the citizens that they were unobserved. When it was
quite dark they quietly took their way, one by one, to the square in
which stood the convent, and were admitted into the shop of Master
Nicholas, the silk mercer.

The house was a large one, with its floors overhanging each the one
beneath it, as was the custom of the time, and with large casements
running the whole width of the house.

The mercer had laid by a goodly store of provisions, and for three days
the troop, large as it was, was accommodated there. Cuthbert himself was
with them, Cnut remaining at the grange with the ten men originally sent
there.

On the third day Sir Rudolph, with a number of knights and men-at-arms,
arrived in the town, giving out that he was passing northward, but he
would abide that night at the hostelry. A great many of his men-at-arms
did, as those on the watch observed, enter one by one into the town. The
people of Worcester were somewhat surprised at this large accompaniment
of the earl, but thought no harm. The Abbess of St. Anne's, however, was
greatly terrified, as she feared that some evil design might be intended
against her. She was, however, reassured in the evening by a message
brought by a boy, to the effect that succor would be near, whatsoever
happened.

At midnight a sudden uproar was heard in the streets of Worcester.

A party of men fell upon the burgesses guarding the gate of the town,
disarmed them, and took possession of it. At the same time those who had
put up at the hostelry with Sir Rudolph suddenly mounted their horses,
and with a great clatter rode down the streets to the convent of St.
Anne. Numbers of men on foot also joined, and some sixty in all suddenly
appeared before the great gate of the convent. With a thundering noise
they knocked at the door, and upon the grating being opened Sir Rudolph
himself told the porteress who looked through it that she was to go at
once to the abbess and order her to surrender the body of the Lady
Margaret to him, in accordance with the order of Prince John; adding,
that if within the space of five minutes the order was not complied
with, he would burst in the gates of the convent and take her for
himself. In another minute a casement opened above, and the abbess
herself appeared.

"Rash man," she said to Sir Rudolph, "I warn you against committing the
sin of sacrilege. Neither the orders of Prince John nor of any other
potentate can override the rights of the holy church; and should you
venture to lay the hand of force upon this convent you will be placed
under the anathema of the church, and its spiritual terrors will be
directed against you."

"I am prepared to risk that, holy mother," Sir Rudolph said, with a
laugh. "So long as I am obeying the orders of my prince, I care naught
for those of any foreign potentate, be he pope or be he emperor. Three
minutes of the time I gave you have elapsed, and unless within two more
the Lady Margaret appears at the gate I will batter it down; and you may
think yourself lucky if I do not order my men to set light to it and to
smoke you out of your hole."

The abbess closed the window, and as she did so the long row of
casements in the house of Master Nicholas were opened from top to
bottom, and a volley of sixty clothyard arrows was poured into the group
closely standing round the gate. Many fell, killed outright, and shouts
of rage and pain were heard arising.

Furious at this unexpected attack, Sir Rudolph turned and commanded
those with him to attack the house whence this volley of missiles had
come. But even while he spoke another flight of arrows, even more deadly
than the last, was poured forth. One of the knights standing by the side
of Sir Rudolph fell, shot through the brain. Very many of the common
men, undefended by harness, fell shot through and through; and an arrow
piercing the joint of the armor of Sir Rudolph wounded him in the
shoulder. In vain the knight stormed and raged and ordered his men to
advance. The suddenness of the attack seemed to his superstitious
followers a direct answer from heaven to the words of the abbess. Their
number was already seriously lessened, and those who were in case to do
so at once took flight and scattered through the city, making for the
gate, which had already been seized by Sir Rudolph's men.

Finding himself alone with only a few of his knights and principal
men-at-arms remaining, while the storm of arrows continued unabated, Sir
Rudolph was forced to order his men to retreat with many fierce threats
of the vengeance which he would hereafter take.




CHAPTER XXII.

A DASTARDLY STRATAGEM.


The return of Sir Rudolph's party to Evesham was not unmarked by
incident, for as they passed along the road, from an ambush in a wood
other archers, whose numbers they could not discover, shot hard upon
them, and many fell there who had escaped from the square at Worcester.
When the list was called upon the arrival at the castle, it was found
that no less than thirty of those who had set out were missing, while
many others were grievously wounded.

The noise of the tumult in the square of the convent aroused the whole
town of Worcester. Alarm bells were rung; and the burgesses, hastily
arming themselves, poured into the streets. Directed by the sound, they
made their way to the square, and were astonished at finding it entirely
deserted, save for some twenty men, lying dead or dying in front of the
gate of the convent, pierced with long arrows. They speedily found that
Sir Rudolph and his troop had departed; and further inquiry revealed the
fact that the burgher guard at one of the gates had been overpowered and
were prisoners in the watchroom. These could only say that they were
suddenly seized, all being asleep save the one absolutely on guard. They
knew nothing more than that a few minutes later there was a great
clatter of horsemen and men on foot leaving the city. Unable to find any
solution to this singular circumstance, but satisfied that Sir Rudolph
had departed, and that no more disturbance was likely to arise that
night, the burgesses again betook themselves to their beds, having
closed the gates and placed a strong guard over them, determining next
morning to sift the affair to the bottom.

In the morning the leading burgesses met in council, and finding none
who could give them any information, the mayor and two of the councilors
repaired to the convent, where they asked for an interview with the lady
abbess. Mightily indignant were they at hearing that Sir Rudolph had
attempted to break into the convent, and to carry off a boarder residing
there. But the abbess herself could give them no further news. She said
that after she retired from the window she heard great shouts and cries,
and that almost immediately afterward the whole of the party in front
hastily retired.

That Sir Rudolph had been attacked by a party of archers was evident;
but whence they had shot, or how they had come upon the spot at the
time, or whither they had gone, were mysteries that could not be solved.
In the search which the authorities made, however, it was discovered
that the house of the draper, Master Nicholas, was closed. Finding that
summonses to open were unanswered, the door was broken in, and the
premises were found in confusion. No goods of any kind were discovered
there, but many bales filled with dried leaves, bark of trees, and other
worthless matters. Such goods as had been displayed in the window had
clearly been carried away. Searching the house, they found signs that a
considerable number of men had been concealed there, and although not
knowing whence the body of archers could have come, they concluded that
those who defeated the attempt of Sir Rudolph must have been hidden in
the draper's house. The singularity of this incident gave rise to great
excitement; but the indignation against Sir Rudolph was in no way
lessened by the fact that his attempt had been defeated, not by the
townsmen themselves, but by some unknown force.

After much consultation on the part of the council, it was resolved that
a deputation, consisting of the mayor and the five senior councilors,
should resort to London, and there demand from the prince redress for
the injury put upon their town by Sir Rudolph. These worthy merchants
betook themselves to London by easy stages, and upon their arrival there
were kept for some days before they could obtain an interview with King
John. When they appeared before him and commenced telling their story
the prince fell into sudden rage.

"I have heard of this matter before," he said, "and am mightily angry
with the people of Worcester, inasmuch as they have dared to interfere
to prevent the carrying out of my commands. The Earl of Evesham has
written to me, that thinking to scare the abbess of St. Anne's into a
compliance with the commands which I had laid upon her, and to secure
the delivery of a contumacious ward of the crown, he had pretended to
use force, having, however, no idea of carrying his threats into effect.
When, as he doubted not, the abbess was on the point of yielding up the
ward, the good knight was suddenly set upon by the rascals of the town,
who slew some of his companions and followers, and did grievously
ill-treat the remainder. This," said the prince, "you now pretend was
done by a party of men of whose presence in the town you had no
cognizance. Your good sense must be small, if you think that I should
believe such a tale as this. It is your rascaldom at Worcester which
interfered to prevent my will being carried out, and I have a goodly
mind to order the troop of Sir Charles Everest, which is now marching
toward Evesham, to sack the town, as a punishment for its rebellion. As,
however, I am willing to believe that you and the better class of
burgesses were in ignorance of the doings of the rougher kind, I will
extend mercy toward the city, and will merely inflict a fine of three
thousand golden marks upon it."

The mayor attempted humbly to explain and to entreat; but the prince was
seized with a sudden passion, and threatened if he said more he would at
once cast him and his fellows into durance. Therefore, sadly crestfallen
at the result of their mission, the mayor and councilors returned to
Worcester, where their report caused great consternation. This was
heightened by the fact that upon the following day Sir Charles Everest,
with five hundred mercenaries of the prince, together with Sir Rudolph
and his following, and several other barons favorable to the cause of
the prince, were heard to be approaching the town.

Worcester was capable of making a stout defense, but seeing that no help
was likely to be forthcoming, and fearing the utter ruin of the town
should it be taken by storm, the council, after sitting many hours in
deliberation, determined to raise the money required to pay the fine
inflicted by the prince. The bolder sort were greatly averse to this
decision, especially as a letter had been received, signed "Cuthbert,
Earl of Evesham," offering, should the townspeople decide to resist the
unjust demands of Prince John, to enter the town with one hundred and
fifty archers to take part in its defense. With this force, as the more
ardent spirits urged, the defeat of any attempt to carry it by storm
would be assured. But the graver men argued that even if defeated for
the first time further attempts would be made, and as it was likely that
King Richard would not return for a long time, and that Prince John
might become sovereign of England, sooner or later the town must be
taken, and, in any case, its trade would for a long time be destroyed,
and great suffering inflicted upon all; therefore, that it was better to
pay the fine now than to risk all these evils, and perhaps the
infliction of a heavier impost upon them.

The abbess was kept informed by friends in the council of the course of
the proceedings. She had in the meantime had another interview with Sir
Cuthbert and had determined, seeing that Prince John openly supported
the doings of his minion, it would be better to remove the Lady Margaret
to some other place, as no one could say how the affair might terminate;
and with five hundred mercenaries at his back, Sir Rudolph would be so
completely master of the city that he would be able in broad daylight,
did he choose, to force the gates of the convent and carry off the
king's ward.

Accordingly, two days before the arrival of the force before the walls
of Worcester, Lady Margaret left the convent by a postern gate in the
rear, late in the evening. She was attended by two of the sisters, both
of whom, as well as herself, were dressed as country women. Mules were
in readiness outside the city gates, and here Sir Cuthbert, with an
escort of archers, was ready to attend them. They traveled all night,
and arrived in the morning at a small convent situated five miles from
the city of Hereford. The abbess here was a cousin of the Superior of
St. Anne's, and had already consented to receive Lady Margaret. Leaving
her at the door, and promising that, as far as possible, he would keep
watch over her, and that even in the worst she need never despair, Sir
Cuthbert left her and returned to the forest.

The band there assembled varied considerably in numbers, for provisions
could not be found continually for a large body of men. The forest was
indeed very extensive, and the number of deer therein large. Still, for
the feeding of one hundred and fifty men many animals are required, and
other food. The franklins in the neighborhood were all hostile to Sir
Rudolph, whom they regarded as a cruel tyrant, and did their utmost in
the way of supplies for those in the forest. Their resources, however,
were limited, and it was found necessary to scatter the force, and for a
number of them to take up their residence in places a short distance
away, forty only remaining permanently on guard.

Sir Rudolph and his friends entered Worcester, and there received with
great hauteur the apologies of the mayor and council, and the assurance
that the townspeople were in nowise concerned in the attack made upon
him. To this he pretended disbelief. The fine demanded was paid, the
principal portion in gold, the rest in bills signed by the leading
merchants of the place; for after every effort it had been found
impossible to collect such a sum within the city.

The day after he arrived he again renewed his demand to the abbess for
the surrender of the Lady Margaret; this time, however, coming to her
attended only by two squires, and by a pursuivant bearing the king's
order for the delivery of the damsel. The abbess met him at the gate,
and informed him that the Lady Margaret was no longer in her charge.

"Finding," she said in a fearless tone, "that the holy walls of this
convent were insufficient to restrain lawless men, and fearing that
these might be tempted to acts of sacrilege, which might bring down upon
them the wrath of the church and the destruction of their souls, I have
sent her away."

"Whither has she gone?" Sir Rudolph demanded, half-mad with passion.

"That I decline to say," the lady abbess replied. "She is in good hands;
and when King Richard returns his ward shall be delivered to him at
once."

"Will you take oath upon the Bible that she is not within these walls?"
Sir Rudolph exclaimed.

"My word is sufficient," the lady abbess replied calmly. "But should it
be necessary, I should be ready to swear upon the relics that she is not
here."

A few hours later Sir Rudolph, attended by his own party and by one
hundred of Sir Charles Everest's mercenaries, returned to his castle.

Three days afterward, as Cuthbert was sitting at a rude but hearty meal
in the forest, surrounded by Cnut and his followers, a hind entered
breathless. Cuthbert at once recognized him as one of the servitors of
his mother.

"What is it?" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

"Terrible news, Master Cuthbert, terrible news!" exclaimed the man. "The
wicked earl came down this morning, with fifty of his men, set fire to
the house, and all its buildings and stacks, and has carried off the
lady, your mother, a prisoner to the castle, on a charge, as he said, of
harboring traitors."

A cry of fury broke from Cnut and his men.

"The false traitor shall bitterly regret this outrage," Cuthbert
exclaimed.

He had in the first excitement seized his arms, and his followers
snatched up their bows, as if for instant warfare. A few moments'
reflection, however, showed to Cuthbert the impossibility of his
attacking a fortress like Evesham, garrisoned by a strong body of
well-armed men, with only the archers of the forest, without implements
necessary for such an assault.

"Send at once, Cnut," he said, "and call in all the band. We cannot take
the castle; but we will carry fire and sword round its walls. We will
cut off all communication from within or from without. If attacked by
large forces, we will retire upon the wood, returning to our posts
without the walls as soon as the force is withdrawn. These heavily armed
men can move but slowly, while we can run at full speed. There cannot be
more than some twenty horsemen in the castle; and methinks with our
arrows and pikes we can drive these back if they attempt to fall upon
us."

Cnut at once sent off swift-footed messengers to carry out Cuthbert's
orders, and on the following day the whole of the band were again
assembled in the woods. Just as Cuthbert was setting them in motion a
distant blast of a horn was heard.

"It is," Cuthbert exclaimed, "the note calling for a parley. Do you,
Cnut, go forward, and see what is demanded. It is probably a messenger
from Sir Rudolph."

After half an hour's absence Cnut returned, bringing with him a
pursuivant or herald. The latter advanced at once toward Cuthbert, who,
now in his full knightly armor, was evidently the leader of the party.

"I bear to you, Sir Cuthbert, falsely calling yourself Earl of Evesham,
a message from Sir Rudolph. He bids me tell you that the traitress, Dame
Editha, your mother, is in his hands, and that she has been found guilty
of aiding and abetting you in your war against Prince John, the regent
of this kingdom. For that offense she has been condemned to die."

Here he was interrupted by a cry of rage which broke from the assembled
foresters. Continuing unmoved, he said:

"Sir Rudolph, being unwilling to take the life of a woman, however
justly forfeited by the law, commands me to say that if you will deliver
yourself up to him by to-morrow at twelve the Dame Editha shall be
allowed to go free. But that if by the time the dial points to noon you
have not delivered yourself up, he will hang her over the battlements of
the castle."

Cuthbert was very pale, and he waved his hand to restrain the fury which
animated the outlaws.

"This man," he said to them, "is a herald, and, as such, is protected by
all the laws of chivalry. Whatsoever his message, it is none of his. He
is merely the mouthpiece of him who sent him." Then, turning to the
herald, he said, "Tell the false knight, your master, on my part, that
he is a foul ruffian, perjured to all the vows of knighthood; that this
act of visiting upon a woman the enmity he bears her son will bring upon
him the execration of all men; and that the offer which he makes me is
as foul and villainous as himself. Nevertheless, knowing his character,
and believing that he is capable of keeping his word, tell him that by
to-morrow at noon I will be there; that the lady, my mother, is to leave
the castle gates as I enter them; and that though by his foul device he
may encompass my death, yet that the curse of every good man will light
upon him, that he will be shunned as the dog he is, and that assuredly
Heaven will not suffer that deeds so foul should bring with them the
prize he seeks to gain."

The herald bowed, and, escorted by two archers to the edge of the
forest, returned to Evesham Castle.

After his departure an animated council took place. Cnut and the
outlaws, burning with indignation, were ready to attempt anything. They
would, had Cuthbert given the word, have attacked the castle that very
night. But Cuthbert pointed out the absolute impossibility of their
carrying so strong a place by such an assault, unprovided with engines
for battering down the gates. He said that surprise would be impossible,
as the knight would be sure to take every precaution against it; and
that in the event of such an attack being attempted, he would possibly
carry his threat into execution, and murder Dame Editha before their
eyes. Cnut was like a madman, so transported with fury was he; and the
archers were also beside themselves. Cuthbert alone retained his
calmness. Retiring apart from the others, he paced slowly backward and
forward among the trees, deliberating upon the best course to be
pursued. The archers gathered round the fire and passed the night in
long and angry talk, each man agreeing that in the event of their
beloved leader being sacrificed by Sir Rudolph, they would one and all
give their lives to avenge him by slaying the oppressor whensoever he
ventured beyond the castle gates.

After a time, Cuthbert called Cnut to him, and the two talked long and
earnestly. Cnut returned to his comrades with a face less despairing
than that he had before worn, and sent off at once a messenger with all
speed to a franklin near the forest to borrow a stout rope some fifty
feet in length, and without telling his comrades what the plans of Sir
Cuthbert were, bade them cheer up, for that desperate as the position
was, all hope was not yet lost.

"Sir Cuthbert," he said, "has been in grievous straits before now, and
has gone through them. Sir Rudolph does not know the nature of the man
with whom he has to deal, and we may trick him yet."

At eleven o'clock the next day from the walls of Evesham Castle a body
of archers one hundred and fifty strong were seen advancing in solid
array.

"Think you, Sir Rudolph," one of his friends, Sir Hubert of Gloucester,
said to him, "that these varlets think of attacking the castle?"

"They might as well think of scaling heaven," Sir Rudolph said. "Evesham
could resist a month's siege by a force well equipped for the purpose;
and were it not that good men are wanted for the king's service, and
that these villains shoot straight and hard, I would open the gates of
the castle and launch our force against them. We are two to one as
strong as they, and our knights and mounted men-at-arms could alone
scatter that rabble."

Conspicuous upon the battlements a gallows had been erected.

The archers stopped at a distance of a few hundred yards from the
castle, and Sir Cuthbert advanced alone to the edge of the moat.

"Sir Rudolph of Eresby, false knight and perjured gentleman," he shouted
in a loud voice, "I, Sir Cuthbert of Evesham, do denounce you as
foresworn and dishonored, and do challenge you to meet me here before
the castle in sight of your men and mine, and decide our quarrel as
Heaven may judge with sword and battle-ax."

Sir Rudolph leaned over the battlements, and said: "It is too late,
varlet. I condescended to challenge you before, and you refused. You
cannot now claim what you then feared to accept. The sun on the dial
approaches noon, and unless you surrender yourself before it reaches the
mark, I will keep my word, and the traitress, your mother, shall swing
from that beam."

Making a sign to two men-at-arms, these brought forward Dame Editha and
so placed her on the battlements that she could be seen from below. Dame
Editha was still a very fair woman, although nigh forty years had rolled
over her head. No sign of fear appeared upon her face, and in a firm
voice she cried to her son:

"Cuthbert, I beg--nay, I order you to retire. If this unknightly lord
venture to carry out his foul threats against me, let him do so. England
will ring with the dastardly deed, and he will never dare show his face
again where Englishmen congregate. Let him do his worst. I am prepared
to die."

A murmur rose from the knights and men-at-arms standing round Sir
Rudolph. Several of his companions had from the first, wild and
reckless as they were, protested against Sir Rudolph's course, and it
was only upon his solemn assurance that he intended but to frighten Sir
Cuthbert into surrender, and had no intention of carrying his threats
against the lady into effect, that they had consented to take part in
the transaction. Even now, at the fearless words of the Saxon lady
several of them hesitated, and Sir Hubert of Gloucester stepped forward
to Sir Rudolph.

"Sir knight," he said, "you know that I am your true comrade and the
faithful servant of Prince John. Yet in faith would I not that my name
should be mixed up in so foul a deed. I repent me that I have for a
moment consented to it. But the shame shall not hang upon the escutcheon
of Hubert of Gloucester that he stood still when such foul means were
tried. I pray you, by our long friendship, and for the sake of your own
honor as a knight, to desist from this endeavor. If this lady be guilty,
as she well may be of aiding her son in his assaults upon the soldiers
of Prince John, then let her be tried, and doubtless the court will
confiscate her estates. But let her son be told that her life is in no
danger, and that he is free to go, being assured that harm will not come
to her."

"And if I refuse to consent to allow my enemy, who is now almost within
my hand, to escape," Sir Rudolph said, "what then?"

"Then," said the knight, "I and my following will at once leave your
walls, and will clear ourselves to the brave young knight yonder of all
hand in this foul business."

A murmur of agreement from several of those standing round showed that
their sentiments were in accordance with those of Sir Hubert.

"I refuse," said Rudolph passionately. "Go, if you will. I am master of
my actions, and of this castle."

Without a word, Sir Hubert and two others of the knights present turned,
and briefly ordering their men-at-arms to follow them, descended the
staircase to the courtyard below. Their horses were brought out, the men
fell into rank, and the gates of the castle were thrown open.

"Stand to arms!" Sir Cuthbert shouted to the archers. "They are going to
attempt a sortie." And hastily he retired to the main body of his men.




CHAPTER XXIII.

THE FALSE AND PERJURED KNIGHT.


As the band of knights and their retainers issued from the gate a
trumpeter blew a parley, and the three knights advanced alone toward the
group of archers.

"Sir Cuthbert de Lance," Sir Hubert said, "in the name of myself and my
two friends here we ask your pardon for having so far taken part in this
foul action. We did so believing only that Sir Rudolph intended the
capture of your lady mother as a threat. Now that we see he was in
earnest, we wash our hands of the business; and could we in any way
atone for our conduct in having joined him, we would gladly do so
consistently only with our allegiance to the prince regent."

Cuthbert bowed courteously.

"Thanks for your words, Sir Hubert. I had always heard yourself and the
knights here spoken of as brave and gallant gentlemen, whose sole fault
was that they chose to take part with a rebel prince rather than with
the King of England. I rejoice that you have cleared your name of so
foul a blot as this would have placed upon it, and I acknowledge that
your conduct now is knightly and courteous. But I can no more parley.
The sun is within a few minutes of twelve, and I must surrender, to meet
such fate as may befall me."

So saying, with a bow he left them, and again advanced to the castle
gate.

"Sir Rudolph," he shouted, "the hour is at hand. I call upon you to
deliver, outside the gate, the lady, my mother. Whether she wills it or
not, I call upon you to place her beyond the gate, and I give you my
knightly word that as she leaves it I enter it."

Dame Editha would then have attempted resistance; but she saw that it
would be useless. With a pale face she descended the steps, accompanied
by the men-at-arms. She knew that any entreaty to Sir Rudolph would be
vain, and with the courage of her race she mentally vowed to devote the
rest of her life to vengeance for her son.

As the gate opened and she was thrust forth, for a moment she found
herself in the arms of her son.

"Courage, mother!" he whispered; "all may yet be well."

Cnut was waiting a few paces behind, and offering his hand to Dame
Editha, he led her to the group of archers, while Cuthbert, alone,
crossed the drawbridge and entered the portal, the heavy portcullis
falling after him.

Cnut, immediately ordering four of his men to escort Dame Editha to the
wood with all speed, advanced with his men toward the walls. All had
strung their bows and placed their arrows on the ground in front of them
in readiness for instant use. Cnut himself, with two others carrying the
rope, advanced to the edge of the moat. None observed their doings, for
all within the castle were intent upon the proceedings there.

In the courtyard Sir Rudolph had taken his post, with the captain of the
mercenaries beside him, and the men-at-arms drawn up in order. He smiled
sardonically as Cuthbert entered.

"So, at last," he said, "this farce is drawing to an end. You are in my
power, and for the means which I have taken to capture you, I will
account to the prince. You are a traitor to him; you have attacked and
slaughtered many of my friends; you are an outlaw defying the law; and
for each of these offenses your head is forfeited."

"I deny," Cuthbert said, standing before him, "your right to be my
judge. By my peers only can I be tried. As a knight of England and as
rightful lord of this castle, I demand to be brought before a jury of my
equals."

"I care nothing for rights or for juries," said Sir Rudolph. "I have the
royal order for your execution, and that order I shall put into effect,
although all the knights and barons in England objected."

Cuthbert looked round to observe the exact position in which he was
standing. He knew, of course, every foot of the castle, and saw that but
a short distance behind a single row of armed men was the staircase
leading to the battlements.

"False and perjured knight," he said, taking a step forward, "I may die;
but I would rather a thousand deaths than such a life as yours will be
when this deed is known in England. But I am not yet dead. For myself, I
could pardon you; but for the outrage to my mother--" and with a sudden
movement he struck Sir Rudolph in the face with all his strength with
his mailed hand.

With the blood gushing from his nostrils, the knight fell backward, and
Sir Cuthbert, with a bound, before the assembly could recover from their
astonishment at the deed, burst through the line of men-at-arms, and
sprang up the narrow staircase. A score of men-at-arms started in
pursuit; but Sir Cuthbert gained the battlements first, and without a
moment's hesitation sprang upon them and plunged forward, falling into
the moat fifty feet below. Here he would have perished miserably, for in
his heavy armor he was of course unable to swim a stroke, and his
weight took him at once into the mud of the moat. At its margin,
however, Cnut stood awaiting him, with one end of the rope in his hand.
In an instant he plunged in, and diving to the bottom grasped Cuthbert
by the body, and twisted the rope round him. The two archers on the bank
at once hauled upon it, and in a minute Sir Cuthbert was dragged to the
bank.

By this time a crowd of men-at-arms appeared upon the battlements. But
as they did so the archers opened a storm of arrows upon them, and
quickly compelled them to find shelter. Carried by Cnut and the men with
him--for he was insensible--Sir Cuthbert was quickly conveyed to the
center of the outlaws, and these at once in a compact body began their
retreat to the wood. Cuthbert quickly recovered consciousness, and was
soon able to walk. As he did so the gates of the castle were thrown
open, and a crowd of men-at-arms, consisting of the retainers of the
castle and the mercenaries of Prince John, sallied forth. So soon as
Cuthbert was able to move the archers started at a brisk run, several of
them carrying Cuthbert's casque and sword, and others assisting him to
hurry along. The rear ranks turned as they ran and discharged flights of
arrows at the enemy, who, more heavily armed and weighted, gained but
slowly upon them.

Had not Sir Rudolph been stunned by the blow dealt him by Cuthbert he
would himself have headed the pursuit, and in that case the foresters
would have had to fight hard to make their retreat to their fastness.
The officer in command of the mercenaries, however, had no great stomach
for the matter. Men were hard to get, and Prince John would not have
been pleased to hear that a number of the men whom he had brought with
such expense from foreign parts had been killed in a petty fray.
Therefore after following for a short time he called them off, and the
archers fell back into the forest.

Here they found Dame Editha, and for three days she abode among them,
living in a small hut in the center of the forest. Then she left, to
take up her abode until the troubles were past with some kin who lived
in the south of Gloucestershire.

Although the lady abbess had assured Cuthbert that the retreat of Lady
Margaret was not likely to be found out, he himself, knowing how great a
stake Sir Rudolph had in the matter, was still far from being easy. It
would not be difficult for the latter to learn through his agents that
the lady superior of the little convent near Hereford was of kin to her
of St. Anne's, and, close as a convent is, yet the gossiping of the
servants who go to market was certain to let out an affair so important
as the arrival of a young lady to reside under the charge of the
superior. Cuthbert was not mistaken as to the acuteness of his enemy.
The relationship between the two lady superiors was no secret, and after
having searched all the farmhouses and granges near the forest, and
being convinced that the lady abbess would have sent her charge rather
to a religious house than to that of a franklin, Sir Rudolph sought
which of those within the circuit of a few miles would be likely to be
the one selected. It was not long before he was enabled to fix upon that
near Hereford, and spies going to the spot soon found out from the
country people that it was a matter of talk that a young lady of rank
had been admitted by the superior. Sir Rudolph hesitated whether to go
himself at the head of a strong body of men and openly to take her, or
to employ some sort of device. It was not that he himself feared the
anathema of the church; but he knew Prince John to be weak and
vacillating, at one time ready to defy the thunder of the pope, the next
cringing before the spiritual authority. He therefore determined to
employ some of his men to burst into the convent and carry off the
heiress, arranging that he himself, with some of his men-at-arms, should
come upon them in the road, and make a feigned rescue of her, so that,
if the lady superior laid her complaint before the pope's legate he
could deny that he had any hand in the matter, and could even take
credit for having rescued her from the men who had profaned the convent.
That his story would be believed mattered but little. It would be
impossible to prove its falsity, and this was all that he cared for.

This course was followed out. Late one evening the lady superior was
alarmed by a violent knocking at the door. In reply to questions asked
through the grill, the answer was given, "We are men of the forest, and
we are come to carry the Lady Margaret of Evesham off to a secure
hiding-place. The Lord of Evesham has discovered her whereabouts, and
will be here shortly, and we would fain remove her before he arrives."

"From whom have you warrant?" the lady superior said. "I surrender her
to no one, save to the lady abbess of St. Anne's. But if you have a
written warrant from Sir Cuthbert, the rightful Lord of Evesham, I will
lay the matter before the Lady Margaret, and will act as it may seem fit
to her."

"We have no time for parleying," a rough voice said. "Throw open the
gate at once, or we will break it down."

"Ye be no outlaws," the lady superior said, "for the outlaws are men who
fear God and respect the church. Were ye what ye say, ye would be
provided with the warrants that I mention. I warn you, therefore, that
if you use force, you will be excommunicated, and placed under the ban
of the church."

The only answer was a thundering assault upon the gate, which soon
yielded to the blows. The sisters and novices ran shrieking through the
corridors at this rude uproar. The lady superior, however, stood calmly
awaiting the giving way of the gate.

"Where is the Lady Margaret?" the leader of the party, who were dressed
in rough garb, and had the seeming of a band of outlaws, demanded.

"I will say nothing," she said, "nor do I own that she is here."

"We will soon take means to find out," the man exclaimed. "Unless in
five minutes she is delivered to us, we will burn your place to the
ground."

The lady abbess was insensible to the threat; but the men rushing in,
seized some sisters, who, terrified out of their wits by this irruption,
at once gave the information demanded, and the men made their way to the
cell where the Lady Margaret slept.

The girl had at once risen when the tumult commenced, doubting not in
her mind that this was another attempt upon the part of her enemy to
carry her off. When, therefore, she heard heavy footsteps approaching
along the gallery--having already hastily attired herself--she opened
the door and presented herself.

"If you seek the Lady Margaret of Evesham," she said calmly, "I am she.
Do not harm any of the sisters here. I am in your power, and will go
with you at once. But I beseech you add not to your other sins that of
violence against holy women."

The men, abashed by the calm dignity of this young girl, abstained from
laying hands upon her, but merely motioned to her to accompany them.
Upon their way they met the man who appeared to be their leader, and he,
well pleased that the affair was over, led the way to the courtyard.

"Farewell, my child," the abbess exclaimed. "God will deliver you from
the power of these wicked men. Trust in Him, and keep up your courage.
Wickedness will not be permitted to triumph upon the earth; and be
assured that the matter shall be brought to the ears of the pope's
legate, and of Prince John himself."

She could say no more, for the men, closing round the weeping girl,
hurried her out from the convent. A litter awaited them without, and in
this the young lady was placed, and, borne upon the shoulders of four
stout men, she started at a fast pace, surrounded closely by the rest of
the band.

It was a dark night, and the girl could not see the direction in which
she was being taken; but she judged from the turn taken upon leaving the
convent that it was toward Evesham. They had proceeded some miles, when
a trampling of horses was heard, and a body of armed men rode up. For a
moment Lady Margaret's heart gave a leap, for she thought that she had
been rescued by her friends. There was a loud and angry altercation, a
clashing of swords, and a sound of shouting and cries outside the
litter. Then it was placed roughly on the ground, and she heard the
sound of the footsteps of her first captors hurrying away. Then the
horsemen closed round the litter, and the leader dismounted.

"I am happy indeed, Lady Margaret," he said, approaching the litter, "to
have been able to save you from the power of these villains.
Fortunately, word came to me that the outlaws in the forest were about
to carry you off, and that they would not hesitate even to desecrate the
walls of the convent. Assembling my men-at-arms, I at once rode to your
rescue, and am doubly happy to have saved you, first, as a gentleman,
secondly, as being the man to whom our gracious prince has assigned you
as a wife. I am Sir Rudolph, Earl of Evesham."

As from the first the girl had been convinced that she had fallen into
the power of her lawless suitor, this came upon her as no surprise.

"Whether your story is true, Sir Rudolph," she said, "or not, God knows,
and I, a poor weak girl, will not pretend to venture to say. It is
between you and your conscience. If, as you say, you have saved me from
the power of the outlaws, I demand that, as a knight and a gentleman,
you return with me at once to the convent from which I was taken by
force."

"I cannot do that," Sir Rudolph said. "Fortune has placed you in my
hands, and has enabled me to carry out the commands of the prince.
Therefore, though I would fain yield to your wishes and so earn your
good-will, which above all things I wish to obtain, yet my duty toward
the prince commands me to utilize the advantage which fate has thrown in
my hands."

"You must do as you will, Sir Rudolph," the girl said with dignity. "I
believe not your tale. You sought before, in person, to carry me off,
but failed, and you have now employed other means to do so. The tale of
your conduct to Dame Editha has reached my ears, and I hold you a
foresworn knight and a dishonored man, and as such I would rather die
than become your wife, although as yet I am but a child, and have no
need to talk of weddings for years to come."

"We need not parley here," the knight said coldly. "We shall have plenty
of time when at my castle."

The litter was now lifted, placed between two horses, and proceeded
rapidly on its journey. Although the hope was but faint, yet until the
gates of the castle closed upon them the Lady Margaret still hoped that
rescue might reach her. But the secret had been too well kept, and it
was not until the following day that the man who had been placed in a
cottage near the convent arrived in all haste in the forest, to say that
it was only in the morning that he had learned that the convent had been
broken open by men disguised as archers, and the Lady Margaret carried
off.

Four days elapsed before Sir Rudolph presented himself before the girl
he had captured. So fearfully was his face bruised and disfigured by the
blow from the mailed hand of Cuthbert three weeks before, that he did
not wish to appear before her under such unfavorable circumstances, and
the captive passed the day gazing from her casement in one of the rooms
in the upper part of the keep, toward the forest whence she hoped rescue
would come.

Within the forest hot discussions were going on as to the best course to
pursue. An open attack was out of the question, especially as upon the
day following the arrival there of Lady Margaret three hundred more
mercenaries had marched in from Worcester, so that the garrison was now
raised to five hundred men.

"Is there no way," Cnut exclaimed furiously, "by which we might creep
into this den, since we cannot burst into it openly?"

"There is a way from the castle," Cuthbert said, "for my dear lord told
me of it one day when we were riding together in the Holy Land. He said
then that it might be that he should never return, and that it were well
that I should know of the existence of this passage, which few besides
the earl himself knew of. It is approached by a very heavy slab of stone
in the great hall. This is bolted down, and as it stands under the great
table passes unnoticed, and appears part of the ordinary floor. He told
me the method in which, by touching a spring, the bolts were withdrawn
and the stone could be raised. Thence a passage a quarter of a mile
long leads to the little chapel standing in the hollow, and which, being
hidden among the trees, would be unobserved by any party besieging the
castle. This of course was contrived in order that the garrison, or any
messenger thereof, might make an exit in case of siege."

"But if we could escape," Cnut asked, "why not enter by this way?"

"The stone is of immense weight and strength," Cuthbert replied, "and
could not be loosed from below save with great labor and noise. There
are, moreover, several massive doors in the passage, all of which are
secured by heavy bolts within. It is therefore out of the question that
we could enter the castle by that way. But were we once in, we could
easily carry off the lady through this passage."

The large force which Sir Rudolph had collected was not intended merely
for the defense of the castle, for the knight considered that with his
own garrison he could hold it against a force tenfold that which his
rival could collect. But he was determined if possible to crush out the
outlaws of the forest, for he felt that so long as this formidable body
remained under an enterprising leader like Sir Cuthbert, he would never
be safe for a moment, and would be a prisoner in his own castle.

Cuthbert had foreseen that the attack was likely to be made, and had
strengthened his band to the utmost. He felt, however, that against so
large a force of regularly armed men, although he might oppose a stout
resistance and kill many, yet that in the end he must be conquered.
Cnut, however, suggested to him a happy idea, which he eagerly grasped.

"It would be a rare sport," Cnut said, "when this armed force comes out
to attack us, if we could turn the tables by slipping in, and taking
their castle."

"The very thing," Cuthbert exclaimed. "It is likely that he will use the
greater portion of his forces, and that he will not keep above fifty or
sixty men, at the outside, in the castle. When they sally out we will at
first oppose a stout resistance to them in the wood, gradually falling
back. Then, at a given signal, all save twenty men shall retire hastily,
and sweeping round make for the castle. Their absence will not be
noticed, for in this thick wood it is difficult to tell whether twenty
men or two hundred are opposing you among the bushes; and the twenty who
remain must shoot thick and fast to make believe that their numbers are
great, retiring sometimes, and leading the enemy on into the heart of
the wood."

"But supposing, Sir Cuthbert, that they should have closed the gates and
lifted the drawbridge? We could not gain entrance by storming, even if
only twenty men held the walls, until long after the main body would
have returned."

Cuthbert thought for some time, and then said, "Cnut, you shall
undertake this enterprise. You shall fill a cart high with <DW19>s, and
in it shall conceal a dozen of your best men. You, dressed as a serf,
shall drive the oxen, and when you reach the castle shall say, in answer
to the hail of the sentry, that you are bringing in the tribute of wood
of your master the franklin of Hopeburn. They will then lower the
drawbridge and open the gates; and when you have crossed the bridge and
are under the portcullis, spring out suddenly, cut loose the oxen so
that they will not draw the cart further in, cut the chains of the
drawbridge so that it cannot be drawn off, and hold the gate for a
minute or two until we arrive."

"The plan is capital," Cnut exclaimed. "We will do the proud Norman yet.
How he will storm when he finds us masters of his castle! What then
will you do, Sir Cuthbert?"

"We can hold the castle for weeks," Cuthbert said, "and every day is in
our favor. If we find ourselves forced to yield to superior numbers, we
can at last retire through the passage I have spoken of, and must then
scatter and each shift for himself until these bad days be past."




CHAPTER XXIV.

THE SIEGE OF EVESHAM CASTLE.


Upon the day before starting out to head the expedition against the
outlaws, Sir Rudolph sent word to the Lady Margaret that she must
prepare to become his wife at the end of the week. He had provided two
tiring maids for her by ordering two of the franklins to send in their
daughters for that purpose, and these mingled their tears with
Margaret's at the situation in which they were placed. She replied
firmly to the messenger of the knight that no power on earth could
oblige her to marry him. He might drive her to the altar; but though he
killed her there, her lips should refuse to say the words which would
unite them.

The following morning, early, the castle rang with the din of
preparation. The great portion of the mercenaries were encamped in tents
outside the walls, for, spacious as it was, Evesham could hardly contain
four hundred men in addition to its usual garrison. The men-at-arms were
provided with heavy axes to cut their way through the bushes. Some
carried bundles of straw, to fire the wood should it be found
practicable to do so; and as it was now summer and the wind was blowing
high, Sir Rudolph hoped that the dry grass and bushes would catch, and
would do more even than his men-at-arms in clearing the forest of those
whom he designated the villains infesting it. They had, too, with them
several fierce dogs trained to hunting the deer, and these, the knight
hoped, would do good service in tracking the outlaws. He and the knights
and the men-at-arms with him were all dismounted, for he felt that
horses would in the forest be an incumbrance, and he was determined
himself to lead the way to the men-at-arms.

When they reached the forest they were saluted by a shower of arrows;
but as all were clad in mail, these at a distance effected but little
harm. As they came closer, however, the clothyard arrows began to pierce
the coarse and ill-made armor of the foot soldiers, although the finer
armor of the knights kept out the shafts which struck against it. Sir
Rudolph and his knights leading the way, they entered the forest and
gradually pressed their invisible foe backward through the trees. The
dogs did good service, going on ahead and attacking the archers; but,
one by one, they were soon shot, and the assailants left to their own
devices. Several attempts were made to fire the wood. But these failed,
the fire burning but a short time and then dying out of itself. In
addition to the fighting men, Sir Rudolph had impressed into the service
all the serfs of his domain, and these, armed with axes, were directed
to cut down the trees as the force proceeded, Sir Rudolph declaring that
he would not cease until he had leveled the whole forest, though it
might take him months to do so.

The assailants gained ground steadily, the resistance being less severe
than Sir Rudolph had anticipated. Several small huts and clearings in
the forest which had been used by the outlaws, and round which small
crops had been planted, were destroyed, and all seemed to promise well
for the success of the enterprise.

It was about two hours after they had left the castle, when a heavy cart
filled with fagots was seen approaching its gates. The garrison, who had
not the least fear of any attack, paid no attention to it until it
reached the edge of the moat. Then the warder, seeing that it contained
fagots, lowered the drawbridge without question, raised the portcullis,
and opened the gates.

"From whom do you bring this wood?" he asked as the man driving the oxen
began to cross the bridge.

"From the franklin of Hopeburn."

"It is well," said the warder, "for he is in arrear now, and should have
sent in the firewood two months since. Take it to the woodhouse at the
other end of the court."

The heavy wagon crossed the drawbridge, but as it was entering the gate
it came suddenly to a stop. With a blow of his ox goad Cnut leveled the
warder to the ground, and cutting the cords of the bullocks, drove them
into the yard ahead. As he did so the pile of fagots fell asunder, and
twelve men armed with bow and pike leaped out. The men-at-arms standing
near, lounging in the courtyard, gave a shout of alarm, and the
garrison, surprised at this sudden cry, ran to their arms. At first they
were completely panic-stricken. But seeing after a time how small was
the number of their assailants, they took heart and advanced against
them. The passage was narrow, and the twelve men formed a wall across
it. Six of them with their pikes advanced, the other six with bent bows
standing behind them and delivering their arrows between their heads.
The garrison fought stoutly, and although losing many, were pressing the
little band backward. In vain the assistant-warder tried to lower the
portcullis, or to close the gates. The former fell on to the top of the
wagon, and was there retained. The gates also were barred by the
obstacle. The chains of the drawbridge had at once been cut. Cnut
encouraged his followers by his shouts, and armed with a heavy ax, did
good service upon the assailants. But four of his party had fallen, and
the rest were giving way, when a shout was heard, and over the
drawbridge poured Cuthbert and one hundred and fifty of the outlaws of
the forest. Struck with terror at this attack, the garrison drew back,
and the foresters poured into the yard. For a few minutes there was a
fierce fight; but the defenders of the castle, disheartened and taken by
surprise, were either cut down or, throwing down their arms, cried for
quarter.

Ten minutes after the wagon had crossed the drawbridge the castle was
safely in possession of Sir Cuthbert. The bridge was raised, the wagon
removed, the portcullis lowered, and to the external eye all remained as
before.

Cuthbert at once made his way to the chamber where the Lady Margaret was
confined, and her joy at her deliverance was great indeed. So unlimited
was her faith in Sir Cuthbert that she had never lost confidence; and
although it did not seem possible that in the face of such disparity of
numbers he could rescue her from the power of Sir Rudolph, yet she had
not given up hope. The joy of the farmers' daughters who had been
carried off to act as her attendants was little inferior to her own; for
once in the power of this reckless baron, the girls had small hopes of
ever being allowed to return again to their parents.

The flag of Sir Rudolph was thrown down from the keep, and that of the
late earl hoisted in its stead; for Cuthbert himself, although he had
assumed the cognizance which King Richard had granted him, had not yet
any flag or pennon emblazoned with it.

No words can portray the stupefaction and rage of Sir Rudolph when a man
who had managed to slip unobserved from the castle at the time of its
capture bore the news to him in the forest. All opposition there had
ceased, and the whole of the troops were engaged in aiding the peasants
in cutting wide roads through the trees across the forest, so as to make
it penetrable by horsemen in every direction. It was supposed that the
outlaws had gradually stolen away through the thickets and taken to the
open country, intending to scatter to their homes, or other distant
hiding-places; and the news that they had by a ruse captured the castle
came as a thunder-clap.

Sir Rudolph's first impulse was to call his men together and to march
toward the castle. The drawbridge was up and the walls bristled with
armed men. It was useless to attempt a parley; still more useless to
think of attacking the stronghold without the proper machines and
appliances. Foaming with rage, Sir Rudolph took possession of a cottage
near, camped his men around and prepared for a siege.

There were among the mercenaries many men accustomed to the use of
engines of war. Many, too, had aided in making them; and these were at
once set to work to construct the various machines in use at that time.
Before the invention of gunpowder, castles such as those of the English
barons were able to defy any attack by an armed force for a long period.
Their walls were so thick that even the balistas, casting huge stones,
were unable to breach them except after a very long time. The moats
which surrounded them were wide and deep, and any attempt at storming by
ladders was therefore extremely difficult; and these buildings were
consequently more often captured by famine than by other means. Of
provisions, as Sir Rudolph knew, there was a considerable supply at
present in the castle, for he had collected a large number of bullocks
in order to feed the strong body who had been added to the garrison. The
granaries, too, were well stored; and with a groan Sir Rudolph thought
of the rich stores of French wines which he had collected in his
cellars.

After much deliberation with the knights with him and the captain of the
mercenaries, it was agreed in the first instance to attempt to attack
the place by filling up a portion of the moat and ascending by scaling
ladders. Huge screens of wood were made, and these were placed on
wagons; the wagons themselves were filled with bags of earth, and a
large number of men getting beneath them shoved the ponderous machines
forward to the edge of the moat. The bags of stones and earth were then
thrown in, and the wagons pushed backward to obtain a fresh supply. This
operation was of course an exceedingly slow one, a whole day being
occupied with each trip of the wagons. They were not unmolested in their
advance, for, from the walls, mangonels and other machines hurled great
stones down upon the wooden screens, succeeding sometimes, in spite of
their thickness, in crashing through them, killing many of the men
beneath. The experiment was also tried of throwing balls of Greek fire
down upon the wood; but as this was green and freshly felled it would
not take fire, but the flames dropping through, with much boiling pitch
and other materials, did grievously burn and scald the soldiers working
below it. Upon both sides every device was tried. The crossbowmen among
the mercenaries kept up a fire upon the walls to hinder the defenders
from interfering with the operations, while the archers above shot
steadily, and killed many of those who ventured within range of their
bows.

After ten days' labor a portion of the moat some twenty yards in length
was filled with bags of earth, and all was ready for the assault. The
besiegers had prepared great numbers of strong ladders, and these were
brought up under shelter of the screens. Then, all being ready, the
trumpets sounded for the assault, and the troops moved forward in a
close body, covering themselves with their shields so that no man's head
or body was visible, each protecting the one before him with his shield
held over him. Thus the body presented the appearance of a great
scale-covered animal. In many respects, indeed, the warfare of those
days was changed in no way from that of the time of the Romans. In the
twelve hundred years which had elapsed between the siege of Jerusalem
and the days of the Crusades there had been but little change in arms or
armor, and the operations which Titus undertook for the reduction of the
Jewish stronghold differed but little from those which a Norman baron
employed in besieging his neighbor's castle.

Within Evesham Castle all was contentment and merriment during these
days. The garrison had no fear whatever of being unable to repel the
assault when it should be delivered. Huge stones had been collected in
numbers on the walls, caldrons of pitch, beneath which fires kept
simmering, stood there in readiness. Long poles with hooks with which to
seize the ladders and cut them down were laid there; and all that
precaution and science could do was prepared.

Cuthbert passed much of the day, when not required upon the walls,
chatting with the Lady Margaret, who, attended by her maidens, sat
working in her bower. She had learned to read from the good nuns of the
convent--an accomplishment which was by no means general, even among the
daughters of nobles; but books were rare, and Evesham boasted but few
manuscripts. Here Margaret learned in full all the details of Cuthbert's
adventures since leaving England, and the fondness with which as a child
she had regarded the lad grew gradually into the affection of a woman.

The courage of the garrison was high, for although they believed that
sooner or later the castle might be carried by the besiegers, they had
already been told by Cnut that there was a means of egress unknown to
the besiegers, and that when the time came they would be able to escape
unharmed. This, while it in no way detracted from their determination to
defend the castle to the last, yet rendered their task a far lighter and
more agreeable one than it would have been had they seen the gallows
standing before them as the end of the siege.

As the testudo, as it was called in those days, advanced toward the
castle, the machines upon the walls--catapults, mangonels and
arbalasts--poured forth showers of stones and darts upon it, breaking up
the array of shields and killing many; and as these openings were made,
the archers, seizing their time, poured in volleys of arrows. The
mercenaries, however, accustomed to war, advanced steadily, and made
good their footing beneath the castle wall, and proceeded to rear their
ladders. Here, although free from the action of the machines, they were
exposed to the hand missiles, which were scarcely less destructive. In
good order, and with firmness, however, they reared the ladders, and
mounted to the assault, covering themselves as well as they could with
their shields. In vain, however, did they mount. The defenders poured
down showers of boiling pitch and oil, which penetrated the crevices of
their armor and caused intolerable torment. Great stones were toppled
over from the battlements upon them; and sometimes the ladders, seized
by the poles with hooks, were cast backward, with all upon them, on the
throng below. For half an hour, encouraged by the shouts of Sir Rudolph
and their leaders, the soldiers strove gallantly; but were at last
compelled to draw off, having lost nigh one hundred men, without one
gaining a footing upon the walls.

That evening another council of war was held without. Already some large
machines for which Sir Rudolph had sent had arrived. In anticipation of
the possibility of failure, two castles upon wheels had been prepared,
and between these a huge beam with an iron head was hung. This was upon
the following day pushed forward on the newly-formed ground across the
moat. Upon the upper part of each tower were armed men who worked
machines casting sheaves of arrows and other missiles. Below were those
who worked the ram. To each side of the beam were attached numerous
cords, and with these it was swung backward and forward, giving heavy
blows each stroke upon the wall. The machines for casting stones, which
had arrived, were also brought in play, and day and night these
thundered against the walls; while the ram repeated its ceaseless blows
upon the same spot, until the stone crumbled before it.

Very valiantly did the garrison oppose themselves to these efforts. But
each day showed the progress made by the besiegers. Their forces had
been increased, Prince John having ordered his captain at Gloucester to
send another one hundred men to the assistance of Sir Rudolph. Other
towers had now been prepared. These were larger than the first, and
overtopped the castle walls. From the upper story were drawbridges, so
formed as to drop from the structures upon the walls, and thus enable
the besiegers to rush upon them. The process was facilitated by the fact
that the battlements had been shot away by the great stones, and there
was a clear space on which the drawbridges could fall. The attack was
made with great vigor; but for a long time the besieged maintained their
post, and drove back the assailants as they poured out across the
drawbridges on to the wall. At last Cuthbert saw that the forces opposed
to him were too numerous to be resisted, and gave orders to his men to
fall back upon the inner keep.

Making one rush, and clearing the wall of those who had gained a
footing, the garrison fell back hastily, and were safely within the
massive keep before the enemy had mustered in sufficient numbers upon
the wall to interfere with them. The drawbridge was now lowered, and the
whole of the assailants gained footing within the castle. They were
still far from having achieved a victory. The walls of the keep were
massive and strong, and its top far higher than the walls, so that from
above a storm of arrows poured down upon all who ventured to show
themselves. The keep had no windows low enough down for access to be
gained; and those on the floors above were so narrow, and protected by
bars, that it seemed by scaling the walls alone could an entry be
effected. This was far too desperate an enterprise to be attempted, for
the keep rose eighty feet above the courtyard. It was upon the door,
solid and studded with iron, that the attempt had to be made.

Several efforts were made by Sir Rudolph, who fought with a bravery
worthy of a better cause, to assault and batter down the door. Protected
by wooden shields from the rain of missiles from above, he and his
knights hacked at the door with their battle-axes. But in vain. It had
been strengthened by beams behind, and by stones piled up against it.
Then fire was tried. Fagots were collected in the forest, and brought;
and a huge pile having been heaped against the door, it was lighted. "We
could doubtless prolong the siege for some days, Lady Margaret," said
Cuthbert, "but the castle is ours; and we wish not, when the time comes
that we shall again be masters of it, that it should be a mere heap of
ruins. Methinks we have done enough. With but small losses on our side,
we have killed great numbers of the enemy, and have held them at bay for
a month. Therefore, I think that to-night it will be well for us to
leave the place."

Lady Margaret was rejoiced at the news that the time for escape had
come, for the perpetual clash of war, the rattling of arrows, the
ponderous thud of heavy stones caused a din very alarming to a young
girl; and although the room in which she sat, looking into the inner
court of the castle, was not exposed to missiles, she trembled at the
thought that brave men were being killed, and that at any moment a shot
might strike Cuthbert, and so leave her without a friend or protector.

Content with having destroyed the door, the assailants made no further
effort that evening, but prepared in the morning to attack it, pull down
the stones filled behind it, and force their way into the keep. There
was, with the exception of the main entrance, but one means of exit, a
small postern door behind the castle, and throughout the siege a strong
body of troops had been posted here, to prevent the garrison making a
sortie. Feeling secure therefore that upon the following day his enemies
would fall into his power, Sir Rudolph retired to rest.

An hour before midnight the garrison assembled in the hall. The table
was removed, and Cuthbert having pressed the spring, which was at a
distance from the stone and could not be discovered without a knowledge
of its existence, the stone turned aside by means of a counterpoise, and
a flight of steps was seen. Torches had been prepared. Cnut and a chosen
band went first; Cuthbert followed, with Lady Margaret and her
attendants; and the rest of the archers brought up the rear, a trusty
man being left in charge at last with orders to swing back the stone
into its place, having first hauled the table over the spot, so that
their means of escape should be unknown.

The passage was long and dreary, the walls were damp with wet, and the
massive doors so swollen by moisture that it was with the greatest
difficulty they could be opened. At last, however, they emerged into
the little friary in the wood. It was deserted, the priest who usually
dwelt there having fled when the siege began. The stone which there, as
in the castle, concealed the exit, was carefully closed, and the party
then emerged into the open air. Here Cuthbert bade adieu to his
comrades. Cnut had very anxiously begged to be allowed to accompany him
and share his fortunes, and Cuthbert had promised him that if at any
time he should again take up arms in England, he would summon him to his
side, but that at present as he knew not whither his steps would be
turned, it would be better that he should be unattended. The archers had
all agreed to scatter far and wide through the country, many of them
proceeding to Nottingham and joining the bands in the forest of
Sherwood.

Cuthbert himself had determined to make his way to the castle of his
friend, Sir Baldwin, and to leave the Lady Margaret in his charge. Cnut
hurried on at full speed to the house of a franklin, some three miles
distant. Here horses were obtained and saddled, and dresses prepared;
and when Cuthbert with Lady Margaret arrived there, no time was lost.
Dressed as a yeoman, with the Lady Margaret as his sister, he mounted a
horse, with her behind him on a pillion. The other damsels also mounted,
as it would not have been safe for them to remain near Evesham. They
therefore purposed taking refuge in a convent near Gloucester for the
present. Bidding a hearty adieu to Cnut, and with thanks to the franklin
who had aided them, they set forward on their journey. By morning they
had reached the convent, and here the two girls were left, and Cuthbert
continued his journey. He left his charge at a convent a day's ride
distant from the castle of Sir Baldwin, as he wished to consult the
knight first as to the best way of her entering the castle without
exciting talk or suspicion.

Sir Baldwin received him with joy. He had heard something of his doings,
and the news of the siege of Evesham had been noised abroad. He told him
that he was in communication with many other barons, and that ere long
they hoped to rise against the tyranny of Prince John, but that at
present they were powerless, as many, hoping that King Richard would
return ere long, shrank from involving the country in a civil war. When
Cuthbert told him that the daughter of his old friend was at a convent
but a day's ride distant, and that he sought protection for her, Sir
Baldwin instantly offered her hospitality.

"I will," he said, "send my good wife to fetch her. Some here know your
presence, and it would be better therefore that she did not arrive for
some days, as her coming will then seem to be unconnected with yourself.
My wife and I will, a week hence, give out that we are going to fetch a
cousin of my wife's to stay here with her; and when we return no
suspicion will be excited that she is other than she seems. Should it be
otherwise, I need not say that Sir Baldwin of Bethune will defend his
castle against any of the minions of Prince John. But I have no fear
that her presence here will be discovered. What think you of doing in
the meantime?"

"I am thinking," Cuthbert said, "of going east. No news has been
obtained of our lord the king save that he is a prisoner in the hands of
the emperor; but where confined, or how, we know not. It is my intent to
travel to the Tyrol, and to trace his steps from the time that he was
captured. Then, when I obtain knowledge of the place where he is kept, I
will return, and consult upon the best steps to be taken. My presence in
England is now useless. Did the barons raise the standard of King
Richard against the prince, I should at once return and join them. But
without land or vassals, I can do nothing here, and shall be indeed like
a hunted hare, for I know that the false earl will move heaven and earth
to capture me."

Sir Baldwin approved of the resolution; but recommended Cuthbert to take
every precaution not to fall himself into the hands of the emperor;
"for," he said, "if we cannot discover the prison of King Richard, I
fear that it would be hopeless indeed ever to attempt to find that in
which a simple knight is confined."




CHAPTER XXV.

IN SEARCH OF THE KING.


The following day, with many thanks, Cuthbert started from the castle,
and in the first place visited the convent, and told Lady Margaret that
she would be fetched in a few days by Sir Baldwin and his wife. He took
a tender adieu of her, not without many forebodings and tears upon her
part; but promising blithely that he would return and lead her back in
triumph to her castle, he bade adieu and rode for London.

He had attired himself as a merchant, and took up his abode at a
hostelry near Cheapside. Here he remained quietly for some days, and,
mixing among the people, learned that in London as elsewhere the
rapacity of Prince John had rendered him hateful to the people, and that
they would gladly embrace any opportunity of freeing themselves from his
yoke. He was preparing to leave for France, when the news came to him
that Prince John had summoned all the barons faithful to him to meet him
near London, and had recalled all his mercenaries from different parts
of the country, and was gathering a large army; also, that the barons
faithful to King Richard, alarmed by the prospect, had raised the royal
standard, and that true men were hurrying to their support. This
entirely destroyed the plans that he had formed. Taking horse again, and
avoiding the main road, by which he might meet the hostile barons on
their way to London, he journeyed down to Nottingham. Thence riding
boldly into the forest, he sought the outlaws, and was not long ere he
found them. At his request he was at once taken before their leader, a
man of great renown both for courage and bowmanship, one Robin Hood.
This bold outlaw had long held at defiance the sheriff of Nottingham,
and had routed him and all bodies of troops who had been sent against
him. With him Cuthbert found many of his own men; and upon hearing that
the royal standard had been raised, Robin Hood at once agreed to march
with all his men to join the royal force. Messengers were dispatched to
summon the rest of the forest band from their hiding-places, and a week
later Cuthbert, accompanied by Robin Hood and three hundred archers, set
out for the rendezvous. When they arrived there they found that Sir
Baldwin had already joined with his retainers, and was by him most
warmly received, and introduced to the other barons in the camp, by whom
Cuthbert was welcomed as a brother. The news that Prince John's army was
approaching was brought in a fortnight after Cuthbert had joined the
camp, and the army in good order moved out to meet the enemy.

The forces were about equal. The battle began by a discharge of arrows;
but Robin Hood and his men shot so true and fast that they greatly
discomfited the enemy; and King John's mercenaries having but little
stomach for the fight, and knowing how unpopular they were in England,
and that if defeated small mercy was likely to be shown to them, refused
to advance against the ranks of the loyal barons, and falling back
declined to join in the fray. Seeing their numbers so weakened by this
defection, the barons on the prince's side hesitated, and surrounding
the prince advised him to make terms with the barons while there was yet
time. Prince John saw that the present was not a favorable time for him,
and concealing his fury under a mask of courtesy, he at once acceded to
the advice of his followers, and dispatched a messenger to the barons
with an inquiry as to what they wanted of him. A council was held, and
it was determined to demand the dismissal of the mercenaries and their
dispatch back to their own country; also that John would govern only as
his brother's representative; that the laws of the country should be
respected; that no taxes should be raised without the assent of the
barons; that all men who had taken up arms against his authority should
be held free; and that the barons on Prince John's side should return
peaceably home and disband their forces. Seeing, under the
circumstances, that there was no way before him but to yield to these
demands, Prince John accepted the terms. The mercenaries were ordered to
march direct to London, and orders were given that ships should be at
once prepared to take them across to Normandy, and the barons marched
for their homes.

Satisfied, now that the mercenaries were gone, that they could
henceforth hold their ground against Prince John, the royal barons also
broke up their forces. Robin Hood with his foresters returned to
Sherwood; and Cuthbert, bidding adieu to Sir Baldwin, rode back to
London, determined to carry out the plan which he had formed. He was the
more strengthened in this resolution, inasmuch as in the royal camp he
had met a friend from whom he parted last in the Holy Land. This was
Blondel, the minstrel of King Richard, whose songs and joyous music had
often lightened the evening after days of fighting and toil in
Palestine. To him Cuthbert confided his intention, and the minstrel
instantly offered to accompany him.

"I shall," he said, "be of assistance to you. Minstrels are like
heralds. They are of no nationality, and can pass free where a
man-at-arms would be closely watched and hindered. Moreover, it may be
that I might aid you greatly in discovering the prison of the king. So
great is the secrecy with which this has been surrounded that I question
if any inquiries you could make would enable you to trace him. My voice,
however, can penetrate into places where we cannot enter. I will take
with me my lute, and as we journey I will sing outside the walls of each
prison we come to one of the songs which I sang in Palestine. King
Richard is himself a singer and knows my songs as well as myself. If I
sing a verse of some song which I wrote there and which, therefore,
would be known only to him, if he hears it he may follow with the next
verse, and so enable us to know of his hiding-place."

Cuthbert at once saw the advantages which such companionship would bring
him, and joyfully accepted the minstrel's offer, agreeing himself to go
as serving man to Blondel. The latter accompanied him to London. Here
their preparations were soon made, and taking ship in a merchantman
bound for the Netherlands, they started without delay upon their
adventure.

The minstrels and troubadours were at that time a privileged race in
Europe, belonging generally to the south of France, although produced in
all lands. They traveled over Europe singing the lays which they
themselves had composed, and were treated with all honor at the castles
where they chose to alight. It would have been considered as foul a deed
to use discourtesy to a minstrel as to insult a herald. Their persons
were, indeed, regarded as sacred, and the knights and barons strove to
gain their good-will by hospitality and presents, as a large proportion
of their ballads related to deeds of war; and while they would write
lays in honor of those who courteously entertained them, they did not
hesitate to heap obloquy upon those who received them discourteously,
holding them up to the gibes and scoffs of their fellows. In no way,
therefore, would success be so likely to attend the mission of those who
set out to discover the hiding-place of King Richard as under the guise
of a minstrel and his attendant. No questions would be asked them; they
could halt where they would, in castle or town, secure of hospitality
and welcome. Blondel was himself a native of the south of France,
singing his songs in the soft language of Languedoc. Cuthbert's Norman
French would pass muster anywhere as being that of a native of France;
and although when dressed as a servitor attention might be attracted by
his bearing, his youth might render it probable that he was of noble
family, but that he had entered the service of the minstrel in order to
qualify himself some day for following that career. He carried a long
staff, a short sword, and at his back the lute or small harp played upon
by the troubadour. Blondel's attire was rich, and suitable to a person
of high rank.

They crossed to the Scheldt, and thence traveled by the right bank of
the Rhine as far as Mannheim, sometimes journeying by boat, sometimes on
foot. They were also hospitably entertained, and were considered to more
than repay their hosts by the songs which Blondel sang.

At Mannheim they purchased two horses, and then struck east for Vienna.

The journey was not without danger, for a large portion of this part of
Europe was under no settled government, each petty baron living in his
own castle, and holding but slight allegiance to any feudal lord, making
war upon his neighbor on his own account, levying blackmail from
travelers, and perpetually at variance with the burghers of the towns.

The hills were covered with immense forests, which stretched for many
leagues in all directions, and these were infested by wolves, bears, and
robbers.

The latter, however, although men without pity or religion, yet held the
troubadours in high esteem, and the travelers without fear entered the
gloomy shades of the forest.

They had not gone far when their way was barred by a number of armed
men.

"I am a minstrel," Blondel said; "and as such doubt not that your
courtesy will be extended to me."

"Of a surety," the leader said; "the gay science is as much loved and
respected in the greenwood as in the castle; and moreover, the purses of
those who follow it are too light to offer any temptation to us. We
would pray you, however, to accompany us to our leader, who will
mightily rejoice to see you, for he loves music, and will gladly be your
host so long as you will stay with him."

Blondel, without objection, turned his horse's head and accompanied the
men, followed by Cuthbert. After half an hour's traveling they came to a
building which had formerly been a shrine, but which was now converted
to the robbers' headquarters. The robber chief, on hearing from his
followers the news that a minstrel had arrived, came forward to meet
him, and courteously bade him welcome.

"I am Sir Adelbert, of Rotherheim," he said, "although you see me in so
poor a plight. My castle and lands have been taken by my neighbor, with
whom for generations my family have been at feud. I was in the Holy Land
with the emperor, and on my return found that the baron had taken the
opportunity of my absence, storming my castle and seizing my lands. In
vain I petitioned the emperor to dispossess this traitorous baron of my
lands, which by all the laws of Christendom should have been respected
during my absence. The emperor did indeed send a letter to the baron to
deliver them up to me; but his power here is but nominal, and the baron
contemptuously threw the royal proclamation into the fire and told the
messenger that what he had taken by the sword he would hold by the
sword; and the emperor having weightier matters on hand than to set
troops in motion to redress the grievances of a simple knight, gave the
matter no further thought. I have therefore been driven to the forest,
where I live as best I may with my followers, most of whom were
retainers upon my estate, and some my comrades in the Holy Land. I make
war upon the rich and powerful, and beyond that do harm to no man. But,
methinks," he continued, "I know your face, gentle sir."

"It may well be so, Sir Adelbert," the minstrel said, "for I too was in
the Holy Land. I followed the train of King Richard, and mayhap at some
of the entertainments given by him you have seen my face. My name is
Blondel."

"I remember now," the knight said. "It was at Acre that I first saw you,
and if I remember rightly you can wield the sword as well as the lute."

"One cannot always be playing and singing," Blondel said, "and in lack
of amusement I was forced to do my best against the infidel, who indeed
would have but little respected my art had I fallen into his hands. The
followers of the prophet hold minstrels but in slight reverence."

"What is the news of King Richard?" the knight said. "I have heard that
he was lost on the voyage homeward."

"It is not so," Blondel said. "He landed safely on the coast, and was
journeying north with a view of joining his sister at the court of
Saxony, when he was foully seized and imprisoned by the Archduke John."

"That were gross shame indeed," the knight said, "and black treachery on
the part of Duke John. And where is the noble king imprisoned?"

"That," said Blondel, "no man knows. On my journey hither I have
gathered that the emperor claimed him from the hand of the archduke, and
that he is imprisoned in one of the royal fortresses, but which I know
not. And indeed, sir knight, since you are well disposed toward him, I
may tell you that the purport of my journey is to discover if I can the
place of his confinement. He was a kind and noble master, and however
long my search may be, I will yet obtain news of him."

The knight warmly applauded the troubadour's resolution, and was turning
to lead him into his abode, when his eye fell upon Cuthbert.

"Methinks I know the face of your attendant as well as your own; though
where I can have seen him I know not. Was he with you in the Holy Land?"

"Yes," Blondel said, "the youth was also there; and doubtless you may
have noticed him, for he is indeed of distinguished and of good family."

"Then let him share our repast," the knight said, "if it seems good to
you. In these woods there is no rank, and I myself have long dropped my
knightly title, and shall not reassume it until I can pay off my score
to the Baron of Rotherheim, and take my place again in my castle."

The minstrel and Cuthbert were soon seated at the table with the knight
and one or two of his principal companions. A huge venison pasty formed
the staple of the repast, but hares and other small game were also upon
the table. Nor was the generous wine of the country wanting.

The knight had several times glanced at Cuthbert, and at last exclaimed,
"I have it now. This is no attendant, sir minstrel, but that valiant
young knight who so often rode near King Richard in battle. He is, as I
guess, your companion in this quest; is it not so?"

"It is," Cuthbert replied frankly. "I am, like yourself, a disinherited
knight, and my history resembles yours. Upon my return to England I
found another in possession of the land and titles that belonged to the
noble I followed, and which King Richard bestowed upon me. The Earl of
Evesham was doubtless known to you, and before his death King Richard,
at his request, bestowed upon me as his adopted son--although but a
distant connection--his title and lands and the hand of his daughter.
Prince John, who now rules in England, had however granted these things
to one of his favorites, and he having taken possession of the land and
title, though not, happily, of the lady, closed his door somewhat
roughly in my face. I found means, however, to make my mark upon him;
but as our quarrel could not be fought out to the end, and as the false
knight had the aid of Prince John, I am forced for awhile to postpone
our settlement, and meeting my good friend the minstrel, agreed to join
him in his enterprise to discover our lord the king."

The knight warmly grasped Cuthbert's hand.

"I am glad," he said, "to meet so true and valiant a knight. I have
often wondered at the valor with which you, although so young, bore
yourself; and there were tales afloat of strange adventures which you
had undergone in captivity for a time among the infidels."

At Sir Adelbert's request Cuthbert related the story of his adventures
among the Saracens; and then Blondel, tuning his lute, sang several
canzonets which he had composed in the Holy Land, of feats of arms and
adventure.

"How far are you," Cuthbert asked presently, when Blondel laid his lute
aside, "from the estates which were wrongfully wrested from you?"

"But twenty leagues," the knight said. "My castle was on the Rhine,
between Coblentz and Mannheim."

"Does the baron know that you are so near?" Cuthbert asked.

"Methinks that he does not," the knight replied, "but that he deems me
to have gone to the court of the emperor to seek for redress--which, he
guesses, I shall certainly fail to obtain."

"How many men have you with you?" Cuthbert asked.

"Fifty men, all good and true," the knight said.

"Has it never entered your thoughts to attempt a surprise upon his
castle?" Cuthbert said.

The knight was silent for a minute.

"At times," he said at length, "thoughts of so doing have occurred to
me; but the castle is strong, and a surprise would be difficult indeed."

"If the baron is lulled in security at present," Cuthbert said, "and
deems you afar off, the watch is likely to be relaxed, and with a sudden
onslaught you might surely obtain possession. Blondel and myself are not
pressed for time, and the delay of a few days can make but little
difference. If, therefore, you think we could be of assistance to you in
such an attempt, my sword, and I am sure that of my friend, would be at
your disposal."

The knight sat for some time in silence.

"Thanks, generous knight," he said at last, "I am sorely tempted to
avail myself of your offer; but I fear that the enterprise is hopeless.
The aid, however, of your arm and knowledge of war would greatly add to
my chances, and if it pleases you we will ride to-morrow to a point
where we can obtain a sight of the baron's castle. When you see it you
shall judge yourself how far such an enterprise as you propose is
possible."

"Is your own castle intact?" Cuthbert asked.

"The walls are standing," he said; "but a breach has been made in them,
and at present it is wholly deserted."

"Do you think," Cuthbert asked, "that if you succeeded in surprising and
defeating the garrison of the castle that you could then regain your
own, and hold it against your enemy?"

"I think that I could," Sir Adelbert said. "The baron's domains are but
little larger than my own. Many of my retainers still live upon the
estate, and would, I am sure, gladly join me, if I were to raise my
flag. The baron, too, is hated by his neighbors, and could I inflict a
crushing blow upon him, methinks it would be so long a time before he
could assemble a force, that I might regain my castle and put it in an
attitude of defense before he could take the field against me."

"If," Cuthbert said, "we could surprise the castle, it might well be
that the baron would fall into your hands, and in that case you might be
able to make your own terms with him. How strong a force is he likely to
have in his castle?"

"Some fifty or sixty men," the knight replied; "for with such a force he
could hold the castle against an attack of ten times their number, and
he could in twelve hours call in his retainers, and raise the garrison
to three hundred or four hundred men."

Blondel warmly assented to Cuthbert's scheme, and it was settled that at
daybreak they should start to view the Castle of Rotherheim. At early
dawn they were in the saddle, and the three rode all day, until toward
sunset they stood on the crest of a hill looking down into the valley of
the Rhine.

The present aspect of that valley affords but a slight idea of its
beauty in those days. The <DW72>s are now clad with vineyards, which,
although picturesque in idea, are really, to look at from a distance, no
better than so many turnip fields. The vines are planted in rows and
trained to short sticks, and as these rows follow the declivities of the
hillside, they are run in all directions, and the whole mountain side,
from the river far up, is cut up into little patches of green lines. In
those days the mountains were clad with forests, which descended nearly
to the riverside. Here and there, upon craggy points, were situate the
fortalices of the barons. Little villages nestled in the woods, or stood
by the river bank, and a fairer scene could not be witnessed in Europe.

"That is Rotherheim," the knight said, pointing to a fortress standing
on a crag, which rose high above the woods around it; "and that," he
said, pointing to another some four miles away, similarly placed, "is my
own."

Cuthbert examined closely the fortress of Rotherheim. It was a large
building, with towers at the angles, and seemed to rise almost abruptly
from the edge of the rock. Inside rose the gables and round turrets of
the dwelling-place of the baron, and the only access was by a steep
winding path on the riverside.

"It is indeed a strong place," Cuthbert said, "and difficult to take by
surprise. A watch no doubt is always kept over the entrance, and there
we can hope for no success. The only plan will be to scale the wall by
means of a ladder; but how the ladder is to be got to so great a height,
I own at present passes my comprehension." After much thought, Cuthbert
went on, "It might, methinks, be practicable for an archer to approach
the walls, and to shoot an arrow over the angle of the castle so that it
would pass inside the turret there, and fall in the forest beyond. If to
this arrow were attached a light cord, it could be gained by one on the
other side, and a stronger cord hauled over. To this could be attached a
rope ladder, and so this could be raised to the top of the wall. If a
sentinel were anywhere near he might hear the rope pulled across the
battlements; but if, as we may hope, a watch is kept only over the
entrance, the operation might be performed without attracting notice."

The knight was delighted with the project, which seemed perfectly
feasible, and it was agreed that the attempt should be made.

"It will need," Sir Adelbert said, "an archer with a strong arm indeed
to shoot an arrow with a cord attached to it, however light, over the
corner of the castle."

"Methinks," Cuthbert said, "that I can do that, for as a lad I was used
to the strong bows of my country. The first thing, however, will be to
obtain such a bow; but doubtless one can be purchased in one of the
towns, which, if not so strong as those to which I was accustomed, will
at any rate suffice for us."

The party bivouacked in the woods for the night, for the horses had
already done a very long journey, and needed rest before starting back
for the Black Forest. At daybreak, however, they started, and at
nightfall rejoined their band. These were delighted when they heard the
scheme that had been set on foot, and all avowed their eagerness to join
in the attempt to restore their lord to his rights.

Two days later they set out, having already procured from the nearest
town a strong bow, some arrows, a very light rope, and a stronger one
from a portion of which they manufactured a rope ladder capable of
reaching from the top of the wall to the rock below. The journey this
time occupied two days, as the men on foot were unable to march at the
pace at which the mounted party had traversed the ground. The evening
of the second day, however, saw them in sight of the castle. By
Cuthbert's advice, Sir Adelbert determined to give them twenty-four
hours of rest, in order that they might have their full strength for
undertaking the task before them. During the day Cuthbert, guided by the
knight, made his way through the woods to the foot of the rocks on which
the castle stood. They were extremely steep, but could be mounted by
active men if unopposed from above. Cuthbert measured the height with
his eye from the top of the castle wall to the place which he selected
as most fitting from which to shoot the arrow, and announced to the
knight that he thought there would be no difficulty in discharging an
arrow over the angle.

At nightfall the whole party made their way silently through the woods.
Three men were sent round to the side of the castle opposite that from
which Cuthbert was to shoot. The length of light string was carefully
coiled on the ground, so as to unwind with the greatest facility, and so
offer as little resistance to the flight of the arrow as might be. Then,
all being in readiness, Cuthbert attached the end to an arrow, and
drawing the bow to its full compass, let fly the arrow. All held their
breath; but no sound followed the discharge. They were sure, therefore,
that the arrow had not struck the wall, but that it must have passed
clear over it. Half an hour elapsed before they felt that the cord was
pulled, and knew that the men upon the other side had succeeded in
finding the arrow and string attached. The stronger cord was now
fastened to that which the arrow had carried, and this gradually
disappeared in the darkness. A party now stole up the rock, and posted
themselves at the foot of the castle wall. They took with them the coil
of rope-ladder and the end of the rope. At length the rope tightened,
and to the end they attached the ladder. This again ascended until the
end only remained upon the ground, and they knew that it must have
reached the top of the wall. They now held fast, and knew that those on
the other side, following the instructions given them, would have
fastened the rope to a tree upon the opposite side. They were now joined
by the rest of the party, and Sir Adelbert leading the way, and followed
by Cuthbert and Blondel, began cautiously to ascend the rope ladder.

All this time no sound from the castle proclaimed that their intention
was suspected, or that any alarm had been given, and in silence they
gained the top of the wall. Here they remained quiet until the whole
band were gathered there, and then made their way along until they
reached the stairs leading to the courtyard. These they descended, and
then, raising his war-cry, Sir Adelbert sprang upon the men who, round a
fire, were sitting by the gate. These were cut down before they could
leap to their feet, and the party then rushed at the entrance to the
dwelling-house. The retainers of the castle, aroused by the sudden din,
rushed from their sleeping places, but taken completely by surprise,
were unable to offer any resistance whatever to the strong force which
had, as if by magic, taken possession of the castle. The surprise was
complete, and with scarce a blow struck they found themselves in
possession. The baron himself was seized as he rose from his bed, and
his rage at finding himself in the power of his enemy was so great as
for some time to render him speechless. Sir Adelbert briefly dictated to
him the conditions upon which only he should desist from using his power
to hang him over his own gate. The baron was instantly to issue orders
to all his own retainers and tenantry to lend their aid to those of Sir
Adelbert in putting the castle of the latter into a state of defense and
mending the breach which existed. A sum of money, equal to the revenues
of which he had possessed himself, was to be paid at once, and the
knight was to retain possession of Rotherheim and of the baron's person
until these conditions were all faithfully carried out. The baron had no
resource but to assent to these terms, and upon the following day
Cuthbert and Blondel departed upon their way, overwhelmed with thanks by
Sir Adelbert, and confident that he would now be able to regain and hold
the possession of his estate.




CHAPTER XXVI.

KING RICHARD'S RETURN TO ENGLAND.


Journeying onward, Blondel and his companion stopped at many castles,
and were everywhere hospitably entertained. Arriving at Vienna they
lingered for some time, hoping there to be able to obtain some
information of the whereabouts of King Richard. Blondel in his songs
artfully introduced allusions to the captive monarch and to the mourning
of all Christendom at the imprisonment of its champion. These allusions
were always well received, and he found that the great bulk of the
nobles of the empire were indignant and ashamed at the conduct of the
emperor in imprisoning his illustrious rival. The secret of his prison
place, however, appeared to have been so well kept that no information
whatever was obtainable.

"We must carry out our original plan," he said at length, "and journey
into the Tyrol. In one of the fortresses there he is most likely to be
confined."

Leaving the capital they wandered up into the mountains for weeks,
visiting one castle after another. It was no easy matter in all cases to
get so near to these prisons as to give a hope that their voice might be
heard within, or an answer received without. More than once crossbow
bolts were shot at them from the walls when they did not obey the
sentinel's challenge and move further away. Generally, however, it was
in the daytime that they sang. Wandering carelessly up, they would sit
down within earshot of the castle, open their wallets, and take out
provisions from their store, and then, having eaten and drunk, Blondel
would produce his lute and sing, as if for his own pleasure. It needed,
however, four visits to each castle before they could be sure that the
captive was not there; for the song had to be sung on each side.
Sometimes they would cheat themselves with the thought that they heard
an answering voice; but it was not until the end of the fourth week,
when singing outside the castle of Diernstein, that a full rich voice,
when Blondel ceased, sang out the second stanza of the poem. With
difficulty Blondel and Cuthbert restrained themselves from an
extravagant exhibition of joy. They knew, however, that men on the
prison wall were watching them as they sat singing, and Blondel, with a
final strain taken from a ballad of a knight who, having discovered the
hiding-place of his lady love, prepared to free her from her oppressors,
shouldered his lute, and they started on their homeward journey.

There was no delay now. At times they sang indeed at castles; but only
when their store was exhausted, for upon these occasions Blondel would
be presented with a handsome goblet or other solid token of the owner's
approval, and the sale of this at the next city would take them far on
their way. They thought it better not to pass through France, as Philip,
they knew, was on the watch to prevent any news of King Richard reaching
England. They therefore again passed through Brabant, and so by ship to
England.

Hearing that Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, one of Richard's vicegerents, was
over in Normandy, and rightly deeming him the most earnest of his
adherents, they at once recrossed the sea, and found the warlike prelate
at Rouen. Greatly delighted was he at hearing that Richard's
hiding-place had been discovered. He at once sent across the news to
England, and ordered it to be published far and wide, and himself
announced it to the barons of Normandy. Then with a gorgeous retinue,
including Cuthbert and Blondel, he started for Vienna, and arriving
there demanded an interview with the emperor.

The news that it was now certain that Richard was imprisoned in a castle
of the emperor had already spread through Europe, and the bishop had
been received everywhere with tokens of sympathy; and so great was the
feeling shown by the counts and barons of the empire that the Emperor
Henry felt that he could no longer refuse to treat for the surrender of
his captive. Therefore he granted the interview which Longchamp
demanded. The English envoy was received by the emperor surrounded by
his nobles. The prelate advanced with great dignity.

"I come," he said, "in the name of the people of England to demand the
restoration of King Richard, most unjustly and unknightly detained a
prisoner in his passage through your dominions."

"King Richard was my foe," the emperor said, "open and secret, and I was
justified in detaining one who is alike my enemy and a scourge to Europe
as a prisoner, when fortune threw him in my hands. I am, however,
willing to put him to a ransom, and will upon the payment of one hundred
and fifty thousand marks allow him to go free."

"I deny your right to detain him or to put him to ransom," the bishop
said. "But as you have the power, so my denial is useless. England is
poor, impoverished with war and by the efforts which she made in the
service of our holy religion. Nevertheless, poor as she is, she will
raise the sum you demand. There is not an Englishman who will not
furnish all he can afford for the rescue of our king. But once again, in
the presence of your nobles, I denounce your conduct as base and
unkingly."

The emperor could with difficulty restrain his passion; but the sight of
the somber visages of his nobles showed that they shared in no slight
degree the feelings which the English envoy had so boldly announced.

"Before, however," the emperor said, "I surrender King Richard, he must
be tried by my peers of many and various crimes of which he is accused.
Should he be found guilty of these, no gold can purchase his release.
Should he, however, be acquitted, then as my word is given so shall it
be."

"Although," the prelate said, "I deny your right to try our king, and
believe that he himself will refuse to accept your jurisdiction, yet I
fear not the result if our lord be left in the hands of the nobles of
the empire and not in yours. I can trust their honor and courtesy."

And turning upon his heel, without another word he quitted the
apartment.

An hour later the bishop and his following took horse and rode with all
speed to the north coast, and thence sailed for England. The news of the
amount of ransom filled the people with consternation; but preparations
were at once made for collecting the sum demanded. Queen Eleanor was
unceasing in her efforts to raise the money for the release of her
favorite son. The nobles contributed their jewels and silver; the people
gave contributions of goods, for money was so scarce in England that few
had the wherewithal to pay in coin. Prince John placed every obstacle in
the way of the collection; but the barons had since their successful
stand obtained the upper hand, and it was by intrigue only that he could
hinder the collection.

In the meantime, popular opinion throughout Europe was strong upon the
side of King Richard. The pope himself wrote to the emperor on his
behalf. The barons of the empire were indignant at the shame placed upon
their country; and the emperor, although he would fain have thrown
further delays in the way, was obliged at last to order the first step
to be taken.

A solemn diet was ordered to assemble at Worms. Here were collected all
the nobles of the empire, and before them King Richard was brought. It
was a grand assembly. Upon a raised throne on the dais sat the emperor
himself, and beside him and near him were the great feudatories of the
empire, and along the sides of the walls were ranged in long rows the
lesser barons. When the doors were opened and King Richard entered, the
whole assembly, save the emperor, rose in respect to the captive
monarch. Although pale from his long confinement, the proud air of
Richard was in no way abated, and the eyes that had flashed so
fearlessly upon the Saracens looked as sternly down the long lines of
the barons of Germany. Of splendid stature and physique, King Richard
was unquestionably the finest man of his time. He was handsome, with a
frank face, but with a fierce and passionate eye. He wore his mustache
with a short beard and closely-cut whisker. His short curly hair was
cropped closely to his head, upon which he wore a velvet cap with gold
coronet, while a scarlet robe lined with fur fell over his coat of mail,
for the emperor had deemed it imprudent to excite the feeling of the
assembly in favor of the prisoner by depriving him of the symbols of his
rank.

King Richard strode to the place prepared for him, and then turning to
the assembly he said, in a voice which rang through the hall:

"Counts and lords of the Empire of Germany, I, Richard, King of
England, do deny your right to try me. I am a king, and can only be
tried by my peers and by the pope, who is the head of Christendom. I
might refuse to plead, refuse to take any part in this assembly, and
appeal to the pope, who alone has power to punish kings. But I will
waive my rights. I rely upon the honor and probity of the barons of
Germany. I have done no man wrong, and would appear as fearlessly before
an assembly of peasants as before a gathering of barons. Such faults as
I may have, and none are without them, are not such as those with which
I am charged. I have slain many men in anger, but none by treachery.
When Richard of England strikes he strikes in the light of day. He
leaves poison and treachery to his enemies, and I hurl back with
indignation and scorn in the teeth of him who makes them the charges
brought against me."

So saying King Richard took his seat amid a murmur of applause from the
crowded hall.

The trial then commenced. The accusations against Richard were of many
kinds. Chief among them was the murder of Conrad of Montferat; but there
were charges of having brought the Crusade to naught by thwarting the
general plans, by his arrogance in refusing to be bound by the decision
of the other leaders, and by having made a peace contrary to the
interests of the Crusaders. The list was a long one; but the evidence
produced was pitiably weak. Beyond the breath of suspicion, no word of
real evidence connecting him with the murder of Conrad of Montferat was
adduced, and the other charges were supported by no better evidence.
Many of the German barons who had been at the Crusades themselves came
forward to testify to the falsity of these charges, and the fact that
Richard had himself placed Conrad of Montferat upon the throne, and had
no possible interest in his death, was alone more than sufficient to
nullify the vague rumors brought against him. Richard himself in a few a
scornful words disposed of this accusation. The accusation that he,
Richard of England, would stoop to poison a man whom he could have
crushed in an instant was too absurd to be seriously treated.

"I am sure," the king said, "that not one person here believes this idle
tale. That I did not always agree with the other leaders is true; but I
call upon every one here to say whether, had they listened to me and
followed my advice, the Crusade would not have had another ending. Even
after Philip of France had withdrawn; even after I had been deserted by
John of Austria, I led the troops of the Crusaders from every danger and
every difficulty to within sight of the walls of Jerusalem. Had I been
supported with zeal, the holy city would have been ours; but the apathy,
the folly, and the weakness of the leaders brought ruin upon the army.
They thought not of conquering Jerusalem, but of thwarting me; and I
retort upon them the charge of having sacrificed the success of the
Crusade. As to the terms of peace, how were they made? I, with some
fifty knights and one thousand followers, alone remained in the Holy
Land. Who else, I ask, so circumstanced, could have obtained any terms
whatever from Saladin? It was the weight of my arm alone which saved
Jaffa and Acre, and the line of seacoast, to the Cross. And had I
followed the example set me by him of Austria and the Frenchman, not one
foot of the Holy Land would now remain in Christian hands."

The trial was soon over, and without a single dissentient the King of
England was acquitted of all the charges brought against him. But the
money was not yet raised, and King Richard was taken back into the
heart of Germany. At length, by prodigious exertions, half the amount
claimed was collected, and upon the solicitations of the pope and of the
counts of his own empire, the emperor consented to release Richard upon
receipt of this sum, and his royal promise that the remainder should be
made up.

Not as yet, however, were the intrigues at an end. Prince John and King
Philip alike implored the emperor to retain his captive, and offered to
him a larger sum than the ransom if he would still hold him in his
hands. Popular opinion, was, however, too strong. When the news of these
negotiations became bruited abroad the counts of the empire, filled with
indignation, protested against this shame and dishonor being brought
upon the country. The pope threatened him with excommunication; and at
last the emperor, feeling that he would risk his throne did he further
insist, was forced to open the prison gates and let the king free.
Cuthbert, Blondel, and a few other trusty friends were at hand, and
their joy at receiving their long-lost sovereign was indeed intense.
Horses had been provided in readiness, and without a moment's delay the
king started, for even at the last moment it was feared that the emperor
might change his mind. This indeed was the case. The king had not
started many hours, when the arrival of fresh messengers from Philip and
John induced the emperor once more to change his intentions, and a body
of men were sent in pursuit of the king. The latter fortunately made no
stay on the way, but changing horses frequently--for everywhere he was
received with honor and attention--he pushed forward for the coast of
the North Sea, and arrived there two or three hours only before his
oppressors. Fortunately it was night, and taking a boat he embarked
without a moment's delay; and when the emissaries of the emperor arrived
the boat was already out of sight, and in the darkness pursuit was
hopeless.

On landing at Dover, the first to present himself before him was Prince
John, who, in the most abject terms besought pardon for the injuries he
had inflicted. King Richard waved him contemptuously aside.

"Go," he said, "and may I forget your injuries as speedily as you will
forget my pardon."

Then taking horse, he rode on to London, where he was received with the
most lively acclamation by his subjects.

The first step of King Richard was to dispossess all the minions of John
from the castles and lands which had been taken from his faithful
adherents. Some of these resisted; but their fortresses were speedily
stormed. Sir Rudolph was not one of these. Immediately the news of King
Richard's arrival in England reached him, feeling that all was now lost,
he rode to the seacoast, took ship, and passed into France, and
Cuthbert, on his arrival at Evesham, found himself undisputed lord of
the place. He found that the hiding-place of his mother had not been
discovered, and, after a short delay to put matters in train, he,
attended by a gallant retinue, rode into Wiltshire to the castle of Sir
Baldwin of Bethune. Here he found the Lady Margaret safe and sound, and
mightily pleased to see him. She was now seventeen, and offered no
objections whatever to the commands of King Richard that she should at
once bestow her hand upon the Earl of Evesham. By the king's order, the
wedding took place at London, the king himself bestowing the bride upon
his faithful follower, whom we may now leave to the enjoyment of the
fortune and wife he had so valiantly won.





THE END.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Boy Knight, by G.A. Henty

*** 