This work desires a planetary intelligence
Of Jupiter and Sol; and those great spirits
Are proud, fantastical. It asks great charges
To entice them from the guiding of their spheres,
To wait on mortals.
ALBUMAZAR.
The hermit followed the ladies from the pavilion of Richard, as shadow follows a beam of sunshine when the clouds are driving over the face of the sun. But he turned on the threshold, and held up his hand towards the King in a warning, or almost a menacing posture, as he said, “Woe to him who rejects the counsel of the church, and betaketh himself to the foul divan of the infidel! King Richard, I do not yet shake the dust from my feet and depart from thy encampment; the sword falls not — but it hangs but by a hair. Haughty monarch, we shall meet again.”
“Be it so, haughty priest,” returned Richard, “prouder in thy goatskins than princes in purple and fine linen.”
The hermit vanished from the tent, and the King continued, addressing the Arabian, “Do the dervises of the East, wise Hakim, use such familiarity with their princes?”
“The dervise,” replied Adonbec, “should be either a sage or a madman; there is no middle course for him who wears the khirkhah, [Literally, the torn robe. The habit of the dervises is so called.] who watches by night, and fasts by day. Hence hath he either wisdom enough to bear himself discreetly in the presence of princes; or else, having no reason bestowed on him, he is not responsible for his own actions.”
“Methinks our monks have adopted chiefly the latter character,” said Richard. “But to the matter. In what can I pleasure you, my learned physician?”
“Great King,” said El Hakim, making his profound Oriental obeisance, “let thy servant speak one word, and yet live. I would remind thee that thou owest — not to me, their humble instrument — but to the Intelligences, whose benefits I dispense to mortals, a life —”
“And I warrant me thou wouldst have another in requital, ha?” interrupted the King.
“Such is my humble prayer,” said the Hakim, “to the great Melech Ric — even the life of this good knight, who is doomed to die, and but for such fault as was committed by the Sultan Adam, surnamed Aboulbeschar, or the father of all men.”
“And thy wisdom might remind thee, Hakim, that Adam died for it,” said the King, somewhat sternly, and then began to pace the narrow space of his tent with some emotion, and to talk to himself. “Why, God-a-mercy, I knew what he desired as soon as ever he entered the pavilion! Here is one poor life justly condemned to extinction, and I, a king and a soldier, who have slain thousands by my command, and scores with my own hand, am to have no power over it, although the honour of my arms, of my house, of my very Queen, hath been attainted by the culprit. By Saint George, it makes me laugh! By Saint Louis, it reminds me of Blondel’s tale of an enchanted castle, where the destined knight was withstood successively in his purpose of entrance by forms and figures the most dissimilar, but all hostile to his undertaking! No sooner one sunk than another appeared! Wife — kinswoman — hermit — Hakim-each appears in the lists as soon as the other is defeated! Why, this is a single knight fighting against the whole MELEE of the tournament — ha! ha! ha!” And Richard laughed aloud; for he had, in fact, begun to change his mood, his resentment being usually too violent to be of long endurance.
The physician meanwhile looked on him with a countenance of surprise, not unmingled with contempt; for the Eastern people make no allowance for these mercurial changes in the temper, and consider open laughter, upon almost any account, as derogatory to the dignity of man, and becoming only to women and children. At length the sage addressed the King when he saw him more composed:—
“A doom of death should not issue from laughing lips. Let thy servant hope that thou hast granted him this man’s life.”
“Take the freedom of a thousand captives instead,” said Richard; “restore so many of thy countrymen to their tents and families, and I will give the warrant instantly. This man’s life can avail thee nothing, and it is forfeited.”
“All our lives are forfeited,” said the Hakim, putting his hand to his cap. “But the great Creditor is merciful, and exacts not the pledge rigorously nor untimely.”
“Thou canst show me,” said Richard, “no special interest thou hast to become intercessor betwixt me and the execution of justice, to which I am sworn as a crowned king.”
“Thou art sworn to the dealing forth mercy as well as justice,” said El Hakim; “but what thou seekest, great King, is the execution of thine own will. And for the concern I have in this request, know that many a man’s life depends upon thy granting this boon.”
“Explain thy words,” said Richard; “but think not to impose upon me by false pretexts.”
“Be it far from thy servant!” said Adonbec. “Know, then, that the medicine to which thou, Sir King, and many one besides, owe their recovery, is a talisman, composed under certain aspects of the heavens, when the Divine Intelligences are most propitious. I am but the poor administrator of its virtues. I dip it in a cup of water, observe the fitting hour to administer it to the patient, and the potency of the draught works the cure.”
“A most rare medicine,” said the King, “and a commodious! and, as it may be carried in the leech’s purse, would save the whole caravan of camels which they require to convey drugs and physic stuff; I marvel there is any other in use.”
“It is written,” answered the Hakim, with imperturbable gravity, “‘Abuse not the steed which hath borne thee from the battle.’ Know that such talismans might indeed be framed, but rare has been the number of adepts who have dared to undertake the application of their virtue. Severe restrictions, painful observances, fasts, and penance, are necessary on the part of the sage who uses this mode of cure; and if, through neglect of these preparations, by his love of ease, or his indulgence of sensual appetite, he omits to cure at least twelve persons within the course of each moon, the virtue of the divine gift departs from the amulet, and both the last patient and the physician will be exposed to speedy misfortune, neither will they survive the year. I require yet one life to make up the appointed number.”
“Go out into the camp, good Hakim, where thou wilt find a-many,” said the King, “and do not seek to rob my headsman of HIS patients; it is unbecoming a mediciner of thine eminence to interfere with the practice of another. Besides, I cannot see how delivering a criminal from the death he deserves should go to make up thy tale of miraculous cures.”
“When thou canst show why a draught of cold water should have cured thee when the most precious drugs failed,” said the Hakim, “thou mayest reason on the other mysteries attendant on this matter. For myself, I am inefficient to the great work, having this morning touched an unclean animal. Ask, therefore, no further questions; it is enough that, by sparing this man’s life at my request, you will deliver yourself, great King, and thy servant, from a great danger.”
“Hark thee, Adonbec,” replied the King, “I have no objection that leeches should wrap their words in mist, and pretend to derive knowledge from the stars; but when you bid Richard Plantagenet fear that a danger will fall upon HIM from some idle omen, or omitted ceremonial, you speak to no ignorant Saxon, or doting old woman, who foregoes her purpose because a hare crosses the path, a raven croaks, or a cat sneezes.”
“I cannot hinder your doubt of my words,” said Adonbec; “but yet let my Lord the King grant that truth is on the tongue of his servant — will he think it just to deprive the world, and every wretch who may suffer by the pains which so lately reduced him to that couch, of the benefit of this most virtuous talisman, rather than extend his forgiveness to one poor criminal? Bethink you, Lord King, that, though thou canst slay thousands, thou canst not restore one man to health. Kings have the power of Satan to torment, sages that of Allah to heal — beware how thou hinderest the good to humanity which thou canst not thyself render. Thou canst cut off the head, but not cure the aching tooth.”
“This is over-insolent,” said the King, hardening himself, as the Hakim assumed a more lofty and almost a commanding tone. “We took thee for our leech, not for our counsellor or conscience-keeper.”
“And is it thus the most renowned Prince of Frangistan repays benefit done to his royal person?” said El Hakim, exchanging the humble and stooping posture in which he had hitherto solicited the King, for an attitude lofty and commanding. “Know, then,” he said, “that: through every court of Europe and Asia — to Moslem and Nazarene — to knight and lady — wherever harp is heard and sword worn — wherever honour is loved and infamy detested — to every quarter of the world — will I denounce thee, Melech Ric, as thankless and ungenerous; and even the lands — if there be any such — that never heard of thy renown shall yet be acquainted with thy shame!”
“Are these terms to me, vile infidel?” said Richard, striding up to him in fury. “Art weary of thy life?”
“Strike!” said El Hakim; “thine own deed shall then paint thee more worthless than could my words, though each had a hornet’s sting.”
Richard turned fiercely from him, folded his arms, traversed the tent as before, and then exclaimed, “Thankless and ungenerous! — as well be termed coward and infidel! Hakim, thou hast chosen thy boon; and though I had rather thou hadst asked my crown jewels, yet I may not, kinglike, refuse thee. Take this Scot, therefore, to thy keeping; the provost will deliver him to thee on this warrant.”
He hastily traced one or two lines, and gave them to the physician. “Use him as thy bond-slave, to be disposed of as thou wilt — only, let him beware how he comes before the eyes of Richard. Hark thee — thou art wise — he hath been over-bold among those in whose fair looks and weak judgments we trust our honour, as you of the East lodge your treasures in caskets of silver wire, as fine and as frail as the web of a gossamer.”
“Thy servant understands the words of the King,” said the sage, at once resuming the reverent style of address in which he had commenced. “When the rich carpet is soiled, the fool pointeth to the stain — the wise man covers it with his mantle. I have heard my lord’s pleasure, and to hear is to obey.”
“It is well,” said the King; “let him consult his own safety, and never appear in my presence more. Is there aught else in which I may do thee pleasure?”
“The bounty of the King hath filled my cup to the brim,” said the sage —” yea, it hath been abundant as the fountain which sprung up amid the camp of the descendants of Israel when the rock was stricken by the rod of Moussa Ben Amram.”
“Ay, but,” said the King, smiling, “it required, as in the desert, a hard blow on the rock ere it yielded its treasures. I would that I knew something to pleasure thee, which I might yield as freely as the natural fountain sends forth its waters.”
“Let me touch that victorious hand,” said the sage, “in token that if Adonbec el Hakim should hereafter demand a boon of Richard of England, he may do so, yet plead his command.”
“Thou hast hand and glove upon it, man,” replied Richard; “only, if thou couldst consistently make up thy tale of patients without craving me to deliver from punishment those who have deserved it, I would more willingly discharge my debt in some other form.”
“May thy days be multiplied!” answered the Hakim, and withdrew from the apartment after the usual deep obeisance.
King Richard gazed after him as he departed, like one but half-satisfied with what had passed.
“Strange pertinacity,” he said, “in this Hakim, and a wonderful chance to interfere between that audacious Scot and the chastisement he has merited so richly. Yet let him live! there is one brave man the more in the world. And now for the Austrian. Ho! is the Baron of Gilsland there without?”
Sir Thomas de Vaux thus summoned, his bulky form speedily darkened the opening of the pavilion, while behind him glided as a spectre, unannounced, yet unopposed, the savage form of the hermit of Engaddi, wrapped in his goatskin mantle.
Richard, without noticing his presence, called in a loud tone to the baron, “Sir Thomas de Vaux, of Lanercost and Gilsland, take trumpet and herald, and go instantly to the tent of him whom they call Archduke of Austria, and see that it be when the press of his knights and vassals is greatest around him, as is likely at this hour, for the German boar breakfasts ere he hears mass — enter his presence with as little reverence as thou mayest, and impeach him, on the part of Richard of England, that he hath this night, by his own hand, or that of others, stolen from its staff the Banner of England. Wherefore say to him our pleasure that within an hour from the time of my speaking he restore the said banner with all reverence — he himself and his principal barons waiting the whilst with heads uncovered, and without their robes of honour. And that, moreover, he pitch beside it, on the one hand, his own Banner of Austria reversed, as that which hath been dishonoured by theft and felony, and on the other, a lance, bearing the bloody head of him who was his nearest counsellor, or assistant, in this base injury. And say, that such our behests being punctually discharged we will, for the sake of our vow and the weal of the Holy Land, forgive his other forfeits.”
“And how if the Duke of Austria deny all accession to this act of wrong and of felony?” said Thomas de Vaux.
“Tell him,” replied the King, “we will prove it upon his body — ay, were he backed with his two bravest champions. Knightlike will we prove it, on foot or on horse, in the desert or in the field, time, place, and arms all at his own choice.”
“Bethink you of the peace of God and the church, my liege lord,” said the Baron of Gilsland, “among those princes engaged in this holy Crusade.”
“Bethink you how to execute my commands, my liege vassal,” answered Richard impatiently. “Methinks men expect to turn our purpose by their breath, as boys blow feathers to and fro. Peace of the church! Who, I prithee, minds it? The peace of the church, among Crusaders, implies war with the Saracens, with whom the princes have made truce; and the one ends with the other. And besides, see you not how every prince of them is seeking his own several ends? I will seek mine also — and that is honour. For honour I came hither; and if I may not win it upon the Saracens, at least I will not lose a jot from any respect to this paltry Duke, though he were bulwarked and buttressed by every prince in the Crusade.”
De Vaux turned to obey the King’s mandate, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, the bluntness of his nature being unable to conceal that its tenor went against his judgment. But the hermit of Engaddi stepped forward, and assumed the air of one charged with higher commands than those of a mere earthly potentate. Indeed, his dress of shaggy skins, his uncombed and untrimmed hair and beard, his lean, wild, and contorted features, and the almost insane fire which gleamed from under his bushy eyebrows, made him approach nearly to our idea of some seer of Scripture, who, charged with high mission to the sinful Kings of Judah or Israel, descended from the rocks and caverns in which he dwelt in abstracted solitude, to abash earthly tyrants in the midst of their pride, by discharging on them the blighting denunciations of Divine Majesty, even as the cloud discharges the lightnings with which it is fraught on the pinnacles and towers of castles and palaces. In the midst of his most wayward mood, Richard respected the church and its ministers; and though offended at the intrusion of the hermit into his tent............