Chapter THE SIXTH: Sir Geoffrey O’ Th’ Longsword

THE SPIRIT OF THE CHRONICLE THROWS BACK THE CURTAIN OF FATE, AND GIVES TO VIEW SOME GLIMPSES OF THE LAST SCENE, IN WHICH THE BARBS OF ARIMANES BECOME THE AVENGERS OF HEAVEN.

Along a mossy, winding path, that led through the sunlit glades and shady recesses of a green and bowery forest, two travellers, one a stripling and the other a man of some forty winters, were wending their way, while the dew was yet upon the turf, and while the morning carol of innumerable birds arose from the bosom of the rich foliage.

--Thus in his own enthusiastic way speaks the Chronicler of the Ancient MSS. His words, it is true are somewhat redundant, but yet there is heart in them after all.--

The cheeks of the youth were strangely puffed out, his lips were gathered like the mouth of a purse, while he whistled with an earnestness that was certainly wonderful. Presently he spoke--

“By’r Ladye, but that was the most exquisite thing of all. Eh? Good Robin? The idea of thy carcass being perched upon the back of the Demon Statue in that pestilent cavern. And frightening the old Count into fits, too! Ha! ha! ha! ’Twas rich! By the Saints it was! Oh, Robin, thou art certainly the very devil for mischief! That prank of gagging the old Israelite, and stealing his beard, coat, pack and all, was cruel, by my troth it was! Where didst thou leave the old gripefist?”

“As I told thee before, thou rattlebrained popinjay!” the other replied with a good natured smile. “With a heavy heart I wended along the highway, on the eve of the bridal, thinking of the fair Ladye Annabel, when who should I behold trudging before me, but this good son of Moses. I laid him upon the earth in a wink--gagged him, and concealed him in the cottage of a peasant, whose ears I filled with a terrible tale of the Jew’s roguery; how he had stolen the plate of the castle, and so on. I then disguised myself in the Hebrew’s attire; with what success you are already aware.--After I had effected the deliverance of the Ladye Annabel, I released the Jew who ran beardless and affrighted, as fast as his legs could carry him, out of the demesnes of Albarone!”

“Where didst leave the Ladye Annabel, Robin? Who was the Arab Mute? Where is he now?”

“I left her _in safety_, most sagacious Guiseppo. And as for the Mute--I’ll tell thee anon. How didst feel when I came to release thee from the dungeon? eh?”

‘O! St. Peter! By my troth it would make a picture. There I sat, upon the bench of stone; the taper flinging its beams around the dreary walls, my elbows resting upon my knees, and my face supported by my clenched hands; my mind full of dark and gloomy thoughts, and my fancy forming various pleasant pictures of the gibbet, which was to bear my figure on the morrow. Imagine this delicate form swinging on a gibbet--ugh! Thus was I employed, when I heard a noise like the drawing of bolts. I started, expecting to behold the Count Aldarin; he had _visited_ the cell an hour or so past, and informed that I had the honor of being--mark ye, my soldier--_his son_. I started and beheld--thy welcome visage, my good Robin.”

“Marry, it was well for thee that the secret passage was known to me. How sayst thou? Did the murderer aver that he was thy father?”

“Even so. The Count Aldarin, has ever been kind to me, yet I never thought I was connected with him by any ties of blood. I have always been known throughout the castle as _the foundling_. Pleasant name--eh, Robin? The tale runs that a peasant returning home, on an autumn night, discovered a child some three years old, crying in the forest. That child the Scholar Aldarin adopted, and called Guiseppo; which title was occasionally varied by the servitors of Albarone, to that of _Guiseppo Stray-Devil_, _Lost-Elf_, and others of like pleasing character. But whither are we wandering now, good Robin? This is the second day of our flight; whither are we bound?”

“Thou wilt know ere long. Didst ever hear of Sir Geoffrey O’ Th’ Longsword?”

“What, the stout Englisher! The brave knight who now commands the soldiers of our late Lord, in Palestine? He that is noted for the strength of his arms, and the daring of his spirit? Why all Christendom rings with his feats.”

“Well, my bird of a page, I have lately heard by a wandering palmer, that a truce has been made, between that son of Mahound, Saladin, and the princes of Christendom. Further it is said, that a body of the crusaders have sailed from Cyprus, and are bound to Italy. Dost see aught in this, my popinjay?”

“The Saints help thy senses! Surely you do not mean to say that the soldiers of Albarone are returning home?”

“Marry but I do. I mean to wend towards the nearest seaport; I mean to--”

“By our Lady,” interrupted Guiseppo, “I spy the dawning of our Lord Adrian’s day. I do by heaven!”

And thus conversing they pursued their way along the forest path.

* * * * *

Higher and higher rose the sun in the Heavens, and its beams shone upon the armor of a gallant company which journeyed in brilliant array along a bye-road leading thro’ a wide and shadowy forest.

Near the head of the company, on a stout black steed, rode a tall, stalwart man, full six feet high, broad shouldered, in form, with a stern, weather beaten countenance. His long white hair, escaping from beneath his helmet, the vizor of which was raised, fell upon his mail-clad shoulders, and his beard, frosted by time and battle toil, swept over the iron plate that defended his muscular chest.

On either side rode his Esquires, mounted on horses dark and stout, as that of their knight commander. They were brothers, and side by side had fought in a thousand battles.

Both tall, muscular, and dark featured; both having dark eyes, dark shaggy brows, stiff hair and beard of the same dark hue, they were known among the ranks of the crusaders as the twin brothers--the brave Esquire Damian, and the gallant Esquire Halbert.

Hard matter it were to tell one from the other, so much they looked alike, had it not been that the visage of Damian, was marked by a sword wound, which extending from the right eyebrow, passed over his swarthy forehead and terminated near the left temple; while a deep gash cut into the right cheek of Halbert, served to distinguish him from his brother.

In front of the knight, the standard-bearer, mounted on a cream colored steed, bore aloft a broad banner of azure. A winged leopard was pictured on its folds, and the inscription read thus--_Grasp boldly and bravely strike!_

In the rear of the gray haired warrior, a stout Englishman, riding on a dappled gray, held on high a crimson banner, bordered by white, on which was pictured a two-edged sword, having a long blade, and massy hilt. It bore the motto--

_Hilt for Friend--Point for Foe._

Then, riding at their ease, came the men-at-arms arrayed from head to foot in their armor of Milan steel; their lances were in their hands; each shield hung at the saddle-bow, and each sword depended from the belt of buff.

The gallant band might number an hundred thrice told.

Behind these soldiers come the varlets of the train, riding beside the baggage wains, conveying the sick and wounded, who had endured the burning sun of Palestine, the toil and dangers of the seas, and were now returning to the land of their birth.

And there, riding before the baggage wains, four dark-skinned Moors, mounted on prancing nags, led each man of them, a steed black as night, at his bridle rein.

Untamed they were and wild; their eyes gave forth a gleam like the light of the fire-coal; their necks were proudly arched; their manes flung waving to the breeze. With a disdainful toss of their quivering nostrils and a light and springing step, the barbs trod the earth as gallantly as though they still swept over the desert plains of Araby.

_Linked with the chain of this wierd chronicle, by a strange decree of Fate, these barbs, in the course of a few brief days, became the Instruments of the fearful vengeance of Heaven._

“Damian,” said the stalwart knight, as glancing over the long line of men-at-arms, he gazed upon the Arab steeds,--“How the eye of Lord Julian will glisten when he gazes upon yonder mettled barbs! I’ faith it makes an old warrior’s heart beat, to look upon their arching crests, their eyes of fire, and their skins, black as death.”

“A Paynim warrior gave these steeds in ransom for his freedom? Is that the story Sir Geoffrey?” asked Halbert, “Infidel though he was, he gave a most princely ransom.”

“Hast ever heard the strange legend which the Arabs tell, concerning this race of steeds? They prize them, highly as their weight in gold, red gold. It is said that in the olden time, when Arimanes was hurled from his throne of Evil, by Ormaz, the Great Being of Good, the spirits of his followers, accursed and doomed, sought refuge in the bodies of a race of ebon-colored barbs, that scoured the plains of Araby with the fleetness of the wind, herding together in the vast solitudes of the desert, and untameable by man. At last, after a long lapse of centuries, the most daring of the Arab-chiefs, secured and subjugated to the control of man, two of these wild horses, from which sprung the race of the Barbs of Arimanes, or Demon-Steeds. Yonder horses, prancing and rearing in the grasp of the tawny Moors, are of this race. By my soul, their flashing eyes give them some title to the name they bear--the Barbs of Arimanes!”

“It joys a warrior’s heart to look upon their sinewy forms,” exclaimed the Esquire Halbert, with a flashing eye.

“They are slender and graceful as the wild gazelle,” said Damian, “and yet your stout war-horse of the north bears not fatigue or toil with a better grace.”

“Damian,” said the stalwart knight, “Damian, art thou not sorrowed at the thought of leaving the Holy Land--the glorious scene of so many hard-fought frays? I trow we will all wish to be again in the midst of the gallant mellay; shall we not pine for the rugged encounter with the Paynim host--What sayst thou, Halbert?”

“He that leaves so brave a battle plain as is the land of the Holy Sepulchre, without a sigh of regret, is unworthy of the lay of minstrel, or love of ladye. For my part, I would all these truces were at the devil!”

“I say amen to thy prayer, good brother.”

“Well, well, we shall soon reach the castle Di Albarone; we shall behold our brave leader, the gallant Count Julian. By the body of God, it stirs one’s blood to think of his charge, that ever mowed down the Paynim ranks as though a thunderbolt had smote them! St. George! but I have seen glorious days.”

“By’r Lady, but I have a sneaking fear that the wound of the Count may prove fatal.”

“Fatal?” shouted Sir Geoffrey, in a voice of thunder. “Fatal? Say it not again, Halbert! Fatal, indeed! By my troth, Lord Julian Di Albarone, shall again lead _armies_ to battle.”

“I wonder,” said Damian, “I wonder if that skulking half brother of the Count, still lives? I mean, he who accompanied the Lord Julian to the Holy Land, some score of years since. How was he styled? eh, Halbert?”

“ALDARIN, I think they called him. Sir Geoffrey, hadst not a quarrel with the bookworm? Didst not strike him before the Count at Jerusalem, in the presence of all the princes of Christendom?”

“Tush, a mere trifle! I mind it no more than I would the spurning of a peevish cur. But see! What have we here? Two wayfarers. Ha! one seems like a disbanded soldier! Spur forward, my merry men! They may tell us of our whereabouts: they may give us some news of Albarone. Spur forward!”