Richard Longsword lay betwixt death and life for many a long day. Sebastian hardly left him for an hour, nor did Herbert; but it was Musa that saved him. Sebastian had a plainly expressed dislike for the Spaniard's ministrations.
"It is suffering Satan to cast out Satan," said he, to the Andalusian's face, "to suffer an infidel, such as you, to try to heal Richard."
"Verily, learned sheik," answered Musa, with one of his grave smiles, "if it is better that Richard should die and dwell with your saints, I will not use my art."
"No," sighed Sebastian, who had not lived in Sicily with eyes quite closed, "the lad is reserved for great things, for God and Holy Church. He must not die; use your arts, and I will pray Our Lady that she will defeat the evil in your science, and retain the good."
So Richard was medicined according to the teachings of the world-famed Abul Kasim, and Sebastian went so far as to side with Musa, when the Arab forbade the officious sub-prior—who boasted himself a leech—to speak again of poulticing the Baron's head with sheep's lungs. A wandering Jewish doctor from the school of Montpellier gave more efficient aid. The abbot brought over a finger bone of St. Matthew to put under Richard's pillow,—sure talisman against madness. And it was sorely needed. Many a time those about the bed would shiver when they heard Longsword scream aloud that Gilbert was standing beside him, his face red with blood.
"Remember Mary's tale," Richard would cry, "of the evil Emperor Constans, who slew his brother, and how the dead man stood before him in sleep, holding forth a cup of blood, saying, 'Drink, my brother, drink!' So with me, Gilbert de Valmont holds the cup, I cannot drink it! Holy Saints, I cannot! Away, away with him!"
And in half-lucid moments, Richard would hear Sebastian pray, "Dear Lord, if by penance and sacrifice of mine I gain merit in Thy sight, lay it not up for me, but for Richard, my dear son. For I love him, Lord, more than any other, saving Thee; and he has sinned grievously, and Thy hand is heavy upon him. But pity him; he repents, he will go to deliver Thy tomb and Holy City."
After this, when Richard lapsed again into his mad spells, he would howl that he was being cast into the burning abyss of Baratron with the devils Berzebu and Nero. But at last the fever left him wan and weak, with a face grown ten years older in two months. The castle folk rejoiced. The abbot came with congratulations and a tale how Brother Matthias, admittedly a little near-sighted, had seen in broad day St. Julien himself, accompanied by his stag, who had signified that the Baron should recover, and give five hundred "white deniers" to the abbey as thank-offering. Sebastian firmly forbade any generosity.
"Do you doubt the vision?" asked Richard.
Sebastian smiled grimly. "I do not doubt. But St. Julien asked for money for himself; and your all is dedicated to a higher than St. Julien—Christ. Our Lord did not bid us bestow riches on the rich. Need there will be of all money and good swords and strong right arms, before our sinful eyes see the deliverance of the Holy City. Let not even pious gratitude turn your thoughts aside." So the monks growled helplessly, for Sebastian had the Baron's ear now, and all the people venerated him as being one who seldom touched fish or flesh, slept little, prayed long, and always cast down his eyes when he passed a pretty maid.