and he also charged out with his shrill native war-cry, "_Malo!

Malo!_" In a twinkling the hordes rolled round him; Richard and the St. Julieners saved him. But now Robert, the Norman, spurred up to Longsword. The Duke's casque was beaten and gory, his long white pennon red-dyed, his horse wounded.

"De St. Julien, we are lost unless G.o.dfrey and the rest rescue. The first messengers are surely slain. Are your troop still left, and your horses unwounded?" The noise of the Turks made his voice nigh inaudible, but Richard bowed his head.

"Then for the love of Our Saviour, ride, and bring succor. On you hang all our lives!"

"Men of St. Julien," cried Richard, "will you follow me?"

"Through ten thousand devils!" roared back De Carnac and the rest.

Richard clapped spurs to Rollo.

"Christ guard us!" was his cry; but his glance was toward the encampment. He led the Auvergners to the left of the battle, where the Seljouk horde seemed thinnest.

And what followed was ever to Richard Longsword as one long wild dream whereof the memory lingered; the reality was blotted out. He knew that he charged his men against the horde, and, as ever, the Turks gave way before them--more victims to be swallowed in their quick-sands. But these Franks, having made their charge, did not turn back. The arrow fire smote them; yet on and on they spurred, still chasing back the foe. And then, when the tribesmen saw that these mad Franks would not wheel back to the encampment, from the fatal line around the Turks closed in, shield to shield, lance to lance. Richard never knew what saint gave strength to his arm that day, and made Trenchefer terrible to the unbelievers. Only after a long delirium of hewing and riding, he saw the open country before. A look backward--behold, he was upon a hill. The Turkish lines stretched away to his left; he had cleared their flank, and the battle raged in its mad carnival behind him. He looked for his men--how few! They had ridden from camp a hundred; scarce fifty were at his back. But the deed was done. They had cleared the Seljouks, and now to Duke G.o.dfrey!

"Lord, I am a very sinful man," prayed Richard, as they pushed their wounded steeds down the hill southward; "unworthy of this mercy.

Surely it was through the prayers of a dear saint whose peril is still great."

"Ride, men, ride!" he commanded, and gave head to Rollo, whose tough hide had turned more than one barb. The great black horse tossed out his hoofs and was away. No other St. Julien steed could pace him. He left the band behind, and Richard flew toward the long line of tents he saw nestling under a distant hill. The mighty steed ran like a beast of steel, unwearying, unslacking; hillocks he raced over, gullies he cleared with unfailing leap. The wind whistled in Longsword's hair--his helmet had gone, the saints knew whither; he felt the horse speeding too fast for thought. A few roving stragglers from the Seljouk host p.r.i.c.ked after him, two or three arrows twittered overhead. Rollo dropped them all, their small steeds blown and weary, while on the Northern monster ran.

And now he drew near the camp. Men were shouting to him, a great crowd of varlets staring. Rollo ran down the streets of tents, a thousand eyes upon the thundering black horse and his blood-stained rider.

"The Duke! the Duke!" Richard was shouting, as he drew rein before the wide, silken pavilion. A score of knights and squires swarmed around. A strong hand was needed to stay Rollo. Richard sprang breathless to the ground, and stood face to face with G.o.dfrey, just emerging from the tent. "Lord de St. Julien," cried Bouillon, "alone?

Covered with blood?" But Richard cut him short.

"Rescue, rescue, as you love Christ! Our host is surrounded, and nigh perishing; Robert of Paris and Prince William are slain. The Seljouk arrows are hail. Rescue, or all is lost."

"By Our Lady of Antwerp!" thundered G.o.dfrey, all action, "blow horns, sound trumpets! Horses; arm; mount!"

No need of more! The word flew through the encampment swifter than light. Now the Duke's war-horns sounded, now Count Hugh's, now Count Raymond's. But G.o.dfrey was foremost. Scarce had Richard quaffed a helmet of water, before the Duke stood before him in his silvered hauberk, and the fifty picked knights of his bodyguard were in saddle.

"Give me a horse!" cried Richard. "A horse, my lord duke! for mine has ridden hard, and is wounded."

"By the splendor of G.o.d," cried G.o.dfrey, "you will have your fill of fighting! Bring the best spare _destrer_ and a new helm!"

So Richard was again on horseback; and if he was wounded and weary, he did not know it till later on that fateful day. Rollo he left in safe hands, and followed the Duke.

"To the east, my lord. Their flank is unguarded," he urged. "You may have them all."

And G.o.dfrey rode madly ahead with his bodyguard. After him streamed the Christian heavy cavalry, they too thousands upon thousands--the finest squadrons ever arrayed in sinful war. Then again for Richard the mad delight of the ride! But this time with countless comrades about him; and as the host swept up over the eastern hills, the sun hung in mid-heaven, and made the arms and shields one tossing sea of light. Before and below lay the Seljouk horde and the thin lines of the Christians--very close now; for Kilidge Arslan was pressing in to pluck his prey. But at the sight one mighty cry rolled from fifty thousand throats, "G.o.d wills it!" For G.o.d had delivered the infidels into Duke G.o.dfrey's hands.

CHAPTER XXVI

HOW RICHARD WAS AGAIN CHASTENED

Forward the great host swept. And if the sight of the onrushing Turks had borne terror to the Christians that morning, what terror must have sped among the hordesmen that noon. For the whole army of Kilidge Arslan was caught in a fatal triangle,--the hills where no cavalry might wheel, the lines of Bohemond and Tancred, and the squadrons of G.o.dfrey. "G.o.d wills it!" again the cry; and every knight in the onrushing squadrons was holding his lance steady--no sitting in rank now and feeling the beat, beat of the arrows. The Seljouks might not scatter, if they would.

A howl of mortal fear was rising from the unbelievers. The tale later spread that they saw two Christian knights in armor fiery-bright, who rode before the advancing squadrons, whose mail was unpierced by the stoutest lance-thrust, who slew with lightnings flashed from their flaming swords. The cry grew louder and louder. The Christians knew the Turks were calling on Allah and their Prophet to save them,--vain hope! for all the host of Michael and his angels were fighting for the Cross that day.

As he swept on, Richard saw the hordesmen dash their thousands upon Bohemond's thin line,--no arrows now, but striving to crush by mere weight of numbers. He saw the wearied Normans and Bretons spur out to the charge. And then indeed there was fair battle,--the Christian host nigh swallowed in the infidel myriads; but still over all tossed Tancred's white silk banner blazoned with its blood-red cross; and above the howl of the Seljouks rang the cry which the unbelievers that day so learned to dread:--

"G.o.d wills it!"

At this moment G.o.dfrey and Raymond, with their fifty thousand mailed cavalry, struck the Turkish hordes, and swept them toward the hills like dust that scurries before the west wind. "G.o.d wills it!" The Seljouks were riding for life, the Christian knights trampling them down with their huge _destrers_; and sword and battle-axe reaping their b.l.o.o.d.y harvest. "G.o.d wills it!" Richard heard the horns of the Sultan's picked guard sounding the retreat; and the last resistance melted away as the Seljouks fled to a man toward the hills.

As G.o.dfrey and his thousands came on, Bohemond, Tancred, and Robert of Normandy charged forth with their wearied knights--not wearied now--catching the hordesmen on flank and rear, trampling, slaying, pursuing. And when the rescued cavaliers saw Longsword flying at Bouillon's side, another great shout went down the line, "Richard Longsword! Richard de St. Julien!" Then the Norman held his head very proudly, for he thought, "What joy will this be to Mary!"

"On! on!" urged Duke G.o.dfrey, never drawing rein, while the rout and chase swept forward. "To the hills after them! Let none escape! G.o.d and Our Lady are with us!"

"_Dex aie_," thundered the rescued Normans, and the whole host flew faster. Swift were the Seljouk horses; but the shivered hordes, crowding together in the narrow valley, were mown as gra.s.s before the Christian onset. Up among the rocks the pursuit was driven; steeds fell, their riders trampled down instantly. The Seljouks gained the crags where lay their camp, dismounted, stood at bay. But the Franks had dismounted also, and spread around the hills a forest of lances.

On the front attacked Raymond; on the flanks Robert of Flanders, Duke Robert, G.o.dfrey, Hugh, and Tancred; while brave Bishop Adhemar led the attack from the rear. Then came the final stand. The Turks fought as beasts at bay. But the Christians were raging lions; they stormed the camp, broke the spear wall, scattered the bodyguard of Kilidge Arslan himself. The Seljouks, like frighted partridges, scampered over rocks and craggy peaks, where their heavy-armed foe might not follow. So some escaped, but a score of thousands then and there perished; for quarter none asked or gave. Foremost in the press had been Richard. He long since had cast away his shattered shield; but the hauberk of Valencia was bulwark against a dozen deaths. Every time his good arm brought low an infidel he was glad; was he not performing to G.o.d a holy service? When the Seljouks broke once more after the storming of the camp, Longsword regained his horse to chase down those who hazarded flight in the plain country. The sun was hanging low in the heavens now. Old knights were praying Charlemagne's prayer at Roncesvalles--that the day might lengthen while they hunted the Moslem.

Richard rode with Gaston of Bearn, who had been not the least valiant of the many brave that day; and as he rode, again and again he came across fugitives, not in the fantastic colors of the Seljouk, but in a dress all white with red girdles and sandals. Often as they came on such, the pursued would turn and charge Gaston's whole troop with a mad fury that Frankish valor could scarce master. Presently, just as the shadows began to spread on the hills, Longsword saw before him a band of hors.e.m.e.n, clothed in white, in their midst the figure of a mighty warrior in gilded mail, upon a tall bay charger, and across that rider's saddle it seemed a prisoner in pale dress with fluttering red ribbons,--to Richard's mind, a woman. "After! After! A prisoner!"

cried Gaston, putting his horse at a last burst of speed,--a good steed, but he had been ridden hard; and the fugitives still drew ahead. Richard clapped spurs to his mount; the beast, one of the best of Duke G.o.dfrey, shot past Gaston, and the distance betwixt Richard and the strange rider lessened.

Richard could see now that the captive was indeed a woman, that she was struggling in the arms of her captor. Once he thought he caught her cry, despite the yells of the flying Moslems, who were invoking all the jinns to give them speed. He rode past the rearmost fugitive, who turned for fight, saw before him a brown-faced Arab, saw the cimeter dancing in his face; felt the steel edge glance on his helmet--a great rush of blood nigh blinding; a stroke of Trenchefer cleaving something--the Arab was gone. Richard dashed away the blood with his fist, pressed the spurs harder. The prisoner leaned out and shook forth her ribbons--Mother of Mercies! how like the ribbons of Mary! And had he never seen that splendid rider before? Again he spurred, and slapped his steed with the flat of his sword. Faster and faster; the blood once more blinded; once he brushed it away; long since his lance had been shattered in pieces, but Trenchefer was brazed to his arm. A last burst of speed; he could see the Arab warrior struggling with his arms about the captive; one instant more and he would breast the strange champion. But even as he pressed the spur, the good horse stumbled, plunged, was down, and Richard dashed upon the ground. An instant only. He was bruised; but he staggered to his feet, Trenchefer still in hand. "_Allah akhbar!_" rang the shout of the Arab, a voice he knew full well, yet had heard--where?

Longsword dragged the kicking _destrer_ from the ground. The good horse stood, made a step--he was lamed; walking were pain. And as Richard looked, his quarry sped over a hillock, was gone; while he stood staring after, scarce knowing that from head to heels he was bruised, and that the warm blood was streaming over his face. Only the darkening landscape seemed circling round and round, and his ears were ringing, yet not with the shout of receding battle. Gaston of Bearn had ridden up with his men. "Holy St. Barbara," the viscount was crying, "you are sorely hurt, fair friend. Your horse is lamed. Ho!

Peter, dismount and put my Lord de St. Julien in your saddle. We must ride for the camp. Already it is darkening."

"No!" exhorted Richard, "continue the chase. Do not let those Arab fiends escape. They have a Christian prisoner, a lady, I swear by the four Gospels!"

"A lady!" exclaimed Gaston. "No prisoner! doubtless she is one of their tent women, whom the riders are trying to save. How could any Christian maid fall into their hands? Fighting we have had to a fill to-day, and none more than you, fair knight."

They put Richard upon the man-at-arms's horse. He was so weak now that Gaston rode at one side, and a squire at the other, to guard against a fall. As they rode back toward the encampment the stars were peeping out, and the moon had begun to climb above the hills. There was a thin gray haze spreading from the shallow river and marsh. Men talked in whispers, save as here and there they pa.s.sed one lying wounded and moaning. All over the plain torches were moving about, priests and women seeking the Christian wounded, giving water to the dying, and with them camp varlets,--rabbits during the battle, but brave enough now,--plundering the fallen Turks, and slaying those who still breathed. Richard saw the great spoil of the Seljouk camp borne off in triumph: gold-threaded carpets, coin, horses,--many camels, that the marvelling victors, who had never seen such ill-shaped bulks before, thought the devil himself must have begotten.

Closer to the Christian camp the Frankish dead lay thickly on the ground. Raymond of Agiles was making the sign of the cross above each.

"Blessed are these!" cried he; "already St. Michael leads them before Our Father; they have white robes and palms, and raise the anthem everlasting."

They rode on, and to them joined the Count of Chartres, shouting: "Praised be all angels, De St. Julien! You saved us all; the infidels were in the very camp!"

"The camp!" cried Richard, starting from his seat.

"a.s.suredly; Stephen of Blois and Bohemond strove to drive them out; there is a rumor certain women were carried captive. A scared horse-boy's tale, I trust! Holy Mother! You are wounded, my Baron! You nigh fall from the saddle!"

And Gaston of Bearn and Chartres caught Longsword, as he reeled.

"Unhand me, sirs!" shouted Richard, thrusting them both back roughly; "I am unhurt. I must go to the camp!"

And he spurred away headlong, his bruise nowhere, one horrible thought mastering all.

Yet as he reached the camp, now very dim in the twilight, a deadly sense of weakness and weariness was stealing over him. Food? Save for a mouthful of bread while he buckled on his armor, he had tasted none that direful day. Water? He had not touched a drop since leaving Duke G.o.dfrey's camp. Wounds? He was bleeding in a dozen places. He felt the firm earth spinning. Would there never be end to the frightful pound, pound of the horse under him? His sight was dimming, ears rang; but, summoning all his will, he controlled himself.

"Dear Christ," was his prayer, "do not let me faint until, until"--but he could go no farther. When, however, he pa.s.sed more knights and men-at-arms bringing in the spoil, laughing and boasting over their valiant deeds, his breast grew lighter. When the infidels had been so utterly broken, what was there to fear? The rush of faintness pa.s.sed, he again sat steady in the saddle. And as many as recognized him in the dusk raised the cry that swelled as the rest caught it: "Ho! De St. Julien! Hail! De St. Julien! Our Lady bless you, fair lord, you have saved us all this day!" But the shout that had been music in his ears two hours earlier he scarce heard. Prince Tancred pa.s.sed him, called on him to stay; he spurred on, though the poor soldier's horse under him nigh dropped of weariness.

In the camp at last. The fires were being rekindled; around each little groups, over the loot of the Turkish camps. The wounded were groaning on the dry turf, men were bringing in the dead, and here and there women wailing. Richard knew the way to his own encampment, as if by instinct. And as he rode his blood chilled yet more when he saw here and there tents down, their walls torn, pegs wrenched, poles shattered, and contents scattered around. Then it was true the Seljouks had stormed the camp! Before him he saw the little group of pavilions over which the St. Julien banner had waved that morning--the banner was gone! His horse stumbled over a body. He dismounted. The moon was rising; in the pale light he saw the face of one of his own grooms--set in death. Men were standing before the tents, some tugging at the cords as if to retighten them, some kindling a fire, some in groups, talking in low, scared whispers. In the dimness they did not see Richard, as he came up on foot.