“Kneel not to me, your fellow-sinner, my children,” said the old man, kindly. “Repent of your misdeeds, and I will tell ye how ye may prove your repentance sincere, and do good service to God and man. Beyond yon mountains” (and he pointed to the dim and far-off outline of the blue, shadowy Pyrenees) “your Christian brethren of Spain are warring for the cause of God against the Moorish unbelievers, hard pressed and sore beset. Go ye thither to aid the warriors of the Cross; and he among you who seeks reward shall find rich spoil there, and he who hath higher thoughts shall win the favour of Heaven. Children, will ye go?”
The last words rang out like a trumpet-blast, and with one voice the fierce men answered—
“We will! we will!”
“Come thou with us, father, and be our captain!” shouted a black-bearded Gascon giant, in a voice like the bellow of a bull, “and if any man dare cross thee, I’ll cut him to joints with my own hand!”
“I thank you right heartily for your goodwill to me, my sons,” said the monk, as the faintest glimmer of a smile flitted over his thin, worn face; “but my weapons are not of this world, and he who shall lead ye must fight as well as pray. Heaven itself hath sent you a captain in your need, and here he stands.”
And he pointed to Sir Alured, who, not yet recovered from his stupefaction at this sudden and fearful tragedy, sat motionless on his horse like an armed statue.
This unlooked-for election was received with clamorous applause.
“Well chosen, holy father!” cried the big Gascon. “In truth, he who could venture singly into our camp to rescue thee, and face hundreds all alone, must be a captain worth following; and follow him we will, through fire and water. Long live our captain!”
“Long live our captain!” echoed hundreds of voices, with a mighty shout.
At that shout, Alured’s haggard face lighted up for a moment with all the fire of former days; but it clouded again at once, and he replied sadly—