More Bywords Part 7

Henry had an anxious face when he turned from his knight, who, no doubt, had told him how completely he was in the Atheling's power.

"Sir Edgar," he said, "a word with you. Winchester is not far off-- nor Porchester--nor my brother William's Free companies, and his treasure. Normans will scarce see Duke William's son tampered with, nor bow their heads to the English!"

"Belike, Henry of Normandy," said Edgar, rising above him in his grave majesty. "Yet have I a question or two to put to thee. Thou art a graver, more scholarly man than thy brother, less like to be led away by furies. Have the people of England and Normandy sworn to thee willingly as their King?"

"Even so, in the Minster," Henry began, and would have said more, but Edgar again made his gesture of authority.

"Wilt thou grant them the charter of Alfred and Edward, with copies spread throughout the land?"

"I will."

"Wilt thou do equal justice between English and Norman?"

"To the best of my power."

"Wilt thou bring home the Archbishop, fill up the dioceses, do thy part by the Church?"

"So help me G.o.d, I will."

"Then, Henry of Normandy, I, Edgar Atheling, kiss thine hand, and become thy man; and may G.o.d deal with thee, as thou dost with England."

The n.o.ble form of Edgar bent before the slighter younger figure of Henry, who burst into tears, genuine at the moment, and vowed most earnestly to be a good King to the entire people. No doubt, he meant it--then.

And now--far more humbly, he made his suit to the Atheling for the hand of his niece.

Edgar took her apart. "Edith, canst thou brook this man?"

"Uncle, he was good to me when we were children together at the old King's Court. I have made no vows, I tore the veil mine aunt threw over me from mine head. Methinks with me beside him he would never be hard to our people."

"So be it then, Edith. If he holds to this purpose when he hath been crowned at Westminster, he shall have thee, though I fear thou hast chosen a hard lot, and wilt rue the day when thou didst quit these peaceful walls."

And one more stipulation was made by Edgar the Atheling, ere he rode to own Henry as King in the face of the English people at Westminster--namely, that Boyatt should be restored to the true heiress the Lady Elftrud. And to Roger, compensation was secretly made at the Atheling's expense, ere departing with Bertram in his train for the Holy War. For Bertram could not look at the scar without feeling himself a Crusader; and Edgar judged it better for England to remove himself for awhile, while he laid all earthly aspirations at the Feet of the King of kings.

The little English troop arrived just in time to share in the capture of the Holy City, to join in the eager procession of conquerors to the Holy Sepulchre, and to hear G.o.dfrey de Bouillon elected to defend the sacred possession, refusing to wear a crown where the King of Saints and Lord of Heaven and Earth had worn a Crown of Thorns.

SIGBERT'S GUERDON

A feudal castle, of ma.s.sive stone, with donjon keep and high crenellated wall, gateway tower, moat and drawbridge, was a strange, incongruous sight in one of the purple-red stony slopes of Palestine, with Hermon's snowy peak rising high above. It was accounted for, however, by the golden crosses of the kingdom of Jerusalem waving above the watch-tower, that rose like a pointing finger above the keep, in company with a lesser ensign bearing a couchant hound, sable.

It was a narrow rocky pa.s.s that the Castle of Gebel-Aroun guarded, overlooking a winding ravine between the spurs of the hills, descending into the fertile plain of Esdraelon from the heights of Galilee Hills, noted in many an Israelite battle, and now held by the Crusaders.

Bare, hard, and rocky were the hills around--the slopes and the valley itself, which in the earlier season had been filled with rich gra.s.s, Calvary clover, blood-red anemones, and pale yellow amaryllis, only showed their arid brown or gray remnants. The moat had become a deep waterless cleft; and beneath, on the accessible sides towards the glen, cl.u.s.tered a collection of black horsehair tents, the foremost surmounted by the ill-omened crescent.

The burning sun had driven every creature under shelter, and no one was visible; but well was it known that watch and ward was closely kept from beneath those dark tents, that to the eyes within had the air of couching beasts of prey. Yes, couching to devour what could not fail to be theirs, in spite of the mighty walls of rock and impregnable keep, for those deadly and insidious foes, hunger and thirst, were within, gaining the battle for the Saracens without, who had merely to wait in patience for the result.

Some years previously, Sir William de Hundberg, a Norman knight, had been expelled from his English castle by the partisans of Stephen, and with wife and children had followed Count Fulk of Anjou to his kingdom of Palestine, and had been endowed by him with one of the fortresses which guarded the pa.s.ses of Galilee, under that exaggeration of the feudal system which prevailed in the crusading kingdom of Jerusalem.

Climate speedily did its work with the lady, warfare with two of her sons, and there only remained of the family a youth of seventeen, Walter, and his sister Mabel, fourteen, who was already betrothed to the young Baron of Courtwood, then about to return to England. The treaty with Stephen and the success of young Henry of Anjou gave Sir William hopes of rest.i.tution; but just as he was about to conduct her to Jerusalem for the wedding, before going back to England, he fell sick of one of the recurring fevers of the country; and almost at the same time the castle was beleaguered by a troop of Arabs, under the command of a much-dreaded Sheik.

His const.i.tution was already much shaken, and Sir William, after a few days of alternate torpor and delirium, pa.s.sed away, without having been conscious enough to leave any counsel to his children, or any directions to Father Philip, the chaplain, or Sigbert, his English squire.

At the moment, sorrow was not disturbed by any great alarm, for the castle was well victualled, and had a good well, supplied by springs from the mountains; and Father Philip, after performing the funeral rites for his lord, undertook to make his way to Tiberias, or to Jerusalem, with tidings of their need; and it was fully antic.i.p.ated that succour would arrive long before the stores in the castle had been exhausted.

But time went on, and, though food was not absolutely lacking, the spring of water which had hitherto supplied the garrison began to fail. Whether through summer heats, or whether the wily enemy had succeeded in cutting off the source, where once there had been a clear crystal pool in the rock, cold as the snow from which it came, there only dribbled a few scanty drops, caught with difficulty, and only imbibed from utter necessity, so great was the suspicion of their being poisoned by the enemy.

The wine was entirely gone, and the salted provision, which alone remained, made the misery of thirst almost unbearable.

On the cushions, richly embroidered in dainty Eastern colouring, lay Mabel de Hundberg, with dry lips half opened and panting, too weary to move, yet listening all intent.

Another moment, and in chamois leather coat, his helmet in hand, entered her brother from the turret stair, and threw himself down hopelessly, answering her gesture.

"No, no, of course no. The dust was only from another swarm of those hateful Saracens. I knew it would be so. Pah! it has made my tongue more like old boot leather than ever. Have no more drops been squeezed from the well? It's time the cup was filled!"

"It was Roger's turn. Sigbert said he should have the next," said Mabel.

Walter uttered an imprecation upon Roger, and a still stronger one on Sigbert's meddling. But instantly the cry was, "Where is Sigbert?"

Walter even took the trouble to shout up and down the stair for Sigbert, and to demand hotly of the weary, dejected men-at-arms where Sigbert was; but no one could tell.

"Gone over to the enemy, the old traitor," said Walter, again dropping on the divan.

"Never! Sigbert is no traitor," returned his sister.

"He is an English churl, and all churls are traitors," responded Walter.

The old nurse, who was fitfully fanning Mabel with a dried palm- leaf, made a growl of utter dissent, and Mabel exclaimed, "None was ever so faithful as good old Sigbert."

It was a promising quarrel, but their lips were too dry to keep it up for more than a snarl or two. Walter cast himself down, and bade old Tata fan him; why should Mabel have it all to herself?

Then sounds of wrangling were heard below, and Walter roused himself to go down and interfere. The men were disputing over some miserable dregs of wine at the bottom of a skin. Walter shouted to call them to order, but they paid little heed.

"Do not meddle and make, young sir," said a low-browed, swarthy fellow. "There's plenty of cool drink of the right sort out there."

"Traitor!" cried Walter; "better die than yield."

"If one have no mind for dying like an old crab in a rock," said the man.

"They would think nought of making an end of us out there," said another.

"I'd as lief be choked at once by a cord as by thirst," was the answer.

"That you are like to be, if you talk such treason," threatened Walter. "Seize him, Richard--Martin."

Richard and Martin, however, hung back, one muttering that Gil had done nothing, and the other that he might be in the right of it; and when Walter burst out in angry threats he was answered in a gruff voice that he had better take care what he said, "There was no standing not only wasting with thirst and hunger, but besides being bl.u.s.tered at by a hot-headed lad, that scarce knew a hauberk from a helmet."