"Fear not, beloved," were his words to those whose last speech was of home and longed-for faces, "you are going to a fair and pleasant country, very like dear France, only brighter and richer than France, if that may be. There, as far as you can see, is a plain of soft green grass, and the sky is always blue; and there is a lovely grove with whispering trees laden with fruit of gold; and the fountain of 'life and love' sparkling with a thousand jets, and from it flows a river broader and fairer than any in the South Country. Here all day long you will dance with the angels, clothed in bleaunts of red and green, and crowned with flowers as at a great tourney; and all your friends will come to you; there shall be love and no parting, health and no sickness; nor fear, nor war, nor labor, nor death; and God the Father will smile on you from His golden throne, and God the Son will be your dear companion."
So many a poor sufferer flickered out with a smile on his wan lips at Sebastian's words, while he thought he was catching visions of the heavenly country, though there was only before his dying eyes the memory of a sunny vineyard or green-bowered castle beside the stately Rhone or the circling Loire.
Thus Sebastian spent his day. But Richard heard him repeat many times—"A miracle! except we be saved by a miracle!" And toward evening the Norman saw his chaplain deep in talk with the half-witted priest, Peter Barthelmy, and another Provençal priest named Stephen.
Count Raymond sat at the end of the day in his tent before the castle, and facing him was Bishop Adhemar. There was no hope, no courage, left in the army at the close of that gloomy day. Bohemond had had to fire his followers' barracks to drive them forth to fight on the walls. When the alarm trumpets sounded an attack, men only muttered, "Better die by the sword than by a month-long death of starving." Gloomy had been the dialogue, and at last the Count asked:—
"Dear father, have masses been duly said, and prayers offered Our Lady that she will plead with Christ for His people?"
And Adhemar answered: "Prayer day and night. All night long I and the Bishop of Orange lay outstretched after the form of the cross, beseeching Our Lord. The cry rises to heaven unceasingly. But God remembers all our sins; there is no sign save of wrath."
And the good Bishop was stirred when he saw a tear on the bronzed cheek of the great Count of the South. "I must go among the men," said Raymond; "the saints know I can say little to hearten."
But he was halted by his worthy chaplain, Raymond of Agiles, now grave and consequential. "My Lord Count, and you, your Episcopal Grace," began he, importantly, "there has been a notable mercy vouchsafed this poor army,—a miracle,—a message sent down from very Heaven!"
"Miracle? Miracle of mercy?" cried the Count, banging his scabbard. "These are strange words, my good clerk; we have none such to hope for now!"