The Days of Chivalry; Or, The Legend of Croquemitaine. Quatrelles
away steel armour, so dexterous were they in wielding them.
Behind them marched twelve standard-bearers. Here the crescent and the horse-tail of the Moslem took the place of the red cross and the bannerets which led the Christians to combat.
Last of all, ten horse-lengths from this vanguard, appeared the envoys of Marsillus, King of Portugal, Castile, Arragon, Leon, and Valence. All who beheld them trembled, and ridicule gave place to alarm.
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He was twelve cubits in height, and his face measured three feet across, his nose being nine inches long. His arms and legs were six feet long; his fingers were six inches and two lines. His inordinately large mouth was armed with sharp-pointed yellow tusks, and seemed less like human jaws than the portcullis of some rude stronghold. He was descended from Goliath, and assumed the title of Governor of Jerusalem. He had the strength of thirty men, and his mace was made of the trunk of an oak three hundred years old.*
This monster was attired in the hides of strange wild beasts, slain by himself on the peaks of Atlas, whither no other mortal had been able to penetrate.
His horse was without a match in the world, for it was up to his enormous weight. It gave a loud neigh on entering the list, and so alarmed all the other steeds that they reared, and in some instances unseated their riders—a disaster at which the Saracens burst into roars of laughter.
Himiltrude, in her terror, crossed herself, convinced that the new-comers would vanish in smoke before she could say “Amen!” But the Pagans continued to advance in good order.
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“Hell must surely have gaped to-day!” said Mita.
“I do not know,” said Oliver, “whether these miscreants have issued thence this morning, but I’m sure they will sleep there to-night!”
Charlemagne knitted his brows. Aude trembled for Roland, whose thoughts she could read in his face.
Hard by Angoulaffre of the Brazen Teeth rode Murad Henakyeh Meimoumovassi, son of Marsillus. He was styled “The Lord of the Lion.”
* Some of the learned have alleged that Angoulaffre
travelled in Italy, and that one evening, while at Pisa,
being a little the worse for his potations, he leant against
the well-known tower, which, unable to bear his weight, lost
from that moment its centre of gravity. This is an error,
which I am glad to have an opportunity of rectifying. The
Leaning Tower, begun in the year 1174 was not finished until
the middle of the fourteenth century.
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CHAPTER VI. MURAD’S THREE WHIMS.
MARSILLUS one day observed that his son’s manner was more caressing than usual, so he took him on his knee and said—
“What does my child want to-day? Generally he does not embrace me at all, but since the morning he has done so three times!”
“Sire,” said Murad, leaning his little head on his father’s shoulder, “I should like to have your yataghan that hangs at your side!”
“What! Have you broken all your toys, or are you tired of play that you ask me for such a formidable weapon?”
“I am seven years old,” said Murad, drawing himself up; “I am no longer a child, and can carry arms. The sight of blood has no terror for me—nay! look”—and rapidly snatching the yataghan before the king had time to stop him, he gave himself a gash in the arm. Then, without flinching, he looked at his father, and said, “You see you can trust me with it!” The king staunched the blood and bound up the gash with his scarf. Then, embracing his son, he gave him the coveted weapon.
The same evening Murad was seized with a second whim.
He had never been allowed to to out alone—what could be more delightful than to take a stroll abroad at night? He only knew the face of Nature by day, he wished to see her in her silent moments, in the hours of gloom and half-obscured moonlight. He had heard of the songs of night-birds, of the roar of the hungry lion; of those insects which, glittering among the leaves, turn every bush into a casket of diamonds; of the mysterious odours which earth yields to the flowers only in the solemn hours of darkness; but now he determined to see, to hear, and to learn all these for himself.
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He retired to rest as usual, placed his yataghan under his pillow, and waited till all was quiet in the palace. Then he rose softly, dressed himself, and walked to the door of his apartments. There he found his governor sleeping across the threshold. He paused to reflect.
“If I try to open this door, I shall rouse my guardian. If I wake him, will he grant my prayers? Certainly not. Will he yield to my threats? No; he will only laugh at them. If I disturb his slumbers, therefore, it will be to place him in a position of great difficulty, which I should exceedingly regret. It will be better, then, not to wake him!”—and Murad quietly thrust the point of his sword down the sleeper’s throat, and quitted the place.
The first thing he had to do was to cross the gardens. It seemed as if he had never seen them before. The fountains falling back into their basins made a silvery tinkling, which formed a ravishing accompaniment to the song of the nightingales. The bats, which looked like great leather birds, wheeled in circles through the air upon noiseless wings. The trees, allowing the moonbeams to filter through their foliage, flung mosaics of light and shade upon the sward.
Murad fancied he saw one of the marble lions move, and started back, but speedily seeing his mistake, was heartily ashamed of himself, although he knew there was no one near to laugh at his alarm. If a real lion had chanced to pass at that moment he would have had to pay for the fright which the statue had cost Murad. As soon as he had recovered the first feeling of surprise at the novelty, of the scene, Murad, who was not exactly of a poetic temperament, hurried on. What he wanted to see was not the garden—fine enough in its way, but only a prison, beyond the walls of which he had never wandered at liberty—where every step he set was on a well-kept lawn. He wanted freedom of space and chance adventure. He sprang over the wall and fell into the midst of a detachment of Nubians going their rounds.
When he saw the guards coming he said to himself, “These people have run away once, so they may do it again. Ought I to wait for them to come? No! My best plan is to rush upon them.”
He did so. They met. The first who encountered him had reason to regret it, but his regret did not last long. In two minutes he was dead. Murad flung some silver to the others and plunged into the thicket.
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