"The servants are honoured with their lord," said Dunstan. "The King sent gifts for us, too."
"That was a man"s thought, not a woman"s," said Gilbert, almost to himself.
He went out, and Dunstan walked by his left, but half a step behind his stride, as was proper.
The camp was lit up with fires and torches as far as one could see, and all men were out of doors, either walking up and down, arm in arm, or sitting before their tents on folding-stools, or on their saddles, or on packs of baggage. The hundreds and thousands of little Christmas trees, stuck into the earth amid circles of torches before the newly whitened tents, made a great garden of boughs and evergreens, and the yellow glare shone everywhere through lacing branches, and fell on rich colours and gleaming arms, well polished for the holiday, and lost itself suddenly in the cold starlight overhead. The air smelt of evergreen and the aromatic smoke of burning resin.
The night rang with song also, and in some places as many as a hundred had gathered in company to sing the long Christmas hymns they had learned as little children far away at home--endless canticles with endless repet.i.tions, telling the story of the Christ-Child"s birth at Bethlehem, of the adoration of the shepherds, and of the coming of the Eastern kings.
In one part of the camp the rough Burgundians were drinking the strong Asian wine in deep draughts, roaring their great choruses between, with more energy than unction. But for the most part the northern men were sober and in earnest, praying as they sang and looking upward as if the Star of the East were presently to shed its soft light in the sky; and they tended the torches and lights around the trees devoutly, not guessing that their fathers had done the same long ago, in bleak Denmark and snowy Norway, in worship of Odin and in honour of Yggdrasil, the tree of life.
The Gascons and all the men of the South, on their side, had made little altars between two trees, decked with white cloths and adorned with tinsel ornaments and little crosses and small carved images carefully brought, like household G.o.ds, from the far home, and treasured only next to their arms. The thin, dark faces of the men were fervent with southern faith, and their wild black eyes were deep and still.
There were also Alsatians and Lorrainers in lines by themselves, quiet, fair-haired men. They had little German dolls of wood, and toys brightly painted, and by their trees they set out the scene of Bethlehem, with the manger and the Christ-Child, and the oxen crouching down, and the Blessed Mary and Saint Joseph, and also the shepherds and the wise kings; and the men sat down before these things with happy faces and sang their songs. So it was through the whole camp, the soldiers doing everywhere according to their customs.
As for the n.o.bles and knights, Gilbert saw some of them walking about like himself, and some were sitting before their tents. Here and there, as he pa.s.sed, when a tent was open, he saw knights kneeling in prayer, and could hear them reciting the litanies. But it was not always so, for some were spending the night in feasting, their tents being closed, though one could hear plainly the revelry. There was more than one great tent in the French lines, of which the curtain was raised a little, and there Gilbert saw men and women drinking together, under bright lights, and he saw that the women were Greeks and that their cheeks were painted and their eyelids blackened; and he turned away from the sight, in disgust that such things should be done on the Holy Eve of Christmas.
Further on, some very poor soldiers, in sheepskin doublets and leathern hose, were kneeling together before a sort of rough screen, on which were hung images painted in the manner of Greek eikons. These men had long and silky beards, and their smooth brown hair hung out over their shoulders in well-combed waves, and some of them had beautiful faces.
One, who was a priest of their own, stood upright and recited prayers in a low chant, and from time to time, at the refrain, the soldiers all bowed themselves till their foreheads touched the ground.
"The Lord Jesus Christ be praised," sang the priest.
"To all ages. Amen," responded the soldiers.
Though they sang in the Bohemian language, and Gilbert could not understand, he saw that they believed and were of an earnest mind.
So he walked about for more than an hour, looking and listening, and his own sad humour was lightened a little as he forgot to think of himself only. For it seemed a great thing to have been chosen to lead so many through a wilderness full of danger, and to know that more than a hundred thousand lives had been in his keeping, as it were, for two months, and were to be in his hand again, till he should lead them safely into Syria, or perish himself and leave his task to another. It was a task worth accomplishing and a trust worth his life.
Then, at midnight, he was walking in a great procession after the King and Queen. Modestly he joined the ranks, and his man walked beside him carrying a torch, so that the light fell full upon his face. Some one knew him, and spoke to his neighbour.
"That is Sir Gilbert Warde, who is our guide," he said.
In an instant word ran along the line that he was there; and in a few minutes a messenger came breathless, asking for him, and then the herald of France, Montjoye Saint Denis, came after, bidding him to a foremost place, in the name of the King and Queen. So he followed the herald, whose runner walked before him, as had been bidden by Eleanor herself.
"Make way for the Guide of Aquitaine!" cried the squire, in a loud voice.
Knights and men-at-arms stood aside to let him pa.s.s, and the tall Englishman went between them, courteously bending his head to thank those who moved out of his way, and deprecating the high honour that was done him. He heard his name repeated, both by men whose faces he could see in the light around him, when the torches blazed and flamed, and also from the darkness beyond.
"Well done, Sir Gilbert!" cried some. "G.o.d bless the Guide of Aquitaine!" cried many others. And all the voices praised him, so that his heart warmed.
Following the herald, he came to his place in the procession, in the front rank of the great va.s.sals of the two kingdoms, and just after the sovereign lords; and as he was somewhat taller than other men, he could look over their heads, and he saw the King and Queen in their furs, walking together, and before them the bishops and priests. At the stir made by his coming Eleanor turned and looked back, and her eyes met Gilbert"s through the smoky glare, gazing at him sadly, as if she would have made him understand something she could not say.
But he would not have spoken if he could, for his thoughts were on other things. The procession went on toward the royal altar, set up under an open tent in a wide s.p.a.ce, so that the mult.i.tude could kneel on the gra.s.s and both see and hear the celebration. So they all knelt down, the great barons and chief va.s.sals having small ha.s.socks for their knees, while the King and Queen and the sovereign lords of Savoy and Alsatia and Lorraine, and of Bohemia and of Poland, had rich praying-stools set out for them in a row, next to the King and Queen.
The torches were stuck into the ground to burn down as they might, and the great wax candles shone quietly on the white altar, for the night was now very still and clear. There all the great n.o.bles and many thousands of other men heard the Christmas ma.s.s, just after midnight, knowing that many of them should never hear it again on earth. There they all sang together, in a mighty melody of older times, the "Glory to G.o.d in the highest," which was first sung on the Holy Eve; and there, when the Bishop of Metz was about to lift up the consecrated bread, the royal trumpets rang out a great call to the mult.i.tude, so that all men might bow themselves together. Then the silence was very deep, while the Lord pa.s.sed by; nor ever again in his life did Sir Gilbert Warde know such a stillness as that was, save once, and it seemed to him that in the Way of the Cross he had reached a place of refreshment and rest.
CHAPTER XX
Gilbert rose from his knees with the rest, and then he saw that the King and Queen placed themselves side by side and standing, and the n.o.bles began to go up to them according to their rank, to kiss their hands. As Gilbert stood still, not knowing what to do, he watched the procession of the barons from a distance. Suddenly he felt that his eyes were wide open, and that he was gazing at a face which he knew, hardly believing that he saw it in the flesh; and his back stiffened, and his teeth ground on one another.
Ten paces from him, waiting and looking on, like himself, stood a graceful man of middle height, of a clear olive complexion, with a well-clipped beard of somewhat pointed cut, grey at the sides, as was also the smooth, dark hair. Years had pa.s.sed, and the last time he had seen that face had been in the changing light of the greenwood, where the sunshine played among the leaves; and as he had seen it last, he had felt steel in his side and had fallen asleep, and after that his life had changed. For Arnold de Curboil was before him, looking at him, but not recognizing him. Still Gilbert stood rooted to the spot, trying not to believe his senses, for he could not understand how his stepfather could suddenly be among the Crusaders; but the divine peace that had descended upon him that night was shivered as a mirror by a stone, and his heart grew cold and hard.
The man also was changed since Gilbert had seen him. The face was handsome still, but it was thin and sharp, and the eyes were haggard and weary, as if they had seen a great evil long and had sickened of it at last, and were haunted by it. Gilbert looked at him who had murdered his father and had brought shame to his mother, and who had robbed him of his fair birthright, and he saw that something of the score had been paid. Gradually, too, as Sir Arnold gazed, a look of something like despair settled in his face, a sort of horror that was not fear,--for he was no coward,--but was rather a dread of himself. He made a step forward, and Gilbert waited, and heard how Dunstan, who stood behind him, loosened his dagger in its bra.s.s sheath.
At that moment came the King"s herald again as before, bidding him go up to the presence of the King and Queen.
"Room for the Guide of Aquitaine!"
The cry rang loud and clear, and Gilbert saw Sir Arnold start in surprise at the high-sounding t.i.tle. Then he followed the herald; but in his heart there was already a triumph that the man who had left him for dead in the English woods should find him again thus preferred before other men.
The Queen"s face grew paler as he came toward her and knelt down on one knee, and through her embroidered glove of state his own hand, that was cold, felt that hers was colder. But it did not tremble, and her voice was steady and clear, so that all could hear it.
"Sir Gilbert Warde," she said, "you have done well. Guienne thanks you, and France also--" She paused and looked toward the King, who was watching her closely.
Louis bent his great pale face solemnly toward the Englishman.
"We thank you, Sir Gilbert," he said, with cold condescension.
"A hundred thousand men thank you," added Eleanor, in a ringing voice that was to make up for her husband"s ungrateful indifference.
There was a moment"s silence, and then the voice of Gaston de Castignac, high and full, sent up a cheer that was heard far out in the clear night.
"G.o.d bless the Guide of Aquitaine!"
The cheer was taken up in the deep shout of strong men in earnest; for it was known how Gilbert cared not for himself, nor for rewards, but only for honour; and the thirty men who had been with him had told far and wide how often he had watched that they might sleep, and how he would always give the best to others, and how gently and courteously he treated those he commanded.
But in the loud cheering, Eleanor took his hand in both hers and bent down to speak to him, unheard by the rest; and her voice was low and trembled a little.
"G.o.d bless you!" she said fervently. "G.o.d bless you and keep you, for as I am a living woman, you are dearer to me than the whole world."
Gilbert understood how she loved him, as he had not understood before.
And yet her touch had no evil power to move him now, and the shadow of his mother no longer haunted him in her eyes as he looked up. There, beside the Christmas altar, in the Holy Night, she was trying to complete the sacrifice of herself and her love. Gilbert answered her earnestly.
"Madam," he said, "I shall try to do your will with all my heart, even to death."
Thereafter he kept his word. But now he rose to his feet, and after bending his knee again, he looked into the Queen"s sad eyes, and pa.s.sed on to make way for the others, while the cheers that were for him still rang in the air.
Then he began to walk to his tent. Dunstan had lighted a fresh torch and was waiting for him. But the great barons, who had gone up to the King and Queen before him, pressed round him and shook his hand, one after another, and bade him to their feasting on the morrow; nor was there jealousy of him, as there had been when he had saved the Queen"s life at Nicaea, for now that they saw him they felt that he was no courtier, and desired only the safety of the army, with his own honour.
As they thronged about him, there came Sir Arnold de Curboil, pressing his way among them, and when he was before Gilbert he also held out his hand.
"Gilbert Warde," he asked, "do you not know me?"
"I know you, sir," answered the young knight, in a clear voice that all could hear, "but I will not take your hand."