The Talisman

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"Nay, then," said Richard, "if he loves not wine, that lightener
of the human heart, his conversion is not to be hoped for, and
the prediction of the mad priest of Engaddi goes like chaff down
the wind."

The King then addressed himself to settle the articles of combat,
which cost a considerable time, as it was necessary on some
points to consult with the opposite parties, as well as with the
Soldan.

They were at length finally agreed upon, and adjusted by a
protocol in French and in Arabian, which was subscribed by
Saladin as umpire of the field, and by Richard and Leopold as
guarantees for the two combatants. As the Omrah took his final
leave of King Richard for the evening, De Vaux entered.

"The good knight," he said, "who is to do battle tomorrow
requests to know whether he may not to-night pay duty to his
royal godfather!"

"Hast thou seen him, De Vaux?" said the King, smiling; "and
didst thou know an ancient acquaintance?"

"By our Lady of Lanercost," answered De Vaux, "there are so many
surprises and changes in this land that my poor brain turns. I
scarce knew Sir Kenneth of Scotland, till his good hound, that
had been for a short while under my care, came and fawned on me;
and even then I only knew the tyke by the depth of his chest, the
roundness of his foot, and his manner of baying, for the poor
gazehound was painted like any Venetian courtesan."

"Thou art better skilled in brutes than men, De Vaux," said the
King.

"I will not deny," said De Vaux, "I have found them ofttimes the
honester animals. Also, your Grace is pleased to term me
sometimes a brute myself; besides that, I serve the Lion, whom
all men acknowledge the king of brutes."

"By Saint George, there thou brokest thy lance fairly on my
brow," said the King. "I have ever said thou hast a sort of wit,
De Vaux; marry, one must strike thee with a sledge-hammer ere it
can be made to sparkle. But to the present gear--is the good
knight well armed and equipped?"

"Fully, my liege, and nobly," answered De Vaux. "I know the
armour well; it is that which the Venetian commissary offered
your highness, just ere you became ill, for five hundred
byzants."

"And he hath sold it to the infidel Soldan, I warrant me, for a
few ducats more, and present payment. These Venetians would sell
the Sepulchre itself!"

"The armour will never be borne in a nobler cause," said De Vaux.

"Thanks to the nobleness of the Saracen," said the King, "not to
the avarice of the Venetians."

"I would to God your Grace would be more cautious," said the
anxious De Vaux. "Here are we deserted by all our allies, for
points of offence given to one or another; we cannot hope to
prosper upon the land; and we have only to quarrel with the
amphibious republic, to lose the means of retreat by sea!"

"I will take care," said Richard impatiently; "but school me no
more. Tell me rather, for it is of interest, hath the knight a
confessor?"

"He hath," answered De Vaux; "the hermit of Engaddi. who erst did
him that office when preparing for death, attends him on the
present occasion, the fame of the duel having brought him
hither."

"'Tis well," said Richard; "and now for the knight's request.
Say to him, Richard will receive him when the discharge of his
devoir beside the Diamond of the Desert shall have atoned for his
fault beside the Mount of Saint George; and as thou passest
through the camp, let the Queen know I will visit her pavilion--
and tell Blondel to meet me there."

De Vaux departed, and in about an hour afterwards, Richard,
wrapping his mantle around him, and taking his ghittern in his
hand, walked in the direction of the Queen's pavilion. Several
Arabs passed him, but always with averted heads and looks fixed
upon the earth, though he could observe that all gazed earnestly
after him when he was past. This led him justly to conjecture
that his person was known to them; but that either the Soldan's
commands, or their own Oriental politeness, forbade them to seem
to notice a sovereign who desired to remain incognito.

When the King reached the pavilion of his Queen he found it
guarded by those unhappy officials whom Eastern jealousy places
around the zenana. Blondel was walking before the door, and
touched his rote from time to time in a manner which made the
Africans show their ivory teeth, and bear burden with their
strange gestures and shrill, unnatural voices.

"What art thou after with this herd of black cattle, Blondel?"
said the King; "wherefore goest thou not into the tent?"

"Because my trade can neither spare the head nor the fingers,"
said Blondel, "and these honest blackamoors threatened to cut me
joint from joint if I pressed forward."

"Well, enter with me," said the King, "and I will be thy
safeguard."

The blacks accordingly lowered pikes and swords to King Richard,
and bent their eyes on the ground, as if unworthy to look upon
him. In the interior of the pavilion they found Thomas de Vaux
in attendance on the Queen. While Berengaria welcomed Blondel,
King Richard spoke for some time secretly and apart with his fair
kinswoman.

At length, "Are we still foes, my fair Edith?" he said, in a
whisper.

"No, my liege," said Edith, in a voice just so low as not to
interrupt the music; "none can bear enmity against King Richard
when he deigns to show himself, as he really is, generous and
noble, as well as valiant and honourable."

So saying, she extended her hand to him. The King kissed it in
token of reconciliation, and then proceeded.

"You think, my sweet cousin, that my anger in this matter was
feigned; but you are deceived. The punishment I inflicted upon
this knight was just; for he had betrayed--no matter for how
tempting a bribe, fair cousin--the trust committed to him. But I
rejoice, perchance as much as you, that to-morrow gives him a
chance to win the field, and throw back the stain which for a
time clung to him upon the actual thief and traitor. No!--future
times may blame Richard for impetuous folly, but they shall say
that in rendering judgment he was just when he should and
merciful when he could."

"Laud not thyself, cousin King," said Edith. "They may call thy
justice cruelty, thy mercy caprice."

"And do not thou pride thyself," said the King, "as if thy
knight, who hath not yet buckled on his armour, were unbelting it
in triumph--Conrade of Montserrat is held a good lance. What if
the Scot should lose the day?"

"It is impossible!" said Edith firmly. "My own eyes saw yonder
Conrade tremble and change colour like a base thief; he is
guilty, and the trial by combat is an appeal to the justice of
God. I myself, in such a cause, would encounter him without
fear."

"By the mass, I think thou wouldst, wench," said the King, "and
beat him to boot, for there never breathed a truer Plantagenet
than thou."

He paused, and added in a very serious tone, "See that thou
continue to remember what is due to thy birth."

"What means that advice, so seriously given at this moment?"
said Edith. "Am I of such light nature as to forget my name--my
condition?"

"I will speak plainly, Edith," answered the King, "and as to a
friend. What will this knight be to you, should he come off
victor from yonder lists?"

"To me?" said Edith, blushing deep with shame and displeasure.
"What can he be to me more than an honoured knight, worthy of
such grace as Queen Berengaria might confer on him, had he
selected her for his lady, instead of a more unworthy choice?
The meanest knight may devote himself to the service of an
empress, but the glory of his choice," she said proudly, "must be
his reward."

"Yet he hath served and suffered much for you," said the King.

"I have paid his services with honour and applause, and his
sufferings with tears," answered Edith. "Had he desired other
reward, he would have done wisely to have bestowed his affections
within his own degree."

"You would not, then, wear the bloody night-gear for his sake?"
said King Richard.

"No more," answered Edith, "than I would have required him to
expose his life by an action in which there was more madness than
honour."

"Maidens talk ever thus," said the King; "but when the favoured
lover presses his suit, she says, with a sigh, her stars had
decreed otherwise."

"Your Grace has now, for the second time, threatened me with the
influence of my horoscope," Edith replied, with dignity. "Trust
me, my liege, whatever be the power of the stars, your poor
kinswoman will never wed either infidel or obscure adventurer.
Permit me that I listen to the music of Blondel, for the tone of
your royal admonitions is scarce so grateful to the ear."

The conclusion of the evening offered nothing worthy of notice.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse? GRAY.

It had been agreed, on account of the heat of the climate, that
the judicial combat which was the cause of the present assemblage
of various nations at the Diamond of the Desert should take place
at one hour after sunrise. The wide lists, which had been
constructed under the inspection of the Knight of the Leopard,
enclosed a space of hard sand, which was one hundred and twenty
yards long by forty in width. They extended in length from north
to south, so as to give both parties the equal advantage of the
rising sun. Saladin's royal seat was erected on the western side
of the enclosure, just in the centre, where the combatants were
expected to meet in mid encounter. Opposed to this was a gallery
with closed casements, so contrived that the ladies, for whose
accommodation it was erected, might see the fight without being
themselves exposed to view. At either extremity of the lists was
a barrier, which could be opened or shut at pleasure. Thrones
had been also erected, but the Archduke, perceiving that his was
lower than King Richard's, refused to occupy it; and Coeur de
Lion, who would have submitted to much ere any formality should
have interfered with the combat, readily agreed that the
sponsors, as they were called, should remain on horseback during
the fight. At one extremity of the lists were placed the
followers of Richard, and opposed to them were those who
accompanied the defender Conrade. Around the throne destined for
the Soldan were ranged his splendid Georgian Guards, and the rest
of the enclosure was occupied by Christian and Mohammedan
spectators.

Long before daybreak the lists were surrounded by even a larger
number of Saracens than Richard had seen on the preceding
evening. When the first ray of the sun's glorious orb arose
above the desert, the sonorous call, "To prayer--to prayer!" was
poured forth by the Soldan himself, and answered by others, whose
rank and zeal entitled them to act as muezzins. It was a
striking spectacle to see them all sink to earth, for the purpose
of repeating their devotions, with their faces turned to Mecca.
But when they arose from the ground, the sun's rays, now
strengthening fast, seemed to confirm the Lord of Gilsland's
conjecture of the night before. They were flashed back from many
a spearhead, for the pointless lances of the preceding day were
certainly no longer such. De Vaux pointed it out to his master,
who answered with impatience that he had perfect confidence in
the good faith of the Soldan; but if De Vaux was afraid of his
bulky body, he might retire.

Soon after this the noise of timbrels was heard, at the sound of
which the whole Saracen cavaliers threw themselves from their
horses, and prostrated themselves, as if for a second morning
prayer. This was to give an opportunity to the Queen, with Edith
and her attendants, to pass from the pavilion to the gallery
intended for them. Fifty guards of Saladin's seraglio escorted
them with naked sabres, whose orders were to cut to pieces
whomsoever, were he prince or peasant, should venture to gaze on
the ladies as they passed, or even presume to raise his head
until the cessation of the music should make all men aware that
they were lodged in their gallery, not to be gazed on by the
curious eye.

This superstitious observance of Oriental reverence to the fair
sex called forth from Queen Berengaria some criticisms very
unfavourable to Saladin and his country. But their den, as the
royal fair called it, being securely closed and guarded by their
sable attendants, she was under the necessity of contenting
herself with seeing, and laying aside for the present the still
more exquisite pleasure of being seen.

Meantime the sponsors of both champions went, as was their duty,
to see that they were duly armed and prepared for combat. The
Archduke of Austria was in no hurry to perform this part of the
ceremony, having had rather an unusually severe debauch upon wine
of Shiraz the preceding evening. But the Grand Master of the
Temple, more deeply concerned in the event of the combat, was
early before the tent of Conrade of Montserrat. To his great
surprise, the attendants refused him admittance.

"Do you not know me, ye knaves?" said the Grand Master, in great
anger.

"We do, most valiant and reverend," answered Conrade's squire;
"but even you may not at present enter--the Marquis is about to
confess himself."

"Confess himself!" exclaimed the Templar, in a tone where alarm
mingled with surprise and scorn--"and to whom, I pray thee?"

"My master bid me be secret," said the squire; on which the Grand
Master pushed past him, and entered the tent almost by force.

The Marquis of Montserrat was kneeling at the feet of the hermit
of Engaddi, and in the act of beginning his confession.

"What means this, Marquis?" said the Grand Master; "up, for
shame--or, if you must needs confess, am not I here?"

"I have confessed to you too often already," replied Conrade,
with a pale cheek and a faltering voice. "For God's sake, Grand
Master, begone, and let me unfold my conscience to this holy
man."

"In what is he holier than I am?" said the Grand Master.
--"Hermit, prophet, madman--say, if thou darest, in what thou
excellest me?"

"Bold and bad man," replied the hermit, "know that I am like the
latticed window, and the divine light passes through to avail
others, though, alas! it helpeth not me. Thou art like the iron
stanchions, which neither receive light themselves, nor
communicate it to any one."

"Prate not to me, but depart from this tent," said the Grand
Master; "the Marquis shall not confess this morning, unless it be
to me, for I part not from his side."

"Is this YOUR pleasure?" said the hermit to Conrade; "for think
not I will obey that proud man, if you continue to desire my
assistance."

"Alas," said Conrade irresolutely, "what would you have me say?
Farewell for a while---we will speak anon."

"O procrastination!" exclaimed the hermit, "thou art a soul-murderer!--Unhappy man, farewell--not for a
while, but until we
shall both meet no matter where. And for thee," he added,
turning to the Grand Master, "TREMBLE!"

"Tremble!" replied the Templar contemptuously, "I cannot if I
would."

The hermit heard not his answer, having left the tent.

"Come! to this gear hastily," said the Grand Master, "since thou
wilt needs go through the foolery. Hark thee--I think I know
most of thy frailties by heart, so we may omit the detail, which
may be somewhat a long one, and begin with the absolution. What
signifies counting the spots of dirt that we are about to wash
from our hands?"

"Knowing what thou art thyself," said Conrade, "it is blasphemous
to speak of pardoning another."

"That is not according to the canon, Lord Marquis," said the
Templar; "thou art more scrupulous than orthodox. The absolution
of the wicked priest is as effectual as if he were himself a
saint--otherwise, God help the poor penitent! What wounded man
inquires whether the surgeon that tends his gashes has clean
hands or no? Come, shall we to this toy?"

"No," said Conrade, "I will rather die unconfessed than mock the
sacrament."

"Come, noble Marquis," said the Templar, "rouse up your courage,
and speak not thus. In an hour's time thou shalt stand
victorious in the lists, or confess thee in thy helmet, like a
valiant knight."

"Alas, Grand Master," answered Conrade, "all augurs ill for this
affair, the strange discovery by the instinct of a dog--the
revival of this Scottish knight, who comes into the lists like a
spectre--all betokens evil."

"Pshaw," said the Templar, "I have seen thee bend thy lance
boldly against him in sport, and with equal chance of success.
Think thou art but in a tournament, and who bears him better in
the tilt-yard than thou?--Come, squires and armourers, your
master must be accoutred for the field."

The attendants entered accordingly, and began to arm the Marquis.

"What morning is without?" said Conrade.

"The sun rises dimly," answered a squire.

"Thou seest, Grand Master," said Conrade, "nought smiles on us."

"Thou wilt fight the more coolly, my son," answered the Templar;
"thank Heaven, that hath tempered the sun of Palestine to suit
thine occasion."

Thus jested the Grand Master. But his jests had lost their
influence on the harassed mind of the Marquis, and
notwithstanding his attempts to seem gay, his gloom communicated
itself to the Templar.

"This craven," he thought, "will lose the day in pure faintness
and cowardice of heart, which he calls tender conscience. I,
whom visions and auguries shake not---who am firm in my purpose
as the living rock--I should have fought the combat myself.
Would to God the Scot may strike him dead on the spot; it were
next best to his winning the victory. But come what will, he
must have no other confessor than myself--our sins are too much
in common, and he might confess my share with his own."

While these thoughts passed through his mind, he continued to
assist the Marquis in arming, but it was in silence.

The hour at length arrived; the trumpets sounded; the knights
rode into the lists armed at all points, and mounted like men who
were to do battle for a kingdom's honour. They wore their visors
up, and riding around the lists three times, showed themselves to
the spectators. Both were goodly persons, and both had noble
countenances. But there was an air of manly confidence on the
brow of the Scot--a radiancy of hope, which amounted even to
cheerfulness; while, although pride and effort had recalled much
of Conrade's natural courage, there lowered still on his brow a
cloud of ominous despondence. Even his steed seemed to tread
less lightly and blithely to the trumpet-sound than the noble
Arab which was bestrode by Sir Kenneth; and the SPRUCH-SPRECHER
shook his head while he observed that, while the challenger rode
around the lists in the course of the sun--that is, from right to
left--the defender made the same circuit WIDDERSINS--that is,
from left to right--which is in most countries held ominous.

A temporary altar was erected just beneath the gallery occupied
by the Queen, and beside it stood the hermit in the dress of his
order as a Carmelite friar. Other churchmen were also present.
To this altar the challenger and defender were successively
brought forward, conducted by their respective sponsors.
Dismounting before it, each knight avouched the justice of his
cause by a solemn oath on the Evangelists, and prayed that his
success might be according to the truth or falsehood of what he
then swore. They also made oath that they came to do battle in
knightly guise, and with the usual weapons, disclaiming the use
of spells, charms, or magical devices to incline victory to their
side. The challenger pronounced his vow with a firm and manly
voice, and a bold and cheerful countenance. When the ceremony
was finished, the Scottish Knight looked at the gallery, and bent
his head to the earth, as if in honour of those invisible
beauties which were enclosed within; then, loaded with armour as
he was, sprung to the saddle without the use of the stirrup, and
made his courser carry him in a succession of caracoles to his
station at the eastern extremity of the lists. Conrade also
presented himself before the altar with boldness enough; but his
voice as he took the oath sounded hollow, as if drowned in his
helmet. The lips with which he appealed to Heaven to adjudge
victory to the just quarrel grew white as they uttered the
impious mockery. As he turned to remount his horse, the Grand
Master approached him closer, as if to rectify something about
the sitting of his gorget, and whispered, "Coward and fool!
recall thy senses, and do me this battle bravely, else, by
Heaven, shouldst thou escape him, thou escapest not ME!"

The savage tone in which this was whispered perhaps completed the
confusion of the Marquis's nerves, for he stumbled as he made to
horse; and though he recovered his feet, sprung to the saddle
with his usual agility, and displayed his address in horsemanship
as he assumed his position opposite to the challenger's, yet the
accident did not escape those who were on the watch for omens
which might predict the fate of the day.

The priests, after a solemn prayer that God would show the
rightful quarrel, departed from the lists. The trumpets of the
challenger then rung a flourish, and a herald-at-arms proclaimed
at the eastern end of the lists--"Here stands a good knight, Sir
Kenneth of Scotland, champion for the royal King Richard of
England, who accuseth Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat, of foul
treason and dishonour done to the said King."

When the words Kenneth of Scotland announced the name and
character of the champion, hitherto scarce generally known, a
loud and cheerful acclaim burst from the followers of King
Richard, and hardly, notwithstanding repeated commands of
silence, suffered the reply of the defendant to be heard. He, of
course, avouched his innocence, and offered his body for battle.
The esquires of the combatants now approached, and delivered to
each his shield and lance, assisting to hang the former around
his neck, that his two hands might remain free, one for the
management of the bridle, the other to direct the lance.

The shield of the Scot displayed his old bearing, the leopard,
but with the addition of a collar and broken chain, in allusion
to his late captivity. The shield of the Marquis bore, in
reference to his title, a serrated and rocky mountain. Each shook
his lance aloft, as if to ascertain the weight and toughness of
the unwieldy weapon, and then laid it in the rest. The sponsors,
heralds, and squires now retired to the barriers, and the
combatants sat opposite to each other, face to face, with couched
lance and closed visor, the human form so completely enclosed,
that they looked more like statues of molten iron than beings of
flesh and blood. The silence of suspense was now general. Men
breathed thicker, and their very souls seemed seated in their
eyes; while not a sound was to be heard save the snorting and
pawing of the good steeds, who, sensible of what was about to
happen, were impatient to dash into career. They stood thus for
perhaps three minutes, when, at a signal given by the Soldan, a
hundred instruments rent the air with their brazen clamours, and
each champion striking his horse with the spurs, and slacking the
rein, the horses started into full gallop, and the knights met in
mid space with a shock like a thunderbolt. The victory was not
in doubt--no, not one moment. Conrade, indeed, showed himself a
practised warrior; for he struck his antagonist knightly in the
midst of his shield, bearing his lance so straight and true that
it shivered into splinters from the steel spear-head up to the
very gauntlet. The horse of Sir Kenneth recoiled two or three
yards and fell on his haunches; but the rider easily raised him
with hand and rein. But for Conrade there was no recovery. Sir
Kenneth's lance had pierced through the shield, through a plated
corselet of Milan steel, through a SECRET, or coat of linked
mail, worn beneath the corselet, had wounded him deep in the
bosom, and borne him from his saddle, leaving the truncheon of
the lance fixed in his wound. The sponsors, heralds, and Saladin
himself, descending from his throne, crowded around the wounded
man; while Sir Kenneth, who had drawn his sword ere yet he
discovered his antagonist was totally helpless, now commanded him
to avow his guilt. The helmet was hastily unclosed, and the
wounded man, gazing wildly on the skies, replied, "What would you
more? God hath decided justly--I am guilty; but there are worse
traitors in the camp than I. In pity to my soul, let me have a
confessor!"

He revived as he uttered these words.

"The talisman--the powerful remedy, royal brother!" said King
Richard to Saladin.

"The traitor," answered the Soldan, "is more fit to be dragged
from the lists to the gallows by the heels, than to profit by its
virtues. And some such fate is in his look," he added, after
gazing fixedly upon the wounded man; "for though his wound may be
cured, yet Azrael's seal is on the wretch's brow."

"Nevertheless," said Richard, "I pray you do for him what you
may, that he may at least have time for confession. Slay not
soul and body! To him one half hour of time may be worth more,
by ten thousandfold, than the life of the oldest patriarch."

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