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CHAPTER XIX.
THE CAPTIVE

AT the time when Guy Muschamp was dragged away as a captive to the camp of the Saracens at Djedilé, the emir Fakreddin sat in his pavilion. It was a marvellous tent, in the centre of the camp, and formed so as to resemble a fortified city, being divided into streets, flanked with towers, and furnished with everything likely to contribute to the luxury of an oriental. In an apartment, ornamented with gold and gems, the emir sat, face to face with a dark-browed Saracen chief, and playing at chess. But the game did not by any means monopolise the attention of the persons engaged in it; for the companion of the emir was no less celebrated a person than Bibars Bendocdar, the chief of the Mamelukes; and between him and Fakreddin there was much discussion as to the best mode of dealing with the enemies who menaced the empire with ruin.

And who was Bibars Bendocdar? It is necessary that we should learn, in order to comprehend the events that were ere long to startle and terrify the nations of Christendom.

At the time when Louis, King of France, undertook his Crusade, it was the custom, when two eastern potentates went to war, for the conqueror to sell the subjects of the vanquished enemy as slaves; and many of these, bought by merchants, were carried to Egypt, and sold to the sultan, who had them trained from boyhood to serve him as soldiers. Carefully were these young captives reared; and, when their beards began to grow, they were taught to draw the bow and wield the sword. After becoming expert in military exercises, they were admitted into that famous body, which Saladin the Great had instituted, and known as Mamelukes. Their privileges were many. They were highly favoured by the sultan, wearing his emblazonments of pure gold, only adding bars of vermilion, with birds or roses or griffins for difference, and acting as his body-guard in time of war, and watching over his safety while he slept.

It seems that Bibars Bendocdar was originally brought to Egypt as a slave, and, in course of time, enrolled as one of the Mamelukes. As such he rose rapidly. His ambition was intense; and, being both able and unscrupulous, he had no reason to despair of his ambition being one day gratified. No position, indeed, could be more favourable to a man eager to emerge from obscurity to eminence, than that which he occupied; and he not only succeeded in winning the confidence of the sultan, but contrived to insinuate himself into the good graces of the soldiers. In truth, this with him was no difficult matter. He had profoundly studied human nature as it was exhibited around him; and he comprehended, above all things, the arts by which the hearts of fighting men are gained and retained, and the arts also by which military adventurers elevate themselves to supremacy in a state.

Besides, Bibars Bendocdar had other qualities likely to render him a formidable foe or a dangerous rival. He was skillful as a leader in war, courageous in conflict, cruel in the hour of victory, and remarkable for his penetration, sagacity, and activity. Moreover, he professed great faith in the Mahometan religion, and had great faith also in his own destiny. Such was the man who now watched events with the eagerness of a gambler, and who recognised, not without satisfaction, the danger and disorder, from the bosom of which a leader of courage and audacity might, by rekindling enthusiasm and restoring order, elevate himself to power. He was about to prove himself one of the most formidable foes whom the soldiers of the Cross had ever been under the necessity of encountering.

Into the presence of the Emir Fakreddin and Bibars Bendocdar young Guy Muschamp, drenched and agitated, was carried. Alarmed as he well might be, the squire exhibited a dauntless air and presented a bold front. In fact, his demeanour was such that the Saracen chiefs exchanged glances of surprise.

'Who are you?' asked Fakreddin.

'My name is Muschamp, and I am a subject of the King of England.'

'And what brought you to Egypt?'

'I came to fight for the Holy Sepulchre.'

'And,' asked Bibars Bendocdar, sternly, 'know you not that passage in the Koran which says that they who make war unjustly shall perish?'

'Saracen,' replied Guy, proudly, 'an Anglo-Norman gentleman does not regulate his conduct by the Koran.'

'However,' said Fakreddin, waving his hand, 'it is needful that you answer some questions as to the army of Franks, and that you answer truly.'

'Saracen,' replied Guy, resolutely, 'I will not answer a question on the subject.'

'Fool!' exclaimed Bibars Bendocdar, impatiently; 'know you not your danger? Know you not that we can instantly order your head to be struck off?'

'Doubtless,' replied Guy. 'And, in that case, I die the death of a martyr, and go straight to paradise.'

'Infidel!' cried Bibars, loudly; 'you know not of what you speak. You will have to account for your faith to the angels Munkir and Nakir.'

'Munkir and Nakir!' exclaimed Guy, with an air of perplexity; 'beshrew me if I ever before heard of their names.'

'You will know them soon enough, if you act not more discreetly,' said Bibars; 'for they are the two angels who interrogate the dead the moment they are in the grave, saying, "Who is thy lord?" and, "Who is thy prophet?"'

'On my faith, Saracen,' said Guy, compassionately, 'I marvel much that a man of your years can credit such pagan fables.'

'Dog!' exclaimed Bibars. 'This to my beard! Ho! there, guards! Strike off this Christian's head, and cast his carcase to the fishes!'

'No,' said Fakreddin, mildly, 'it is well that he should have time to reflect. Let him be kept as a prisoner till the morrow. He will then be more likely to answer the questions asked of him.'

Accordingly Guy Muschamp was led from the presence of the Saracen chiefs and shut up in a small apartment in the centre of Fakreddin's tent. The position was the reverse of pleasant; and he almost gave himself up for lost. Next morning, however, after he had eaten some food brought him by the jailer, he was startled, first by a commotion in the camp, and then by such a noise and tumult as if all the fiends had come thither from the infernal regions to fight their battles. Gradually, through the din, the ear of Guy recognised the clash of weapons and the rushing of steeds, and his suspense was agonising. For a time he endeavoured to make out what was occurring; but this was in vain. At length the noise ceased; and Guy moved to the door with the intention of making a desperate effort to break it open. Somewhat to his surprise, he found that it did not resist. In fact, the jailer was gone and the camp deserted.

CHAPTER XX.
PASSING THE ACHMOUN

MORE than six weeks had passed since the Crusaders found their progress arrested by the Achmoun; and still the causeway by which they had hoped to pass the canal was not constructed. Indeed, the workmen had made very little progress since the first week; and Louis was despairing of seeing the work brought to a completion, when, much to his gratification, he learned that there was a prospect of crossing the canal by the simplest of all processes.

On the day when Guy Muschamp was carried off as a captive, the Constable of France was surprised by a visit from a Bedouin, and demanded his business. The Bedouin thereupon offered, for five hundred golden bezants, to point out a ford by which the Crusaders might, without danger or difficulty, cross in safety to the opposite bank. The constable at once promised the required reward, in the event of the information proving satisfactory; but it was not till the money was told down that the Bedouin conducted him to the spot, and convinced him that the ford was there. Gladly hastening to Louis, the constable revealed the means of extricating the armed pilgrims from their embarrassment; and the king, assembling the princes and nobles, decided on leaving the Duke of Burgundy on the Damietta side with a sufficient force to guard the camp; and then, mastering their men and mounting their horses, they at midnight marched along the bank of the canal to the ford pointed out by the Bedouin, and awaited the break of day to dash through the water and move towards Mansourah.

It was the morning of Tuesday, the 8th of February, 1250 – Shrove Tuesday – when the armed pilgrims, under the auspices of King Louis, halted on the Damietta side of the Achmoun, and awaited the signal to pass to that on which Mansourah was situated. Everything so far had gone quite as smoothly as could reasonably have been expected. Some horsemen, indeed, rode too near the margin of the canal, and, getting on soft and slippery ground, they and their horses fell in and were drowned. Among them was Sir John of Orleans, a valiant knight, who bore the French banner. But this was a slight misfortune compared with that which the folly and presumption of one man was preparing for that ill-starred host.

At all times, and under all circumstances, the Count of Artois was one of the most unreasonable of human beings; and at this moment, so important to Louis, to France, to the Crusaders, and to the Christian kingdom of Jerusalem, nothing would satisfy his ambition but being the first to cross. Not unaware of his brother's failings, Louis protested; but the count persisted; and, promising to wait with patience on the opposite bank for the main army, he placed himself at the head of the van, which was formed of the Templars, the Hospitallers, and the English Crusaders, and dashed into the canal.

Now, at this moment the opposite bank was occupied by several hundred Saracen horsemen, who seemed prepared to oppose the landing of the Crusaders. No sooner, however, did the Saracens perceive that the Crusaders were fording the canal safely than they gave way, and fled towards the camp of the Emir Fakreddin at Djedilé.

It was then that, in spite of all the warnings he had received and all the promises he had made, the Count of Artois gave way to the impetuosity that was destined to lead to the ruin of the pilgrim army. At the sight of the flying Saracens, he threw all discretion to the winds, and, attended by his governor, an old deaf knight, who held his rein, pursued the fugitives towards the camp. In vain the Grand Masters of the Temple and the Hospital shouted out remonstrances. The count paid no attention whatever; and the aged knight, who was too deaf to hear a word, urged on the pursuit, crying loudly, 'Hurrah! hurrah! Upon them! upon them!'

The Saracens who occupied the camp at Djedilé were panic-stricken; and, supposing that the whole French army was upon them, fled in confusion towards Mansourah. But there was one man who did not fly; and that man was Fakreddin. When the camp was invaded, the emir was in his bath, and having his beard coloured, after the custom of the Orientals; but he immediately roused himself, dressed himself hastily, and, springing on horseback, endeavoured to rally his troops, and attempted to resist. Inspired by Fakreddin's example, the Saracens who had not fled offered a feeble resistance. But it was unavailing, and they followed the fugitives streaming towards Mansourah. Fakreddin, however, disdaining either to fly or yield, continued to struggle bravely; until, left almost alone, he fell in the midst of his foes, covered with wounds, and consoling himself, as his breath went, that his end was glorious, that he died a martyr for Islamism, and that he would be conveyed to the banks of the celestial river.

'By the head of St. Anthony!' exclaimed the Count of Artois, looking fiercely on Fakreddin's mangled corpse, 'it was this emir who boasted that he would dine in the red tent of my lord the king; but now he will not grumble at a humbler resting-place.'

'My lord count,' said Salisbury, gravely, 'the emir, had he been ten times a Saracen, was a brave man; and let us merit the praises of the valiant by showing that we know how to honour the memory of our enemies as well as of our friends.'

'Amen,' said both the grand masters, in significant accents.

CHAPTER XXI
THE CARNAGE OF MANSOURAH

IT was still early morning, and King Louis was still on the Damietta side of the Achmoun, when the Count of Artois, the Earl of Salisbury, and the Grand Masters of the Temple and the Hospital, found themselves victors in the camp.

'Now, gentlemen,' said the Count of Artois, 'let us forward, and complete the rout of our foes while affairs prosper in our hands and they are in dismay. Speed will now avail more than strength; and the fewer we are the greater will be the honour of a victory. Forward then, and crush them at a blow!'

'Forward!' shouted the old deaf knight, who held the count's rein. 'Hurrah! hurrah! Upon them! upon them!'

But the count's companions hesitated, and exchanged glances of alarm.

'Noble prince,' said the Master of the Temple, after a pause, 'I give all praise to your valour; but I entreat you to be advised, and not to act rashly. Our men are weary; our horses are wounded; we are few in number; and we must not overvalue our victory, or suppose our enemies are vanquished because they have lost a handful of men. Let us, therefore, return to the king, that we may be strengthened by his counsel and aid.'

'In truth,' said the Grand Master of the Hospital, 'we should be foolhardy to attempt aught rashly. We are in a strange country; and our best instructors are behind. Let us stay for our lantern and not go forward in the dark.'

'Ah!' exclaimed the Count of Artois, swelling with pride and anger, 'this is ever the way with military monks. But for the treachery of the Templars, and the sedition of the Hospitallers, the Holy Land would long since have been won.'

'Noble count,' said the Grand Master of the Temple, reproachfully, 'you do us grievous wrong. Why should we take the habit of religion, and pass our lives in a foreign land amid perils and fatigues? Is it, think you, to overthrow the Church and betray the cause of Christ, that we abandon our homes and kindred? However,' added the Grand Master, waxing wrath, 'let us forward, in God's name, and try all together the fortunes of battle. Standard-bearer, unfurl the banner of the Temple. Ha! Beau-séant! Beau-séant!'

At this moment the Earl of Salisbury made an effort to save his comrades from the destruction on which they were about to rush.

'My lord,' said he, addressing the Count of Artois, 'I implore you to listen to the wholesome counsel of the grand masters. They have been long in this country, and learned by experience the craft as well as the strength of our foes. We, being strangers, are ignorant of the perils; but we know that, as far as the east is from the west, so far are my ways different from the ways of the Orientals.'

'Hearken to this Englishman!' exclaimed the count, scornfully. 'What cowardice there is in these English! But their timid counsel suits not us. Happy should I be if the Christian army were purged of the English tails!'

A flush of rage crimsoned the earl's bronzed cheek, and his eye flashed fire.

'Now, by my father's sword!' cried he, striving to be calm, though he literally quivered with indignation, 'this passes human patience! Ho! there, Lord Robert de Vere, raise my banner; and you, Count of Artois, lead on, and see if the danger of death hinders us from following. The touchstone must try which is gold and which is brass; and I swear, by good St. George, as I put on my helmet, that the English knights whom you have taunted with cowardice will this day penetrate farther in the ranks of our foes than any warrior of France – be he prince or paladin – will venture to do.'

And the dispute having there been terminated, the Count of Artois and his Crusaders put on their helmets and mounted their horses. At that moment the eye of Salisbury alighted on Walter Espec; and his countenance, which had expressed the most scornful indignation, suddenly changed, and expressed something like pity.

'Boy,' said he, in a low, kindly tone, 'fall back and wait for the French king. We are rushing on certain death; and you are too young to die.'

'Nay, my good lord,' replied Walter, calmly. 'A man, whether young or old, can die but once: I would rather fall fighting in the cause of our Redeemer, and under your banner, than in a less holy cause and in meaner company.'

'As you will,' said the earl. 'It shall never be told that I prevented knight or squire from dying the death of a martyr.'

'By the might of Mary! Master Espec,' whispered Bisset; the English knight, 'were I your age, and had my choice, certes, I should think twice ere hazarding life against such odds. Wherefore should you fall a victim to the madness of my Lord of Artois, or the pride of my Lord of Salisbury?'

'On my faith, I know not,' answered Walter, smiling. 'But this I do know, that a man can die but once, and that a Christian warrior who falls with the Cross on his shoulder is understood to win the crown of martyrdom.'

'Nevertheless, were I you, and of your years,' argued Bisset; 'I should little relish the notion of being killed; for, as the Saracens say, when man dies there is no hope of his living again; because, as they add truly, man is not a water-melon; when once in the ground he cannot grow again.'

By this time French and Templars and Hospitallers and English were mounted; and, without further argument, they dashed towards Mansourah. At first they encountered no obstacle; and, while the inhabitants fled in terror along the road to Cairo, the Count of Artois and his companions, after destroying one of the gates, so as to secure egress if necessary, penetrated into the city, carrying all before them; and, reaching the palace of the sultan, they commenced the work of pillage. But during this process they were rudely interrupted; for Bibars Bendocdar perceived the imprudence of which the Crusaders had been guilty, and suddenly, at the head of a Saracen army, appeared to give them battle.

And now the Crusaders were in a fearful predicament. Ere they had time to rally, they were fiercely attacked. From the roofs and windows of the houses around, the Saracens hurled stones, and poured heated sand and boiling water. Before them were the Mamelukes, headed by Bibars Bendocdar, fiery with fanaticism, and panting for blood. It was a terrible situation even for brave men; and the very bravest there felt a thrill of awe and terror.

'All is lost!' said Salisbury, in a whisper.

'The King of France may hear of our peril, and come to our rescue,' suggested Lord Robert de Vere.

'No hope of succour,' said Bisset, in a conclusive tone. 'But let us not droop. We can at least sell our lives dearly.'

A brief and painful silence succeeded, while still upon the Crusaders the Saracens hurled stones and poured boiling water.

'Englishmen and friends,' at length said Salisbury, raising his voice so as to be heard at a distance, 'it were vain at this moment to deny our peril. But take courage, my brave companions; and let us not faint in the hour of adversity. Everything, save dishonour, may be borne by valiant men; and adversity sheds a light upon the virtues of mankind, as surely as prosperity casts over them a shade. Here there is no room for retreat; for our enemies encompass us about; and to attempt to fly would be certain death. Be of good cheer, then, and let the urgency of the case sharpen your valour and nerve your arms. Brave men should either conquer nobly, or die with glory; and martyrdom is a boon which we should accept without reluctance. But, before we fall, let us, while we live, do what may avenge our deaths; and, while giving thanks to God that it is our lot to die as martyrs, let us, in our last efforts of valour and despair, prove ourselves worthy soldiers of the Cross.'

'Earl William,' said the Count of Artois, riding up, and now conscious of his folly, 'God fights against us. Resistance is vain, but escape is possible. Let us consult our safety, and fly while yet our horses can carry us.'

'Fly if you will!' answered the earl, scornfully; 'but God forbid that any but liars should ever have it in their power to tell that my father's son fled from the face of a Saracen.'

And now the heavens and the earth seemed to resound with the noise of horns and enormous kettle-drums; and, urged on by Bibars Bendocdar, the Saracens rushed upon their enemies. The plight of the Crusaders was desperate. But, few as they were in comparison with the swarming foe, they fought gallantly and well; and, though wounded and exhausted, maintained the conflict for hours after the flight of the Count of Artois. But fearful in the meantime was the carnage. Full fifteen hundred knights had fallen; and of these, three hundred were of the order of the Temple. Gradually the numbers diminished, till there remained not a dozen of the men who had that morning invaded Fakreddin's camp; and among these were the Earl of Salisbury, Lord Robert de Vere, the Grand Masters of the Temple and the Hospital, Bisset the English knight, and Walter Espec, still unwounded, and fighting as if he bore a charmed life, and felt invulnerable to javelins or arrows.

But all possibility of continuing to resist was now at an end, and every hope of succour had vanished. Salisbury, resolved to sell his life dearly, faced the Saracens with desperate valour, and used his battle-axe with such effect that a hundred Saracens are said to have fallen that day by his hand. At length his horse was killed under him; and, after rising to his feet, and fighting for awhile with disdain, he fell covered with wounds. Robert de Vere, already bleeding and exhausted, no sooner saw Salisbury sink than he wrapped the English standard round his body, and lay down to die by the great earl's side. Bisset, Walter Espec, and the two grand masters, found themselves surrounded by a host of foes, and defending themselves desperately against every species of assailant.

'Alas!' exclaimed the grand masters of the Temple, 'we are clearly doomed.'

'I would fain hope not,' answered Bisset, resolutely. 'Our weapons are not willow-wands; we can cut our way through the pagan rabble.'

'Shame upon us if we hesitate!' said Walter Espec.

And drawing close together, with a rush which for a time bore down opposition, the four survivors made a stern endeavour to reach the gate, – the axe of Bisset and the swords of the military monks doing terrible execution. Twice the Saracens formed in a mass to prevent their reaching the only gate which was not closed; as often Bisset, penetrating singly into the Saracen ranks, dealt death and destruction to his foes, and opened the way for his friends; till gradually, having by force of arm overthrown every obstacle in his path, he reached the gate, and, followed by the Grand Master of the Temple, dashed through the opening, with a shout of defiance at his assailants.

But the Grand Master of the Hospital and Walter Espec had not such good fortune as the Templar and the English knight. Bibars Bendocdar, enraged at the rumour that some Christians were escaping from the carnage, hastened to the open gate, and, with his arrival, every chance vanished. Dragged from his steed, the grand master was fain to surrender himself prisoner. Wounded by an arrow and a javelin, but still struggling to fight his way out, Walter Espec cut down a Saracen soldier, and, rising in his stirrups and shouting, 'St. Katherine for Espec!' made a fierce thrust at Bendocdar. But next moment he was felled to the ground; he felt that his blood was flowing fast, and that horsemen were riding over him; and then he lost all consciousness, and lay prostrate and insensible among the dead and the dying.