"Miracle? Miracle of mercy?" cried the Count, banging his scabbard.

"These are strange words, my good clerk; we have none such to hope for now!"

"Beware," interposed Adhemar, warningly, for he saw that the chaplain was flushed and excited. "When men's bodies are weak, the devil finds his darts lodge easily. Beware, lest Satan has cast over your eyes a mist, and held out false hopes."

But the chaplain would not be denied.

"n.o.ble lords," quoth he, boldly, "here is a man who declares to me, 'St. Andrew has appeared in a dream, saying, "You shall find the Holy Lance that pierced our dear Lord's side, and by this talisman overcome the unbelievers!"' Will you not hear his tale?"

"And who is this fellow?" urged Adhemar.

"Who, save the unlettered and humble priest, Peter Barthelmy, whom your Episcopal Grace knows well."

Adhemar shook his head hopelessly. "There can be no help in Peter Barthelmy. There are in the host ten thousand saintlier than he, and wiser, and no vision has come to them."

"Yes, my Lord Bishop," cried the chaplain, eagerly; "but is it not written, 'Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and revealed them unto babes?' Cannot G.o.d, who made the dumb a.s.s speak, and who appeared unto the child Samuel and not to the wise Eli, make His instrument the untaught clerk Peter of Ma.r.s.eilles?"

There was an honest ring in the chaplain's words and a pious faith behind them, that made Bishop Adhemar grow humble and cross himself.

"_Mea culpa, Domine_," he muttered, "grant that my pride in my own high estate and wisdom should be rebuked by making this unlearned priest indeed Thy instrument of deliverance." Then aloud, "Admit this man; let us question him, and see if he be of G.o.d or Satan." So Count Raymond waited, and his chaplain went forth and led in the priest Peter Barthelmy.

A rough-featured, heavy-handed peasant's son was this Peter. He had gone into holy orders, he scarce knew why; his highest hope had been a little village "cure," where he could tell saints' stories to the girls, and baptize the new-born babes, and enjoy a pot of wine on feast-days, and grow old in peace. But men said that he loved to pray, was very humble, also was fond of having long and circ.u.mstantial dreams. When he found himself before the great Count of the South, and Adhemar "the Father of the Army," his speech came thickly, and his knees smote together under his ca.s.sock. But Adhemar, whose heart was compa.s.sion to all save infidels, told him not to fear, if he had a clean conscience, but to tell them boldly; for they would not despise him, even if poor, untaught, and a villain's son. So Peter found his tongue, and his tale ran after this wise:--

During the siege of Antioch, one midnight there had been a great earthquake, and as Peter called to Heaven in his fear, lo, two men in bright garments stood before him in his hut,--one young and more beautiful than any born on earth, the other old, with hairs all gray and white, his beard long and divided, his eyes black, his countenance very terrible, and he bore a transverse cross. Then the elder man had said, "What do you?" And Peter, trembling, answered, "And who are you, good lord?" Then the other replied: "Arise, and fear not. I am Andrew, the Apostle. Gather the Bishop of Puy, and the Count of St. Gilles and Toulouse, and say, 'Why does the Bishop neglect to preach and to warn and to bless the people?'" Then St. Andrew told Peter he would show him the lance with which the pagan centurion, Longinus, pierced the side of Christ, and this lance he must give to Count Raymond, for such was the will of G.o.d. So St. Andrew led Peter through the Saracens into Antioch to the Church of St. Peter by the north gate, and opened the ground before the steps of the altar and showed him the lance. And Peter held in his hand the precious metal, with the water and blood still rusted upon it. St. Andrew commanded him to go to the church with twelve men, after the city was taken, and dig, and he should find it. Then the saint replaced the lance, led Peter back to his own hut, and disappeared.

"But why did you conceal this so long?" asked Adhemar; "why did you disobey the Holy Saint?"

"Ah, my Lord Bishop," was the answer, "your Grace sees I am a poor, stammering wretch. Not once, but four times, has the Holy Saint appeared to me, warning and threatening, because I feared to make bold and come before the princes and your Grace with my commission." Then Peter told how he had tried to escape the commands of the saint, and how the saint had pursued him, until his fear of punishment from heaven was greater than his fear of the scoffs of man, and thus he had come to the Count and Adhemar.

When the priest was finished, the Bishop and Count sent him away, and sat for a long time deep in thought; for whether he spoke out of malice, or fancy, or inspiration from above, who might say? The chaplain, Raymond of Agiles, waited without the tent, and received the decision of Adhemar.

"Let him abide until to-morrow. During the night let us pray again earnestly, and see if the night and the morning bring any sign that the wrath of G.o.d is turned away."

So the night came, and a thrill went through all the starving city, when it was rumored that the Bishop would go to the Church of St.

Peter to offer solemn pet.i.tion for a sign from G.o.d, whether He would vouchsafe a miracle. And as a hundred thousand despairing eyes watched the heavens, about midnight there came a sortie of the Turks from the citadel, and there was fighting in the streets. But, lo! just when the strife was fiercest, and the Christians almost gave way, there was a rushing noise in the upper heavens; Crusaders and Moslem saw a great star of glowing fire rush downward, so that the city and the camps of Kerbogha were lit bright as day. Then the star burst in three pieces over the paynim camp, as if G.o.d were raining down fire upon the unbeliever, as upon old Sodom; and for the first time in many weary days the Christians dared to raise their heads, and cry: "G.o.d wills it! He will still have mercy!"

The night pa.s.sed; and in the morning there came the priest Stephen, who went before the princes as they sat in council beneath the castle.

And he in turn told a story that made men cross themselves and mutter their _Glorias_. For according to Stephen's tale, he had gone to the Church of the Holy Virgin, believing the Turks were broken in, and wishing to die in G.o.d's house. But when the foe did not come, and all his companions slept, a young man with a blond beard, the most beautiful form he had ever seen, appeared to him, and a bright cross shone above the head, token that this was Our Lord. Then while Stephen adored, Christ said to him, "I am the G.o.d of Battles; tell me the name of the chief of the army." And Stephen replied, "Lord, there is no one chief; but Adhemar is most revered." Whereupon Our Lord answered: "Tell Bishop Adhemar to bid the people return unto me, and I will return unto them. Let the cavaliers invoke my name when they ride into battle. And after five days, if my commands are obeyed, I will have pity on my people." Then at Christ's side appeared a lady, more beautiful than day, who said, "Lord, it is for these folk in Antioch I have made intercession for Thy favor." So Our Lord and His Blessed Mother vanished, and Stephen could hardly wait for the day to tell his story to the army.

Now when the stories of Stephen and Peter Barthelmy had run through the host, it was a marvel surpa.s.sing to see how the skies were brightened; and if a man doubted, he stifled his doubts within his breast, as being little less than blasphemy. Richard Longsword in days to come was accustomed to wonder what it was that Sebastian had said to the two priests, when they talked so earnestly together. But he spoke to no man, only gave thanks in silence.

"Let us cast all sin from our hearts," admonished Adhemar in the council; "for it is manifest G.o.d will not keep His anger forever."

Then all the princes took a great oath to remain faithful to the Holy War; and when the Arabs cried to the sentries on the walls: "Out, Franks, out! Show us the Christian valor!" the reply came boldly now: "Patience, Sons of Perdition! The devil double-heats his fires against your coming!"

So the appointed five days sped, and though many yet died, the very famine seemed easier to bear. Every gaunt Frank whetted his sword, and if prayer and vigil avail aught, or one cry to G.o.d from thousands on thousands, it should have availed them. No more blasphemy and scoffings now; only one desire: "The lance! the lance! Then rush against the infidel!"

"Sebastian," said Richard, "do you know, if the lance is not found, the whole host will curse G.o.d; perhaps turn infidel for a loaf of bread?"

"I know it," came the solemn answer; "but it is sin to doubt."

"Yes, but I am weak in faith. How great is the power of Kerbogha!"

Sebastian's answer was an uplifted hand.

"Would G.o.d I could do as did Elisha to his servant, and open your eyes; for now, as then, the host of the unG.o.dly lie round the city, but behold the mountains are full of horses and chariots of fire to deliver the Lord's elect!"

CHAPTER XL

HOW THE HOLY LANCE WAS FOUND

In the morning the Crusading Chiefs prepared to dig for the Holy Lance. Richard was touched when he left his men, to see how, despite their murmurings, the honest fellows tried to put on a brave face.

"Ha, Herbert!" cried De Carnac, "the rats we feasted on last night were better than a St. Julien boar." And the man-at-arms forced the counter-jest, "After so much rat-flesh I shall lose all taste for venison." "Three of our rats," snickered Theroulde, "are better than giant Renoart's dinners--five pasties and five capons all for himself."

But this was strained merriment. Richard at the council found he was appointed to go with Count Raymond, Raymond of Agiles, the Bishop of Orange, Pons de Balazan, Ferrard de Thouars, Sebastian, and five more, to dig for the lance. Bishop Adhemar, good soul, lay ill, but his prayers were with them. The twelve took Peter Barthelmy and went to the Church of the Blessed Peter, a gray stone building, domed after the Eastern manner. When they came to the threshold they knelt and said three _Paternosters_ and a _Credo_; then the Bishop of Orange blessed their spades and crowbars, sprinkling each implement with holy water. All about the church in the narrow streets stood the people, far as the eye could see--gaunt skeletons, the bronzed skin drawn tight over the bones, the eyes glittering with the fire of dumb agony.

When the company entered the church, there went through the mult.i.tude a half-audible sigh, as all breathed one prayer together; and many started to follow the twelve, though none cried out or spoke a word.

But Count Raymond motioned them back. Then all who were in the church--and like all the churches during the siege, it was crowded with men and women--were bidden to rise from their knees and go away.

Slowly the church was emptied. Then when the last worshipper was gone, the twelve put-to the gates; and all, saving the Count and the Bishop, took a spade or crowbar. Peter Barthelmy led them up to the stairs leading to the high altar, at its south side. Here the priest turned, and pointing to the pavement said, in awestruck whisper, "Here! at this spot the holy saint took the lance from the ground, and laid it back again, in my dream."

"Amen! and amen!" repeated the Bishop. Then all the rest knelt a second time, while he blessed them, making over each the sign of the cross. When they arose, they remained standing until he gave the word.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen!"

The pickaxe in the hands of Raymond of Agiles smote first on the pavement. There was a crash, as the mosaic pattern shattered. Then the others bent to their toil. The costly gla.s.s and stone work flew out to every side, then the gray cement, then the chill, dark earth, and with all the speed and strength that was theirs the twelve slowly pushed downward.

It was a strange scene. The windows of the church were very small.

Over the altar, with its painted and gem-crusted ikons of the saint, twinkled a pair of candles; above the heads of the thirteen, far up against the dark dome, shone a pair of silver lamps, flickering, with a ruddy glare. The shadows hung upon the cold pillars of the old basilica. They saw faint images of painted martyrs and angels peering down from the frieze and vaulting. Every stroke of their tools rang loud, and awakened echoes that died away behind the maze of far-off arches.

Digging and still digging, the earth flew fast under their eager hands. The Count forgot his proud t.i.tle and broad baronies, caught a spade, and toiled as became a villain bred to the soil. All the time they labored the Bishop chanted psalm after psalm, and the sound of his voice was a double spur to the work, if spur were needed. But after they had labored a great while, and the trench was growing broad and deep, every man began to have a half-confessed sinking of heart.

They laid down their tools, searched the great pile of earth that was rising in the aisle; found in it only pebbles and a few bits of broken pottery, but no wonder-working lance!

Yet Peter Barthelmy encouraged them.

"Dear lords and brothers," said he, undauntedly, "do not grieve.

Believe me, the Blessed Andrew went far deeper into the earth than have we. You have not dug down yet to the sacred relic."

So, though their arms were growing weary, they fell again to the toil, and the Bishop chanted louder than ever:--

"'In my distress I cried unto the Lord, and He heard me.'"

More and more feverish grew the toil. Richard drove his own spade down, as if very life depended on each stroke, and who might deny it?

"By St. Michael!" was his oath, "we will find the lance, though we dig to Satan and his imps to pluck it up!"

So for a still longer time they wrought, until their hands were sore, arms and backs lame, and still only dark earth and sandy pebbles. When at last they paused for breath, each one looked in his fellow's face, and saw reflected there his own waning hope. But still Peter urged:--