The troop drew together on their guard, though, as the Hospitalier observed, from the side of Tiberias an enemy could scarcely come. A scout was sent forward to reconnoitre; but, even before he came spurring joyously back, the golden crosses of Jerusalem had been recognised, and confirmed his tidings that it was the rearguard of the army, commanded by King Fulk himself, on the way to the relief of the Castle of Gebel-Aroun.
In a brief half-hour more, young Walter de Hundberg, with his sister by his side, was kneeling before an alert, slender, wiry figure in plain chamois leather, with a worn sunburnt face and keen blue eyes-Fulk of Anjou-who had resigned his French county to lead the crusading cause in Palestine.
'Stand up, fair youth, and tell thy tale, and how thou hast forestalled our succour.'
Walter told his tale of the blockaded castle, the underground passage, and the dexterous surprise of the besiegers, ending by presenting, not ungracefully, his captives to the pleasure of the King.
'Why, this is well done!' exclaimed Fulk. 'Thou art a youth of promise, and wilt well be a prop to our grandson's English throne. Thou shalt take knighthood from mine own hand as thy prowess well deserveth. And thou, fair damsel, here is one whom we could scarce hold back from rushing with single hand to deliver his betrothed. Sir Raymond of Courtwood, you are balked of winning thy lady at the sword's point, but thou wilt scarce rejoice the less.'
A dark-eyed, slender young knight, in bright armour, drew towards Mabel, and she let him take her hand; but she was intent on something else, and exclaimed-
'Oh, sir, Sir King, let me speak one word! The guerdon should not be only my brother's. The device that served us was-our squire's.'
The Baron of Courtwood uttered a fierce exclamation. Walter muttered, 'Mabel, do not be such a meddling fool'; but the King asked, 'And who may this same squire be?'
'An old English churl,' said Walter impatiently. 'My father took him as his squire for want of a better.'
'And he has been like a father to us,' added Mabel
'Silence, sister! It is not for you to speak!' petulantly cried Walter. 'Not that the Baron of Courtwood need be jealous,' added he, laughing somewhat rudely. 'Where is the fellow? Stand forth, Sigbert.'
Travel and heat-soiled, sunburnt, gray, and ragged, armour rusted, leathern garment stained, the rugged figure came forward, footsore and lame, for he had given up his horse to an exhausted man-at-arms. A laugh went round at the bare idea of the young lady's preferring such a form to the splendid young knight, her destined bridegroom.
'Is this the esquire who hath done such good service, according to the young lady?' asked the King.
'Ay, sir,' returned Walter; 'he is true and faithful enough, though nothing to be proud of in looks; and he served us well in my sally and attack.'
'It was his-' Mabel tried to say, but Sigbert hushed her.
'Let be, let be, my sweet lady; it was but my bounden duty.'
'What's that? Speak out what passes there,' demanded young Courtwood, half-jealously still.
'A mere English villein, little better than a valet of the camp!' were the exclamations around. 'A noble damsel take note of him! Fie for shame!'
'He has been true and brave,' said the King. 'Dost ask a guerdon for him, young sir?' he added to Walter.
'What wouldst have, old Sigbert?' asked Walter, in a patronising voice.
'I ask nothing, sir,' returned the old squire. 'To have seen my lord's children in safety is all I wish. I have but done my duty.'
King Fulk, who saw through the whole more clearly than some of those around, yet still had the true Angevin and Norman contempt for a Saxon, here said: 'Old man, thou art trusty and shrewd, and mayst be useful. Wilt thou take service as one of my men-at-arms?'
'Thou mayst,' said Walter; 'thou art not bound to me. England hath enough of Saxon churls without thee, and I shall purvey myself an esquire of youthful grace and noble blood.'
Mabel looked at her betrothed and began to speak.
'No, no, sweet lady, I will have none of that rough, old masterful sort about me.'
'Sir King,' said Sigbert, 'I thank thee heartily. I would still serve the Cross; but my vow has been, when my young lord and lady should need me no more, to take the Cross of St. John with the Hospitaliers.'
'As a lay brother? Bethink thee,' said Fulk of Anjou. 'Noble blood is needed for a Knight of the Order.'
Sigbert smiled slightly, in spite of all the sadness of his face, and the Knight Commander who had ridden with them, a Fleming by birth, said-
'For that matter, Sir King, we are satisfied. Sigbert, the son of Sigfrid, hath proved his descent from the old English kings of the East Saxons, and the Order will rejoice to enrol in the novitiate so experienced a warrior.'
'Is this indeed so?' asked Fulk. 'A good lineage, even if English!'
'But rebel,' muttered Courtwood.
'It is so, Sir King,' said Sigbert. 'My father was disseised of the lands of Hundberg, and died in the fens fighting under Hereward le Wake. My mother dwelt under the protection of the Abbey of Colchester, and, by and by, I served under our Atheling, and, when King Henry's wars in Normandy were over, I followed the Lord of Hundberg's banner, because the men-at-arms were mine own neighbours, and his lady my kinswoman. Roger can testify to my birth and lineage.'
'So, thou art true heir of Hundberg, if that be the name of thine English castle?'
'Ay, sir, save for the Norman! But I would not, if I could, meddle with thee, my young lord, though thou dost look at me askance, spite of having learnt of me to ride and use thy lance. I am the last of the English line of old Sigfrid the Wormbane, and a childless man, and I trust the land and the serfs will be well with thee, who art English born, and son to Wulfrida of Lexden. And I trust that thou, my sweet Lady Mabel, will be a happy bride and wife. All I look for is to end my days under the Cross, in the cause of the Holy Sepulchre, whether as warrior or lay brother. Yes, dear lady, that is enough for old Sigbert.'
And Mabel had to acquiesce and believe that her old friend found peace and gladness beneath the eight-pointed Cross, when she and her brother sailed for England, where she would behold the green fields and purple heather of which he had told her amid the rocks of Palestine.
Moreover, she thought of him when on her way through France, she heard the young monk Bernard, then rising into fame, preach on the beleaguered city, saved by the poor wise man; and tell how, when the city was safe, none remembered the poor man. True, the preacher gave it a mystic meaning, and interpreted it as meaning the emphatically Poor Man by Whom Salvation came, and Whom too few bear in mind. Yet such a higher meaning did not exclude the thought of one whose deserts surpassed his honours here on earth.
THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY
An Alderman bold, Henry Smith was enrolled,
Of the Silversmiths' Company;
Highly praised was his name, his skill had high fame,
And a prosperous man was he.
Knights drank to his health, and lauded his wealth;
Sailors came from the Western Main,
Their prizes they sold, of ingots of gold,
Or plate from the galleys of Spain.
Then beakers full fine, to hold the red wine,
Were cast in his furnace's mould,
Or tankards rich chased, in intricate taste,
Gimmal rings of the purest gold.
On each New Year's morn, no man thought it scorn-
Whether statesman, or warrior brave-
The choicest device, of costliest price,
For a royal off'ring to crave.
'Bring here such a toy as the most may joy
The eyes of our gracious Queen,
Rows of orient pearls, gold pins for her curls,
Silver network, all glistening sheen.'
Each buyer who came-lord, squire, or dame-
