homage. But he raised his hand-
'Hold, children,' he said. 'I thank you all; but much must come ere ye imperil yourselves by making oaths to me that ye might soon have to break! Let me pass on and see my sister.'
Abbeys were not strictly cloistered then, and the Abbess Christina was at the door, a tall woman, older than her brother, and somewhat hard-featured, and beside her was a lovely fair girl, with peach-like cheeks and bright blue eyes, who threw herself into David's arms, full of delight.
'Brother,' said Christina, 'did I hear aright? And have they hailed thee King? Are the years of cruel wrong ended at last? Victor for others, wilt thou be victor for thyself?'
'What is consistent with God's will, and with mine oaths, that I hope to do,' was Edgar's reply.
But even as he stood beside the Abbess in the porch, without having yet entered, there was a clattering and trampling of horse, and through the gate came hastily a young man in a hauberk, with a ring of gold about his helmet, holding out his hands as he saw the Atheling.
'Sire Edgar,' he said, 'I knew not I should find you here, when I came to pay my first
Edith turned away a blushing face, and the Abbess faltered-
'As a King?'
'Yea, lady. As such have I been owned by all at Winchester. I should be at Westminster for my Coronation, save that I turned from my course to win her who shall share my crown.'
'Is it even thus, Henry?' said Edgar. 'Hast not thought of other rights?'
'Of that crazed fellow Robert's?' demanded Henry. 'Trouble not thine head for him! Even if he came back living from this Holy War in the East, my father had too much mercy on England to leave it to the like of him.'
'There be other and older rights, Sir Henry,' said the Abbess.
Henry looked up for a moment in some consternation. 'Ho! Sir Edgar, thou hast been so long a peaceful man that I had forgotten. Thou knowest thy day went by with Hereward le Wake. See, fair Edith and I know one another-she shall be my Queen.'
'Veiled and vowed,' began the Abbess.
'Oh, not yet! Tell her not yet!' whispered Edith in David's ear.
'Thou little traitress! Wed thy house's foe, who takes thine uncle's place? Nay! I will none of thee,' said David, shaking her off roughly; but her uncle threw his arm round her kindly.
At that moment a Norman knight spurred up to Henry with some communication that made him look uneasy, and Christina, laying her hand on Edgar's arm, said: 'Brother, we have vaults. Thy troop outnumbers his. The people of good old Wessex are with thee! Now is thy time! Save thy country. Restore the line and laws of Alfred and Edward.'
'Thou know'st not what thou wouldst have, Christina,' said Edgar. 'One sea of blood wherever a Norman castle rises! I love my people too well to lead them to a fruitless struggle with all the might of Normandy unless I saw better hope than lies before me now! Mind thee, I swore to Duke William that I would withstand neither him nor any son of his whom the English duly hailed. Yet, I will see how it is with this young man,' he added, as she fell back muttering, 'Craven! Who ever won throne without blood?'
Henry had an anxious face when he turned from his knight, who, no doubt, had told him how completely he was in the Atheling's power.
'Sir Edgar,' he said, 'a word with you. Winchester is not far off-nor Porchester-nor my brother William's Free companies, and his treasure. Normans will scarce see Duke William's son tampered with, nor bow their heads to the English!'
'Belike, Henry of Normandy,' said Edgar, rising above him in his grave majesty. 'Yet have I a question or two to put to thee. Thou art a graver, more scholarly man than thy brother, less like to be led away by furies. Have the people of England and Normandy sworn to thee willingly as their King?'
'Even so, in the Minster,' Henry began, and would have said more, but Edgar again made his gesture of authority.
'Wilt thou grant them the charter of Alfred and Edward, with copies spread throughout the land?'
'I will.'
'Wilt thou do equal justice between English and Norman?'
'To the best of my power.'
'Wilt thou bring home the Archbishop, fill up the dioceses, do thy part by the Church?'
'So help me God, I will.'
'Then, Henry of Normandy, I, Edgar Atheling, kiss thine hand, and become thy man; and may God deal with thee, as thou dost with England.'
The noble form of Edgar bent before the slighter younger figure of Henry, who burst into tears, genuine at the moment, and vowed most earnestly to be a good King to the entire people. No doubt, he meant it-then.
And now-far more humbly, he made his suit to the Atheling for the hand of his niece.
Edgar took her apart. 'Edith, canst thou brook this man?'
'Uncle, he was good to me when we were children together at the old King's Court. I have made no vows, I tore the veil mine aunt threw over me from mine head. Methinks with me beside him he would never be hard to our people.'
'So be it then, Edith. If he holds to this purpose when he hath been crowned at Westminster, he shall have thee, though I fear thou hast chosen a hard lot, and wilt rue the day when thou didst quit these peaceful walls.'
And one more stipulation was made by Edgar the Atheling, ere he rode to own Henry as King in the face of the English people at Westminster-namely, that Boyatt should be restored to the true heiress the Lady Elftrud. And to Roger, compensation was secretly made at the Atheling's expense, ere departing with Bertram in his train for the Holy War. For Bertram could not look at the scar without feeling himself a Crusader; and Edgar judged it better for England to remove himself for awhile, while he laid all earthly aspirations at the Feet of the King of kings.
The little English troop arrived just in time to share in the capture of the Holy City, to join in the eager procession of conquerors to the Holy Sepulchre, and to hear Godfrey de Bouillon elected to defend the sacred possession, refusing to wear a crown where the King of Saints and Lord of Heaven and Earth had worn a Crown of Thorns.
SIGBERT'S GUERDON
A feudal castle, of massive stone, with donjon keep and high crenellated wall, gateway tower, moat and drawbridge, was a strange, incongruous sight in one of the purple-red stony slopes of Palestine, with Hermon's snowy peak rising high above. It was accounted for, however, by the golden crosses of the kingdom of Jerusalem waving above the watch-tower, that rose like a pointing finger above the keep, in company with a lesser ensign bearing a couchant hound, sable.
It was a narrow rocky pass that the Castle of Gebel-Aroun guarded, overlooking a winding ravine between the spurs of the hills, descending into the fertile plain of Esdraelon from the heights of Galilee Hills, noted in many an Israelite battle, and now held by the Crusaders.
Bare, hard, and rocky were the hills around-the slopes and the valley itself, which in the earlier season had been filled with rich grass, Calvary clover, blood-red anemones, and pale yellow amaryllis, only showed their arid brown or gray remnants. The moat had become a deep waterless cleft; and beneath, on the accessible sides towards the glen, clustered a collection of black horsehair tents, the foremost surmounted by the ill-omened crescent.
The burning sun had driven every creature under shelter, and no one was visible; but well was it known that watch and ward was closely kept from beneath those dark tents, that to the eyes within had the air of couching beasts of prey. Yes, couching to devour what could not fail to be theirs, in spite of the mighty walls of rock and impregnable keep, for those deadly and insidious foes, hunger and thirst, were within, gaining the battle for the Saracens without, who had merely to wait in patience for the result.
Some years previously, Sir William de Hundberg, a Norman knight, had been expelled from his English castle by the partisans of Stephen, and with wife and children had followed Count Fulk of Anjou to his kingdom of Palestine, and had been endowed by him with one of the fortresses which guarded the passes of Galilee, under that exaggeration of the feudal system which prevailed in the crusading kingdom of Jerusalem.
