So with the peasants. But at last the seigneurs were moving. Richard rode from St. Julien with five-and-twenty petty nobles, thrice as many full-armored men-at-arms, four hundred stout "villains" on foot; and above his head the great banner of his house, St. Julien's white stag blazoned on a red field. The baron's heart was gay when he saw the long line of casques and lances. But beside them trailed a weeping company; old men and women, who went a little way, making a long farewell.
"Ah, sweet lord," the pretty maids would cry, "how long will it be, ere you ride back with Peter and Anselm and Hugo?" and so with fifty more, wailing out the name of husband, brother, or sweetheart. Then Richard would bang Trenchefer in a way to hearten the most timorous, and swear, "In two years you shall see them all again, and I will make every good man-at-arms a knight!" So when the women saw his bold, brave face, they took courage. But there were tears and to spare, when they came to the last wayside cross, and Herbert went down the line, calling gruffly to every man and maid not bound for Jerusalem to drop from the ranks. So the lines were closed, and the long files of helmets and hauberks went over the mountain side. Many an eye went back to the groups of red, blue, and yellow clustered round the cross; and many an eye was wet that had been seldom wet before, as they saw tottering old Bosso, Sebastian's vicar in the parish, hold up the crucifix, and all the bright gowns bend in prayer. But none fell from the ranks, no step lagged.
Richard nodded to Theroulde, whose mule was plodding beside Rollo. The jongleur clapped his viol to his shoulder; the trumpets blew; the kettledrums boomed until the crags echoed; and then once more the shout went down the lines as so many times before: "God wills it! To Jerusalem!" Whereupon the drums thundered faster, the feet twinkled more nimbly. When they came to the pass of the mountains, Richard ordered no halt; but he drew rein on Rollo, and let the column swing past. Each man cast one glance over his shoulder; louder the viols, the trumpets, the drums; again the cry: "God wills it! To Jerusalem!" Richard saw the backs of the last rank and turned his gaze toward the valley. There it lay—fair as when, nigh a year before, he had seen it from that same hillside, crowned with the bursting summer. He could see the tower of the great keep, the abbey, the village—all. And in that year what had not befallen! His grandfather dead; Raoul de Valmont dead; Gilbert de Valmont dead; ah! pity, his father, mother, brother—all dead; and his sister worse than dead! And yet the sky could be blue, and God sit calm above it, despite the wickedness of His children! Richard's shield-strap had slipped; in readjusting it he saw his face in the bright steel, clear as a mirror, and he knew lines of pain and grim resolve and deathly battle were marked thereon that would never in this world be smoothed away. Yet he was the same: the same debonair young knight who had laughed when he looked upon this valley, and vowed it should all be one love-bower for Mary Kurkuas. And now he was the stern Baron of St. Julien, at whose nod five hundred fighting-men trembled; who had blood on his hands, and, merciful saints, more blood on his soul, even if the sin were absolved! Mary, the soft, sweet life in Cefalu, the sunlit dreams of one short year ago, of love, of bright tourneys, of victories won without a pang—where were they now?
As he turned, he saw Sebastian riding his palfrey beside Rollo. "Ah, dear father," said the Norman, half sadly, "this is a pleasant country to leave behind. Is Palestine, even with Jerusalem, more fair than Auvergne? When we have taken the Holy City, we will return, and I will pray the Lord Pope to make St. Julien a bishopric, and you shall be the sanctissimus of the country-side!"
Sebastian smiled at this forced banter.
"Dear son," said he, "this is indeed a fair country, as I said when a year ago we first saw it from this height. But something in my heart says to me: 'Sebastian, God is hearkening to your prayers. Your journey in this evil world will some day end. After you have seen the Cross victorious on the walls of the earthly Zion, then you shall straightway behold the heavenly.' Therefore I shall never see St. Julien again."
"These are fancies, father," said the knight, laying his heavy hand affectionately on the priest's tonsured head; "you shall live to a yet riper age. You shall see the Holy City purged of infidels. Then at last it will be no sin to fulfil my dream. Here in St. Julien Mary Kurkuas and I will dwell, and you beside us; and if God bless us with children, what greater joy for you than to teach them all things, as you have taught me, and make them tenfold better (Christ pity me!) than their father."
"Yes, sweet lad," replied Sebastian, gently, "that would indeed be joy; but the will of Our Lord be done. And now let us be about His business." Whereupon he turned his palfrey. Richard cast one glance over mountain, valley, tower, and farm-land—a vision never to fade; then:—
"Come, Rollo!" he urged, and flew after the column. The music crashed ever faster; the marching men raised a mad war-song; Richard's voice rose above them all. As they sang, they struck the downward slope, and the crags hid St. Julien.