Chapter Six: The Christmas Feast at Steeple
The fourth day after Wulf's visit to Southminster was Christmas
morning, and the weather being bad, Sir Andrew and his household
did not ride to Stangate, but attended mass in Steeple Church.
Here, after service, according to his custom on this day, he gave
a largesse to his tenants and villeins, and with it his good
wishes and a caution that they should not become drunk at their
Yuletide feast, as was the common habit of the time.
"We shall not get the chance," said Wulf, as they walked to the
Hall, "since that merchant Georgios has not delivered the wine,
of which I hoped to drink a cup to-night."
"Perhaps he has sold it at a better price to someone else; it
would be like a Cypriote," answered Sir Andrew, smiling.
Then they went into the hall, and as had been agreed between
them, together the brethren gave their Christmas gifts to
Rosamund. She thanked them prettily enough, and much admired the
beauty of the work. When they told her that it had not yet been
paid for, she laughed and said that, however they were come by,
she would wear both tunic and veil at their feast, which was to
be held at nightfall.
About two o'clock in the afternoon a servant came into the hall
to say that a wain drawn by three horses and accompanied by two
men, one of whom led the horses, was coming down the road from
Steeple village.
"Our merchant--and in time after all," said Wulf, and, followed
by the others, he went out to meet them.
Georgios it was, sure enough, wrapped in a great sheepskin cloak
such as Cypriotes wear in winter, and seated on the head of one
of his own barrels.
"Your pardon, knights," he said as he scrambled nimbly to the
ground. "The roads in this country are such that, although I have
left nearly half my load at Stangate, it has taken me four long
hours to come from the Abbey here, most of which time we spent in
mud-holes that have wearied the horses and, as I fear, strained
the wheels of this crazy wagon. Still, here we are at last, and,
noble sir," he added, bowing to Sir Andrew,"here too is the wine
that your son bought of me."
"My nephew," interrupted Sir Andrew.
"Once more your pardon. I thought from their likeness to you that
these knights were your sons."
"Has he bought all that stuff?" asked Sir Andrew-- for there were
five tubs on the wagon, besides one or two smaller kegs and some
packages wrapped in sheepskin.
"No, alas!" answered the Cypriote ruefully, and shrugging his
shoulders. "Only two of the Mavro. The rest I took to the Abbey,
for I understood the holy Prior to say he would purchase six
casks, but it seems that it was but three he needed."
"He said three," put in Wulf.
"Did he. sir?" Then doubtless the error was mine, who speak your
tongue but ill. So I must drag the rest back again over those
accursed roads," and he made another grimace. "Yet I will ask
you, sir," he added to Sir Andrew, "to lighten the load a little
by accepting this small keg of the old sweet vintage that grows
on the slopes of Trooidos."
"I remember it well," said Sir Andrew, with a smile;"but, friend,
I do not wish to take your wine for nothing."
At these words the face of Georgios beamed.
"What, noble sir," he exclaimed,"do you know my land of Cyprus?
Oh, then indeed I kiss your hands, and surely you will not
affront me by refusing this little present? Indeed, to be frank,
I can afford to lose its price, who have done a good trade, even
here in Essex."
"As you will," said Sir Andrew. "I thank you, and perhaps you
have other things to sell."
"I have indeed; a few embroideries if this most gracious lady
would be pleased to look at them. Some carpets also, such as the
Moslems used to pray on in the name of their false prophet,
Mahomet," and, turning, he spat upon the ground.
"I see that you are a Christian," said Sir Andrew. "Yet, although
I fought against them, I have known many a good Mussulman. Nor do
I think it necessary to spit at the name of Mahomet, who to my
mind was a a great man deceived by the artifice of Satan."
"Neither do I," said Godwin reflectively. "Its true servants
should fight the enemies of the Cross and pray for their souls,
not spit at them."
The merchant looked at them curiously, fingering the silver
crucifix that hung upon his breast. "The captors of the Holy City
thought otherwise," he said,"when they rode into the Mosque El
Aksa up to their horses' knees in blood, and I have been taught
otherwise. But the times grow liberal, and, after all, what right
has a poor trader whose mind, alas! is set more on gain than on
the sufferings of the blessed Son of Mary," and he crossed
himself,"to form a judgment upon such high matters? Pardon me, I
accept your reproof, who perhaps am bigoted."
Yet, had they but known it, this "reproof" was to save the life
of many a man that night.
"May I ask help with these packages?" he went on, "as I cannot
open them here, and to move the casks? Nay, the little keg I will
carry myself, as I hope that you will taste of it at your
Christmas feast. It must be gently handled, though I fear me that
those roads of yours will not improve its quality." Then twisting
the tub from the end of the wain onto his shoulder in such a
fashion that it remained upright, he walked off lightly towards
the open door of the hall.
"For one not tall that man is strangely strong," thought Wulf,
who followed with a bale of carpets.
Then the other casks of wine were stowed away in the stone cellar
beneath the hall.
Leaving his servant--a silent, stupid-looking, dark-eyed fellow
named Petros--to bait the horses, Georgios entered the hall and
began to unpack his carpets and embroideries with all the skill
of one who had been trained in the bazaars of Cairo, Damascus, or
Nicosia. Beautiful things they were which he had to show;
broideries that dazzled the eye, and rugs of many hues, yet soft
and bright as an otter's pelt. As Sir Andrew looked at them,
remembering long dead days, his face softened.
"I will buy that rug," he said, "for of a truth it might be one
on which I lay sick many a year ago in the house of Ayoub at
Damascus. Nay, I haggle not at the price. I will buy it." Then he
fell to thinking how, whilst Iying on such a rug (indeed,
although he knew it not, it was the same), looking through the
rounded beads of the wooden lattice-work of his window, he had
first seen his Eastern wife walking in the orange garden with her
father Ayoub. Afterwards, still recalling his youth, he began to
talk of Cyprus, and so time went on until the dark was falling.
Now Georgios said that he must be going, as he had sent back his
guide to Southminster, where the man desired to eat his Christmas
feast. So the reckoning was paid--it was a long one--and while
the horses were harnessed to the wain the merchant bored holes in
the little cask of wine and set spigots in them, bidding them all
be sure to drink of it that night. Then calling down good fortune
on them for their kindness and liberality, he made his salaams in
the Eastern fashion, and departed, accompanied by Wulf.
Within five minutes there was a sound of shouting, and Wulf was
back again saying that the wheel of the wain had broken at the
first turn, so that now it was Iying upon its side in the
courtyard. Sir Andrew and Godwin went out to see to the matter,
and there they found Georgios wringing his hands, as only an
Eastern merchant can, and cursing in some foreign tongue.
"Noble knights," he said, "what am I to do? Already it is nearly
dark, and how I shall find my way up yonder steep hill I know
not. As for the priceless broideries, I suppose they must stay
here for the night, since that wheel cannot be mended till
to-morrow--"
"As you had best do also," said Sir Andrew kindly. "Come, man, do
not grieve; we are used to broken axles here in Essex, and you
and your servant may as well eat your Christmas dinners at
Steeple as in Southminster."
"I thank you, Sir knight; I thank you. But why should I, who am
but a merchant, thrust myself upon your noble company? Let me
stop outside with my man, Petros, and dine with your people in
that barn, where I see they are making ready their food."
"By no means," answered Sir Andrew. "Leave your servant with my
people, who will look after him, and come you into the hall, and
tell me some more of Cyprus till our food is ready, which will be
soon. Do not fear for your goods; they shall be placed under
cover."
"All unworthy as I am, I obey," answered the obsequious Georgios.
"Petros, do you understand? This noble lord gives us hospitality
for the night. His people will show you where to eat and sleep,
and help you with your horses."
This man, who, he explained, was a Cypriote--a fisherman in
summer and a muleteer in winter--bowed, and fixing his dark eyes
upon those of his master, spoke in some foreign tongue.
"You hear what he says, the silly fellow?" said Georgios."What?
You do not understand Greek--only Arabic? Well, he asks me to
give him money to pay for his dinner and his night's lodging. You
must forgive him, for he is but a simple peasant, and cannot
believe that anyone may be lodged and fed without payment. I will
explain to him, the pig!" And explain he did in shrill, high
notes, of which no one else could understand a word.
"There, Sir Knight, I do not think he will offend you so again.
Ah! look. He is walking off--he is sulky. Well, let him alone; he
will be back for his dinner, the pig! Oh, the wet and the wind! A
Cypriote does not mind them in his sheepskins, in which he will
sleep even in the snow."
So, Georgios still declaiming upon the shortcomings of his
servant, they went back into the hall. Here the conversation soon
turned upon other matters, such as the differences between the
creeds of the Greek and Latin churches--a subject upon which he
seemed to be an expert --and the fear of the Christians in Cyprus
lest Saladin should attempt to capture that island.
At length five o'clock came, and Georgios having first been taken
to the lavatory--it was but a stone trough-- to wash his hands,
was led to the dinner, or rather to the supper-table, which stood
upon a dais in front of the entrance to the solar. Here places
were laid for six--Sir Andrew, his nephews, Rosamund, the
chaplain, Matthew, who celebrated masses in the church and ate at
the hall on feast-days, and the Cypriote merchant, Georgios
himself. Below the dais, and between it and the fire, was another
table, at which were already gathered twelve guests, being the
chief tenants of Sir Andrew and the reeves of his outlying lands.
On most days the servants of the house, with the huntsmen,
swineherds, and others, sat at a third table beyond the fire. But
as nothing would stop these from growing drunken on the good ale
at a feast, and though many ladies thought little of it, there
was no sin that Rosamund hated so much as this, now their lord
sent them to eat and drink at their ease in the barn which stood
in the courtyard with its back to the moat.
When all had taken their seats, the chaplain said grace, and the
meal began. It was rude but very plentiful. First, borne in by
the cook on a wooden platter, came a great codfish, whereof he
helped portions to each in turn, laying them on their
"trenchers"-- that is, large slices of bread--whence they ate
them with the spoons that were given to each. After the fish
appeared the meats, of which there were many sorts, served on
silver spits. These included fowls, partridges, duck, and, chief
of all, a great swan, that the tenants greeted by knocking their
horn mugs upon the table; after which came the pastries, and with
them nuts and apples. For drink, ale was served at the lower
table. On the dais however, they drank some of the black wine
which Wulf had bought--that is, except Sir Andrew and Rosamund,
the former because he dared not, and the latter because she had
always hated any drink but water--a dislike that came to her,
doubtless, with her Eastern blood.
Thus they grew merry since their guest proved himself a cheerful
fellow, who told them many stories of love and war, for he seemed
to know much of loves, and to have been in sundry wars. At these
even Sir Andrew, forgetting his ailments and forebodings, laughed
well, while Rosamund, looking more beautiful than ever in the
gold-starred veil and the broidered tunic which the brethren had
given her, listened to them, smiling somewhat absently. At last
the feast drew towards its end, when suddenly, as though struck
by a sudden recollection, Georgios exclaimed:
"The wine! The liquid amber from Trooidos! I had forgotten it.
Noble knight, have I your leave to draw?"
"Ay, excellent merchant," answered Sir Andrew. "Certainly you can
draw your own wine."
So Georgios rose, and took a large jug and a silver tankard from
the sideboard where such things were displayed. With these he
went to the little keg which, it will be remembered, had been
stood ready upon the trestles, and, bending over it while he drew
the spigots, filled the vessels to the brim. Then he beckoned to
a reeve sitting at the lower table to bring him a leather jack
that stood upon the board. Having rinsed it out with wine, he
filled that also, handing it with the jug to the reeve to drink
their lord's health on this Yule night. The silver vessel he bore
back to the high table, and with his own hand filled the horn
cups of all present, Rosamund alone excepted, for she would touch
none, although he pressed her hard and looked vexed at her
refusal. Indeed, it was because it seemed to pain the man that
Sir Andrew, ever courteous, took a little himself, although, when
his back was turned, he filled the goblet up with water. At
length, when all was ready, Georgios charged, or seemed to
charge, his own horn, and, lifting it, said:
"Let us drink, everyone of us here, to the noble knight, Sir
Andrew D'Arcy, to whom I wish, in the phrase of my own people,
that he may live for ever. Drink, friends, drink deep, for never
will wine such as this pass your lips again.
Then, lifting his beaker, he appeared to drain it in great
gulps--an example which all followed, even Sir Andrew drinking a
little from his cup, which was three parts filled with water.
There followed a long murmur of satisfaction.
"Wine! It is nectar!" said Wulf.
"Ay," put in the chaplain, Matthew; "Adam might have drunk this
in the Garden," while from the lower table came jovial shouts of
praise of this smooth, creamlike vintage.
Certainly that wine was both rich and strong. Thus, after his sup
of it, a veil as it were seemed to fall on the mind of Sir Andrew
and to cover it up. It lifted again, and lo! his brain was full
of memories and foresights. Circumstances which he had forgotten
for many years came back to him altogether, like a crowd of
children tumbling out to play. These passed, and he grew suddenly
afraid. Yet what had he to fear that night? The gates across the
moat were locked and guarded. Trusty men, a score or more of
them, ate in his outbuildings within those gates; while others,
still more trusted, sat in his hall; and on his right hand and on
his left were those two strong and valiant knights, Sir Godwin
and Sir Wulf. No, there was nothing to fear--and yet he felt
afraid. Suddenly he heard a voice speak. It was Rosamund's; and
she said:
"Why is there such silence, father? A while ago I heard the
servants and bondsmen carousing in the barn; now they are still
as death. Oh, and look! Are all here drunken? Godwin--"
But as she spoke Godwin's head fell forward on the board, while
Wulf rose, half drew his sword, then threw his arm about the neck
of the priest, and sank with him to the ground. As it was with
these, so it seemed with all, for folk rocked to and fro, then
sank to sleep, everyone of them, save the merchant Georgios, who
rose to call another toast.
"Stranger," said Sir Andrew, in a heavy voice, "your wine is very
strong."
"It would seem so, Sir Knight," he answered;"but I will wake them
from their wassail." Springing from the dais lightly as a cat, he
ran down the hall crying, "Air is what they need. Air!" Now
coming to the door, he threw it wide open, and drawing a silver
whistle from his robe, blew it long and loud. "What," he laughed,
"do they still sleep? Why, then, I must give a toast that will
rouse them all," and seizing a horn mug, he waved it and
shouted:
"Arouse you, ye drunkards, and drink to the lady Rose of the
World, princess of Baalbec, and niece to my royal master, Yusuf
Salah-ed-din, who sends me to lead her to him!"
"Oh, father," shrieked Rosamund,"the wine was drugged and we are
betrayed!"
As the words passed her lips there rose a sound of running feet,
and through the open door at the far end of the halI burst in a
score or over of armed men. Then at last Sir Andrew saw and
understood.
With a roar of rage like that of a wounded lion, he seized his
daughter and dragged her back with him down the passage into the
solar where a fire burned and lights had been lit ready for their
retiring, flinging to and bolting the door behind them.
"Swift!" he said, as he tore his gown from him, "there is no
escape, but at least I can die fighting for you. Give me my
mail."
She snatched his hauberk from the wall, and while they thundered
at the door, did it on to him--ay, and his steel helm also, and
gave him his long sword and his shield.
"Now," he said,"help me." And they thrust the oak table forward,
and overset it in front of the door, throwing the chairs and
stools on either side, that men might stumble on them.
"There is a bow," he said,"and you can use it as I have taught
you. Get to one side and out of reach of the sword sweeps, and
shoot past me as they rush; it may stay one of them. Oh, that
Godwin and Wulf were here, and we would still teach these Paynim
dogs a lesson!"
Rosamund made no answer but there came into her mind a vision of
the agony of Godwin and of Wulf should they ever wake again to
learn what had chanced to her and them. She looked round. Against
the wall stood a little desk, at which Godwin was wont to write,
and on it lay pen and parchment. She seized them, and as the door
gave slowly inwards, scrawled:
"Follow me to Saladin. In that hope I live on.-- Rosamund."
Then as the stout door at length crashed in Rosamund turned what
she had written face downwards on the desk, and seizing the bow,
set an arrow to its string. Now it was down and on rushed the mob
up the six feet of narrow passage. At the end of it, in front of
the overturned table, they halted suddenly. For there before
them, skull-emblazoned, shield on arm, his long sword lifted, and
a terrible wrath burning in his eyes, stood the old knight, like
a wolf at bay, and by his side, bow in hand, the beauteous lady
Rosamund, clad in all her festal broideries.
"Yield you!" cried a voice. By way of answer the bowstring
twanged, and an arrow sped home to its feathers through the
throat of the speaker, so that he went down, grabbing at it, and
spoke no more for ever.
As he fell clattering to the floor, Sir Andrew cried in a great
voice:
"We yield not to pagan dogs and poisoners. A D'Arcy! A D'Arcy!
Meet D 'Arcy, meet Death!"
Thus for the last time did old Sir Andrew utter the warcry of his
race, which he had feared would never pass his lips again. His
prayer had been heard, and he was to die as he had desired.
"Down with him! seize the Princess!" said a voice. It was that of
Georgios, no longer humble with a merchant's obsequious whine,
but speaking in tones of cold command and in Arabic. For a moment
the swarthy mob hung back, as well they might in face of that
glittering sword. Then with a cry of "Salah-ed-din!
Salah-ed-din!" on they surged, with flashing spears and
scimitars. The overthrown table was in front of them, and one
leapt upon its edge, but as he leapt, the old knight, all his
years and sickness forgotten now, sprang forward and struck
downwards, so heavy a blow that in the darkling mouth of the
passage the sparks streamed out, and where the Saracen's head had
been, appeared his heels. Back Sir Andrew stepped again to win
space for his sword-play, while round the ends of the table broke
two fierce-faced men. At one of them Rosamund shot with her bow,
and the arrow pierced his thigh, but as he fell he struck with
his keen scimitar and shore the end off the bow, so that it was
useless. The second man caught his foot in the bar of the oak
chair which he did not see, and went down prone, while Sir
Andrew, taking no heed of him, rushed with a shout at the crowd
who followed, and catching their blows upon his shield, rained
down others so desperate that, being hampered by their very
number, they gave before him, and staggered back along the
passage.
"Guard your right, father!" cried Rosamund. He sprang round, to
see the Saracen, who had fallen, on his feet again. At him he
went, nor did the man wait the onset, but turned to fly, only to
find his death, for the great sword caught him between neck and
shoulders. Now a voice cried: "We make poor sport with this old
lion, and lose men. Keep clear of his claws, and whelm him with
spear casts."
But Rosamund, who understood their tongue, sprang in front of
him, and answered in Arabic:
"Ay, through my breast; and go, tell that tale to Saladin!"
Then, clear and calm was heard the command of Georgios. "He who
harms a hair of the Princess dies. Take them both living if you
may, but lay no hand on her. Stay, let us talk."
So they ceased from their onslaught and began to consult
together.
Rosamund touched her father and pointed to the man who lay upon
the floor with an arrow through his thigh. He was struggling to
his knee, raising the heavy scimitar in his hand. Sir Andrew
lifted his sword as a husbandman lifts a stick to kill a rat,
then let it fall again, saying:
"I fight not with the wounded. Drop that steel, and get you back
to your own folk."
The fellow obeyed him--yes, and even touched the floor with his
forehead in salaam as he crawled away, for he knew that he had
been given his life, and that the deed was noble towards him who
had planned a coward's stroke. Then Georgios stepped forward, no
longer the same Georgios who had sold poisoned wine and Eastern
broideries, but a proud-looking, high-browed Saracen clad in the
mail which he wore beneath his merchant's robe, and in place of
the crucifix wearing on his breast a great star-shaped jewel, the
emblem of his house and rank.
"Sir Andrew," he said, "hearken to me, I pray you. Noble was that
act," and he pointed to the wounded man being dragged away by his
fellows, "and noble has been your defence--well worthy of your
lineage and your knighthood. It is a tale that my master," and he
bowed as he said the word, "will love to hear if it pleases Allah
that we return to him in safety. Also you will think that I have
played a knave's trick upon you, overcoming the might of those
gallant knights, Sir Godwin and Sir Wulf, not with sword blows
but with drugged wine, and treating all your servants in like
fashion, since not one of them can shake off its fumes before
to-morrow's light. So indeed it is--a very scurvy trick which I
shall remember with shame to my life's end, and that perchance
may yet fall back upon my head in blood and vengeance. Yet
bethink you how we stand, and forgive us. We are but a little
company of men in your great country, hidden, as it were, in a
den of lions, who, if they saw us, would slay us without mercy.
That, indeed, is a small thing, for what are our lives, of which
your sword has taken tithe, and not only yours, but those of the
twin brethren on the quay by the water?"
"I thought it," broke in Sir Andrew contemptuously. "Indeed, that
deed was worthy of you--twenty or more men against two."
Georgios held up his hand.
"Judge us not harshly," he said, speaking slowly, who, for his
own ends wished to gain time, "you who have read the letter of
our lord. See you, these were my commands: To secure the lady
Rose of the World as best I might, but if possible without
bloodshed. Now I was reconnoitring the country with a troop of
the sailors from my ship who are but poor fighters, and a few of
my own people, when my spies brought me word that she had ridden
out attended by only two men, and surely I thought that already
she was in my hands. But the knights foiled me by strategy and
strength, and you know the end of it. So afterwards my messenger
presented the letter, which, indeed, should have been done at
first. The letter failed also, for neither you, nor the
Princess"--and he bowed to Rosamund--"could be bought. More, the
whole country was awakened; you were surrounded with armed men,
the knightly brethren kept watch and ward over you, and you were
about to fly to London, where it would have been hard to snare
you. Therefore, because I must, I--who am a prince and an emir,
who also, although you remember it not, have crossed swords with
you in my youth; yes, at Harenc--became a dealer in drugged
wine.
"Now hearken. Yield you, Sir Andrew, who have done enough to make
your name a song for generations, and accept the love of
Salah-ed-din, whose word you have, the word that, as you know
well, cannot be broken, which I, the lord El-Hassan--for no
meaner man has been sent upon this errand--plight to you afresh.
Yield you, and save your life, and live on in honour, clinging
to your own faith, till Azrael takes you from the pleasant fields
of Baalbec to the waters of Paradise-- if such there be for
infidels, however gallant.
"For know, this deed must be done. Did we return without the
princess Rose of the World, we should die, every one of us, and
did we offer her harm or insult, then more horribly than I can
tell you. This is no fancy of a great king that drives him on to
the stealing of a woman, although she be of his own high blood.
The voice of God has spoken to Salah-ed-din by the mouth of his
angel Sleep. Thrice has Allah spoken in dreams, telling him who
is merciful, that through your daughter and her nobleness alone
can countless lives be saved; therefore, sooner than she should
escape him, he would lose even the half of all his empire. Outwit
us, defeat us now, capture us, cause us to be tortured and
destroyed, and other messengers would come to do his bidding--
indeed, they are already on the way. Moreover, it is useless to
shed more blood, seeing it is written in the Books that this
lady, Rose of the World, must return to the East where she was
begot, there to fulfil her destiny and save the lives of men."
"Then, emir El-Hassan, I shall return as a spirit," said Rosamund
proudly.
"Not so, Princess," he answered, bowing, "for Allah alone has
power over your life, and it is otherwise decreed. Sir Andrew,
the time grows short, and I must fulfil my mission. Will you take
the peace of Salah-ed-din, or force his servants to take your
life?"
The old knight listened, resting on his reddened sword; then he
lifted his head, and spoke:
"I am aged and near my death, wine-seller Georgios, or prince
El-Hassan, whichever you may be. In my youth I swore to make no
pact with Paynims, and in my eld I will not break that vow. While
I can lift sword I will defend my daughter, even against the
might of Saladin. Get to your coward's work again, and let things
go as God has willed them."
"Then, Princess," answered El-Hassan, "bear me witness throughout
the East that I am innocent of your father's blood. On his own
head be it, and on yours," and for the second time he blew upon
the whistle that hung around his neck.
