God Wills It! A Tale of the First Crusade. William Stearns Davis

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СКАЧАТЬ he turned to walk to the end of the lists, but others swarmed about him; Musa foremost, who unlaced his casque in a trice, and kissed him heartily on one cheek, while Herbert croaked and shed great bull tears on the other. Prince Tancred ran down to him, and many nobles more, while Baron William and his dame sat very stately in their lodge, their hearts full, but saying nothing—a thousand eyes upon them. Count Roger had turned to Mary:—

      "My princess, I too must speak with this new paladin; and you need have no shame to go with me."

      The Greek's forehead was very red; but while her words were hanging on her tongue, a serving-lad from Monreale touched her mantle:—

      "Gracious mistress—my lord, the Cæsar Manuel, is newly stricken, and lies very low. He sends for you."

      Mary bowed to the Count:—

      "My lord, you see it is impossible for me to go to Sir Richard. Yet tell him I have prayed long he might have no hurt. And now I must go to my father."

      So Roger went down alone, and led the great throng that swept around the victor as amid the din of harps, viols, and kettledrums uncounted they bore him to his tent. Few saw the squires that carried Louis de Valmont away. He still breathed. A Saracen physician said he was fearfully smitten, but that life was strong within him, and he would live. But who then cared for the fate of the vanquished?

      They bore Richard back to Palermo in high procession. All the knights swore that he had outdone all the cavaliers of the tourney, and must receive the chief prize. A great banquet and dance was held at the castle; the halls rang with music and the clink of wine-cups; the floors shook beneath a thousand twinkling feet. The young knights to prove their hardihood danced in the armor worn all day,—chain mail jingling in time to the castanets. The jongleurs sang new chansons; the ladies blazed in brighter silks and velvet; a myriad flambeaux flickered over all. Only Mary Kurkuas was not there, nor was Emir Iftikhar, delight of the ladies. To Richard and to Musa there were homage and flattery enough to addle wiser wits than theirs. Richard danced till the morn was paling, despite two great welts on his forehead. Two young ladies—"flowers of beauty," the jongleurs cried—brought to him the prize of honor, a shield set with jewels and blazoned with four stripes of gold. Each added to her pleasant words a kiss. In truth, not a cavalier's daughter there that night would have said nay to Richard Longsword, had he prayed for anything. When at full dawn he fell asleep, it was to dream of gallant sword-play, throbbing music, and bright eyes, but the eyes were always those of Mary Kurkuas.

      CHAPTER X

      HOW IFTIKHAR SAID FAREWELL TO SICILY

      Richard Longsword spent the winter in Palermo. There had come a letter oversea from his grandfather, old Baron Gaston of St. Julien in Auvergne, beseeching his daughter to send to France her son, who, fame had it, was a mighty cavalier. He was needed to set right his barony, for he himself grew weak and his vassals quarrelsome. But though Richard's eyes danced when he thought of France, and he won from Musa a pledge to postpone any Egyptian service till the new adventure was well over, he lingered in Sicily. For the life of Cæsar Manuel that winter ebbed fast. In early spring came a stately dromon streaming with purple flags, to bear him back to Constantinople, and a great letter in vermilion ink sealed with gold, pledging the favor of Alexius to his "dear cousin," and entreating his return to the palace by the Golden Gate. But on the day the imperial messenger landed, they were bearing Manuel Kurkuas to his last rest. The Greek Bishop of Palermo was there, also Count Roger, Tancred, and many seigneurs. Then when it was over, and Mary had seen all and done all, with the white face and dry eyes of those true women who can weep for little things but not for great, she found herself alone in the world and utterly desolate. The house of Kurkuas had been a decaying stock. Even at Constantinople her relatives were distant. Only in Provence, at La Haye, dwelt her uncle, whom she had never seen,—brother of her long-dead mother. Either she must go to him or return to Constantinople, where were many ministers and admirers, but only the Princess Anna to be her true friend. Yet Mary would not leave Monreale. The Palace of the Diadem was hers. All day long she would sit in its twilight courts beside the fountain, reading or trying to read, with only Sylvana for companion. When Richard or Musa went each day to ask for her, she would send kind greetings; but said she could not see them. Sylvana, however, was a wise woman as became her years; and one day, behold! Musa was led into the court of the fountain unheralded, and the princess must needs speak with him.

      "Ah! Sir Spaniard," said she, with a wan smile, "for my father's memory I would have bidden you stay away. I am in no mood for your songs of the orange groves by the Darro. Yet"—and here flashed forth her old arch brightness—"now that Sylvana has circumvented me, I am very glad you are here!"

      Musa smiled sweetly and gravely.

      "Dear lady, would that all your sorrows were but monsters, that I might slay them. What may I proffer you,—music? But your heart is too heavy. Words? The lips are but unskilful revealers of the soul. And mine,"—he added with a sincere glance, "is very full for you."

      "Do as you will!" cried the lady, suddenly; "say as you will. Look! My father is dead; at Constantinople I have few that love me. What matters it what befall me? I am alone—alone; and to whom am I a care?"

      "Brightness of the Greeks," replied the Andalusian, "say not, you are alone; say not, you are a care to none. To me you are a friend, and"—he went on quite steadily—"much more than a friend to another."

      And Mary looked at him very steadily also, when she replied: "It is true. When Richard Longsword comes to me, I will have something to say."

      Musa rode from Monreale at a racing gallop that afternoon. All the staid Moslem burghers stared at him as he pounded up the city streets; and just as the sun was sinking Richard Longsword was leaping from the steaming Rollo without the gate at the Palace of the Diadem. When Bardas led him within, he heard the princess's little wind-organ throbbing and quavering. He stood in the court, and saw her bending over the keys, while all the silver pipes were ringing. The notes, marked red and green on the parchment, were spread before her. Sylvana had her hand on the bellows, as her mistress sang the mad old pagan chorus of Euripides:—

      "O Eros, O Eros, how melts love's yearning

      From thine eyes when the sweet spell witcheth the heart

      Of them against whom thou hast marched in thy might!

      Not me, not me, for mine hurt do thou smite,

      My life's heart-music to discord turning.

      For never so hotly the flame-spears dart,

      Nor so fleet are the star-shot arrows of light,

      As the shaft from thy fingers that speedeth its flight,

      As the flame of the Love-queen's bolts fierce burning,

      O Eros, the child of Zeus who art!"

      Richard stepped softly across the rugs. The bell-like voice died away, the organ notes wandered, were still. Mary rose from the music. Flushed indeed was her face, but her voice was steady.

      "I have sent for you, Sir Richard!" she said. "I am glad you have come."

      But Richard, foolish fellow, had run to her, and crushed her to his breast in his giant arms, and was trying to say something with his lips very near to hers. And Mary felt his touch and kiss as blest as a heaven-sent fire.

      "O sweetest of the sweet!" he was crying, "what have I done that I should have such joy? For one such touch from you, I would have beaten down a thousand De Valmonts."

      "And do you think, Richard," said she, piteously, "that all I love in you is this?"—and she pressed her hand around the knotted muscles of his arm. Then she began to weep and laugh at once, and they both wept and laughed, like the children that they were; СКАЧАТЬ