The Talisman

“My lord,” said Kenneth, not without much hesitation, “I might guess.”

“And I also may guess,” said the King, frowning sternly; “but it is enough. Leopard as you are, Sir Knight, beware tempting the lion’s paw. Hark ye – to become enamoured of the moon would be but an act of folly; but to leap from the battlements of a lofty tower, in the wild hope of coming within her sphere, were self-destructive madness.”

At this moment some bustling was heard in the outer apartment, and the King, hastily changing to his more natural manner, said, “Enough – begone – speed to De Vaux, and send him hither with the Arabian physician. My life for the faith of the Soldan! Would he but abjure his false law, I would aid him with my sword to drive this scum of French and Austrians from his dominions, and think Palestine as well ruled by him as when her kings were anointed by the decree of Heaven itself.”

The Knight of the Leopard retired, and presently afterwards the chamberlain announced a deputation from the Council, who had come to wait on the Majesty of England.

“It is well they allow that I am living yet,” was his reply. “Who are the reverend ambassadors?”

“The Grand Master of the Templars and the Marquis of Montserrat.”

“Our brother of France loves not sick-beds,” said Richard; “yet, had Philip been ill, I had stood by his couch long since. – Jocelyn, lay me the couch more fairly – it is tumbled like a stormy sea. Reach me yonder steel mirror – pass a comb through my hair and beard. They look, indeed, liker a lion’s mane than a Christian man’s locks. Bring water.”

“My lord,” said the trembling chamberlain, “the leeches say that cold water may be fatal.”

“To the foul fiend with the leeches!” replied the monarch; “if they cannot cure me, think you I will allow them to torment me? – There, then,” he said, after having made his ablutions, “admit the worshipful envoys; they will now, I think, scarcely see that disease has made Richard negligent of his person.”

The celebrated Master of the Templars was a tall, thin, war-worn man, with a slow yet penetrating eye, and a brow on which a thousand dark intrigues had stamped a portion of their obscurity. At the head of that singular body, to whom their order was everything, and their individuality nothing – seeking the advancement of its power, even at the hazard of that very religion which the fraternity were originally associated to protect – accused of heresy and witchcraft, although by their character Christian priests – suspected of secret league with the Soldan, though by oath devoted to the protection of the Holy Temple, or its recovery – the whole order, and the whole personal character of its commander, or Grand Master, was a riddle, at the exposition of which most men shuddered. The Grand Master was dressed in his white robes of solemnity, and he bore the ABACUS, a mystic staff of office, the peculiar form of which has given rise to such singular conjectures and commentaries, leading to suspicions that this celebrated fraternity of Christian knights were embodied under the foulest symbols of paganism.

Conrade of Montserrat had a much more pleasing exterior than the dark and mysterious priest-soldier by whom he was accompanied. He was a handsome man, of middle age, or something past that term, bold in the field, sagacious in council, gay and gallant in times of festivity; but, on the other hand, he was generally accused of versatility, of a narrow and selfish ambition, of a desire to extend his own principality, without regard to the weal of the Latin kingdom of Palestine, and of seeking his own interest, by private negotiations with Saladin, to the prejudice of the Christian leaguers.

When the usual salutations had been made by these dignitaries, and courteously returned by King Richard, the Marquis of Montserrat commenced an explanation of the motives of their visit, sent, as he said they were, by the anxious kings and princes who composed the Council of the Crusaders, “to inquire into the health of their magnanimous ally, the valiant King of England.”

“We know the importance in which the princes of the Council hold our health,” replied the English King; “and are well aware how much they must have suffered by suppressing all curiosity concerning it for fourteen days, for fear, doubtless, of aggravating our disorder, by showing their anxiety regarding the event.”

The flow of the Marquis’s eloquence being checked, and he himself thrown into some confusion by this reply, his more austere companion took up the thread of the conversation, and with as much dry and brief gravity as was consistent with the presence which he addressed, informed the King that they came from the Council, to pray, in the name of Christendom, “that he would not suffer his health to be tampered with by an infidel physician, said to be dispatched by Saladin, until the Council had taken measures to remove or confirm the suspicion which they at present conceived did attach itself to the mission of such a person.”

“Grand Master of the Holy and Valiant Order of Knights Templars, and you, most noble Marquis of Montserrat,” replied Richard, “if it please you to retire into the adjoining pavilion, you shall presently see what account we make of the tender remonstrances of our royal and princely colleagues in this religious warfare.”

The Marquis and Grand Master retired accordingly; nor had they been many minutes in the outward pavilion when the Eastern physician arrived, accompanied by the Baron of Gilsland and Kenneth of Scotland. The baron, however, was a little later of entering the tent than the other two, stopping, perchance, to issue some orders to the warders without.

As the Arabian physician entered, he made his obeisance, after the Oriental fashion, to the Marquis and Grand Master, whose dignity was apparent, both from their appearance and their bearing. The Grand Master returned the salutation with an expression of disdainful coldness, the Marquis with the popular courtesy which he habitually practised to men of every rank and nation. There was a pause, for the Scottish knight, waiting for the arrival of De Vaux, presumed not, of his own authority, to enter the tent of the King of England; and during this interval the Grand Master sternly demanded of the Moslem, “Infidel, hast thou the courage to practise thine art upon the person of an anointed sovereign of the Christian host?”

“The sun of Allah,” answered the sage, “shines on the Nazarene as well as on the true believer, and His servant dare make no distinction betwixt them when called on to exercise the art of healing.”

“Misbelieving Hakim,” said the Grand Master, “or whatsoever they call thee for an unbaptized slave of darkness, dost thou well know that thou shalt be torn asunder by wild horses should King Richard die under thy charge?”

“That were hard justice,” answered the physician, “seeing that I can but use human means, and that the issue is written in the book of light.”

“Nay, reverend and valiant Grand Master,” said the Marquis of Montserrat, “consider that this learned man is not acquainted with our Christian order, adopted in the fear of God, and for the safety of His anointed. – Be it known to thee, grave physician, whose skill we doubt not, that your wisest course is to repair to the presence of the illustrious Council of our Holy League, and there to give account and reckoning to such wise and learned leeches as they shall nominate, concerning your means of process and cure of this illustrious patient; so shall you escape all the danger which, rashly taking such a high matter upon your sole answer, you may else most likely incur.”

“My lords,” said El Hakim, “I understand you well. But knowledge hath its champions as well as your military art – nay, hath sometimes had its martyrs as well as religion. I have the command of my sovereign, the Soldan Saladin, to heal this Nazarene King, and, with the blessing of the Prophet, I will obey his commands. If I fail, ye wear swords thirsting for the blood of the faithful, and I proffer my body to your weapons. But I will not reason with one uncircumcised upon the virtue of the medicines of which I have obtained knowledge through the grace of the Prophet, and I pray you interpose no delay between me and my office.”

“Who talks of delay?” said the Baron de Vaux, hastily entering the tent; “we have had but too much already. I salute you, my Lord of Montserrat, and you, valiant Grand Master. But I must presently pass with this learned physician to the bedside of my master.”

“My lord,” said the Marquis, in Norman-French, or the language of Ouie, as it was then called, “are you well advised that we came to expostulate, on the part of the Council of the Monarchs and Princes of the Crusade, against the risk of permitting an infidel and Eastern physician to tamper with a health so valuable as that of your master, King Richard?”

“Noble Lord Marquis,” replied the Englishman bluntly, “I can neither use many words, nor do I delight in listening to them; moreover, I am much more ready to believe what my eyes have seen than what my ears have heard. I am satisfied that this heathen can cure the sickness of King Richard, and I believe and trust he will labour to do so. Time is precious. If Mohammed – may God’s curse be on him! stood at the door of the tent, with such fair purpose as this Adonbec el Hakim entertains, I would hold it sin to delay him for a minute. So, give ye God’en, my lords.”

“Nay, but,” said Conrade of Montserrat, “the King himself said we should be present when this same physician dealt upon him.”

The baron whispered the chamberlain, probably to know whether the Marquis spoke truly, and then replied, “My lords, if you will hold your patience, you are welcome to enter with us; but if you interrupt, by action or threat, this accomplished physician in his duty, be it known that, without respect to your high quality, I will enforce your absence from Richard’s tent; for know, I am so well satisfied of the virtue of this man’s medicines, that were Richard himself to refuse them, by our Lady of Lanercost, I think I could find in my heart to force him to take the means of his cure whether he would or no. – Move onward, El Hakim.”

The last word was spoken in the lingua franca, and instantly obeyed by the physician. The Grand Master looked grimly on the unceremonious old soldier, but, on exchanging a glance with the Marquis, smoothed his frowning brow as well as he could, and both followed De Vaux and the Arabian into the inner tent, where Richard lay expecting them, with that impatience with which the sick man watches the step of his physician. Sir Kenneth, whose attendance seemed neither asked nor prohibited, felt himself, by the circumstances in which he stood, entitled to follow these high dignitaries; but, conscious of his inferior power and rank, remained aloof during the scene which took place.

Richard, when they entered his apartment, immediately exclaimed, “So ho! a goodly fellowship come to see Richard take his leap in the dark. My noble allies, I greet you as the representatives of our assembled league; Richard will again be amongst you in his former fashion, or ye shall bear to the grave what is left of him. – De Vaux, lives he or dies he, thou hast the thanks of thy prince. There is yet another – but this fever hath wasted my eyesight. What, the bold Scot, who would climb heaven without a ladder! He is welcome too. – Come, Sir Hakim, to the work, to the work!”

The physician, who had already informed himself of the various symptoms of the King’s illness, now felt his pulse for a long time, and with deep attention, while all around stood silent, and in breathless expectation. The sage next filled a cup with spring water, and dipped into it the small red purse, which, as formerly, he took from his bosom. When he seemed to think it sufficiently medicated, he was about to offer it to the sovereign, who prevented him by saying, “Hold an instant. Thou hast felt my pulse – let me lay my finger on thine. I too, as becomes a good knight, know something of thine art.”

The Arabian yielded his hand without hesitation, and his long, slender dark fingers were for an instant enclosed, and almost buried, in the large enfoldment of King Richard’s hand.

“His blood beats calm as an infant’s,” said the King; “so throbs not theirs who poison princes. De Vaux, whether we live or die, dismiss this Hakim with honour and safety. – Commend us, friend, to the noble Saladin. Should I die, it is without doubt of his faith; should I live, it will be to thank him as a warrior would desire to be thanked.”

He then raised himself in bed, took the cup in his hand, and turning to the Marquis and the Grand Master – “Mark what I say, and let my royal brethren pledge me in Cyprus wine, ‘To the immortal honour of the first Crusader who shall strike lance or sword on the gate of Jerusalem; and to the shame and eternal infamy of whomsoever shall turn back from the plough on which he hath laid his hand!’”

He drained the cup to the bottom, resigned it to the Arabian, and sunk back, as if exhausted, upon the cushions which were arranged to receive him. The physician then, with silent but expressive signs, directed that all should leave the tent excepting himself and De Vaux, whom no remonstrance could induce to withdraw. The apartment was cleared accordingly.

CHAPTER X

     And now I will unclasp a secret book,     And, to your quick-conceiving discontent,     I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous.HENRY IV., PART I.

The Marquis of Montserrat and the Grand Master of the Knights Templars stood together in the front of the royal pavilion, within which this singular scene had passed, and beheld a strong guard of bills and bows drawn out to form a circle around it, and keep at distance all which might disturb the sleeping monarch. The soldiers wore the downcast, silent, and sullen looks with which they trail their arms at a funeral, and stepped with such caution that you could not hear a buckler ring or a sword clatter, though so many men in armour were moving around the tent. They lowered their weapons in deep reverence as the dignitaries passed through their files, but with the same profound silence.

“There is a change of cheer among these island dogs,” said the Grand Master to Conrade, when they had passed Richard’s guards. “What hoarse tumult and revel used to be before this pavilion! – nought but pitching the bar, hurling the ball, wrestling, roaring of songs, clattering of wine pots, and quaffing of flagons among these burly yeomen, as if they were holding some country wake, with a Maypole in the midst of them instead of a royal standard.”

“Mastiffs are a faithful race,” said Conrade; “and the King their Master has won their love by being ready to wrestle, brawl, or revel amongst the foremost of them, whenever the humour seized him.”

“He is totally compounded of humours,” said the Grand Master. “Marked you the pledge he gave us! instead of a prayer, over his grace-cup yonder.”

“He would have felt it a grace-cup, and a well-spiced one too,” said the Marquis, “were Saladin like any other Turk that ever wore turban, or turned him to Mecca at call of the muezzin. But he affects faith, and honour, and generosity, as if it were for an unbaptized dog like him to practise the virtuous bearing of a Christian knight. It is said he hath applied to Richard to be admitted within the pale of chivalry.”

“By Saint Bernard!” exclaimed the Grand Master, “it were time then to throw off our belts and spurs, Sir Conrade, deface our armorial bearings, and renounce our burgonets, if the highest honour of Christianity were conferred on an unchristened Turk of tenpence.”

“You rate the Soldan cheap,” replied the Marquis; “yet though he be a likely man, I have seen a better heathen sold for forty pence at the bagnio.”

They were now near their horses, which stood at some distance from the royal tent, prancing among the gallant train of esquires and pages by whom they were attended, when Conrade, after a moment’s pause, proposed that they should enjoy the coolness of the evening breeze which had arisen, and, dismissing their steeds and attendants, walk homewards to their own quarters through the lines of the extended Christian camp. The Grand Master assented, and they proceeded to walk together accordingly, avoiding, as if by mutual consent, the more inhabited parts of the canvas city, and tracing the broad esplanade which lay between the tents and the external defences, where they could converse in private, and unmarked, save by the sentinels as they passed them.

They spoke for a time upon the military points and preparations for defence; but this sort of discourse, in which neither seemed to take interest, at length died away, and there was a long pause, which terminated by the Marquis of Montserrat stopping short, like a man who has formed a sudden resolution, and gazing for some moments on the dark, inflexible countenance of the Grand Master, he at length addressed him thus: “Might it consist with your valour and sanctity, reverend Sir Giles Amaury, I would pray you for once to lay aside the dark visor which you wear, and to converse with a friend barefaced.”

The Templar half smiled.

“There are light-coloured masks,” he said, “as well as dark visors, and the one conceals the natural features as completely as the other.”

“Be it so,” said the Marquis, putting his hand to his chin, and withdrawing it with the action of one who unmasks himself; “there lies my disguise. And now, what think you, as touching the interests of your own order, of the prospects of this Crusade?”

“This is tearing the veil from my thoughts rather than exposing your own,” said the Grand Master; “yet I will reply with a parable told to me by a santon of the desert. ‘A certain farmer prayed to Heaven for rain, and murmured when it fell not at his need. To punish his impatience, Allah,’ said the santon, ‘sent the Euphrates upon his farm, and he was destroyed, with all his possessions, even by the granting of his own wishes.’”

“Most truly spoken,” said the Marquis Conrade. “Would that the ocean had swallowed up nineteen parts of the armaments of these Western princes! What remained would better have served the purpose of the Christian nobles of Palestine, the wretched remnant of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem. Left to ourselves, we might have bent to the storm; or, moderately supported with money and troops, we might have compelled Saladin to respect our valour, and grant us peace and protection on easy terms. But from the extremity of danger with which this powerful Crusade threatens the Soldan, we cannot suppose, should it pass over, that the Saracen will suffer any one of us to hold possessions or principalities in Syria, far less permit the existence of the Christian military fraternities, from whom they have experienced so much mischief.”

“Ay, but,” said the Templar, “these adventurous Crusaders may succeed, and again plant the Cross on the bulwarks of Zion.”

“And what will that advantage either the Order of the Templars, or Conrade of Montserrat?” said the Marquis.

“You it may advantage,” replied the Grand Master. “Conrade of Montserrat might become Conrade King of Jerusalem.”

“That sounds like something,” said the Marquis, “and yet it rings but hollow. Godfrey of Bouillon might well choose the crown of thorns for his emblem. Grand Master, I will confess to you I have caught some attachment to the Eastern form of government – a pure and simple monarchy should consist but of king and subjects. Such is the simple and primitive structure – a shepherd and his flock. All this internal chain of feudal dependance is artificial and sophisticated; and I would rather hold the baton of my poor marquisate with a firm gripe, and wield it after my pleasure, than the sceptre of a monarch, to be in effect restrained and curbed by the will of as many proud feudal barons as hold land under the Assizes of Jerusalem. [The Assises de Jerusalem were the digest of feudal law, composed by Godfrey of Boulogne, for the government of the Latin kingdom of Palestine, when reconquered from the Saracens. “It was composed with advice of the patriarch and barons, the clergy and laity, and is,” says the historian Gibbon, “a precious monument of feudatory jurisprudence, founded upon those principles of freedom which were essential to the system.”] A king should tread freely, Grand Master, and should not be controlled by here a ditch, and there a fence-here a feudal privilege, and there a mail-clad baron with his sword in his hand to maintain it. To sum the whole, I am aware that Guy de Lusignan’s claims to the throne would be preferred to mine, if Richard recovers, and has aught to say in the choice.”

“Enough,” said the Grand Master; “thou hast indeed convinced me of thy sincerity. Others may hold the same opinions, but few, save Conrade of Montserrat, dared frankly avow that he desires not the restitution of the kingdom of Jerusalem, but rather prefers being master of a portion of its fragments – like the barbarous islanders, who labour not for the deliverance of a goodly vessel from the billows, expecting rather to enrich themselves at the expense of the wreck.”

“Thou wilt not betray my counsel?” said Conrade, looking sharply and suspiciously. “Know, for certain, that my tongue shall never wrong my head, nor my hand forsake the defence of either. Impeach me if thou wilt – I am prepared to defend myself in the lists against the best Templar who ever laid lance in rest.”

“Yet thou start’st somewhat suddenly for so bold a steed,” said the Grand Master. “However, I swear to thee by the Holy Temple, which our Order is sworn to defend, that I will keep counsel with thee as a true comrade.”

“By which Temple?” said the Marquis of Montserrat, whose love of sarcasm often outran his policy and discretion; “swearest thou by that on the hill of Zion, which was built by King Solomon, or by that symbolical, emblematical edifice, which is said to be spoken of in the councils held in the vaults of your Preceptories, as something which infers the aggrandizement of thy valiant and venerable Order?”

The Templar scowled upon him with an eye of death, but answered calmly, “By whatever Temple I swear, be assured, Lord Marquis, my oath is sacred. I would I knew how to bind THEE by one of equal obligation.”

“I will swear truth to thee,” said the Marquis, laughing, “by the earl’s coronet, which I hope to convert, ere these wars are over, into something better. It feels cold on my brow, that same slight coronal; a duke’s cap of maintenance were a better protection against such a night-breeze as now blows, and a king’s crown more preferable still, being lined with comfortable ermine and velvet. In a word, our interests bind us together; for think not, Lord Grand Master, that, were these allied princes to regain Jerusalem, and place a king of their own choosing there, they would suffer your Order, any more than my poor marquisate, to retain the independence which we now hold. No, by Our Lady! In such case, the proud Knights of Saint John must again spread plasters and dress plague sores in the hospitals; and you, most puissant and venerable Knights of the Temple, must return to your condition of simple men-at-arms, sleep three on a pallet, and mount two upon one horse, as your present seal still expresses to have been your ancient most simple custom.”

“The rank, privileges, and opulence of our Order prevent so much degradation as you threaten,” said the Templar haughtily.

“These are your bane,” said Conrade of Montserrat; “and you, as well as I, reverend Grand Master, know that, were the allied princes to be successful in Palestine, it would be their first point of policy to abate the independence of your Order, which, but for the protection of our holy father the Pope, and the necessity of employing your valour in the conquest of Palestine, you would long since have experienced. Give them complete success, and you will be flung aside, as the splinters of a broken lance are tossed out of the tilt-yard.”

“There may be truth in what you say,” said the Templar, darkly smiling. “But what were our hopes should the allies withdraw their forces, and leave Palestine in the grasp of Saladin?”

“Great and assured,” replied Conrade. “The Soldan would give large provinces to maintain at his behest a body of well-appointed Frankish lances. In Egypt, in Persia, a hundred such auxiliaries, joined to his own light cavalry, would turn the battle against the most fearful odds. This dependence would be but for a time – perhaps during the life of this enterprising Soldan; but in the East empires arise like mushrooms. Suppose him dead, and us strengthened with a constant succession of fiery and adventurous spirits from Europe, what might we not hope to achieve, uncontrolled by these monarchs, whose dignity throws us at present into the shade – and, were they to remain here, and succeed in this expedition, would willingly consign us for ever to degradation and dependence?”