"Strange," commented Richard, "Iftikhar should use him as agent; his crooked back stops all disguise."

"You do not know him, little lord," answered Herbert. "Satan has given him a heart as darkly crafty as his black eyes. I have heard his fame at Palermo. Undisguised, he is a rat sly enough to creep through a hole too small for a beetle."

And Sebastian piously admonished:--

"Dear son, now that you have taken the cross and your sins are forgiven, great mercy is shown you. Be very humble, for G.o.d has some wondrous service in store!"

The admonition Richard treasured in his heart; but he did not so far tempt Providence as to put by the Valencia hauberk, and Herbert kept guard over him night and day. Also a courier speeded to La Haye with a letter bidding Baron Hardouin have a care that Iftikhar did not try to repeat his Cefalu raid, and to leave no Syrian dwarf unhanged in his barony.

A few days thereafter the great gathering at Clermont scattered; and Heaven knew there was much to be done, if the hosts of the Lord were not to set forth with scrip and staff merely! The Duke of Bouillon parted with Richard and Louis as became Christian brothers-in-arms, and went homeward to rouse his va.s.sals. As for De Valmont, he had need to go to Champagne; but Longsword rode straight for St. Julien. Every peasant he met on the road, when they saw he was a gallant knight, begged him to be their leader to Jerusalem. Almost every breast wore the red cross; women bore it, and little children. "G.o.d wills it! To Jerusalem!" That was the one cry. Yet Richard was sad at times; for he saw that men acted in ignorance, and that their very zeal would destroy them.

As for Sebastian, he had a word of the prophets at all moments in his mouth, and saw in everything a manifest sign that the days foretold in the Apocalypse were at hand, when "the Beast" and all that served him were nigh their end, and the righteous should rule forever.

"Now is fulfilled the word of the Lord!" was his cry. "Fear not, for I am with thee. I will bring thy seed from the East and gather thee from the West; I will say unto the North, 'Give up,' and to the South, 'Keep not back; bring my sons from far and my daughters from the ends of the earth.'"

Only Richard saw that the shrewd cleric was not lacking in worldly wisdom. When they pa.s.sed two shouting monks, who were showing their naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s on which they had branded the Cross, and whom many were declaring to be saints indeed, Sebastian had only the shake of the head.

"They are blind leaders of the blind," was his comment; "they will suffer pains enough before they see the Holy City to forget all their fiery zeal. The kingdom of heaven is not to be won by tortures inflicted for the praise of men."

When they reached St. Julien, there was work for Richard all that winter. The Baron convoked his "_Ost_," the fighting-men of the seigneury, and, standing upon the great stone before the castle, told how for his own sins and the souls of his kinsfolk he had taken the cross--"and who would go with him?" Whereupon, as Sebastian declared, "A new pentecostal fire spread among the St. Julieners;" and so many cried they would make the crusade, that Richard had trouble to make it plain, enough must stay behind to care for the aged, the harvests, and the castle, and that no family be left to charity. Up and down the barony went Sebastian, showing his scars inflicted by paynims, drawing all after him. Even the lord abbot was stricken in conscience, confessed his lax rule, and wished to go to Jerusalem. But Sebastian told him G.o.d were better pleased to have him remain and teach the brethren fasts and vigils. Yet to the fighting-men the priest had but one message, "that now was come the time for the righteous to wash their hands in the blood of the unG.o.dly." And Richard was busy on his part arranging the seigneury, raising money by sale of rights to pig pasture held on certain lands, and more money by allowing a rich Jew, who dwelt in the barony and now wished to go to Spain, to buy his right of departure; for a rich Jew was a very precious possession to a seigneur, who never let him withdraw, with his wealth--for a trifle.

Richard was happier in this work than he had been for many a long day.

The blood of Gilbert de Valmont no longer hung heavy on his soul.

Louis de Valmont was his friend. He could look up into heaven and see there only peace and mercy. But he was sad when his thoughts ran to Mary Kurkuas and the many years that might speed before he could call her his bride; for this was no time to think of home and marriage.

Even a greater sadness came over him, when he thought of Musa. All his faith, all the teachings of Holy Church and her ministers, left him only the a.s.surance that the Spaniard's soul was doomed to the fire unquenchable. This life so short, the after-life so long, and Musa thus doomed! Why did G.o.d create amongst the unbelievers such high manhood, such knightly prowess, and then consign it all to the same torments reserved for the utterly wicked? Yet could he doubt his own religion--he, the ardent champion of the Cross, whose new-found happiness depended on this very belief, that the death of infidels was most pleasing in G.o.d's sight?

At times Sebastian could see that his mind was still clouded, and would say:--

"Dear son, do not hide what makes your face so sad."

"_Ai_, father, I am thinking of Musa, and how I love him, and how terrible is the state of his soul."

"Love him not," Sebastian would cry sternly; "as for his soul, it is given to be buffeted of Satan, at which all good Christians should rejoice."

"But we are bidden to 'love our enemies,' and Musa is no enemy; I count him as my brother."

Then Sebastian would frown more fiercely than ever.

"Yes, love 'our' enemies, not those of Holy Church. Give heed lest to your former sins you add not a greater--that of sinful pity toward the hated of G.o.d!"

CHAPTER XXI

HOW RICHARD RETURNED TO LA HAYE

Long before a.s.sumption Day, the appointed time for setting forth, soon as the balmy spring winds blew, all France was marching. Not the great lords first,--for worldly wisdom was plentiest under gilded helmets,--but the peasants took the road by thousands on thousands.

Day after day the long procession by St. Julien, serpent-like, trailed on,--priests and bandits, petty n.o.bles, old crones on crutches, little children on lumbering wagons; for weapons, often only boar spears and wood axes. "And is this fortress not Jerusalem?" the children would often cry when they saw the castle; and their fathers and mothers hardly knew if they ought to tell them nay. h.o.a.ry sires crept along on their staffs, followed by sons and sons' sons and daughters also. To each stranger they would cry: "Come! G.o.d wills it! Let us die at Jerusalem!" And Richard's heart grew sad, knowing they would indeed die, but far from the Holy City. At first he bade the butler and cellarer open the castle vats, and supply food and drink to all; but those worthies protested that three days of such charity would ruin the fief, and Richard was forced to let the pilgrim hordes roll by, subsisting on what they carried with them. Full soon their means would be at an end; then they must plunder or starve. But Longsword's bounty would have been only a drop in their bucket.

Sometimes, however, there came st.u.r.dy bands that clamored at the castle gate, demanding food.

"Food?" roared old Herbert, one such day; "and have you taken nothing in your wallets?"

"No," quoth a hulking peasant, showing an empty pouch; "the priests say, 'G.o.d who nourishes the sparrows will not let His dear children suffer;' so we have gone forth trusting in His bounty to feed us."

"Begone!" cried Sebastian, from behind the portcullis; for the pilgrims had begun to threaten. "I also am a priest, and say to you, as says the Apostle, 'If any would not work, neither should he eat.'

G.o.d has given you better wits than have sparrows. Sin not by misusing them!"

But too often the rascals fell to plunder, and reluctantly Richard sallied forth; slew some, and hanged others for a warning. Very grave grew Longsword when he heard of the outrages wrought through the bands led by Volkmar the priest and Count Emicio in the Rhine cities, for he knew this was no way to win Heaven's blessing. "Their sins are great,"

commented Sebastian. "G.o.d is pleased to lead them to destruction." And of Peter the Hermit, who headed a like band, as not a few had desired Sebastian himself to do, he only prophesied, "He listens to the praise of men; G.o.d will abase him!" As indeed came true.

So with the peasants. But at last the seigneurs were moving. Richard rode from St. Julien with five-and-twenty petty n.o.bles, thrice as many full-armored men-at-arms, four hundred stout "villains" on foot; and above his head the great banner of his house, St. Julien's white stag blazoned on a red field. The baron's heart was gay when he saw the long line of casques and lances. But beside them trailed a weeping company; old men and women, who went a little way, making a long farewell.

"Ah, sweet lord," the pretty maids would cry, "how long will it be, ere you ride back with Peter and Anselm and Hugo?" and so with fifty more, wailing out the name of husband, brother, or sweetheart. Then Richard would bang Trenchefer in a way to hearten the most timorous, and swear, "In two years you shall see them all again, and I will make every good man-at-arms a knight!" So when the women saw his bold, brave face, they took courage. But there were tears and to spare, when they came to the last wayside cross, and Herbert went down the line, calling gruffly to every man and maid not bound for Jerusalem to drop from the ranks. So the lines were closed, and the long files of helmets and hauberks went over the mountain side. Many an eye went back to the groups of red, blue, and yellow cl.u.s.tered round the cross; and many an eye was wet that had been seldom wet before, as they saw tottering old Bosso, Sebastian's vicar in the parish, hold up the crucifix, and all the bright gowns bend in prayer. But none fell from the ranks, no step lagged.

Richard nodded to Theroulde, whose mule was plodding beside Rollo. The _jongleur_ clapped his viol to his shoulder; the trumpets blew; the kettledrums boomed until the crags echoed; and then once more the shout went down the lines as so many times before: "G.o.d wills it! To Jerusalem!" Whereupon the drums thundered faster, the feet twinkled more nimbly. When they came to the pa.s.s of the mountains, Richard ordered no halt; but he drew rein on Rollo, and let the column swing past. Each man cast one glance over his shoulder; louder the viols, the trumpets, the drums; again the cry: "G.o.d wills it! To Jerusalem!"

Richard saw the backs of the last rank and turned his gaze toward the valley. There it lay--fair as when, nigh a year before, he had seen it from that same hillside, crowned with the bursting summer. He could see the tower of the great keep, the abbey, the village--all. And in that year what had not befallen! His grandfather dead; Raoul de Valmont dead; Gilbert de Valmont dead; ah! pity, his father, mother, brother--all dead; and his sister worse than dead! And yet the sky could be blue, and G.o.d sit calm above it, despite the wickedness of His children! Richard's shield-strap had slipped; in readjusting it he saw his face in the bright steel, clear as a mirror, and he knew lines of pain and grim resolve and deathly battle were marked thereon that would never in this world be smoothed away. Yet he was the same: the same debonair young knight who had laughed when he looked upon this valley, and vowed it should all be one love-bower for Mary Kurkuas.

And now he was the stern Baron of St. Julien, at whose nod five hundred fighting-men trembled; who had blood on his hands, and, merciful saints, more blood on his soul, even if the sin were absolved! Mary, the soft, sweet life in Cefalu, the sunlit dreams of one short year ago, of love, of bright tourneys, of victories won without a pang--where were they now?

As he turned, he saw Sebastian riding his palfrey beside Rollo. "Ah, dear father," said the Norman, half sadly, "this is a pleasant country to leave behind. Is Palestine, even with Jerusalem, more fair than Auvergne? When we have taken the Holy City, we will return, and I will pray the Lord Pope to make St. Julien a bishopric, and you shall be the _sanctissimus_ of the country-side!"

Sebastian smiled at this forced banter.

"Dear son," said he, "this is indeed a fair country, as I said when a year ago we first saw it from this height. But something in my heart says to me: 'Sebastian, G.o.d is hearkening to your prayers. Your journey in this evil world will some day end. After you have seen the Cross victorious on the walls of the earthly Zion, then you shall straightway behold the heavenly.' Therefore I shall never see St.

Julien again."

"These are fancies, father," said the knight, laying his heavy hand affectionately on the priest's tonsured head; "you shall live to a yet riper age. You shall see the Holy City purged of infidels. Then at last it will be no sin to fulfil my dream. Here in St. Julien Mary Kurkuas and I will dwell, and you beside us; and if G.o.d bless us with children, what greater joy for you than to teach them all things, as you have taught me, and make them tenfold better (Christ pity me!) than their father."

"Yes, sweet lad," replied Sebastian, gently, "that would indeed be joy; but the will of Our Lord be done. And now let us be about His business." Whereupon he turned his palfrey. Richard cast one glance over mountain, valley, tower, and farm-land--a vision never to fade; then:--

"Come, Rollo!" he urged, and flew after the column. The music crashed ever faster; the marching men raised a mad war-song; Richard's voice rose above them all. As they sang, they struck the downward slope, and the crags hid St. Julien.

Southward they marched; for the Auvergners went in company with Raymond of Toulouse, by the southern route across Italy, though Richard would have desired the German route with G.o.dfrey. At Orange the Norman met the great Count of Toulouse and St. Gilles,--a tall, haughty man, with flowing silver hair and beard; brusque to strangers, but underneath the sternness a high-minded Christian soul. With him was his handsome and valiant friend, Viscount Gaston of Bearn, a winsome cavalier who became Longsword's close friend. At Orange Richard rejoined the band with Raymond of Agiles, Toulouse's chaplain, and found Louis de Valmont. On that spot was cemented a long-time friendship, to be ended only after they had all seen deeds, knight or cleric had never dreamt before.

But while the host lay at Orange, Richard's heart was elsewhere; presently there came a letter that set him to mount and ride right quickly.

"Mary Kurkuas, to her sweet lord Richard: kisses and greetings more than words may tell.

"DEAR HEART: I have heard all from Musa, and I may not write how my heart is torn for you. The fiends have been many in your soul, have tempted you grievously, and you have fallen. Do you think I shrink from you, that I bless the saints I am not yet your wife and can escape a hateful bond? Sweet life,--love is not made of such feeble stuff! You do well to go to Jerusalem, but will you go without one word, one look? I have somewhat to say to you, which can only pa.s.s when face to face. Come to La Haye. Musa tells me I am still as beautiful as at Palermo, and I hope in your eyes also this will prove true. I think my words, songs, and love will not make you a meaner soldier for Christ. To Him you belong first, but after Him to me. Ride swiftly, for I sit watching to see Rollo coming down the castle road bearing my own true love. So come. Farewell."

Whereupon, when Richard read, all his resolution to go through Provence, turning to neither right hand nor left, sped from him as dust before the south wind. To his surprise Sebastian did not oppose.

"Dear son," said the churchman, "love is of G.o.d. There is a love of man to woman; a love of man to the Most High; happy are they to whom the higher and lesser are at one."