CHAPTER VI.
Now change the scene--and let the trumpets sound, For we must rouse the lion from his lair. OLD PLAY.
The scene must change, as our programme has announced, from the mountainwilderness of Jordan to the camp of King Richard of England, thenstationed betwixt Jean d'Acre and Ascalon, and containing that army withwhich he of the lion heart had promised himself a triumphant marchto Jerusalem, and in which he would probably have succeeded, if nothindered by the jealousies of the Christian princes engaged in the sameenterprise, and the offence taken by them at the uncurbed haughtinessof the English monarch, and Richard's unveiled contempt for his brothersovereigns, who, his equals in rank, were yet far his inferiorsin courage, hardihood, and military talents. Such discords, andparticularly those betwixt Richard and Philip of France, createddisputes and obstacles which impeded every active measure proposed bythe heroic though impetuous Richard, while the ranks of the Crusaderswere daily thinned, not only by the desertion of individuals, but ofentire bands, headed by their respective feudal leaders, who withdrewfrom a contest in which they had ceased to hope for success.
The effects of the climate became, as usual, fatal to soldiers fromthe north, and the more so that the dissolute license of the Crusaders,forming a singular contrast to the principles and purpose of theirtaking up arms, rendered them more easy victims to the insalubriousinfluence of burning heat and chilling dews. To these discouragingcauses of loss was to be added the sword of the enemy. Saladin, thanwhom no greater name is recorded in Eastern history, had learned, tohis fatal experience, that his light-armed followers were little able tomeet in close encounter with the iron-clad Franks, and had been taught,at the same time, to apprehend and dread the adventurous character ofhis antagonist Richard. But if his armies were more than once routedwith great slaughter, his numbers gave the Saracen the advantage inthose lighter skirmishes, of which many were inevitable.
As the army of his assailants decreased, the enterprises of the Sultanbecame more numerous and more bold in this species of petty warfare. Thecamp of the Crusaders was surrounded, and almost besieged, by clouds oflight cavalry, resembling swarms of wasps, easily crushed when they areonce grasped, but furnished with wings to elude superior strength, andstings to inflict harm and mischief. There was perpetual warfare ofposts and foragers, in which many valuable lives were lost, withoutany corresponding object being gained; convoys were intercepted, andcommunications were cut off. The Crusaders had to purchase the meansof sustaining life, by life itself; and water, like that of the well ofBethlehem, longed for by King David, one of its ancient monarchs, wasthen, as before, only obtained by the expenditure of blood.
These evils were in a great measure counterbalanced by the sternresolution and restless activity of King Richard, who, with some of hisbest knights, was ever on horseback, ready to repair to any point wheredanger occurred, and often not only bringing unexpected succour to theChristians, but discomfiting the infidels when they seemed most secureof victory. But even the iron frame of Coeur de Lion could not supportwithout injury the alternations of the unwholesome climate, joined toceaseless exertions of body and mind. He became afflicted with one ofthose slow and wasting fevers peculiar to Asia, and in despite of hisgreat strength and still greater courage, grew first unfit to mount onhorseback, and then unable to attend the councils of war which were fromtime to time held by the Crusaders. It was difficult to say whether thisstate of personal inactivity was rendered more galling or more endurableto the English monarch by the resolution of the council to engage in atruce of thirty days with the Sultan Saladin; for on the one hand, if hewas incensed at the delay which this interposed to the progress of thegreat enterprise, he was, on the other, somewhat consoled by knowingthat others were not acquiring laurels while he remained inactive upon asick-bed.
That, however, which Coeur de Lion could least excuse was the generalinactivity which prevailed in the camp of the Crusaders so soon as hisillness assumed a serious aspect; and the reports which he extractedfrom his unwilling attendants gave him to understand that the hopes ofthe host had abated in proportion to his illness, and that the intervalof truce was employed, not in recruiting their numbers, reanimatingtheir courage, fostering their spirit of conquest, and preparing for aspeedy and determined advance upon the Holy City, which was theobject of their expedition, but in securing the camp occupied by theirdiminished followers with trenches, palisades, and other fortifications,as if preparing rather to repel an attack from a powerful enemy so soonas hostilities should recommence, than to assume the proud character ofconquerors and assailants.
The English king chafed under these reports, like the imprisoned lionviewing his prey from the iron barriers of his cage. Naturally rashand impetuous, the irritability of his temper preyed on itself. He wasdreaded by his attendants and even the medical assistants feared toassume the necessary authority which a physician, to do justice to hispatient, must needs exercise over him. One faithful baron, who, perhaps,from the congenial nature of his disposition, was devoutly attached tothe King's person, dared alone to come between the dragon and his wrath,and quietly, but firmly, maintained a control which no other daredassume over the dangerous invalid, and which Thomas de Multon onlyexercised because he esteemed his sovereign's life and honour more thanhe did the degree of favour which he might lose, or even the riskwhich he might incur, in nursing a patient so intractable, and whosedispleasure was so perilous.
Sir Thomas was the Lord of Gilsland, in Cumberland, and in an agewhen surnames and titles were not distinctly attached, as now, to theindividuals who bore them, he was called by the Normans the Lord deVaux; and in English by the Saxons, who clung to their native language,and were proud of the share of Saxon blood in this renowned warrior'sveins, he was termed Thomas, or, more familiarly, Thom of the Gills,or Narrow Valleys, from which his extensive domains derived theirwell-known appellation.
This chief had been exercised in almost all the wars, whether wagedbetwixt England and Scotland, or amongst the various domestic factionswhich then tore the former country asunder, and in all had beendistinguished, as well from his military conduct as his personalprowess. He was, in other respects, a rude soldier, blunt and carelessin his bearing, and taciturn--nay, almost sullen--in his habits ofsociety, and seeming, at least, to disclaim all knowledge of policy andof courtly art. There were men, however, who pretended to look deeplyinto character, who asserted that the Lord de Vaux was not less shrewdand aspiring than he was blunt and bold, and who thought that, while heassimilated himself to the king's own character of blunt hardihood, itwas, in some degree at least, with an eye to establish his favour, andto gratify his own hopes of deep-laid ambition. But no one cared tothwart his schemes, if such he had, by rivalling him in the dangerousoccupation of daily attendance on the sick-bed of a patient whosedisease was pronounced infectious, and more especially when it wasremembered that the patient was Coeur de Lion, suffering under all thefurious impatience of a soldier withheld from battle, and a sovereignsequestered from authority; and the common soldiers, at least in theEnglish army, were generally of opinion that De Vaux attended onthe King like comrade upon comrade, in the honest and disinterestedfrankness of military friendship contracted between the partakers ofdaily dangers.
It was on the decline of a Syrian day that Richard lay on his couch ofsickness, loathing it as much in mind as his illness made it irksome tohis body. His bright blue eye, which at all times shone with uncommonkeenness and splendour, had its vivacity augmented by fever and mentalimpatience, and glanced from among his curled and unshorn locks ofyellow hair as fitfully and as vividly as the last gleams of the sunshoot through the clouds of an approaching thunderstorm, which still,however, are gilded by its beams. His manly features showed theprogress of wasting illness, and his beard, neglected and untrimmed,had overgrown both lips and chin. Casting himself from side to side, nowclutching towards him the coverings, which at the next moment he flungas impatiently from him, his tossed couch and impatient gestures showed
at once the energy and the reckless impatience of a disposition whosenatural sphere was that of the most active exertion.
Beside his couch stood Thomas de Vaux, in face, attitude, and mannerthe strongest possible contrast to the suffering monarch. His statureapproached the gigantic, and his hair in thickness might have resembledthat of Samson, though only after the Israelitish champion's locks hadpassed under the shears of the Philistines, for those of De Vaux werecut short, that they might be enclosed under his helmet. The light ofhis broad, large hazel eye resembled that of the autumn morn; and it wasonly perturbed for a moment, when from time to time it was attracted byRichard's vehement marks of agitation and restlessness. His features,though massive like his person, might have been handsome before theywere defaced with scars; his upper lip, after the fashion of theNormans, was covered with thick moustaches, which grew so long andluxuriantly as to mingle with his hair, and, like his hair, were darkbrown, slightly brindled with grey. His frame seemed of that kind whichmost readily defies both toil and climate, for he was thin-flanked,broad-chested, long-armed, deep-breathed, and strong-limbed. He had notlaid aside his buff-coat, which displayed the cross cut on the shoulder,for more than three nights, enjoying but such momentary repose as thewarder of a sick monarch's couch might by snatches indulge. This Baronrarely changed his posture, except to administer to Richard the medicineor refreshments which none of his less favoured attendants couldpersuade the impatient monarch to take; and there was somethingaffecting in the kindly yet awkward manner in which he dischargedoffices so strangely contrasted with his blunt and soldierly habits andmanners.
The pavilion in which these personages were, had, as became the time,as well as the personal character of Richard, more of a warlike than asumptuous or royal character. Weapons offensive and defensive, severalof them of strange and newly-invented construction, were scattered aboutthe tented apartment, or disposed upon the pillars which supported it.Skins of animals slain in the chase were stretched on the ground, orextended along the sides of the pavilion; and upon a heap ofthese silvan spoils lay three ALANS, as they were then called(wolf-greyhounds, that is), of the largest size, and as white as snow.Their faces, marked with many a scar from clutch and fang, showed theirshare in collecting the trophies upon which they reposed; and theireyes, fixed from time to time with an expressive stretch and yawn uponthe bed of Richard, evinced how much they marvelled at and regretted theunwonted inactivity which they were compelled to share. These were butthe accompaniments of the soldier and huntsman; but on a small tableclose by the bed was placed a shield of wrought steel, of triangularform, bearing the three lions passant first assumed by the chivalrousmonarch, and before it the golden circlet, resembling much a ducalcoronet, only that it was higher in front than behind, which, withthe purple velvet and embroidered tiara that lined it, formed then theemblem of England's sovereignty. Beside it, as if prompt for defendingthe regal symbol, lay a mighty curtal-axe, which would have wearied thearm of any other than Coeur de Lion.
In an outer partition of the pavilion waited two or three officers ofthe royal household, depressed, anxious for their master's health, andnot less so for their own safety, in case of his decease. Their gloomyapprehensions spread themselves to the warders without, who paced aboutin downcast and silent contemplation, or, resting on their halberds,stood motionless on their post, rather like armed trophies than livingwarriors.
"So thou hast no better news to bring me from without, Sir Thomas!"said the King, after a long and perturbed silence, spent in the feverishagitation which we have endeavoured to describe. "All our knights turnedwomen, and our ladies become devotees, and neither a spark of valour norof gallantry to enlighten a camp which contains the choicest of Europe'schivalry--ha!"
"The truce, my lord," said De Vaux, with the same patience with whichhe had twenty times repeated the explanation--"the truce prevents usbearing ourselves as men of action; and for the ladies, I am no greatreveller, as is well known to your Majesty, and seldom exchange steeland buff for velvet and gold--but thus far I know, that our choicestbeauties are waiting upon the Queen's Majesty and the Princess, to apilgrimage to the convent of Engaddi, to accomplish their vows for yourHighness's deliverance from this trouble."
"And is it thus," said Richard, with the impatience of indisposition,"that royal matrons and maidens should risk themselves, where the dogswho defile the land have as little truth to man as they have faithtowards God?"
"Nay, my lord," said De Vaux, "they have Saladin's word for theirsafety."
"True, true!" replied Richard; "and I did the heathen Soldaninjustice--I owe him reparation for it. Would God I were but fitto offer it him upon my body between the two hosts--Christendom andheathenesse both looking on!"
As Richard spoke, he thrust his right arm out of bed naked to theshoulder, and painfully raising himself in his couch, shook his clenchedhand, as if it grasped sword or battle-axe, and was then brandished overthe jewelled turban of the Soldan. It was not without a gentle degree ofviolence, which the King would scarce have endured from another, thatDe Vaux, in his character of sick-nurse, compelled his royal masterto replace himself in the couch, and covered his sinewy arm, neck, andshoulders with the care which a mother bestows upon an impatient child.
"Thou art a rough nurse, though a willing one, De Vaux," said the King,laughing with a bitter expression, while he submitted to the strengthwhich he was unable to resist; "methinks a coif would become thylowering features as well as a child's biggin would beseem mine. Weshould be a babe and nurse to frighten girls with."
"We have frightened men in our time, my liege," said De Vaux; "and, Itrust, may live to frighten them again. What is a fever-fit, that weshould not endure it patiently, in order to get rid of it easily?"
"Fever-fit!" exclaimed Richard impetuously; "thou mayest think, andjustly, that it is a fever-fit with me; but what is it with all theother Christian princes--with Philip of France, with that dull Austrian,with him of Montserrat, with the Hospitallers, with the Templars--whatis it with all them? I will tell thee. It is a cold palsy, a deadlethargy, a disease that deprives them of speech and action, a cankerthat has eaten into the heart of all that is noble, and chivalrous, andvirtuous among them--that has made them false to the noblest vow everknights were sworn to--has made them indifferent to their fame, andforgetful of their God!"
"For the love of Heaven, my liege," said De Vaux, "take it lessviolently--you will be heard without doors, where such speeches are buttoo current already among the common soldiery, and engender discord andcontention in the Christian host. Bethink you that your illness mars themainspring of their enterprise; a mangonel will work without screw andlever better than the Christian host without King Richard."
"Thou flatterest me, De Vaux," said Richard, and not insensible tothe power of praise, he reclined his head on the pillow with a moredeliberate attempt to repose than he had yet exhibited. But Thomasde Vaux was no courtier; the phrase which had offered had risenspontaneously to his lips, and he knew not how to pursue the pleasingtheme so as to soothe and prolong the vein which he had excited. He wassilent, therefore, until, relapsing into his moody contemplations, theKing demanded of him sharply, "Despardieux! This is smoothly said tosoothe a sick man; but does a league of monarchs, an assemblage ornobles, a convocation of all the chivalry of Europe, droop with thesickness of one man, though he chances to be King of England? Whyshould Richard's illness, or Richard's death, check the march of thirtythousand men as brave as himself? When the master stag is struck down,the herd do not disperse upon his fall; when the falcon strikes theleading crane, another takes the guidance of the phalanx. Why do notthe powers assemble and choose some one to whom they may entrust theguidance of the host?"
"Forsooth, and if it please your Majesty," said De Vaux, "I hearconsultations have been held among the royal leaders for some suchpurpose."
"Ha!" exclaimed Richard, his jealousy awakened, giving his mentalirritation another direction, "am I forgot by my allies ere I have takenthe last sacrame
nt? Do they hold me dead already? But no, no, they areright. And whom do they select as leader of the Christian host?"
"Rank and dignity," said De Vaux, "point to the King of France."
"Oh, ay," answered the English monarch, "Philip of France andNavarre--Denis Mountjoie--his most Christian Majesty! Mouth-fillingwords these! There is but one risk--that he might mistake the words ENARRIERE for EN AVANT, and lead us back to Paris, instead of marching toJerusalem. His politic head has learned by this time that there is moreto be gotten by oppressing his feudatories, and pillaging his allies,than fighting with the Turks for the Holy Sepulchre."
"They might choose the Archduke of Austria," said De Vaux.
"What! because he is big and burly like thyself, Thomas--nearly asthick-headed, but without thy indifference to danger and carelessnessof offence? I tell thee that Austria has in all that mass of flesh nobolder animation than is afforded by the peevishness of a wasp and thecourage of a wren. Out upon him! He a leader of chivalry to deedsof glory! Give him a flagon of Rhenish to drink with his besmirchedbaaren-hauters and lance-knechts."
"There is the Grand Master of the Templars," continued the baron, notsorry to keep his master's attention engaged on other topics than hisown illness, though at the expense of the characters of prince andpotentate. "There is the Grand Master of the Templars," he continued,"undaunted, skilful, brave in battle, and sage in council, having noseparate kingdoms of his own to divert his exertions from the recoveryof the Holy Land--what thinks your Majesty of the Master as a generalleader of the Christian host?"
"Ha, Beau-Seant?" answered the King. "Oh, no exception can be taken toBrother Giles Amaury; he understands the ordering of a battle, and thefighting in front when it begins. But, Sir Thomas, were it fair to takethe Holy Land from the heathen Saladin, so full of all the virtues whichmay distinguish unchristened man, and give it to Giles Amaury, a worsepagan than himself, an idolater, a devil-worshipper, a necromancer, whopractises crimes the most dark and unnatural in the vaults and secretplaces of abomination and darkness?"
"The Grand Master of the Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem is nottainted by fame, either with heresy or magic," said Thomas de Vaux.
"But is he not a sordid miser?" said Richard hastily; "has he not beensuspected--ay, more than suspected--of selling to the infidels thoseadvantages which they would never have won by fair force? Tush, man,better give the army to be made merchandise of by Venetian skippers andLombardy pedlars, than trust it to the Grand Master of St. John."
"Well, then, I will venture but another guess," said the Baron de Vaux."What say you to the gallant Marquis of Montserrat, so wise, so elegant,such a good man-at-arms?"
"Wise?--cunning, you would say," replied Richard; "elegant in a lady'schamber, if you will. Oh, ay, Conrade of Montserrat--who knows not thepopinjay? Politic and versatile, he will change you his purposes asoften as the trimmings of his doublet, and you shall never be able toguess the hue of his inmost vestments from their outward colours. Aman-at-arms? Ay, a fine figure on horseback, and can bear him well inthe tilt-yard, and at the barriers, when swords are blunted at pointand edge, and spears are tipped with trenchers of wood instead of steelpikes. Wert thou not with me when I said to that same gay Marquis, 'Herewe be, three good Christians, and on yonder plain there pricks a band ofsome threescore Saracens--what say you to charge them briskly? There arebut twenty unbelieving miscreants to each true knight."
"I recollect the Marquis replied," said De Vaux, "that his limbs wereof flesh, not of iron, and that he would rather bear the heart of aman than of a beast, though that beast were the lion, But I see howit is--we shall end where we began, without hope of praying at theSepulchre until Heaven shall restore King Richard to health."
At this grave remark Richard burst out into a hearty fit of laughter,the first which he had for some time indulged in. "Why what a thing isconscience," he said, "that through its means even such a thick-wittednorthern lord as thou canst bring thy sovereign to confess his folly!It is true that, did they not propose themselves as fit to hold myleading-staff, little should I care for plucking the silken trappingsoff the puppets thou hast shown me in succession. What concerns it mewhat fine tinsel robes they swagger in, unless when they are named asrivals in the glorious enterprise to which I have vowed myself? Yes,De Vaux, I confess my weakness, and the wilfulness of my ambition. TheChristian camp contains, doubtless, many a better knight than Richard ofEngland, and it would be wise and worthy to assign to the best of themthe leading of the host. But," continued the warlike monarch, raisinghimself in his bed, and shaking the cover from his head, while his eyessparkled as they were wont to do on the eve of battle, "were such aknight to plant the banner of the Cross on the Temple of Jerusalem whileI was unable to bear my share in the noble task, he should, so soon as Iwas fit to lay lance in rest, undergo my challenge to mortal combat,for having diminished my fame, and pressed in before to the object of myenterprise. But hark, what trumpets are those at a distance?"
"Those of King Philip, as I guess, my liege," said the stout Englishman.
"Thou art dull of ear, Thomas," said the King, endeavouring to start up;"hearest thou not that clash and clang? By Heaven, the Turks are in thecamp--I hear their LELIES." [The war-cries of the Moslemah.]
He again endeavoured to get out of bed, and De Vaux was obliged toexercise his own great strength, and also to summon the assistance ofthe chamberlains from the inner tent, to restrain him.
"Thou art a false traitor, De Vaux," said the incensed monarch, when,breathless and exhausted with struggling, he was compelled to submitto superior strength, and to repose in quiet on his couch. "I would Iwere--I would I were but strong enough to dash thy brains out with mybattle-axe!"
"I would you had the strength, my liege," said De Vaux, "and wouldeven take the risk of its being so employed. The odds would be great infavour of Christendom were Thomas Multon dead and Coeur de Lion himselfagain."
"Mine honest faithful servant," said Richard, extending his hand, whichthe baron reverentially saluted, "forgive thy master's impatience ofmood. It is this burning fever which chides thee, and not thy kindmaster, Richard of England. But go, I prithee, and bring me word whatstrangers are in the camp, for these sounds are not of Christendom."
De Vaux left the pavilion on the errand assigned, and in his absence,which he had resolved should be brief, he charged the chamberlains,pages, and attendants to redouble their attention on their sovereign,with threats of holding them to responsibility, which rather added tothan diminished their timid anxiety in the discharge of their duty; fornext, perhaps, to the ire of the monarch himself, they dreaded thatof the stern and inexorable Lord of Gilsland. [Sir Thomas Multon ofGilsland.]