The burning sun of Syria had not yet attained its highest point when a Knight of the Red Cross was pacing slowly along the sandy deserts in the vicinity of the Dead Sea. At noon he joyfully hailed the sight of two or three palm trees, and his good horse, too, lifted up his head as if he snuffed from afar off the living waters which marked the place of repose and refreshment. But a distant form separated itself from the trees, and advanced towards the knight at a speed which soon showed a Saracen cavalier. The Crusader, whose arms were a couchant leopard, disengaged his lance, and well acquainted with the customs of Eastern warriors, made a dead halt, confident that his own weight would give him the advantage if the enemy advanced to the actual shock; but the Saracen, wheeling his horse with inimitable dexterity, rode round the Christian, who, constantly turning, frustrated his attempts to attack him in an unguarded point, until, desirous to terminate the elusory warfare, the knight suddenly seized the mace which hung at his saddle-bow, and hurled it at the head of the Emir, who, though beaten to the ground, instantly sprang again into his seat and regained the advantage, enlarging his circles, and discharging arrows. At the seventh, the Christian knight dropped heavily to the ground, and the Saracen dismounting to examine his fallen foe, suddenly found himself in his grasp. He unloosed the sword belt in which the Knight of the Leopard had fixed his hold, mounted, and again rode off. But the loss of his sword and quiver of arrows seemed to incline the Muslim to a truce; he again approached the Christian, but no longer menacingly.
"There is truce betwixt our nations," he said. "Let there be peace betwixt us."
"I am well content," answered he of the couchant leopard, and the late foes, without an angry look or a gesture of doubt, rode side by side to the palm trees; where each relieved his horse from saddle, bit, and rein, and permitted them to drink ere they refreshed themselves. As they sat down together on the turf, and proceeded to their scanty meal, they eyed each other with curiosity, and each was compelled to acknowledge that had he fallen in the combat, it had been by a noble foe. The warriors arose from their brief rest, and courteously aided each other while they replaced the harness of their trusty steeds, and pursued their way, the Saracen performing the part of guide, to the cavern of the hermit, Theodorich of England, with whom Sir Kenneth was to pass the night in penitence and prayer.
II.--Richard Coeur-de-Lion
The scene must change to the camp of King Richard of England, who, afflicted with a slow and wasting fever, lay on his couch of sickness, loathing it as much in mind as his illness made it irksome to his body. "Hark, what trumpets are there?" he said, endeavouring to start up. "By heaven! the Turks are in the camp, I hear their lelies!" Breathless and exhausted he sank back. "Go, I pray thee, De Vaux, and bring me word what strangers are in the camp." Sir Thomas de Vaux had not made many steps from the royal pavilion when he met the Knight of the Leopard, who, accosting him with formal courtesy, desired to see the king; he had brought back with him a Moorish physician, who had undertaken to work a cure. Sir Thomas answered haughtily that no leech should approach the sick bed without his, the Baron of Gilsland's, consent, and turned loftily away; but the Scot, though not without expressing his share of pride, solemnly assured him that he desired but the safety of Richard, and Saladin himself had sent thither this Muslim physician. Sir Kenneth's squire had been suffering dangerously under the same fever, and the leech, El Hakim, had ministered to him not two hours before, and already he was in a refreshing sleep.
"May I see your sick squire, fair sir?" at length said the Englishman.
The Scottish knight hesitated and coloured, yet answered at last:
"Willingly, my lord of Gilsland, but I am poorly lodged," and led the way to his temporary abode.
"This is a strange tale, Sir Thomas," said the king, when he had heard the report. "Art thou sure that this Scottish man is a tall man and true?"
"I cannot say, my lord," replied the jealous borderer; "I have ever found the Scots fair and false, but the man's bearing is that of a true man, and I warrant you have noted the manner in which he bears himself as a knight. He hath been fully well spoken of."