The Talisman

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> The Talisman

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

"Peace, Neville," said the King; "thou thinkest thyself mighty
wise, and art but a fool. Mind thou my charge touching this
fellow; there is more in him than thy Westmoreland wit can
fathom.--And thou, smart and silent, prepare to perform the feat
thou hast promised, and, by the word of a King, thou shalt choose
thine own recompense.--Lo, he writes again."

The mute accordingly wrote and delivered to the King, with the
same form as before, another slip of paper, containing these
words, "The will of the King is the law to his slave; nor doth it
become him to ask guerdon for discharge of his devoir."

"GUERDON and DEVOIR!" said the King, interrupting himself as he
read, and speaking to Neville in the English tongue with some
emphasis on the words. "These Eastern people will profit by the
Crusaders--they are acquiring the language of chivalry! And see,
Neville, how discomposed that fellow looks! were it not for his
colour he would blush. I should not think it strange if he
understood what I say--they are perilous linguists."

"The poor slave cannot endure your Grace's eye," said Neville;
"it is nothing more."

"Well, but," continued the King, striking the paper with his
finger as he proceeded, "this bold scroll proceeds to say that
our trusty mute is charged with a message from Saladin to the
Lady Edith Plantagenet, and craves means and opportunity to
deliver it. What thinkest thou of a request so modest--ha,
Neville?"

"I cannot say," said Neville, "how such freedom may relish with
your Grace; but the lease of the messenger's neck would be a
short one, who should carry such a request to the Soldan on the
part of your Majesty."

"Nay, I thank Heaven that I covet none of his sunburnt beauties,"
said Richard; "and for punishing this fellow for discharging his
master's errand, and that when he has just saved my life--
methinks it were something too summary. I'll tell thee, Neville,
a secret; for although our sable and mute minister be present, he
cannot, thou knowest, tell it over again, even if he should
chance to understand us. I tell thee that, for this fortnight
past, I have been under a strange spell, and I would I were
disenchanted. There has no sooner any one done me good service,
but, lo you, he cancels his interest in me by some deep injury;
and, on the other hand, he who hath deserved death at my hands
for some treachery or some insult, is sure to be the very person
of all others who confers upon me some obligation that
overbalances his demerits, and renders respite of his sentence a
debt due from my honour. Thus, thou seest, I am deprived of the
best part of my royal function, since I can neither punish men
nor reward them. Until the influence of this disqualifying
planet be passed away, I will say nothing concerning the request
of this our sable attendant, save that it is an unusually bold
one, and that his best chance of finding grace in our eyes will
be to endeavour to make the discovery which he proposes to
achieve in our behalf. Meanwhile, Neville, do thou look well to
him, and let him be honourably cared for. And hark thee once
more," he said, in a low whisper, "seek out yonder hermit of
Engaddi, and bring him to me forthwith, be he saint or savage,
madman or sane. Let me see him privately."

Neville retired from the royal tent, signing to the Nubian to
follow him, and much surprised at what he had seen and heard, and
especially at the unusual demeanour of the King. In general, no
task was so easy as to discover Richard's immediate course of
sentiment and feeling, though it might, in some cases, be
difficult to calculate its duration; for no weathercock obeyed
the changing wind more readily than the King his gusts of
passion. But on the present occasion his manner seemed unusually
constrained and mysterious; nor was it easy to guess whether
displeasure or kindness predominated in his conduct towards his
new dependant, or in the looks with which, from time to time, he
regarded him. The ready service which the King had rendered to
counteract the bad effects of the Nubian's wound might seem to
balance the obligation conferred on him by the slave when he
intercepted the blow of the assassin; but it seemed, as a much
longer account remained to be arranged between them, that the
Monarch was doubtful whether the settlement might leave him, upon
the whole, debtor or creditor, and that, therefore, he assumed in
the meantime a neutral demeanour, which might suit with either
character. As for the Nubian, by whatever means he had acquired
the art of writing the European languages, the King remained
convinced that the English tongue at least was unknown to him,
since, having watched him closely during the last part of the
interview, he conceived it impossible for any one understanding a
conversation, of which he was himself the subject, to have so
completely avoided the appearance of taking an interest in it.

CHAPTER XXII.

Who's there!--Approach--'tis kindly done--
My learned physician and a friend. SIR EUSTACE GREY.

Our narrative retrogrades to a period shortly previous to the
incidents last mentioned, when, as the reader must remember, the
unfortunate Knight of the Leopard, bestowed upon the Arabian
physician by King Richard, rather as a slave than in any other
capacity, was exiled from the camp of the Crusaders, in whose
ranks he had so often and so brilliantly distinguished himself.
He followed his new master--for so he must now term the Hakim--to
the Moorish tents which contained his retinue and his property,
with the stupefied feelings of one who, fallen from the summit of
a precipice, and escaping unexpectedly with life, is just able to
drag himself from the fatal spot, but without the power of
estimating the extent of the damage which he has sustained.
Arrived at the tent, he threw himself, without speech of any
kind, upon a couch of dressed buffalo's hide, which was pointed
out to him by his conductor, and hiding his face betwixt his
hands, groaned heavily, as if his heart were on the point of
bursting. The physician heard him, as he was giving orders to
his numerous domestics to prepare for their departure the next
morning before daybreak, and, moved with compassion, interrupted
his occupation to sit down, cross-legged, by the side of his
couch, and administer comfort according to the Oriental manner.

"My friend," he said, "be of good comfort; for what saith the
poet--it is better that a man should be the servant of a kind
master than the slave of his own wild passions. Again, be of
good courage; because, whereas Ysouf Ben Yagoube was sold to a
king by his brethren, even to Pharaoh, King of Egypt, thy king
hath, on the other hand, bestowed thee on one who will be to thee
as a brother."

Sir Kenneth made an effort to thank the Hakim, but his heart was
too full, and the indistinct sounds which accompanied his
abortive attempts to reply induced the kind physician to desist
from his premature endeavours at consolation. He left his new
domestic, or guest, in quiet, to indulge his sorrows, and having
commanded all the necessary preparations for their departure on
the morning, sat down upon the carpet of the tent, and indulged
himself in a moderate repast. After he had thus refreshed
himself, similar viands were offered to the Scottish knight; but
though the slaves let him understand that the next day would be
far advanced ere they would halt for the purpose of refreshment,
Sir Kenneth could not overcome the disgust which he felt against
swallowing any nourishment, and could be prevailed upon to taste
nothing, saving a draught of cold water.

He was awake long after his Arab host had performed his usual
devotions and betaken himself to his repose; nor had sleep
visited him at the hour of midnight, when a movement took place
among the domestics, which, though attended with no speech, and
very little noise, made him aware they were loading the camels
and preparing for departure. In the course of these
preparations, the last person who was disturbed, excepting the
physician himself, was the knight of Scotland, whom, about three
in the morning, a sort of major-domo, or master of the household,
acquainted that he must arise. He did so, without further
answer, and followed him into the moonlight, where stood the
camels, most of which were already loaded, and one only remained
kneeling until its burden should be completed.

A little apart from the camels stood a number of horses ready
bridled and saddled, and the Hakim himself, coming forth, mounted
on one of them with as much agility as the grave decorum of his
character permitted, and directed another, which he pointed out,
to be led towards Sir Kenneth. An English officer was in
attendance, to escort them through the camp of the Crusaders, and
to ensure their leaving it in safety; and all was ready for their
departure. The pavilion which they had left was, in the
meanwhile, struck with singular dispatch, and the tent-poles and
coverings composed the burden of the last camel--when the
physician, pronouncing solemnly the verse of the Koran, "God be
our guide, and Mohammed our protector, in the desert as in the
watered field," the whole cavalcade was instantly in motion.

In traversing the camp, they were challenged by the various
sentinels who maintained guard there, and suffered to proceed in
silence, or with a muttered curse upon their prophet, as they
passed the post of some more zealous Crusader. At length the
last barriers were left behind them, and the party formed
themselves for the march with military precaution. Two or three
horsemen advanced in front as a vanguard; one or two remained a
bow-shot in the rear; and, wherever the ground admitted, others
were detached to keep an outlook on the flanks. In this manner
they proceeded onward; while Sir Kenneth, looking back on the
moonlit camp, might now indeed seem banished, deprived at once of
honour and of liberty, from the glimmering banners under which he
had hoped to gain additional renown, and the tented dwellings of
chivalry, of Christianity, and--of Edith Plantagenet.

The Hakim, who rode by his side, observed, in his usual tone of
sententious consolation, "It is unwise to look back when the
journey lieth forward;" and as he spoke, the horse of the knight
made such a perilous stumble as threatened to add a practical
moral to the tale.

The knight was compelled by this hint to give more attention to
the management of his steed, which more than once required the
assistance and support of the check-bridle, although, in other
respects, nothing could be more easy at once, and active, than
the ambling pace at which the animal (which was a mare)
proceeded.

"The conditions of that horse," observed the sententious
physician, "are like those of human fortune--seeing that, amidst
his most swift and easy pace, the rider must guard himself
against a fall, and that it is when prosperity is at the highest
that our prudence should be awake and vigilant to prevent
misfortune."

The overloaded appetite loathes even the honeycomb, and it is
scarce a wonder that the knight, mortified and harassed with
misfortunes and abasement, became something impatient of hearing
his misery made, at every turn, the ground of proverbs and
apothegms, however just and apposite.

"Methinks," he said, rather peevishly, "I wanted no additional
illustration of the instability of fortune though I would thank
thee, Sir Hakim, for the choice of a steed for me, would the jade
but stumble so effectually as at once to break my neck and her
own."

"My brother," answered the Arab sage, with imperturbable gravity,
"thou speakest as one of the foolish. Thou sayest in thy heart
that the sage should have given you, as his guest, the younger
and better horse, and reserved the old one for himself. But know
that the defects of the older steed may be compensated by the
energies of the young rider, whereas the violence of the young
horse requires to be moderated by the cold temper of the older."

So spoke the sage; but neither to this observation did Sir
Kenneth return any answer which could lead to a continuance of
their conversation, and the physician, wearied, perhaps, of
administering comfort to one who would not be comforted, signed
to one of his retinue.

"Hassan," he said, "hast thou nothing wherewith to beguile the
way?"

Hassan, story-teller and poet by profession, spurred up, upon
this summons, to exercise his calling. "Lord of the palace of
life," he said, addressing the physician, "thou, before whom the
angel Azrael spreadeth his wings for flight--thou, wiser than
Solimaun Ben Daoud, upon whose signet was inscribed the REAL NAME
which controls the spirits of the elements--forbid it, Heaven,
that while thou travellest upon the track of benevolence, bearing
healing and hope wherever thou comest, thine own course should be
saddened for lack of the tale and of the song. Behold, while thy
servant is at thy side, he will pour forth the treasures of his
memory, as the fountain sendeth her stream beside the pathway,
for the refreshment or him that walketh thereon."

After this exordium, Hassan uplifted his voice, and began a tale
of love and magic, intermixed with feats of warlike achievement,
and ornamented with abundant quotations from the Persian poets,
with whose compositions the orator seemed familiar. The retinue
of the physician, such excepted as were necessarily detained in
attendance on the camels, thronged up to the narrator, and
pressed as close as deference for their master permitted, to
enjoy the delight which the inhabitants of the East have ever
derived from this species of exhibition.

At another time, notwithstanding his imperfect knowledge of the
language, Sir Kenneth might have been interested in the
recitation, which, though dictated by a more extravagant
imagination, and expressed in more inflated and metaphorical
language, bore yet a strong resemblance to the romances of
chivalry then so fashionable in Europe. But as matters stood
with him, he was scarcely even sensible that a man in the centre
of the cavalcade recited and sung, in a low tone, for nearly two
hours, modulating his voice to the various moods of passion
introduced into the tale, and receiving, in return, now low
murmurs of applause, now muttered expressions of wonder, now
sighs and tears, and sometimes, what it was far more difficult to
extract from such an audience, a tribute of smiles, and even
laughter.

During the recitation, the attention of the exile, however
abstracted by his own deep sorrow, was occasionally awakened by
the low wail of a dog, secured in a wicker enclosure suspended on
one of the camels, which, as an experienced woodsman, he had no
hesitation in recognizing to be that of his own faithful hound;
and from the plaintive tone of the animal, he had no doubt that
he was sensible of his master's vicinity, and, in his way,
invoking his assistance for liberty and rescue.

"Alas! poor Roswal," he said, "thou callest for aid and sympathy
upon one in stricter bondage than thou thyself art. I will not
seem to heed thee or return thy affection, since it would serve
but to load our parting with yet more bitterness."

Thus passed the hours of night and the space of dim hazy dawn
which forms the twilight of a Syrian morning. But when the very
first line of the sun's disk began to rise above the level
horizon, and when the very first level ray shot glimmering in dew
along the surface of the desert, which the travellers had now
attained, the sonorous voice of El Hakim himself overpowered and
cut short the narrative of the tale-teller, while he caused to
resound along the sands the solemn summons, which the muezzins
thunder at morning from the minaret of every mosque.

"To prayer--to prayer! God is the one God.--To prayer--to
prayer! Mohammed is the Prophet of God.--To prayer--to prayer!
Time is flying from you.--To prayer--to prayer! Judgment is
drawing nigh to you,"

In an instant each Moslem cast himself from his horse, turned his
face towards Mecca, and performed with sand an imitation of those
ablutions, which were elsewhere required to be made with water,
while each individual, in brief but fervent ejaculations,
recommended himself to the care, and his sins to the forgiveness,
of God and the Prophet.

Even Sir Kenneth, whose reason at once and prejudices were
offended by seeing his companions in that which he considered as
an act of idolatry, could not help respecting the sincerity of
their misguided zeal, and being stimulated by their fervour to
apply supplications to Heaven in a purer form, wondering,
meanwhile, what new-born feelings could teach him to accompany in
prayer, though with varied invocation, those very Saracens, whose
heathenish worship he had conceived a crime dishonourable to the
land in which high miracles had been wrought, and where the day-star of redemption had arisen.

The act of devotion, however, though rendered in such strange
society, burst purely from his natural feelings of religious
duty, and had its usual effect in composing the spirits which had
been long harassed by so rapid a succession of calamities. The
sincere and earnest approach of the Christian to the throne of
the Almighty teaches the best lesson of patience under
affliction; since wherefore should we mock the Deity with
supplications, when we insult him by murmuring under His decrees?
or how, while our prayers have in every word admitted the vanity
and nothingness of the things of time in comparison to those of
eternity, should we hope to deceive the Searcher of Hearts, by
permitting the world and worldly passions to reassume the reins
even immediately after a solemn address to Heaven! But Sir
Kenneth was not of these. He felt himself comforted and
strengthened, and better prepared to execute or submit to
whatever his destiny might call upon him to do or to suffer.

Meanwhile, the party of Saracens regained their saddles, and
continued their route, and the tale-teller, Hassan, resumed the
thread of his narrative; but it was no longer to the same
attentive audience. A horseman, who had ascended some high
ground on the right hand of the little column, had returned on a
speedy gallop to El Hakim, and communicated with him. Four or
five more cavaliers had then been dispatched, and the little
band, which might consist of about twenty or thirty persons,
began to follow them with their eyes, as men from whose gestures,
and advance or retreat, they were to augur good or evil. Hassan,
finding his audience inattentive, or being himself attracted by
the dubious appearances on the flank, stinted in his song; and
the march became silent, save when a camel-driver called out to
his patient charge, or some anxious follower of the Hakim
communicated with his next neighbour in a hurried and low
whisper.

This suspense continued until they had rounded a ridge, composed
of hillocks of sand, which concealed from their main body the
object that had created this alarm among their scouts. Sir
Kenneth could now see, at the distance of a mile or more, a dark
object moving rapidly on the bosom of the desert, which his
experienced eye recognized for a party of cavalry, much superior
to their own in numbers, and, from the thick and frequent flashes
which flung back the level beams of the rising sun, it was plain
that these were Europeans in their complete panoply.

The anxious looks which the horsemen of El Hakim now cast upon
their leader seemed to indicate deep apprehension; while he, with
gravity as undisturbed as when he called his followers to prayer,
detached two of his best-mounted cavaliers, with instructions to
approach as closely as prudence permitted to these travellers of
the desert, and observe more minutely their numbers, their
character, and, if possible, their purpose. The approach of
danger, or what was feared as such, was like a stimulating
draught to one in apathy, and recalled Sir Kenneth to himself and
his situation.

"What fear you from these Christian horsemen, for such they
seem?" he said to the Hakim.

"Fear!" said El Hakim, repeating the word disdainfully. "The
sage fears nothing but Heaven, but ever expects from wicked men
the worst which they can do."

"They are Christians," said Sir Kenneth, "and it is the time of
truce--why should you fear a breach of faith?"

"They are the priestly soldiers of the Temple," answered El
Hakim, "whose vow limits them to know neither truce nor faith
with the worshippers of Islam. May the Prophet blight them, both
root, branch, and twig! Their peace is war, and their faith is
falsehood. Other invaders of Palestine have their times and
moods of courtesy. The lion Richard will spare when he has
conquered, the eagle Philip will close his wing when he has
stricken a prey, even the Austrian bear will sleep when he is
gorged; but this horde of ever-hungry wolves know neither pause
nor satiety in their rapine. Seest thou not that they are
detaching a party from their main body, and that they take an
eastern direction? Yon are their pages and squires, whom they
train up in their accursed mysteries, and whom, as lighter
mounted, they send to cut us off from our watering-place. But
they will be disappointed. I know the war of the desert yet
better than they."

He spoke a few words to his principal officer, and his whole
demeanour and countenance was at once changed from the solemn
repose of an Eastern sage accustomed more to contemplation than
to action, into the prompt and proud expression of a gallant
soldier whose energies are roused by the near approach of a
danger which he at once foresees and despises.

To Sir Kenneth's eyes the approaching crisis had a different
aspect, and when Adonbec said to him, "Thou must tarry close by
my side," he answered solemnly in the negative.

"Yonder," he said, "are my comrades in arms--the men in whose
society I have vowed to fight or fall. On their banner gleams
the sign of our most blessed redemption--I cannot fly from the
Cross in company with the Crescent."

"Fool!" said the Hakim; "their first action would be to do thee
to death, were it only to conceal their breach of the truce."

"Of that I must take my chance," replied Sir Kenneth; "but I wear
not the bonds of the infidels an instant longer than I can cast
them from me."

"Then will I compel thee to follow me," said El Hakim.

"Compel!" answered Sir Kenneth angrily. "Wert thou not my
benefactor, or one who has showed will to be such, and were it
not that it is to thy confidence I owe the freedom of these
hands, which thou mightst have loaded with fetters, I would show
thee that, unarmed as I am, compulsion would be no easy task."

"Enough, enough," replied the Arabian physician, "we lose time
even when it is becoming precious."

So saying, he threw his arm aloft, and uttered a loud and shrill
cry, as a signal to his retinue, who instantly dispersed
themselves on the face of the desert, in as many different
directions as a chaplet of beads when the string is broken. Sir
Kenneth had no time to note what ensued; for, at the same
instant, the Hakim seized the rein of his steed, and putting his
own to its mettle, both sprung forth at once with the suddenness
of light, and at a pitch of velocity which almost deprived the
Scottish knight of the power of respiration, and left him
absolutely incapable, had he been desirous, to have checked the
career of his guide. Practised as Sir Kenneth was in
horsemanship from his earliest youth, the speediest horse he had
ever mounted was a tortoise in comparison to those of the Arabian
sage. They spurned the sand from behind them; they seemed to
devour the desert before them; miles flew away with minutes--and
yet their strength seemed unabated, and their respiration as free
as when they first started upon the wonderful race. The motion,
too, as easy as it was swift, seemed more like flying through the
air than riding on the earth, and was attended with no unpleasant
sensation, save the awe naturally felt by one who is moving at
such astonishing speed, and the difficulty of breathing
occasioned by their passing through the air so rapidly.

It was not until after an hour of this portentous motion, and
when all human pursuit was far, far behind, that the Hakim at
length relaxed his speed, and, slackening the pace of the horses
into a hand-gallop, began, in a voice as composed and even as if
he had been walking for the last hour, a descant upon the
excellence of his coursers to the Scot, who, breathless, half
blind, half deaf, and altogether giddy; from the rapidity of this
singular ride, hardly comprehended the words which flowed so
freely from his companion.

"These horses," he said, "are of the breed called the Winged,
equal in speed to aught excepting the Borak of the Prophet. They
are fed on the golden barley of Yemen, mixed with spices and with
a small portion of dried sheep's flesh. Kings have given
provinces to possess them, and their age is active as their
youth. Thou, Nazarene, art the first, save a true believer, that
ever had beneath his loins one of this noble race, a gift of the
Prophet himself to the blessed Ali, his kinsman and lieutenant,
well called the Lion of God. Time lays his touch so lightly on
these generous steeds, that the mare on which thou now sittest
has seen five times five years pass over her, yet retains her
pristine speed and vigour, only that in the career the support of
a bridle, managed by a hand more experienced than thine, hath now
become necessary. May the Prophet be blessed, who hath bestowed
on the true believers the means of advance and retreat, which
causeth their iron-clothed enemies to be worn out with their own
ponderous weight! How the horses of yonder dog Templars must
have snorted and blown, when they had toiled fetlock-deep in the
desert for one-twentieth part of the space which these brave
steeds have left behind them, without one thick pant, or a drop
of moisture upon their sleek and velvet coats!"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30