"If I told you, Wulf, you would not believe."
"Tell me, and I will say."
So G.o.dwin told him all, and at the end asked him, "What think you?"
Wulf considered awhile, and answered:
"Well, brother, you have touched no wine to-day, so you are not drunk, and you have done nothing foolish, so you are not mad.
Therefore it would seem that the saints have been talking to you, or, at least, so I should think of any other man whom I knew to be as good as you are. Yet it is folk like you that see visions, and those visions are not always true, for sometimes, I believe, the devil is their showman. Our watch is ended, for I hear the horses of the knights who come to relieve us. Listen; this is my counsel. In the camp yonder is our friend with whom we travelled from Jerusalem, Egbert, the bishop of Nazareth, who marches with the host. Let us go to him and lay this matter before him, for he is a holy man and learned; no false, self-seeking priest."
G.o.dwin nodded in a.s.sent, and presently, when the other knights were come and they had made their report to them, they rode off together to the tent of Egbert, and, leaving their horses in charge of a servant, entered.
Egbert was an Englishman who had spent more than thirty years of his life in the East, whereof the suns had tanned his wrinkled face to the hue of bronze, that seemed the darker in contrast with his blue eyes and snow-white hair and beard. Entering the tent, they found him at his prayers before a little image of the Virgin, and stood with bowed heads until he had finished.
Presently he rose, and greeting them with a blessing, asked them what they needed.
"Your counsel, holy father," answered Wulf. "G.o.dwin, set out your tale."
So, having seen that the tent flap was closed and that none lingered near, G.o.dwin told him his dream.
The old man listened patiently, nor did he seem surprised at this strange story, since in those days men saw--or thought they saw--many such visions, which were accepted by the Church as true.
When he had finished G.o.dwin asked of him as he had asked of Wulf: "What think you, holy father? Is this a dream, or is it a message? And if so, from whom comes the message?"
"G.o.dwin D"Arcy," he answered, "in my youth I knew your father. It was I who shrove him when he lay dying of his wounds, and a n.o.bler soul never pa.s.sed from earth to heaven. After you had left Damascus, when you were the guest of Saladin, we dwelt together in the same lodging in Jerusalem, and together we travelled here, during all which time I learned to know you also as the worthy son of a worthy sire--no dissolute knight, but a true servant of the Church. It well may be that to such a one as you foresight has been given, that through you those who rule us may be warned, and all Christendom saved from great sorrow and disgrace. Come; let us go to the king, and tell this story, for he still sits in council yonder."
So they went out together and rode to the royal tent. Here the bishop was admitted, leaving them without.
Presently he returned and beckoned to them, and as they pa.s.sed, the guards whispered to them:
"A strange council, sirs, and a fateful!"
Already it was near midnight, but still the great pavilion was crowded with barons and chief captains who sat in groups, or sat round a narrow table made of boards placed upon trestles. At the head of that table sat the king, Guy of Lusignan, a weak-faced man, clad in splendid armour. On his right was the white-haired Count Raymond of Tripoli, and on his left the black-bearded, frowning Master of the Templars, clad in his white mantle on the left breast of which the red cross was blazoned.
Words had been running high, their faces showed it, but just then a silence reigned as though the disputants were weary, and the king leaned back in his chair, pa.s.sing his hand to and fro across his forehead. He looked up, and seeing the bishop, asked peevishly:
"What is it now? Oh! I remember, some tale from those tall twin knights. Well, bring them forward and speak it out, for we have no time to lose."
So the three of them came forward and at G.o.dwin"s prayer the bishop Egbert told of the vision that had come to him not more than an hour ago while he kept watch upon the mountain top. At first one or two of the barons seemed disposed to laugh, but when they looked at G.o.dwin"s high and spiritual face, their laughter died away, for it did not seem wonderful to them that such a man should see visions. Indeed, as the tale of the rocky hill and the dead who were stretched upon it went on, they grew white with fear, and whitest of them all was the king, Guy of Lusignan.
"Is all this true, Sir G.o.dwin?" he asked, when the bishop had finished.
"It is true, my lord king," answered G.o.dwin.
"His word is not enough," broke in the Master of the Templars.
"Let him swear to it on the Holy Rood, knowing that if he lies it will blast his soul to all eternity." And the council muttered, "Ay, let him swear."
Now there was an annexe to the tent, rudely furnished as a chapel, and at the end of this annexe a tall, veiled object.
Rufinus, the bishop of Acre, who was clad in the armour of a knight, went to the object, and drawing the veil, revealed a broken, blackened cross, set around with jewels, that stood about the height of a man above the ground, for all the lower part was gone.
At the sight of it G.o.dwin and every man present there fell upon his knees, for since St. Helena found it, over seven centuries before, this had been accounted the most precious relic in all Christendom; the very wood upon which the Saviour suffered, as, indeed, it may have been.
Millions had worshipped it, tens of thousands had died for it, and now, in the hour of this great struggle between Christ and the false prophet it was brought from its shrine that the host which escorted it might prove invincible in battle. Soldiers who fought around the very Cross could not be defeated, they said, for, if need were, legions of angels would come to aid them.
G.o.dwin and Wulf stared at the relic with wonder, fear, and adoration. There were the nail marks, there was the place where the scroll of Pilate had been affixed above the holy head--almost could they seem to see that Form divine and dying.
"Now," broke in the voice of the Master of the Templars, "let Sir G.o.dwin D"Arcy swear to the truth of his tale upon this Rood."
Rising from his knees G.o.dwin advanced to the Cross, and laying his hand upon the wood, said: "Upon the very Rood I swear that not much more than an hour ago I saw the vision which has been told to the king"s highness and to all; that I believe this vision was sent to me in answer to my prayer to preserve our host and the holy city from the power of the Saracen, and that it is a true foreshadowing of what will come about should we advance upon the Sultan. I can say no more. I swear, knowing that if I lie eternal d.a.m.nation is my doom."
The bishop drew back the covering over the Cross, and in silence the council took their seats again about the table. Now the king was very pale, and fearful; indeed a gloom lay upon all of them.
"It would seem," he said, "that here a messenger has been sent to us from heaven. Dare we disobey his message?"
The Grand Templar lifted his rugged, frowning face. "A messenger from heaven, said you, king? To me he seems more like a messenger from Saladin. Tell us, Sir G.o.dwin, were not you and your brother once the Sultan"s guests at Damascus?"
"That is so, my lord Templar. We left before the war was declared."
"And," went on the Master, "were you not officers of the Sultan"s bodyguard?"
Now all looked intently at G.o.dwin, who hesitated a little, foreseeing how his answer would be read, whereon Wulf spoke in his loud voice:
"Ay, we acted as such for awhile, and--doubtless you have heard the story--saved Saladin"s life when he was attacked by the a.s.sa.s.sins."
"Oh!" said the Templar with bitter sarcasm, "you saved Saladin"s life, did you? I can well believe it. You, being Christians, who above everything should desire the death of Saladin, saved his life! Now, Sir Knights, answer me one more question--"
"Sir Templar, with my tongue or with my sword?" broke in Wulf, but the king held up his hand and bade him be silent.
"A truce to your tavern ruffling, young sir, and answer," went on the Templar. "Or, rather, do you answer, Sir G.o.dwin. Is your cousin, Rosamund, the daughter of Sir Andrew D"Arcy, a niece of Saladin, and has she been created by him princess of Baalbec, and is she at this moment in his city of Damascus?"
"She is his niece," answered G.o.dwin quietly; "she is the princess of Baalbec, but at this moment she is not in Damascus."
"How do you know that, Sir G.o.dwin?"
"I know it because in the vision of which you have been told I saw her sleeping in a tent in the camp of Saladin."
Now the council began to laugh, but G.o.dwin, with a set, white face, went on:
"Ay, my lord Templar, and near that very blazoned tent I saw scores of the Templars and of the Hospitallers lying dead.
Remember it when the dreadful hour comes and you see them also."
Now the laughter died away, and a murmur of fear ran round the board, mixed with such words as "Wizardry." "He has learnt it from the Paynims." "A black sorcerer, without doubt."
Only the Templar, who feared neither man nor spirit, laughed, and gave him the lie with his eyes.
"You do not believe me," said G.o.dwin, "nor will you believe me when I say that while I was on guard on yonder hill-top I saw you wrangling with the Count of Tripoli--ay, and draw your sword and dash it down in front of him upon this very table."
Now again the council stared and muttered, for they too had seen this thing; but the Master answered: