Godfrey laughed under his helmet.
"Could I leave Tancred the glory and the boast, 'I first set eyes on the Holy City'? Under cover of the dark I left Baldwin du Bourg to bring up my men, and spurred forward. I knew that with me would ride one whose right arm is none the weakest."
"Forward, then!" returned Richard; "I have joy in your company, my lord."
"Please God, we shall meet a few infidels and avenge the burned villages," muttered Godfrey, as they flew on. "Ten paynims to one Christian are fair odds with Jerusalem so nigh!"
But the wish was unrealized. They rode for a while in silence; met no more fugitives, nor any of the garrison. Presently the horses fell to a walk. The light of the burning hamlets died away. Very dark—only in the farthest east there was a dim redness. No smouldering farmhouse, a light brightening slowly, slowly. A soft warm southern wind was creeping across the plain. To the left the twain just saw black cedars massed in a dark ravine. There was an awe and hush on all the earth. Behind came the clink of arms, the click of men and steeds; but from Tancred's company drifted no murmur. Who craved speech at such an hour? Slower the steps of the horses. A hill slope extended before—a blank form in the dark. The wind seemed to hush as they advanced. Richard knew that never in all life had awe possessed him more utterly. He heard the water trickling in a hidden brooklet. Out of a tamarisk whirred a wild partridge. How great the noise! Did Rollo know he trod down holy ground, his great feet fell so softly? The sky grew brighter—rocks, trees, hillocks springing to being; the blackness was gray, the gray was tinged with red, the stars were fading.
Godfrey whispered softly to Richard:—
"From what the pilgrims say, we now climb the Mount of Olives. Before us lies the chapel of the Ascension, beyond—Jerusalem! Let us kneel and pray that God make us worthy to behold His Holy City."
The two knights dismounted, fell on their knees, their hearts almost too full even for silent prayer. "So many agonies, so bitter loss, so many days! At last! At last!" This was all Richard Longsword knew. He tried to confess his sins; to say mea culpa, but his one thought was of thanksgiving. With Godfrey he rose and led Rollo by the bridle upward. They ascended slowly, reverently, counting each rock and nestling olive tree. And with their mounting, mounted the light. Now Richard looked back—a wide, dim landscape faded away into the rosy east, peaks and plain, more peaks all desolate, and farthest of all a little steel-gray shimmer, where he knew the Dead Sea lay. Still the light strengthened, making all the landscape red gold; the naked chalk rock to the west lit with living fire. Behind hasted the whole van—footmen running abreast of the horsemen, priests outstripping the warriors, and one priest speeding before all—Sebastian. He overtook the two knights, breathless with his speed; but the new light not brighter than the light in his eyes. He said nothing. The three pressed forward. Four and twenty hours, barely halting, all had advanced, but who was weary?
Suddenly the host behind broke forth chanting as they toiled upward,—the psalm tenfold louder in the morning stillness:—
"Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised
In the city of our God, in the mountain of His holiness.
Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth,
Is Mount Zion, on the sides of the north,
The city of the great King."