CHAPTER XXVII. THE FRIENDS WHO ONCE WERE FOES.
The remainder of the journey of Edward of Aescendune to the camp ofthe Crusaders before Jerusalem was uneventful. With such an escortas the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre and his well-known band, therewas little occasion to dread the onslaught of any of those troopsof Turks or Saracens, who hung on the skirts of the Crusadinghosts, to cut off the stragglers.
They skirted the western shore of the Sea of Galilee, crossed theJordan at the fords below, and travelled southwards along itseastern bank.
The reason of this detour was twofold.
First, it was the route taken by the Saviour of mankind, on Hislast journey to the guilty city which crucified Him; and the Knightof the Holy Sepulchre felt a spiritual satisfaction in tracing thesteps of the Redeemer.
Secondly, the direct route had been taken by the host, and, likelocusts, they had devoured all the provisions on the way, andscared from their track every edible beast.
From time to time the elder knight pointed out some venerable ruinwhich tradition--ever active, if not always truthful--identified asa resting place of the Divine Wayfarer; but there was little doubtthat they crossed the Jordan at the same fords which had been inuse in those far-off days, shortly before they entered and passedthrough the city of ruins, which had once been Jericho.
Then followed the ascent of the rocky way, familiar to the readersof the parable of the "Good Samaritan;" and let me remind myyounger friends that even in the days when there were few readersand fewer books, all the leading episodes of our Lord's life,including His miracles and parables, were oft-told tales{xxviii}.
It was a day of feverish excitement when they drew near Bethany andthe Mount of Olives. All the followers of the young English knight,who had never been in Palestine before, looked forward to themoment when the Holy City would first meet their gaze with anintense expectation which even rendered them silent; only as theypressed onward they sometimes broke out into the Crusadinghymn--familiar to them as some popular song to modern soldiers.
And this was the song:
"Coelestis urbs, HierusalemBeata pacis visio,"
It was hardly to be a vision of peace to them.
At length they stood on the slope of the same hill where theRedeemer had wept over the guilty city; and--will my readersbelieve me?--many of these men of strife--familiar with war andbloodshed--did not restrain their tears of joy, as they forgottheir toils past, and dangers yet to come, ere they could enter theholy walls.
This had been their longing expectation--this the goal of theirwearisome journey; they had oft doubted whether their eyes wouldever behold it--and now--It lay in all its wondrous beauty--beautifuleven then--before them; but, the banners of the false prophet floatedupon the Hill of Zion.
Across the valley of the Kedron rose the Mosque of Omar, on thesite of the Temple of Solomon; farther to the left lay the fatalValley of Hinnom, once defiled by the fires of Moloch; but onneither of these sides lay the object of the greatest presentinterest--the Christian Host.
Their attack was directed against the northern and western sides ofthe city, where the approach was far more easy.
"There is the standard of Godfrey de Bouillon, on the first swellof Mount Calvary," said the elder knight; "there on the left, wherethe Jewish rabble erst stoned St. Stephen, Tancred and Robert ofNormandy conduct the attack; there, between the citadel and thefoot of Mount Zion, floats the banner of Raymond of Toulouse."
"And there, amidst the banners which surround the ducal lion ofNormandy, I see our own," cried young Edward. "Oh! let us chargethrough that rabble and join them."
"Thine is a spirit I love to see; come, it shall be done--St.George for merry England--Holy Sepulchre--en avant;" and the wholegalloped madly down the descent, first bringing the news of theirown arrival to a mixed crew of Saracens and Turks--an irregularcorps of observation which had got in their way.
They cleft their way to the very centre, as a wedge driven by apowerful mallet cleaves its way to the heart of the tree. Thefollowers of Mohammed scattered in all directions, and then, likewasps, clustered around in hope to sting.
Their fleet horses enabled them to keep near the Christian cavalry,and to annoy them by countless flights of arrows, darts, andspears, while, as usual, they avoided close contest, as a hunterwould avoid the hug of the bear. When they could not do so, it waswondrous to see how limbs flew about, and bodies were cleft to thevery chine before the ponderous battle-axes of Western Christendom.
Still, it was with lessened numbers that our heroes fought theirway through, and had it not been that a body of Crusading cavalry,attracted by the tumult, came prancing down the hill to theirrescue, in all the pomp and panoply of mediaeval warfare, theymight have fared worse.
There was a smart engagement when the succours arrived, ending inthe complete disappearance of all the Saracens and Turks from thescene, while the victors rode together to the camp, exchangingnews, as if such a small affair was not worth talking about.
When they reached the camp, Edward of Aescendune exerted his powersof persuasion in vain to induce the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre toaccompany him to his father's tent, there to receive the paternalthanks.
"When the city is taken, and the Holy Sepulchre free, and the army(bareheaded and barefooted) accomplishes its vow on Calvary--then,but not before--we shall meet--Etienne de Malville and--" hepaused, then continued, "and I shall meet once more."
"Once more? have you ever met before?"
"We have, but long ago--let it pass, my son. God's blessing restupon thee and protect thee on the morrow, when thou wilt, I fear,have scant care for thyself."
"It is for Jerusalem or Paradise. I shall rest in one or the otherby tomorrow night at this time. I leave which to God."
"Good youth; the saints keep thee, dear boy, for thy fond mother'ssake."
At that word mother, a tear stood in the warlike stripling's eye.An embrace fonder than seemed usual with the stern knight of manydeeds, and they parted.
If our tale had not protracted itself to such an extravagant lengthalready, it would delight us to tell of the feats of valourperformed respectively, by the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, byEtienne de Malville, and by Edward his son; but it must suffice tonarrate in as few words as may be, the oft-told history of thateventful day.
On the fortieth day of the siege the city was carried by assault,and on Friday, at three in the afternoon, the day and even the hourof the death of the Son of God, Godfrey de Bouillon planted hisstandard on the walls, the first of the noble army of Crusaders.
Thus, four hundred and sixty years after the conquest of ChristianJerusalem by the Mahometan, Caliph Omar, it was delivered from theyoke of the false prophet.
Seventy thousand Moslems were slain by the sword; for three wholedays the massacre continued, until each worshipper of Mahomet hadbeen sought out amidst the hiding places of the city--full ofsecret nooks and corners--and put to death.
And now, after this bloody sacrifice--the fruit of mistakenzeal--the Christians proceeded to accomplish their vow, with everymark of penitence. With bare heads and bleeding feet they mountedthe Via Dolorosa (the sorrowful way) and wept where the greatsacrifice had been offered for their sins. They literally bedewedthe sacred soil with their tears.
So strange a union of fierceness and piety may well astonish us,but our office is to relate the facts.
It was over, this strange but touching act of devotion, and thesacred hill was partially deserted. Here and there a group ofweeping penitents lingered, and on the spot where traditionasserted the cross to have been raised, many were seen yet waitingtheir turn to salute the ground reverently with their lips.
Two knightly warriors, a father and a son, who had just performedthis act of devotion, arose together, and as they gained theirfeet, observed their immediate predecessor in the pious act,awaiting them, as if he wished to accost them.
They were all, as we have seen, bareheaded, neither did they wearany armour or weapons--all res
istance had ceased, and with it allwarfare, before the ceremony of the day had begun.
"Father," said young Edward, "it is my deliverer."
The Knight of the Holy Sepulchre beckoned them to follow, andtogether they gained the outskirts of the crowd.
Etienne de Malville has greatly changed since we last beheld him.In the place of the sprightly, impetuous youth, our readers mustimagine a warrior, past the middle age; one whose scanty hair wasalready deeply tinged with gray. Thirty years had left manywrinkles on his brow; but where impatience and fiery temper hadonce sat visible to all, age and experience had substitutedself-control and wisdom.
"I have to thank thee, my valiant brother in arms, for the life ofmy son. To whom do I render my thanks? Well do I know thy fame asthe Knight of the Holy Sepulchre; but our vow accomplished, we maylay aside our incognitos and assume our names once more."
"We may indeed, and I will utter the name of one--long sincenumbered with the dead in the records of men, and re-assume it uponthis sacred mount."
Etienne gazed intently upon the open face, but no look ofrecognition followed.
"I crave thy pardon, if I ought to recognise thee, yet truthcompels me to say I do not."
"Nor can I wonder; didst thou recognise me, thou wouldst think me aghost permitted to revisit the land of the living--one whom thoudidst actually behold wrapped in the cere cloth of the tomb!--whosefuneral thou didst witness with thine own eyes! Yet he lives, andfeels sure that thou wilt not revoke, upon this holy hill, thatpardon from the living, thou didst bestow upon the seeming dead."
Etienne trembled.
"Art thou then? nay, it cannot be!"
"Etienne de Malville, I am Wilfred of Aescendune."
For a moment Etienne turned pale, and gazed as if to make sure hedid not behold a ghost or a vampire--gazed like one startled out ofhis self possession, and the first emotion which succeeded wassheer incredulity; there was small trace of the once fair-hairedEnglish boy in the sunburnt, storm-beaten warrior of fifty toassist his memory.
"Nay, my brother, it cannot be; thou art jesting;--not, at least,the Wilfred of Aescendune I once knew, and by whom I fear I dealtsomewhat hardly; he died, and was buried at Oxenford thirty yearsagone. I saw his dead body; I beheld his burial; I have joined inmasses for his soul; I have prayed for his repose; nay, it cannotbe!"
But when in few words, but words to the purpose, Wilfred explainedthe device of Geoffrey of Coutances--when he reminded Etienne offacts, which none but he could have known--conviction gradually,but firmly, seized the mind of his ancient enemy.
"I believe that thou art he," said the latter, with tremblingvoice; "believe, though I cannot yet realise the fact, and I thankGod."
He extended his hand gravely, and Wilfred grasped it with equalsolemnity.
"Thou art, then, my uncle Wilfred I have so long been taught tothink dead, for whom I have prayed many a time, for whom countlessmasses have been offered at St. Wilfred's shrine," said youngEdward.
"Thou hast not, then, been taught to hate me?"
"No, indeed," said the boy; "why should I?"
"He knows nought of the quarrel between us, save what it is fittingthat Edith's child should know," said Etienne. "It is well thatupon this holiest spot on earth, whence the Prince of Life utteredthe words which have floated through the ages--'Father, forgivethem, for they know not what they do'--that Etienne de Malville andWilfred of Aescendune should become friends."
"It is, indeed."
"I have long been conscious that thou wast not alone to blame--thatthou hast to forgive as well as I; but thou, like myself, hast longsince, I am sure, earned the right to breathe the prayer, 'Forgiveus our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.'"
Once more they grasped hands--Etienne still like one in a dream.
"Come now to my tent. There thou mayst tell me all the details ofthy story, and I will tell thee news, unless this boy, my son andthy nephew, has anticipated me, of those thou didst leave behindthirty years ago in England. Thy sister Edith is my beloved wife,and in this boy Norman and Englishman meet together, the merits ofeach combined, the faults obliterated, if a father may be trusted."
And the friends, who once were foes, entered the tent of Etienne.