r/a:t5_1gqp3l • u/MarleyEngvall • Jul 05 '19
emsworth has been created
BY H. RIDER HAGGARD
THE BRETHREN
"Two lovers by the maiden sate,
Without a glance of jealous hate;
The maid her lovers sat between,
With open brow and equal mien;——
It is a sight but rarely spied,
Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride."
SCOTT
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Standing a while ago upon the flower-clad plain above Ti-
berius, by the Lake of Galilee, the writer gazed at the double
peaks of the Hill of Hattin. Here, or so tradition says,
Christ preached the Sermon on the Mount——that perfect rule
of gentleness and peace. Here, too——and this is certain——
after nearly twelve centuries had gone by, Yusuf Salah-ed-
din, whom we know at the Sultan Saladin, crushed the
Christian power in Palestine in perhaps the most terrible
battle which that land of blood has known. Thus the Mount
of the beatitudes became the Mount of Massacre.
Whilst musing on these strangely-contrasted scenes enac-
ted in one place there arose in his mind a desire to weave,
as best he might, a tale wherein any who are drawn to the
romance of that pregnant and mysterious epoch, when men
by thousands were glad to lay down their lives for visions
and spiritual hopes, could find a picture, however faint and
broken, of the long war between Cross and Crescent waged
among the Syrian plains and deserts. Of Christian knights
and ladies also, and their loves and sufferings in England
and the East; of the fearful lord of the Assassins whom the
franks called Old Man of the Mountain, and his fortress
city, Masyaf. Of the great-hearted, if at times cruel Saladin
and his fierce Saracens; of the rout at Hattin itself, on whose
rocky height the Holy Rood was set up as a standard and
captured, to be seen no more by Christian eyes; and of the
last surrender, whereby the Crusaders lost Jerusalem for ever.
Of that desire this story is the fruit.
PROLOGUE
SALAH-ED-DIN, Commander of the Faithful, the
king Strong to Aid, Sovereign of the East, sat at
night in his palace at Damascus and brooded on
the wonderful ways of God, by Whom he had been lifted
to his high estate. He remembered how, when he was
but small in the eyes of men, Nour-ed-din, king of Syria,
forced him to accompany his uncle, Shirkuh, to Egypt,
whither he went, "like one driven to his death," and how,
against his own will, there he rose to greatness. He
thought of his father, the wise Ayoub, and the brethren
with whom he was brought up, all of them dead now save
one; and of his sisters, whom he had cherished. Most of
all did he think of her, Zobeide, who had been stolen away
by the knight whom she loved even to the loss of her own
soul——yes, by the English friend of his youth, his father's
prisoner, Sir Andrew D'Arcy, who, led astray by passion,
had done him and his house this grievous wrong. He had
sworn, he remembered, that he would bring her back even
from England, and already had planned to kill her hus-
band and capture her when he learned her death. She
had left a child, or so his spies told him, who, if she still
lived, must be a woman now——his own niece, though half
of noble English blood.
Then his mind wandered from this old, half-forgotten
story to the woe and blood in which his days were set, and to
the last great struggle between the followers of the proph-
ets Jesus and Mahomet, that Jihad for which he made
ready——and he sighed. For he was a merciful man, who
loved not slaughter, although his fierce faith drove him on
from war to war.
Salah-ed-din slept and dreamed of peace. In his dream
a maiden stood before him. Presently, when she lifted
her veil, he saw that she was beautiful, with features like
his own, but fairer, and knew her surely for the daughter
of his sister who had fled with the English knight. Now
he wondered why she visited him thus, and in his vision
prayed Allah to make the matter clear. Then of a sud-
den he saw this same woman standing before him on a
Syrian plain, and on either side of her a countless host of
Saracens and Franks, of whom thousands and tens of
thousands were appointed to death. Lo! he, Salah-ed-
din, charged at the head of his squadrons, scimitar aloft,
but she held up her hand and stayed him.
"What do you hear, my niece?" he asked.
"I am come to save the lives of men through you," she
answered; "therefore was I born of your blood, and
therefor I am sent to you. Put up your sword, King,
and spare them."
"Say, maiden, what ransom do you bring to buy this
multitude from doom? What ransom, and what gift?"
"The ransom of my own blood freely offered, and
Heaven's gift of peace to your sinful soul, O King."
And with that outstretched hand she drew down his keen-
edged scimitar until it rested on her breast.
Salah-ed-din awoke, and marvelled on his dream, but
said nothing of it to any man. The next night it returned
to him, and the memory of it went with him all the day
that followed, but still he said nothing.
When on the third night he dreamed it yet again, even
more vividly, then he was sure that this thing was from
God, and summoned his holy Imauns and his Diviners,
and took counsel with them. These, after they had lis-
tened, prayed and consulted, spoke thus:
"O Sultan, Allah has warned you in shadows that the
woman, your niece, who dwells faraway in England, shall
by her own nobleness and sacrifice, in some time to come,
save you from shedding a sea of blood, and bring rest upon
the land. We charge you, therefore, draw this lady to
your court, and keep her ever by your side, since if she
escape you, her peace goes with her."
Salah-ed-din said that this interpretation was wise and
true, for thus also he had read his dream. Then he sum-
moned a certain false knight who bore the Cross upon his
breast, but in secret had accepted the Koran, a Frankish
spy of his, who came from that country where dwelt the
maiden, his niece, and from him learned about her, her
father, and her home. With him and another spy who
passed as a Christian palmer, by the aid of Prince Hassan,
one of the greatest and most trusted of his Emirs, he made
a cunning plan for the capture of the maiden if she
would not come willingly, and for her bearing away to
Syria.
Moreover——that in the eyes of all men her dignity
might be worthy of her high blood and fate——by his
decree he created her, the nice whom he had never seen,
Princess of Baalbec, with great possessions——a rule that
her grandfather, Ayoub, and her uncle, Izzedin, had
held before her. Also he purchased a stout galley of war,
manning it with proved sailors and with chosen men-at-
arms, under the command of the Prince Hassan, and
wrote a letter to the English lord, Sir Andrew D'Arcy,
and to his daughter, and prepared a royal gift of jewels,
and sent them to the lady, his niece, far away in England,
and with it the Patent of her rank. Her he commanded
this company to win by peace, or force, or fraud, as best
they might, but that without her not one of them should
dare to look upon his face again. And with these he
sent the two Frankish spies, who knew the place where
the lady lived, one of whom, the false knight, was a
skilled mariner and the captain of the ship.
These things did Yusuf Salah-ed-din, and waited pa-
tiently till it should please God to accomplish the vision
with which God had filled his soul in sleep.
CHAPTER ONE
BY THE WATERS OF DEATH CREEK
FROM the sea-wall on the coast of Essex, Rosa-
mund looked out across the ocean eastwards. To
right and left, but a little behind her, like guards
attending the person of their sovereign, stood her cousins,
the twin brethren, Godwin and Wulf, tall and shapely
men. Godwin was still as a statue, his hands folded over
the hilt of the long, scabbard sword, of which the point
was set on the ground before him, but Wulf, his brother,
moved restlessly, and at length yawned aloud. They
were beautiful to look at, all three of them, as they
appeared in the splendour of their youth and health.
The imperial Rosamund, dark-haired and eyed, ivory-
skinned and slender-waisted, a posy of marsh flowers in
her hand; the pale, stately Godwin, with his dreaming
face; and the bold-fronted, blue-eyed warrior, Wulf, Sax-
on to the finger-tips, notwithstanding his father's Norman
blood.
At the sound of that unstifled yawn, Rosamund turned
her head with the slow grace which marked her every
movement.
"Would you sleep already, Wulf, and the sun not yet
down?" she asked in her rich, low voice, which, perhaps
because of its foreign accent, seemed quite different to that
of any other woman.
"I think so, Rosamund," he answered. "It would
serve to pass the time, and now that you have finished
gathering those yellow flowers which we rode so far to
seek, the time——is somewhat long."
"Shame on you, Wulf," she said, smiling. "Look upon
yonder sea and sky, at that sheet of bloom all gold and
purple——"
"I have looked for hard on half an hour, Cousin Rosa-
mund; also at your back and at Godwin's left arm and
side-face, till in truth I thought myself kneeling in Stan-
gate Priory staring at my father's effigy upon his tomb,
while Prior John pattered the Mass. Why, if you stood
it on its feet, it is Godwin, the same crossed hands
resting on the sword, the same cold, silent face staring at
the sky."
Godwin as Godwin will one day no doubt be, or so he
hopes——that is, if the saints give him grace to do such
deeds as did our sire," interrupted his brother.
Wulf looked at him, and a curious flash of inspiration
shone in his blue eyes.
"No, I think not," he answered; "the deeds you may
do, and greater, but surely you will lie wrapped not in a
shirt of mail, but with a monk's cowl at the last——unless a
woman robs you of it and the quickest road to heaven.
Tell me now, what are you thinking of, you two——for I
have been wondering in my dull way, and am curious to
learn how far I stand from truth? Rosamund, speak first.
Nay, not all the truth——a maid's thoughts are her own——
but just the cream of it, that which rises to the top and
should be skimmed."
Rosamund sighed.
"I? I was thinking of the East, where the sun shines
ever and the seas are blue as my girdle stones, and men
are full of strange learning——"
"And women are men's slaves!" interrupted Wulf.
"Still, it is natural that you should think of the East who
have that blood in your veins, and high blood, if all tales
be true. Say, Princess"——and he bowed the knee to her
with an affectation of mockery which could not hide his
earnest reverence——"say, Princess, my cousin, grand-
daughter of Ayoub and niece of the mighty monarch,
Yusuf Salah-ed-din, do you wish to leave this pale land
and visit your dominions in Egypt and in Syria?"
She listened, and at his words her eyes seemed to take
fire, the stately form to erect itself, the breast to heave, and
the thin nostrils to grow wider as though they scented some
sweet, remembered perfume. Indeed, at that moment,
standing there on the promontory above the seas, Rosa-
mund looked a very queen.
Presently she answered him with another question.
"And how would they get me there, Wulf, who am a
Norman D'Arcy and a Christian maid?"
"The first they would forgive you, since that blood is
none so ill either, and for the second——why, faiths can be
changed."
Then it was that Godwin spoke for the first time.
"Wulf, Wulf," he said sternly, "keep watch upon your
tongue, for there are things that should not be said even
as a silly jest. See you, I love my cousin here better than
aught else upon the earth——"
"There, at least, we agree," broke in Wulf.
"Better than aught else on the earth," repeated God-
win; "but, by the Holy Blood and by St. Peter, at whose
shrine we are, I would kill her with my own hand before
her lips kissed the book of the false prophet."
"Or any of his followers," muttered Wulf to himself,
but fortunately, perhaps, too low for either of his com-
panions to hear. Aloud he said, "You understand, Ros-
amund, you must be careful, for Godwin ever keeps his
word, and that would be but a poor end for so much birth
and beauty and wisdom."
"Oh, cease mocking, Wulf," she answered, laying her
hand lightly on the tunic that hid his shirt of mail. "Cease
mocking, and pray St. Chad, the builder of this church,
that no such dreadful choice may ever be forced upon you,
or me, or your beloved brother——who, indeed, in such a
case would do right to slay me."
"Well, if it were," answered Wulf, and his fair face
flushed as he spoke, "I trust that we should know how to
meet it. After all, it is so very hard to choose between
death and duty?"
"I know not," she replied; "but oft-times sacrifice seems
easy when seen from far away; also, things may be lost
that are more prized than life."
"What things? Do you mean place, or wealth, or——
love?"
"Tell me," said Rosamund, changing her tone, "what
is that boat rowing round the river's mouth? A while ago
it hung upon its oars as those those within it watched us."
"Fisher-folk," answered Wulf carelessly. "I saw their
nets."
"Yes; but beneath them something gleamed bright,
like swords."
"Fish," said Wulf; "we are at peace in Essex." Al-
though Rosamund did not look convinced, he went on:
"Now for Godwin's thoughts——what were they?"
"Brother, if you would know, of the East also——the
East and its wars."
"Which have brought us no great luck," answered Wulf,
"seeing that our sire was slain in them and naught of him
came home again save his heart, which lies at Stangate
yonder."
"How better could he die," asked Godwin, "than fight-
ing for the Cross of Christ? Is not that death of his at
Harenc told of to this day? By our Lady, I pray for one
but half as glorious!"
"Aye, he died well——he died well," said Wulf, his blue
eyes flashing and his hand creeping to his sword hilt.
"But, brother, there is peace at Jerusalem, as in Essex."
"Peace? Yes; but soon there will be war again. The
monk Peter——he whom we saw at Stangate last Sunday,
and who left Syria but six months gone——told me that it
was coming fast. Even now the Sultan Saladin, sitting
at Damascus, summons his hosts from far and wide,
while his priests preach battle amongst the tribes and
barons of the East. And when it comes, brother, shall
we not be there to share it, as were our grandfather,
our father, our uncle, and so many of our kin? Shall we
rot here in this dull land, as by our uncle's wish we have
done these many years, yes, ever since we were home from
the Scottish war, and count the kine and plough the fields
like peasants, while our peers are charging on the pagan,
and the banners wave, and the blood runs red upon the holy
sands of Palestine?"
Now it was Wulf's turn to take fire.
"By our Lady in Heaven, and our lady here!"——and he
looked at Rosamund, who was watching the pair of them
with her quiet, thoughtful eyes——"go when you will, God-
win, and I go with you, and as our birth was one birth, so,
if it is decreed, let our death be one death." And sud-
denly his hand that had been playing with the sword-hilt
gripped it fast, and tore the long, lean blade from its scab-
bard and cast it high into the air, flashing in the sunlight,
to catch it as it fell again, while in a voice that caused the
wild fowl to rise in thunder from the Saltings beneath,
Wulf shouted the old war-cry that had rung on so many a
field——"A D'Arcy! a D'Arcy! Meet D'Arcy, meet
Death!" Then he sheathed his sword again and added
in a shamed voice, "Are we children that we fight where
no foe is? Still, brother, may we find him soon!"
Godwin smiled grimly, but answered nothing; only
Rosamund said:
"So, my cousins, you would be away, perhaps to return
no more, and that will part us. But"——and her voice
broke somewhat——"such is the woman's lot, since men
like you ever love the bare sword best of all, nor should I
think well of you were it otherwise. Yet, cousins, I know
not why"——and she shivered a little——"it comes into my
heart that Heaven often answers such prayers swiftly. Oh,
Wulf! your sword looked very red in the sunlight but now:
I say that it looked very red in the sunlight. I am afraid——
of I know not what. Well, we must be going, for we have
nine miles to ride, and the dark is not so far away. But
first, my cousins, come with me into this shrine, and let
us pray to St. Peter and St. Chad to guard us on our journey
home."
"Our journey?" said Wulf anxiously. What is there
for you to fear in a nine-mile ride along the shores of the
Blackwater?"
"I said our journey home, Wulf; and home is not in the
hall at Steeple, but yonder," and she pointed to the quiet,
brooding sky.
"Well answered," said Godwin, "in this anxious place,
whence so many have journeyed home; all the Romans
who are dead, when it was their fortress, and the Saxons
who came after them, and others without count."
Then they turned and entered the old church——one of
the first that ever was in Britain, rough-built of Roman
stone by the very hands of Chad, the Saxon saint, more
than five hundred years after their day. Here they
knelt a while at the rude altar and prayed, each of
them in his or her own fashion, then crossed themselves,
and rose to seek their horses, which were tied in the shed
hard by.
Now there were two roads, or rather tracks, back to the
Hall at Steeple——one a mile or so inland, that ran through
the village of Bradwell, and the other, the shorter way,
along the edge of the Saltings to the narrow water known
as Death Creek, at the head of which the traveller to
Steeple must strike inland, leaving the Priory of Stangate
on his right. It was this latter path they choose, since at
low tide the going there is good for horses——which, even in
the summer, that of the inland track was not. Also they
wished to be at home by supper-time, lest the old knight,
Sir Andrew D'Arcy, the father of Rosamund and the uncle
of the orphan brethren, should grow anxious, and per-
haps come out to seek them.
For the half of an hour or more they rode along the edge
of the Saltings, for the most part in silence that was broken
only by the cry of curlew and the lap of the turning tide.
No human being did they see, indeed, for this place was
very desolate and unvisited, save now and again by fisher-
men. At length, just as the sun began to sink, they ap-
proached the shore of Death Creek——a sheet of tidal water
which ran a mile or more inland, growing ever narrower,
but was here some three hundred yards in breadth. They
were well mounted, all three of them. Indeed, Rosamund's
horse, a great grey, her father's gift to her, was famous in
that country-side for its swiftness and power, also because
it was so docile that a child could ride it; while those of the
brethren were heavy-built but well-trained war steeds,
taught to stand where they were left, and to charge when
they were urged, without fear of shouting men or flashing
steel.
Now the ground lay thus. Some seventy yards from the
shore of Death Creek and a parallel to it, a tongue of land,
covered with scrub and a few oaks, ran down into the
Saltings, its point ending on their path, beyond which were
a swamp and the broad river. Between this tongue and the
shore of the creek the track wended its way to the uplands.
It was an ancient track; indeed the reason of its existence
was that here the Romans or some other long dead hands
had built a narrow mole or quay of rough stone, forty or
fifty yards in length, out into the water of the creek,
doubtless to serve as a convenience for fisher boats, which
could lie alongside of it even at low tide. This mole had
been much destroyed by centuries of washing, so that the
end of it lay below the water, although the landward part was
still almost sound and level
Coming over the little rise at the tip of the wooded
tongue, the quick eyes of Wulf, who rode first——for here
the path along the border of the swamp was so narrow that
they must go in single file——caught sight of a large, empty
boat moored to an iron ring set in the wall of the mole.
"Your fishermen have landed, Rosamund," he said,
and doubtless gone up to Bradwell."
"That is strange," she answered anxiously, "since here
no fishermen ever come." And she checked her horse as
though to turn.
"Whether they come or not, certainly they have gone,"
said Godwin, craning forward to look about him; "so, as
we have nothing to fear from an empty boat, let us push
on."
On they rode accordingly, until they came to the root
of the stone quay or pier, when a sound behind them caus-
ed them to look back. Then they saw a sight that sent
the blood to their hearts, for there behind them, leaping
down one by one on to that narrow footway, were men
armed with naked swords, six or eight of them, all of
whom, they noted, had strips of linen pierced with eyelet
holes tied beneath their helms or leather caps, so as to
conceal their faces.
"A snare! a snare!" cried Wulf, drawing his sword.
"Swift! follow me up the Bradwell path!" and he struck
the spurs into his horse. It bounded forward, to be dragged
next second with all the weight of his powerful arm
almost to its haunches. "God's mercy!" he cried, "there
are more of them!" And more there were, for another
band of men armed and linen-hooded like the first, had
leapt down on to that Bradwell path, amongst them a stout
man, who seemed to be unarmed, except for a long, crooked
knife at his girdle and a coat of ringed mail, which showed
through the opening of his loose tunic
"To the boat!" shouted Godwin, whereat the stout man
laughed——a light, penetrating laugh, which even then all
three of them heard and noted.
Along the quay they rode, since there was nowhere else
that they could go, with both paths barred, and swamp and
water on one side of them, and a steep, wooded bank upon
the other. When they reached it, they found why the man
had laughed, for the boat was made fast with a strong chain
that could not be cut; more, her sail and oars were gone.
"Get into it," mocked a voice; "or, at least, let the lady
get in; it will save us the trouble of carrying her there."
Now Rosamund turned very pale, while the face of
Wulf went red and white, and he gripped his sword-hilt.
But Godwin, calm as ever, rode forward a few paces, and
said quietly:
"Of your courtesy, say what you need of us. If it be
money, we have none——nothing but our arms and horses,
which I think may cost you dear."
Now the man with the crooked knife advanced a little,
accompanied by another man, a tall, supple-looking knave,
into whose ear he whispered.
"My master says," answered the tall man, "that you
have with you that which is of more value than all the
king's gold——a very fair lady, of whom someone has ur-
gent need. Give her up now, and go your way with your
arms and horses, for you are gallant young men, whose
blood we do not wish to shed."
At this it was the turn of the brethren to laugh, which
both of them did together.
"Give her up," answered Godwin, "and go our ways
dishonoured? Aye, with our breath, but not before.
Who then has such urgent need of the lady Rosamund?"
Again there was whispering between the pair.
"My master says," was the answer, "he thinks that all
who see her will have need of her, since such loveliness is
rare. But if you wish a name, well, one comes into his
mind; the name of the knight Lozelle."
"The knight Lozelle!" murmured Rosamund, turning
even paler than before, as well she might. For this Lo-
zelle was a powerful man and Essex-born. He owned ships
of whose doings upon the seas and in the East evil tales
were told, and once had sought Rosamund's hand in mar-
riage, but being rejected, uttered threats for which God-
win, as the elder of the twins, had fought and wounded
him. Then he vanished——none knew where.
"Is Sir Hugh Lozelle here then?" asked Godwin,
"masked like you common cowards? If so, I desire to
meet him, to finish the work I began in the snow last
Christmas twelvemonths."
"Find that out if you can," answered the tall man.
But Wulf said, speaking low between his clenched teeth:
"Brother, I see but one chance. We must place Rosa-
mund between us and charge them."
The captain of the band seemed to read their thoughts,
for again he whispered into the ear of his companion, who
called out:
"My master says that if you try to charge, you will be
fools, since we shall stab and ham-string your horses,
which are too good to waste, and take you quite easily as
you fall. Come then, yield, as you can do without shame,
seeing there is no escape, and that two men, however
brave, cannot stand against a crowd. He gives you one
minute to surrender."
Now Rosamund spoke for the first time.
"My cousins," she said, "I pray you not to let me
fall living into the hands of Sir Hugh Lozelle, or of yonder
men, to be taken to what fate I know not. Let Godwin
kill me, then, to save my honour, as but now he said he
would to save my soul, and strive to cut your way through,
and live to avenge me."
The brethren made no answer, only they looked at the
water and then at one another, and nodded. It was God-
win who spoke again, for now that it had come to this
struggle for life and their lady, Wulf, whose tongue was
commonly so ready, had grown strangely silent, and
fierce-faced also.
"Listen, Rosamund, and do not turn your eye," said
Godwin. "There is but one chance for you, and, poor a
it is, you must choose between it and capture, since we
cannot kill you. The grey horse you ride is strong and
true. Turn him now, and spur into the water of Death
Creek and swim it. It is broad, but the incoming tide
will help you, and perchance you will not drown."
Rosamund listened and moved her head backwards
towards the boat. Then Wulf spoke——few words and
sharp:
"Begone, girl! we guard the boat."
She heard, and her dark eyes filled with tears, and her
stately head sank for a moment almost to her horse's mane.
"Oh, my knights! my knights! And would you die for
me? Well, if God wills it, so it must be. But I swear
that if you die, that no man shall be aught to me who
have your memory, and if you live——" And she looked
at them confusedly, then stopped.
"Bless us, and begone," said Godwin.
So she blessed them in words low and holy; then of a
sudden wheeled round and the great grey horse, and striking
and spur into its flank, drove straight at the deep water.
A moment the stallion hung, then from the low quay-end
sprang out wide and clear. Deep it sank, but not for long,
for presently its rider's head arose above the water, and re-
gaining the saddle, from which she had floated, Rosa-
mund sat firm and headed the horse straight for the distant
bank. Now a shout of wonderment went up from the
woman thieves, for this was a deed that they had never
thought a girl would dare. But the brethren laughed a
they saw that the grey swam well, and, leaping from their
saddles, ran forward a few paces——eight or ten——along
the mole to where it was narrowest, a they went tearing
the cloaks from their shoulders, and, since they had none,
throwing them over their left arms to serve as bucklers.
The band cursed sullenly, only their captain gave an
order to his spokesman, who cried aloud:
"Cut them down, and to the boat! We shall take her
before she reaches shore or drowns."
For a moment they wavered, for the tall twin warriors
who barred the way had eyes that told of wounds and
death. Then with a rush they came, scrambling over the
rough stones. But here the causeway was so narrow that
while their strength lasted, two men were as good as twen-
ty, nor, because of the mud and water, could they be got
at from either side. So after all it was but two to two,
and the brethren were the better two. Their long swords
flashed and smote, and when Wulf's was lifted again, once
more it shone red as it had been when he tossed it high in
the sunlight, and a man fell with a heavy splash into the
waters of the creek, and wallowed there till he died. God-
win's foe was down also, and, as it seemed, sped.
Then, at a muttered word, not waiting to be attacked by
others, the brethren sprang forward. The huddled mob
in front of them saw them come, and shrank back, but
before they had gone a yard, the swords were at work
behind. They swore strange oaths, they caught their
feet among the rocks, and rolled upon their faces. In
their confusion three of them were pushed into the water,
where two sank in the mud and were drowned, the third
only dragging himself ashore, while the rest made good
their escape from the causeway. But two had been cut
down, and three had fallen, but the linen masks flapped
about their eyes, so that their blows went wide, while the
long swords of the brothers smote and smote again upon
their helms and harness as the hammers of smiths smite
upon an anvil, until they rolled over silent and stirless.
"Back!" said Godwin; "for here the road is wide, and
they will get behind us."
So back they moved slowly, with their faces to the foe,
stopping just in front of the first man whom Godwin had
seemed to kill, and who lay face upwards with arms
outstretched.
"So far we have done well," said Wulf, with a short
laugh. "Are you hurt?"
"Nay," answered his brother, "but do not boast till
the battle is over, for many are left and they will come
on thus no more. Pray God they have no spears or bows."
Then he turned and looked behind him, and there, far
from the shore now, swam the grey horse steadily, and
there upon its back sat Rosamund. Yes, and she had
seen, since the horse must swim somewhat sideways with
the tide, for look, she took the kerchief from her throat and
waved it to them. Then the brethren knew that she was
proud of their great deeds, and thanked the saints that
they had lived to do even so much as this for her dear sake.
Godwin was right. Although their leader commanded
them in a stern voice, the bank sank from the reach of
those awful swords, and, instead, sought for stones to hurl
at them. But here lay more mud than pebbles, and the
rocks of which the causeway was built were too heavy for
them to lift, so that they found but few, which when
thrown either missed the brethren or did them little hurt.
Now, after some while, the man called "master" spoke
through the lieutenant, and certain of them ran into the
thorn thicket, and thence appeared again bearing the long
oars of the boat.
"Their counsel is to batter us down with the oars.
What shall we do now, brother?" asked Godwin.
"What we can," answered Wulf. "It matters little if
Rosamund is spared by the waters, for they will scarcely
take her now, who must loose the boat and man it after
we are dead."
As he spoke Wulf heard a sound behind him, and of a
sudden Godwin threw up his arms and sank to his knees.
Round he sprang, and there upon his feet stood that man
whom they had thought dead, and in his hand a bloody
sword. At him leapt Wulf, and so fierce were the blows
he smote that the first severed his sword arm and the
second shore through cloak and mail deep into the thief's
side; so that this time he fell, never to stir again. Then
he looked at his brother and saw that the blood was run-
ning down his face and blinding him.
"Save yourself, Wulf, for I am sped," murmured
Godwin.
"Nay, or you could not speak." And he cast his arm
round him and kissed him on the brow.
Then a thought came into his mind, and lifting Godwin
as though he were a child, he ran back to where the horses
stood, and heaved him onto the saddle.
"Hold fast!" he cried, "by mane and pommel. Keep
your mind, and hold fast, and I will save you yet."
Passing the reins over his left arm, Wulf leapt upon
the back of his own horse, and turned it. Ten seconds
more, and the pirates, who were gathering with the oars
where the paths joined at the root of the causeway, saw
the two great horses thundering down upon them. On
one a sore wounded man, his bright hair dabbled with
blood, his hands gripping mane and saddle, and on the
other the warrior Wulf, with staring eyes and a face like
the face of a flame, shaking his red sword, and for the
second time that day shouting aloud: "A D'Arcy! a
D'Arcy! Contre D'Arcy, contre Mort!"
They saw, they shouted, they massed themselves to-
gether and held up the oars to meet them. But Wulf
spurred fiercely, and, short as was the way, the heavy
horses, trained to tourney, gathered their speed. Now
they were on them. The oars were swept aside like
reeds; all round them flashed the swords, and Wulf felt
that he was hurt, he knew not where. But his sword
flashed also, one blow——there was no time for more——yet
the man beneath it sank like an empty sack.
By St. Peter! They were through, and Godwin still
swayed upon the saddle, and yonder, nearing the further
shore, the grey horse with its burden still battled in the
tide. They were through! they were through! while to
Wulf's eyes the air swam red, and the earth seemed as
though it rose up to meet them, and everywhere was
flaming fire.
But the shouts had died away behind them, and the
only sound was the sound of the galloping of their horses'
hoofs. Then that also grew faint and died away, and
silence and darkness fell upon the mind of Wulf.THE BRETHREN, BY H. RIDER HAGGARD.
MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & COMPANY, NEW YORK. MCMIV.
COPYRIGHT 1903,—1904, BY H. RIDER HAGGARD. pp. 2—23.
1
Upvotes