CHAPTER XXVIII.
NEWS OF DISASTER.
WHILE Louis of France and his nobles and knights were exposed to suchdanger at the hands of their enemies, from whom they had no reason toexpect forbearance, Queen Margaret remained at Damietta, with herladies, expecting to hear of battles won and fortresses taken. Atlength, one morning about sunrise, a strange and heart-rending cryresounded through the city, and reached the ears of the queen in herpalace. What was it? was it fire? No. Another and another wail of agony.What could it be? The approach of an enemy? No. It was merely tidings ofthe massacre of Minieh!
Margaret of Provence summoned to her presence Oliver de Thermes, whomKing Louis had left at Damietta in command of the garrison.
'Sir knight,' said the queen, 'what is all that noise I hear?'
The warrior hesitated.
'Speak, sir,' said Margaret, losing patience; 'I command you to tell mewhat has happened.'
'Madam,' replied the knight, 'the news as yet is but vague anduncertain.'
'Answer me, directly,' said the queen, speaking in a tone of authority.'What of the King of France? What of the warriors who marched fromDamietta under the banner of St. Denis?'
'Alas, madam,' replied Sir Oliver, 'I would fain hope that the news isnot true; but it certainly is bruited about that the king is a captive,and that the warriors of the Cross have fallen almost to a man.'
Margaret did not answer; she did not even attempt to speak. Her colourwent, she shuddered, tottered, and would have fallen to the floor hadnot her ladies rushed to her support. It was indeed a terrible situationfor that youthful matron, and--what made matters more melancholy--shewas about to become a mother.
And now Damietta was the scene of consternation somewhat similar to thatwhich pervaded Cairo, when a pigeon carried thither intelligence of thevictory of the Count of Artois at Djedile. The ladies of the Crusaders,the Countesses of Poictiers and Provence, and the widowed Countess ofArtois, among the number, bewailed the fate of their lords; the queenwas afflicted to a terrible degree as she thought of the king's peril;and many people only felt concerned about their own extreme peril. Ofcourse much selfishness was exhibited under the circumstances; and thePisans and Genoese set a bad example by preparing to save themselves,and leave the city to its fate. But, on hearing of their intention, thequeen ordered that the chief persons among them should be brought to herpresence, and addressed them in a way likely to convince them of theselfishness of their conduct.
'Gentlemen,' said Margaret, rousing herself from her prostration andraising her head; 'as you love God, do not leave this city; for if youdo you will utterly ruin the king and his army, who are captives, andexpose all within the walls to the vengeance of the Saracens.'
'Madam,' replied the Pisans and Genoese, utterly unmoved by the loyallady's distress, 'we have no provisions left, and we cannot consent toremain at the risk of dying of hunger.'
'Be under no such apprehension,' said the queen quickly; 'you shall notdie of hunger; I will cause all the provisions in Damietta to be boughtin the king's name, and distributed forthwith.'
The Pisans and Genoese on hearing this assurance consented to remain inDamietta; and, after an expenditure of three hundred and sixty thousandlivres, Margaret provided for their subsistence. But the men who werethus bribed to remain as a garrison were not likely to make any veryformidable resistance in the event of an attack taking place; and suchan event was no longer improbable. Indeed rumours, vague but mostalarming, reached Damietta that a Saracenic host was already on its wayto capture the city.
The rumour that the Moslems were actually coming made the bravest men inDamietta quake, and inspired the ladies who were in the city withabsolute terror. Even the courage of the queen, who had just given birthto her son John, failed; and her faculties well-nigh deserted her. Onemoment her imagination conjured up visions of Saracens butchering herhusband; at another she shrieked with terror at the idea that theSaracens had taken the city and were entering her chamber. Ever and anonshe sank into feverish sleep, and then, wakened by some fearful dream,sprang up, shouting, 'Help! help! they are at hand. I hear theirlelies.'
It was while Margaret of Provence was in this unhappy state of mind,that a French knight, who was eighty years of age, but whose heart, inspite of his four score of years, still overflowed with chivalry,undertook the duty of guarding the door of her chamber night and day.
'Madam,' said he, 'be not alarmed. I am with you. Banish your fears.'
'Sir knight,' exclaimed the unhappy queen, throwing herself on her kneesbefore him, 'I have a favour to ask. Promise that you will grant myrequest.'
'I swear, madam, that I will comply with your wishes,' replied the agedknight.
'Well, then,' said the queen; 'what I have to request is this, that ifthe Saracens should take the city, you, by the faith you have pledged,will rather cut off my head than suffer me to fall into their hands.'
'Madam,' replied the veteran chevalier, 'I had already resolved on doingwhat you have asked, in case the worst should befall.'