[Footnote 1: From "The Cid Campeador," by H. Butler Clarke, by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons.]

At last the unhappy city surrendered to the Cid, and he became its sole ruler and a personage of still greater power and renown. In Valencia, for some years, the conqueror lived in the royal magnificence of an Oriental prince.

When the Moors under King Yusef came from Morocco, fifty thousand strong, to retake the city, the Cid was not at all alarmed. As soon as the Moors had encamped before Valencia, the Cid led his wife and daughter up into the tower of the Alcazar. They raised their eyes, and saw the thousands of tents pitched on the plain.

"Heaven save thee, Cid, what is this?" they cried.

"Good wife, fear nothing. Riches are these to increase our store,—right marvelous and grand. As soon as thou art come, they wish to make us a present. Wife, sit thou in the Alcazar, and be not afraid when thou seest me in the fight."

The next day the drums sounded, and the Cid's heart was glad. He drew up the Christians, and they sped forth to do battle with the infidels. "They drove them from the garden in royal style; straight up to the camp was the pursuit continued. Glad is my Cid for all they have done."

"Hearken to me, my knights," he said. "A good day is to-day, but to-morrow shall be better." In the morning the battle was renewed. With only four thousand men, the Cid routed Yusef with fifty thousand. So many of the Moors did Rodrigo slay that they could not be counted. Three strokes the Cid gave King Yusef, who only escaped by the swiftness of his horse. His wonderful sword, Tizona, fell into the hands of the Cid. Gold and silver and precious stuff in great quantities was captured.

"Joyful is my Cid and all his vassals, that God had shown such favor to them that they had conquered in the field."

In yet another battle against the Moors the Cid was victorious. Bucar, the brother of Yusef, attacked Valencia, but was soon put to flight by the Champion. Rodrigo pursued the flying king, brandishing his sword and shouting,—

"Turn thee, Bucar, thou who camest over seas to behold the Cid with the long beard! We must meet and cut out a friendship!"

"God confound such friendship!" cried the frightened king, as he fled still faster. But Rodrigo, determined to be friendly in his way, flung his sword after Bucar. It struck between the shoulders of the fleeing king. But Bucar's horse was the swifter, and he escaped by riding into the sea and taking boat.

Now the Cid was left for some time in possession of Valencia and became an independent prince,—in fact, if not in name. The neighboring kings were glad to make friendly alliance with the great warrior who had never yet met with a defeat.

Some time after the victory over Bucar, the Cid laid siege to Murviedro. This town was the ancient Saguntum, once besieged by Hannibal. It was a strongly fortified place, and there seemed little chance of Rodrigo's taking it. But after the siege had lasted some time, the citizens saw plainly that they could not hold their city against the great conqueror. So they begged him to grant them a truce in order that they might send to the neighboring princes for help. The proud warrior, disdaining any number of enemies, readily consented to the truce.

Now when the messengers from Murviedro reached the courts of the neighboring princes, and implored their help, not one would lend aid to the distressed city. Alfonso of Castile replied to their petition,—

"Certes, I will not succor you. I would liefer Rodrigo have your town than a Saracen king."

And Al Mustain, the Moorish King of Saragossa, gave the envoys this discouraging answer,—

"Go and take such comfort as ye may, and fight bravely, for Rodrigo is invincible, and therefore I am afraid to do battle with him."

When the sorely disappointed envoys returned to Murviedro, great was the distress of its inhabitants. But in order to gain time, they pretended that the messengers had not returned, and therefore besought Rodrigo to extend the time of the truce. The Cid knew well that their statement was false, and that the envoys were even then in Murviedro, but he replied,—

"In order to show you that I fear none of your kings, I grant you a further truce of twelve days for them to come to your aid. If then they come not, and you do not surrender, I will slay all of you that I capture."

But at the end of the twelve days the Cid granted yet another delay. When that time had expired, and the city was forced to surrender, the Cid did not carry out his threat, but mercifully granted the inhabitants their lives, and permitted them to take their wives and children and go where they would. But some who presumed on his generosity to send all their wealth out of the city, against the Cid's express command, the conqueror sold into slavery.

This conquest of Murviedro was the last great exploit of the Champion. For the day was approaching when the conqueror must yield himself to the conqueror of all. The Cid fell ill, and while in this state, heard that Bucar was again coming with a great force against Valencia. One night soon after, so runs the old legend, there swept through the palace of the dying Champion a great wave of light and a marvelous sweet perfume. And there appeared to the Cid a tall and stately old man, with long snowy hair, holding keys in his hand; and thus he spoke,—

"Sleepest thou, Rodrigo?"

"What man art thou?" the Cid asked his strange visitor boldly.

"I am Saint Peter, prince of the apostles," he said; "and I am come to tell thee that when thirty days be past, thou must quit this world and go to the life that hath no end. But God will so favor thee that after thy death thou shalt conquer and rout King Bucar. This does Christ grant thee for love of me and for the honor thou didst ever pay me in my church at Cardenas." And after he had spoken, Saint Peter straightway departed. Then the Cid rejoiced greatly, and the next day he called his chief men, and said to them,—

"My friends and kinsmen, be sure that I am now come upon the end of my life, and thirty days hence shall see my end. I have seen visions of my father and son, and each time they say: 'Long hast thou tarried here; let us begone to the eternal life.'

"And last night Saint Peter came to me and told me that in thirty days I shall pass away; but before I leave you, I will show you how you shall conquer King Bucar, as Saint Peter did promise me."

Then the Cid betook himself to the church of Saint Peter. There all the people assembled, and he bade them farewell, weeping sore. After confessing his sins and receiving absolution, he went back to the Alcazar and cast himself upon the bed, and never again did he rise up. Seven days before the end of the thirty he bade them bring him a gold cup, and in it he mixed with rose-water a little balsam and myrrh, sent him by the Sultan of Persia, and drank the mixture.

This he did each day, as was the custom of Moorish princes; and so his body and face became fresh and healthy-looking, though he grew weaker every hour. At last he called his wife, Ximena, Bishop Hieronymo, and his three most trusty friends, and said,—

"As soon as I be dead, ye shall wash my body many times with rose-water and balsam. And thou, Ximena, take heed that thou and the women cry not aloud nor wail for me so that the Moors get knowledge of my death. And when Bucar is come, bid all the folk of Valencia go forth on the wall and sound trumpets, and show great glee. Also bid the people get together their goods in secret, that the Moors know it not, for ye may not tarry here after my death, but must needs go back to Castile. Thou, Gil Diaz, deck my body with care, and saddle Babieca, and bind me on him so that I fall not, and place in my hand my sword, Tizona; and thou, Don Hieronymo, shalt ride by my side; and thou, Bermudez, bear my banner as thou wast wont to do; and thou, Don Fanez, shalt draw up the host as thou hast ever done. Then go ye forth and battle with Bucar, for be assured and doubt not that ye shall win the battle."

Having said these words, the dying hero received the sacrament, and then prayed, weeping:

"Lord Jesus Christ, I pray Thee of thy grace that Thou wilt pardon my sins, and that my soul be placed in the light that hath no end."

And so saying, "the Cid gave to God his soul."

Then the faithful friends and loving wife did even as he had commanded them. The body had been embalmed by the myrrh and balsam, and thus remained fresh-looking as in life. So they clothed the dead warrior in all his armor of war, with coat of arms and shield, and placed in his hand the precious sword, Tizona. His arms were raised aloft, and tied up so cunningly that he held the sword straight and even. When bound strongly upon his good horse, Babieca, any man not knowing the truth would have sworn the knight to be alive.

At last all things were in readiness. And at midnight a strange procession rode through the silent, deserted streets of the city. First went forth Pero Bermudez, bearing aloft the great green banner of the Champion, that had never yet failed to strike terror into the hearts of his foes. Then all silently, in battle-array, the warriors of the Cid passed through the gates of Valencia; and with them, as of old, rode their dead leader, Ruy Diaz de Bivar. A hundred chosen knights pressed close about the Champion; and before him, with breaking heart, but tearless and quiet as her lord had commanded, rode the high-hearted Ximena. So went forth to his last conflict the ever-victorious Cid, the great conqueror of banners.

At daylight the little army fell upon the sleeping camp of King Bucar, and slew many Moors before they could mount or arm. And it seemed to King Bucar and the other kings that there joined the host of the Christians full seventy thousand knights, all white as snow. Ahead of all rode a tall knight on a white horse. In his left hand he held a white banner, and in his right a sword of fire; and he slew many Moors as they fled. So terrified were King Bucar and his men that they drew not rein until they reached the sea; and more than twenty thousand were drowned. Bucar and those who escaped to the ships hoisted sails and sped away, nor did they dare look back.

Then the Christians rode back in triumph to the presence of the dead Champion, and laden with the treasure of the Moorish camp, marched in peace to Castile.

All along the way the people came forth in multitudes to see the great Champion on his last journey; and much they marveled at his lifelike appearance, and greatly they mourned for him. But the Cid's own men, as he had bidden them, made no open show of grief. And so, with banners flying, with gleam of spear and sound of trumpet, the strange funeral train passed through the land, until it came at last to the church of San Pedro de Cardenas. There they placed the Cid on a horse of wood, before the high altar. After many masses had been sung for the repose of his soul, a tabernacle was built on the right of the altar, and in it was placed the ivory throne on which the Cid was wont to sit. There, clothed in royal purple, with right hand clasping his mantle and the left grasping Tizona sheathed, sat the Champion like a king and lord for ten long years. And each day until her death, Ximena knelt for hours, morning and evening, at the feet of her lord, and wept and mourned and would not be comforted.

At last, seated thus on his ivory throne, the Cid was entombed in a vault before the high altar. His hand could never be unclasped from his sword, and thus, says the legend, it remains to this day. Well might the people believe that even in death the great warrior would not loose his hold on his cherished sword Tizona; for with it he had done such marvelous deeds that even his enemies looked on him as "a miracle of the miracles of God," and bestowed on him the proud title of "The Conqueror of Banners."



THE CID'S WEDDING

Within his hall of Burgos, the king prepares a feast, He makes his preparation for many a noble guest. It is a joyful city, it is a happy day; 'Tis the Campeador's wedding, and who will bide away?

Layn Calvo, the Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate, Behind him Ruy Diaz in all his bridal state. The crowd makes way before them as up the street they go; For the multitude of people, their steps must need be slow.

The King had given order that they should rear an arch, From house to house all over, in the way where they must march: They have hung it all with lances, and shields, and glittering helms, Brought by the Campeador from out the Moorish realms.

They have scattered olive branches and rushes on the street, And the ladies fling down garlands at the Campeador's feet; With tapestry and broidery their balconies between, To do his bridal honor, their walls the burghers screen.

They lead the bulls before them all covered o'er with trappings; The little boys pursue them with hootings and with clappings; The fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing 'Midst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing.

With antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter, They fill the streets of Burgos—and the Devil he comes after; For the King has hired the horned fiend for sixteen maravedis, And there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies.

Then comes the bride Ximena—the King he holds her hand; And the Queen; and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land. All down the street the ears of wheat are round Ximena flying, But the King lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there was lying.

Quoth Suero, when he saw it (his thought you understand), "'Tis a fine thing to be a King, but Heaven make me a hand!" The King was very merry, when he was told of this, And swore the bride, ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss.

The King went always talking, but she held down her head, And seldom gave an answer to anything he said; It was better to be silent, among such crowds of folk, Than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke.

Ballad translated by J. G. Lockhart from "Poems of Places."



GODFREY AND THE FIRST CRUSADE

I sing the pious arms and Chief, who freed The Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane: Much did he toil in thought, and much in deed; Much in the glorious enterprise sustain; And Hell in vain opposed him; and in vain Afric and Asia to the rescue poured Their mingled tribes; Heaven recompensed his pain, And from all fruitless sallies of the sword, True to the Red-cross flag, his wandering friends restored.

Tasso.



GODFREY AND THE FIRST CRUSADE

(1060-1100 A. D.)

It was a bright autumn day of the year 1095 A. D., and since early morning the inhabitants of the little French village of Clermont had been astir, and feasting their eyes on the unusual spectacle of strangers from all France, Germany, and Italy. It was the day appointed by the Pope for a council to consider the state of the Christians in Palestine; and loyal sons and daughters of the Church had gathered from far and near. Outside the limits of the town for miles around, their white tents and many-colored banners gleamed in the sunshine, for the village could not accommodate the throngs of visitors.

Now the tents and houses were deserted, as all had crowded into the town to witness the proceedings of the Council. No building could contain the thousands of people, so the Pope had decided to hold the meeting in the great public square of Clermont. Here the vast crowds had assembled. As far as the eye could reach, down every street leading into the square, extended a closely packed multitude. They stood silent, almost motionless, their faces turned toward the platform in the center of the wide square.

People of all classes, ages, and conditions were there: nobles, clad in rich dress or glittering armor; priests in dark robes; peasants in coarse frieze; ladies of rank, merchants, beggars,—all stood side by side, forgetful of everything worldly, listening eagerly to the words of the man who looked down on them from the high stand in their midst.

This man was small and mean in his appearance. His bony figure was covered by a woolen tunic and a coarse serge gown that reached to the bare feet. From the neck drooped a monk's hood. His thin, haggard face, burned brown by long exposure to the hot sun and winds of the East, would have been ugly but for the deep, dark, flashing eyes, lit up with wild enthusiasm and fiery earnestness. The monk held erect with the left arm a great wooden cross that overtopped his head. Gesticulating fiercely as he addressed the absorbed multitude, his slight frame quivered with the violence of his emotions, and tears rolled down the sunken cheeks. In a voice often broken by sobs he cried:—

"Men of Clermont, people of France, Christians of all nations, come hither at the call of our Holy Father, the Pope! I tell you not of things learned by hearsay; I myself have beheld all these horrors in the Holy Land of Palestine. Through the ancient streets of Jerusalem the accursed infidels stalk in the evil pride of conquest. They insult and oppress, they torture and murder the followers of Christ. They rob and maltreat the pious pilgrims from all lands who toil through desert and over mountain to worship at the tomb of their Lord. Scarcely will these heathen suffer the adoration of Christ in the blessed city of His cross and passion. Nay, not content with persecuting our brethren, the vile crew of Mohammed, accursed of God, attack the very majesty of the most high God. They cast down and burn the churches of Christ; they tear His ministers from the very altar and drag them to a shameful death; they profane the holy places; they mock and spit upon the symbol of His holy religion,—this blessed cross, the sign of our redemption.

"O people of Christ, God hath already stretched forth His hand to the destruction of the wicked. To me, the most humble of His servants,—to Peter the Hermit, despised of men,—hath He revealed His purpose. For while I lay prone upon the rock before the Holy Sepulchre, calling upon God for mercy, the voice of the Lord Christ came to mine ears,—

"'Peter, arise! Hasten to proclaim the tribulations of my people. It is time that my servants should receive help, that the holy places should be delivered!'

"When I heard this, I hastened in fearful and joyful obedience to tell to Christian nations the sore straits of Christ's land and followers. Here stands God's priest to call the people of God to this holy work,—Christ himself calls you to the rescue of the Holy Land. Arm yourselves and hasten to Palestine! There shall ye cast out the heathen! There shall ye restore Jerusalem and the Holy City to the keeping of God's people!"

As Peter sank down exhausted with emotion, the Pope, Urban II., in all the splendor of his pontifical robes, arose from his throne in the midst of the prelates of the Church, and came forward. It was he who had called this solemn council of priests and nobles to consider the state of the Holy Land and to devise means for its rescue. Now, with dignity and eloquence, Urban added the sanction of the Church to Peter's wild appeal, saying:—

"I will not seek to dry the tears which images so painful must draw from you. Let us weep, my brethren; but evil be to us if in our sterile pity we longer leave the heritage of the Lord in the hands of the impious. For I called ye hither, not to weep over the afflictions of the Holy Land, but to gird on your swords and go forth to its deliverance.

"Christian warriors, rejoice! for to-day ye have found a true cause for battle. Go forth and fight the barbarians. Go and fight for the delivery of Jerusalem,—that royal city which the Redeemer of the human race has hallowed by His passion, has purchased by His blood, has distinguished by His burial. She now demands of you her deliverance. Men of France, men from beyond the mountains, nations chosen and beloved of God, right valiant knights, recall the virtues and greatness of Charlemagne and your other kings. It is from you, above all, that Jerusalem awaits the help she invokes, for to you, above all, has God given glory in arms. Take ye, therefore, the road to Jerusalem for the remission of your sins,—for all sins shall be forgiven to the warrior of Christ,—and depart assured of the deathless glory that awaits ye in the kingdom of heaven!"

As the Pope ceased speaking, the people cried aloud in wild enthusiasm,—

"The cross! the cross! Give us the cross!"

Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, was first to receive the holy symbol. Then all the multitude, pressing eagerly forward, received from Pope or priest a red cross of silk or cloth. Fastened on shoulder or breast, it henceforth stamped the wearer as one sworn to fight for the delivery of the Holy Land,—a Crusader.

In the throng surrounding the platform on which stood the Pope, Peter the Hermit, and many princes of the Church, was a certain young knight. His dress betokened high station. He bore himself modestly, with easy grace; and yet a peculiarly stern dignity of mien, and the air of one used to command, bespoke the military leader. He gave close heed throughout to the speech of the poor monk and that of the proud Head of the Church. As Peter spoke of the persecuted Christians and the wretched state of the Holy Land, the calm and steadfast eyes of the young man kindled with rage or glistened with sorrow. When the Pope mentioned the renowned Charlemagne, the knight's smooth, pale cheek flushed with pride, for the blood of that great emperor flowed warm in his veins. When the pardon of all sins was promised by Christ's vicar to the soldier of the cross, the listener started. To his mind came the recollection of past exploits,—deeds glorious in the eyes of the world, but which left a sting in that tender conscience. And the troubled knight mused:—

"The cause of my emperor was just when he warred against Rodolphe of Rhenfield; and the many slain in that quarrel trouble me not. I was glad when my lance pierced the breast of the upstart who dared to claim the throne of Germany and the crown of Henry. Alas! if but the emperor had not warred against the Holy Father! If I had not drawn my sword against Holy Church! When Henry stormed the battlements of Rome, my young blood was hot with the joy of battle. I thought not of sin, but of glory, in that wild charge, and I was first to plant our banner on the city wall. Henry himself gave me thanks and saluted me as Duke of Antwerp and Lorraine. But, alas! God rebuked me soon for my pride in that warfare against His Holy Church by sending me a most grievous sickness. Then I swore to atone for my impiety by an humble pilgrimage to the Holy Land. But now, God be thanked! Godfrey de Bouillon goes not with scrip and staff to Jerusalem, there to weep over the captivity of Zion—with sword and spear will he march to the Holy Land and wrest the Sepulchre of the Lord from the hands of the infidels!"

Thus determining, the knight, with a look of high resolve, strode forward to the feet of the Pope. Urban received him joyously.

"Now God be praised!" he said fervently, "that the valiant Godfrey de Bouillon turns his erstwhile hostile arms to the cause of Holy Church. His young renown shall be increased a thousandfold, for God will give yet greater victories to his banner."

Then after fastening the cross upon the shoulder of the kneeling knight, Urban bestowed upon him a sword with these words,—

"Son Godfrey, receive this sword consecrated by God's high priest to the service of Christ. Draw it not save against the enemies of His holy religion; but strike and spare not the infidel. So shalt thou advance the glory of God, cleanse thy soul from every sin, and purchase Paradise!"

Godfrey's pious heart throbbed within him at these great promises. He heeded not the crowd about him, nor the congratulations of his friends upon this signal honor, but betook himself to solitude, there to pray, and to plan the execution of this high enterprise.

Erelong the Pope held council with Godfrey and other great princes who had taken the cross, and it was decided that the Crusaders should not start on their expedition until the following August, for it was then November and much was to be done. The armies were to march in several divisions, each by a different route, but all were to meet at Constantinople. Having arranged these matters, the princes and lords bade one another farewell and proceeded to their several domains, each to collect and prepare an army for the coming Crusade.

But Peter the Hermit, impatient of delay, set out at once for Palestine at the head of a vast, undisciplined multitude, ill-clad, lacking arms and provisions, unprepared in every way for the perilous undertaking, but confident that God would supply all their needs, guide them, and deliver the Holy City into their hands.

When Duke Godfrey reached his duchy of Lorraine, he found that the wave of enthusiasm started at Clermont had already dashed over his people. There was no need to urge them on to the holy work. Each and every one was eager to don the cross and set out to the rescue of Palestine. Men gave their gold, their land; women sold their jewels, their costly raiment, to provide means for the equipment of God's soldiers. The Duke of Lorraine himself pledged his province of Bouillon to the Bishop of Liege for money to fit out the thousands who flocked to his banner from Bouillon and Lorraine, from both sides of the Rhine, from northern France and western Germany.

Knowing both Frank and Teuton,—able to greet each in his native tongue,—Godfrey was well fitted by birth and education to lead the vast army that now gathered on the banks of the Meuse and Moselle. Indeed, all the qualities of a great general and of "a very gentle, perfect knight" were Godfrey's. From his father, Eustace, Count of Boulogne, a notable warrior, he inherited valor and wisdom, and learned early "to be among the first to strike the foe." His mother, Ida de Bouillon, a most learned and pious lady, taught him to fear God, to be gentle, courteous, just, and merciful. "Even in youth," says the old chronicler, "a rival, on seeing him, was forced to exclaim, 'For zeal in battle, behold his father; for serving God, behold his mother!'"

Such was the character of Godfrey de Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine, "in whom the luster of nobility was enhanced by the splendor of the most exalted virtues." Nor was his appearance less to be admired. He was of tall, powerful frame and most dignified bearing. He was "beautiful in countenance," and the glance of his dark gray eyes, though usually gentle and kind, could command respect and obedience from the most lawless.

Godfrey was indeed an imposing figure when he rode forth that autumn day of September, 1096, at the head of his army of Crusaders. He wore the usual dress and armor of a knight. On his head was a silver casque, surmounted by a black plume. A hauberk, or coat of mail, composed of steel rings, protected his body. He carried on the left arm a round buckler, which bore simply the red cross of the Crusader,—the same symbol as that worn on his breast. A sword and lance, borne by his squire, completed the knight's equipment of arms.

With the duke were his brothers, Baldwin and Eustace, his kinsman, Baldwin du Bourg, and his squire, Sigier. Before the leader, rode the standard-bearers with the banner of Lorraine and the great standard of the Crusade, emblazoned with a blood-red cross.

Ten thousand knights on horseback followed, attired like Godfrey, but with gayer ornaments and colors. Their shields, from which floated scarfs of red, green, or white, were ornamented with painted leopards, lions, birds, towers, or other fanciful devices. From each lance a pennant drooped.

After the knights, marched eighty thousand foot-soldiers, carrying long oval shields and armed with lances, swords, cross-bows, or heavy clubs. Behind these soldiers, trudged thousands of women and children.

On every breast shone the red cross and from every lip rang the Crusader's battle-cry, "God wills it!" So the army of Godfrey de Bouillon marched forth from Lorraine to the rescue of the Holy Land.

After traveling many long days through Germany, the Crusaders reached the country of the Hungarians, a rude though Christian people. There the army was stopped on the border by armed forces. Godfrey, attended by only a few followers, sought the presence of the king. Carloman received him with simple but courteous hospitality.

"I have come," said the Duke, "to ask that the soldiers of my army, bound to the rescue of the Holy Land, be allowed to pass through thy country in peace and safety."

"Truly," said Carloman, "I would fain grant thy request, but it is not long since a great multitude, also Crusaders, were suffered to pass,—they robbed and murdered my people. Then came hundreds of thousands who fell upon us—in revenge, they said, for the death of their brethren, many of whom, in truth, had been justly slain by my ill-treated subjects. How can I dare to let loose thy soldiers upon my land?"

"Nay," said the just Godfrey, "I come not for war, or to avenge those unhappy pilgrims,—God pardon them! They were but ignorant and misguided peasants; for their leader, the monk, Peter, though a man of God, is often too fierce in his zeal. I pledge thee my faith as a Christian that thy land and thy people shall not suffer if thou let my army march through Hungary."

Now Godfrey's speech and look were so noble and sincere that the king put faith in his word, but as was the custom, demanded hostages,—the duke's brother among the number. Baldwin demurred, saying aside to Godfrey,—

"How do I know that thou canst hinder thy soldiers from plunder? And if thou do not, my life is forfeit. Thou knowest that I risk it with joy on the battlefield, but I care not to die a shameful death in this barbarous land."

"And will it be a shameful death to die thus in aiding the march of the deliverers to Jerusalem?" asked Godfrey, reproachfully. "Nay, say no more; I myself will be hostage," and he turned toward the king. But Baldwin, at this generous offer, was sorry and ashamed, and he said,—

"Not so, Godfrey, thou shalt not risk thy life; it is more precious than mine. I will stay."

Thus it was arranged, and so potent was the influence of the beloved leader that his men marched through Hungary harming neither land nor people. At the border, Baldwin and the other hostages were returned, and the king and his people, giving Godfrey abundant supplies, parted from them in good-will and friendship.

* * * * *

Now when Godfrey neared Constantinople, he learned that Hugh, Duke of Vermandois, brother to the King of France, and leader of an army of Crusaders from that country, was held prisoner by the Greek emperor, Alexius. The Duke of Lorraine sent at once to Alexius, demanding the release of the French prince. Alexius immediately set free the captive duke, whom in truth he had treated with much courtesy, and also promised aid to Godfrey, and allowed his army to encamp near Constantinople. Shortly after, however, the emperor made a move indicating treachery. Godfrey at once sounded the trumpets and prepared to assault the city; but when Alexius quickly sought peace, the placable duke accepted his explanations and assurances of friendship. Then Alexius entertained Godfrey with unheard-of splendor, and soon thought so highly of the knight as to adopt him as a son, according to Eastern custom.

Here the Duke of Lorraine was joined by other armies, one commanded by Raymond, Count of Toulouse,—a tried warrior who had fought in youth under the banner of the Cid; the other led by brave and crafty Bohemond, Prince of Tarentum. In the host of Crusaders from France, Germany, Italy, Spain, England, and even far-off Ireland, were many renowned princes, prelates, and nobles: Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, the Pope's legate; Robert, Duke of Normandy, the heroic and reckless son of William the Conqueror; Count Robert of Paris, wild and ferocious; the gallant Count of Flanders; Stephen of Blois, Count of Chartres; and the pure and perfect knight, Tancred.

All these leaders Alexius flattered and cajoled with soft words and magnificent gifts, promising them help and support on condition that the cities in Asia Minor formerly belonging to his empire, if captured by the Crusaders, be returned to him. But Alexius was a weak and deceitful prince, caring naught for anything save his own interest, as the Crusaders soon discovered. So it was without regret, in spite of his sumptuous entertainment of them, that Godfrey and the other leaders took leave of the Greek emperor and crossed the Bosphorus. This took some time, for the immense armies numbered one hundred thousand knights on horseback, clad in armor, five hundred thousand foot-soldiers, and numerous priests, women, and little children. They outnumbered "the sands of the sea, the leaves of the forest, the stars of heaven," writes the daughter of Alexius.

This vast host soon encamped before the large city of Nicaea, its strong walls and hundreds of towers swarming with Turks. Here, Godfrey's men found, wandering in the desert, Peter the Hermit and a few wretched men who had escaped when their companions were slaughtered by the Turks. These few were the remnant of the hundred thousand pilgrims—men, women, and children—whom the wild monk had undertaken to lead to Palestine soon after the Council of Clermont. So numerous were the bones of these slain Crusaders, near Nicaea, that the soldiers of Godfrey used them in building the walls and divisions of his great camp before that city.

Scarcely had this camp been completed when the Sultan of Nicaea, Kilidge-Arslan, the "Sword of the Lion," swept down from the mountain on the Christian army. "Then the two armies joined, mingled, and attacked each other with equal fury. Everywhere glittered casques and shields; lances rung against cuirasses; the air resounded with piercing cries; the terrified horses recoiled at the din of arms and the hissing of arrows; the earth trembled under the tread of the combatants; and the plain was for a vast space bristling with javelins."

Godfrey was here, there, everywhere, in the fiercest of the fight, slaying the infidels on all sides. His high contempt of danger and death inspired his men to fight with equal ardor. At last the Turks were driven back, but they returned next day to the attack, nor did they retreat until the Crusaders had slain four thousand of them. The heads of these Turks were cut off and thrown over the walls of Nicaea, there to inform the garrison of the Crusaders' victory and to frighten them into surrender.

But the Turks held out long, in spite of the many brave assaults made by the besiegers. In these attacks the Crusaders used many strange machines of war,—great rams of wood to batter down the walls; ballistas for casting stones, beams, and arrows; and catapults for throwing fire and huge stones into the city.

The Turks had similar machines and also great iron hands with which they reached down from the walls, seized the Crusaders, and drew them up into the city. Then, killing these luckless captives and stripping the bodies, the infidels would hurl them back by machines into the camp of the Christians. These cruelties and the vengeance of the Crusaders made the warfare very horrible.

Wonderful deeds were performed on both sides. A huge giant among the Turks made himself admired and dreaded by his great skill and extraordinary strength. With every cast of his javelin he slew an enemy, and he destroyed scores of the besiegers by hurling down upon them great masses of rock. One day he stood on the city wall and, single-handed, held at bay a great number of Christians. While fighting, he shouted defiance to the whole army of Crusaders, ridiculing them and grossly insulting their religion. Hundreds of arrows flew at him, but still he remained unhurt. Then Godfrey, who had been in another part of the field, came rushing up to discover the cause of the tumult. The infidel, poising an arrow, exclaimed,—

"Dog of a Christian, thou too shalt die! Let us see if thy crucified God can save thee!"

Enraged at this insolence and blasphemy, Godfrey seized a cross-bow and took aim quickly. Through the heart of the scoffing giant went the arrow, and down into the ditch tumbled the dreaded infidel. Cries of distress from the Turks and shouts of joy from the Christians greeted this deed of the valiant Godfrey.

After seven weeks of almost continuous fighting, the Crusaders were on the point of taking Nicaea, when to their astonishment they saw the standard of Alexius raised on the city wall. The cunning Greek emperor, learning that the city was about to surrender, had sent an envoy and persuaded the Turks to deliver Nicaea to him. So the indignant Crusaders received no reward for their hardships and valor. Swearing vengeance on the emperor at some later day, they took up the march to Jerusalem.

Over mountains, beside deep precipices, through swift torrents, they toiled, suffering agonies from heat, hunger, fatigue, and thirst. On the plain of Dorylaeum, in Phrygia, part of the army under Bohemond, Prince of Tarentum, was attacked by Kilidge-Arslan with two hundred thousand Turks, and was on the verge of defeat when Godfrey, at the head of a small body of knights, rushed to the rescue and put the Turks to headlong flight. The conquerors found the camp of the enemy near by, and took possession of large stores of provisions, tents, horses, camels, and treasures of all kinds. Rejoicing, the leaders divided the spoils, and after a short rest took up the march once more.

Soon the Crusaders suffered terribly, for only a land made waste met their eyes,—smoking villages and crops swept away.

The "Sword of the Lion" had gone before and cut down and destroyed everything in their path. The vengeful Turk had even poisoned the wells, and in this desert country of Phrygia the pilgrims died by thousands.

The tender heart of Godfrey was wrung by the pitiable distress of his people. All that was possible of help and comfort he gave them, but he could not quench their thirst.

Almost in despair he sat in his tent one day, grieving bitterly, for the moans of the suffering came to his ears.



"O Christ, save Thy people," he prayed devoutly. Suddenly the hound of his faithful squire, Sigier, bounded into the tent and threw himself upon his master, who stood in sad silence near Godfrey.

"Look, my lord, my dear lord! the hound hath found water!" cried Sigier; and, in truth, the paws of the dog were covered with wet sand.

Already, ere the two could step outside, they heard the wild shouts and tumult of the people, racing madly in the tracks of the dogs. It was in vain that Godfrey and the other leaders strove to check that multitude. Dashing to the brink of the river so opportunely found by the dogs of the camp, thousands threw themselves bodily into the water, many drinking so greedily that they perished. Yet the timely discovery saved the army from total destruction.

At last the almost exhausted host reached Antiochetta,—a city in a fertile plain, where the Christians were kindly received. Here they rested and regained the strength lost during their long and perilous journey. Many of the surrounding cities sent supplies to Godfrey and the other princes, and swore obedience to them.

In the midst of these pleasant happenings the army narrowly escaped a terrible loss. Godfrey and a few companions went hunting one day, taking their falcons and dogs. While the duke was riding in advance of his comrades, he heard savage growls, then piteous cries of distress, "Help, help, for the love of God!"

Galloping in the direction of the sounds, Godfrey soon came upon a pilgrim engaged in a struggle with a huge bear. The poor man was about to be killed. Drawing his sword, Godfrey spurred his horse fiercely on the bear; but the steed, frightened by the sight of the strange beast and its angry growls, reared back, and threw its rider to the ground. In a moment, however, Godfrey was on his feet, and as the bear turned upon him, met the attack with a mighty blow. Now a fearful struggle took place; but finally, with a fierce thrust of his sword, Godfrey killed the beast, just as Sigier and others, summoned by the pilgrim, came hurrying up.

"Alas, my lord, you are wounded!" cried Sigier; and indeed so badly was the knight hurt that he fainted away and was thought to be dead. The soldiers were grieved beyond measure, and the camp resounded with lamentations; great was the joy when it was found that Godfrey would recover. For weeks, however, he had to be carried on a litter,—saved by a miracle, said the people.

Now came the march over Mount Taurus, which was almost as difficult and dangerous as that through the desert. Over one steep mountain, which the Crusaders called "The Mountain of the Devil," there was only a narrow footpath, up which the soldiers could scarcely scramble in single file. Many horses lost their footing and fell over the precipice. Numbers of the Crusaders became so weary that they threw away their arms; and many were left to perish by the wayside, though Godfrey strove to have the weak and exhausted carried forward by the strong.

But still struggling on bravely, the Christian host at last found themselves before the rich and splendid city of Antioch. It was strongly fortified with high walls and more than four hundred towers. Many of the leaders thought that it would be prudent to wait to besiege the place until spring, when new Crusaders were to arrive, and when the army would not be exposed to famine and to the rains and tempests of the winter season now approaching. But Godfrey spoke eloquently against this delay.

"Why," said he, "should we wait for others to come and share the glories of this army without having shared its labors and dangers? It is an insult to the army of Jesus Christ to think that they cannot endure cold and rain and famine. Are we like those birds of passage which fly away and conceal themselves on the approach of the bad season? Moreover, abundance awaits us in the city of Antioch, which will soon open its gates to us."

Moved by these brave words, the princes decided to begin the siege at once. But the city held out; and when the winter came, the army suffered most fearfully. A pestilence broke out, and thousands died of disease, in addition to those who perished of hunger or were killed in daily battles with the Turks.

The Crusaders had not time or space to bury their dead. Many deserted the army. Peter the Hermit could not bear the hardships, and reproaches of the suffering, and fled from the camp. He was pursued and brought back by Tancred; and the soldiers, who had been as much astonished by Peter's desertion as if "the stars had fallen from heaven," made him swear on the Bible not to abandon them again.

Godfrey and the good Bishop of Puy strove earnestly to put heart into the soldiers.

"God will soon deliver us," said the duke. "He has sent these afflictions upon us because we took merit to ourselves for the victory of Dorylaeum and gave not all the glory to Him." But in vain his hopeful words; the army gave way to despair.

Long days of misery, each more wretched than the last, dragged slowly by, when suddenly the courage of the Crusaders was revived by a great victory. A body of the troops who had gone to the seaport of St. Simeon to buy provisions was unexpectedly attacked by a body of Turks and compelled to retreat. Godfrey, hearing of the battle, sallied forth and defeated the enemy, but was attacked by a large force sent out from Antioch. Then Turks and Crusaders battled desperately beneath the very walls of Antioch and in sight of the people on its ramparts. The fight was man to man, without order or plan. The Christian leaders all performed wonderful deeds. Godfrey seemed to possess more than mortal strength and valor. No enemy could stand against his attack; and before the terrible stroke of his great sword, lances, helmets, and armor flew to pieces.

A bold Saracen offered battle to Godfrey, and with the first blow dashed to pieces the shield of the Christian knight. Enraged, Godfrey rose up in his stirrups, and with all his force delivered such a mighty blow on the shoulder of the Turk as to divide his body into two parts. One fell to the ground, while the other part remained upright in the saddle. The frightened horse rushed back into the city, where the horrible sight added to the terror of the inhabitants.

So great was the number of Turks slain in this battle, that the people of Antioch were greatly cast down, while the Crusaders renewed their assaults with fresh vigor and spirit. Daily conflicts were fought, in which many women took part. Even the children formed companies, and challenged the Turkish boys to combat. These battles of the children were watched with fierce interest by the Saracens on the city walls and the Crusaders in their camp, each party cheering on its small champions. At last the city became so reduced that it would doubtless soon have surrendered had not the Crusaders imprudently consented to a truce.

While this truce was in force the soldiers gave themselves up to rioting, and the Christian princes disputed among themselves, for there was a spirit of rivalry among them, and some were haughty and quarrelsome.

Bohemond received by mistake a magnificent tent sent by an Armenian prince to the Duke of Lorraine. The Prince of Tarentum was very avaricious and pretended that the gift was intended for him. Now the Duke of Lorraine, though gentle and generous, and never haughty in his bearing toward the other princes, was not at all meek, nor inclined to suffer any trespass upon his rights or dignity. He at once demanded his property of Bohemond in peremptory terms, and when refused, would have seized it by force of arms, had not the prince, seeing that all sided with Godfrey, reluctantly delivered the tent to him, its rightful owner.

While these disputes were going on, the people of Antioch had received fresh supplies of provisions and arms, and now, refusing to surrender, again resumed the conflict. Bohemond, however, had found a traitor within the walls. This man, Phirous, had formerly been a Christian, but had become a Mohammedan. He told Bohemond that Jesus Christ had appeared to him and commanded him to betray the city into the hands of the Christians. The leaders of the Crusade were not willing to win the city by treachery, and for some time rejected the offer of Bohemond to lead them into it by the aid of Phirous. But at last, in June, 1098, the rumor that a vast army of Turks was approaching, led the princes to consent to the stratagem.

On the night appointed by Phirous to admit the Crusaders, rain poured in torrents, peals of thunder shook the air, lightning flashed continuously, and the entire western sky was strangely illuminated. But the Crusaders were undaunted by the storm. They even deemed it an omen of success when a fiery comet flamed across the heavens. Silently, stealthily, the appointed soldiers crept up close to the wall; but when they found the frail rope-ladder, let down by Phirous, dangling against the wall, a strange fright seized upon them. Not one made a move toward it; all hesitated to dare the ascent. But Bohemond, as daring as he was crafty and ambitious, soon shamed his men by setting foot on the ladder. All followed and scrambled up to the tower where Phirous awaited them. He yielded it to them, and then pointed out a gate that could easily be forced. Into the city poured the Crusaders; and the people of Antioch, waking in terror, were slaughtered or made prisoners. The city was soon in the hands of the Crusaders, though the citadel, a strong tower on a steep hill in the center of the town, could not be taken.

But scarcely had the victors ceased to rejoice over their conquest, when they found themselves besieged in turn by an immense army under the command of Kerbogha, Sultan of Mossoul, a celebrated Turkish warrior. Then the Christians, with an enemy in their city and surrounded by countless enemies without, endured the most dreadful hardships. Food became so scarce that even the horses were eaten. Godfrey generously shared his means with his soldiers, and was finally compelled to kill his favorite war-horse for food. So wretched were the Christians that many threw themselves over the battlements. Others deserted to the enemy, letting themselves down at night by cords from the city walls. These latter traitors were cursed most bitterly by their indignant comrades for such base cowardice and were called in derision "Rope-dancers." But truly it was only the stoutest hearts and strongest bodies that could stand the misery to which the Crusaders were now reduced. In spite of the brave efforts of Godfrey and some of the other princes, most of the wretched people gave up all hope. They hid themselves in their houses to await the end, and the silence of death settled down upon the stricken city.

It is said that several of the leaders proposed to secure their own safety by fleeing in the night from the beleaguered city, and were only prevented from taking this step by the appeals of Adhemar and Godfrey, who represented to them in strongest terms the everlasting disgrace that such a step would bring upon them. Kerbogha had scornfully refused any terms of surrender except "Death or captivity for all," and it seemed that such must be the fate of the Crusaders, when the aspect of affairs was suddenly changed by a miracle.

A priest, Bartholomew by name, announced that Saint Andrew had appeared to him three times, saying,—

"Go to the church of my brother Peter in Antioch. Dig up the earth near the altar, and there you will find the head of the lance that pierced the side of our Redeemer. This sacred sign borne at the head of the army shall deliver the Christians and pierce the heart of the infidels."

All the army believed in this vision, and after three solemn days of fasting and praying, Bartholomew, in the presence of twelve priests and knights, directed the workmen where to dig beneath the altar of the church. All day the digging went on, while the great crowd outside waited in silent impatience. At midnight, Bartholomew threw himself into the hole, and soon reappeared, bearing a spear-head in his hand. The joy of all was frantic, for they firmly believed that this holy relic would insure them a victory. Famine and fear were forgotten! All demanded to be led at once against the enemy.

The next day the gates of Antioch were thrown open, and the army marched forth in solemn and imposing procession. At the head walked the priests, bearing aloft the holy lance, and chanting, "Let the Lord arise and let His enemies be scattered." The army followed in twelve divisions, each led by one of the princes in such state as he could muster. Godfrey had given away his all and rode a horse borrowed from the rich Raymond. Many of the soldiers were without weapons and were so weak from want of food that they could scarcely walk; yet their faith gave them courage, and they surveyed the vast army of the Saracens with calm confidence in victory,—for was not God himself with them? Not a sound was heard in the ranks.

The Saracens, seeing this strange procession, at first supposed that the Christians had come out to surrender; but soon perceiving their error, they let fly a shower of arrows. A strong wind blew back these infidel darts and seemed to the Crusaders yet another sign of heavenly favor; and they awaited with renewed confidence the attack of the Turks. It soon came. The bodyguard of Kerbogha, three thousand strong, both man and horse clad in complete steel armor, hurled themselves against the Christian ranks, beating down the soldiers with ponderous clubs armed with steel points. Behind these warriors followed the immense host of Saracens. The battle raged for some time without decided advantage on either side, but the Sultan of Nice at last ordered burning flax to be thrown among the bushes and grass of the plain. At once the blaze and smoke surrounded the Christians. Stifled and confused, they fell back, and the sultan was about to drive them from the field, when suddenly a body of soldiers was seen descending the mountain-side, led by three knights in glittering white armor.

"Behold," cried the Bishop of Puy, "the holy saints, George, Demetrius, and Theodore, come to fight for us!"

To the Christians this sight gave irresistible valor. With a mighty shout, "God wills it!" the army hurled itself as one man against the Saracens. Nothing could withstand that inspired charge. The Turks fell back, broke their ranks, and fled in terror, leaving a hundred thousand dead.

Their camp was found rich in treasures of all kinds. The gorgeous tent of Kerbogha, arranged in streets, like a city, lavishly decorated with gold and jewels, and large enough to shelter two thousand men, was captured by Bohemond. This vast pavilion was sent to Italy, where it was an object of even greater wonder and admiration to the Italians than it had been to the Crusaders. The leaders now found themselves rich, and for some time remained in peace at Antioch, enjoying the relief from want and warfare.

But again a pestilence broke out, and carried off thousands. Among these victims was the good and beloved Adhemar, Bishop of Puy. The soldiers believed that God was angry because of the inaction and delay of the princes that were sworn to deliver the sepulchre of Christ. Then news came that Jerusalem had been taken from the Turks by the Khalif of Egypt, and the Christians were struck with deep remorse that the Holy City had been again captured, and not by the followers of Christ. Ashamed of their delay and forgetfulness of their sacred mission, the Crusaders resumed their march to the Holy City, eight months after the capture of Antioch.

But the army lacked some of its former leaders. Count Stephen, of Chartres, and the Count of Vermandois, weary of hardships, had returned to France,—there to face the bitter scorn of all Europe. Bohemond remained in Antioch as ruler of the city his cunning had won. Baldwin, who had established himself as prince of the rich city, Edessa, thought no more about Jerusalem. This conduct of Baldwin grieved his brother deeply, and it was with a saddened heart that the pious Godfrey now led his army toward Jerusalem.

Marching along the coast, the Crusaders soon neared Ptolemais. The emir of that city sent them supplies, and promised to surrender it to them as soon as they should conquer Jerusalem. The princes had not intended to attack Ptolemais and were delighted at this unexpected promise. But the falseness of the Mohammedan was soon revealed to them in a strange way. For soon after, while the army was encamped near Caesarea, the Bishop of Apt, sitting before his tent one day, saw a large falcon in pursuit of a dove. Fluttering swiftly downward, the tiny bird escaped the claws of its pursuer and fell at the feet of the bishop. The kind priest picked it up carefully, and was tenderly smoothing its ruffled plumage when he saw a letter tied under its wing. Setting the trembling bird free, the bishop hastened to the tent where the princes were holding council. Godfrey broke the seal, and with an exclamation of surprise read the letter aloud.

It was from the Emir of Ptolemais to the Emir of Caesarea, and ran thus:—

"The cursed race of Christians have just passed through my territory, and will soon reach thine. Let the chiefs of all the Mussulman cities be warned of their approach and let them take measures to crush our enemies."

The princes were much astonished on hearing this, and Godfrey exclaimed,—

"Surely we cannot doubt that God is with us, since He sends the birds of the air to reveal to us the secrets of our enemies!"

So said all the soldiers when the letter was read to them, and they pursued their journey with new enthusiasm and stronger hope.

On a night not long after, the Crusaders were watching with awe an eclipse of the moon. Suddenly the momentary darkness passed away, and the lurid light of a blood-red moon shone down. But their terror at this strange sight was changed to joy when "those familiar with the signs of the stars" said,—

"This doth portend the fall of the infidels and the triumph of Christ's army!"

The following day, at sunrise, the Crusaders climbed to the summit of the hills of Emmaus, when—

"Lo! Jerusalem appears in sight. Lo! every hand points out Jerusalem. Lo! a thousand voices are heard as one in salutation of Jerusalem!"

After the first moment of pure gladness, a feeling of deep awe and great sorrow came over the Crusaders as they gazed at the city where Christ had suffered and died for their redemption. Following the example of their loved Godfrey, the Christians laid aside with tears and sighs their gay scarfs and glittering ornaments of knighthood; barefoot, in token of humility and reverence, they traveled the road once trodden by the feet of their Lord. And as they marched, they sang the words of Isaiah:—

"Jerusalem, lift up thine eyes and behold the liberator who comes to break thy chains!"

At last the pilgrims were encamped before the city of their pious hopes and dreams. But only a small remnant of the once magnificent army was left,—a weak body of perhaps forty thousand, lacking provisions and all machinery of war.

A few days after encamping, the Crusaders made a fierce assault on Jerusalem, but having no engines of attack and no scaling ladders, they were beaten back.

Realizing that the city could never be taken without these machines, Godfrey set the army at work to construct them. But it was with the greatest difficulty that wood, iron, and stone for making towers, ladders, and catapults could be procured. Soon the soldiers suffered the agonies of thirst, for most of the springs had been choked up or poisoned by the enemy. A less determined army would have given up the siege in despair. But though a few weak ones, unable to stand the hardships, deserted, nothing could daunt the courage or lessen the zeal of the greater part of the army.

When at last some reinforcements and supplies arrived, all the army, women and children as well as men, set to work again with the greatest spirit to build engines of war and to prepare for the assault. Godfrey, Raymond, and Tancred constructed three movable towers, each higher than the city wall. Godfrey's had three platforms, and on the topmost one a drawbridge to be let down upon the wall.

After four weeks of hard labor, Godfrey decided that the attack could be made. Three days the army fasted and prayed. Then all the Crusaders, in full armor, led by the priests praying and chanting, marched around Jerusalem, viewing with awe the holy places of the Lord's pilgrimage. On the mount whence Christ ascended to heaven, the priests absolved and blessed the multitude.

Meanwhile the Egyptians and Turks on the city walls mocked at these ceremonies. The infidels raised crosses and spat upon them, insulting in every way the symbol of Christ in the sight of His followers. Peter the Hermit, on seeing this sacrilege, cried aloud to the Crusaders,—

"I swear to you by your faith that to-morrow these proud blasphemers of Christ shall be frozen with fear! Their mosques shall become temples of the Lord, and Jerusalem shall hear only the praises of the true God!" At these words the whole army shouted with joy and triumph.

That night the wise Godfrey, with great labor and difficulty, removed his immense engines of war to another position, where the Saracens had not made such great preparations for the defence of the walls.

Then Godfrey and the other leaders planned the attack. Raymond was to assault the southern wall; Godfrey himself the northern; and between them the two Roberts and Tancred were to be stationed.

At daybreak, the Count of Toulouse came to Godfrey's tent. After greeting Godfrey, Raymond exclaimed in surprise,—

"How is this, my Lord? Where is thy strong breastplate and the rest of thy steel armor? Why hast thou put on this weak suit? Don thy vantbrace and helmet, and thy steel casque, and mask thy face. Do not risk thy life thus rashly."

But Godfrey replied calmly,—

"When Pope Urban girt this blade on me at Clermont, and bade me perform the duties of a true knight of Christ in this divine Crusade, I made a secret vow that on this day I would not fight as a prince and leader, but would assume the arms and armor of a common soldier. I shall station my men and see to all things as a general should; then, in this light armor of a foot-soldier, I shall strive to plant the banner of the cross on the ramparts of Jerusalem. God will protect my life."

When Raymond heard this resolution, he protested no more, but hastened away and told the other princes, who all quickly decided to follow Godfrey's example of brave humility.

Soon everything was in readiness, and from all quarters of the camp the drums and trumpets sounded.

* * * * *

With a mighty shout, the army rushes to the assault. The engines of war are all put in motion at the same moment. Bands of men, under cover of their upraised shields, drag the rams close to the wall. With these battering-rams they hammer at the wall, while stones and arrows hurtle down on their steel roof. Other companies rush intrepidly forward with long scaling-ladders, and strive to hook them to the top of the wall. The Saracens, with equal energy and courage, labor to cast them down. If perchance a ladder be fixed, men swarm up, undaunted by the weapons hurled at them. Scores, struck dead or wounded, loosen their hold and fall to the ground; but as many more clamber over their dead bodies and spring to their places. If a knight but reach the top of the ladder, he is cut down by the scimitars of the Egyptians.

Huge stones, showers of sharp flints, and heavy beams cast from mangonels and catapults, fly through the air in every direction, crushing Saracens or Christians. The great towers, alive with soldiers, roll forward nearer and nearer to the city wall, though its defenders fight desperately to stay the advance of the dreaded machines,—casting blazing arrows and balls of fire against the towers, aiming countless weapons at the Christians upon them. Women and children mingle in the fray, bringing missiles for the machines, or food and water for the soldiers. They lay hold on the towers and help to drag them forward.

On the tallest tower, high above all, stands Godfrey, fighting furiously, and urging his men to yet more heroic efforts. Above all tumult—shouts of defiance and cries of triumph, shrieks of mortal anguish, din and clatter of arms, and hissing of arrows—rings out his battle-cry: "Christ and the Holy Sepulchre! God wills it!"

Now Christians raise a shout of joy as they gain the wall; now infidels howl in derision as the besiegers are driven back. Through the smoke and flame and flying weapons the horrified Crusaders behold two hideous witches on the highest rampart. Their hair and garments stream in the wind. With horrid curses and impious cries, they call upon the demons of earth and air to smite the Crusaders. But their sorcery does not avail to save themselves from death; pierced by countless Christian arrows, they fall headlong from the battlements. With wilder zeal the exultant Crusaders battle, and with greater fury the enraged infidels.

Hours pass. The tower of Raymond is set on fire, and the long flames shoot up to heaven and brighten the darkening sky. Night falls, and Jerusalem is still in the hands of the unbelievers. Exhausted and bleeding, the Christians draw back from the walls; but it is not of their suffering and losses they think. One long wail goes up from those bursting hearts:—

"Alas! God has not yet thought us worthy to enter His Holy City!"

But those stout hearts are not long cast down. At daybreak the Christians once more hurl themselves against the battered walls of Jerusalem—with tenfold fiercer determination than before. Infidels and Christians know that one or the other will this day be swept from the face of the earth. The Christian leaders fight as even these knights of the cross have never fought before. The veteran Raymond is on foot in the midst of his men. He urges them against the wall where stands the Emir of Jerusalem, and bids them aim their darts at the Egyptian prince, whose splendid armor flashes golden in the sunlight. But though the arrows fall thick about him, Iftikhar stands haughtily erect, and continues to direct the efforts of his men.

Tancred and the two Roberts exhaust their arrows and at last stand motionless on the tower, awaiting with fierce impatience the moment, fast approaching, when they can pierce with lance or cut down with sword the Saracens on the city wall, now almost within reach.

But the conflict centers about the great tower of Godfrey. If only that tower reach the wall! On the summit shines a great cross of gold, and beneath its arms stands Godfrey, his brother Eustace, his cousin, Baldwin du Bourg, Sigier, and other knights. The sight of the sacred symbol of Christ throws the followers of Mohammed into a frenzy of impious rage. They hurl showers of blazing arrows, stones, and balls of fire against its defenders. Godfrey remains unhurt, but the faithful Sigier falls beside him. Slowly but surely the tower creeps nearer the wall. The Saracens redouble their efforts. They throw down between the wall and the tower, pots of burning oil, blazing wood, and Greek fire. They fortify the wall with mattresses of lighted straw until it seems one sheet of flame. The tower approaches this barricade of fire, but the smoke and flame stifle the Crusaders. They falter and fall back.

The Crusaders on all sides begin to waver, and the infidels shout for joy. But at this moment a knight in glittering white armor appears on the Mount of Olives, and waves his fiery shield toward the Holy City. Godfrey, first to behold the strange warrior, shouts exultantly,—

"Saint George! Saint George to our aid!"

At the same moment a strong wind suddenly blows the flame away from Godfrey's tower and back upon the infidels, who stagger and retreat from the fiery blast. Now is the Christians' opportunity. One mighty effort, and the tower is within reach of the wall. The bridge of the tower falls with a crash, and the Christian knights spring upon it. A brief, fierce struggle,—and then, with a glad shout, "God wills it!" Godfrey de Bouillon stands triumphant on the walls of Jerusalem!

It is Friday,—the day and the very hour of the death of his Lord.

* * * * *

The city was won. Animated by Godfrey's triumph, beholding him plant the banner of the cross on the wall of Jerusalem, Raymond and Tancred redoubled their efforts. Soon from all points of attack the victorious Crusaders poured into the city. Maddened by battle and the remembrance of the cruel persecutions their brethren had suffered, the Crusaders massacred all in their way.

Very rarely, in those fierce days, was mercy shown to a defeated foe; and the Crusaders, fully persuaded that the slaughter of infidels is pleasing to the Lord, shouted, while hewing down the Saracens, "God wills it!"

But the merciful Godfrey did not take part in this bloody work. With three companions he stole away from the army; and clothing himself in a pure white robe, barefoot, and without arms, he sought the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There he worshiped at the tomb of Christ, and gave thanks that it had been rescued from the infidels. When the other Crusaders heard of this pious act, all followed Godfrey's example, and offered up prayers at the Holy Sepulchre. But their piety did not soften their hearts. For a week they hunted down and killed the Mohammedans and the Jews of the city.

At last, when weary of slaughter, the Crusaders turned their attention to matters concerning the safety and welfare of the city they had so hardly won. It was decided to elect a king who should remain in the Holy Land, and protect the city against the attacks of the infidels. After long consideration, prayer, and inquiry into the private character of the various princes, Godfrey de Bouillon was chosen as possessing in the highest degree the requisite qualities of virtue, piety, wisdom, and valor. In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, before the assembled Crusaders, Godfrey took an oath to rule justly and to defend with his life the Holy City. But so great was his piety and humility that he refused to be crowned, saying,—

"Never will I wear a crown of gold in the place where the Saviour of the world wore a crown of thorns!" Nor would he be called king, but took the title of "Baron and Defender of the Holy Sepulchre." Yet in history he is called the first King of Jerusalem, and never was there a more kingly man, one more fitted to wear a crown.

* * * * *

Scarcely had Godfrey taken the vow to defend Jerusalem when he was called upon to fulfill it. Tidings came that an immense army of Egyptians and Turks was advancing upon the city. Realizing that Jerusalem could not hold out if besieged, Godfrey wisely and boldly marched out to meet the enemy, though both Raymond and Robert of Normandy refused to go with him, affecting not to believe in the reported approach of the infidels. But after Godfrey's departure these princes yielded to the prayers of the people, and joined him at Ascalon.

There, countless thousands of the infidels were completely crushed by Godfrey. He captured the sword and great standard of Afdhal, the Egyptian leader, and hung them up as trophies in the Church of the Sepulchre.

Godfrey soon conquered many parts of the surrounding country. During his siege of Asur, a conquered city that had rebelled against him, Godfrey inspired a touching act of heroism. He was advancing to attack the city walls when a knight, Gerard of Avesnes, who had been left there as a hostage by Godfrey, was bound by the Turks to a long pole and fastened to the wall in such a manner that he must be killed by the weapons of Godfrey's men should the assault be made. When Godfrey drew near, the poor knight cried aloud with tears,—

"Godfrey, for the love of Christ, pity thy wretched friend. Alas! do not cause me to die in this shameful way,—like a miserable felon, bound and helpless! I do not fear death, but would fain die like a true knight, sword in hand, on the battlefield!"

But Godfrey, though moved to the heart by the sad plight and piteous appeals of Gerard, did not falter or fail in his hard duty. With tears in his eyes, he besought the unfortunate knight to resign himself bravely to the fate of a martyr.

"It is not in my power to save thee," said he. "The city must be taken. If my own brother were in thy place I could not deliver him from death. Die, then, illustrious and brave knight, for the safety of thy brethren and the glory of thy Lord Jesus Christ!"

Inspired by these noble words, Gerard found the faith to meet death with a splendid courage. He begged that his armor be offered up at the Holy Sepulchre, and that prayers be said there for the repose of his soul. Then bidding his friends farewell, he urged on their attack, and died without a murmur under a shower of darts from their hands.

Many chiefs of the Turks visited Godfrey during this siege, and were surprised to find the great prince living as simply as the poorest soldier, without luxuries of any kind, his bed a pallet of straw. But he gained the respect and admiration of these barbarians by showing them his great strength and skill in arms. The fame of his valor traveled over the land, and many emirs came of their own accord to swear fealty to the ruler of Jerusalem.

The wisdom of Godfrey was as great as his bravery. He called a council of the wise men of the kingdom, and with their help drew up good and just laws for the government of the people. Not long after these laws were drawn up and deposited in the Church of the Resurrection, Godfrey was called to the help of his friend Tancred, ruler of Galilee, who had been attacked by the Saracens. Godfrey quickly defeated this army, and was on his way back to Jerusalem when he was met by the Emir of Caesarea, who made him a present of some fruit. Godfrey ate only one cedar-apple, but was at once taken very sick, and his friends believed that he had been poisoned by the emir. Though suffering greatly, the stricken hero hastened on to his beloved city.

On the anniversary of the taking of Jerusalem, in that Holy City so dear to his heart, the greatest of the Crusaders calmly passed away, and "The Lord received him into Paradise."

Near the sacred tomb of his divine captain, the body of this true and loyal soldier of Christ was laid to rest. Never had he wavered in his devotion to the cause of his Lord. Hardships of desert and mountain, suffering by pestilence and famine, agonies of thirst, labors and perils of the battlefield,—all had failed to daunt this soldier of the Cross. What matter if his ideals of duty and religion seem fantastic to our modern minds? He gave his life for them; and so long as men admire the brave deeds of a fearless heart, so long as they reverence a pure and selfless purpose, so long will they honor the name and fame of The Great Crusader.



THE TROUBADOUR

Gaily the Troubadour touched his guitar, As he was hastening home from the war, Singing, "From Palestine hither I come,— Ladye-love, ladye-love, welcome me home!"

She for her Troubadour hopelessly wept, Sadly she thought on him whilst others slept, Sighing, "In search of thee, would I might roam, Troubadour, Troubadour, come to thy home!"

Hark! 'twas the Troubadour breathing her name, As under the battlement softly he came, Singing, "From Palestine hither I come, Ladye-love, ladye-love, welcome me home!"

Old Song.



THE CARRIER DOVE

Fly away to my native land, sweet dove, Fly away to my native land, And bear these lines to my ladye-love, That I've traced with a feeble hand. She marvels much at my long delay, A rumor of death she hath heard, Or she thinks, perhaps, that I falsely stray— Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!

I shall miss thy visit at dawn, sweet dove, I shall miss thy coming at eve, But bring me a line from my ladye-love, And then I shall cease to grieve. No friend to my lattice a solace brings, Except when your voice is heard, As you beat the bars with your snowy wings, Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!

Oh! fly to her bower and say the chain Of the tyrant is over me now, That I never shall mount my steed again, With helmet upon my brow. I can bear in a dungeon to waste away youth, I can fall by the conqueror's sword, But I cannot endure she should doubt my truth, Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!

Old Song.



THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT

'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound! And the Knight looked down from the Paynim's tower; As a Christian host, in its pride and power, Thro' the pass beneath him wound. "Cease awhile, clarion! clarion, wild and shrill! Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!

"I knew 'twas a trumpet's note! And I see my brethren's lances gleam, And their pennons wave by the mountain stream, And their plumes to the glad wind float. Cease awhile, clarion! clarion, wild and shrill! Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!

"I am here with my heavy chain! And I look on a torrent sweeping by. And an eagle rushing to the sky, And a host to its battle plain. Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill! Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!

"Must I pine in my fetters here? With the wild waves' foam, and the free bird's flight, And the tall spears glancing on my sight, And the trumpet in my ear? Cease awhile, clarion! clarion wild and shrill! Cease, let them hear the captive's voice! be still, be still!

"They are gone! they have all passed by! They in whose wars I have borne my part, They that I loved with a brother's heart, They have left me here to die! Sound again, clarion! clarion, pour thy blast! Sound, for the captive's dream of hope is past!"

FELICIA HEMANS.



RICHARD COEUR-DE-LION

Honor enough his merit brings, He needs no alien praise In whose train, Glory, like a king's, Follows through all his days.

Itinerarium Regis Ricardi.



RICHARD COEUR-DE-LION

(1157-1199 A. D.)

There was once a prince of England who was married when only five years old. This youthful bridegroom was Richard, the son of Henry II. and Eleanor of Aquitaine; and his bride was a maiden of three, Alice, daughter of Louis VII. of France. The ceremony was a curious one, for of course such babies could not really take the marriage vows. But the parents of the small couple made the required vows in the name of their children, and solemnly promised that the little prince and princess should marry as soon as they were old enough. Though the children were too young to understand the meaning of the ceremony, it was considered as binding upon them as if they had been a man and a woman.

It seems strange for such babies to be married, but it was the custom in those days for kings to arrange marriages for the royal children in order to increase their own power and dominions, or for other reasons connected with the welfare of the country. Thus Henry II., by this marriage, obtained possession of lands in France, and the City of Gisors, given by Louis as a dower to Alice. The little girl and her lands were placed in the hands of Henry to be guarded for Richard until the boy should be old enough to claim his bride.

Doubtless the tiny bride of three and her little groom played together happily after their marriage, with little thought of the imposing ceremony; for it meant nothing to them then, though destined to have sad consequences for both in later years. But not for long were the married children together. Alice was taken to England, while Richard spent most of his early life in France. He was destined to be duke of his mother's French province of Aquitaine; and it was thought best that he should be educated in the country of which he would be ruler.

Richard was a sturdy, bold, and adventurous lad. He engaged in all the boyish sports of the day, and later in those chivalric pastimes that formed part of the training of a noble youth. He was taught every accomplishment deemed necessary for a knight,—to ride like a centaur, to cast a lance, to wield the sword, and to swing the battle-axe. He even learned to bend the great cross-bow, the weapon of the English peasant, and could send an arrow straight to the mark. These exercises were severe training for the young prince, but they developed the prodigious strength and skill in arms that later made him the greatest warrior of his age.

In addition to these knightly accomplishments, Richard learned to read and write,—not such common acquirements in those days as now. From his brilliantly educated mother the prince inherited a taste for literature, poetry, and music. It was an age of poetry, and poets were held in much honor, influencing men to great deeds by their stirring songs. Richard took great delight in the songs of the troubadours of Aquitaine and Anjou. Several of these poets, especially Blondel de Nesle, were his warm friends, and taught him the arts of verse-making and music, in which Richard acquired admirable skill.

In the rich land of Aquitaine, with its gay, pleasure-loving people, Richard was surrounded by luxury and splendor, but, alas! not by an atmosphere of peace or love. His mother was a frivolous woman, and his father, Henry, a violent-tempered, despotic, and wicked man. The two did not love each other, and when together quarreled continually in the most violent manner. So Richard and his brothers—Henry, Geoffrey, and John—passed their youth in an atmosphere of strife; and all that was violent and contentious in their natural dispositions was fostered by their home life and the bad example of their parents.

The princes quarreled among themselves, and as they grew older, naturally took part in the bitter disputes continually taking place between Henry and Eleanor. As Geoffrey once said, it was their inheritance not to love one another. The princes were all proud, headstrong, and selfwilled, and hence little disposed to obey their imperious father; and Henry, though in some ways weakly indulgent to his sons, was most autocratic in disposition. As his sons became young men, he gave them certain provinces in France to rule. But he would allow them no real power, and the proud young princes were determined not to submit to their father's authority, but to be rulers in fact as well as in name. So they rebelled against Henry time and again, and fierce wars took place between the father and his sons.

Their mother, Eleanor, encouraged the princes in their attitude of rebellion against Henry, for he had long treated her with great indignity. He neglected his wife for other fair ladies, and at last put her in prison, where she remained nearly sixteen years. This severe treatment of Eleanor served to enrage her sons and to alienate them still more from Henry; for they loved their mother dearly in spite of all her faults. So the strife continued in the royal family until two sons, Henry and Geoffrey, died while at enmity with their father. Then a reconciliation took place between the other members of the family; but it lasted only a short time.

Richard, who was then of age, wished to claim and really marry his child-bride, Alice; but Henry made excuse after excuse for not giving up Alice to his son, though he maintained that Richard was legally bound to her and could not marry any other woman.

It is said that the wicked old man had himself fallen in love with Alice, and intended to obtain a divorce from Eleanor and marry the young princess. Whether this be true or not, it is certain that Richard's demands to be given his bride, or else to be declared free to marry whom he pleased, were treated with contempt by the old king. Meanwhile the gallant and handsome young prince had met at the court of Navarre the Princess Berengaria, daughter of King Sancho, and had been much charmed by her beauty and grace; but the entanglement with Alice prevented a serious love affair.

At last Richard became weary of his absurd position,—supposed to be married and yet without a wife.

He appealed to the brother of Alice, Philip of France, who readily consented to aid him. The two demanded of Henry that he give up Alice to Richard, and also acknowledge him as heir to the English throne, for they feared that Henry purposed to leave that kingdom to John. During an interview between Henry and Richard, at which Philip was present, Richard demanded that his father recognize him, the elder son, as the future King of England. Henry made an evasive reply, whereupon, referring to the rumor that John would be heir to the English crown, Richard exclaimed passionately,—

"Then I am compelled to believe that which I before had believed impossible!" and ungirding his sword and handing it to Philip, he knelt to him and said,—

"To you, Sire, I commit the protection of my rights, and to you I now do homage for all my father's dominions in France!"

Philip accepted his homage, and gave to Richard all the cities taken from Henry. Naturally, that king was enraged when his son thus haughtily renounced allegiance to him, and war soon followed. Henry was defeated several times, and many of his barons left him to join the cause of Richard. Finally, the king was forced to make peace with his rebellious son on very hard conditions; and this mortified his kingly pride so sorely that he fell ill of grief and rage. During this sickness, he could think of nothing save his own defeat, and raved constantly, "Shame, shame on a conquered king!" When he learned that his best-beloved son, John, had been a party to Richard's rebellion, the blow was too severe for the old king's broken strength. He died of grief, cursing his rebellious sons with his last breath.

No sooner had the fierce but affectionate Richard heard of his father's death at Chinon than he was overcome with sorrow and remorse. He came to take leave of the king's body, but as he drew near the bier, blood gushed from the eyes and mouth of the dead man. Richard was horror-stricken, and rushed away, exclaiming,—

"I have murdered him; his blood accuses me!"

The repentant son caused the corpse to be buried with due ceremony at Fontevraud, the ancient burial-place of the Norman kings, and he showed many signs of penitence for his unfilial conduct.

As soon as the unhappy old king had been laid away, Richard's thoughts turned to his mother, Eleanor, who had been for many years a state prisoner in Winchester Castle. Sending at once to England, he ordered that the queen be released, and appointed regent of the kingdom. Indeed, Richard was always a tender and dutiful son to his mother, who calls him, "My brave, my generous, my high-minded, my all-worthy son, Richard." If he were not a good son to his father also, it is some excuse that Henry was a most unpleasant, tyrannical man, whose treatment of his wife and children was not such as to beget love and dutiful conduct.

After tarrying some months in France, attending to matters in his provinces of Anjou, Poitou, Normandy, and Aquitaine, Richard crossed over to England. There he was received most joyfully by his new subjects.

In Westminster Abbey, on Sept. 3, 1189, his coronation took place with great splendor. It is the first coronation ceremony of an English king fully described by eye-witnesses.

The Archbishop of Canterbury and other bishops, richly robed, and carrying the cross, holy water, and censers, led the stately procession that escorted the king from his palace to the Abbey. After these dignitaries of the Church, came four barons in court dress, bearing each a golden candlestick; then four earls, carrying the king's cup, the golden spurs, the scepter of state, and the royal rod of majesty—a mace adorned with a golden dove. Four great earls walked next, brandishing aloft their glittering swords; and behind these noblemen marched six more, as bearers of the royal robes and regalia. William, Earl of Essex, proudly carried the gold and jeweled crown immediately before Richard himself, who walked beneath a magnificent canopy of state, upheld by richly clad nobles.

Before the brilliant assemblage of lords Richard took the solemn oath to be a just and righteous ruler. Then after the archbishop had anointed him with holy oil, shoes of golden tissue were put on the king's feet, the golden spurs were buckled on, and he was clad in the vestments of royalty and led to the high altar. There he promised to be faithful to his kingly oath, and was crowned with the royal diadem and given the scepter and rod of office.

So Richard Plantagenet became King of England. No one beholding the proud bearing of the new monarch would have supposed that his family emblem, the lowly broom-plant (Planta genista), from which came the name Plantagenet, had been adopted by an ancestor of Richard's in token of humility. For, in very truth, the Plantagenets were an arrogant race, and Richard was the proudest of his line.

As he strode down the aisle of Westminster in all the glittering and jeweled splendor of his coronation robes, Richard's appearance was truly royal. He looked every inch a king. The people gazed with delight on his tall, powerful frame, graceful and strong as that of Mars himself; on his proudly poised head, whose red-gold curls waved beneath the jeweled crown; on the fair, haughty face with its square, determined jaw, aquiline nose, full, proud lips, and fierce, restless blue eyes. Heartily the multitude admired Richard's manly beauty, his lordly air; and with a right good-will they shouted joyously: "Long live the king! Long live our Richard Lionheart!"

Before his accession to the throne, Richard had determined to go as a Crusader to the rescue of the Holy Land. From his mother, who had herself taken part in the Second Crusade, he had heard many stories of the East,—that land of wonders and marvelous adventures. Richard was by nature a rover, a warrior, a knight-errant. So it seemed to him a most delightful prospect to travel, to see strange lands and peoples, to fight in a holy war; and thus to indulge his own love of adventure and of battle while advancing the glory of God. Nay, to do him justice, Richard was religious too, in the strange fierce fashion of those days,—days when one could be pious without being good; when the warrior prayed and fought with equal zeal, deeming both acts of equal merit in the sight of heaven; when the Christian believed the slaughter of infidels well-pleasing to God; when the knight of the Cross was confident that Christ pardoned all sins to the warrior who did battle for His Holy Sepulchre. So Richard, though far from pious or exemplary in his daily life, was moved by a genuine and fervent desire to deliver Jerusalem from the infidels, into whose hands it had fallen again after its conquest by Godfrey de Bouillon.

When all the tedious and costly preparations necessary for the Crusade had been completed, Richard sent his fleet around by the Strait of Gibraltar. He himself crossed over to France with the troops, intending to march through that country to meet his ships at Marseilles, and there to embark for Palestine.

At Vezelai, Richard met Philip of France, who had agreed to join him in the Crusade. The two kings and their great armies marched together for some distance, but finally separated, and proceeded southward by different routes,—the French to Genoa, the English to Marseilles.

When Richard reached that seaport, he was much disappointed to find that the fleet had not arrived. Leaving the main body of troops there to await the arrival of the vessels, he procured a ship, and proceeded on his way by sea, sailing along the coast of France and Italy. He stopped at many cities, and sometimes traveled on land with only a few attendants, like a simple knight-errant.

When he reached the Gulf of Salernum, Richard was joined by his fleet, and sailed toward Messina, a coast town of Sicily, where he was to meet Philip. On approaching the city, Richard ordered every trumpet to be sounded. The people, rushing to the walls, beheld with surprise the great fleet of England, manned by thousands of steel-clad warriors, and flying the red cross of Saint George, the lion-emblazoned banner of Richard, and hundreds of gay baronial flags. The arrival is thus described:—

"O Holy Mary, no man ever saw Such galleys, such dromonds, such transports before; Rowing on, rowing on, across the deep sea, Rowing on, rowing on to fair Sicily!

"What pennons and banners from the top of the spears To the fair winds are streaming all graceful and proud; What a great host of warriors, whose breasts know no fears Pace the decks, whilst the oarsmen are chanting aloud— Row on, lads, row on, lads, across the deep sea; Crowd the sail and row on, lads, to fair Sicily!

"Hark, hark to the voice of the trumpets so clear As they enter the harbor and make for the pier; See what bright gilded beaks, what finely wrought bows, And what thousands of shields hang out on the prows. Oh! such a staunch fleet never sailed on the sea As this armament anchored off fair Sicily.

"And now from his trim galley, named Cut-the-Sea The proud Richard lands midst uproarious glee; Clad in bright scale-linked mail with axe in his hand, He, the chief of his hero band, paces the strand, Whilst the people and warriors in wild ecstasy, Shout hurrah for King Richard and fair Sicily!"

Such was the brilliant spectacle of Coeur-de-Lion's arrival in Sicily. When Richard had landed and camped near Messina, he sent envoys at once to Tancred, the King of Sicily, who had usurped the throne and imprisoned Richard's sister Joan, widow of the former king. These envoys were bidden to demand of Tancred the instant release of Joan, the payment of her dowry, and the delivery of a rich legacy which Richard asserted had been left by her husband to Henry II. This bequest included a gold table twelve feet long, twenty-four gold cups and saucers, a large silk tent, and a hundred fine galleys. On receiving King Richard's peremptory message, Tancred at once sent Joan to her royal brother with a large sum of money, but denied any knowledge of the rich legacy that Richard claimed.

Now the French king had previously arrived in Sicily, and the forces of both kings were encamped about Messina. There was much jealousy between the two monarchs. Philip was envious of Richard's greater fame as a warrior, and Richard resented the fact that as Duke of Normandy he was a vassal of the French king. This feeling of ill-will extended to the soldiers of the two armies, hostile from birth, and gave rise to much quarreling and continual brawls. The French contrived to arouse in the people of Sicily a suspicious dread of the King of England. So when these natives saw Richard building and fortifying strongholds, they concluded that he intended to take possession of their island. Then fierce disputes arose between them and the English soldiers.

At length, the trouble ended in an open fight; and Richard promptly attacked the city of Messina. Though the French sided with the natives, who were fifty thousand strong, "King Richard got possession of Messina quicker than any priest could chant matins. Aye, and many more of the citizens would have perished had not the King in his compassion ordered their lives to be spared."

After the capture of the city, King Tancred agreed to give Richard forty thousand ounces of gold in lieu of all claims against him in behalf of Joan. Richard accepted this offer, and peace was restored. One-third of the money he gave to Philip, and the two kings made a new compact of friendship, solemnly swearing to be faithful to each other in all things during this Crusade.

A period of peace followed, during which the kings and nobles amused themselves in various ways while awaiting a favorable season for their voyage to Palestine.

One day while riding, Richard and Philip met a peasant bringing a load of tough canes to town. The two kings and all their knights took each a reed, and using it as a lance, began to tilt against one another. Richard and a French knight, William des Barres, charged each other. The reeds were shattered, and the headpiece of Richard was broken. Enraged at this mishap, the king dashed furiously on William, but his own saddle was upset, and he fell to the ground "quicker than he liked."