A wise physician, skilled our wounds to heal,
Is more than armies to the common weal.
POPE’S ILLIAD.
“This is a strange tale, Sir Thomas,” said the sick monarch, when he had heard the report of the trusty Baron of Gilsland. “Art thou sure this Scottish man is a tall man and true?”
“I cannot say, my lord,” replied the jealous Borderer. “I live a little too near the Scots to gather much truth among them, having found them ever fair and false. But this man’s bearing is that of a true man, were he a devil as well as a Scot; that I must needs say for him in conscience.”
“And for his carriage as a knight, how sayest thou, De Vaux?” demanded the King.
“It is your Majesty’s business more than mine to note men’s bearings; and I warrant you have noted the manner in which this man of the Leopard hath borne himself. He hath been full well spoken of.”
“And justly, Thomas,” said the King. “We have ourselves witnessed him. It is indeed our purpose in placing ourselves ever in the front of battle, to see how our liegemen and followers acquit themselves, and not from a desire to accumulate vainglory to ourselves, as some have supposed. We know the vanity of the praise of man, which is but a vapour, and buckle on our armour for other purposes than to win it.”
De Vaux was alarmed when he heard the King make a declaration so inconsistent with his nature, and believed at first that nothing short of the approach of death could have brought him to speak in depreciating terms of military renown, which was the very breath of his nostrils. But recollecting he had met the royal confessor in the outer pavilion, he was shrewd enough to place this temporary self-abasement to the effect of the reverend man’s lesson, and suffered the King to proceed without reply.
“Yes,” continued Richard, “I have indeed marked the manner in which this knight does his devoir. My leading-staff were not worth a fool’s bauble had he escaped my notice; and he had ere now tasted of our bounty, but that I have also marked his overweening and audacious presumption.”
“My liege,” said the Baron of Gilsland, observing the King’s countenance change, “I fear I have transgressed your pleasure in lending some countenance to his transgression.”
“How, De Multon, thou?” said the King, contracting his brows, and speaking in a tone of angry surprise. “Thou countenance his insolence? It cannot be.”
“Nay, your Majesty will pardon me to remind you that I have by mine office right to grant liberty to men of gentle blood to keep them a hound or two within camp, just to cherish the noble art of venerie; and besides, it were a sin to have maimed or harmed a thing so noble as this gentleman’s dog.”
“Has he, then, a dog so handsome?” said the King.
“A most perfect creature of Heaven,” said the baron, who was an enthusiast in field-sports —“of the noblest Northern breed — deep in the chest, strong in the stern — black colour, and brindled on the breast and legs, not spotted with white, but just shaded into grey — strength to pull down a bull, swiftness to cote an antelope.”
The King laughed at his enthusiasm. “Well, thou hast given him leave to keep the hound, so there is an end of it. Be not, however, liberal of your licenses among those knights adventurers who have no prince or leader to depend upon; they are ungovernable, and leave no game in Palestine. — But to this piece of learned heathenesse — sayest thou the Scot met him in the desert?”
“No, my liege; the Scot’s tale runs thus. He was dispatched to the old hermit of Engaddi, of whom men talk so much —”
“‘Sdeath and hell!” said Richard, starting up. “By whom dispatched, and for what? Who dared send any one thither, when our Queen was in the Convent of Engaddi, upon her pilgrimage for our recovery?”
“The Council of the Crusade sent him, my lord,” answered the Baron de Vaux; “for what purpose, he declined to account to me. I think it is scarce known in the camp that your royal consort is on a pilgrimage; and even the princes may not have been aware, as the Queen has been sequestered from company since your love prohibited her attendance in case of infection.”
“Well, it shall be looked into,” said Richard. “So this Scottish man, this envoy, met with a wandering physician at the grotto of Engaddi — ha?”
“Not so my liege,” replied De Vaux? “but he met, I think, near that place, with a Saracen Emir with whom he had some MELEE in the way of proof of valour, and finding him worthy to bear brave men company, they went together, as errant knights are wont, to the grotto of Engaddi.”
Here De Vaux stopped, for he was not one of those who can tell a long story in a sentence.
“And did they there meet the physician?” demanded the King impatiently.
“No, my liege,” replied De Vaux; “but the Saracen, learning your Majesty’s grievous illness, undertook that Saladin should send his own physician to you, and with many assurances of his eminent skill; and he came to the grotto accordingly, after the Scottish knight had tarried a day for him and more. He is attended as if he were a prince, with drums and atabals, and servants on horse and foot, and brings with him letters of credence from Saladin.”
“Have they been examined by Giacomo Loredani?”
“I showed them to the interpreter ere bringing them hither, and behold their contents in English.”
Richard took a scroll, in which were inscribed these words: The blessing of Allah and his Prophet Mohammed [“Out upon the hound!” said Richard, spitting in contempt, by way of interjection], Saladin, king of kings, Saldan of Egypt and of Syria, the light and refuge of the earth, to the great Melech Ric, Richard of England, greeting. Whereas, we have been informed that the hand of sickness hath been heavy upon thee, our royal brother, and that thou hast with thee only such Nazarene and Jewish mediciners as work without the blessing of Allah and our holy Prophet [“Confusion on his head!” again muttered the English monarch], we have therefore sent to tend and wait upon thee at this time the physician to our own person, Adonbec el Hakim, before whose face the angel Azrael [The Angel of Death.] spreads his wings and departs from the sick chamber; who knows the virtues of herbs and stones, the path of the sun, moon, and stars, and can save man from all that is not written on his forehead. And this we do, praying you heartily to honour and make use of his skill; not only that we may do service to thy worth and valour, which is the glory of all the nations of Frangistan, but that we may bring the controversy which is at present between us to an end, either by honourable agreement, or by open trial thereof with our weapons, in a fair field — seeing that it neither becomes thy place and courage to die the death of a slave who hath been overwrought by his taskmaster, nor befits it our fame that a brave adversary be snatched from our weapon by such a disease. And, therefore, may the holy —”
“Hold, hold,” said Richard, “ I will have no more of his dog of a prophet! It makes me sick to think the valiant and worthy Soldan should believe in a dead dog. Yes, I will see his physician. I will put myself into the charge of this Hakim — I will repay the noble Soldan his generosity — I will meet Saladin in the field, as he so worthily proposes, and he shall have no cause to term Richard of England ungrateful. I will strike him to the earth with my battle-axe — I will convert him to Holy Church with such blows as he has rarely endured. He shall recant his errors before my good cross-handled sword, and I will have him baptized on the battle-field, from my own helmet, though the cleansing waters were mixed with the blood of us both. — Haste, De Vaux, why dost thou delay a conclusion so pleasing? Fetch the Hakim hither.”
“My lord,” said the baron, who perhaps saw some accession of fever in this overflow of confidence, “bethink you, the Soldan is a pagan, and that you are his most formidable enemy —”
“For which reason he is the more bound to do me service in this matter, lest a paltry fever end the quarrel betwixt two such kings. I tell thee he loves me as I love him — as noble adversaries ever love each other. By my honour, it were sin to doubt his good faith!”
“Nevertheless, my lord, it were well to wait the issue of these medicines upon the Scottish squire,” said the Lord of Gilsland. “My own life depends upon it, for worthy were I to die like a dog did I proceed rashly in this matter, and make shipwreck of the weal of Christendom.”
“I never knew thee before hesitate for fear of life,” said Richard upbraidingly.
“Nor would I now, my liege,” replied the stout-hearted baron, “save that yours lies at pledge as well as my own.”
“Well, thou suspicious mortal,” answered Richard, “begone then, and watch the progress of this remedy. I could almost wish it might either cure or kill me, for I am weary of lying here like an ox dying of the murrain, when tambours are beating, horses stamping, and trumpets sounding without.”
The baron hastily departed, resolved, however, to communicate his errand to some churchman, as he felt something burdened in conscience at the idea of his master being attended by an unbeliever.
The Archbishop of Tyre was the first to whom he confided his doubts, knowing his interest with his master, Richard, who both loved and honoured that sagacious prelate. The bishop heard the doubts which De Vaux stated, with that acuteness of intelligence which distinguishes the Roman Catholic clergy. The religious scruples of De Vaux he treated with as much lightness as propriety permitted him to exhibit on such a subject to a layman.
“Mediciners,” he said, “like the medicines which they employed, were often useful, though the one were by birth or manners the vilest of humanity, as the others are, in many cases, extracted from the basest materials. Men may use the assistance of pagans and infidels,” he continued, “in their need, and there is reason to think that one cause of their being permitted to remain on earth is that they might minister to the convenience of true Christians. Thus we lawfully make slaves of heathen captives. Again,” proceeded the prelate, “there is no doubt that the primitive Christians used the services of the unconverted heathen. Thus in the ship of Alexandria, in which the blessed Apostle Paul sailed to Italy, the sailors were doubtless pagans; yet what said the holy saint when their ministry was needful? —‘NISI HI IN NAVI MANSERINT, VOS SALVI FIERI NON POTESTIS’— Unless these men abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved. Again, Jews are infidels to Christianity, as well as Mohammedans. But there are few physicians in the camp excepting Jews, and such are employed without scandal or scruple. Therefore, Mohammedans may be used for their service in that capacity — QUOD ERAT DEMONSTRANDUM.”
This reasoning entirely removed the scruples of Thomas de Vaux, who was particularly moved by the Latin quotation, as he did not understand a word of it.
But the bishop proceeded with far less fluency when he considered the possibility of the Saracen’s acting with bad faith; and here he came not to a speedy decision. The baron showed him the letters of credence. He read and re-read them, and compared the original with the translation.
“It is a dish choicely cooked,” he said, “to the palate of King Richard, and I cannot but have my suspicions of the wily Saracen. They are curious in the art of poisons, and can so temper them that they shall be weeks in acting upon the party, during which time the perpetrator has leisure to escape. They can impregnate cloth and leather, nay, even paper and parchment, with the most subtle venom. Our Lady forgive me! And wherefore, knowing this, hold I these letters of credence so close to my face? Take them, Sir Thomas — take them speedily!”
Here he gave them at arm’s-length, and with some appearance of haste, to the baron. “But come, my Lord de Vaux,” he continued, “wend we to the tent of this sick squire, where we shall learn whether this Hakim hath really the art of curing which he professeth, ere we consider whether there be safety in permitting him to exercise his art upon King Richard. — Yet, hold! let me first take my pouncet-box, for these fevers spread like an infection. I would advise you............