“Let those look to that who slew him, and made me such as I am,” returned Simon, turning from him, and gazing steadfastly down into the camp. Suddenly a gleam of fierce exultation lighted up his face, and again facing Richard he exclaimed, “Yes, go home, tame cringing spaniel, and see whether a Montfort is still in favour below there! See if proud Edward is still ready to meet thy fawning with his scornful patronage! See if the honour of a murdered father has not been left in better hands than thine! And when thou hast had thy lesson, find the way to Ain Gebel, or ask Nick Dustifoot.”
Richard, with a startled exclamation, looked down, but could discern nothing unusual in the camp. The royal banner hung in heavy folds over the Prince’s pavilions, and all was evidently still in the same noontide repose, or rather exhaustion, to which the Syrian sun reduced even the hardy active Englishmen. “What mean you?” he began; but Simon was no longer beside him. He called, but echo alone answered; and all he could do was to throw himself on his horse, and hurry down the mountain side, with a vague presentiment of evil, and a burning desire to warn his lord or share his peril.
He understood Simon’s position. Many of the almost inaccessible rocks, where the sons of Anak had built their Cyclopean fortresses, and which had been abodes of almost fabulous beauty and strength in the Herodian days, had been resorted to again by the crusaders, and had served as isolated strongholds whence to annoy the enemy. Frightfully lawless had, in too many instances, been the life there led, more especially by the Levant-born sons of Europeans; and in the universal disorganization of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, that took place in consequence of the disputed rights of Cyprus and Hohenstaufen, most of them had become free from all control. If the garrisons bore the Christian name at all, it chiefly was as an excuse for preying on all around; but too often they were renegades of every variety of nation, drawn together by the vilest passions, commanded by some reckless adventurer, and paying a species of allegiance to any power that either endangered them, or afforded them the hopes of plunder. Bloodthirsty and voluptuous alike, they were viewed with equal terror by the Frank pilgrim, the Syriac villager, the Armenian merchant, and the Saracen hadji—whose ransom and whose spoil enriched their chambers, with all that the licentious tastes of East and West united could desire. There were comparatively few of these nests of iniquity in these latter days of the Crusades, but some still survived; and Richard had seen some of their captains with their followers at the siege of Nazareth, where the atrocities they had committed had been such as to make the English army stand aghast. As a member of such a crew, Simon could hardly fail to find means of attempting that revenge on which it was but too evident that he was still bent; and Richard, as every possible risk rose before him, urged his horse to perilous speed down the steep descent, and chid every obstacle, though in fact the descent which ordinarily occupied two hours, for men who cared for their own necks, was effected by him in a quarter of the time. He came to the entrenched camp. The entrance, where the Prince made so strict a point of keeping a sentinel, was completely unguarded. The foremost tents were empty, but there was a sound as of the murmuring voices of numbers towards the centre of the camp. The next moment he met Hamlyn de Valence riding quickly, and followed by two attendants.
“Hamlyn! a moment!” he gasped. “Has aught befallen the Prince?”
“You were aware of it, then!” said Hamlyn, checking his horse, and looking him full in the face.
“Answer me, for Heaven’s sake! Is all well with the Princes?”
“As well as your house desires—or it may be somewhat better,” said Hamlyn; “but let me pass. I am on an errand of life or death.”
So saying, Hamlyn dashed forwards; and Richard, in double alarm, made his way to the space in the centre of the camp, where he found himself on the outskirts of a crowd, talking in the various tongues of English, French, and Lingua Franca. “He lives—the good Princess—the dogs of infidels—poison—” were the words he caught. He flung himself from his horse, and was about to interrogate the nearest man, when John of Dunster came hurrying towards him from the tents, and threw himself upon him, sobbing with agitation and dismay.
“What is it? Speak, John! The Prince!”
“Oh, if you had but been there! It will not cease bleeding. O Richard, he looks worse than my father when he came home!”