A KNIGHT OF THE WHITE CROSS

By G.A. Henty

CONTENTS

PREFACE.

CHAPTER I.   THE KING MAKER


CHAPTER II.   THE BATTLE OF
TEWKESBURY

CHAPTER III.   THE
GRAND MASTER'S PAGE

CHAPTER IV.   A
PROFESSED KNIGHT

CHAPTER V.   SCOURGES
OF THE SEA

CHAPTER VI.   KNIGHTED


CHAPTER VII.   A FIRST
COMMAND

CHAPTER VIII.   AN
EVENING AT RHODES

CHAPTER IX.   WITH
THE GALLEY SLAVES

CHAPTER X.   A
PLOT DISCOVERED

CHAPTER XI.   IN
COMMAND OF A GALLEY

CHAPTER XII.
  THE BOY GALLEY


CHAPTER XIII.   THE FIRST PRIZES

CHAPTER XIV.   THE CORSAIR FLEET


CHAPTER XV.   A
SPLENDID EXPLOIT

CHAPTER XVI.   FESTIVITIES


CHAPTER XVII.   CAPTURED


CHAPTER XVIII.   A
KIND MASTER

CHAPTER XIX.   ESCAPE


CHAPTER XX.   BELEAGUERED


CHAPTER XXI.   THE
FORT OF ST. NICHOLAS

CHAPTER XXII.
  THE STRUGGLE AT THE BREACH

CHAPTER XXIII.      THE
REWARD OF VALOUR

PREFACE.

MY DEAR LADS,

The order of the Knights of St. John, which for some centuries played a
very important part in the great struggle between Christianity and
Mahomedanism, was, at its origin, a semi-religious body, its members
being, like other monks, bound by vows of obedience, chastity, and
poverty, and pledged to minister to the wants of the pilgrims who flocked
to the Holy Places, to receive them at their great Hospital—or guest
house—at Jerusalem, dedicated to St. John the Baptist, and to defend
them on their passage to and from the sea, against attack by Moslems. In a
comparatively short time the constitution of the order was changed, and
the Knights Hospitallers became, like the Templars, a great military Order
pledged to defend the Holy Sepulchre, and to war everywhere against the
Moslems. The Hospitallers bore a leading share in the struggle which
terminated in the triumph of the Moslems, and the capture by them of
Jerusalem. The Knights of St. John then established themselves at Acre,
but after a valiant defence of that fortress, removed to Crete, and
shortly afterwards to Rhodes. There they fortified the town, and withstood
two terrible sieges by the Turks. At the end of the second they obtained
honourable terms from Sultan Solyman, and retiring to Malta established
themselves there in an even stronger fortress than that of Rhodes, and
repulsed all the efforts of the Turks to dispossess them. The Order was
the great bulwark of Christendom against the invasion of the Turks, and
the tale of their long struggle is one of absorbing interest, and of the
many eventful episodes none is more full of incident and excitement than
the first siege of Rhodes, which I have chosen for the subject of my
story.

Yours truly, G. A. Henty

CHAPTER I The King Maker

A stately lady was looking out of the window of an apartment in the Royal
Chateau of Amboise, in the month of June, 1470. She was still handsome,
though many years of anxiety, misfortune, and trouble, had left their
traces on her face. In the room behind her, a knight was talking to a lady
sitting at a tambour frame; a lad of seventeen was standing at another
window stroking a hawk that sat on his wrist, while a boy of nine was
seated at a table examining the pages of an illuminated missal.

“What will come of it, Eleanor?” the lady at the window said, turning
suddenly and impatiently from it. “It seems past belief that I am to meet
as a friend this haughty earl, who has for fifteen years been the
bitterest enemy of my House. It appears almost impossible.”

“'Tis strange indeed, my Queen; but so many strange things have befallen
your Majesty that you should be the last to wonder at this. At any rate,
as you said but yesterday, naught but good can come of it. He has done his
worst against you, and one can scarce doubt that if he chooses he has
power to do as much good for you, as in past times he has done you evil.
'Tis certain that his coming here shows he is in earnest, for his
presence,—which is sure sooner or later to come to the ears of the
Usurper,—will cause him to fall into the deepest disgrace.”

“And yet it seemed,” the queen said, “that by marrying his daughter to
Clarence he had bound himself more firmly than ever to the side of York.”

“Ay, madam,” the knight said. “But Clarence himself is said to be alike
unprincipled and ambitious, and it may well be that Warwick intended to
set him up against Edward; had he not done so, such an alliance would not
necessarily strengthen his position at Court.”

“Methinks your supposition is the true one, Sir Thomas,” the queen said.
“Edward cares not sufficiently for his brother to bestow much favour upon
the father of the prince's wife. Thus, he would gain but little by the
marriage unless he were to place Clarence on the throne. Then he would
again become the real ruler of England, as he was until Edward married
Elizabeth Woodville, and the House of Rivers rose to the first place in
the royal favour, and eclipsed the Star of Warwick. It is no wonder the
proud Earl chafes under the ingratitude of the man who owes his throne to
him, and that he is ready to dare everything so that he can but prove to
him that he is not to be slighted with impunity. But why come to me, when
he has Clarence as his puppet?”

“He may have convinced himself, madam, that Clarence is even less to be
trusted than Edward, or he may perceive that but few of the Yorkists would
follow him were he to declare against the Usurper, while assuredly your
adherents would stand aloof altogether from such a struggle. Powerful as
he is, Warwick could not alone withstand the united forces of all the
nobles pledged to the support of the House of York. Thence, as I take it,
does it happen that he has resolved to throw in his lot with Lancaster, if
your Majesty will but forgive the evil he has done your House and accept
him as your ally. No doubt he will have terms to make and conditions to
lay down.”

“He may make what conditions he chooses,” Queen Margaret said
passionately, “so that he does but aid me to take vengeance on that false
traitor; to place my husband again on the throne; and to obtain for my son
his rightful heritage.”

As she spoke a trumpet sounded in the courtyard below.

“He has come,” she exclaimed. “Once again, after years of misery and
humiliation, I can hope.”

“We had best retire, madam,” Sir Thomas Tresham said. “He will speak more
freely to your Majesty if there are no witnesses. Come, Gervaise, it is
time that you practised your exercises.” And Sir Thomas, with his wife and
child, quitted the room, leaving Queen Margaret with her son to meet the
man who had been the bitterest foe of her House, the author of her direst
misfortunes.

For two hours the Earl of Warwick was closeted with the queen; then he
took horse and rode away. As soon as he did so, a servant informed Sir
Thomas and his wife that the queen desired their presence. Margaret was
standing radiant when they entered.

“Congratulate me, my friends,” she said. “The Star of Lancaster has risen
again. Warwick has placed all his power and influence at our disposal. We
have both forgiven all the past: I the countless injuries he has inflicted
on my House, he the execution of his father and so many of his friends. We
have both laid aside all our grievances, and we stand united by our hate
for Edward. There is but one condition, and this I accepted gladly—namely,
that my son should marry his daughter Anne. This will be another bond
between us; and by all reports Anne is a charming young lady. Edward has
gladly agreed to the match; he could make no alliance, even with the
proudest princess in Europe, which would so aid him, and so strengthen his
throne.”

“God grant that your hopes may be fulfilled, madam,” the knight said
earnestly, “and that peace may be given to our distracted country! The
Usurper has rendered himself unpopular by his extravagance and by the
exactions of his tax collectors, and I believe that England will gladly
welcome the return of its lawful king to power. When does Warwick propose
to begin?”

“He will at once get a fleet together. Louis, who has privately brought
about this meeting, will of course throw no impediment in his way; but, on
the other hand, the Duke of Burgundy will do all in his power to thwart
the enterprise, and will, as soon as he learns of it, warn Edward. I feel
new life in me, Eleanor. After fretting powerless for years, I seem to be
a different woman now that there is a prospect of action. I am rejoiced at
the thought that at last I shall be able to reward those who have ventured
and suffered so much in the cause of Lancaster.”

“My hope is, madam, that this enterprise will be the final one,—that,
once successful, our dear land will be no longer deluged with blood, and
that never again shall I be forced to draw my sword against my
countrymen.”

“'Tis a good and pious wish, Sir Thomas, and heartily do I join in it. My
married life has been one long round of trouble, and none more than I have
cause to wish for peace.”

“There is the more hope for it, madam, that these wars have greatly
diminished the number of powerful barons. It is they who are the authors
of this struggle; their rivalries and their ambitions are the ruin of
England. Save for their retainers there would be no armies to place in the
field; the mass of people stand aloof altogether, desiring only to live in
peace and quiet. 'Tis the same here in France; 'tis the powerful vassals
of the king that are ever causing trouble.”

“'Tis so indeed, Sir Thomas. But without his feudal lords how could a king
place an army in the field, when his dominions were threatened by a
powerful neighbour?”

“Then it would be the people's business to fight, madam, and I doubt not
that they would do so in defence of their hearths and homes. Besides, the
neighbour would no longer have the power of invasion were he also without
great vassals. These great barons stand between the king and his subjects;
and a monarch would be a king indeed were he able to rule without their
constant dictation, and undisturbed by their rivalry and ambitions.”

“That would be a good time indeed, Sir Thomas,” the queen said, with a
smile; “but methinks there is but little chance of its coming about, for
at present it seems to me that the vassals are better able to make or
unmake kings, than kings are able to deprive the great vassals of power;
and never since Norman William set foot in England were they more powerful
than they are at present. What does my chance of recovering our throne
rest upon? Not upon our right, but on the quarrel between Warwick and the
House of Rivers. We are but puppets that the great lords play against each
other. Did it depend upon my will, it should be as you say; I would crush
them all at a blow. Then only should I feel really a queen. But that is
but a dream that can never be carried out.”

“Not in our time, madam. But perhaps it may come sooner than we expect;
and this long war, which has destroyed many great families and weakened
others, may greatly hasten its arrival. I presume until Warwick is ready
to move naught will be done, your Majesty?”

“That is not settled yet. Warwick spoke somewhat of causing a rising in
the north before he set sail, so that a portion at least of Edward's power
may be up there when we make our landing.”

“It would be a prudent step, madam. If we can but gain possession of
London, the matter would be half finished. The citizens are ever ready to
take sides with those whom they regard as likely to win, and just as they
shout at present 'Long live King Edward!' so would they shout 'Long live
King Henry!' did you enter the town.”

“This may perhaps change the thought that you have entertained, Sir
Thomas, of making your son a Knight of St. John.”

“I have not thought the matter over, madam. If there were quiet in the
land I should, were it not for my vow, be well content that he should
settle down in peace at my old hall; but if I see that there is still
trouble and bloodshed ahead, I would in any case far rather that he should
enter the Order, and spend his life in fighting the infidel than in strife
with Englishmen. My good friend, the Grand Prior of the Order in England,
has promised that he will take him as his page, and at any rate in the
House of St. John's he will pass his youth in security whatsoever fate may
befall me. The child himself already bids fair to do honour to our name,
and to become a worthy member of the Order. He is fond of study, and under
my daily tuition is making good progress in the use of his weapons.”

“That is he,” the prince said, speaking for the first time, “It was but
yesterday in the great hall downstairs he stood up with blunted swords
against young Victor de Paulliac, who is nigh three years his senior. It
was amusing to see how the little knaves fought against each other; and by
my faith Gervaise held his own staunchly, in spite of Victor's superior
height and weight. If he join the Order, Sir Thomas, I warrant me he will
cleave many an infidel's skull, and will do honour to the langue of
England.”

“I hope so, prince,” the knight said gravely. “The Moslems ever gain in
power, and it may well be that the Knights of St. John will be hardly
pressed to hold their own. If the boy joins them it will be my wish that
he shall as early as possible repair to Rhodes. I do not wish him to
become one of the drones who live in sloth at their commanderies in
England, and take no part in the noble struggle of the Order with the
Moslem host, who have captured Constantinople and now threaten all Europe.
We were childless some years after our marriage, and Eleanor and I vowed
that were a son born to us he should join the Order of the White Cross,
and dedicate his life to the defence of Christian Europe against the
infidel. Our prayers for a son were granted, and Gervaise will enter the
Order as soon as his age will permit him. That is why I rejoice at the
grand prior's offer to take him as his page, for he will dwell in the
hospital safely until old enough to take the first steps towards becoming
a knight of the Order.”

“I would that I had been born the son of a baron like yourself,” the
prince said earnestly, “and that I were free to choose my own career.
Assuredly in that case I too would have joined the noble Order and have
spent my life in fighting in so grand a cause, free from all the quarrels
and disputes and enmities that rend England. Even should I some day gain a
throne, surely my lot is not to be envied. Yet, as I have been born to the
rank, I must try for it, and I trust to do so worthily and bravely. But
who can say what the end will be? Warwick has ever been our foe, and
though my royal mother may use him in order to free my father, and place
him on the throne, she must know well enough that he but uses us for his
own ends alone, and that he will ever stand beside the throne and be the
real ruler of England.”

“For a time, Edward,” the queen broke in. “We have shown that we can wait,
and now it seems that our great hope is likely to be fulfilled. After
that, the rest will be easy. There are other nobles, well nigh as powerful
as he, who look with jealousy upon the way in which he lords it, and be
assured that they will look with a still less friendly eye upon him when
he stands, as you say, beside the throne, once your father is again seated
there. We can afford to bide our time, and assuredly it will not be long
before a party is formed against Warwick. Until then we must bear
everything. Our interests are the same. If he is content to remain a prop
to the throne, and not to eclipse it, the memory of the past will not
stand between us, and I shall regard him as the weapon that has beaten
down the House of York and restored us to our own, and shall give him my
confidence and friendship. If, on the other hand, he assumes too much, and
tries to lord it over us, I shall seek other support and gather a party
which even he will be unable successfully to withstand. I should have
thought, Edward, that you would be even more glad than I that this long
time of weary waiting for action is over, and that once again the banner
of Lancaster will be spread to the winds.”

“I shall be that, mother. Rather would I meet death in the field than live
cooped up here, a pensioner of France. But I own that I should feel more
joy at the prospect if the people of England had declared in our favour,
instead of its being Warwick—whom you have always taught me to fear
and hate—who thus comes to offer to place my father again on the
throne, and whose goodwill towards us is simply the result of pique and
displeasure because he is no longer first in the favour of Edward. It does
not seem to me that a throne won by the aid of a traitor can be a stable
one.”

“You are a foolish boy,” the queen said angrily. “Do you not see that by
marrying Warwick's daughter you will attach him firmly to us?”

“Marriages do not count for much, mother. Another of Warwick's daughters
married Clarence, Edward's brother, and yet he purposes to dethrone
Edward.”

The queen gave an angry gesture and said, “You have my permission to
retire, Edward. I am in no mood to listen to auguries of evil at the
present moment.”

The prince hesitated for a moment as if about to speak, but with an effort
controlled himself, and bowing deeply to his mother, left the room.

“Edward is in a perverse humour,” the queen said in a tone of much
vexation to Sir Thomas Tresham, when Gervaise had left the room. “However,
I know he will bear himself well when the hour of trial comes.”

“That I can warrant he will, madam; he has a noble character, frank and
fearless, and yet thoughtful beyond his years. He will make, I believe, a
noble king, and may well gather round him all parties in the state. But
your Majesty must make excuses for his humour. Young people are strong in
their likes and dislikes. He has never heard you speak aught but ill of
Warwick, and he knows how much harm the Earl has done to your House. The
question of expediency does not weigh with the young as with their elders.
While you see how great are the benefits that will accrue from an alliance
with Warwick, and are ready to lay aside the hatred of years and to forget
the wrongs you have suffered, the young prince is unable so quickly to
forget that enmity against the Earl that he has learnt from you.”

“You are right, Sir Thomas, and I cannot blame Edward that he is unable,
as I am, to forget the past. What steps would you advise that I myself
should take? Shall I remain passive here, or shall I do what I can to
rouse our partisans in England?”

“I should say the latter, madam. Of course it will not do to trust to
letters, for were one of these to fall into the wrong hands it might cause
the ruin of Warwick's expedition; but I should say that a cautious message
sent by word of mouth to some of our old adherents would be of great use.
I myself will, if your Majesty chooses to entrust me with the mission,
undertake to carry it out. I should take ship and land in the west, and
would travel in the guise of a simple country gentleman, and call upon
your adherents in all the western counties. It would be needful first to
make out a list of the nobles who have shown themselves devoted to your
cause, and I should bid these hold themselves and their retainers in
readiness to take the field suddenly. I should say no word of Warwick, but
merely hint that you will not land alone, but with a powerful array, and
that all the chances are in your favour.”

“But it would be a dangerous mission, Sir Thomas.”

“Not greatly so, madam. My own estates lie in Sussex, and there would be
but little chance of my recognition, save by your own adherents, who may
have seen me among the leaders of your troops in battle; and even that is
improbable. At present Edward deems himself so securely seated on the
throne that men can travel hither and thither through the country without
being questioned, and the Lancastrians live quietly with the Yorkists.
Unless I were so unfortunate as to meet a Yorkist noble who knew that I
was a banished man and one who had the honour of being in your Majesty's
confidence, I do not think that any danger could possibly arise. What say
you, wife?”

“I cannot think that there is no danger,” Lady Tresham said; “but even so
I would not say a word to hinder you from doing service to the cause. I
know of no one else who could perform the mission. You have left my side
to go into battle before now, and I cannot think that the danger of such
an expedition can be as great as that which you would undergo in the
field. Therefore, my dear lord, I would say no word now to stay you.”

She spoke bravely and unfalteringly, but her face had paled when Sir
Thomas first made the proposal, and the colour had not yet come back to
her cheeks.

“Bravely spoken, dame,” the queen said warmly. “Well, Sir Thomas, I accept
your offer, and trust that you will not be long separated from your wife
and son, who will of course journey with me when I go to England, where
doubtless you will be able to rejoin us a few days after we land. Now let
us talk over the noblemen and gentlemen in the west, upon whom we can
rely, if not to join our banner as soon as it is spread, at least to say
no word that will betray you.”

Two days later Sir Thomas Tresham started on his journey, while the queen
remained at Amboise eagerly awaiting the news that Warwick had collected a
fleet, and was ready to set sail. Up to this point the Duke of Clarence
had sided with Warwick against his brother, and had passed over with him
to France, believing, no doubt, that if the Earl should succeed in
dethroning Edward, he intended to place him, his son-in-law, upon the
throne. He was rudely awakened from this delusion by Charles of Burgundy,
who, being in all but open rebellion against his suzerain, the King of
France, kept himself intimately acquainted with all that was going on. He
despatched a female emissary to Clarence to inform him of the league
Warwick had made with the Lancastrians, and the intended marriage between
his daughter Anne and the young prince; imploring him to be reconciled
with his brother and to break off his alliance with the Earl, who was on
the point of waging war against the House of York.

Clarence took the advice, and went over to England, where he made his
peace with Edward, the more easily because the king, who was entirely
given up to pleasure, treated with contempt the warnings the Duke of
Burgundy sent him of the intended invasion by Warwick. And yet a moment's
serious reflection should have shown him that his position was precarious.
The crushing exactions of the tax gatherers, in order to provide the means
for Edward's lavish expenditure, had already caused very serious
insurrections in various parts of the country, and his unpopularity was
deep and general. In one of these risings the royal troops had suffered a
crushing defeat. The Earl Rivers, the father, and Sir John Woodville, one
of the brothers, of the queen had, with the Earl of Devon, been captured
by the rebels, and the three had been beheaded, and the throne had only
been saved by the intervention of Warwick.

Thus, then, Edward had every reason for fearing the result should the Earl
appear in arms against him. He took, however, no measures whatever to
prepare for the coming storm, and although the Duke of Burgundy despatched
a fleet to blockade Harfleur, where Warwick was fitting out his
expedition, and actually sent the name of the port at which the Earl
intended to land if his fleet managed to escape from Harfleur, Edward
continued carelessly to spend his time in pleasure and dissipation,
bestowing his full confidence upon the Archbishop of York and the Marquis
of Montague, both brothers of the Earl of Warwick.

The elements favoured his enemies, for early in September the Duke of
Burgundy's Fleet, off Harfleur, was dispersed by a storm, and Warwick, as
soon as the gale abated, set sail, and on the 13th landed on the
Devonshire coast. His force was a considerable one, for the French king
had furnished him both with money and men; on effecting his landing he
found no army assembled to oppose him. A few hours after his
disembarkation, he was joined by Sir Thomas Tresham, who gave him the good
news that the whole of the west was ready to rise, and that in a few days
all the great landowners would join him with their retainers. This turned
out to be the case, and Warwick, with a great array, marched eastward.
Kent had already risen, and London declared for King Henry. Warwick,
therefore, instead of marching thither, moved towards Lincolnshire, where
Edward was with his army, having gone north to repress an insurrection
that had broken out there at the instigation of Warwick.

Lord Montague now threw off the mask, and declared for King Henry. Most of
the soldiers followed him, and Edward, finding it hopeless to oppose
Warwick's force, which was now within a short march of him, took ship with
a few friends who remained faithful, and sailed for Holland. Warwick
returned to London, where he took King Henry from the dungeon in the
Tower, into which he himself had, five years before, thrown him, and
proclaimed him king.

On the day that this took place Dame Tresham arrived in London with her
son. The queen had found that she could not for the present cross, as she
was waiting for a large French force which was to accompany her. As it was
uncertain how long the delay might last, she counselled her friend to join
her husband. The revolution had been accomplished without the loss of a
single life, with the exception of that of the Earl of Worcester, who was
hated for his cruelty by the people. Edward's principal friends took
refuge in various religious houses. The queen, her three daughters, and
her mother, fled to the sanctuary at Westminster. All these were left
unmolested, nor was any step taken against the other adherents of the
House of York. Warwick was now virtually King of England. The king, whose
intellect had always been weak, was now almost an imbecile, and Margaret
of Anjou was still detained in France. Sir Thomas Tresham went down to his
estates in Kent, and there lived quietly for some months. The Duke of
Clarence had joined Warwick as soon as he saw that his brother's cause was
lost; and as the Duke had no knowledge of his changed feelings towards
him, he was heartily welcomed. An act of settlement was passed by
Parliament entailing the Crown on Henry's son Edward, Prince of Wales, and
in case of that prince's death without issue, on the Duke of Clarence. On
the 12th of March following (1471) Edward suddenly appeared with a fleet
with which he had been secretly supplied by the Duke of Burgundy, and,
sailing north, landed in the Humber. He found the northern population by
no means disposed to aid him, but upon his taking a solemn oath that he
had no designs whatever upon the throne, but simply claimed to be restored
to his rights and dignities as Duke of York, he was joined by a sufficient
force to enable him to cross the Trent. As he marched south his army
speedily swelled, and he was joined by many great lords.

Warwick had summoned Henry's adherents to the field, and marched north to
meet him. When the armies approached each other, the Duke of Clarence, who
commanded a portion of Henry's army, went over with his whole force to
Edward, and Warwick, being no longer in a position to give battle, was
obliged to draw off and allow Edward to march unopposed towards London.
The citizens, with their usual fickleness, received him with the same
outburst of enthusiasm with which, five months before, they had greeted
the entry of Warwick. The unfortunate King Henry was again thrown into his
dungeon in the Tower, and Edward found himself once more King of England.

Sir Thomas Tresham, as soon as he heard of the landing of Edward, had
hastened up to London. In his uncertainty how matters would go, he brought
his wife and son up with him, and left them in lodgings, while he marched
north with Warwick. As soon as the defection of Clarence opened the road
to London, he left the Earl, promising to return in a few days, and rode
to town, arriving there two days before Edward's entry, and, purchasing
another horse, took his wife and son down to St. Albans, where leaving
them, he rejoined Warwick. In a few days the latter had gathered
sufficient forces to enable him to risk the fortunes of a battle, and,
marching south, he encamped with his army on the common north of Barnet.
Edward had come out to meet him, and the two armies slept on Easter Eve
within two miles of each other.

Late in the evening Clarence sent a messenger to the Earl, offering to
mediate, but the offer was indignantly refused by Warwick.

In the darkness, neither party was aware of the other's precise position.
Warwick was much stronger than the king in artillery, and had placed it on
his right wing. The king, in his ignorance of the enemy's position, had
placed his troops considerably more to the right than those of Warwick's
army. The latter, believing that Edward's line was facing his, kept up a
heavy cannonade all night upon where he supposed Edward's left to be—a
cannonade which was thus entirely futile.

In the morning (April 14th) a heavy mist covered the country and prevented
either force from seeing the other's dispositions. Warwick took the
command of his left wing, having with him the Duke of Exeter. Somerset was
in command of his centre, and Montague and Oxford of his right.

Edward placed himself in the centre of his array, the Duke of Gloucester
commanded on his right, and Lord Hastings on his left.

Desirous, from his inferiority in artillery, to fight out the battle hand
to hand, Edward, at six o'clock in the morning, ordered his trumpets to
blow, and, after firing a few shots, advanced through the mist to attack
the enemy. His misconception as to Warwick's position, which had saved his
troops from the effects of the cannonade during the night, was now
disadvantageous to him, for the Earl's right so greatly outflanked his
left that when they came into contact Hastings found himself nearly
surrounded by a vastly superior force. His wing fought valiantly, but was
at length broken by Oxford's superior numbers, and driven out of the
field. The mist prevented the rest of the armies from knowing what had
happened on the king's left. Edward himself led the charge on Warwick's
centre, and having his best troops under his command, pressed forward with
such force and vehemence that he pierced Somerset's lines and threw them
into confusion.

Just as Warwick's right had outflanked the king's left, so his own left
was outflanked by Gloucester. Warwick's troops fought with great bravery,
and, in spite of the disaster to his centre, were holding their ground
until Oxford, returning from his pursuit of the king's left, came back
through the mist. The king's emblem was a sun, that of Oxford a star with
streaming rays. In the dim light this was mistaken by Warwick's men for
the king's device, and believing that Oxford was far away on the right,
they received him with a discharge of arrows. This was at once returned,
and a conflict took place. At last the mistake was discovered, but the
confusion caused was irreparable. Warwick and Oxford each suspected the
other of treachery, and the king's right still pressing on, the confusion
increased, and the battle, which had been so nearly won by the Earl, soon
became a complete defeat, and by ten in the morning Warwick's army was in
full flight.

Accounts differ as to the strength of the forces engaged, but it is
probable that there was no great inequality, and that each party brought
some fifteen thousand men into the field. The number of slain is also very
uncertain, some historians placing the total at ten thousand, others as
low as one thousand; but from the number of nobles who fell, the former
computation is probably nearest to the truth. Warwick, his brother
Montague, and many other nobles and gentlemen, were killed, the only great
nobles on his side who escaped being the Earls of Somerset and Oxford;
many were also killed on Edward's side, and the slaughter among the
ordinary fighting men was greater than usual.

Hitherto in the battles that had been fought during the civil war; while
the leaders taken on the field were frequently executed, the common
soldiers were permitted to return to their homes, as they had only been
acting under the orders of their feudal superiors, and were not considered
responsible for their acts. At Barnet, however, Edward, smarting from the
humiliation he had suffered by his enforced flight from England, owing to
the whole country declaring for his rival, gave orders that no quarter was
to be granted. It was an anxious day at St. Albans, where many ladies
whose husbands were with Warwick's army had, like Dame Tresham, taken up
their quarters. It was but a few miles from the field of battle. In the
event of victory they could at once join their husbands, while in case of
defeat they could take refuge in the sanctuary of the abbey. Messengers
the night before had brought the news that the battle would begin at the
dawn of day, and with intense anxiety they waited for the news.

Dame Tresham and her son attended early mass at the abbey, and had
returned to their lodgings, when Sir Thomas rode up at full speed. His
armour was dinted and his plume shorn away from his helmet. As he entered
the house he was met by his wife, who had run downstairs as she heard his
horse stop at the door. A glance at his face was sufficient to tell the
news.

“We have lost the day,” he said. “Warwick and Montague are both killed.
All is lost here for the present. Which will you do, my love, ride with me
to the West, where Queen Margaret will speedily land, if indeed she has
not landed already, or take sanctuary here with the boy?”

“I will go with you,” she said. “I would vastly rather do so.”

“I will tell you more on the road,” he said. “There is no time to be lost
now.”

The woman of the house was called, and at once set her son to saddle the
other horse and to give a feed to that of the knight. Dame Tresham busied
herself with packing the saddlebags while her husband partook of a hasty
meal; and ten minutes after his arrival they set off, Gervaise riding
behind his father, while the latter led the horse on which his wife was
mounted. A thick mist hung over the country.

“This mist told against us in the battle, wife, for as we advanced our
forces fell into confusion, and more than once friend attacked friend,
believing that he was an enemy. However, it has proved an advantage to us
now, for it has enabled great numbers to escape who might otherwise have
been followed and cut down. I was very fortunate. I had left my horse at a
little farmhouse two miles in the rear of our camp, and in the fog had but
small hope of finding it; but soon after leaving the battlefield, I came
upon a rustic hurrying in the same direction as myself, and upon
questioning him it turned out that he was a hand on the very farm at which
I had left the horse. He had, with two or three others, stolen out after
midnight to see the battle, and was now making his way home again, having
seen indeed but little, but having learned from fugitives that we had been
defeated. He guided me to the farmhouse, which otherwise I should
assuredly never have reached. His master was favourable to our party, and
let the man take one of the cart horses, on which he rode as my guide
until he had placed me upon the high road to St. Albans, and I was then
able to gallop on at full speed.”

“And Warwick and his brother Montague are both killed?”

“Both. The great Earl will make and unmake no more kings. He has been a
curse to England, with his boundless ambition, his vast possessions, and
his readiness to change sides and to embroil the country in civil war for
purely personal ends. The great nobles are a curse to the country, wife.
They are, it is true, a check upon kingly ill doing and oppression; but
were they, with their great arrays of retainers and feudal followers, out
of the way, methinks that the citizens and yeomen would be able to hold
their own against any king.”

“Was the battle a hard fought one?”

“I know but little of what passed, except near the standard of Warwick
himself. There the fighting was fierce indeed, for it was against the Earl
that the king finally directed his chief onslaught. Doubtless he was
actuated both by a deep personal resentment against the Earl for the part
he had played and the humiliation he had inflicted upon him, and also by
the knowledge that a defeat of Warwick personally would be the heaviest
blow that he could inflict upon the cause of Lancaster.”

“Then do you think the cause is lost?”

“I say not that. Pembroke has a strong force in Wales, and if the West
rises, and Queen Margaret on landing can join him, we may yet prevail; but
I fear that the news of the field of Barnet will deter many from joining
us. Men may risk lands and lives for a cause which seems to offer a fair
prospect of success, but they can hardly be blamed for holding back when
they see that the chances are all against them. Moreover, as a
Frenchwoman, it cannot be denied that Margaret has never been popular in
England, and her arrival here, aided by French gold and surrounded by
Frenchmen, will tell against her with the country people. I went as far as
I could on the day before I left Amboise, urging her on no account to come
hither until matters were settled. It would have been infinitely better
had the young prince come alone, and landed in the West without a single
follower. The people would have admired his trust in them, and would, I am
sure, have gathered strongly round his banner. However, we must still hope
for the best. Fortune was against us today: it may be with us next time we
give battle. And with parties so equally divided throughout the country a
signal victory would bring such vast numbers to our banners that Edward
would again find it necessary to cross the seas.”

CHAPTER II THE BATTLE OF TEWKESBURY

Riding fast, Sir Thomas Tresham crossed the Thames at Reading before any
news of the battle of Barnet had arrived there. On the third day after
leaving St. Albans he reached Westbury, and there heard that the news had
been received of the queen's landing at Plymouth on the very day on which
her friends had been defeated at Barnet, and that she had already been
joined by the Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Devon, and others, and that
Exeter had been named as the point of rendezvous for her friends. As the
Lancastrians were in the majority in Wiltshire and Somerset, there was no
longer any fear of arrest by partisans of York, and after resting for a
day Sir Thomas Tresham rode quietly on to Exeter, where the queen had
already arrived.

The battle of Barnet had not, in reality, greatly weakened the Lancastrian
cause. The Earl of Warwick was so detested by the adherents of the Red
Rose that comparatively few of them had joined him, and the fight was
rather between the two sections of Yorkists than between York and
Lancaster. The Earl's death had broken up his party, and York and
Lancaster were now face to face with each other, without his disturbing
influence on either side. Among those who had joined the queen was
Tresham's great friend, the Grand Prior of St. John's. Sir Thomas took up
his lodgings in the house where he had established himself. The queen was
greatly pleased at the arrival of Dame Tresham, and at her earnest request
the latter shared her apartments, while Gervaise remained with his father.

“So this is the young Knight of St. John,” the prior said, on the evening
of the arrival of Sir Thomas. “I would, Tresham, that I were at present at
Rhodes, doing battle with the infidels, rather than engaged in this
warfare against Englishmen and fellow Christians.”

“I can well understand that,” Sir Thomas said.

“I could not hold aloof here, Tresham. The vows of our Order by no means
hinder us from taking part in the affairs of our own country. The rule of
the Order is indeed against it, but the rule is constantly broken. Were it
otherwise there could be no commanderies in this or any other country; we
should have, on entering the Order, to abandon our nationality, and to
form part of one community in the East. The Order is true to its oaths. We
cannot defend the Holy Sepulchre, for that, for the present, is hopelessly
lost; but we can and do wage war with the infidel. For this funds are
necessary as well as swords, and our commanderies throughout Europe supply
the funds by which the struggle is maintained, and, when it is needed,
send out contingents to help those fighting in the East. It was from the
neglect of this cardinal point that the Templars fell. Their commanderies
amassed wealth and wide possessions, but unlike us the knights abstained
altogether from fulfilling their vows, and ceased to resist the infidel.
Therefore they were suppressed, and, with the general approval of Europe,
a portion of their possessions was handed over to the knights of St. John.
However, as I understand, it is your wish that as soon as the boy comes of
age to wield arms he shall go to Rhodes and become an active member of the
Order. This is indeed the rule with all neophytes, but having served a
certain time they are then permitted to return and join one of the
commanderies in their native countries.”

“I do not wish that for Gervaise,” his father said; “at least, I wish him
to remain at Rhodes until all the civil troubles are absolutely at an end
here. My life has been ruined by them. Loving retirement and quiet, and
longing for nothing so much as a life among my tenantry, I have almost
from a boy been actively engaged in warfare or have been away as an exile.
Here every one of gentle blood has been more or less mixed up in these
civil broils. To few of us does it personally matter whether a member of
the House of York or Lancaster sits on the throne, and yet we have been
almost compelled to take sides with one or the other; and now, in my
middle age I am on the eve of another battle in which I risk my life and
fortune. If we win I gain naught but the satisfaction of seeing young
Edward made King of England. If we lose I am going into exile again, or I
may leave my wife a widow, and my child penniless.”

“It is too true, Tresham; and as I am as likely to fall as you are, the
child might be left without a protector as well as fatherless. However,
against that I will provide. I will write a letter to Peter D'Aubusson,
who is the real governor of Rhodes, for the Grand Master Orsini is so old
that his rule is little more than nominal. At his death D'Aubusson is
certain to be elected Grand Master. He is a dear friend of mine. We
entered the Order the same year, and were comrades in many a fight with
the Moslems, and I am quite sure that when I tell him that it is my last
request of him, he will, in memory of our long friendship, appoint your
son as one of the Grand Master's pages. As you know, no one, however high
his rank, is accepted as a novice before the age of sixteen. After a
year's probation he is received into the body of the Order as a professed
knight, and must go out and serve for a time in Rhodes. After three years
of active service he must reside two more at the convent, and can then be
made a commander. There is but one exception to the rule—namely,
that the pages of the grand master are entitled to the privilege of
admission at the age of twelve, so that they become professed knights at
thirteen. Your son is now but nine, you say, and we must remember that
D'Aubusson is not yet Grand Master, and Orsini may live for some years
yet. D'Aubusson, however, can doubtless get him to appoint the boy as one
of his pages. But, in any case, there are three years yet to be passed
before he can go out. Doubtless these he will spend under his mother's
care; but as it is as well to provide against everything, I will furnish
your dame with a letter to the knight who will probably succeed me as
Grand Prior of the English langue, asking him to see to the care and
education of the boy up to the time when he can proceed to Rhodes. We may
hope, my dear Tresham, that there will be no occasion to use such
documents, and that you and I may both be able personally to watch over
his career. Still, it is as well to take every precaution. I shall, of
course, give D'Aubusson full particulars about you, your vow, and your
wishes.”

“I thank you greatly, old friend,” Sir Thomas said. “It has taken a load
off my mind. I shall leave him here with his mother when we march forward,
and bid her, if ill befalls me, cross again to France, and then to keep
Gervaise with her until she can bring herself to part with him. She has
her jewels and a considerable sum of money which I accepted from the man
who has been enjoying my estates for the last five years, in lieu of the
monies that he had received during that time. Therefore, she will not lack
means for some years to come. Besides, Queen Margaret has a real affection
for her, and will, doubtless, be glad to have her with her again in
exile.”

“When I am old enough,” Gervaise said, suddenly looking up from a missal
of the Grand Prior's which he had been examining, “I will chop off the
head of the Duke of York, and bring mother back to England.”

“You will be a valiant champion no doubt, my boy,” the prior said,
laughing. “But that is just what your father does not want. Chop off the
heads of as many infidels as you will, but leave Englishmen alone, be they
dukes or commoners. It is a far more glorious career to be aiding to
defend Europe against the Moslem than to be engaged in wars with your own
countrymen. If the great lords will fight, let them fight it out
themselves without our aid; but I hope that long before you become a man
even they will be tired of these perpetual broils, and that some agreement
may be arrived at, and peace reign in this unhappy land.”

“Besides, Gervaise,” his father added, “you must bear in mind always that
my earnest wish and hope is that you will become a champion of the Cross.
I took a solemn vow before you were born that if a son were granted to me
I would dedicate him to the service of the Cross, and if I am taken from
you, you must still try to carry that oath into effect. I trust that, at
any rate for some years after you attain manhood, you will expend your
whole strength and powers in the defence of Christianity, and as a worthy
knight of the Order of St. John. Too many of the knights, after serving
for three years against the infidels, return to their native countries and
pass the rest of their lives in slothful ease at their commanderies, save
perhaps when at any great crisis they go out for a while and join in the
struggle. Such is not the life I should wish you to lead. At the death of
your mother and myself, you will have no family ties in England—nothing
to recall you here. If the House of York succeeds in establishing itself
firmly on the throne, my estates will be forfeited. Therefore, regard
Rhodes as your permanent home, and devote your life to the Order.
Beginning so young, you may hope to distinguish yourself—to gain
high rank in it; but remember that though these are my wishes, they are
not my orders, and that your career must be in your own hands.”

“I will be a brave knight, father,” the boy said firmly.

“That is right, my boy. Now go upstairs to your bed; it is already late. I
do not regret my vow,” he went on, after Gervaise had left the room,
“though I regret that he is my only son. It is singular that men should
care about what comes after them, but I suppose it is human nature. I
should have liked to think that my descendants would sit in the old house,
and that men of my race and name would long own the estates. But doubtless
it is all for the best; for at least I can view the permanent loss of my
estates, in case the Yorkists triumph, without any poignant regret.”

“Doubtless it is for the best, Tresham, and you must remember that things
may not, even now, turn out as you think. A knight who has done a brave
service does not find much difficulty in obtaining from the Pope a
dispensation from his vows. Numbers of knights have so left the Order and
have married and perpetuated their name. It is almost a necessity that it
should be so, for otherwise many princes and barons would object to their
sons entering the Order. Its object is to keep back the irruption of the
Moslems, and when men have done their share of hard work no regret need be
felt if they desire to leave the Order. Our founder had no thought of
covering Europe with monasteries, and beyond the fact that it is necessary
there should be men to administer our manors and estates, I see no reason
why any should not freely leave when they reach the age of thirty or
thirty-five, and indeed believe that it would strengthen rather than
weaken us were the vows, taken at the age of seventeen, to be for fifteen
years only.”

“There is something in that,” the knight said thoughtfully. “However, that
is far in the distance, and concerns me but little; still, I agree with
you, for I see no advantage in men, after their time of usefulness to the
Order is past, being bound to settle down to a monastic life if by nature
and habit unsuited for it. There are some spirits who, after long years of
warfare, are well content so to do, but there are assuredly others to whom
a life of forced inactivity, after a youth and manhood spent in action,
must be well nigh unendurable. And now tell me frankly what you think of
our chances here.”

“Everything depends upon time. Promises of aid have come in from all
quarters, and if Edward delays we shall soon be at the head of an
overwhelming force. But Edward, with all his faults and vices, is an able
and energetic leader, and must be well aware that if he is to strike
successfully he must strike soon. We must hope that he will not be able to
do this. He cannot tell whether we intend to march direct to London, or to
join Pembroke in Wales, or to march north, and until he divines our
purpose, he will hardly dare to move lest we should, by some rapid
movement, interpose between himself and London. If he gives us a month,
our success is certain. If he can give battle in a fortnight, no one can
say how the matter will end.”

Edward, indeed, was losing no time. He stayed but a few days in London
after his victory at Barnet, and on the 19th of April left for Windsor,
ordering all his forces to join him there. The Lancastrians had
endeavoured to puzzle him as to their intended movements by sending
parties out in various directions; but as soon as he had gathered a force,
numerically small, but composed of veteran soldiers, he hurried west,
determined to bring on a battle at the earliest opportunity. The queen's
advisers determined to move first to Wells, as from that point they could
either go north or march upon London. Edward entered Abingdon on the 27th,
and then, finding the Lancastrians still at Wells, marched to the
northwest, by which means he hoped to intercept them if they moved north,
while he would be able to fall back and bar their road to London if they
advanced in that direction. He therefore moved to Cirencester, and waited
there for news until he learned that they had visited Bristol and there
obtained reinforcements of men and supplies of money and cannon, and had
then started on the high road to Gloucester.

He at once sent off messengers to the son of Lord Beauchamp, who held the
Castle of Gloucester for him, assuring him that he was following at full
speed, and would come to his aid forthwith. The messengers arrived in
time, and when the queen, after a long march, arrived before Gloucester,
she found the gates shut in her face. The governor had taken steps to
prevent her numerous adherents in the town from rising on her behalf, and,
manning the walls, refused to surrender. Knowing that Edward was coming up
rapidly, it was evident that there was no time to spare in an attempt to
take the town, and the queen's army therefore pressed on, without waiting,
to Tewkesbury. Once across the river they would speedily be joined by the
Earl of Pembroke, and Edward would be forced to fall back at once.

By the time they reached the river, however, they were thoroughly
exhausted. They had marched thirty-six miles without rest, along bad roads
and through woods, and were unable to go farther. The queen urged that the
river should be crossed, but the leaders of the force were of opinion that
it was better to halt. Edward would be able to follow them across the
river, and were he to attack them when in disorder, and still further
wearied by the operation of making the passage, he would certainly crush
them. Moreover, a further retreat would discourage the soldiers, and as a
battle must now be fought, it was better to fight where they were,
especially as they could choose a strong position. The queen gave way, and
the army encamped on a large field in front of the town. The position was
well calculated for defence, for the country around was so broken and
intercepted with lanes and deep hedges and ditches, that it was extremely
difficult of approach.

In the evening Edward came up, his men having also marched some
six-and-thirty miles, and encamped for the night within three miles of the
Lancastrian position. The queen's troops felt confident of victory. In
point of numbers they were superior to their antagonists, and had the
advantage of a strong position. Sir Thomas Tresham had, as he proposed,
left his wife and son at Exeter when the force marched away.

“Do not be despondent, love,” he said to his weeping wife, as he bade her
goodbye. “Everything is in our favour, and there is a good hope of a happy
termination to this long struggle. But, win or lose, be assured it is the
last time I will draw my sword. I have proved my fidelity to the House of
Lancaster; I have risked life and fortune in their cause; but I feel that
I have done my share and more, and whichever way Providence may now decide
the issue of the struggle, I will accept it. If we lose, and I come
scatheless through the fight, I will ride hither, and we will embark at
Plymouth for France, and there live quietly until the time comes when
Edward may feel himself seated with sufficient firmness on the throne to
forgive past offences and to grant an amnesty to all who have fought
against him. In any other case, dear, you know my wishes, and I bid you
carry them out within twenty-four hours of your receiving news of a
defeat, without waiting longer for my appearance.”

As soon as it was light, Edward advanced to the attack. The Duke of
Gloucester was in command of the vanguard. He himself led the centre,
while the rear was commanded by the Marquis of Dorset and Lord Hastings.
The most advanced division of Lancastrians was commanded by the Duke of
Somerset and his brother. The Grand Prior of the Order of St. John and
Lord Wenlock were stationed in the centre, the Earl of Devon with the
reserve. Refreshed by their rest, the queen's troops were in good spirits.
While awaiting the attack, she and the prince rode among the ranks,
encouraging the men with fiery speeches, and promising large rewards to
all in case of victory.

Gloucester made his advance with great difficulty. The obstacles to his
progress were so many and serious that his division was brought to a halt
before it came into contact with the defenders. He therefore brought up
his artillery and opened a heavy cannonade upon Somerset's position,
supporting his guns with flights of arrows, and inflicting such heavy loss
upon him that the duke felt compelled to take the offensive.

Having foreseen that he might be obliged to do so, he had, early in the
morning, carefully examined the ground in front of him, and had found some
lanes by which he could make a flank attack on the enemy. Moving his force
down these lanes, where the trees and hedges completely hid his advance
from the Yorkists, he fell suddenly upon Edward's centre, which, taken by
surprise at the unexpected attack, was driven in confusion up the hill
behind it. Somerset was quick to take advantage of his success, and
wheeling his men round fell upon the Duke of Gloucester's division, and
was equally successful in his attack upon it. Had the centre, under Lord
Wenlock, moved forward at once to his support, the victory would have been
assured; but Wenlock lay inactive, and Somerset was now engaged in
conflict with the whole of Edward's force. But even under these
circumstances he still gained ground, when suddenly the whole aspect of
the battle was changed.

Before it began Edward had sent two hundred spearmen to watch a wood near
the defenders' lines, as he thought that the Lancastrians might place a
force there to take him in flank as he attacked their front. He ordered
them, if they found the wood unoccupied, to join in the fight as
opportunity might offer. The wood was unoccupied, and the spearmen, seeing
the two divisions of their army driven backwards, and being thereby cut
off from their friends, issued from the wood and, charging down in a body,
fell suddenly upon Somerset's rear.

Astounded and confused by an attack from such a quarter, and believing
that it was an act of treachery by one of their own commanders, Somerset's
men, who had hitherto been fighting with the greatest bravery, fell into
confusion. Edward's quick eye soon grasped the opportunity, and rallying
his troops he charged impetuously down upon the Lancastrians, seconded
hotly by Gloucester and his division.

The disorder in Somerset's lines speedily grew into a panic, and the
division broke up and fled through the lanes to the right and left.
Somerset, after in vain trying to stop the panic, rode furiously back into
the camp, followed by his principal officers, and riding up to Lord
Wenlock he cleft his head in two with a battleaxe. His resentment,
although justified by the inactivity of this nobleman at such a crisis,
was yet disastrous, as it left the centre without a leader, and threw it
into a state of disorganization, as many must have supposed that Somerset
had turned traitor and gone over to the enemy. Before any disposition
could be made, Edward and Gloucester poured their forces into the camp,
and the Lancastrians at once broke and fled. Many of their leaders took
refuge in the church, an asylum which they deemed inviolable, and which
the Lancastrians had honourably respected in their hour of triumph.

Among them were the Duke of Somerset, the Grand Prior of the Order of St.
John, Sir Humphrey Audely, Sir Gervis of Clifton, Sir William Gainsby, Sir
William Cary, Sir Henry Rose, Sir Thomas Tresham, and seven esquires.
Margaret of Anjou fell into the hands of the victors. As to the fate of
the young prince, accounts differ. Some authorities say that he was
overtaken and slain on the field, but the majority related that he was
captured and taken before Edward, who asked him, “What brought you to
England?” On his replying boldly, “My father's crown and mine own
inheritance,” Edward struck him in the mouth with his gauntlet, and his
attendants, or some say his brothers, at once despatched the youth with
their swords.

The king, with Gloucester and Clarence, then went to the church at
Tewkesbury, where the knights had taken refuge, burst open the doors, and
entered it. A priest, bearing the holy vessels, threw himself before the
king, and would not move until he promised to pardon all who had taken
sanctuary there. The king then retired, and trusting in the royal word,
the gentlemen made no attempt to escape, although it is said that they
could easily have done so. Two days later a party of soldiers by the
king's orders broke into the church, dragged them from the foot of the
altar, and beheaded them outside.

The news of the issue of the fatal battle of Tewkesbury, the capture of
the queen, and the death of the prince, was borne to Exeter by fugitives
on the following day. Beyond the fact that the Earl of Devon and other
nobles were known to have been killed, and Somerset with a party of
knights had taken sanctuary, they could give no details as to the fate of
individuals. In the deepest distress at the utter ruin of the cause, and
in ignorance of the fate of her husband, who she could only hope was one
of those who had gained sanctuary, Dame Tresham prepared for flight. This
accomplished, she had only to wait, and sit in tearless anguish at the
window, listening intently whenever a horseman rode past. All night her
watch continued. Gervaise, who had cried himself to sleep, lay on a couch
beside her. Morning dawned, and she then knew that her husband would not
come, for had he escaped from the field he would long ere this have been
with her. The messenger with the news had arrived at eight the previous
morning, and, faithful to her husband's wishes, at that hour she ordered
the horses to be brought round, and, joining a party of gentlemen who were
also making for the coast, rode with them to Plymouth. Arrangements were
at once made with the captain of a small ship in the port, and two days
later they landed at Honfleur, where Sir Thomas had enjoined his wife to
wait until she heard from him or obtained sure news of his fate.

A week after her arrival the news was brought by other fugitives of the
violation of the sanctuary by the king, and the murder of Somerset and the
gentlemen with him, of whom Sir Thomas Tresham was known to have been one.

The blow proved fatal to Dame Tresham. She had gone through many trials
and misfortunes, and had ever borne them bravely, but the loss of her
husband completely broke her down. Save to see his wishes concerning their
son carried out, she had no longer any interest in life or any wish to
live. But until the future of Gervaise was assured, her mission was
unfulfilled. His education was her sole care; his mornings were spent at a
monastery, where the monks instructed the sons of such of the nobles and
gentry of the neighbourhood as cared that they should be able to read and
write. In the afternoon he had the best masters in the town in military
exercises. His evenings he spent with his mother, who strove to instill in
him the virtues of patience, mercy to the vanquished, and valour, by
stories of the great characters of history. She herself spent her days in
pious exercises, in attending the services of the Church, and in acts of
charity and kindness to her poorer neighbours. But her strength failed
rapidly, and she was but a shadow of her former self when, two years and a
half after her arrival at Honfleur, she felt that if she was herself to
hand Gervaise over to the Order of St. John, she must no longer delay.
Accordingly she took ship to London, and landing there made her way with
him to the dwelling of the Order at Clerkenwell. It was in process of
rebuilding, for in 1381 it had been first plundered and then burned by the
insurgents under Wat Tyler. During the ninety years that had elapsed since
that event the work of rebuilding had proceeded steadily, each grand prior
making additions to the pile which, although not yet fully completed, was
already one of the grandest and stateliest abodes in England.

On inquiring for the grand prior, and stating that she had a letter of
importance for him, Dame Tresham and her son were shown up to his
apartment, and on entering were kindly and courteously received by him
when informed that she was the widow of the late Sir Thomas Tresham.

“I am the bearer of a letter for you, given into my hand by my husband's
dear friend your predecessor,” she said, “a few days before his murder at
Tewkesbury. It relates to my son here.”

The grand prior opened the letter and read it.

“Assuredly, madam, I will carry out the wishes here expressed,” he said.
“They are, that I should forward at once the letter he has given you to
Sir Peter D'Aubusson, and that until an answer is received from him, I
should take care of the boy here, and see that he is instructed in all
that is needful for a future knight of our Order. I grieve to see that you
yourself are looking so ill.”

“My course is well nigh run,” she said. “I have, methinks, but a few days
to live. I am thankful that it has been permitted to me to carry out my
husband's wishes, and to place my boy in your hands. That done, my work on
earth is finished, and glad indeed am I that the time is at hand when I
can rejoin my dear husband.”

“We have a building here where we can lodge ladies in distress or need,
Dame Tresham, and trust that you will take up your abode there.”

“I shall indeed be thankful to do so,” she replied. “I know no one in
London, and few would care to lodge a dying woman.”

“We are Hospitallers,” the grand prior said. “That was our sole mission
when we were first founded, and before we became a military order, and it
is still a part of our sworn duty to aid the distressed.”

A few minutes later Dame Tresham was conducted to a comfortable apartment,
and was given into the charge of a female attendant. The next day she had
another interview with the grand prior, to whom she handed over her jewels
and remaining money. This she prayed him to devote to the furnishing of
the necessary outfit for Gervaise. She spent the rest of the day in the
church of the hospital, had a long talk with her son in the evening,
giving him her last charges as to his future life and conduct, and that
night, as if she had now fulfilled her last duty on earth, she passed
away, and was found by her attendant lying with a look of joy and
peacefulness on her dead face.

Gervaise's grief was for a time excessive. He was nearly twelve years old,
and had never until now been separated from her even for a day. She had
often spoken to him of her end being near, but until the blow came he had
never quite understood that it could be so. She had, on the night before
her death, told him that he must not grieve overmuch for her, for that in
any case they must have soon been sundered, and that it was far better
that he should think of her as at rest, and happy, than as leading a
lonely and sorrowful life.

The grand prior, however, wisely gave him but little time to dwell upon
his loss, but as soon as her funeral had taken place, handed him over to
the knights who had the charge of the novices on probation, and instructed
them in their military exercises, and of the chaplain who taught them such
learning as was considered requisite for a knight of the Order.

The knights were surprised at the proficiency the lad had already attained
in the use of his weapons.

“By St. Agatha,” one of them exclaimed, after the conclusion of his first
lesson, “you have had good teachers, lad, and have availed yourself rarely
of them. If you go on like this you will become a distinguished knight of
our Order. With a few more years to strengthen your arms I warrant me you
will bear your part well in your first tussle with the Moslem corsairs.”

It fortunately happened that a party of knights were starting for Rhodes a
few days after the admission of Gervaise to the Hospital, and the letter
to Sir Peter D'Aubusson was committed to their charge. They were to
proceed to Bordeaux by ship, then to journey by land to Marseilles, and
thence, being joined by some French knights, to sail direct to Rhodes. Two
months later an answer was received. D'Aubusson wrote to the grand prior
saying that he would gladly carry out the last wishes of his dead friend,
and that he had already obtained from the grand master the appointment of
Gervaise Tresham as one of his pages, and begged that he might be sent out
with the next party of knights leaving England. It was three months before
such an opportunity occurred. During that time Gervaise remained at the
house of St. John's studying diligently, and continuing his military
exercises. These were severe; for the scions of noble houses, who hoped
some day to distinguish themselves as knights, were put through many
gymnastic exercises—were taught to spring on to a horse when clad in
full armour, to wield heavy battleaxes, to run and climb, and to prepare
themselves for all the possibilities of the mode of fighting of the day.

Gervaise gained the encomiums, not only of his special preceptor, but of
the various knights in the house, and of the grand prior himself, both for
his strength and activity, and for the earnestness with which he worked.
When the time approached for his leaving England, the grand prior ordered
for him the outfit which would be necessary in his position as a page of
the grand master. The dresses were numerous and rich, for although the
knights of St. John wore over their armour the simple mantle of their
order, which was a sleeveless garment of black relieved only by a white
cross on the chest, they indulged in the finest and most costly armour,
and in rich garments beneath their black mantles when not in armour.

“I am well pleased with you, Gervaise,” the grand prior said, on the
evening before he was to leave, “and I see in you the making of a valiant
knight of the Order. Maintain the same spirit you have shown here; be
obedient and reverent to your superiors; give your whole mind to your
duties; strive earnestly during the three or four years that your pagedom
will last, to perfect yourself in military exercises, that when the time
comes for you to buckle on armour you will be able to bear yourself
worthily. Remember that you will have to win your knighthood, for the
Order does not bestow this honour, and you must remain a professed knight
until you receive it at the hands of some distinguished warrior. Ever bear
in mind that you are a soldier of the Cross. Avoid luxury, live simply and
modestly; be not led away by others, upon whom their vows may sit but
lightly; keep ever in your mind that you have joined the Order neither to
gain fame nor personal advantage, but simply that you may devote the
strength and the intelligence that God has given you to protect
Christendom from the advance of the infidel. I shall hear of you from time
to time from D'Aubusson, and feel sure that the expectations I have formed
of you will be fulfilled.”

CHAPTER III THE GRAND MASTER'S PAGE

The grand prior had, in accordance with Dame Tresham's request, sent the
steward of the house to one of the principal jewellers of the city who, as
the Order were excellent customers, paid a good price for her jewels.
After the payment for the numerous dresses required for the service as a
page to the grand master, the grand prior handed the balance of the money
Dame Tresham had brought with her, and that obtained by the sale of her
jewels, to one of the knights under whose charge Gervaise was to travel,
to be given by him to D'Aubusson for the necessities of Gervaise as a
page. During their term of service the pages received no remuneration, all
their expenses being paid by their families. Nevertheless, the post was
considered so honourable, and of such great advantage to those entering
the Order, that the appointments were eagerly sought after.

The head of the party was Sir Guy Redcar, who had been a commander in
England, but who was now relinquishing that post in order to take a high
office in the convent at the Island. With him were four lads between
seventeen and twenty who were going out as professed knights, having
served their year of probation as novices at the grand priory. With these
Gervaise was already acquainted, as they had lived, studied, and performed
their military exercises together. The three eldest of these Gervaise
liked much, but the youngest of the party, Robert Rivers, a relation of
the queen, had always shown a very different spirit from the others. He
was jealous that a member of one of the defeated and disinherited
Lancastrian families should obtain a post of such honour and advantage as
that of page to the grand master, and that thus, although five years
younger, Gervaise should enter the Order on an equality with him.

In point of strength and stature he was, of course, greatly superior to
Gervaise; but he had been spoilt from his childhood, was averse to
exercise, and dull at learning, and while Gervaise was frequently
commended by his instructors, he himself was constantly reproved, and it
had been more than once a question whether he should be received as a
professed knight at the termination of his year of novitiate. Thus, while
the other lads treated Gervaise kindly, and indeed made rather a pet of
him, Robert Rivers ignored him as much as possible, and if obliged to
speak to him did so with a pointed rudeness that more than once brought
upon him a sharp reproof from his companions. Gervaise himself was but
little affected by Robert's manner. He was of an exceptionally good
tempered nature, and, indeed, was so occupied with his work and so anxious
to satisfy his teachers, that Robert's ill humour passed almost unnoticed.

The journey was performed without incident. During their passage across
the south of France, Gervaise's perfect knowledge of the language gained
for him a great advantage over his companions, and enabled him to be of
much use to Sir Guy. They had fine weather during their passage up the
Mediterranean, and in the day their leader gave them their first lessons
in the management and discipline of a ship.

“You will be nearly as much at sea as you are on land for the five years
you must stay at the convent,” he said; “and it is essential to the
education of a knight of our Order to know all things connected with the
management of a ship, even to its building. We construct our own galleys
at Rhodes, using, of course, the labour of slaves, but under our own
superintendence; and it is even more essential to us to know how to fight
on sea than on land. There is, too, you see, a rivalry among ourselves,
for each langue has its duties, and each strives to perform more gallant
deeds and to bring in more rich prizes than the others. We of England are
among the smallest of the langues, and yet methinks we do a fair portion
of the work, and gain fully our share of honour. There is no fear of your
having much time on your hands, for it is quite certain that there will
soon be open war between Mahomet and the Order. In spite of the nominal
truce, constant skirmishes are taking place, so that, in addition to our
fights with pirates, we have sometimes encounters with the sultan's
galleys.

“Seven years ago, a number of our Order took part in the defence of
Lesbos, and lost their lives at its capture, and we have sure information
that Mahomet is preparing for an attack on the Island. No doubt he thinks
it will be an easy conquest, for in '57 he succeeded in landing eighteen
thousand men on the Island, and in ravaging a large district, carrying off
much booty. Since then, however, the defences of Rhodes have been greatly
strengthened. Zacosta, our last grand master, laboured diligently to
increase the fortifications, and, specially, built on one side of the
entrance to the harbour a strong tower, called Fort St. Nicholas. Orsini
has carried on the works, which have been directed by D'Aubusson, who is
captain general of the forces of the Island, and who has deepened the
ditches and built a wall on the sea front of the town six hundred feet in
length and twenty feet in height, money being found by the grand master
from his private purse.

“At present we are not sure whether the great armament that Mahomet is
preparing is intended for the capture of Negropont, which belongs to
Venice, or of Rhodes. Unfortunately Venice and Rhodes are not good
friends. In the course of our war with Egypt in '58 we captured from some
Venetian vessels, in which they were travelling, several Egyptian
merchants with a great store of goods. The Venetians protested that as the
ships were theirs we had no right to interfere with our enemies who were
travelling in them, and, without giving time for the question to be
discussed, at once attacked our galleys, and sent a fleet against Rhodes.
They landed on the Island, and not only pillaged the district of Halki,
but, a number of natives having sought shelter in a cave, the Venetians
blocked up the entrance with brushwood, set it on fire, and suffocated
them all.

“Shortly afterwards, another and larger fleet appeared off Rhodes, and
demanded the restitution of the Egyptians and their merchandise. There was
a great division of opinion in the council; but, seeing the great danger
that threatened us both from the Turks at Constantinople and the
Venetians, and that it was madness at such a time to engage in war with a
Christian power, the grand master persuaded the council to accede to their
request. There has never been any friendly feeling between Venice and
ourselves since that time. Still, I trust that our common danger will
reunite us, and that whether Negropont or Rhodes is attacked by the
Moslems, we shall render loyal aid to each other.”

There was great excitement among Gervaise and his companions when it was
announced that Rhodes was in sight, and as they approached the town they
gazed with admiration at the castle with its stately buildings, the palace
of the grand master and the Hospital of St. John, rising above the lower
town, the massive walls strengthened by projecting bastions, and the
fortifications of the ports. Of these there were two, with separate
entrances, divided from each other by a narrow tongue of land. At its
extremity stood Fort St. Nicholas, which was connected by a strong wall
running along the promontory to the town. The inner port, as it was
called, was of greater importance, as it adjoined the town itself. It was
defended in the first place by Fort St. Nicholas, and at the inner
entrance stood the towers of St. John and St. Michael, one on either side.
Into this the vessel was steered. There were many craft lying there, among
them eight or ten of the galleys of the Order.

“We will go first to the house of our langue,” Sir Guy said, “and tell
them to send down slaves to fetch up our baggage; then I will take you,
Gervaise, to Sir Peter D'Aubusson, and hand you over to his care.”

On landing, Gervaise was surprised at the number of slaves who were
labouring at the public works, and who formed no small proportion of the
population in the streets. Their condition was pitiable. They were, of
course, enemies of Christianity, and numbers of them had been pirates; but
he could not help pitying their condition as they worked in the full heat
of the sun under the vigilant eyes of numbers of overseers, who carried
heavy whips, in addition to their arms. Their progress to the upper city
was slow, for on their way they met many knights, of whom several were
acquainted with Sir Guy; and each, after greeting him, demanded the latest
news from England, and in return gave him particulars of the state of
things at Rhodes.

At last they arrived at the house of the English langue. The Order was
divided into langues or nationalities. Of these there were eight—Provence,
Auvergne, France, Italy, Germany, England, Aragon, and Castile and
Portugal. The French element was by far the strongest. The Order had been
founded in that country, and as it possessed no less than three langues,
and held the greater part of the high official positions in the Order, it
was only kept in check by the other langues acting together to demand
their fair share of dignities. The grand master's authority was
considerable, but it was checked by the council, which was composed of the
bailiffs and knights of the highest order, known as Grand Crosses. Each
langue had its bailiff elected by itself: these resided constantly at
Rhodes. Each of these bailiffs held a high office; thus the Bailiff of
Provence was always the grand commander of the Order. He controlled the
expenditure, superintended the stores, and was governor of the arsenal.
The Bailiff of Auvergne was the commander-in-chief of all the forces, army
and navy. The Bailiff of France was the grand hospitaller, with the
supreme direction of the hospitals and infirmaries of the Order, a
hospital in those days signifying a guest house. The Bailiff of Italy was
the grand admiral, and the Bailiff of England was chief of the light
cavalry. Thus the difficulties and jealousies that would have arisen at
every vacancy were avoided.

In the early days of the Order, when Jerusalem was in the hands of the
Christians, the care of the hospitals was its chief and most important
function. Innumerable pilgrims visited Jerusalem, and these were
entertained at the immense guest house of the Order. But with the loss of
Jerusalem and the expulsion of the Christians from Palestine, that
function had become of very secondary importance although there was still
a guest house and infirmary at Rhodes, where strangers and the sick were
carefully attended by the knights. No longer did these ride out to battle
on their war horses. It was on the sea that the foe was to be met, and the
knights were now sailors rather than soldiers. They dwelt at the houses of
their respective langues; here they ate at a common table, which was
supplied by the bailiff, who drew rations for each knight, and received,
in addition, a yearly sum for the supply of such luxuries as were not
included in the rations. The average number of knights residing in each of
these langues averaged from a hundred to a hundred and fifty.

It was not until some hours after his arrival that Sir Guy could find time
to take Gervaise across to the house of the langue of Auvergne, to which
D'Aubusson belonged. It was a larger and more stately pile than that of
the English langue, but the arrangements were similar in all these
buildings. In the English house Gervaise had not felt strange, as he had
the companionship of his fellow voyagers; but as he followed Sir Guy
through the spacious halls of the langue of Auvergne, where no familiar
face met his, he felt more lonely than he had done since he entered the
house at Clerkenwell.

On sending in his name Sir Guy was at once conducted to the chamber
occupied by D'Aubusson. The knight was seated at his table, examining some
plans. The room was furnished with monastic simplicity, save that the
walls were hung with rich silks and curtains captured from Turkish
galleys.

“Welcome back to us, Sir Guy,” D'Aubusson said, rising, and warmly shaking
his visitor's hand. “I have been looking for your coming, for we need men
with clear heads. Of strong arms and valiant spirits we have no lack; but
men of judgment and discretion, who can be trusted to look at matters
calmly and not to be carried away by passion, are welcome indeed to us. I
was expecting you about this time, and when I heard that a ship had
arrived from Marseilles I made inquiries, and was glad to find that you
were on board.”

“I am heartily glad to be back, D'Aubusson; I am sick of the dull life of
a commandery, and rejoice at the prospect of stirring times again. This
lad is young Tresham, who has come out in my charge, and for whom you have
been good enough to obtain the post of page to the grand master.”

“And no slight business was it to do so,” D'Aubusson said with a smile.
“It happened there was a vacancy when the letter concerning him arrived,
and had it been one of the highest offices in the Order there could not
have been a keener contention for it. Every bailiff had his candidate
ready; but I seldom ask for anything for members of my langue, and when I
told the other bailiffs that it was to me a matter of honour to carry out
the last request of my dead friend, they all gave way. You see, I am
placed in a position of some little difficulty. The grand master is so
enfeebled and crippled that he leaves matters almost entirely in my hands,
and it would be an abuse of my position, and would excite no little
jealousy, were I to use the power I possess to nominate friends of my own
to appointments. It is only by the most rigid impartiality, and by
dividing as fairly as possible all offices between the eight langues, that
all continue to give me their support. As you know, we have had great
difficulties and heartburnings here; but happily they have to a great
extent been set at rest by forming a new langue of Castile and Portugal
out of that of Aragon. This has given one more vote to the smaller
langues, and has so balanced the power that of late the jealousies between
us have greatly subsided, and all are working well together in face of the
common danger. Well, young sir, and how like you the prospect of your
pageship?”

“I like it greatly, sir, but shall like still more the time when I can
buckle on armour and take a share of the fighting with the infidels. I
would fain, sir, offer to you my deep and humble thanks for the great
kindness you have shown me in procuring me the appointment of page to the
grand master.”

The knight smiled kindly. “There are the less thanks due, lad, inasmuch as
I did it not for you, but for the dear friend who wrote to me on your
behalf. However, I trust that you will do credit to my nomination by your
conduct here.”

“There is a letter from our grand prior which I have brought to you,” Sir
Guy said. “He commended the lad to me warmly, and seems to be greatly
pleased with his conduct.”

D'Aubusson cut the silken string that bound the missive together, and read
the letter.

“He does indeed speak warmly,” he said, as he laid it down on the table.

“He tells me that the lad, young as he was, had been well trained when he
came, and that he worked with great diligence during the five months he
was in the House, and displayed such skill and strength for his age, as to
surprise his preceptors, who prophesied that he would turn out a stout
swordsman, and would be a credit to the Order.”

“He is well furnished with garments both for ordinary and state
occasions,” Sir Guy said; “and in this packet are some sixty gold crowns,
which are the last remains of his patrimony, and which I was to hand to
you in order to pay the necessary expenses during his pageship.”

“He could have done without that,” D'Aubusson said. “Recommended to me as
he is, I would have seen that he lacked nothing, but was provided with all
necessaries for his position. I will in the future take care that in all
things he is on a par with his companions.” He touched a bell on the
table, and a servitor entered.

“Tell Richard de Deauville to come here,” he said.

A minute later the hangings at the door were pushed aside, and a lad about
a year older than Gervaise appeared, and, bowing deeply to the knight,
stood in a respectful attitude, awaiting his orders.

“Deauville, take this youth, Gervaise Tresham to your room. He is
appointed one of the pages of the grand master. He is English, but he
speaks French as well as you do, having lived in France for some years.
Take him to your apartment and treat him kindly and well, seeing that he
is a stranger and new to all here. Tomorrow he will go to the palace.”

Gervaise bowed deeply to the two knights, and then followed the page.

“I suppose you arrived in that ship which came in today,” the latter said,
as soon as they had left the room. “You are in luck indeed to have
obtained a pageship at the grand master's. You begin to count your time at
once, while we do not begin to count ours until we are seventeen. Still,
good luck may befall us yet, for if the grand master dies, Sir Peter is
sure to be chosen to succeed him. Then, you see, we too shall be pages of
the grand master.”

“How many are there of you?”

“Only De Lille and myself. Of course D'Aubusson will take on the grand
master's present pages; but as there are five vacancies on an average
every year, he will be able to find room for us among the number.”

“Why, how many pages has the grand master?” Gervaise asked, in surprise.

“Sixteen of them, so you may guess the duties are easy enough, as only two
are generally employed, except, of course on solemn occasions.”

“Are there any other English besides myself?”

The boy shook his head. “There are eight belonging to the French langues;
the others are Spaniards, Italians, or Germans. There, this is our room
and this is De Lille. De Lille, this is the grand master's new page,
Master Gervaise Tresham, and our lord says we are to treat him kindly and
entertain him well until tomorrow, when he will go to the palace. He
speaks our language, and has been some years in France.”

“How came you to be there?” De Lille asked Gervaise.

“My father was a Lancastrian, and my mother a great friend of our Queen
Margaret of Anjou, and they were with her all the time she was in exile.”

“How quarrelsome you English are!” De Lille said. “You seem to be always
fighting among yourselves.”

“I don't think,” Gervaise said, with a smile, “there is any love lost
between Louis of France and the Duke of Burgundy, to say nothing of other
great lords.”

“No; you are right there. But though we talk a great deal about fighting,
it is only occasionally that we engage in it.”

The pages' room was a small one. It contained two pallets, which served as
seats by day, and two wooden chests, in which they kept their clothes.

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell.

“That is supper,” De Lille said, jumping up. “We will leave you here while
we go down to stand behind our lord's chair. When the meal is over we will
bring a pasty or something else good, and a measure of wine, and have our
supper together up here; and we will tell the servitors to bring up
another pallet for you. Of course, you can go down with us if you like.”

“Thank you, I would much rather stay here. Every one would be strange to
me, and having nothing to do I should feel in the way.”

The boys nodded, and taking their caps ran off, while Gervaise, tired by
the excitement of the day, lay down on the bed which a servant brought up
a few minutes after they had left him, and slept soundly until their
return.

“I think I have been asleep,” he said, starting up when they entered the
room again.

“You look as if you had, anyhow,” De Lille laughed. “It was the best thing
you could do. We have brought up supper. We generally sit down and eat
after the knights have done, but this is much better, as you are here.”
They sat down on the beds, carved the pasty with their daggers, and after
they had finished Gervaise gladly accepted the proposal of the others to
take a walk round the walls.

They started from the corner of the castle looking down upon the spit of
land dividing the two ports.

“You see,” De Lille said, “there is a row of small islands across the
mouth of the outer port, and the guns of St. Nicholas, and those on this
wall, would prevent any hostile fleet from entering.”

“I hardly see what use that port is, for it lies altogether outside the
town, and vessels could not unload there.”

“No. Still, it forms a useful place of refuge. In case a great fleet came
to attack us, our galleys would lay up in the inner port, which would be
cleared of all the merchant craft, as these would hamper the defence; they
would, therefore, be sent round into the outer port, where they would be
safe from any attack by sea, although they would doubtless be burnt did an
army besiege the town.”

Passing along the walls of the grand master's palace, which was a strongly
fortified building, and formed a citadel that could be defended after the
lower town and the rest of the castle had been taken, they came to the
western angle of the fortifications.

“You must know that each langue has charge of a separate part of the wall.
From the foot of the mole of St. Nicholas to the grand master's palace it
is in charge of France. On the line where we now are, between the palace
and the gate of St. George, it is held by Germany. From that gate to the
Spanish tower Auvergne is posted. England takes the wall between the
Spanish tower and that of St. Mary. You defend only the lower storey of
that tower, the upper part being held by Aragon, whose charge extends up
to the gate of St. John. Thence to the tower of Italy—behind which
lies the Jews' quarter—Provence is in charge, while the sea front
thence to the mole of St. Nicholas, is held by Italy and Castile, each
taking half. Not only have the langues the charge of defending each its
portion of the wall, but of keeping it in order at all times; and I may
say that nowhere is the wall better kept or more fairly decorated with
carvings than where England holds.”

“You have not told me who defends the palace itself.”

“That is in charge of a force composed of equal numbers of picked knights
from each langue.”

Gervaise leant on the battlement and looked with admiration at the scene
beyond. The land side was surrounded by hills, the ground rising very
gradually from the foot of the walls. Every yard of ground was cultivated,
and was covered with brilliant vegetation. Groves and orchards occurred
thickly, while the slopes were dotted with chapels, summer houses—in
which the natives of the city spent most of their time in the hot season—and
other rustic buildings.

“What a rich and beautiful country!” he said.

“It is very pleasant to look at,” De Lille agreed. “But all this would be
a sore disadvantage to us if the Turks were besieging us, for the groves
and orchards would conceal their approaches, the walls and buildings would
give them shelter, and our cannon would be of little use until they
reached the farther side of the ditch. If the Turks come, I hear it is
decided to level all the buildings and walls, and to chop down every
tree.”

“If they were to plant their cannon on the hills they would do us much
harm,” Gervaise remarked.

“The Turks are clumsy gunners they say,” Deauville replied, “and they
would but waste their powder and ball at that distance, without making a
breach in our walls.”

“Even if they did, they could surely scarce pass that deep fosse,”
Gervaise said, looking down into the tremendous cutting in the solid rock
that ran round the whole circuit of the walls; it was from forty to sixty
feet deep, and from ninety to a hundred and forty feet wide. It was from
this great cutting that the stones for the construction of the walls,
towers, and buildings of the town had been taken, the work having been
going on ever since the knights established themselves at Rhodes, and
being performed by a host of captives taken in war, together with labour
hired from neighboring islands. Upon this immense work the Order had
expended no small proportion of their revenue since their capture of the
island in 1310, and the result was a fortress that, under the conditions
of warfare of that age, seemed almost impregnable; and this without any
natural advantage of position.

In addition to the five great towers or bastions, the wall was
strengthened by square towers at short intervals. On looking down from the
wall upon which the three pages were standing, on to the lower town, the
view was a singular one. The houses were all built of stone, with flat
roofs, after the manner of most Eastern cities. The streets were very
narrow, and were crossed at frequent intervals by broad stone arches.
These had the effect, not only of giving shelter from an enemy's fire, but
of affording means by which troops could march rapidly across the town
upon the roofs of the houses to reinforce the defenders of the wall,
wherever pressed by the enemy. Thus the town from above presented the
appearance of a great pavement, broken only by dark and frequently
interrupted lines.

“How different to the towns at home!” Gervaise exclaimed, as, after gazing
long upon the beautiful country outside the walls, he turned and looked
inward. “One would hardly know that it was a town at all.”

“Yes, it is rather different to the view from the top of the tower of
Notre Dame, which I ascended while I was staying in Paris. But this sort
of building is best here; the thickness of the stone roofs keeps out the
heat of the sun, and it is only when it is almost overhead that it shines
down into the narrow streets. As you can see by the number of the people
on the roofs, they use them as a resort in the evening. Then carpets are
spread, and they receive visitors, and can talk to their neighbours over
the low walls that separate the roofs. You can trace the divisions. Some
of the house roofs are larger than others, but all are upon the same
level; this being the regulation, in order that there might be free
passage everywhere for the troops.”

By the time they had made the circuit of the walls darkness had fallen,
and concealed the martial features of the scene. Lights twinkled
everywhere upon the stone terraces; the sound of lutes and other musical
instruments came up softly on the still air, with the hum of talk and
laughter. The sea lay as smooth as a mirror, and reflected the light of
the stars, and the black hulls of the galleys and ships in the harbour lay
still and motionless.

Greatly pleased with his first experience of the city that was to be his
future home, Gervaise returned, with his companions, to the auberge of
Auvergne.

The next morning the bailiff D'Aubusson bade Gervaise accompany him to the
palace of the grand master. Here he introduced him to Orsini, an old and
feeble man, who, after a few kind words, handed him over to the
chamberlain, who, in turn, led him to the official who was in charge of
the pages. That officer took him down to the courtyard, where four young
knights were engaged in superintending the military exercises of the
pages. The scene was exactly the same as that to which Gervaise had been
accustomed at the House in London. Some of the lads were fighting with
blunted swords, others were swinging heavy bars of iron, climbing ropes,
or vaulting on to the back of a wooden horse. All paused as the official
entered with his charge.

“This is your new comrade, boys,” he said—“Master Gervaise Tresham,
a member of the English langue. Be good comrades to him. By the reports I
hear I am sure that you will find him a worthy companion.”

The pages had been prepared to like the newcomer, for it was well known
that he owed his appointment to the bailiff of Auvergne, who was the most
popular of the officials of the Order, and who was already regarded as the
grand master. His appearance confirmed their anticipation. His fair
complexion and nut brown hair tinged with gold, cut somewhat short, but
with a natural wave, contrasted with their darker locks and faces bronzed
by the sun. There was an honest and frank look in his grey eyes, and an
expression of good temper on his face, though the square chin and firm
lips spoke of earnestness and resolution of purpose. The official took him
round the circle and presented him first to the knights and then to each
of his comrades.

“You may as well join them in their exercises. In that way you will sooner
become at home with them.”

Gervaise at once laid down his mantle, removed his doublet, and then
joined the others. There was but one half hour remaining before they broke
off to go to dinner, which was at half past ten, but the time sufficed to
show the young pages that this English lad was the equal of all—except
two or three of the oldest—both in strength and in knowledge of
arms. He could climb the rope with any of them, could vault on to the
wooden horse with a heavy cuirass and backpiece on him, and held his own
in a bout with swords against Conrad von Berghoff, who was considered the
best swordplayer among them. As soon as the exercises were over all
proceeded to the bath, and then to dinner. The meal was a simple one, but
Gervaise enjoyed it thoroughly, for the table was loaded with an abundance
of fruits of kinds altogether novel to him, and which he found delicious.

The official in charge of them sat at the head of the table, and the meal
was eaten in silence. After it was over and they had retired to their own
rooms discipline was at an end, and they were free to amuse themselves as
they liked. There were many questions to be asked and answered, but his
display of strength and skill in the courtyard saved Gervaise from a good
deal of the teasing to which a newcomer among a party of boys is always
exposed.

He, on his part, learnt that the duties of the pages were very light. Two
only were on duty each day, being in constant attendance on the grand
master, and accompanying him wherever he went. When he dined in public
four of them waited on him at table, and one of them performed the duties
of taster. If he returned to the palace after dark, six others lined the
staircase with torches. On occasions of state ceremony, and at the
numerous religious festivals, all were in attendance. By this time
Gervaise's trunks had been brought over from the English auberge, where
they had been conveyed from the ship, and his garments were taken out and
inspected by his comrades, who all admitted that they were, in point of
beauty of colour and material, and in fashion, equal to their own.

“You will have to get one more suit, Gervaise,” one of the lads said. “At
one or two of the grand ceremonies every year we are all dressed alike;
that is the rule. On other occasions we wear what we choose, so that our
garments are handsome, and I think it looks a good deal better than when
we are dressed alike; though no doubt in religious processions that is
more appropriate. De Ribaumont, our governor, will give orders for the
supply of your state costume. He is a good fellow. Of course, he has to be
rather strict with us; but so long as there is nothing done that he
considers discreditable to our position, he lets us do pretty nearly as we
like.

“We have four hours a day at our military exercises, and two hours with
the sub-chaplain, who teaches us our books and religious duties. The rest
of our time we can use as we like, except that every day eight of us ride
for two hours and practise with the lance; for although it is at sea we
fight the Moslems, we are expected to become finished knights in all
matters. These eight horses are kept for our service, and such as choose
may at other times ride them. On Saturdays we are free from all our
exercises; then some of us generally go on horseback for long excursions
on the island, while others take boats and go out on the sea; one
afternoon in the week we all make a trip in a galley, to learn our duties
on board.”

CHAPTER IV A PROFESSED KNIGHT

Gervaise was soon quite at home in the palace of the grand master, and his
companions were, like other boys, of varying characters; but as all were
of noble families, were strongly impressed with the importance of the
Order and the honour of their own position, and were constantly in contact
with stately knights and grave officials, their manners conformed to those
of their elders; and even among themselves there was no rough fun, or loud
disputes, but a certain courtesy of manner that was in accordance with
their surroundings. This came naturally to Gervaise, brought up as he had
been by his father and mother, and having at frequent intervals stayed
with them for months at the various royal castles in which Margaret of
Anjou and her son had been assigned apartments during their exile. Even at
St. John's house the novices with whom he lived were all a good deal older
than himself, and the discipline of the house was much more strict than
that at Rhodes.

He enjoyed both his exercises with the knights and the time spent with the
sub-chaplain, no small proportion of the hours of study being occupied in
listening to stories of chivalry; it being considered one of the most
important parts of a knight's education that he should have a thorough
acquaintance, not only with the laws of chivalry, but with the brave deeds
both of former and of living knights, with the relations of the noble
houses of Europe to each other, especially of the many great families
whose members were connected with the Order of St. John.

These matters formed, indeed, the main subject of their studies. All were
taught to read and write, but this was considered sufficient in the way of
actual instruction. The rules of the Order had to be committed to memory.
Beyond this their reading consisted largely of the lives of saints,
especially of those who distinguished themselves by their charity or their
devotion to their vows of poverty, to both of which the members of the
Order were pledged. Gervaise, however, could see around him no signs
whatever of poverty on their part. It was true that they all lived and fed
together in the auberges of their respective langues, and that they
possessed no houses or establishments of their own; but the magnificence
of their armour and attire, and the lavish expenditure of some upon their
pleasures, contrasted strangely with the poverty to which they had vowed
themselves. It was true that in many cases the means to support the
expenditure was derived from the shares the knights received of the
plunder acquired in their captures of Moslem ships; but undoubtedly many
must have possessed large private means; the bailiffs, for example,
although only required by the rules to place before the knights at their
auberges the rations they received for them, with such luxuries as could
be purchased by their yearly allowance for that purpose, expended annually
very large sums in addition, and supplied their tables with every dainty,
in order to gain popularity and goodwill among the members of the langue.

Not only did the post of bailiff confer upon its owner a very high
position at Rhodes, but it was a stepping stone to the most lucrative
offices in their langues. The bailiffs at Rhodes had the right of claiming
any of the grand priories or bailiwicks at home that might fall vacant,
and the grand master was frequently chosen from among their number, as, by
being present at Rhodes, they had many advantages in the way of making
themselves popular among the electors. The emoluments of some of these
provincial bailiwicks were large; and as the bailiffs at Rhodes were
generally elected by seniority—although younger knights who had
greatly distinguished themselves were sometimes chosen—they were
usually glad to resign the heavy work and responsibility of their position
at Rhodes, and to retire to the far easier position of a provincial
bailiff. In the majority of cases, doubtless, the fortunes of the high
officials were obtained from the money amassed when in possession of rich
commanderies at home; but even this was assuredly incompatible with their
vows of poverty.

His hours of leisure Gervaise spent either on the water or in the saddle,
and his love of exercise of all sorts excited the wonder and even the
amusement of his companions, who for the most part preferred spending the
time at their disposal in sleep, in idly looking out from a shaded room at
what was going on outside, or in visits to friends and relations at the
auberges of the langues to which they belonged. The natural consequence
was, that by the time he reached the end of his three years' pageship,
Gervaise was indisputably superior in strength, activity, and skill in
military exercises, to any of his companions. The majority of these, after
completing their time, returned to the headquarters of their langue at
home, to pass their time there, until of an age to be eligible for the
charge of a commandery obtained for them by family influence, which had no
small share in the granting of these appointments. As it was known,
however, that Gervaise intended to remain permanently in the Island, his
progress was watched with particular attention by his instructors; and,
seeing his own earnestness in the matter, they took special pains with his
training. The bailiff of Auvergne continued to take much interest in him,
inquiring often from the officers in charge of the pages, and from his
instructors, of his conduct and progress, and occasionally sending for him
to his auberge and talking with him as to his life and progress. Just
before his pageship terminated, he said to him, “I was rather puzzled at
first, Gervaise, as to what we should do with you when your term of office
concluded, but I am so no longer, for, although you are some two years
younger than the professed knights who come out here, you are better
fitted than the majority to take your place in the naval expeditions, and
to fight the Moslem pirates. I will see that you have your share of these
adventures. All young knights are, as you know, obliged to make three
voyages, but beyond that many of them do not care to share in the rough
life at sea, and prefer the bustle, and, I grieve to say, the gaiety and
pleasures of this city. For one, then, really eager to distinguish
himself, the opportunities are frequent. When danger threatens, or heavy
engagements are expected, every knight is desirous of bearing his part in
the fray; but this is not the case when the work to be done consists of
scouring the sea for weeks, without perchance coming across a single
pirate. Of course, as soon as your pageship is over you will go to the
English auberge, but I shall still keep my eye upon you, and shall do my
best to help you to achieve distinction; and I shall take upon myself the
providing of your arms and armour as a knight.”

Accordingly, on the day on which his duties as a page terminated, two
servitors of the auberge of Auvergne brought across to the palace a suit
of fine armour and a sword, a battleaxe, a lance, and a dagger; also three
complete suits of clothes, two of them for ordinary wear, and one for
state occasions. The next day Gervaise took the oaths of the Order in the
Church of St. John. The aged master himself received the vows, and
formally inducted him as a professed knight of the Order, Peter D'Aubusson
and the bailiff of the English langue acting as his sponsors, vouching
that he was of noble blood and in all ways fitted to become a knight of
Justice, this being the official title of the professed knights of the
Order. Ten newly arrived novices were inducted at the same time, and the
ceremony was a stately one, attended by a number of the knights from each
langue, all in full armour.

The ceremony over, Gervaise bore the title of Sir Gervaise Tresham; but
this was an honorary rather than a real title, as the Order did not
profess to bestow the honour of knighthood, and it was usual for its
members to receive the accolade at the hands of secular knights. At the
conclusion of the ceremony, he returned with the bailiff of the English
langue to the auberge, and took up his quarters there. By his frequent
visits he was well known to all the members, and in a day or two felt as
much at home as he had done in the pages' room in the palace. A week was
given to him before he was assigned to any special duty, and he was glad
when he was told off as one of the knights who were to take their turn in
superintending the work of the slaves employed in strengthening the
fortifications, although he would rather that any other employment should
have been assigned to him, because he felt deep pity for the unfortunate
men who were engaged in the work.

He knew well enough that if he himself were ever made prisoner by the
Turks, his lot would be as hard and as hopeless as that of the Moslem
captives; but this, although he often repeated it to himself in order to
abate his feeling of commiseration, was but a poor satisfaction. He saw
one side of the picture, and the other was hidden from him; and although
he told himself that after slaving in a Turkish galley he would feel a
satisfaction at seeing those who had been his tyrants suffering the same
fate, he was well aware that this would not be the case, and that his own
sufferings would only make him sympathise more deeply with those of
others. He had found, soon after his arrival on the Island, that it was
best to keep his feelings on this subject to himself. While the knights
were bound, in accordance with their vows, to relieve sufferings of any
kind among Christians, they seemed to regard their captives rather in the
light of brute beasts than human beings. The slaves were struck on the
smallest provocation, and even the killing of a slave was considered a
very venial offence, and punished only because the slave was of value to
the Order.

It was true that edicts were from time to time published by the council,
enjoining fair treatment of slaves, and it was specially ordered that
those employed as servants in the auberges were not to be struck. The lot
of these servants was, indeed, very much easier than that of those engaged
on the public works, and such occupation was therefore considered a
privilege, the servants being for the most part selected from among the
captives of superior rank.

For the next six months Gervaise worked at various duties in the town. He
was employed for a fortnight in the infirmary, then for a while he was
transferred to the galleys; but for the most part he was with the slaves
working on the fortifications. At the end of that time he was, to his
great delight, informed by the bailiff that he was one of the six knights
of the langue told off to join a galley that was on the point of sailing.
Among those going in her was Sir Ralph Harcourt, one of his companions on
the journey from England.

“So you are to go with us, Gervaise,” the young knight said, “to try your
luck for the first time against the infidels. This is my third voyage, and
I hope that it will be more fortunate than its predecessors, for, beyond
picking up two or three small craft, which did not venture upon
resistance, we gained neither honour nor booty. I regard you as having
specially good fortune, and besides being glad that we shall be together,
I expect that you will bring good luck to us, and that we shall meet with
foes worth contending with. The corsairs have been very active of late,
and have captured many prizes, while, on the other hand, our galleys have
been unfortunate, and have but seldom come upon the miscreants.”

“How many knights will there be on board?”

“Forty. Aragon, like us, furnishes five, Germany ten, Portugal five,
Auvergne ten, and Provence five. We shall be commanded by Sir Louis
Ricord, a knight of Auvergne, and we could wish no better, for he has
proved himself a good seaman and a brave captain. Two other galleys are to
start with us. We are to cruise separately unless one gets news of a force
so superior that he will need aid to attack it, when he will meet the
others at a rendezvous agreed upon, and we shall work together.”

“Who are the other three Englishmen?”

“John Boswell, Marmaduke Lumley, and Adam Tedbond—all, as you know,
brave knights and good companions.”

That evening Gervaise received a message from D'Aubusson, requesting him
to call at his auberge.

“So you are going to sea, Sir Gervaise? I hear from your bailiff that you
have been working to his satisfaction in the town.”

“Yes, sir. I shall indeed be glad to change it for a life at sea. In
truth, it is grievous to me to witness the sufferings of the slaves, and I
would rather do any other work.”

“They are far better off than the Christians who fall into the hands of
the Turks,” the bailiff said; “and, moreover, it is because their
countrymen are preparing to attack us that we are forced to use their
labour in strengthening our fortifications. They have naught to complain
of in the way of food. Still, I would myself gladly see their lot
alleviated; but we could not afford to keep so great a number of captives
in idleness; they must work for their living. Had it not been for their
labour we could never have built and fortified the city. After all, they
are little worse off than our serfs at home; they build our castles and
till our land.”

“It may be so, sir; but with us in England men are free, and it was, when
I first came, strange to me to see them working under the fear of the
whip. It is necessary, I know, that such work should be done, but I own
that I shall be glad to be away from the sight of the poor wretches,
pirates and enemies of the faith though they be.”

“I can understand your feelings, and I too felt somewhat the same when I
first came here. Nevertheless, there is work that must be done if the
Order is not to be crushed by the infidels. Here are captives, for the
most part malefactors, who have to be fed; and there is no injustice in
their having, like all men, to give work for food. I have learnt to see
this and recognise the necessity, though I would that the work could be
obtained without the use of harshness and severity. We ourselves are
prepared at any moment to sacrifice our lives for the good of the Order
and for the great cause, and it would be wrong, nay, sinful, not to use
the means that have been placed ready to our hand. Now, Sir Gervaise, I
wish you a pleasant voyage. You will find the life somewhat hard, after
your three years' residence at the palace, but this I know you will not
mind. I have specially commended you to Ricord as one in whom I am
personally interested, and from whom I hope great things in the future. Be
brave; be resolute. From what you have said I need not say—be
merciful. Fulfill all orders promptly and without question; bear yourself
courteously to all; above all things, remember that you are a soldier, not
only of the Order, but of the Cross.”

The next day Gervaise embarked with his companions on board the galley. It
was a long, low boat, similar to those in use by the Venetians and
Genoese. It was rowed by fifty slaves, who slept at night on or beneath
the benches they sat on by day. The knights occupied the great cabins in
the poop. There were two tiers of these; the upper one contained the
little cabin of the commander, while the rest of the space on this deck,
and that below it, was used by the knights in common. In the upper cabin
they took their meals, and a third of their number slept there, the
remainder in the cabin below. A fourth of their number were, however,
always on guard, lest any attempt at a rising or escape should be made by
the galley slaves.

On leaving the harbour the galley, with its two consorts, rowed north, and
Gervaise learnt that they were to cruise between the mainland and the
islands. Some of these were in the hands of the Turks, while others were
still occupied by Greeks.

Except when there was a formal and actual state of war, the Moslem and
Christian islands remained in a state of neutrality, trading with each
other and avoiding all unfriendly proceedings that would lead to struggles
which would be fatal to the prosperity of both. The Archipelago, and
indeed the whole of the eastern portion of the Mediterranean, was infested
by pirates, fitted out, for the most part, on the mainland. These, when in
force, openly kept the sea, attacking the Christian merchant ships, but
when cruising alone they hid in unfrequented bays, or behind uninhabited
islets, until they could pounce upon a passing ship whose size promised an
easy capture. The Order of St. John furnished a maritime police, earning
thereby the deep gratitude of Spain, France, and Italy. They were aided
occasionally by the Venetians, but these, being frequently engaged in
quarrels with their neighbours, did but a small share of this work, only
sending their fleets to sea when danger threatened some of their
possessions in the Levant.

“This is delightful, Ralph,” Gervaise said, as they stood together on the
poop, looking back at the receding city.

“What a pleasant change it is from standing in the broiling sun watching
those poor wretches toiling at the fortifications! There is only one
drawback to my pleasure. I wish that we carried sails, and were moved
along by the breeze, instead of by the exertions of the slaves.”

“Much chance we should have of catching a pirate under such
circumstances!” Ralph said, laughing. “You might as well set a tortoise to
catch a hare.”

“I don't say that we should not be obliged to carry rowers, Ralph; but all
the prizes that have been brought in since I have been at Rhodes carry
masts and sails, as well as oars, and, as I understand, for the most part
cruise about under sail, and only use the oars when chasing or fleeing.”

“That is so; because, you see, in most cases the crew themselves have to
row, and I have no doubt if we had no slaves to do the work we should soon
take to masts and sails also; but for speed the rowing galleys are the
best, for unless a brisk wind were blowing, the mast and sails would but
check her progress when the oars were out, and at any rate constrain her
to travel only before the wind. I know your weakness about the slaves,
Gervaise; but as we could neither build our fortifications nor row our
galleys without them, I cannot go as far as you do in the matter, though I
own that I am sometimes sorry for them. But you must remember that it is
the fault of their people, and not of ours, that they are here.”

“All that is true enough, Ralph, and I cannot gainsay you. Still I would
rather that we were gliding along with sails instead of being rowed by
slaves.”

“At any rate, Gervaise, you will not see them ill treated, for I myself
heard Ricord, just before we were starting, tell the slave overseers that
so long as the rowers did fair work they were not to use their whips, and
that only if we were in chase of a pirate were they to be urged to their
utmost exertions.”

“I am right glad to hear it, Ralph, and shall be able to enjoy the voyage
all the more, now you have told me that such orders have been issued.”

For a fortnight they cruised about among the islands. Several times boats
rowed out from the shore to the galley with complaints of outrages by
pirates under a notorious corsair named Hassan Ali, who had landed, burnt
villages, killed many of the inhabitants, and carried off the rest as
slaves; but no one could give any clue to aid them in their search for the
corsairs. The time passed very pleasantly. There was no occasion for
speed; often they lay all day in some bay, where they could approach near
enough to the shore to lie in the shade of trees, while two or three of
the knights ascended a hill and kept watch there for the appearance of any
vessels of a suspicious character. One morning, after passing the night at
anchor, Harcourt and Gervaise were despatched just before sunrise to take
a look round before the galley got under way. From the top of the hill
they had an uninterrupted view of the sea, studded with islands on all
sides of them. Beyond a few fishing boats, looking like black specks on
the glassy surface, no craft were in sight. They were about to return to
the galley when, taking a last look round, Gervaise suddenly exclaimed,
“Look, Ralph! There is smoke ascending from that island to the southwest.
There was none just now.”

“You mean from that bay, Gervaise? Yes, I see it; it is not more than a
light mist.”

“It is growing thicker,” Gervaise said, “and spreading. Maybe it is but a
hut that has accidentally caught fire, but it seems to me that the smoke
is rising from several points.”

“I think you are right, Gervaise. Let us hurry down with the news. It may
be that it is a village which has been attacked by pirates who have landed
on the other side of the island during the night, for I can see no ships
in the bay.”

A few minutes' run and they stood on the shore.

“Quick, men!” Ralph said to the rowers of the boat that had brought them
ashore. “Row your hardest.”

The slaves bent to their oars, and they were soon alongside the galley,
which lay two or three hundred yards from the shore. Those on board had
noticed the young knights running down the hill, and, marking the speed at
which the boat was rowing, concluded at once that they must have observed
one of the pirate's ships.

“Do you see anything of them, Sir Ralph?” the commander shouted, as they
came close.

“We have seen no ships, Sir Louis, but there is smoke coming up from a bay
in an island four or five miles away to the southwest. It seems to us that
it is far too extensive a fire to be the result of an accident, for there
was no smoke until within two or three minutes of the time we left, and
before we started it was rising from several points, and we both think
that it must come from a village that has been attacked by pirates.”

The commander rapidly issued his orders, and in two or three minutes the
anchor was weighed, the boat hoisted on deck, and the oars in motion.

“Stretch to your oars!” Ricord shouted to the slaves. “Hitherto we have
exacted no toil from you, but you have to work now, and woe be to him who
does not put out his full strength.”

Grateful for the unusual leniency with which they had been treated, the
slaves bent to their oars, and the galley sped rapidly through the water.
On rounding the end of the island there was an exclamation of satisfaction
from the knights as they saw wreaths of white smoke rising from the
distant island.

“There can be no doubt that it is a village in flames,” Sir Louis said;
“and from the suddenness with which it broke out, it is clear that it must
have been fired at several points. You say you saw no craft near?” he
asked, turning to Harcourt.

“There were none there, or from the top of the hill we should assuredly
have made them out, Sir Louis.”

“Then the pirates—if this be, as I hope, their work—must have
landed at some other point on the island, and if they catch sight of us
they may make for their ship and slip away, unobserved by us. Instead of
rowing direct, therefore, we will make for that islet to the right, and
row round behind it. There are two others almost adjoining it. Once past
these, 'tis not more than half a mile to that island stretching away
south. Once round that, we shall be beyond the one from which we see the
smoke rising, and can come down on its southern side. The course will be
double the distance that it would be if we took a straight line, but
except when we cross from island to island we shall not be exposed to
their view, and may fall upon their ships before the crews have returned
from their work of plunder.”

The knights fully agreed, and orders were given to the helmsman
accordingly.

“We must not over fatigue the rowers,” the commander said. “We may have a
long chase if they have started before we get round.”

He therefore gave orders to the slaves that, while they were to exert
themselves to the utmost when crossing the open sea, they were to relax
their efforts and to row within their strength while coasting along behind
the islands. On board, everything was made in readiness for a fight: the
knights buckled on their armour, the cooks set cauldrons of pitch over the
fire, the cannoneers loaded her eight guns. It was an hour and a half
after their start before they rounded the end of the last island. It
extended a little farther to the south than did that to which they were
making, and as they rounded the point, eager looks were cast in search of
the pirate ships. No craft were, however, to be seen.

“They must be in some bay or inlet,” the commander said; “they can hardly
have left, for it would have taken them half an hour at least to cross the
island with their booty and captives, and even if they made straight away
after having fired the village, their ship could have gone no great
distance, for we must have seen her if she put to sea—unless indeed
they were anchored on the east of the island, and have sailed in that
direction.”

“Keep them rowing along steadily,” he said to the overseers of the slaves;
“but do not press them too hard. We may have a chase yet, and need all
their strength, for most of these pirates are fast craft, and if they
should get a start of three or four miles, it will be a long row before we
catch them.”

They made straight for the island, and on nearing it coasted along its
southern side. It was some three miles long, the shore being for the most
part steep, but here and there falling gradually to the water's edge. Two
or three little clusters of houses could be seen as they rowed along; one
of these was on fire.

“That is good,” Sir Louis exclaimed, as, on turning a point, they saw the
flames. “That cannot have been lighted long, and we are pretty certain to
come upon the vessels before the marauders have set sail.”

Several inlets and small bays were passed, but all were empty. A few
fishing boats lay on the shore, but there were no signs of life, as no
doubt the people would, long since, have taken alarm and sought shelter in
the woods. There was a sharp point just before they reached the
southeastern extremity of the island, and as the galley shot past this, a
shout of exultation rose from the knights, for, near the mouth of an inlet
that now opened to their view, there lay four long, low vessels, above
each of which floated the Moslem flag. A number of men were gathered on
the shore near the ships, and heavily laden boats were passing to and fro.

A yell of rage and alarm rose from the ships as the galley came into view.
There was a stir and movement on the shore, and numbers of men leapt into
the boats there, and started for the ships. These were some quarter of a
mile away when first seen, and half that distance had been traversed when
a puff of smoke shot out from the side of one of them, followed almost
immediately by a general discharge of their cannon. One ball tore along
the waist of the galley, killing six of the rowers, and several oars on
both sides were broken. Two balls passed through the cabins in the poop.
But there was no pause in the advance of the galley. The whips of the
slave masters cracked, and the rowers whose oars were intact strained at
them. There was no reply from the guns, but the knights raised loud the
war cry of the Order, a war cry that was never heard without striking a
thrill of apprehension among their Moslem foes.

As they neared the pirate ships, the helm was put down, and the galley
brought up alongside the largest of them and a broadside poured into her;
then the knights, headed by their commander, leapt on to her deck.

Although a number of the crew had not yet come off from shore, the Moslems
still outnumbered their assailants, and, knowing that their consorts would
soon come to their aid, they threw themselves in a body on the Christians.
But in a hand-to-hand conflict like this, the knights of the Hospital were
irresistible. Protected by their armour and long shields from the blows of
their enemies' scimitars and daggers, their long, cross handled swords
fell with irresistible force on turbaned head and coat-of-mail, and,
maintaining regular order and advancing like a wall of steel along the
deck, they drove the Moslems before them, and the combat would soon have
terminated had not a shout been raised by one of the overseers of the
slaves. One of the other ships had rowed alongside the galley, and the
crew were already leaping on board it. At the same moment another ship
came up alongside that they had boarded, while the fourth was maneuvering
to bring up under her stern.

“Sir John Boswell,” Sir Louis shouted, “do you and your countrymen, with
the knights of Spain, finish with these miscreants; knights of Germany and
Provence keep back the boarders; knights of Auvergne follow me,” and he
leapt down into the galley.

The English and Spanish knights redoubled their exertions. The Moslems
endeavoured to rally, seeing that help was at hand, and that but a small
body were now opposed to them, but their numbers availed little. The ten
knights kept their line, and, hewing their way forward, pressed them so
hotly that the Turks broke and sprang over the bulwarks into the sea. Then
the knights looked round. A fierce fight was going on between those of
Germany and Provence and the enemy, who strove desperately to board from
the ship alongside. The other vessel was now almost touching the stern,
and her crew were swarming to her side in readiness to leap on board as
soon as the vessels touched.

“We will keep them at bay there,” Sir John Boswell shouted. “Do you, Don
Pedro, and your comrades, aid Ricord. When his foes are finished with, you
can come back to help us.”

Then, with the four English knights, he ran along the deck, and reached
the stern just in time to hurl backwards the Moslems, who had already
obtained a footing. For a time the five knights kept back the surging mass
of their foes. The deck was wide enough for each to have fair play for his
sword, and in vain the pirates strove to obtain a footing.

At last Sir Marmaduke Lumley fell, severely wounded by an arrow from a
Moslem marksman, and before the others could close the gap a score of
pirates leapt on to the deck.

“Fall back, comrades, fall back; but keep together!” Sir John Boswell
shouted, as he cleft the skull of one of the pirate officers who sprang at
him. “Sir Louis will soon finish his work, and be here to our aid. Ah!” he
exclaimed, looking over his shoulder, as he retired a step, “Provence and
Germany are overmatched too.”

This was indeed the case. Stoutly as they fought the knights were unable
to guard the whole of the line of bulwark, and the Moslems had already
obtained a footing on the deck. The discipline of the knights stood them
in good stead. Drawing closely together as they retreated, they made a
stand on the opposite side of the deck, and were here joined by Sir John
Boswell and his companions. They now formed a semicircle, each flank
resting on the bulwark, and the pirates in vain endeavoured to break their
line. Again and again they flung themselves upon the knights, only to be
beaten off with heavy loss. At length a loud cheer arose from the galley,
and Sir Louis Ricord, with the knights of Auvergne and Spain having
cleared the galley of their foes, and carried the pirate that had grappled
with her, sprang on to the deck of the ship, and fell upon the throng that
were attacking the knights there, oblivious of what was going on
elsewhere. At once the English knights and their comrades took the
offensive, and fell upon their assailants who, at the sight of the
reinforcement, for a moment stood irresolute. For a short time there was a
fierce struggle; then the pirates sprang back to their two ships, and
endeavoured to cast off the grapnels. But the knights followed hotly upon
them, and, panic stricken now, the pirates sprang overboard. Many were
drowned, but the greater part managed to swim to shore.

CHAPTER V SCOURGES OF THE SEA

Breathless and faint from their tremendous exertions, the knights removed
their helmets.

“By St. Mary,” Sir Louis said, “this has been as hard a fight as I have
ever been engaged in, and well may we be content with our victory! Well
fought, my brave comrades! Each of these vessels must have carried twice
our number at least, and we have captured four of them; but I fear the
cost has been heavy.”

Seven knights had fallen, struck down by sword, arrow, or thrust of spear.
Of the rest but few had escaped unwounded, for, strong as was their
armour, the keen Damascus blades of the Moslems had in many cases cut
clean through it, and their daggers had found entry at points where the
armour joined; and, now that the fight was over, several of the knights
sank exhausted on the deck from loss of blood.

But the dressing of wounds formed part of a knight of St. John's training.
Those who were unwounded unbuckled the armour and bandaged the wounds.
Others fetched wine and water from the galley. The chains of the galley
slaves were removed, and these were set to clear the decks of the Moslem
corpses. The anchors were dropped, for what little wind there was drifted
them towards the shore. They had learned from a dying pirate that the
vessels were part of the fleet of Hassan Ali, a fact that added to the
satisfaction felt by the knights at their capture, as this man was one of
the most dreaded pirates of the Levant. They learnt that he himself had
not been present, the expedition being under the command of one of his
lieutenants, who had fallen in the fight.

“Now, comrades, let us in the first place take food; we have not broken
our fast this morning. Then let us consider what had best be done, for
indeed we have got as much in our hands as we can manage; but let us leave
that till we eat and drink, for we are faint from want of food and from
our exertions. But we shall have to eat what comes to hand, and that
without cooking, for our servants all joined the pirates when they boarded
us, and are either dead or are ashore there.”

A meal was made of bread and fruit, and this with wine sufficed to recruit
their energies.

“It seems to me, comrades,” Sir Louis said, when all had finished, “that
the first thing is to search the holds of these vessels and see what
valuables are stored there. These may be all carried on board one ship,
and the others must be burnt, for it is clear that, as there are four of
them, we cannot take them to Rhodes; and even with one and our galley we
should fare but ill, if we fell in with two or three more of Hassan's
ships.”

“But how about the pirates on shore, Sir Louis?” a knight asked. “There
were very many who could not get off to their ships during the fight, and
scores must have swum ashore. I should say that there must be full two
hundred, and it will be a grievous thing for the islanders if we leave
them there.”

“It is certain,” the commander said, “that we are not strong enough to
attack them, for were we to land, a party would have to be left on board,
or the pirates might elude our search, seize some fishing boats, and
regain possession. Certainly, we are in no position to divide our forces.”

“Methinks,” Sir John Boswell said, “that the best plan would be to send a
boat, manned with ten galley slaves, taking two or three of us to the
rendezvous, to fetch hither the other two galleys. With their aid we might
take all the four ships safe into port, after first clearing the island of
these pirates. It is but forty miles away, and eight hours' rowing would
take us there.”

There was a general murmur of assent, for all wished that the trophies of
their bravery should, if possible, be carried to Rhodes.

“That will certainly be the best plan, Sir John, though it may detain us
here for two or three days, or even more, for it is quite uncertain when
the other two galleys may put in at the rendezvous. Will you yourself
undertake the mission?”

“With pleasure.”

“How many will you take with you?”

“Two will be sufficient, for we shall have no fighting to do, as we shall
have to trust to our speed if we fall in with an enemy. I will take, with
your permission, Sir Ralph Harcourt and Sir Gervaise Tresham, both of whom
have today fought with distinguished bravery. Indeed, I owe my life to
them, for more than once, when I was hotly pressed, they freed me from my
assailants. Truly none bore themselves better in the fray than they did.”

Three or four others joined in hearty commendations of the two young
knights.

“Indeed,” one said, “I was greatly surprised to see how Tresham bore
himself. He is but a lad, with scarce, one would think, strength to hold
his own in such a fray. It chanced that he was next to me in the circle,
and for a time I kept my eye on him, thinking he might require my aid; but
I soon saw that I need not trouble myself on his account, for he wielded
his weapon as doughtily as the best knight of the Order could have done,
and one of the proofs is that, while most of us bear marks of the
conflict, he has escaped without scratch. I trust, Sir Louis, that when
you give an account of the fighting you will specially mention that this,
the youngest knight of the Order, bore himself as stoutly as any of them.
I say this, Sir John, because, not being of your langue, I can speak more
warmly than you can do of his skill and bravery.”

“I thank you, De Boysey,” Sir John Boswell said, “and I am proud that my
young countryman should have so gained your approbation. And now,” he went
on, “while the galley slaves are getting a meal—which they have
right well earned today—I should like to see what there is under the
hatches of these ships, so that I can give our comrades in the other
galleys some idea of the value of this booty we have taken.”

They rose from the table, and, going on board the prizes, lifted the
hatches.

“Beware!” De Boysey exclaimed, looking down into the hold, when the first
hatch was taken off. “There are people below.”

A chorus of cries followed his exclamation.

“They are the voices of women and children,” Sir Louis exclaimed. “They
must be captives.”

This turned out to be so. In the holds of the four ships were found over a
hundred and fifty women and children; these had been brought on board in
the first boat loads by the pirates, and when the Christian galley had
been seen coming round the point, had been thrust below, and the hatches
thrown over them. They had heard the din of battle above, but knew not how
the conflict had terminated, and, being afraid to cry out, had remained
silent until, on the hatch being lifted, they had seen the figures of
Christian knights standing in the bright sunshine. All had come from the
village on the other side of the island. They related how the pirates had
suddenly burst upon them, had slaughtered all the men, set fire to the
village, and had driven them before them across the island to the ships.
The poor creatures were delighted at their escape from slavery, but at the
same time were full of grief at the loss of husbands, fathers, and sons.

Some laughed, others cried; while some thanked God for their rescue others
heaped imprecations upon the authors of their misfortunes.

The knights explained to them that for a short time they must remain on
board, as half the pirates were still on shore, but that aid would soon
arrive that would enable them to clear the island.

Half an hour later Sir John Boswell, with the two young knights, started
in a rowing boat, manned by ten of the galley slaves. The wind had sprung
up since the fight ceased, and as it was nearly astern, they anticipated
that they would make a good passage, and be at the little islet, named as
the place of rendezvous, before nightfall.

Among the many bales of rich merchandise in the hold of the pirate vessels
an abundance of wine had been discovered, and of this a tankard had been
given to each of the slaves, by Sir Louis's orders, as a token of
satisfaction at their work in the morning.

They had gone some two miles when, from one of the inlets in the island
they had left a large fishing boat was seen to issue out.

“By St. George!” Sir John exclaimed, “that boat must be full of pirates.
And if they see us, which they cannot help doing, and take it in their
heads to chase us, we shall have a hard time of it.”

The fishing boat for a few minutes kept along the coast, and then suddenly
her course was altered, and her head directed towards their boat.

“Now stretch to your oars,” Sir John, who spoke some Turkish, said to the
slaves. “Keep ahead of that boat, and I promise you, on my honour as a
Christian knight, that I will myself purchase your freedom as soon as we
get to Rhodes.”

With a shout of delight, the galley slaves bent to their oars, and the
boat flew along at a greatly increased speed.

“There is but small chance of our getting away,” Sir John said quietly.
“At present we must be rowing as fast as they sail; but wind never tires,
while there are limits to the powers of muscle and bone. If those fellows
follow us—and I doubt not that they will, for they must be thirsting
for vengeance—they will overtake us long before we get to the
rendezvous; and even did we reach it, the chances are that we should not
find either of the galleys there. We must hold on as long as we can, and
as a last resource must run ashore. Unfortunately there are no large
islands on our way. Nor have we any hope of assistance from our friends
behind. The inlet looks east, and they will know nothing of our danger;
nor, if they did, could they help us. The galley is short handed now, and
there are the captured ships to look after, and the captives we rescued.
We have only ourselves to depend on.”

At the end of an hour's rowing the boat astern had gained little; but the
exertions of the rowers were telling severely upon them. They were still
doing their best, but their breath came in short gasps, the rowing was
getting short and unsteady, and there was a sensible decrease in the speed
of the boat. Three miles ahead of them was an islet about half a mile in
diameter. In some parts it was covered with foliage, but elsewhere it was
bare rock.

“That must be our goal,” Sir John said. “They will be close to us by the
time we get there.” Then he said to the rowers, “Stop for a minute to get
breath. We will land at that islet ahead, and I shall hold to my promise
if we get there in time. Those of you who like can remain in the boat
until your countrymen come up; those who choose can leave the boat and
hide yourselves as best you may. I leave the choice to yourselves. If we
are overtaken and fall, I cannot keep my promise, and it will be best then
for you to remain in the boat.”

For three or four minutes the slaves bent forward over their oars; but as
soon as Sir John gave the word they straightened themselves up and began
rowing again. The rest had done them good, and they again fell into a
long, steady stroke.

“Shall we buckle on our armour again?” Sir Ralph Harcourt asked; for they
had not put it on when they left the ship, as the heat was very great.

“I think we had better don our mail shirts only. In climbing about that
rock ahead of us, the less weight we carry the better, and with this heat
I would rather fight unprotected than in casque and armour. Besides, there
can be little doubt that, if they come upon us, it will be our last
battle. That craft behind is crowded with men, and, armour or no armour,
it will come to the same in the end. If it were not that we have a mission
to fulfil, and that it is of all things important to send the galleys to
aid our friends, I would say let us choose a spot at the foot of the rocks
there, where they cannot attack us in the rear, and there fight it out as
becomes knights of the Cross; but as it is our duty above all things to
carry this message, we must strive to preserve our lives, and must, if we
can, conceal ourselves from these paynims.”

“What are you going to do?” Sir John asked the slaves, when they were
within a quarter of a mile of the islet. “I should think, after we have
left the boat, it will be best for you to sit quietly on your benches till
our pursuers arrive.”

“They would cut our throats at once, Sir Knight; they will be furious at
our having given them so long a chase. Hassan Ali's men care little whom
they slay, and, irritated by their misfortune, it will be naught to them
whether we are Moslem or Christian. I, for one, shall take to the woods,
and hide.”

There was a chorus of assent among the other rowers.

“I trust that you may escape,” the knight said. “It is for us they will be
hunting, and if they catch and slay us they will not trouble to search the
island further.”

“It seems to me, Sir John,” Gervaise said, “that with the aid of these
good fellows we may yet have a chance of escape.”

“What is your plan, Sir Gervaise?”

“I think, Sir John, that if, when we land, we climb straight up that hill,
in full sight of the shore, the pirates, when they see us, will follow at
once. The slaves should, therefore, be safe for a time if they hide in
that wood to the left of the spot we are making for. Will you tell them to
keep down by the water's edge among the bushes, and that after crossing
that crest, we will try to make a dash round, so as to join them there.
'Tis probable that most of the pirates will start in pursuit of us, and if
we and the slaves make a rush for the shore we may seize our boat, push
off, and capture their craft, if there are but a few left on board, knock
out a plank and scuttle her, and then row away.”

“By St. George, your plan is a good one, Tresham! A right good scheme, and
we will try it.”

He at once translated what Gervaise had said to the rowers, by whom it was
received with short exclamations of approval, for they were too breathless
and exhausted for talk. Already they could hear the yells of the pirates,
who, as the boat ran up on the beach were but a quarter of a mile behind.

“Now, away for that wood!” Sir John cried, as he leapt ashore. “Now,
comrades, for a climb up the hill!”

It was a steep ascent, and more than once one had to be helped up by the
others, and then in turn to assist them to get up beside him. Louder and
louder rose the shouts of the pirates, but the knights did not glance back
until they reached the top of the hill; then they turned and looked round.
A swarm of men were climbing after them, and were already halfway up the
cliff.

“Heave them down!” Sir John exclaimed, pointing to some loose rocks, and
set the example by lifting a great stone and hurling it over the edge.
Harcourt and Gervaise at once did the same, and twenty or thirty rocks
were speedily sent rolling down the steep ascent, and yells, shouts, and
cries were heard below.

“That will check them a bit. Now let us be off,” Sir John Boswell said,
and they at once started. After crossing a hundred yards of bare rock they
stood at the edge of another slope into a deep valley, beyond which rose
the central hill of the island. The valley ran right across, and was
filled with trees extending to the sea at either end. Running rapidly
down, the knights were within the shelter of the wood before the Moslems
had reached the brow behind them. A minute later they heard the shouts of
their enemies. Once in the wood they turned to the left, and in a few
minutes stood on the sea shore. It was a little bay some two hundred yards
across, and at either point the cliffs rose abruptly from the water.

“We shall have to swim round the point,” Sir John said.

“Take off your mail shirts. We will make our way along the rocks as far as
we can, and then drop them into the sea, otherwise they will know that we
have taken to the water.”

They hurried along the rocks, and were able to make their way to within
fifty yards of the point; then, throwing their mail shirts into the sea,
they plunged in. All knew the importance of getting round before any of
the pirates, who would be searching the valley, came down on the shore,
and they swam their hardest until they rounded the corner. The wood rang
with the shouts of their pursuers, but no yell had risen from the water's
edge. A hundred yards farther, and they were able to land, and were in a
short time in the shelter of the trees that fringed the water to the point
where they had left the boat. There was no longer any occasion for speed,
and they made their way through the thick bushes and undergrowth quietly,
until they recovered breath after their exertions. They had gone a few
hundreds yards when from the bushes the slaves suddenly rose up.

“All has gone well,” Sir John said to them in their own language. “The
pirates are searching for us on the other side of the hill. There are not
likely to be many of them left here. We shall soon be in possession of our
boat again.”

Followed by the slaves, they made their way forward until they stood at
the edge of the wood. Five or six pirates were standing on the shore.

“I expect they have been left there,” Harcourt said, “to prevent the
slaves from carrying off the boat. They must have seen them run into the
wood. They won't reckon on our being with them.”

Drawing their swords, the three knights rushed out, followed by the
slaves. They had but a hundred yards to run. The pirates, on seeing them,
raised a yell and drew their scimitars; but the sight of the knights
rushing upon them, when they had expected but a few unarmed rowers, was
too much for their courage, and when their assailants were still fifty
yards away they turned and fled. The fishing craft had been run ashore but
a few yards from their boat.

“Get her afloat, Harcourt, and bring her to the stern of the fisherman.
Now, Tresham, follow me.”

Sir John Boswell climbed up on to the fishing boat, which was a craft of
some fifteen tons burden. She was entirely deserted, but the sail still
hung from the yard, and a fire was burning on a stone hearth, raised on
some logs of wood in the centre of the deck.

“Look for something to stave in a plank, Tresham.”

Gervaise leapt down into the hold. There were some nets and spare sails
lying there, but nothing that would answer the purpose. He examined the
planks. The boat was very strongly and roughly built.

“There is nothing here, Sir John, that will do, and nothing short of a
heavy sledge hammer would suffice to smash one of these planks.”

“There are a lot of them coming down the hill, Tresham. We have not many
minutes to spare, but we must disable the craft. They will soon be after
us again; they have run her hard and fast here, but when they all come
back they will soon get her off. Let us try one of these sweeps.”

He lifted one of the heavy oars, and holding it upright he and Gervaise
together tried to drive the handle through the bottom. Again and again
they raised it and drove it down; but the plank was too strong, and too
securely fastened to the timbers.

“We must give it up,” the knight said, with a sigh. “Fortune has
befriended us so far, Tresham, but she has deserted us at last. Another
three minutes, and we shall have thirty or forty of them upon us.”

At this moment the lad's eye fell upon the fire.

“We shall manage yet,” he exclaimed, and, seizing a blazing brand, he
jumped below and set fire to the sails stowed there; they were as dry as
tinder, and the flame shot up at once.

“That is good, Tresham,” the knight said; “but they will put it out before
it has caught the boat.”

“Not before it has burnt the sails,” Gervaise replied. “Now for this one,”
and he applied the brand to the lower edge of the great sail. Without a
word Sir John seized another brand, and fired the sail on the other side
of the deck. The flames flashed up, and a wild yell of rage and alarm
broke from the pirates, who were now rushing down towards the beach.

“Now to the boat, Tresham; we have no time to lose if we would avoid being
pounded with stones.”

They dropped over the stern into the boat. The galley slaves dipped their
oars into the water, and she shot away just as the foremost of the pirates
reached the edge of the water. A few stones were thrown; but the pirates
were so anxious about the craft, by which alone they could escape from the
island, that the majority at once climbed on board.

At a word from the knight, the slaves stopped rowing a hundred yards from
the shore. The sail was already consumed, and the yard and the upper part
of the mast were in flames. A dense smoke was rising from the hold, and
the pirates were throwing buckets of water down into it. In a few minutes
the smoke decreased.

“I thought that they would be able to put it out; but, as far as we are
concerned, it matters little. They have lost their sails, and as I saw but
four sweeps, we can travel five miles to their one. If we find the galleys
we will look in here on our way back, and if they have not left we will
fire that craft more effectually, and then the pirates will be trapped,
and we can leave them till we have fetched off Sir Louis and his prizes,
and then have a grand hunt here. We took no prisoners before, and a
hundred slaves will be a useful addition to our wall builders. Now,
Tresham, I have to thank you warmly, for Harcourt and I doubly owe our
lives to you. It was thanks to your quickness of wit that we regained our
boat, for I would not have given a ducat for our chances had you not
thought of that scheme. In the second place, we should assuredly have been
overtaken again had it not been for your happy thought of crippling them
by burning their sails. By St. George, Harcourt, this young countryman of
ours is as quick and as ready of wit as he has shown himself a brave and
gallant fighter! We have no lack of sturdy fighters; but the wit to devise
and to seize upon the right thing in the moment of danger is vastly more
rare. As for myself, I have no shame that this lad, who is young enough to
be my son, should have thus, twice in a single hour, pointed out the way
to safety. With sword and battleaxe I can, I trust, hold my own with any
man; but my brain is dull when it comes to hatching schemes. If we live,
we shall see Sir Gervaise one of the most distinguished knights of the
Order.”

“While I feel gratified indeed, as I may well be by your commendation, Sir
John, I must, under your favour, say that you have given me a far greater
degree of credit than is my due. There was the fire, and there was the
sail, and the thought that the one would destroy the other was simply a
natural one, which might have occurred to a child. As to the plan about
the boat, seeing that there was the hill and the wood, it flashed upon me
at once that we might make a circuit and come back to her.”

“Just so, lad; but those thoughts did not flash upon my mind, nor upon
that of Harcourt. It is just because those sort of ideas do flash upon the
minds of some men, and not of others, that the first rise to the rank of
distinguished commanders, while the others remain simple knights who would
play their part in a charge or in the defence of a breach, but would be of
no account as leaders.

“Now row along steadily, men,” he went on, speaking to the slaves. “We are
still in good time, for it was not an hour from the moment we touched the
island to our departure from it, and much of that time we have gained by
the speed with which you rowed before. At any rate, we shall make out the
island before sunset, and whether we arrive there a little sooner or later
matters little. Harcourt, hand me that wineskin and a goblet. A draught
will do us good after our climb and swim, and these good fellows will be
none the worse for a cup also.”

Inspired with the hope of freedom, the slaves rowed steadily, and the sun
had just set when they entered a little inlet in the rocky isle that was
their place of rendezvous.

“Thanks be to the saints!” Sir John exclaimed, as they reached the
entrance. “There is Santoval's galley.”

There was a stir on board the galley as the boat was seen approaching. The
knights had put on their armour, which they had found still lying in the
boat, the pirates, in their haste to pursue, having left her unexamined,
while those who had remained on guard had abstained from touching anything
until the return of their captain and comrades.

“Whence come you, Sir John, and what is the news? No misfortune has
befallen Ricord's galley, I hope?” the Spanish knight in command shouted,
as the boat came near enough for him to recognize the features of its
occupants.

“All is well,” Sir John shouted back; “but we have taken more prizes than
we can manage, though not without hard fighting. Seven knights have
fallen, and at least ten others will not be able to buckle their armour on
again for some time to come, so I have been sent here to beg your
assistance; and it is well that it should be given speedily, for if more
pirate vessels come up before you join, Ricord and his companions will be
in a sorry plight.”

By this time the boat had reached the side of the galley, and as Sir John
and his two companions stepped on board, the knights crowded round to hear
the details of the news. Exclamations of approval and satisfaction arose
when Sir John related the incidents of the fight, and told them that the
four vessels that had fallen into their hands formed part of Hassan Ali's
fleet.

“That is good news indeed, Boswell,” Don Santoval said; “and I would I had
been there to take part in so gallant a fight. It is well you found us
here, for with four prizes on hand, and with half his strength dead or
disabled, Ricord must be in sore need of aid. We will start tomorrow
morning at daybreak. As all the ships were taken, there is little fear of
any of the other pirates hearing news of what has happened.”

“I don't know,” Sir John replied. “There were, as I told you, some two
hundred pirates left on the island. About half those, we know, seized a
fishing boat and escaped, for they chased us, and we have had as narrow an
escape from death as has ever fallen to my lot, though I have been in over
a score of hard fought battles. The rest may well have taken another
fishing boat and made off also, for we saw several craft along the shores
of the island. If so, they may have made for Hassan Ali's rendezvous,
wherever that may be, just as I made here, and by this time some of his
ships may be on the way there.”

“By St. Anthony, this alters the situation gravely!” Don Santoval said.
“Fellow knights, we must lose no time in going to Ricord's assistance. The
slaves have had a long row today, but they must start on another. Let them
have a good meal to strengthen them, and a cup of wine each. Whatever
their scruples at other times, they never refuse wine when there is heavy
work to be done, knowing full well that a draught of it helps them
mightily in their labours. Your men must have rowed well, Sir John, to
have brought you here so quickly?”

“I have promised them their freedom,” Sir John said; “and they shall have
it, even if I have to pay their value into the treasury. As I told you, we
were hotly pursued, for the craft with her sail went faster than we with
our oars; and, knowing the importance of bringing the news here, I
encouraged them by promising them their freedom, should we get away. Not
only did they row right manfully, but they proved faithful in our
extremity, and, when all seemed lost, stuck to us instead of deserting and
joining the pirates.”

“But how did you get away, Sir John, if their craft outsailed you?”

“I owe my life entirely to the quick wit of my young countryman, Sir
Gervaise Tresham here.” And Sir John then related the incidents of their
adventure on the island, his narrative eliciting warm expressions of
approval from the knights.

“Of course, you will go with us, Boswell?” Don Santoval said, when the
master of the slaves announced that these had eaten their meal, and were
ready.

“I must do so,” Sir John replied. “I want you, on your way, to look in at
that island where we had so narrow an escape, and if we find their craft
still there we can destroy it. The place is directly in our course; we
shall, therefore, lose but little time in looking in. Of course, they may
have gone as soon as they got their vessel afloat, but it is hardly
likely. They would have no idea of my returning with a galley so soon, and
will probably set to to make a dozen more oars before they start, for she
had but four on board, which will scarce suffice to send her a mile an
hour through the water. Therefore, I fancy they will not put off until
tomorrow morning. If that is so, and we destroy their craft, they will be
trapped in the islet, and on our return we can capture them all. I think
of leaving Harcourt and Tresham in the boat, in order that when
Piccolomini's galley comes in, they may direct him also to join us.”

“He may be in at any moment; we met him three days since. He had captured
a pirate, and sent her off under charge of ten of his knights. We agreed
to meet him this evening; and as he is not here, he will probably be in
the first thing in the morning.”

Gervaise and Harcourt took their places in the boat again. The galley got
up its anchor and started. Just as she reached the mouth of the inlet
another galley rounded the point and nearly ran into her.

“I am going to Ricord's assistance, Piccolomini,” Don Santoval shouted.

“Is it urgent?” the commander of the galley shouted back. “We have had a
very long row, and can go no farther, unless his strait is a very sore
one.”

“No. Come on in the morning. You will hear all the news from a boat lying
two hundred yards astern. Two young English knights are waiting in her to
give you the news. Ricord has made a fine capture. Row on, men.” And the
galley proceeded on her way, while the newcomer proceeded up the harbour.

Harcourt and Gervaise at once went on board, and the former gave the
Italian commander an account of the battle that had taken place, and the
capture of the four pirate vessels. After the exclamations of satisfaction
by the knights had ceased, he recounted their own adventures, which were
heard with lively interest.

“I hope indeed that Santoval will burn that fishing boat, and that we
shall capture the pirates,” the commander said. “We have need of more
slaves to carry out the works at Rhodes. Now, let us to supper, gentlemen,
and then to sleep. In six hours we will be off again, for if some more of
these villains have escaped and carried the news to Hassan Ali, our swords
may be sorely needed by Ricord and Santoval tomorrow.”

CHAPTER VI KNIGHTED

At three in the morning all on board the galley were astir. A ration of
bread and meat was served out to the slaves, and the boat was soon
afterwards under way. The rowers of the English knight's boat had been
warmly commended by the commander and placed in charge of the overseer,
with instructions that they were to be treated as free men. As soon as the
galley slaves set to work, however, they seated themselves on the benches
and double banked some of the oars, anxious to please the knights. With
the exception of those whose turn it was to be on watch, most of the
knights slept until daybreak.

“At the rate we are rowing, Gervaise,” Harcourt said, as they went up on
to the poop together, “it will not take us very long to join our friends.
We are going through the water at fully six miles an hour; and as we have
already been two hours under way, in another three we shall be there.”

An hour and a half later they passed the island where they had landed. The
two young knights pointed out to the others the valley into which they had
descended, and the point round which they had swum. In a few minutes they
caught sight of the landing place.

“Look, Gervaise, there is something black showing just above the water.”

“I see it. I think it is a line of timbers. There were certainly no rocks
there when we ran ashore.”

“Then Santoval must have found the craft still there and burnt her,” one
of the knights standing by remarked, “and the pirates are caged up. It
will take them some time to make a raft that will carry them to the next
island, and before they can do that we shall be back again. I shall be
sorry if they escape, for they are as ruthless a set of villains as sail
the seas.”

The galley had traversed half the remaining distance when the sound of a
gun was faintly heard. For a moment there was an absolute hush on the
poop; then three or four shots in rapid succession were heard.

“Some more pirate ships must have come up,” the commander exclaimed. Then
he shouted down to the slaves, “Row, men—row for your lives!
Overseer, do not spare your lash if any hang back from their work.”

The galley had been travelling fast before, but her speed greatly
increased as the slaves rowed their hardest. Fast as she was travelling,
the impatience of the knights was extreme. They walked up and down the
deck, making vows of candles that should be burnt at the shrine of St.
John if they arrived in time to take a share in the fight, stopping at
times to listen to the sound of artillery, which was now so frequent as to
show that a severe engagement was being fought. Many of the younger
knights ran down to the waist and double banked the oars, and in a shorter
time than it seemed possible the galley arrived at the mouth of the bay.

A desperate fight was going on. Ricord's ship lay, idle and deserted, at
anchor. Five pirate crafts surrounded Santoval's galley. Two of them were
alongside of her; the others were raking her fore and aft with their shot.
The young knights left the oars, sprang up to the poop and joined in the
shout of encouragement raised by the others, and then, resuming their
helmets and armour, stood ready to leap on board an enemy as soon as they
reached her. Piccolomini directed the helmsman to lay him alongside one of
the ships grappling with Santoval. As they came up, their galley's cannon
poured their fire into her, and a moment later the knights sprang on
board.

In the din of battle their shout had been unheard. The pirates thronging
the other side of their ship were intent only on overcoming the resistance
of the knights, and even the discharge of cannon had not called their
attention to their foe, until the latter, shouting the war cry of the
Order, fell suddenly upon them. A panic at once seized them. Some were cut
down almost unresistingly, but the great majority, running to the bow or
stern, threw themselves overboard and swam to the other ships. The pirate
ship on the other side of Santoval's galley instantly threw off the
grapnels and thrust off from her side, and, immediately hauling in the
sheets of the big sail, began at once to draw away, while her three
consorts made for the mouth of the bay.

“Back to your galley, comrades,” Piccolomini shouted, “or with this brisk
wind they will escape us.”

The knights at once crossed on to their own craft, the oars were got out,
and the chase began. A minute or two later Don Santoval followed them, but
soon gave up, as so large a number of the oars had been broken when the
two pirate ships ran alongside him, that it would have been hopeless to
pursue. The wind was blowing freshly, and was rapidly increasing in
strength, so that, in spite of the efforts of the galley slaves, the
pirates gradually drew away, running straight before the wind, and aiding
the effects of the sails with oars. Seeing the hopelessness of the chase,
Piccolomini abandoned it, after rowing for two miles, and returned to the
island. The other two galleys were lying beside each other, and
Piccolomini had his craft steered alongside them.

“Thanks, Piccolomini, for arriving so opportunely,” Santoval, who was
seated on the deck leaning against the bulwarks, said, as his fellow
commander leapt on board, and came towards him.

“Would that I had arrived sooner, Santoval, for I see that you have been
grievously wounded!”

“Ay. One of the paynims' cannonballs has carried off both my legs below
the knee. The leech has been searing the wounds with a hot iron, and says
that he thinks I shall get over it; but if so I fear that my fighting days
are past, unless, indeed, I fight seated on a chair. However, I ought not
to grumble. I have lost many brave comrades, and others are wounded more
sorely than I am.”

Sir Louis Ricord now joined them. He embraced Piccolomini warmly.

“I never heard a more welcome shout, Piccolomini, than that which you gave
when you fell upon the Moslems, for in truth the issue of the conflict was
doubtful. I was delighted when this morning at daybreak Santoval's galley
rowed in. We had all kept watch during the night, thinking the pirates
might obtain boats and make an attack upon us; and, with but twenty of us
fit to wield a sword, our position would have been a bad one, and at any
rate they might have recaptured the prizes. We agreed that Santoval and
his knights should land at once. This they did. Sir John Boswell had of
course told me how his boat had been chased by a fishing craft, manned by
a large number of the pirates, and that he feared the rest might similarly
have escaped, and might have gone to bring some more of Hassan Ali's ships
upon us.

“As soon as Santoval landed, some of the natives came down and told him
that there was not a pirate remaining there, the rest having started in
another boat a few minutes after the one that had chased Boswell. Santoval
left two of his men with orders to ascend to the highest spot on the
island, and to keep watch, and then brought the rest off to his galley.
Our first step was, of course, to send all the women and children ashore.
Then we consulted as to what had best be done if the pirates should come
back in force. We hoped, at any rate, that this would not happen until you
arrived. We expected that you would be here before noon; but we decided
that, should they get here before you, we from our galley would embark on
Santoval's, as it was better to fight in one strongly manned boat than to
divide our forces.

“It was scarce half an hour after Santoval came down before the men left
on the lookout appeared on the beach. On fetching them off, they told us
that as soon as they reached the top of the hill they saw five vessels
approaching with sails and oars, and that they would be here in half an
hour at the outside. We at once abandoned my galley, brought the rowers
and the wounded here, and prepared for the fight. As you saw, they ran
their two biggest ships alongside us, and for two hours the fight went on.
They were crowded with men, who in vain strove to get a footing on our
decks. Had we only had these two to deal with, we should have had nothing
to fear, heavily manned though they were; but the other three kept sailing
backwards and forwards, discharging their guns into us as they passed,
firing not only shot, but bags of bullets.

“Their gunners were skilful, and, as you see, they have completely riddled
our poop. Twenty knights have been killed, and eleven others are sorely
wounded. Scarce one has escaped unscathed. You may guess, then, how
welcome was your aid, which we had not expected for another three hours.
We were on the point of abandoning the waist and gathering on the poop,
which we could still have defended for a considerable time, when, as if
dropped from the skies, you fell upon the pirates, and turned the tables.
How is it that you were here so early?”

“We started at three o'clock, instead of waiting for daybreak. It seemed,
from the story of the two young knights, that it was possible you might be
attacked early, and, crippled as your command was, and with four prizes on
your hands, I deemed it best to come on as soon as the rowers had had a
few hours' rest.”

“It is well that you did so; it would have been a grievous affair had two
of our galleys been captured by the pirates. It would have been a blow to
the prestige of the Order, and would have brought such strength to Hassan
Ali and other pirate leaders that nothing short of sending out a fleet
would have recovered our ascendancy; and as every ducat we can spare has
to be spent on the fortifications, it would have been a misfortune indeed
had we been obliged to fit out such an expedition at present.”

“Who have fallen, Sir Louis?”

“Five more of the knights of my galley—Pierre des Vignes, Raoul de
Montpelier, Ernest Schmidt, Raymond Garcia, and Albert Schenck. Here is
the list of the knights of Santoval's galley.”

“'Tis a long list, and a sad one,” Piccolomini said, after reading the
names. “With the seven who fell in your first fight, twenty-seven knights
have fallen, all brave comrades. Truly, we can ill spare such a loss. It
is true there are five prizes to show for it, and we have struck Hassan
Ali a blow that will resound through the Levant; but the cost is heavy.”

“It is indeed,” Ricord agreed. “The four vessels are well filled with rich
spoil that the scoundrels had gathered, and I doubt not the one you
captured is equally rich. Still, had they been ten times as valuable, the
booty would be dearly purchased at such a price.”

There was now a consultation among the leaders, and it was agreed that six
knights should be placed in each of the captured ships, with ten of the
galley slaves to work the sails, the others being equally divided between
the three galleys. They were, in the first place, to row to the island
where the pirates were imprisoned, and to slay or capture the whole of
them; afterwards they were to make direct for Rhodes; with so numerous a
fleet there was no fear of their being attacked. The arrangements took but
a short time to complete. An hour later they left the port, the three
galleys rowing ahead, while the five prizes, under easy sail, followed
them.

Sir John Boswell had been wounded, but not so seriously as to altogether
disable him, and he was in command of one of the prizes, having Sir Adam
Tedbond, Harcourt, Gervaise, and a German knight, with him. Sir Marmaduke
Lumley, who, after the first fight was over, was found, to the surprise
and pleasure of his comrades, to be still living, was, with the rest of
the wounded, on board one of the galleys. Two of the pirates had fallen
dead across him, and in the ardour of their attack on the knights, he had
lain there unnoticed until the return of Sir Louis and his comrades had
driven the pirates overboard. The leech was of opinion that he might yet
recover from his wound.

On arriving at the island, sixty of the knights disembarked. The woods
near the shore were first searched, but were found untenanted. They were
about to advance up the hill when a man appeared on the crest above them
waving a white flag. He was told to come down, and on his arrival said
that he was sent by his companions to offer to surrender, on the promise
that their lives should be spared. The knights were well pleased to be
saved the trouble of a long search through the woods, and the messenger
left at once to acquaint the pirates that their terms were accepted. In a
short time some eighty men made their way down the hill. On reaching the
beach they were disarmed, divided equally between the galleys, and
distributed among the rowers, filling up the places of those who had been
killed by the fire of the Moslems, and of the men drafted into the prizes.
They begged for food and water before they began work, and, on being
questioned, admitted that their surrender was due principally to the fact
that they had been unable to find food of any sort on the island, and that
after searching all over it no spring of water could be discovered.

“In that case,” Sir John Boswell said, “I have no doubt they have all
surrendered. I before thought it probable that a good many of them would
have remained hidden, trusting to be able to make a raft after we had
left, and so get away, believing rightly enough that we should be
disinclined to search every foot of the island for them. As it is, I doubt
not, all are here.”

The little fleet anchored that night at the rendezvous, and after two more
days' rowing reached Rhodes, where the appearance of the three galleys,
followed by their five prizes, was greeted with great acclamation. The
news, however, that twenty-seven knights had fallen, and that thirteen or
fourteen others were very gravely wounded, damped the satisfaction that
every one had at first felt. D'Aubusson came down as soon as they reached
the mole, and was greatly affected when he received Ricord's report.

“It is an unfortunate loss indeed, Sir Louis,” he said, “though it may be
that the victory is not too dearly purchased. I do not speak of the
captured ships, nor of the spoil they contain, nor even of the slaves you
have brought us, welcome though all may be, but of the effect that the
defeat and capture of these craft of Hassan Ali's will have. It is plain
that the preparations the sultan is making, and the belief that Rhodes is
doomed, have so encouraged the infidels that they are becoming really
formidable at sea. This blow will show them that the Order has yet power
to sweep the sea of pirates. Since, however, this adventure has taught us
that a single leader like Hassan sails with at least nine ships under his
orders, it is clear that in future our galleys must not adventure singly
among the islands. It was fortunate indeed that first Santoval, and then
Piccolomini, arrived to your assistance. How was it that they happened to
come up so opportunely?”

“Sir John Boswell, with Ralph Harcourt and Gervaise Tresham; went in a
boat to the rendezvous we had arranged, and reached it after an adventure,
which I will leave Sir John to tell himself. I may say that the two young
knights named had in our encounter both obtained very high credit amongst
us all for the valour with which they fought. No one bore himself more
stoutly, and I am glad to take this early opportunity of bringing their
conduct before your notice. As you will learn from Sir John, Gervaise
Tresham afterwards showed a quickness of wit that was the means of saving
the lives of those with him, and I may say also of all with me, for had
they failed to reach the rendezvous we should have fallen easy victims to
the five ships Hassan Ali brought against us.”

Sending for Sir John Boswell, the grand prior heard from him the details
of his adventure in the boat.

“I am right glad to hear you speak so warmly of Tresham, Sir John, for I
regard him as my special protege, and am pleased indeed to find that at
this outset of his career he has proved himself not only a brave knight,
but full of resource, and quick at invention. I think, Sir John, that
these two young knights have shown themselves well worthy of receiving the
honour of secular knighthood.”

“Assuredly they have,” Sir John agreed.

“Then, Sir John, will you bestow it upon them? The Order, as an Order,
does not bestow the honour, but its members do not forfeit their right as
knights to bestow it individually, and none among us are more worthy of
admitting them to your rank than yourself.”

“I would gladly do it, Sir Peter; but the honour would come far better
from yourself, and would not only be more highly prized by them, but would
be of greater value in the eyes of others. I am but a simple knight
commander of the Order, and my name would scarce be known beyond its
ranks. But to be knighted by one whose name is known and honoured
throughout Europe would give them a standing wherever they went, and place
them on a level with the best.”

“If that is your opinion, Boswell, I will myself undertake it, and will do
it at once; it were better done here than at a conclave of the Order—now,
when they are fresh from the battle. Let the knights be summoned from the
other galleys at once.”

In a few minutes the whole of the knights were assembled on the poop of
the galley.

“Friends, and brother knights,” D'Aubusson said. “First, in the name of
the Order, I have to thank you all most heartily for the brave deeds that
you have performed, and for the fresh honour you have won for it. Every
man has, as I learn from the three commanders, borne himself as a true and
valiant knight, ready to give his life in the cause of the Order and of
humanity. Two names have been specially brought before me by commander
Ricord, and by the good knight Sir John Boswell; they are those of two
young companions who, though knights of our Order, have not yet received
secular knighthood, and this, in the opinion of these two knights, they
have right worthily won. Sir Ralph Harcourt and Sir Gervaise Tresham, step
forward.”

The two young knights, colouring with pleasure at this unexpected honour,
removed their helmets, and stood with bowed heads before the grand prior.
D'Aubusson went on, turning to the knights around him, “I am about,
comrades, to undertake the office of knighting them. Sir Louis Ricord and
Sir John Boswell stand as their sponsors. But before I proceed I would ask
you all whether you, too, approve, and hold that Sir Ralph Harcourt and
Sir Gervaise Tresham have proved themselves worthy of the honour of
secular knighthood at my hands?”

There was a general reply in the affirmative, the answer of the survivors
of Ricord's crew being specially emphatic. The grand prior drew his sword,
and the two young knights knelt before him, their sponsors standing beside
them.

“Sir Ralph Harcourt, you have now been four years a knight of this Order,
but hitherto you have had no opportunity of drawing sword against the
infidels. Now that the chance has come, you have proved yourself a true
and valiant brother of the Order, and well worthy of the secular accolade.
It is in that capacity that I now knight you. It is not the grand prior of
Auvergne, but Sir Peter D'Aubusson, of the grand cross of St. Louis, who
now bestows upon you the honour of secular knighthood.” He touched him
lightly with the sword. He then turned to Gervaise.

“You, Sir Gervaise Tresham, are young indeed to receive the honour of
secular knighthood; but valour is of no age, and in the opinion of your
commanders, and in that of your comrades, you have proved yourself worthy
of the honour. You have shown too, that, as Sir John Boswell has related
to me, you are not only brave in action, but able, in the moment of
danger, to plan and to execute. You were, he tells me, the means of saving
his life and that of your comrade, and, by thus enabling him to bear to
the place of rendezvous the news of Sir Louis's danger, were also the
means of saving the lives of Sir Louis and his companions, and of bringing
home in safety the prizes he had taken. With such a beginning it is easy
to foresee that you will win for yourself some day a distinguished
position in the ranks of the Order, and are most worthy of the honour I
now bestow upon you.” And he touched him with his sword.

The two young knights rose to their feet, bowed deeply to D'Aubusson, and
then retired, with their sponsors. They were at once surrounded by the
knights, who shook them by the hand, and warmly congratulated them upon
the honour that had befallen them, receiving equally warm congratulations
on their arrival at the auberge of the langue.

The five prizes turned out, when their cargoes were landed, to be much
more valuable than the cursory examination made by the knights had
warranted them in expecting. They contained, indeed, an accumulation of
the most valuable contents of the prizes taken by the pirates for a long
time previously; and as these desperadoes preyed upon Turkish commerce as
well as Christian, the goods consisted largely of Eastern manufactures of
all kinds. Costly robes, delicate embroidery, superb carpets, shawls,
goldsmiths' work, and no small amount of jewels, were among the spoil
collected, and the bulk of the merchandise captured was, two days later,
despatched in galleys to Genoa and Marseilles, to be sold for the benefit
of the Order.

D'Aubusson without hesitation carried out Sir John Boswell's promise to
the slaves who had rowed his boat. They were not only set at liberty, but
were each presented with a sum of money, and were placed on board a
galley, and landed on the mainland.

The English knights were all proud of the honour that had been won by
their young countrymen, the only exception being Robert Rivers, who was
devoured with jealousy at their advancement. He did not openly display his
feelings, for the reports not only of Sir John Boswell, but of the other
two English knights, were so strong that he dared not express his
discontent. He himself had twice been engaged with pirates, but had gained
no particular credit, and indeed had, in the opinion of his comrades, been
somewhat slack in the fray. He was no favourite in the auberge, though he
spared no pains to ingratiate himself with the senior knights, and had a
short time before been very severely reprimanded by the bailiff for
striking one of the servants.

“I have more than once had to reprove you for your manners to the
servants,” the bailiff said. “You will now be punished by the septaine;
you will fast for seven days, on Wednesday and Friday you will receive
bread and water only, and will be confined to the auberge for that period.
The next time that I have reason to complain of you, I shall bring the
matter before the grand master, and represent to him that it were best to
send you home, since you cannot comport yourself to the servants of the
auberge as befits a knight of the Order. We have always borne the
reputation of being specially kind to our servants, and it is intolerable
that one, who has been but a short time only a professed knight, should
behave with a hauteur and insolence that not even the oldest among us
would permit himself. There is not one of the servants here who was not in
his own country of a rank and station equal, if not superior, to your own;
and though misfortune has fallen upon them, they are to be pitied rather
than condemned for it. In future, you are to give no order whatever to the
servants, nor to address them, save when at meals you require anything. If
you have any complaints to make of their conduct to you, you will make
them to me, and I will inquire into the matter; and if I find they have
failed in their duty they will be punished. I shall keep my eye upon you
in the future. There are other faults that I have observed in you. More
than once I have heard you address Sir Gervaise Tresham in a manner which,
were not duelling forbidden by our rules, might bring about bloodshed; and
from what I have seen when I have been watching the exercises, he is as
much your superior in arms as he is in manner and disposition.”

This reproof had greatly subdued Robert Rivers; and as he felt that any
display of his jealousy of Gervaise would be resented by the other
knights, and might result in serious consequences to himself, he abstained
from any exhibition of it when they returned to the auberge, although he
could not bring himself to join in the congratulations offered to them.
The next day, however, when he was talking to Ralph Harcourt, he remarked,
“From what I hear, Harcourt, D'Aubusson praised young Tresham very highly.
It seems to me that there was nothing at all out of the way in what he
did, and it was very unfair that he should be selected for higher praise
than yourself.”

“It was not unfair at all,” Ralph said warmly, for he was of a generous
nature, and incapable of the base feeling of envy. “Tresham did a great
deal more than I did. When we saw the pirate boat gaining so fast upon us,
it seemed to Sir John Boswell, as well as to myself, that there was scarce
a chance of escape, and that all we could do was to choose a spot on which
to make a stand, and then to sell our lives as dearly as we could. I could
see that Sir John was scanning the hill for a spot where we could best
defend ourselves. As to hiding on so small an island, with a hundred men
eager for our blood searching for us, it was well nigh impossible. It was
Tresham's suggestion alone that saved our lives and enabled us to fetch
succour to Sir Louis. Sir John, who is an old and tried soldier, said that
for quickness and merit of conception, the oldest knight in the Order
could not have done better; and he is not one to praise unduly. I am four
years older than Gervaise Tresham, but I tell you that were he named
tomorrow commander of a galley, I would willingly serve under him.”

“Well, well, you need not be angry, Harcourt, I have nothing to say
against Tresham. No doubt he had a happy thought, which turned out well;
but I cannot see that there was anything wonderful in it, and it seemed to
me unfair that one who is a mere boy should receive higher praise than
yourself, who, as I heard Sir John and Sir Adam Tedbond say last night at
the refectory, bore yourself right gallantly.”

“I did my best,” Ralph said shortly; “but there was small credit in that
when we were fighting for our lives. The most cowardly beast will fight
under such circumstances. When you see a Moslem rushing at you, scimitar
in hand, and know that if you do not cut him down he will cut you down,
you naturally strike as hard and as quickly as you can. You have never
liked Gervaise, Rivers. I am sure I don't know why, but you always speak
in a contemptuous sort of tone about him. True, it does him no harm, but
it certainly does you no good. For what reason should you feel a contempt
for him? Although so much younger, he is a better swordsman and a better
rider than you are. He is liked by every one in the auberge, which is more
than can be said of yourself; he is always good tempered, and is quiet and
unassuming. What on earth do you always set yourself against him for?”

“I do not know that I do set myself against him,” Rivers said sullenly. “I
own to having no great liking for him, which is natural enough, seeing
that his father was a Lancastrian, while we are Yorkists; but it is not
pleasant to see so much made of a boy, merely because D'Aubusson has
favoured him.”

“I am certain,” Harcourt said hotly, “that such an idea has never occurred
to any one but yourself. Sir Peter is a great man and will soon be our
grand master, but at present he is but grand prior of the langue of
Auvergne, and whether he favours Tresham or not is a matter that concerns
none of us. Gervaise is liked by us for his own good qualities. He bears
himself, as a young knight should do, respectfully towards his seniors,
and is ever ready to do a service to any one. No one has ever seen him out
of temper; he is always kind and considerate to the servants, and when in
command of parties of slaves at the public works never says a harsh word
to them, but treats them as if they were human beings, and not brute
beasts. Besides, though he is more skilful than any of us with his sword,
or indeed at any of the military exercises, he is unassuming, and has no
particle of pride or arrogance. It is for all these things that he is
liked, and the friendship of D'Aubusson has naught whatever to do with it.
It is not only D'Aubusson who has prophesied that he will rise to a
distinguished rank in the Order. Boswell and Ricord both said the same,
and I for one thoroughly believe it. Is there one among us under the age
of twenty—and I might go farther—who has already won such
credit for himself? One who when but sixteen can make his mark in an Order
like ours is certain to rise to high office, and you and I may, before
many years are over, be proud to serve under him.”

“That I will never do,” Rivers said fiercely. “I would rather go and bury
myself for life in the smallest commandery in England.”

“That may be,” Harcourt retorted, his temper also roused, “But possibly
you might prefer that to fighting under any other leader.”

“That is a reflection on my courage, Sir Ralph Harcourt, I shall lay this
matter before the bailiff.”

“You can do as you like,” Harcourt said disdainfully, “But I don't think
you will benefit by your pains.”

When his temper cooled down Rivers acknowledged to himself the truth of
what Harcourt said. He was not in the favour of the bailiff, while both
Harcourt and Tresham stood at the present moment high in his estimation.
Any complaint would lead to an inquiry into the matter that had led to the
former's words, and even if Harcourt were reprimanded for using them, he
himself would assuredly not gain in the estimation of the knights.
Harcourt himself thought no more of the matter, though he laughingly told
Gervaise that Rivers was by no means gratified at their both attaining the
honour of secular knighthood, which virtually placed them over his head.

“He is not a nice fellow,” Gervaise said. “But naturally it must be
galling to him, and to a good many others who have not yet had the chance
of distinguishing themselves. I think it is very good of them that they
are all so kind and cordial. Of course it is otherwise with you, who are
as old as most of the other professed knights serving here; but with me it
is quite different, and as Rivers, somehow, has never been very friendly
with me, of course it is doubly galling to him. I hope he will soon get an
opportunity of winning his spurs too.”

“That is just like you, Tresham. If I were in your place, I should have no
good wishes for a fellow who has never lost an opportunity of annoying me,
and that without the smallest cause of offence on my part.”

“I am sure you would not wish him ill, Harcourt. You would make allowance
for him just as I do, and feel that if he had had the same opportunities
he would have obtained the same credit and honours.”

CHAPTER VII A FIRST COMMAND

The first news that the knights heard on their return from their
expedition was that the Grand Master Orsini was seriously ill, and that,
at his advanced age, the doctors feared there was little hope of his
rallying. Gervaise felt a keen regret on hearing that the kind and gentle
old man, who had been for three years his master, was at the point of
death. Nevertheless, it was generally felt among the knights that, in view
of the dangers that threatened Rhodes, it was for the good of the Order
that a strong and capable man, whom all respected, and who possessed their
entire confidence, should at such a time be invested with absolute power.

D'Aubusson had, indeed, for some years been the real head of the
community, but every question had, if only as a matter of form, to be
referred to the grand master, in order to obtain his approval and
signature. In the state of feebleness to which he had for some months past
fallen, much time was frequently lost before he could be made to
understand the questions referred to him. Moreover, orders of D'Aubusson
could be appealed against, his views thwarted, and his authority
questioned; and it was therefore felt that, much as they all respected the
old grand master, it would be an advantage to the Order when the supreme
authority passed into the hands of D'Aubusson.

Four days after the return of the expedition Orsini died. A few hours
later the grand council was convened, and D'Aubusson unanimously elected
grand master of the Order. The ceremony of the funeral of his predecessor
was an imposing one. Every knight of the Order in Rhodes was present,
together with a number of the leading natives of the Island; and although
Gervaise had, since his arrival on the Island, seen many stately
ceremonies, this far surpassed anything he had previously beheld.

Gervaise had, at one of his first interviews with D'Aubusson after his
arrival at the Island, been advised by him to acquire some knowledge of
Turkish.

“There are but few knights of the Order who speak the language,” he said.
“As a rule, while young men are ready to devote any amount of time to
acquiring dexterity in all martial exercises, they will bestow no labour
in obtaining knowledge that may be fully as useful to them as skill in
arms. In our dealings with the Turks, one or other party has to employ an
interpreter, and it is often by no means certain that these men convey the
full meaning of the speeches they translate. Again, we have large numbers
of Turkish slaves, and it is highly to be desired that the knights should
be able to give their orders to these men in their own language. Lastly, a
knight who has been taken prisoner by the Turks—and even the bravest
might meet with such a misfortune—would find it an alleviation of
his lot, and might be able to plan and carry out his escape, did he speak
Turkish well. I should strongly counsel you to acquire a knowledge of the
tongue.”

Gervaise had intended to follow the advice of the grand prior, but the
duties of his office as page, and the time required for his military
exercises and his studies with the chaplain, had rendered it well nigh
impossible, during the first three years, to turn his attention to
learning Turkish. As soon as his pageship was at an end, and he found that
his duties included supervision of Turkish slaves, he felt the want of a
knowledge of the language, and from that time devoted an hour a day to its
study, employing one of the servants of the auberge, who was a man of rank
and education at home, to instruct him.

While he conscientiously spent this amount of time at the work, it was the
most disagreeable portion of this day's labour. The events, however, that
had taken place during the expedition had impressed him greatly with the
utility of a knowledge of Turkish, for had it not been for Sir John
Boswell's possessing some acquaintance with the language, it would have
been impossible to communicate with the rowers of their boat, or to have
arranged the plan by which they had escaped the pirates. He had then and
there determined that as soon as he returned to Rhodes he would take the
matter up in a very different spirit to that in which he before approached
it. He had on the way home spoken to Sir John, who had highly approved of
the determination.

“I myself, when I was a young knight of eighteen, was taken captive,
twenty-six years ago, at the time when the Egyptian fleet appeared before
Rhodes. Our galleys advanced to attack them, but under cover of night they
retired, and proceeding to the mainland took shelter under the guns of a
Turkish fort. We attacked them there; it was a desperate engagement, but
without any decisive advantage on either side. We lost no less than sixty
knights, the Egyptians seven hundred men; and their fleet returned to
Egypt. I and three others who were left wounded on the deck of one of
their ships we had boarded, but failed to capture, were carried to Egypt,
and remained there captive for six months, when we were ransomed by the
Order.

“During that time I learnt enough of their language, which is akin to
Turkish, to be able to make myself understood and to understand what was
said to me. I have kept up that much for intercourse with the slaves and
servants at Rhodes, and have found it very useful. I consider, then, that
you will do well to acquire their tongue; it will be useful not only to
yourself, but to others, and when we get back I will, if you like, ask the
bailiff to free you from all duty in order that you may devote yourself to
it.”

The head of the langue at once granted Sir John's request.

“I would,” he said, “that more of our young knights would give a portion
of their time to study; but most of them look to returning home when their
term of service here has expired. Many think only of amusement, and all
imagine that advancement is best achieved by valour. Tresham has already
distinguished himself very greatly; so much so, that I think it would be
well if he did not go on another expedition for a time, but stayed here
while others have the opportunity of doing the same. Were we to send him
out with the next galleys that start, I should be accused of favouritism,
and the lad, who is now deservedly popular with all, would be regarded
with envy, and possibly even with dislike.

“At the same time, after what he has done I should have difficulty in
refusing, were he to volunteer to sail in the next galley that sets out.
The desire, then, on his part to learn Turkish is in all ways opportune.
It will, too, in the long run be of great advantage to him in the Order,
will give him weight, and bring him into prominence. I do not think there
are six in the Order who can fairly translate a Turkish document; there
are but two who could write a reply in the same language. Inform him,
then, that from the present time he will be excused from all work, except,
of course, to join in ceremonials when all are required to be present; and
if you, Sir John, will pick out from among the servitors here one who is
well instructed and educated, and capable of writing as well as reading
his language, I will similarly relieve him of all other work, and place
him at the disposal of young Tresham. Tell the lad that I hope he will
persevere until he obtains a complete knowledge of the tongue. You can
mention to him what I have said as to my opinion of the advantage the
knowledge of it will be to him in the Order.”

Gervaise accordingly devoted himself to study. His instructor was a Turk
of fine presence. He had been a large landowner in Syria, and held a high
official position in the province, but had been captured in a galley on
his way to Constantinople, whither he was proceeding on an official
mission. He was delighted with his new post. Gervaise, both as the
youngest member of the community, and from the kind manner in which he
always spoke to the servants,—all of whom had acquired some
knowledge of English,—was a general favourite among them, and the
Turk was glad that he was to be thrown with him. Still more he rejoiced at
being appointed his instructor, as it relieved him from all menial work
which, although preferable to that to which the bulk of the slaves were
condemned, yet galled his spirit infinitely.

Now that he had entered upon the work with the approbation of his
superior, and a conviction of its great utility, Gervaise set to work with
the same zeal and ardour which he had exhibited in his military exercises.
During the heat of the day he sat in the shade reading and writing with
his instructor. In the cool of the morning and afternoon he walked with
him on the walls, or in the country beyond them. After sunset he sat with
him in an unfrequented corner of the roof, all the time conversing with
him, either of his own country, or that of his instructor.

At first this was difficult, and he had to eke out the Turkish words he
had acquired with English; but it was not long before there was no
necessity for this. His intercourse for ten or twelve hours a day with
this Turk, and the pains taken by his instructor, caused him to acquire
the language with extreme rapidity. Of course, he had to put up with a
great deal of banter from the younger knights upon his passion for study.
Sometimes they pretended that his mania, as they considered it, arose from
the fact that he was determined to become a renegade, and was fitting
himself for a high position in the Turkish army. At other times they
insisted that his intention was to become a Turkish dervish, or to win a
great Turkish heiress and settle in Syria. But as he always bore their
banter good temperedly, and was ready occasionally to join them in the
sport when assaults-at-arms were carried on, they soon became tired of
making fun of him.

After nine months' constant work, the young knight's studies were abruptly
stopped by the receipt of a letter from the Pasha of Syria, offering a
considerable sum for the ransom of his instructor. The request was at once
acceded to, as it was the policy of the knights to accept ransoms for
their prisoners, both because the sums so gained were useful, and because
they were themselves compelled sometimes to pay ransom for members of the
Order. Suleiman Ali was, it was arranged, to be put on board an Egyptian
craft bound for Acre, a safe conduct having been sent for the vessel and
her crew, and for a knight, who was to receive the ransom from the pasha.

“At any rate, Sir Gervaise,” the Turk said, when the young knight
expressed great regret at his leaving them, “our position as instructor
and pupil would have come to an end shortly. For the last three months
there has been but little teaching between us; we have talked, and that
has been all, save that for a short time each day you read and wrote. But
there has been little to teach. You speak the native language now as
fluently as I do, and would pass anywhere as a Syrian, especially as there
are slight differences of speech in the various provinces. I believe that
in Syria you would not be suspected of being anything but a native, and
assuredly you would be taken for a Syrian elsewhere. You have learnt
enough, and it would be but a waste of time for you, a knight and a
soldier, to spend another day in study.”

On the following day Gervaise was, to his surprise, sent for by the grand
master. Except on the occasion of a few public ceremonies, he had not seen
D'Aubusson since he had been elected to his present high dignity, and the
summons to attend at the palace therefore came unexpectedly.

“We have become quite strangers, Tresham,” the grand master said cordially
when he entered. “I have not forgotten you, and have several times
questioned your bailiff concerning you. He tells me that you have become
quite an anchorite, and that, save at your meals and for an occasional
bout-at-arms, you are seldom to be seen. I was glad to hear of your
devotion to study, and thought it better to leave you undisturbed at it.
Yesterday evening I sent for your instructor. He is a man of influence in
Syria, and I wished to learn how he was affected towards us, now that he
is about to return there. We talked for some time, and I then asked him
what progress you had made, and was surprised and pleased to find that in
his opinion you could pass anywhere as a native, and that you were
perfectly capable of drawing up and writing any document I might desire to
send to the sultan or any of his generals. This is far more than I had
expected, and shows how earnestly you must have worked. Your knowledge may
prove of much assistance to the Order, and believe me, the time you have
spent in acquiring it may prove of much greater advantage to you in your
career than if you had occupied it in performing even the most valiant
deeds, and that at some future time it will ensure your appointment to a
responsible office here. It was partly to assure you of my approbation
that I sent for you, partly to inform you that I have appointed you to
proceed with Suleiman Ali as the knight in charge of the vessel, and to
receive the ransom agreed on, upon your handing him over. The office is an
honourable one and one of trust, and it is the first fruits of the
advantages you will gain by your knowledge of Turkish. No, do not thank
me. I am selecting you because you are better fitted than any knight I can
spare for the mission, and also, I may say, because the choice will be
pleasing to Suleiman Ali, whose goodwill I am desirous of gaining. Before
now Turkish provinces have thrown off their allegiance to the sultan. They
have, I must admit, been usually reconquered, but such might not be always
the case; and if such an event happened in Syria, this man's influence and
goodwill might be of great advantage to us, as it might well suit us to
ally ourselves with Syria against Constantinople. I am glad to say that I
found him at least as well disposed as any man could be who had been some
years in slavery. He admitted that, for a slave, he had been kindly and
gently treated, and added that any unpleasant memories he might have
retained had been obliterated by the nine months of pleasant companionship
spent with you.”

When Gervaise returned to dinner at the auberge, and informed Ralph
Harcourt and the other young knights that he had been appointed to take
charge of the vessel in which Suleiman Ali was to be conveyed to Acre, the
statement was at first received with incredulity. It seemed incredible
that the youngest knight in the langue should be chosen for such a
mission, involving as it did a separate command. Even the older knights,
when the news was passed down the table, were surprised.

“I must say that I am astonished at the grand master's choice. Sir
Gervaise Tresham doubtless distinguished himself greatly some months
since, but from that time he has not been out with the galleys, or,
indeed, done anything that would seem to recommend him for so marked a
favour as a separate command.”

“I don't know, Wingate,” Sir John Boswell said. “It seems to me that when
a young knight of seventeen eschews all pleasure, refrains from
volunteering for service at sea, and spends his whole time in study, he
does distinguish himself, and that very greatly. Of the three or four
hundred young knights here I doubt if one other would have so acted.
Certainly, none to my knowledge have done so. Yet I do not suppose that
D'Aubusson selected him for this duty as a reward for so much self denial
and study, but because by that self denial and study he is more fitted for
it than any of us here, save some three or four knights in the other
langues, all of whom are in too high a position to be employed in so
unimportant a duty. He can speak Turkish—not a few score of words
and sentences such as I can, but, as Suleiman Ali tells me, like a native.
Were one of us chosen for this mission, it would be necessary to send an
interpreter with him; and every one knows how hard it is to do business in
that manner. It seems to me that the grand master has acted wisely in
putting aside all question of seniority, and employing the knight who is
better suited than any other for it.”

“You are right, Boswell,” the bailiff said. “I really have been astonished
at the manner in which Tresham has given himself up to study. It would
have been a natural thing had he, after gaining so much credit, been
anxious and eager to gain more. When you spoke to me about his
determination to learn Turkish, I thought he would speedily tire of it,
and that when the next galley sailed, his name would be among the list of
volunteers for the service. I am sure, comrades, that there are few, if
any, among us who would not infinitely prefer fighting the Moslems to
spending our whole time in learning their language; and I for one consider
the fact that he has for nine months laboured so incessantly and
assiduously that he has come, as Boswell says, to speak it like a native,
is even more to his credit than the deed for which he was knighted.”

This conversation took place at the upper end of the table, and was not
heard at the lower end where the younger knights were seated.

“I am not chosen from favour,” Gervaise said hotly, to one of his
companions who had asserted that this was so. “I am simply chosen because
I can speak Turkish.”

“How much Turkish can you speak?” one of them laughed. Gervaise turned to
the Turkish servant behind them, and said, in his language, “Hassan, Sir
Giles Trevor wishes to know how well I speak Turkish. You have heard me
talking with Suleiman Ali. Will you give him your opinion about it?”

The man turned gravely to Sir Giles Trevor.

“My lord,” he said, in English, “Sir Gervaise Tresham, he speaks Turkish
same as I do. If he dress up in Turk clothes I suppose him Turk, not know
he Christian by his speech.”

Exclamations of surprise broke from the young knights.

“Well, you have earned the appointment, Tresham,” Ralph Harcourt said
heartily. “You always told me when I asked you that you were getting on,
but I had not the least idea that you were getting on like this. And can
you read and write the Turkish language?”

“Well enough for practical purposes, Ralph. At any rate, I wrote a
complimentary letter this morning from the grand master to the governor of
Syria, and the bailiff of Spain, who was, as you know, for ten years a
prisoner among the Turks, read it through at D'Aubusson's request, to see
that there was no error in it, and was good enough to pass it without
alteration.”

“I would give a good deal,” Sir Giles Trevor said, “if I could follow your
example, and shut myself up for nine months with an infidel to study his
language; but I could not do it if my life depended on it. I should throw
myself off the wall at the end of the first fortnight.”

“I don't pretend that I can do what Tresham has done,” Ralph Harcourt
said. “I always hated our lessons with the chaplain, who gave me the
character of having the thickest head of any of his pupils; but I vow”—and
he kissed the handle of his dagger—“I will spend half an hour a day
in trying to learn something of Turkish. Of course, I know that such time
will not be enough to learn a great deal; but if one could get up just
enough to be able to give orders to the slaves, to question the captain of
a vessel one has captured, and to make them understand a little, if by bad
luck one fell into their hands, it would be quite enough for me. I am sure
sometimes one is quite at a loss how to pass the hours when the sun is at
its hottest, and if one tried one ought to be able to pick up a little
without much trouble. Look at the servants; there is not one of them but
speaks a little English. And if an infidel can learn enough English to get
on with, without any regular study, I can't see why we shouldn't be able
to learn enough Turkish in the same way.”

Two or three of the other young knights declared that they too would
devote a short time during the heat of the day to learning Turkish, and
they agreed to begin together forthwith with one of the servants, who
spoke English most fluently. Robert Rivers was not present, for he had
returned to England six months before, to take up his residence at the
House in Clerkenwell, in order that he might bring to bear the interest of
his many powerful friends to secure for him an appointment as commander of
one of the estates of the Order in England. His departure had caused
general satisfaction among the other knights, whom his arrogance and ill
temper had frequently irritated. Gervaise especially was glad at his
leaving the Island, for after he received the honour of knighthood, Rivers
made a point of always addressing him with an affectation of deference and
respect that often tried his temper to the utmost.

“It is well that Rivers has gone,” Ralph said, laughing, “for I don't know
how he would have supported the chagrin your appointment would have given
him. He was devoured with jealousy as it was, but this would have been a
trial beyond bearing.”

“I am heartily glad he has gone,” Gervaise said gravely. “I have put up
with a great deal from him, but I don't think I could have stood much
more. If our vows had not forbidden our fighting I should have called him
to account long ago; but the only thing else to do was for me to lodge a
formal complaint before the bailiff, of his continually offensive bearing
and manner, which I could not bring myself to do, and indeed there was no
special matter that would have seemed to justify me, no single speech that
in itself would warrant such grave action on my part. I used to wish over
and over again that we could but meet in some quiet spot in England, both
unarmed, and could there settle the matter in good English fashion, with
our fists, or even with a couple of quarterstaffs.”

The others laughed.

“That would be a very unknightly form of contest.”

“I care not for that,” Gervaise replied. “It would be a very satisfactory
one anyhow, and quite serious enough for the occasion. His sneers and
petty insults were not sufficient to justify the drawing of blood, and
there has been enough of that shed for the last twenty years in England
without two brother knights betaking themselves to their swords against
each other. But a sound thrashing would have done neither of us harm, and
if it had fallen to his lot to get the largest share of it, it might have
done him some good.”

“He thinks he is sure of an appointment,” one of the others said, “but he
has been so frequently in trouble here that it is likely that the official
report, which is always sent home to the grand prior when the knights
return to England, will be so unfavourable that even the most powerful
influence will fail to obtain him a post. If so, we may have him back here
again, especially if the Turks carry out their threat of assailing us, for
an appeal will be made to all the grand priors for knights to aid in the
defence.”

That evening Gervaise went again to the palace to receive final
instructions.

“The craft in which you are to travel is an Egyptian trader. As at present
war has not been formally declared between us and the sultan, peaceful
traders, as you know, carry on their avocations unmolested either by the
warships of the Turks or by ours; they do not enter our ports without a
special permit, and the crews are never allowed to land, in order that no
detailed account of our fortifications may be taken to the sultan.
Moreover, brawls might arise between them and the native population, or
they might aid slaves to escape. However, you will be altogether safe from
interference from Turkish war vessels, and if overhauled by one of them
the safe conduct will be sufficient to prevent interference with you. But
it is not so with pirates. They will plunder their own countrymen as
readily as they will Christians, and the safe guard of the governor of
Syria will be of no use whatever to you. In this consists the danger of
your mission. I cannot send one of our war galleys on such an errand, and
if there are not enough knights on board to beat off any pirate, the fewer
there are the better. I hear that the craft is a fast sailor, and as the
crew will be as anxious to avoid pirates as you, they will do their best
to escape. I leave it to you to take any route. You can either sail hence
direct for Acre, or you can coast along the shores of Anatolia and Syria,
lying up at night in bays.

“Should you be overtaken I do not think it would be of any use for you to
disguise yourself, for some of the crew would be sure to denounce you.
Should the worst happen, and you are captured by pirates, you will of
course in the first place show them your safe conduct, and if I find that
you do not return I shall send at once to the governor of Syria,
complaining of your capture when furnished with his safeguard, and
requesting him to order a search for you to be made at every port on the
coast, with instructions that you are to be at once released, and either
sent to him for return hither, or placed on board a craft bound for any
Christian port; while you, on your part, will endeavour to acquaint the
Turkish authorities with the fact that you have been seized while
travelling with a safe conduct from the governor of Syria.

“But, more than from any efforts on your part or mine, I rely upon
Suleiman Ali, who will, I am sure, as soon as he is set on shore, lose no
time in acquainting the pasha of your capture, and in calling upon him to
interfere in your favour. In that case, the worst that could befall you
would be a temporary detention, unless, indeed, the pirates should take
you to Egypt. As that country is friendly with us at present, since Egypt
dreads the ever increasing power of the Turks, it will be but a question
of ransom, for I have secret agents there who will inform me without delay
of the arrival of a Christian captive.”

“I understand, sir, and will do my best in the matter. If I am captured I
trust that an opportunity of escape will soon present itself, for I
should, if taken, conceal from my captors the fact that I understand their
language, and should thus, if I could evade my guard, have every chance of
escaping, as in a native dress I could meet and converse with those
hunting for me, without their having a suspicion of my being the white
slave for whom they were in search.”

“Once at Acre you will be safe. But do not land unless it is absolutely
necessary, for you might fall a victim to the fanaticism of its
inhabitants, and no knight has ever set foot on shore there since the ill
fated day when the Moslems wrested it from us, bathed the ruined walls
with the best blood of our Order and the Templars', and destroyed the last
hope of our ever recovering the Holy Sepulchre.”

The next morning at daybreak Gervaise and Suleiman Ali went on board the
Egyptian trader, and sailed for Acre. The current of opinion had changed
at the auberge when the knights came to think over the mission on which
Gervaise was about to start, and the slight feeling of jealousy with which
the younger knights had received the news was entirely dissipated. While
it did not seem to them that there was any chance of his distinguishing
himself, they perceived, as they thought it over, the considerable danger
there was of capture by pirates, and Ralph and some of his companions came
down to the mole to see him off, with feelings in which envy bore no part
whatever.

“I see now, Gervaise, that it is truly no holiday excursion on which you
are starting. I should envy you greatly were you going in command of an
armed galley, prepared to beat off any craft that might try to overhaul
you; but, going alone as you are, it is a very different thing. Should
pirates meet you, you could offer no resistance, and your position would
be a perilous one indeed. However, I think you are born to good luck, and
am confident that your patron saint will look after you, and therefore
expect to see you back here in a fortnight's time at the outside.”

“I hope so with all my heart, Ralph. It will be no fault of mine if I
tarry.”

“Will you keep the open sea, or skirt the land, Tresham?” one of the
others asked.

“I shall keep the open sea. The grand master left me to choose my course;
but I think there is more danger by the coast—where pirates may be
hiding in unfrequented bays, in readiness to pounce upon a passing craft—than
in the open sea, where we should have at least the advantage that we could
not be taken by surprise, and might make a race of it. But the sun will be
up in a few minutes, and my orders were to set out at sunrise, so I must
say goodbye at once.”

As soon as the vessel was under way, Gervaise took a seat on the poop by
the side of Suleiman Ali, and related to him the conversation he had had
with the grand master.

“The risk that you will run has not escaped me,” the Turk said, “and
indeed, I now regret that you were chosen as my escort. I almost wish that
my son had not purchased my freedom at the present time, since it involves
the risk of you losing yours. There is no doubt that the sea swarms with
pirates; the sultan is too busy with his own struggles for Empire to
bestow any attention upon so small a matter. The pashas and the officers
of the ports have not the power, even had they the will, to put down
piracy in their districts, and indeed are, as often as not, participators
in the spoils. Your Order, which, years back, scoured the seas so hotly
that piracy well nigh ceased, have now for forty years been obliged to
turn their attention chiefly to their own defence. They possess a
comparatively small fleet of galleys, and their wealth is expended on
their fortress.

“What with Egypt and the sultan their hands are too full for them to act
as the police of the sea, and the consequence is that from every port,
bay, and inlet, pirate craft set out—some mere rowboats, some, like
those under the command of Hassan Ali, veritable fleets. Thus the humblest
coasters and the largest merchant craft go alike in fear of them, and I
would that the sultan and Egypt and your Order would for two or three
years put aside their differences, and confine their efforts to sweeping
the seas of these pests, to storming their strongholds, and to inflicting
such punishment upon them as that, for a very long time to come, peaceful
merchants might carry on their trade without fear.

“I heard you tell the captain that he was to steer straight for Acre, and
I think you are right in avoiding the coast, where the most harmless
looking fishing boat may carry a crowd of pirates hidden in her hold. At
the same time, if you will take my advice you will head much more to the
south, so as to be out of the regular track of ships making from
Constantinople or the islands to Acre. You may meet pirates anywhere, but
they are assuredly thicker along the more frequented routes. The safest
plan of all would probably be to bear south, and strike the Egyptian coast
well to the east of the mouth of the Nile. Thence, till you get to
Palestine, the country is utterly barren and uninhabited, while, running
up the coast to Palestine, there are, save at Jaffa, no ports to speak of
until you arrive at Acre; and besides, the inhabitants there, even if
pirates, would not venture to disregard the pasha's safe conduct. I do not
by any means say that such a course would be absolutely safe. You may meet
with vessels on your way south, and doubtless some of them cruise off the
barren coast I speak of, to intercept traders to and from Egypt and Acre,
and other Syrian ports; for the trade carried on is considerable, and,
although of the same religion, the Turks are disposed to view the
Egyptians as enemies rather than as friends, and would have even less
hesitation in plundering them than in robbing their own countrymen.”

“I think that your suggestion is a good one, and will follow it, at any
rate. The course is a good deal longer, but that is comparatively of
little moment. The great thing is to carry you safely to Acre.”

“And to get back with equal safety,” Suleiman said, with a smile.

“That is quite as important in my eyes; in fact, of the two, I would far
rather that we were captured on our voyage thither, for in that case I
might be able to arrange for the ransom of both of us.”

CHAPTER VIII AN EVENING AT RHODES

Suleiman Ali's advice was carried out. It added considerably to the length
of the voyage; but they saw only one doubtful craft. She was lying close
inshore under the shadow of the sand hills, and they did not see her until
she hoisted her sails and shot out from the land. They were, however,
three miles distant from the land at the time, and the wind was blowing
from the north; consequently the pirate was dead to leeward. Every sail
was set at once on board the trader, and, being a fast sailor, she
maintained her position until nightfall. The wind then dropped, and just
as the light faded they could see that the vessel behind them had put out
her sweeps. The trader kept up her sails until certain that she could be
no longer seen; then the canvas was lowered, and the crew took to the
boats and towed her due north.

The night was fortunately a dark one, and those watching anxiously from
the deck of the trader were unable to discern her pursuer as she passed
behind them. As soon as they were well assured that she must have gone on,
the boats were got in, the sails hoisted again, and, taking advantage of
every light flaw of wind, they proceeded on their course. In the morning
the sails of the galley could be seen on the horizon, but the distance was
too great for her to take up the pursuit again with any chance of success,
and the trader continued her course to Acre without seeing more of her.

As soon as the trader entered the port, the Egyptian captain went on
shore, taking with him a copy of the safe conduct and the letter from the
grand master to the pasha. Going to the residence of the governor, he
handed these to him, saying that he had on board Aga Suleiman Ali, and a
knight who was charged to deliver him up on payment of the ransom.

“I have been expecting you,” the governor said. “I have received a letter
from the pasha, stating that he had written to the grand master respecting
the ransom of the aga, and sending me the amount which Suleiman's son had
offered. The young man was not of age when his father was captured, but he
is so now, and was therefore able to raise the sum required. I will go
down to the port with you myself, hand over the ransom, and welcome
Suleiman, whom I know well, back from his captivity.”

The transfer was speedily made; a heavy purse was handed to Gervaise, and
Suleiman was a free man.

“Send me word, if you can, when you return to Rhodes,” the latter said, as
he bade farewell to the young knight. “I shall be anxious until I hear.
Fortune was with us as we sailed hither, but it may desert you on your
return. Should aught befall you, tell your captors that if they bring you
to me I will pay any ransom that they could, in fairness, require. Should
they refuse to do this, send, if possible, a messenger to me, and on
receipt of your message I will send a trusty man to purchase your freedom.
You have treated me as a friend and an equal, and a friend I shall always
remain.”

The vessel was to remain four days in port, to discharge her cargo and
take in another, and Suleiman had talked of remaining at Acre until she
sailed, but Gervaise protested strongly against this.

“You have your family, from whom you have been so long separated, awaiting
your return with anxiety, and I pray you to make no stay on my account. I
am well content to remain on board here, and to look at the city which has
so often been the theatre of great deeds—which Richard the Lion
Heart captured, and which so many of the Hospitallers died to defend. I
was charged by the grand master not to land, and indeed I feel myself that
it would be an act of folly to do so. There are doubtless many on shore
who have relatives and friends now working as slaves among us, and some of
these might well seek to avenge them by slaying one of the Order. I feel
your kindness, but it would be a pain to me to know that you were
lingering here on my account, when you must be longing to embrace your
children.”

The four days passed rapidly. Gervaise had, at the suggestion of the
governor, laid aside the mantle and insignia of the Order.

“If you do not do so,” he said, “I must place a strong guard of soldiers
on board, in order to ensure that the pasha's safeguard is not violated.
Sailors are a turbulent race, and were you recognised here they might make
a tumult, and slay you before a word of what was going on reached me. In
any case I shall place two soldiers on board until you leave the port.”

On the morning of the fifth day the sails were got up, and the vessel
sailed out from the port. Fortune again favoured them, and they reached
Rhodes without any adventure. Gervaise went at once to the palace, and
handed over the purse of gold to the treasurer. He then sent up his name
to the grand master, and was immediately conducted to his room.

“I am glad to see you back, Tresham. I have been uneasy about you. Have
you fulfilled your mission without adventure?”

“Without any adventure, sir, save that we were once chased by a pirate on
our way east, but escaped in the darkness. Save for that, the voyage has
been wholly uneventful. I have received the ransom, and handed the purse
to your treasurer.”

“I am glad that your first command has turned out so well. I will see that
you do not lack employment; and the fact that you are able to act as
interpreter will ensure you a welcome on any galley. At present, however,
it is not my intention to send out many cruisers. Every life now is
precious, and no amount of spoil that can be brought in will counter
balance the loss of those who fall. However, I may find some mission on
which you can be employed. I know that you love an active life; and as,
for nine months, you have put a rein on your inclinations, and have
devoted yourself wholly to study, so that you might be of greater use to
the Order, you have a good right to any employment in which your knowledge
can be utilised.”

On his arrival at the auberge, Gervaise was very heartily greeted by the
younger knights.

“I told you you were born lucky, Gervaise,” Ralph Harcourt said. “There
has been more than one wager made that you would be captured; but I, for
my part, was confident that your good fortune would not desert you. Still,
though not surprised, we are delighted to see you again. Now tell us about
your voyage.”

Gervaise gave a brief account of the adventure with the pirate, and then
described the visit of the governor to the ship.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He was courteous and solemn; just the sort of man you would fancy a
Turkish governor should be. He looked a little surprised when I accosted
him in Turkish, but asked no questions at the time, though I daresay he
inquired afterwards of Suleiman how I came to speak the language. The only
time he actually said anything was when he requested that I would not wear
the mantle of the Order while in port, as sailors were a turbulent race,
and it might lead to an attack upon me; and as he was responsible to the
pasha that his safe conduct should be respected, it would be necessary, if
I declined to follow his advice, to keep a strong body of soldiers on
board. As this would have been a horrible nuisance, especially as I wanted
to enjoy in quiet the view of the city, with its castle and walls, I
acceded at once to his request, which seemed to me a reasonable one. He
did send two soldiers on board, but they remained down in the waist, and
did not interfere with my pleasure in any way.”

“Next to Jerusalem, how I should like to see Acre!” Ralph Harcourt
exclaimed. “It is, of all other cities, the most closely connected with
our Order. We helped to win it, and we were the last to defend it. We have
heard so much about the fortress, and it has been so often described to
me, that I know the situation of every bastion—at least, as it was
when we left it, though I know not what changes the Turks may since have
made.”

“That I know not, Ralph. Of course, I only saw the seafront, and it was
upon the land side that the attack was made. We know that the breaches
were all repaired long ago, and it is said that the place is stronger than
ever. From the port all was solid and massive. It is indeed a grand and
stately fortress. Here we have done all that was possible to make Rhodes
impregnable, but nature did nothing for us; there nature has done
everything, and the castle looks as if it could defy the assaults of an
army, however large. And indeed, it was not wrested from us by force. The
knights, when the city walls were stormed and the town filled with their
foes fought their way down to the water's edge and embarked there, for
they were reduced to a mere handful; and however strong a castle may be,
it needs hands to defend it. Still, it well nigh moved me to tears to see
the Turkish banner waving over it, and to think how many tens of thousands
of Christian soldiers had died in the effort to retain the holy places,
and had died in vain.”

“I wonder whether the Turks will ever be forced to relinquish their hold
of the holy places?”

“Who can tell, Sir Giles?” the bailiff, who had come up to the group
unobserved, said quietly. “Certainly not in our time—not until the
Moslem power, which threatens not only us, but all Europe, has crumbled to
dust. So long as Acre remains in their power there is no hope. I say not
but that by a mighty effort of all Christendom, Palestine might be wrested
from the infidels, as it was wrested before; but the past shows us that
while men or nations can be stirred to enthusiasm for a time, the fire
does not last long, and once again the faithful few would be overwhelmed
by the odds that would be brought against them, while Europe looked on
impassive, if not indifferent. No, knights; the utmost that can be hoped
for, is that the tide of Moslem invasion westward may be stayed. At
present we are the bulwark, and as long as the standard of our Order waves
over Rhodes so long is Europe safe by sea. But I foresee that this cannot
last: the strongest defences, the stoutest hearts, and the bravest of
hearts, cannot in the long run prevail against overpowering numbers. As at
Acre, we may repel assault after assault, we may cause army after army to
betake themselves again to their ships; but, as a rock is overwhelmed by
the rising tide, so must Rhodes succumb at last, if left by Europe to bear
alone the brunt of Moslem invasion. All that men can do we shall do. As
long as it is possible to resist, we shall resist. When further resistance
becomes impossible, we shall, I trust, act as we did before.

“We were driven from Palestine, only to fortify ourselves at Rhodes. If we
are driven from Rhodes, we shall, I feel assured, find a home elsewhere,
and again commence our labours. The nearer we are to Europe the more hope
there is that Christendom will aid us, for they will more generally
understand that our defeat would mean the laying open of the shores of the
Mediterranean, from Turkey to Gibraltar, to the invasion of the Moslems.
However, comrades, this is all in the future. Our share is but in the
present, and I trust the flag of the Order will float over Rhodes as long,
at least, as the lifetime of the youngest of us, and that we may bequeath
the duty of upholding the Cross untarnished to those who come after us;
and we can then leave the issue in God's hands.”

All listened respectfully to the words of their leader, although his
opinion fell like cold water upon the fiery zeal and high hopes of his
hearers. The possibility of their losing Rhodes had never once entered
into the minds of the majority of them. It was likely that ere long they
might be called upon to stand a siege, but, acquainted as they were with
the strength of the place—its deep and seemingly impassable moat,
its massive walls, and protecting towers and bastions—it had seemed
to them that Rhodes was capable of withstanding all assaults, however
numerous the foe, however oft repeated the invasion. The bailiff was, as
all knew, a man of dauntless courage, of wide experience and great
judgment, and that he should believe that Rhodes would, although not in
their time, inevitably fall, brought home to them for the first time the
fact that their fortress was but an outpost of Europe, and one placed so
distant from it that Christendom, in the hour of peril, might be unable to
furnish them with aid. As the bailiff walked away, there was silence for a
short time, and then Sir Giles Trevor said cheerfully, “Well, if it lasts
our time we need not trouble our heads as to what will take place
afterwards. As the bailiff says, our duty is with the present, and as we
all mean to drive the Turks back when they come, I do not see that there
is any occasion for us to take it to heart, even if it be fated that the
Moslems shall one day walk over our tombs. If Christendom chooses to be
supine, let Christendom suffer, say I. At any rate, I am not going to weep
for what may take place after I am turned into dust.”

“That sounds all very well, Sir Giles,” Ralph Harcourt said, “and I have
no argument to advance against it, though I am sure there is much to be
said; but if the bailiff, or the chaplain, or indeed any of the elders,
had heard you say so, I have no doubt you would have had a fitting reply.”

Sir Giles tossed his head mockingly. “I shall fight neither better nor
worse, friend Harcourt, because it may be that someday the Moslems are, as
the bailiff seems to think, destined to lord it here. I have only promised
and vowed to do my best against the Moslems, and that vow only holds good
as long as I am in the flesh; beyond that I have no concern. But what are
we staying here for, wasting our time? It is the hour for those of us who
are going, to be starting for the ball given by Signor Succhi; as he is
one of the richest merchants in the town, it will be a gay one, and there
is no lack of fair faces in Rhodes. It is a grievous pity that our elders
all set their will against even the younger members of the community
joining in a dance. It was not one of the things I swore to give up.
However, here in Rhodes there is no flying in the face of rules.”

Three or four of the other young knights were also going.

“What are you thinking of doing, Gervaise?” Harcourt asked.

“I have nothing particular to do, Ralph, except that, first of all, I must
write a letter to Suleiman Ali and hand it to the bailiff, praying him to
send it off by the first vessel that may put in here on her way to Acre.
If I do not do it now it may be neglected, and I promised to write
directly I got here. I will not be half an hour, and after that I shall be
ready to do anything you like.”

In less than that time, indeed, he rejoined Ralph. “Now what shall we do
with ourselves? What do you say to a stroll through the streets? I am
never tired of that.”

“I like better to go by way of the roofs, Gervaise. The streets are badly
lit, and although they are busy enough in some quarters, they are so
narrow that one gets jostled and pushed. On the terraces everything is
quiet. You have plenty of light and music, and it is pleasant to see
families sitting together and enjoying themselves; and if one is disposed
for a cup of wine or of cool sherbet, they are delighted to give it, for
they all are pleased when one of us joins a group. I have quite a number
of acquaintances I have made in this way while you have been working away
at your Turkish.”

“Very well,” Gervaise said. “If such is your fancy, Ralph, let us take one
of the paths across the roofs. I might walk there twenty years by myself
without making an acquaintance, and I do not pledge myself to join in
these intimacies of yours. However, I shall be quite content to amuse
myself by looking on at the scene in general, while you are paying your
visits and drinking your sherbet.”

“There are plenty of fair girls among the Rhodians,” Ralph said, with a
smile; “and though we are pledged to celibacy we are in no way bound to
abstain from admiration.”

Gervaise laughed.

“Admire as much as you like, Ralph, but do not expect me to do so. I have
scarcely as much as spoken to a woman since I entered the House in London,
and I should have no idea what to say to a young girl.”

“But it is part of the education of a true knight to be courteous to
women. It is one of the great duties of chivalry. And you must remember
that we are secular knights, as well knights of the Order.”

“The work of the Order is quite sufficient for me at present, Ralph. In
time I may come to like the society of women, to admire their beauty, and
possibly even to wear the colour of some one, for that seems to be the
fashion; though why we, who are bound to celibacy, should admire one woman
more than another I cannot understand.”

They had by this time descended from the castle, and were taking their way
along one of the broad paths that led over the flat roofs of the houses by
means of the bridges thrown across the streets.

“These are some acquaintances of mine,” Ralph said, stopping at one of the
walls, some three feet high, that bordered the path.

Beyond was an enclosure of some fifty feet square. Clumps of shrubs and
flowers, surrounded by stonework some eight or ten inches high enclosing
the earth in which they grew, were scattered here and there. Lamps were
hung to cords stretched above it, while others were arranged among the
flowers. In the centre a large carpet was spread, and on this some eight
or ten persons were seated on cushions. A girl was playing a lute, and
another singing to her accompaniment. She stopped abruptly when her eye
fell upon the figures of the two young knights.

“There is Sir Ralph Harcourt, father!” she exclaimed in Italian, which was
the language most used on the Island, and spoken with more or less fluency
by all the knights, among whom it served as a general medium of
communication. “Are you waiting to be invited in, Sir Knight?” she went on
saucily. “I thought that by this time you would know you were welcome.”

“Your tongue runs too fast, child,” her father said, as he rose and walked
across to Ralph. “You are welcome, Sir Ralph, very welcome. I pray you
enter and join us.”

“I will do so with pleasure, Signor Vrados, if you will also extend your
hospitality to my friend Sir Gervaise Tresham.”

“Most gladly,” the merchant said. “I pray him to enter.”

The two knights passed through the gate in the wall. All rose to their
feet as they went up to the carpet, and greeted Ralph with a warmth which
showed that he was a favourite. He introduced Gervaise to them.

“I wonder that I do not know your face, Sir Knight,” the merchant's wife
said. “I thought I knew all the knights of the Order by sight, from seeing
them either at the public ceremonies, or observing them pass in the
streets.”

“For the last nine months Sir Gervaise has been an anchorite. He has been
learning Turkish, and has so devoted himself to the study that even I have
scarce caught sight of him, save at meals. As for walking in the streets,
it is the last thing he would think of doing. I consider myself a good and
conscientious young knight, but I am as nothing in that respect to my
friend. I used to look upon him as my little brother, for we were at the
House of the Order in London together. He is four years younger than I am,
and you know four years between boys makes an immense difference. Now the
tables are turned, and I quite look up to him.”

“You will believe as much as you like, Signora, of what Sir Ralph says,”
Gervaise laughed. “As you have, he says, known him for some time, you must
by this time have learnt that his word is not to be taken literally.”

“We learned that quite early in our acquaintance,” the girl who had first
noticed them said, with an affectation of gravity. “I always tell him that
I cannot believe anything he says, and I am grateful to you, Sir Knight,
for having thus borne evidence to the quickness of my perception.”

By this time the servants had brought some more cushions, and on these
Ralph and Gervaise seated themselves. Wine, sherbet, and cakes, were then
handed round. The master of the house placed Gervaise on his right hand,
as a stranger.

“You have been among our islands, Sir Gervaise? But indeed, I need not ask
that, since I know that you and Sir Ralph were knighted together for your
valour in that affair with the ships of Hassan Ali. We come from Lesbos.
It is now eighty years since my family settled in Rhodes, and we have seen
it grow from a small place to a great fortress.”

“'Tis a wonderful place,” Gervaise said. “I know nothing of the fortresses
of Europe, but it seems to me that no other can well be stronger than this—that
is, among places with no natural advantages.”

“The knights have always had an abundance of slaves,” the merchant said;
“so many that they have not only had sufficient for their work here, but
have been able to sell numbers to European potentates. Yes, Rhodes is
wonderfully strong. That great fosse would seem as if it could defy the
efforts of an army to cross; and yet the past has shown that even the
strongest defences, held with the greatest bravery, can be carried by
generals with immense armies, and careless how they sacrifice them so that
they do but succeed. Look at Acre, for example.”

“I was looking at it five days ago,” Gervaise said, “and thinking that it
was beyond the might of man to take.”

“Do you mean that you were at Acre?” the merchant asked, with surprise.

“Yes. I went there to hand over a captive who had been ransomed. Of course
I had a safe conduct, and I was glad indeed of the opportunity of seeing
so famous a fortress.”

“You were fortunate indeed, Sir Knight, and it was, if you will pardon my
saying so, singular that so young a knight should have been chosen.
Assuredly, even the senior knights of the Order would rejoice at the
opportunity of beholding a fortress so intimately connected with the past
history of the Order.”

“It was due entirely to my being able to speak Turkish,” Gervaise said.
“As my friend Sir Ralph was mentioning, I have been studying hard, and can
now speak the language fluently; and as this was a necessity on such a
mission, and the few knights who can so speak it are all in high office,
and could hardly be asked to undertake so unimportant a service, I was
selected.”

“And you really speak Turkish well? It is an accomplishment that few, save
Greeks subject to Turkey, possess. Do you intend, may I ask, to make
Rhodes your home? I ask because I suppose you would not have taken this
labour had you intended shortly to return to England.”

“Yes; I hope to remain here permanently. I know that the first step
towards promotion here is generally a commandery at home, but I did not
enter the Order with any idea of gaining office or dignity. I desire
simply to be a knight of the Cross, and to spend my life in doing faithful
service to the Order.”

“A worthy ambition indeed, and one that, so far as my experience goes,
very few knights entertain. I see yearly scores of young knights depart,
no small proportion of whom never place foot on Rhodes again, although
doubtless many of them will hasten back again as soon as the danger of an
assault from the Turks becomes imminent. You see, we who dwell here under
the protection of the Order naturally talk over these things among
ourselves; and although, in the matter of fortifications, all will admit
that enormous efforts have been made to render the town secure, it is
clear that in the matter of knights to defend them there is very much left
to be desired. It is all very well to say that the knights from all parts
of Europe would flock hither to defend it; but the journey would be a long
one, and would occupy much time, and they would probably not receive news
that the Turks had sailed until the place was already invested. Then it
would be difficult, if not altogether impossible, for ships with
reinforcements to make their way through the Turkish fleet, and to enter
the port. To man the walls properly would need a force five times as
numerous as that which is now here. I recognise the valour of your
knights; they have accomplished wonders. But even they cannot accomplish
impossibilities. For a time they could hold the walls; but as their number
became reduced by the fire of the Turkish cannon and the battles at the
breaches, they would at last be too weak any longer to repel the
onslaughts of foes with an almost unlimited supply of soldiers.”

“That is true enough,” Gervaise admitted; “and to my mind it is shocking
that four-fifths at least of the Order, pledged to oppose the infidels,
should be occupied with the inglorious work of looking after the manors
and estates of the society throughout Europe, while one-fifth, at most,
are here performing the duties to which all are sworn. Of the revenues of
the estates themselves, a mere fraction finds its way hither. Still, I
trust that the greater part of the knights will hasten here as soon as
danger becomes imminent, without waiting for the news that the Turkish
armament has actually set forth.”

For an hour the two young knights remained on the roof, Gervaise talking
quietly with the merchant, while his companion laughed and chatted with
the ladies and friends of their host. After they had left, with the
promise that it would not be long before they repeated their visit, Ralph
bantered Gervaise on preferring the society of the merchant to that of his
daughters.

“I found him a pleasant and very well informed man, Ralph, and enjoyed my
talk with him just as you enjoyed talking nonsense to his daughters and
listening to their songs. Who was the man sitting next to the eldest
daughter?”

“He doesn't belong to Rhodes, but is a Greek from one of the islands,
though I did not catch from which. I don't know whether he is a relative
of the family, or a business connection of the merchant's, or a stranger
who has brought a letter of introduction to him. Nothing was said on that
head; why do you ask?”

“I don't like the man's face; he is a handsome fellow, but has a crafty
expression. He did not say much, but it seemed to me that at times, when
he appeared to be sitting carelessly sipping his sherbet, he was really
trying to listen to what Vrados was saying to me. He could not do so, for
we were on the other side of the circle, and were speaking in somewhat low
tones, while the rest of you were chatting and laughing.”

“What should he want to listen for, most sapient knight?”

“That I can't tell, Ralph; but I am certain that he was trying to listen.”

“Well, as you were no doubt both talking more sensibly than most of us,”
Ralph laughed, “he certainly showed his discernment.”

“I daresay I am wrong,” Gervaise said quietly; “but you know we have our
spies at Constantinople, and probably the sultan has his spies here; and
the idea occurred to me that perhaps this man might be one of them.”

“Well, I am bound to say, Gervaise,” Ralph said, a little irritably, “I
have never heard so grave an accusation brought on such insufficient
evidence—or rather, as far as I can see, without a shadow of
evidence of any kind. We drop in upon a man who is one of our most
respected merchants, whose family has been established here many years,
whose interests must be the same as those of the Order; and because a
guest of his does not care to take any active part in my joking with the
girls, and because you imagine that there is a cunning expression on his
face, you must straightway take it into your head that he must be a spy.”

“Excuse me, Ralph, I simply said that the idea occurred to me that he
might be a spy, which is a very different thing to my accusing him of
being one. I am ready to admit that the chances are infinitely greater
that he is an honest trader or a relation of the merchant, and that his
presence here is perfectly legitimate and natural, than that he should be
a spy. Still, there is a chance, if it be but one out of a thousand, that
he may be the latter. I don't think that I am at all of a suspicious
nature, but I really should like to learn a little about this man. I do
not mean that I am going to try to do so. It would be an unworthy action
to pry into another's business, when it is no concern of one's own. Still,
I should like to know why he is here.”

Ralph shrugged his shoulders.

“This comes of living the life of a hermit, Gervaise. Other people meet
and talk, and enjoy what society there is in the city, without troubling
their heads for a moment as to where people come from or what their
business is here, still less whether they are spies. Such ideas do not so
much as occur to them, and I must say that I think the sooner you fall
into the ways of other people the better.”

“There is no harm done,” Gervaise said composedly. “I am not thinking of
asking our bailiff to order him to be arrested on suspicion. I only
remarked that I did not like the man's face, nor the way in which, while
he pretended to be thinking of nothing, he was trying to overhear what we
were saying. I am quite willing to admit that I have made a mistake, not
in devoting myself to Turkish, but in going to the merchant's with you
this evening. I have had no experience whatever of what you call society,
and, so far from it giving me pleasure to talk to strangers, especially to
women, it seems to me that such talk is annoying to me, at any rate at
present. When I get to your age, possibly my ideas may change. I don't for
a moment wish to judge you or others; you apparently enjoy it, and it is a
distraction from our serious work. I say simply that it is an amusement
which I do not understand. You must remember that I entered the Order in
consequence of a solemn vow of my dead father, that I regard the
profession we make as a very serious one, and that my present intention is
to devote my life entirely to the Order and to an active fulfilment of its
vows.”

“That is all right, Gervaise,” Ralph said good temperedly. “Only I think
it would be a pity if you were to turn out a fanatic. Jerusalem and
Palestine are lost, and you admit that there is really very little chance
of our ever regaining them. Our duties, therefore, are changed, and we are
now an army of knights, pledged to war against the infidels, in the same
way as knights and nobles at home are ever ready to engage in a war with
France. The vow of poverty is long since obsolete. Many of our chief
officials are men of great wealth, and indeed, a grand master, or the
bailiff of a langue, is expected to spend, and does spend, a sum vastly
exceeding his allowance from the Order. The great body of knights are
equally lax as to some of their other vows, and carry this to a length
that, as you know, has caused grave scandal. But I see not that it is in
any way incumbent on us to give up all the pleasures of life. We are a
military Order, and are all ready to fight in defence of Rhodes, as in
bygone days we were ready to fight in defence of the Holy Sepulchre. Kings
and great nobles have endowed us with a large number of estates, in order
to maintain us as an army against Islam; and as such we do our duty. But
to affect asceticism is out of date and ridiculous.”

“I have certainly no wish to be an ascetic, Ralph. I should have no
objection to hold estates, if I had them to hold. But I think that at
present, with the great danger hanging over us, it would be better if, in
the first place, we were all to spend less time in idleness or amusement,
and to devote all our energies to the cause. I mean not only by fighting
when the time comes for fighting, but by endeavouring in every way to ward
off danger.”

“When I see danger, I will do my best to ward it off, Gervaise; but I
cannot go about with my nose in the air, snuffing danger like a hunting
dog in pursuit of game. At any rate, I will not bother you to accompany me
on my visits in future.”

CHAPTER IX WITH THE GALLEY SLAVES

Gervaise, on consideration, was obliged to own to himself that Ralph was
right in saying that he had no ground whatever for suspicion against the
Greek he had met at Signor Vrados's; and he could see no means of
following the matter up. It would not, he felt, be honourable to go again
to the merchant's house, and to avail himself of his hospitality, while
watching his guest. He determined to dismiss the matter from his mind, and
had, indeed, altogether done so when, a week later, it suddenly recurred
to his memory.

A party of slaves, under the escort of overseers and in charge of a knight
who had been with them at their work on the fortifications, were passing
along the street on their way back to barracks. It was already dusk, and
as Gervaise was going the same way as they were, he stood aside in a
doorway to let them pass. He was on the point of stepping out to follow
them, when he saw a man, who had been standing in the shadow of the wall,
fall in with their ranks, and, as he walked engaged in an earnest
conversation with one of the slaves. He kept beside him for a hundred
yards or so, then passed something into the slave's hand, and turned
abruptly down a side opening. There were but few people about, and in the
growing darkness the action of the man passed unobserved by the overseers.
Gervaise, thinking the occurrence a strange one, turned down the same lane
as the man.

He slackened his pace until the latter was fifty yards ahead, so that he
would not, had he looked round, have been able to perceive that it was a
knight who was behind him. After passing through several streets, the man
turned into a refreshment house. The door stood open, and as the place was
brightly lit up, Gervaise, pausing outside, was able to see what was going
on inside. The man he had followed was on the point of seating himself at
one of the tables, and as he did so Gervaise recognised him as the Greek
he had met at the merchant's house. He at once walked on a short distance,
and then paused to think.

The vague suspicions he had before entertained as to the man now recurred
with double force; he was certainly in communication with one or more of
the slaves, and such communication, so secretly effected, could be for no
good purpose. So far, however, there was nothing he could tax the man
with. He would probably deny altogether that he had spoken to any of the
slaves, and Gervaise could not point out the one he had conversed with. At
any rate, nothing could be done now, and he required time to think what
steps he could take to follow up the matter. He resolved, however, to wait
and follow the Greek when he came out. After a few minutes he again
repassed the door, and saw that the man was engaged in earnest
conversation with another. After considering for a time, Gervaise thought
that it would be best for him to follow this other man when he left, and
ascertain who he was, rather than to keep a watch on the movements of the
Greek, who, as likely as not, would now return to the merchant's.

He walked several times up and down the street, until at last he saw the
two men issue out together. They stopped for a moment outside, and then,
after exchanging a few words, separated, the Greek going in the direction
of the quarter in which lay the house of Vrados, while the other walked
towards Gervaise. The latter passed him carelessly, but when the man had
gone nearly to the end of the street, he turned and followed him. He could
see at once that he was a lay brother of the Order. This class consisted
of men of an inferior social position to the knights; they filled many of
the minor offices, but were not eligible for promotion. Following for ten
minutes, Gervaise saw him approach one of the barracks, or prisons,
occupied by the slaves. He knocked at the door, and, upon its being
opened, at once entered.

The matter had now assumed a much more serious aspect. This young Greek, a
stranger to Rhodes, was in communication not only with some of the slaves,
but with a prison official, and the matter appeared so grave to Gervaise
that, after some deliberation, he thought it was too important for him to
endeavour to follow out alone, and that it was necessary to lay it before
the bailiff. Accordingly, after the evening meal he went up to Sir John
Kendall, and asked if he could confer with him alone on a matter over
which he was somewhat troubled. The bailiff assented at once, and Gervaise
followed him to his private apartment.

“Now, what is this matter, Sir Gervaise?” he asked pleasantly. “Nothing
serious, I trust?”

“I don't know, Sir John. That is a matter for your consideration; but it
seems to me of such importance that it ought to be brought to your
knowledge.”

The face of the bailiff grew more grave, and, seating himself in a chair,
he motioned to Gervaise to do the same.

“Now, let me hear what it is,” he said.

Gervaise told his story simply. A slight smile passed across the bailiff's
face as he mentioned that he had met the Greek on the roof of the house of
Signor Vrados, and had not liked the expression of his face.

“Vrados has some fair daughters, has he not?” he asked.

“Yes, sir; but I know little of them. That is the only visit that I ever
paid there, or, indeed, to the house of any one in the town.”

Sir John's face grew grave again as Gervaise recounted how he had seen the
man enter into communication with a slave; and he frowned heavily when he
heard of his meeting afterwards with one of the prison officers.

“In truth, Sir Gervaise,” he said, after a pause, “this seems to be a
right serious matter, and you have done wisely in informing me of what you
have seen. Assuredly there is mischief of some sort in the wind. The
question is how to get to the bottom of it. Of course, the grand master
might order the arrest of this Greek and of the prison officer, but you
may be sure that neither would commit himself unless torture were applied;
and I, for one, have no belief in what any man says under such
circumstances. The most honest man may own himself a traitor when racked
with torture, and may denounce innocent men. It is at best a clumsy
device. What think you of the matter?”

“I have hardly thought it over yet, Sir John; and certainly no plan has
yet occurred to me.”

“Well, think it over, Sir Gervaise. It is not likely that a few days will
make any difference. But I will take measures to see that this Greek does
not sail away from the Island at present, and will speak to the port
master about it. I will myself give the matter consideration, but as you
have shown yourself so quick witted in following up the matter so far, I
rely upon you more than myself to carry it farther. There may possibly be
some simple explanation of the matter. He may come from an island where
the Turks are masters, and has, perhaps, brought a message from some
relatives of a slave; as to the talk with the prison officer, it may be
wholly innocent. If we should find that it is so we will keep this matter
to ourselves, if possible, or we shall get finely laughed at by our
comrades for having run upon a false scent. If, on the other hand, the
matter should turn out to be serious, you will assuredly get great credit
for having discovered it. Therefore, turn it over in your mind tonight,
and see if you can arrive at some scheme for seeing further into it before
we take any steps.”

In the morning Gervaise again called upon Sir John Kendall.

“Well, Sir Gervaise, I hope that you have hit upon some scheme for getting
to the bottom of this matter. I confess that I myself, though I have had a
sleepless night over it, have not been able to see any method of getting
to the root of the affair, save by the application of torture.”

“I do not know whether the plan I have thought of will commend itself to
your opinion, sir, but I have worked out a scheme which will, I think,
enable us to get to the bottom of the matter. I believe that a galley is
expected back from a cruise today or tomorrow. Now, sir, my idea is that I
should go on board a small craft, under the command of a knight upon whose
discretion and silence you can rely, such as, for example, Sir John
Boswell, and that we should intercept the galley. Before we board her I
should disguise myself as a Turkish slave, and as such Sir John should
hand me over to the officer in command of the galley, giving him a letter
of private instructions from you as to my disposal. If they have other
slaves on board I would ask that I should be kept apart from them, as well
as from the rowers of the galley. On being landed I should be sent to the
prison where I saw the officer enter last night, and the slaves and rowers
should be distributed among the other prisons. Thus, then, the slaves I
should be placed with would only know that I had arrived in the galley
with other slaves captured by it. I have no doubt I should be able to
maintain my assumed character, and should in a short time be taken into
the confidence of the others, and should learn what is going on. It would
be well, of course, that none of the officials of the prison should be
informed as to my true character, for others, besides the one I saw, may
have been bribed to participate in whatever plot is going on.”

“And do you mean to say, Sir Gervaise, that you, a knight of the Order,
are willing to submit to the indignity of being treated as a slave? To
keep up the disguise long enough to be taken into the confidence of the
plotters, you might have to stay there for some time; and if the prison
officials believe you to be but an ordinary slave, you will be put to work
either on the walls or in one of the galleys.”

“I am ready to do anything for the benefit of the Order, and the safety of
Rhodes, that will meet with your approval,” Gervaise replied. “It will no
doubt be unpleasant, but we did not enter the Order to do pleasant things,
but to perform certain duties, and those duties necessarily involve a
certain amount of sacrifice.”

“Do you think you would be able to maintain the character? Because you
must remember that if detected you might be torn in pieces by the slaves,
before the officers could interfere to protect you.”

“I feel sure that I can do so, Sir John.”

“What story would you tell them?”

“I would say that I had come from Syria, and sailed from Acre in a trader,
which is perfectly true, and also that I was taken off the ship I was on
by a galley—which would not be altogether false, as I crossed one as
I landed. I think there would be very little questioning, for I should
pretend to be in a state of sullen despair, and give such short answers to
questions that I should soon be left alone.”

“The scheme is a good one, Sir Gervaise, though full of danger and
difficulty. If you are ready to render this great service to the Order, I
willingly accept the sacrifice you offer to make. I will send one of my
slaves down into the town to buy garments suitable for you, and also
stains for your skin. It will, of course, be necessary for you to shave a
portion of your head in Turkish fashion. I will also see Sir John Boswell,
and ask him to arrange for a craft to be ready to start at noon. The
galley is not expected in until evening, but of course she may arrive at
any moment now. Come here again in an hour's time, and I will have the
clothes ready for you.”

“May I suggest, sir, that they should be those appropriate to a small
merchant? This might seem to account for my not being placed with the
other slaves who may be on board the galley, as it would be supposed that
I was set apart in order that I should be sent to one of the auberges as a
servant; and my afterwards being herded with the others would be explained
by its being found that there was no opening for me in such a capacity. I
should think there would be no difficulty in obtaining such a suit, as
garments of all kinds are brought here in prizes, and are bought up by
some of the Greek merchants, who afterwards find opportunities of
despatching them by craft trading among the islands.”

Just before noon Gervaise walked down to the port with Sir John Boswell, a
servant following with a bundle.

“It seems to me a hare brained scheme, lad,” Sir John, who had just joined
him, said, as they issued from the auberge; “though I own, from what the
bailiff tells me, that there must be some treacherous plot on hand, and
when that is the case it is necessary that it should be probed to the
bottom. But for a knight to go in the disguise of an infidel slave seems
to me to be beyond all bounds.”

“If one is ready to give one's life for the Order, Sir John, surely one
need not mind a few weeks' inconvenience. I shall, at any rate, be no
worse off than you were when serving as a Turkish slave.”

“Well, no, I don't know that you will,” Sir John replied doubtfully. “But
that was from necessity, and not from choice; and it is, moreover, an
accident we are all exposed to.”

“It is surely better to do a thing of one's own free will than because one
is forced to do it, Sir John?”

The knight was silent. He was a stout fighting man, but unused to
argument.

“Well,” he said, after a long pause, “I can only hope that it will turn
out all right, and promise that if you are strangled in prison, I will see
that every slave who had a hand in it shall be strung up. I have told
Kendall frankly that if I were in his place I would not permit you to try
such a venture. However, as I could think of no other plan by which there
would be a chance of getting to the bottom of this matter, my words had no
effect with him. I should not have so much cared if the officers of the
gaol knew who you were; but I can see that if there is treachery at work
this would defeat your object altogether. What do you suppose this rascal
Greek can be intending?”

“That I cannot say, Sir John. He may be trying to get an exact plan of the
fortifications, or he may be arranging some plan of communication by
which, in case of siege, news of our condition and of the state of our
defences may be conveyed to the Turkish commander.”

By this time they had reached the port, and embarked at once on a trading
vessel belonging to one of the merchants, from whom Sir John had readily
obtained her use for a day or two. Her sails were hoisted at once, and she
rowed out from the port. Having proceeded some three or four miles, they
lowered her sails, and lay to in the course a galley making for the port
would take. A sailor was sent up to the masthead to keep a lookout. Late
in the afternoon he called down that he could make out a black speck some
twelve miles away. She carried no sails, and he judged her to be a galley.

“It will be dark before she comes along,” Sir John Boswell said. “You can
hoist your sails, captain, and return to within half a mile of the port,
or she may pass us beyond hailing distance.”

Gervaise at once retired to the cabin that had been set aside for their
use, and proceeded to disguise himself. An hour later Sir John came down.
He looked at Gervaise critically.

“You are all right as far as appearances go. I should take you anywhere
for a young Turk. Your clothes are not too new, and are in accordance with
the tale you are going to tell, which is that you are the son of a Syrian
trader. If, as Suleiman says, you speak Turkish well enough to pose as a
native, I think you ought to be able to pass muster. How long will that
dye last? Because if it begins to fade they will soon suspect you.”

“It will last a fortnight; at least, so Sir John Kendall says. But he has
arranged that if at the end of ten days I have not succeeded in finding
out anything, he will send down to the prison, and under the pretence that
he wants to ask me some questions about what ransom my father would be
likely to pay for me, he will have me up to the auberge, and there I can
dye myself afresh.”

“How are you to communicate with him in case of need?”

“His servant Ahmet, who got the things for me, is to come down every
morning, and to be near the door of the prison at the hour when the slaves
are taken out to work. If I have aught to communicate I am to nod twice,
and Sir John Kendall will send down that evening to fetch me, instead of
waiting until it is time for me to renew my dye.”

“What is going to be said to Harcourt and the others to account for your
absence?”

“The bailiff will merely say that he has suddenly sent me away by ship, on
a private mission. They may wonder, perhaps, but none of them will venture
to ask him its nature.”

“Well, I must say that you seem to have made all your arrangements
carefully, Tresham, and I hope it will turn out well. I was against the
scheme at first, but I own that I do not see now why it should not
succeed; and if there is any plot really on hand, you may be able to get
to the bottom of it.”

It was an hour after darkness had completely fallen when the regular beat
of oars was heard. The ship's boat was already in the water, and Gervaise,
wrapped up in his mantle, followed Sir John out of his cabin and descended
with him into the boat, which was at once rowed towards the approaching
galley. Sir John hailed it as it came along.

“Who is it calls?” a voice said.

“It is I—Sir John Boswell. Pray take me on board, Sir Almeric. It is
a somewhat special matter.”

The order was given, the galley slaves ceased rowing, and the boat ran
alongside. Gervaise unclasped his mantle and gave it to Sir John, and then
followed him on board.

“I congratulate you on your return, and on your good fortune in having, as
your letter stated, made a prosperous voyage,” Sir John said, as he shook
hands with the commander of the galley.

“I would speak a word with you aside,” he added in a low voice.

Sir Almeric moved with him a few paces from the other knights.

“I am sent here by our bailiff, Sir Almeric. I have a Turkish prisoner
here with me who is to be landed with those you have taken. There are
special reasons for this, which I need not now enter into. Will you let
him sit down here by the helm? My instructions are that he is not to
mingle with the other slaves; and as there are reasons why it is wished
that his coming on board in this manner shall not be known to them, I
myself am to take him up to one of the prisons, or at least to hand him
over to the officer sent down from that prison to take up the captives
allotted to it. The matter is of more importance than it seems to be, or,
as you may imagine, I should not be charged to intercept you on such an
errand.”

“Of course, I don't understand anything about it, Sir John, but will do as
you ask me.”

He went to where Gervaise had crouched down by the bulwark, beckoned him
to follow, and, walking aft, motioned to him to sit down there. Then he
returned to Sir John, and joined the other knights, who were all too
anxious to learn the latest news—who had left the island, and who
had come to it since they sailed—to interest themselves in any way
with the figure who had gone aft, supposing him, indeed, to be Sir John's
servant, the lantern suspended over the poop giving too feeble a light for
his costume to be noted.

A quarter of an hour later they anchored in the harbour. Some of the
knights at once went ashore to their respective auberges, but Sir Almeric
and a few others remained on board until relieved of their charge in the
morning, an account being sent on shore of the number of captives that had
been brought in. No thought was given to Gervaise, who slept curled up on
the poop. Sir John Boswell passed the night on board. In the morning an
officer came off with a list of the prisons to which the slaves were to be
sent. Sir John Kendall had seen the officer charged with the distribution,
who had, at his request, not included the prison of St. Pelagius in the
list.

A message, however, had been sent to that prison, as well as to the
others, for an officer to attend at the landing stage. In the morning Sir
John went ashore in one of the boats conveying the slaves, of whom some
forty had been captured. Gervaise followed him into the boat, and took his
seat by the others, who were too dispirited at the fate which had befallen
them to pay any attention to him.

When he landed, Sir John asked which was the officer from St. Pelagius.
One stepped forward.

“This is the only slave for you,” he said, pointing to Gervaise. “He is of
a better class than the rest, and in the future may be he will do for a
servitor at one of the auberges, but none have at present occasion for
one, and so he is to go to you. He says that his father is a merchant, and
will be ready to pay a ransom for him; but they all say that, and we must
not heed it overmuch. As he seems a smart young fellow, it may be that he
will be sent to one of the auberges later on; but at present, at any rate,
you can put him with the rest, and send him out with the gangs.”

“He is a well built young fellow, Sir John,” the officer remarked, “and
should make a good rower in a galley. I will put him in the crew of the
St. Elmo. Follow me,” he said, in Turkish, to Gervaise, and then led the
way up to the prison. On entering he crossed a courtyard to a door which
was standing open. Within was a vaulted room, some forty feet long by
twenty wide; along each side there were rushes strewn thickly.

“The others have just started to their work,” he said, “so that for today
you can sleep.”

After he had left, Gervaise looked with some disgust at the rushes, that
had evidently been for weeks unchanged.

“I would rather have the bare stones, if they were clean,” he muttered to
himself. “However, it can't be helped.”

He presently strolled out into the courtyard, where some other slaves,
disabled by illness or injuries, were seated in the sun. Gervaise walked
across to them, and they looked listlessly up at him as he approached.

“You are a newcomer,” one said, as he came up. “I saw you brought in, but
it didn't need that. By the time you have been here a week or two, your
clothes will be like ours,” and he pointed to his ragged garments. “When
did you arrive? Are there no others coming up here?”

“The galley came in last night,” Gervaise said, “but they did not land us
until this morning. I wish they had killed me rather than that I should
have been brought here to work as a slave.”

“One always thinks so at first,” the man said. “But somehow one clings to
life. We shall die when Allah wills it, and not before.”

“What is the matter with your foot?” Gervaise asked.

“I was with the gang quarrying stones, and a mass of rock fell upon it. I
have been in the infirmary for weeks, and I own that the Christian dogs
treated me well. A slave has his value, you see. I am nearly cured now,
but I shall never walk well again. I expect they will put me in one of
their accursed galleys.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Seven years; it seems a lifetime. However, there is hope yet. They don't
tell us much, but we hear things sometimes, and they say that the sultan
is going to sweep them out of Rhodes as they were swept out of Acre. When
will it be?”

“I know not. I am from Syria, but even there they are making preparations.
The sultan has had troubles in the East, and that has delayed him, but he
will be here before long, and then we shall see. It will be our turn
then.”

“It will, indeed!” one of the others exclaimed. “Oh, to see these dogs
brought down, and suffering as we have suffered, toiling at oars in one of
our galleys, or at the fortifications of one of our castles! It will make
amends for all our suffering. Had you a hard fight with them?”

“No. We were but a small craft, and it was vain to attempt resistance. I
would gladly have fought, but the sailors said it would only throw away
their lives. There was but little on board, and they allowed the vessel to
go free with those of the sailors who were too old to be made useful for
hard work.”

No further questions were asked. The men seemed to have no interest save
in their own misery, and Gervaise soon left them, and, sitting down in a
shady corner, presently dropped off to sleep.

In the evening all came in from their various work. The officer man who
had brought Gervaise in went up to the overseer of the galley slaves and
informed him that he had told off the new slave—pointing to Gervaise—to
his gang.

“He was brought in by the galley that arrived last night,” he said; “he
was the only slave sent up here. I hear that he had been set aside to be
appointed a servitor, but there are no vacancies, so they sent him here
till one should occur; and I was ordered to make him useful in other ways
in the meantime.”

“I am two or three hands short,” the overseer said. “I wish now I had sent
in an application yesterday, for if I had done so, no doubt they would
have sent me some more men. However, this fellow will make up an even
number, and he is strong and active, though at present he looks sulky
enough under his bad fortune.”

A few of the slaves spoke to Gervaise as they were waiting for food to be
brought them, but the majority dropped upon the rushes, too exhausted with
toil and heat to feel an interest in anything. The food consisted of rye
bread, with thin broth, brought in a great iron vessel. Each slave had a
horn, which was used for soup or water, and which, when done with, he had,
by the rule enforced among themselves, to take out to the fountain in the
courtyard and wash, before it was added to the pile in the corner of the
room.

The cool of the evening aided the meal in restoring the energies of the
slaves. Several gathered round Gervaise, and asked questions as to what he
knew of the prospects of an early invasion of Rhodes; but as soon as the
officer left the room, closing and locking the door after him, the slaves
became for the most part silent. A few men sat in groups together, talking
in undertones, but the greater number threw themselves down on the rushes,
either to sleep or to think alone. Gervaise was struck by the manner in
which most of them lay, without making the slightest movement, so long as
there was light to enable him to make out their figures. He himself
addressed two or three of them, as they lay with their eyes wide open,
asking questions with reference to the work; but in no case did he receive
any reply. The men seemed altogether unconscious of being addressed, being
absorbed in the thought of their far distant homes and families which they
might never see again.

Gervaise walked a few times up and down the room, and as he approached a
silence fell each time upon the groups of men talking together. More than
once a figure rose soon afterwards from the ground, and, as he came along
again, asked him a few questions about himself. As soon as it was dark, he
lay down in a vacant space on the rushes. Shortly afterwards talking
ceased altogether, and there was quiet in the vaulted room. With the first
gleam of daylight they were astir, and, when the doors were opened, poured
out into the courtyard, where all had a wash at the fountain. Half an hour
later, a meal, precisely similar to that of the previous evening, was
served out; then the overseers called over the muster roll, the gangs were
made up, and each, under its officer, started for its work.

Gervaise, with the men of his room, proceeded down to the port, and at
once took their seats on the benches of the galley, one foot being chained
to a ring in the deck, the other to that of a companion at the oar. The
slaves were more cheerful now. As there was no work to do at present, they
were allowed to talk, and an occasional laugh was heard, for the sun and
brightness of the day cheered them. Many, after years of captivity, had
grown altogether reckless, and it was among these that there was most
talking; the younger men seemed, for the most part, silent and moody.

“You will get accustomed to it,” the man next to Gervaise said cheeringly.
“When I first came here, it seemed to me that I could not support the life
for a month—that the fate was too dreadful to be borne, and that
death would be most welcome; but, like the rest, I became accustomed to it
in time. After all, the work is no harder than one would do at home. There
is no stint of food, and it is no worse than one would have, were one
labouring in the fields. Were it not for the loss of those we love, it
would be nothing; and in time one gets over even that. I have long ago
told myself that if they are not dead, at least they are dead to me. They
have their livings to get, and cannot be always mourning, and I have tried
to forget them, as they must have forgotten me.”

“Do you work hard?” Gervaise asked.

“No. We who are in the galleys are regarded by the others with envy.
Sometimes—often, indeed—we have naught to do all day. We bask
in the sun, we talk, we sleep, we forget that we are slaves. But,
generally, we go out for an hour or two's exercise; that is well enough,
and keeps us strong and in health. Only when we are away on voyages is the
work hard. Sometimes we row from morning to night; but it is only when
they are in chase of another craft that we have really to exert ourselves
greatly. Then it is terrible. We may be doing our best, our very best, and
yet to the impatient knights it seems that we might do more. Then they
shout to the overseer, and he lays his whip on our backs without mercy.
Then we row until sometimes we drop, senseless, off the benches. But this,
you understand, is not very often; and though the work on a cruise is
long, it is not beyond our strength. Besides, when we are away in the
galley there is always hope. The galley may meet with four or five of our
ships, and be captured, or a storm may arise and dash her upon the shore;
and though many would lose their lives, some might escape, and each man,
in thinking of it, believes that he will be one of the fortunate ones.

“Take my advice: always look cheerful if you can; always put your hand on
the oar when the order is given, and row as if you were glad to be at work
again; and always make a show, as if you were working your hardest. Never
complain when you are struck unjustly, and always speak respectfully to
the overseer. In that way you will find your life much easier than you
would think. You will be chosen for small boat service; and that is a
great thing, as we are not chained in the small boats. Some men are
foolish and obstinate, but, so far from doing any good, this only brings
trouble on themselves; they come in for punishment daily, they are closely
watched, and their lives made hells for them. Even as a help to escape it
pays best to be cheerful and alert. We all think of escape, you know,
though it is seldom indeed that a chance ever comes to any of us. It is
the one thing except death to look forward to, and there is not a man
among us who does not think of it scores of times a day; but, small as the
chance is, it is greatest for those who behave best. For instance, it is
they only who man small boats; and when a small boat rows ashore, it is
always possible that the guard may be careless—that he will keep the
boat at the landing place, instead of pushing off at once into deep water,
as he ought to do—and that in this way a chance will, sooner or
later, come for springing ashore and making a dash for liberty.”

CHAPTER X. A PLOT DISCOVERED.

The conversation between Gervaise and his fellow slave was interrupted by
the arrival at the side of the quay of a party of knights. Silence
instantly fell upon the slaves; all straightened themselves up to the
oars, and prepared for a start. Among the knights who took their places on
the poop Gervaise saw with amusement his friend Ralph. He had no fear of a
recognition, for the darkly stained skin and the black hair had so
completely altered him that when he had looked at himself in a mirror,
after the application of the dye, he was surprised to find that he would
not have known it to be his own face. Ralph was in command of the party,
which consisted of young knights who had but recently arrived at Rhodes;
and as it was the first time he had been appointed as instructor, Gervaise
saw that he was greatly pleased at what he rightly regarded as promotion.

The galley at once pushed off from the wharf, and rowed out of the port.
The work was hard; but as the slaves were not pressed to any extraordinary
exertions, Gervaise did not find it excessive. He congratulated himself,
however, that the stain was, as he had been assured, indelible, save by
time, for after a few minutes' exercise he was bathed in perspiration. As
the galley had been taken out only that instruction might be given to the
young knights, the work was frequently broken.

Sometimes they went ahead at full speed for a few hundred yards, as if to
chase an adversary; then they would swerve aside, the slaves on one side
rowing, while those on the other backed, so as to make a rapid turn. Then
she lay for a minute or two immovable, and then backed water, or turned to
avoid the attack of an imaginary foe. Then for an hour she lay quiet,
while the knights, divesting themselves of their mantles and armour,
worked one of the guns on the poop, aiming at a floating barrel moored for
the purpose a mile out at sea. At eleven o'clock they returned to the
port. Bread and water were served out to the slaves, and they were then
permitted to lie down and sleep, the galley being moored under the shadow
of the wall.

At four o'clock another party of knights came down, and the work was
similar to that which had been performed in the morning. At seven o'clock
the slaves were taken back to their barracks.

“Well, what do you think of your work?” one of the slaves asked Gervaise,
as they ate their evening meal.

“It would not be so bad if it was all like that.”

“No. But I can tell you that when you have to row from sunrise to sunset,
with perhaps but one or two pauses for a few minutes, it is a different
thing altogether, especially if the galley is carrying despatches, and
speed is necessary. Then you get so worn out and exhausted, that you can
scarce move an oar through the water, until you are wakened up by a smart
as if a red hot iron had been laid across your shoulders. It is terrible
work then. The whip cracks every minute across some one's back; you are
blinded by exhaustion and rage, and you feel that you would give the world
if you could but burst your chain, rush on your taskmasters, and strike,
if only one blow, before you are killed.”

“It must be terrible,” Gervaise said. “And do you never get loose, and
fall upon them?”

The man shook his head.

“The chains are too strong, and the watch too vigilant,” he said. “Since I
came here I have heard tales of crews having freed themselves in the
night, and fallen upon the Christians, but for my part I do not believe in
them. I have thought, as I suppose every one of us has thought, how such a
thing could be done; but as far as I know no one has hit on a plan yet.
Now and then men have managed to become possessed of a file, and have, by
long and patient work, sawn through a chain, and have, when a galley has
been lying near our own shore, sprung overboard and escaped; but for every
attempt that succeeds there must be twenty failures, for the chains are
frequently examined, and woe be to the man who is found to have been
tampering with his. But as to a whole gang getting free at once, it is
altogether impossible, unless the key of the pad locks could be stolen
from an overseer, or the man bribed into aiding us.”

“And that, I suppose, is impossible?” Gervaise said.

“Certainly, impossible for us who have no money to bribe them with, but
easy enough if any one outside, with ample means, were to set about it.
These overseers are, many of them, sons of Turkish mothers, and have no
sympathy, save that caused by interest, with one parent more than another.
Of course, they are brought up Christians, and taught to hold Moslems in
abhorrence, but I think many of them, if they had their free choice, would
cross to the mainland. Here they have no chance of ever being aught but
what they are—overseers of slaves, or small prison officials. They
are despised by these haughty knights, and hated by us, while were they to
reach the mainland and adopt their mothers' religion, everything would be
open to them. All followers of the Prophet have an equal chance, and one
may be a soldier today, a bey tomorrow, and a pasha a year hence, if he be
brave, or astute, or capable in any way beyond his fellows. Men like these
warders would be sure to make their way.

“They cannot have gathered much during their service, therefore the offer
of a large sum of money would find plenty among them eager to earn it.
But, you see, they are but the inferiors. On our voyages on board the
galley, the knights inspect our fetters twice a day, and the keys are kept
in the commander's cabin. For an hour or two, when we are not on a long
passage, the padlocks are unfastened, in order that we may jump over and
bathe, and exercise our limbs; but at this time the knights are always on
guard, and as we are without arms we are altogether powerless. It is the
same thing here. The senior warders, who all belong to the Order, although
of an inferior grade, come round, as you have seen, to examine our
fetters, and themselves lock and bar the doors. If one or two of these
could be corrupted, escape would be easy enough.”

“But is it impossible to do this?” Gervaise asked eagerly. “My father has
money, and would I know be ready, if I could communicate with him, to pay
a handsome sum, if sure that it would result in my obtaining my freedom.”

The man nodded significantly.

“There may be other means of doing it,” he said. “Perhaps it will not be
long before you hear of it. You seem a stout fellow, and full of spirit,
but, as yet, anything that may be going on is known but to a few, and will
go no further until the time comes that all may be told. I think not so
badly of men of our faith as to believe that any one would betray the
secret for the sake of obtaining his own freedom and a big reward; but
secrets, when known by many, are apt to leak out. A muttered word or two
in sleep, or the ravings of one down with fever, might afford ground for
suspicion, and torture would soon do the rest. I myself know nothing of
the secret, but I do know that there is something going on which, if
successful, will give us our freedom. I am content to know no more until
the time comes; but there are few, save those engaged in the matter, that
know as much as this, and you can see that it is better it should be so.
Look at that man opposite; he has been here fifteen years; he seldom
speaks; he does his work, but it is as a brute beast—despair has
well nigh turned him into one. Think you that if such a man as that were
to know that there is hope, he would not be so changed that even the
dullest would observe it? I see you are a brisk young fellow, and I say to
you, keep up your courage. The time is nearer than you think when you will
be free from these accursed shackles.”

Each morning, as he went out to work with his gang, Gervaise saw the
servant from the auberge standing near; but he made no sign. He was
satisfied that his suspicions had been justified, and that he was not
leading this life in vain, but he thought it better to wait until the week
passed, and he was taken away to have his colour renewed, than to make a
sign that might possibly rouse the suspicions of his comrades. On the
eighth morning, when the door of the room was unlocked, the overseer said—“Number
36, you will remain here. You are wanted for other work.”

After the gang had left the prison, the overseer returned.

“I am to take you up to the English auberge. The knight who handed you
over to me when you landed, told me that you might be wanted as a
servitor; and as it is he who has sent down, it may be that a vacancy has
occurred. If so, you are in luck, for the servitors have a vastly better
time of it than the galley slaves, and the English auberge has the best
reputation in that respect. Come along with me.”

The English auberge was one of the most handsome of the buildings standing
in the great street of the Knights. Its architecture was Gothic in its
character, and, although the langue was one of the smallest of those
represented at Rhodes, it vied with any of them in the splendour of its
appointments. Sir John Boswell was standing in the interior courtyard.

“Wait here for a few minutes,” he said to the overseer. “The bailiff will
himself question the slave as to his accomplishments; but I fancy he will
not be considered of sufficient age for the post that is vacant. However,
if this should not be so, I shall no doubt find a post to fit him ere
long, for he seems a smart young fellow, and, what is better, a willing
one, and bears himself well under his misfortunes.”

Then he motioned to Gervaise to follow him to the bailiff's apartments.

“Well, Sir Gervaise,” Sir John Kendall exclaimed, as the door closed
behind him, “have you found aught to justify this cruel penance you have
undertaken?”

“As to the penance, Sir John, it has been nothing unsupportable. The
exercise is hard enough, but none too hard for one in good health and
strength, and, save for the filth of the chamber in which we are shut up
at night, and the foul state of the rushes on which we lie, I should have
naught to complain of. No, I have as yet heard nothing of a surety—and
yet enough to show me that my suspicions were justified, and that there is
a plot of some sort on foot,” and he related to the two knights the
conversation he had had with the galley slave.

“By St. George!” the bailiff said, “you have indeed been justified in your
surmises, and I am glad that I attached sufficient importance to your
suspicions to let you undertake this strange enterprise. What think you,
Sir John Boswell?”

“I think with you, that Sir Gervaise has fully justified his insistence in
this matter, which I own I considered to be hare brained folly. What is to
be done next, Sir Gervaise?”

“That is what I have been turning over in my mind. You see, I may have
little warning of what is going to take place. I may not hear of it until
we are locked up for the night and the affair is on the point of taking
place, and it will, of course, be most needful that I shall be able to
communicate with you speedily.”

“That, of course, is of vital importance,” the bailiff said. “But how is
it to be managed?”

“That is what I cannot exactly see, Sir John. An armed guard remains in
our room all night. But, in the first place, he might be himself in the
plot, and if not, the slaves would almost certainly overpower him and kill
him, as a preliminary to the work of knocking off their chains.”

“Is there a window to the room? At least, of course there is a window, but
is it within your reach?”

“There are six small loopholes—one on each side of the door, and two
in each of the side walls; they are but four inches across and three feet
in length, and there are two crossbars to each; they are four feet from
the floor.”

“At any rate, they are large enough for your arm to pass through, Sir
Gervaise, and you might drop a strip of cloth out.”

“Certainly I could, Sir John. I could easily hide a piece of white cotton
a yard or so long in my clothes, scanty as these are, and could certainly
manage, unobserved, to drop it outside the window.”

“Then the rest is for us to contrive, Boswell. We must have some one
posted in the yard of the prison, with instructions to go every ten
minutes throughout the night to see if a strip of white cotton has been
dropped out. When he finds it he must go at once to William Neave, the
governor. He is a sturdy Englishman, and there is no fear of his having
been bribed to turn traitor; but it were well to take no one into our
confidence. I think we cannot do better than employ Ahmet on this
business, as he already knows that Sir Gervaise is masquerading there. We
will have William Neave up here presently. Tell him that for certain
reasons we wish Ahmet to pass the night for the present in the prison, and
arrange with him on what excuse we can best bestow him there without
exciting suspicion. At any rate, Sir Gervaise, that is our affair.”

He went to a closet and took out a white mantle, tore a strip off the
bottom, and gave it to Gervaise.

“It would be best not to keep you here any longer,” he said, “so renew
your stain while I speak. As soon as you learn the details of the plot,
you will drop this out from the loophole on the right hand side of the
door; that is to say, the one on your right, standing inside. If the
affair is not to come off at once, it were best for you to proceed as
before. Ahmet will be outside when you go out with your gang, and on your
nodding to him we will make some excuse to take you away on your return. I
say this because if you see that the affair, whatever it is, is not
imminent, you might think it better to remain with them longer, so as to
learn their plans more fully, instead of having the thing put a stop to at
once.”

“I understand, Sir John; but, as I have said, I do not think we should all
be told until the blow is ready to be struck, as they would be afraid that
some one might inform against them, if time and opportunity were granted
them.”

“I think so too, Sir Gervaise. This afternoon we will call upon the grand
master, for we have no means of knowing how serious or how extended this
plot may be; it may include only the crew of a single galley, and, on the
other hand, the whole of the slaves may be implicated in it. It is
evident, therefore, that the matter is too serious to be kept any longer
from his knowledge.”

Three more days passed. On the third evening, after the allowance of broth
and bread had been consumed, and the door was closed and locked upon them
for the night, three or four of the galley slaves, after talking eagerly
together, beckoned to the others to gather round them at the end of the
room farthest from the door. Two of them took up arms full of the bedding,
and stuffed it into the side windows. Gervaise saw, in the dim light, a
look of intense excitement on the faces of the slaves. It had been vaguely
known among them that a plot was in hand, although but few had been
admitted into the confidence of the leaders. Hitherto all had feared that
it concerned only a small number, but the preparations now made to insure
that they should not be overheard, showed that, whatever the plan might
be, all were to share in it.

“Thanks be to Allah, the All Powerful,” one of the men began, “my lips are
unsealed, and I can tell you the great news that our hour for escape from
bondage is at hand! We need not fear the warder there,” he went on, as
several eyes were turned apprehensively towards the guard, who, with his
spear beside him, was leaning carelessly against the wall at the farther
end, looking through the window into the courtyard; “he is with us. You
must know that for the last two months an agent from Constantinople has
been on the Island, and has been engaged in arranging this affair. Two of
our taskmasters belonging to the Order have been bribed by large sums of
money, and several of the overseers, who are half of our blood, have
eagerly embraced the prospect of returning to their mothers' country, and
of avowing openly their belief in our religion. These, again, have bought
over many of the guards, ours included, and tonight all will be ready for
action. Those not of our party will be killed without ceremony. Duplicate
keys have been made of all the padlocks of the fetters; the guards who are
with us have each one of them, the others will have been slipped into the
hands of one man in each gang as they returned tonight from work. The
overseers who are in the plot will, at midnight, go quietly round and
unlock the doors, and remove the bars from the outside. We have,
therefore, only to overcome the eight or ten men who patrol the prison;
and as we shall have the arms of the guards, some thirty in number, we
shall make quick work of them.

“The two guards at the outside gates must, of course, be killed.
Duplicates of the keys have been made, and will be hidden in a spot known
to some of our party, close to the gate. Thus we have but to issue out and
rush down, in a body, to the port. I and another are to take the arms of
our guard, and two others are told off in each room to do the same. That
will give us sixty armed men. We shall make very short work of the guards
at the gate leading into the port. Then twenty of us are to run along the
mole to Fort St. Nicholas, twenty to the Tower of St. Michael, and twenty
to that of St. John. There will be, at the most, but three or four men
keeping watch at each fort, and thus we shall have in our possession the
three forts commanding the entrance to the harbour. There are, as you
know, six galleys manned by crews from our prison there. The crew of each
galley will embark upon it, and man the oars; the rest will divide
themselves among the galleys. Before starting, we shall seize and set fire
to all other galleys and ships in the port. The gangs in four of the rooms
have been told off specially for this duty. Before firing them, they are
to take out such provisions as they may find, and transport them to the
galleys. We who take the forts are provided with hammers and long nails,
to drive down the vent holes of the cannon; when we have done this, we are
to wait until one of the galleys fetches us off. Ten minutes should be
ample time for all there is to be done, and even if the alarm is given at
once, we shall be away long before the knights can be aroused from sleep,
buckle on their armour, and get down to the port.”

Exclamations of delight and approbation burst from his hearers.

“Then it is only we of this prison who are in the plot?” one said.

“Yes. In the first place, it would have been too dangerous to attempt to
free all. In the second, the galleys would not carry them; we shall be
closely packed as it is, for there are over a thousand here. I hear that
there was a talk of freeing all, and that we, instead of embarking at
first, should make for the other prisons, burst open the doors, and rescue
the others; but by the time we could do so the knights would be all in
arms, and our enterprise would fail altogether, for as but a small
proportion of us can obtain weapons, we could not hope to overcome them.
Were it not for the strong wall that separates their quarter from the
town, we might make straight for their houses and slay them before the
alarm could be given. As it is, that would be impossible, and therefore
the plan will be carried out as I have told you. The loss of all their
galleys and of over one thousand slaves will be a heavy blow for them.
Great pains have been taken to prevent confusion when we reach the port.
The men in each room have been instructed as to the galleys on which they
are to embark. As for you, you know precisely what is to be done; you will
simply take your places, and then wait until all are on board. No galley
is to push out from the wharf until the last man of those employed in
burning the ships has returned, with the provisions found in them. Then
the order will be given by the man who has arranged all this, and the six
galleys will put out together.

“One is to row to each of the forts to carry off the party that will have
been engaged in silencing its cannon. Our galley is to row to St.
Nicholas, and take off the twenty men I shall lead there. There is no
possibility of failure. Everything has, you see, been arranged. One of the
overseers who is in the plot walked by my side as we returned from the
port, and gave me the instructions, and all the others will have been told
in the same way, or else by the guards in charge of them.” The gang now
broke up into little groups, talking excitedly over the unlooked for news,
and exulting over the speedy advent of liberty. Gervaise strolled
carelessly to the window, and dropped out the white strip of stuff. It was
now quite dark, and there was no fear of any one observing the movement.
Then he joined the others. After an hour and a half had passed he heard
footsteps approaching the door. There was a pause; then the outside bars
were taken down, and a key turned in the lock. A deep silence fell on the
slaves. Then a voice called, “Number 36!”

“What is it?” replied Gervaise, without raising himself from his seat on
the bedding. “I have done my share of work today, and earned my night's
sleep.”

“It is a knight from the English auberge; he has come to fetch you. It
seems that you are to go there as a servitor.”

“What a cursed fortune,” Gervaise muttered, in Turkish, “just when a road
to freedom is open! I have a good mind to say I am ill, and cannot go till
the morning.”

“No, no!” one of the others exclaimed. “They would only drag you out, and
when they saw that there was naught the matter with you, would suspect
that there must be some reason why you did not want to go, when, as every
one knows, the position of the servitors is in every way preferable to
ours.”

“Now then, why are you delaying?” a voice said sharply, and a warder
entered with a lighted torch. “Get up, you lazy hound! It will be worse
for you if I have to speak again.”

“I am coming,” Gervaise grumbled. “I was just asleep.”

He rose, as if reluctantly, and went forward. The warder gave him an angry
push, followed him out, and locked and barred the door after him.

“I suppose this is the right man?” Sir John Boswell said.

“This is Number 36, Sir Knight, the same who was taken over to your
auberge the other day,” and he held the light close to Gervaise's face.

“Yes, that is the man. Follow me,” he added, in Turkish. The gate of the
courtyard was unbarred, and they passed out unquestioned. Sir John
strolled on ahead. Gervaise followed him a pace or two behind. Not until
they had passed through the gate of the castle did Sir John turn.

“I have not spoken to you,” he said, “as we may have been watched. Keep
your news until we reach the auberge.”

Upon entering it they went up at once to Sir John Kendall's apartments.

“Well, Sir Gervaise, the strip of cotton was brought to us safely. What is
your news?”

“It is very serious, Sir John, and I have been in terrible anxiety since I
dropped it out, lest it should not come to hand in time. As it is, you
have till midnight to make your preparations.” He then repeated the
statement made by the galley slave.

“By my faith,” Sir John Kendall exclaimed, “this is a pretty plot indeed!
And had it succeeded, as it certainly would have done but for your
vigilance, it would have been a heavy blow to us. The burning of all our
galleys would have crippled us sorely, and the loss of over a thousand
slaves would have been a serious one indeed, when we so urgently require
them for completing our defences. Get rid of those clothes at once, Sir
Gervaise, and don your own. We must go straight to the grand master. You
will find your clothes and armour in the next room. I had them taken there
as soon as your token was brought me.”

In a few minutes Gervaise returned in his usual attire, and with his
armour buckled on. The two knights were already in their coats of mail,
and leaving the auberge they went to the grand master's palace. A servitor
had already been sent to D'Aubusson to inform him that they were coming,
and he advanced to meet them as they entered.

“Welcome, Sir Gervaise!” he said. “Whether your news be good or bad,
whether you have found that it is a general rising of the slaves that is
intended, or a plot by which a handful of slaves may seize a boat and
escape, the gratitude of the Order is no less due to you for the hardships
and humiliations you have undergone on its behalf.”

“It concerns but one prison: that of St. Pelagius.”

“The largest of them,” the grand master put in.

“The whole of the slaves there are to be liberated at twelve o'clock
tonight, are to seize the three water towers and to spike the guns, to
burn all the shipping in the harbour, to make off with six galleys, and
destroy the rest.”

“By St. John!” D'Aubusson exclaimed, “this is indeed a serious matter. But
tell me all about it. There must be treachery indeed at work for such a
scheme to be carried out.”

Gervaise now told him all the details he had learned.

“So two of the Order, though but of the inferior grade, are in the plot?”
the grand master said; “and several of the overseers? One of the villains
is, of course, the man you saw this Greek talking with. We must get hold
of the other if we can. As to the slaves, now that we have warning, there
is an end of the matter, though without such warning they would surely
have succeeded, for the plans are well laid, and they would have been at
sea before we could have gathered in any force at the port. If it were not
that it would cost the lives of many of the warders and of the prison
guards, I should say we ought to take post outside the gate, for we should
then catch the traitors who are to accompany them. As it is, we must be
beforehand with them. A hundred men will be more than ample for our
purpose. Do you take fifty of your knights, Sir John Kendall, and I will
draw fifty of those of Auvergne. At eleven o'clock we will meet at the
gate leading down into the town, and will march to the private entrance of
the governor's house. I will go in first with a few of you, tell him what
we have discovered, and post guards to prevent any one from leaving his
house. Then, having admitted the others, we will go quietly out and place
a party at each door of the overseers' house, with orders to seize any who
may come out. The rest, in small parties, will then go round the prison,
and, entering each room, show the slaves that their plot has been
discovered. This we must do to save the lives of the guards who may be
faithful to their trust. As to the higher officials engaged in the affair,
we must obtain their names from the overseers or slaves. It is not likely
that the two traitors will quit their houses, as they will leave the
matter in the hands of the overseers, who, as you say, intend to first
open the doors, and then to accompany the slaves in their escape. Do not
warn the knights until it is nearly time to start, Sir John. The less stir
made the better, for no one can say whether they may not have suborned
some of the servitors to send instant news of any unusual movements in any
of the auberges.”

At half past ten Sir John Kendall went round among the knights and bade
fifty of them arm themselves quietly, and proceed, one by one, down to the
gate, and there await orders. Up to this time Gervaise had remained in the
bailiff's room, so as to avoid the questioning that would take place, and
he went down to the gate with the bailiff and Sir John Boswell.

The knights assembled rapidly. None were aware of the reason for which
they had been called out at such an hour, and there was a buzz of talk and
conjecture until Sir John Kendall arrived. He was followed by four of the
servants, who at once lighted the torches they carried, when he proceeded
to go through the roll, and found that the muster was complete. Many of
the knights had gazed in some surprise at Gervaise, whose dark complexion
altogether concealed his identity, and it was supposed that he must be
some newly arrived knight, though none had heard that any ship had entered
the harbour that day.

Two or three minutes later fifty knights of the langue of Auvergne came
down, headed by the grand master himself, whose appearance greatly
heightened the surprise of the English knights. The torches were now
extinguished, the gate thrown open, and the party descended into the town.
Gervaise had purposely fallen in by the side of Harcourt.

“You are but newly arrived, Sir Knight?” the latter said, as they moved
off.

“Not so very newly, Ralph,” Gervaise replied.

“What! is it you, Gervaise?” Harcourt exclaimed, with a start of surprise.
“Why, I did not know you, though I looked hard at you in the torch light.
What have you done with yourself? Where have you been? Do you know what
all this is about?”

“I cannot tell you now, Ralph. You must be content to know that I have
been in prison, and working in the galleys.”

“The saints defend us! Why, what on earth had you done to entail such
punishment as that? It is an outrage. The grand master and the council
have the right to expel a knight from the Order after due trial and
investigation, but not to condemn him to such penalties as the galleys. It
is an outrage upon the whole Order, and I would say so to the grand master
himself.”

“There was no outrage in it, Ralph. Wait until you hear the whole story.
That I have not disgraced you, you may judge from the fact that I am in
the armour and mantle of the Order, and that, as you saw, I came down with
Sir John Kendall himself.”

There were no people about in the streets, though the lights still burned
on a few of the roofs. For a short distance the knights marched down
towards the port, and then turned down a street to the right. After a few
minutes' marching they halted under a high wall which all knew to be that
of the prison of St. Pelagius. Six knights were posted at the main
entrance, with orders that none should be allowed to leave the prison, and
that any persons who came up to the gate were to be at once seized and
made prisoners.

The rest marched on to a small door leading into the governor's house.
Here they were halted, and told to wait till called in; six knights of
England, and as many of Auvergne, being told off to accompany the grand
master and Sir John Kendall. A note had been sent to the governor,
informing him that the grand master intended to visit the prison at eleven
o'clock, but that the matter was to be kept an absolute secret; and that
the governor himself was to be down at the gate to admit him.

CHAPTER XI IN COMMAND OF A GALLEY

William Neave, the governor of the prison, looked astonished indeed when,
upon his opening the door, the grand master and the bailiff of the English
langue, with the twelve knights behind them, entered. He had been puzzled
when, four days before, he had received an order from the grand master
that Ahmet, a servitor in the auberge of the English langue, should be
permitted to pass the night in his house, with authority to move freely
and without question, at any hour, in the courtyard of the gaol, and to
depart at any hour, secretly and without observation, by the private gate.
Still more had he been surprised when he received the message that the
grand master would pay him a secret visit at eleven o'clock at night.

“Let no word be spoken until we are in your apartments,” D'Aubusson said
in a low voice, as he entered. “But first lead four of these knights and
post them so that none can enter the gaol from the house. If there are
more than four doors or windows on that side, you must post a larger
number. It is imperative that there shall be no communication whatever
between your servants and the gaol.”

As soon as this was done, the rest of the party were taken to the
governor's rooms.

“I can now explain to you all,” the grand master said, “the reason of our
presence here. I have learned that at twelve tonight there will be a
general rising of the slaves in this prison, and that, aided by treachery,
they will free themselves from their fetters, overpower and slay such of
the guards in their rooms as have not been bribed, throw open the gates,
make their way down to the port, burn all the shipping there, and make off
in the six galleys manned by them, having first overpowered the sentries
in the three forts commanding the entrance, and spiked the guns.”

Exclamations of astonishment burst from the knights, who now, for the
first time, learnt the reason of their being called out. The governor
listened with an expression of stupefaction.

“With all deference to your Highness,” he said hesitatingly, “it seems to
me that some one must have been deceiving you with this tale. It is
altogether incredible that such a plot should have been hatched without a
whisper of the matter coming to my ears. It could only be possible were
there, not one but many, traitors among the officials; if this is so, then
indeed am I a dull ass, and unfit for my duty here, of which I shall pray
you to relieve me, and to order such punishment as the council may deem
just to be allotted to me for having so signally been hoodwinked.”

“My news is sure,” the grand master said; “but I deem not that you are in
any way to blame in the matter. The plot has been matured, not as a
consequence of any laxity of discipline in the prison, but from deliberate
treachery, against which no mortal being can guard. The traitors are two
of the officials who, being members of the Order, none would suspect of
connivance in such a deed. With them are several—I know not how many—under
officials, warders, and guards; all these have been bribed by an emissary
from Constantinople, now in the town, and who is doubtless furnished with
large means. It is well, indeed, for the Order, that this terrible act of
treachery has been discovered in time to prevent the plot from coming to a
head, for the loss of all our galleys, to say nothing of the disgrace of
having been thus bearded by slaves, would be a very heavy blow to it.

“Now that the house is safely guarded, William Neave, you can admit the
rest of the knights, who are waiting outside. Then you will, in the first
place, conduct a party, and post them so that they may arrest, as they
come out to perform their share of the work, all officials, warders, and
guards, of whatever rank. When you have posted knights to carry out this—and
I need not say that the operation must be performed as silently as
possible, for it is above all things necessary that the men concerned
shall have no suspicion that their plot has been discovered—you will
conduct other parties to the various rooms occupied by the slaves. The
guards on duty inside will be made prisoners. The doors will then be
locked and barred as before. The appearance of the knights and the arrest
of the guards will be sufficient to show the slaves that their plot has
been discovered, and there will be no fear of their making any attempt to
carry it into execution. I will myself post the main body of the knights
in the courtyard. The arrest of the guards is to be carried out at once,
as all those not concerned in the plot would be killed when the hour comes
for the rising. Therefore this part of the business must be carried out
immediately. I should not, however, lead the guards away to a cell, for
the less tramping of feet the better. Therefore I shall place two knights
in each room, and beg them to remain inside in charge until the traitors
outside are secured.”

The knights outside were now marched up. The grand master ordered half
those of Auvergne to go round to the main gate, which would be opened for
them by the governor; they were to enter quietly, and remain in a body
close to it until they received further orders. Sir John Kendall told off
the rest of the knights to the various duties of watching the houses
occupied by the officials and warders, and of entering the prison rooms
and remaining in them on guard. The governor, with his private servants,
bearing a supply of torches, was to lead them to the various cells, and
unlock the doors. The knights were enjoined to move as noiselessly as
possible, and to avoid all clashing of arms against armour.

The governor produced a number of cloths intended to be served out to the
slaves. Strips of these were cut off and wrapped round the feet of the
English knights, so as to deaden the sound of their boots on the stone
pavement. Then, accompanied by the grand master and Sir John Kendall, he
went the round of the cells.

In some of these the slaves were found standing up in an attitude of eager
expectation, which, as the door opened, and the light of the torches
showed a party of knights, changed into one of terror and consternation.
Scarce a word was spoken. The guard was ordered to lay down his arms, and
to take one of the torches. Two knights placed themselves, one on each
side of him, with drawn swords. The door was again locked and barred, and
the party proceeded to the next cell. In less than a quarter of an hour
this part of the work was finished, and D'Aubusson, Sir John Kendall, and
the governor, then took up their station with a party of knights who,
concealed behind a buttress, were watching the doors of the officials'
houses.

Ten minutes later one of these doors was heard to open, and five dark
figures came noiselessly out. They were allowed to go a short distance, in
order to see if any others followed; but as no others came out, the
governor stepped forward.

“Whither are you going, at this time of night?” he asked. There was a
momentary pause, a few hasty words were exchanged, then the five men
rushed towards him with bared swords or knives; but before they reached
him the knights poured out from their hiding place.

“We are betrayed,” one of the men shouted in Turkish. “Fight to the last.
Better be killed than tortured and executed.” With a yell of fury and
despair, they rushed upon the knights. So desperate was their attack that
the latter were forced to use their swords, which indeed, burning with
rage at the treachery of these men, they were not backward in doing, and
in less than a minute the five traitors lay, with cloven heads, dead on
the pavement.

“It is as well so,” D'Aubusson said, looking sternly down upon them;
“perhaps better so, since it has saved us the scandal of their trial. We
might have learned more from them, but we have learnt enough, since,
doubtless, they have no accomplices among the warders, or they would have
been with them. Now we will deal with the arch traitors. There is no need
for further concealment; the noise of this fray will assuredly have been
heard by them, for they will be listening for the sounds that would tell
them the slaves had been liberated.”

Followed by the knights, he went to the door of the house occupied by the
overseers, all of whom were members of the lower branch of the Order. It
was indeed evident that an alarm had been given there, for lights appeared
at the windows. As they opened the door and entered the hall, several
half-dressed men rushed down the stairs with drawn swords, two of them
carrying torches in their left hands. As the light fell upon the figures
of the grand master and the knights, they paused in astonishment.

“There is treachery at work in the prison,” D'Aubusson said quietly. “I
pray you to collect your comrades and to assemble here at once.”

In a minute or two some twenty officials were gathered in the hall.

“Are all here?” D'Aubusson asked the governor.

The latter counted the men.

“There are two short,” he said—“Pietro Romano and Karl Schumann.
They occupy the same room. Go and fetch them down, four of you.”

The four men nearest to the stairs at once went up with two torches. They
returned in a minute.

“The door is fastened on the inside, and we can obtain no response.”

“Fetch an axe and break it in,” the grand master ordered. “Sir John
Boswell, do you, with some other knights, take post without; they may
attempt to escape by the window, though, as we hold the gates, it would
avail them little. Sir Gervaise Tresham, do you follow us.”

Gervaise, who had been placed with the party watching the house, followed
the grand master and governor upstairs. A few blows with an axe splintered
the door; its fastenings gave way, and they entered the room. The window
was open, and two figures lay prostrate on the ground near it.

“I half expected this,” the grand master said. “They were listening there.
The conflict in the yard told them that the plot had been discovered, and
as they saw us approaching the house, they dared not meet the punishment
of their crimes, and have fallen by their own daggers. Put a torch close
to their faces. Sir Gervaise, do you recognise in either of these men the
official you saw in conversation with the Greek?”

Gervaise stepped forward and examined the men's faces.

“This is the man,” he said, pointing to one of them. “I marked him so
closely that I cannot be mistaken.”

“That is Pietro Romano,” the governor said; “he was an able officer, but
discontented with his position and given to quarrelling with his
comrades.”

“Have a hole dug and bury them in the prison,” D'Aubusson said; “they have
been false to their vows, and false to their religion. They have chosen
their own mode of death; let them be buried like dogs, as they are. But
let a careful search be made of their garments and of this room. It may be
that they have some documents concealed which may be of use to us.”

The grand master then descended to the hall.

“Members of the Order,” he said to the overseers, “your guilty companions
have met death by their own hands, as the others concerned in this plot
have met theirs by the swords of the knights. It were well that this
matter were not spoken of outside the prison. The attempt has been
detected, and has failed; but were it talked of, it might incite others to
repeat the attempt, and possibly with better success. Now,” he went on,
turning to the governor, “our work is done here. Call up the other
warders. Let them take the men now prisoners in the rooms, and place them
in a dungeon. Let fresh men be placed on guard, and let all the knights
gather in the courtyard.”

When this was done, and all the knights again assembled, D'Aubusson said,
“Our work is nearly done, brothers. The traitors are all dead, and the
revolt is at an end. It remains but to capture the author of this attempt;
but I believe he is already in our hands. I have given an accurate
description of him to Da Veschi, who has taken four knights with him, and
they probably will catch him down at the port; if not, he will be arrested
the first thing in the morning. As to the slaves, they will be so utterly
cowed by the discovery, that there will be no fear of their repeating the
attempt. I have ordered the officials of the prison to say naught in the
town of what has taken place. There can, however, be no concealment among
ourselves. I shall, of course, lay the whole matter before the council.
The fact that a strong body of knights has, at so late an hour, started on
some unknown mission is, of course, already known in the auberges of
Auvergne and England. No concealment of the facts is therefore possible.
It is the most serious attempt at a revolt of the slaves that has ever
taken place, and will be a warning to us that more vigilance must be
exercised. As it is, we have only been saved from the loss of our galleys
and slaves by the acuteness of one of the youngest of our knights, who, in
the first place, noted a suspicious occurrence which would have been
passed by without attracting a moment's thought by ninety-nine out of a
hundred men. He laid the matter before his bailiff, Sir John Kendall, who
accepted his offer to disguise himself as a slave, to enter the prison
under circumstances that would excite no suspicions among the others, and
to live and work among them in order to ascertain whether there was any
plot on hand. This task—a painful one, as you may imagine—he
carried out, and for two weeks he rowed as a galley slave. His lot was as
hard as that of the others, for, as he had reason to believe that some of
the officials were concerned in the plot, it was necessary that all should
be kept in ignorance that he was other than he seemed to be. Thanks to his
perfect knowledge of Turkish, he was able to carry his mission through
with complete success, and to obtain full particulars of the plot we have
tonight crushed. The knight who has performed this inestimable service is
Sir Gervaise Tresham, of the English langue. The action he has performed
will be noted in the annals of the Order as an example of intelligence and
of the extreme of self sacrifice, as well as of courage; for his life
would have been assuredly forfeited had the slaves entertained the
slightest suspicion of his real character.”

There was a murmur of acclamation among the knights. Not one of them but
would have freely risked his life in the service of the Order, but there
were few who would not have shrunk from the idea of living as a slave
among the slaves, sharing their tasks, and subject to the orders of men of
inferior rank and often brutal manners.

The knights now returned to their auberges. It was past midnight, but at
the English house the lamps and flambeaux were lighted in the great hall.
The servitors were called up, wine placed on the table, and the knights
discussed the incidents of the evening.

When the meal had concluded, Sir John Kendall said, “Brother knights, when
the grand master bestowed the honour of secular knighthood upon this young
comrade of ours, he predicted that he would rise to high distinction in
the Order. I think you will all agree with me that the prediction is
already in a fair way of being fulfilled, and that the services he has
rendered to the Order justify us, his comrades of the English langue, in
feeling proud of him. I drink, brothers, to his health.”

A loud shout rose from the assembled knights, for upon the return of the
party who had been away, the rest of those at the auberge had hastily
robed themselves and descended to the hall to gather the news. When the
shout had died away, and the wine cups were emptied, Gervaise, who was
sitting on Sir John Kendall's right hand, would gladly have retained his
seat, but the bailiff told him that he must say a few words, and after
standing in embarrassed silence for a minute he said, “Sir John Kendall,
and brother knights, I can only say that I am very sensible of the
kindness with which you have been pleased to regard what seems to me after
all to have been a very ordinary affair. I saw a man, whom I knew to be a
stranger in the Island, speaking surreptitiously to a slave, and
afterwards saw him conversing with a prison officer. That naturally struck
me as curious, and I followed the officer, to see to which prison he
belonged. Any one would have thought, as I did, that such a thing was
strange, if not suspicious, and the only way to find out whether there was
anything in it was to mix with the slaves; as I spoke Turkish well enough
to do so I asked Sir John Kendall's permission to disguise myself. He gave
me every assistance, and I shared their lot for a fortnight. There was no
very great hardship in that—certainly nothing to merit the praise
that Sir John Kendall has been kind enough to bestow on me. Nevertheless,
I am very glad to have gained your good opinion and very grateful to him
and to you for drinking to my health.”

Then he sat down abruptly.

Sir John Kendall now rose, and the knights, following his example, betook
themselves to their dormitories.

The next morning notices were sent by the grand master to the bailiffs of
the auberges, and the knights of the grand cross who happened to be in the
Island, to assemble in council. Messages were also sent to Gervaise,
requesting him to repair at the same hour to the palace, as the council
would probably require his attendance.

“Oh dear! I wish this was all over,” he said to Ralph, as the latter
assisted him to buckle on his armour.

“I don't see anything to sigh about,” Ralph said. “I think that you are
the most fortunate fellow in the world. I do not say that you have not
well deserved it, because it is the tremendous way you worked at Turkish
and gave up everything else that has enabled you to do this. Still, there
was luck in your noticing that villain talking to the galley slaves, and
then to one of the officers of the prison. Of course, as the grand master
said last night, it isn't one in a thousand who would have thought
anything more about it, and I am sure I shouldn't; so that, and all the
rest, is entirely your own doing. Still, it was a piece of luck that you
noticed him talking with a slave. Don't think I envy you, Gervaise; I
don't a bit, and I feel as much as any one that you have well deserved the
honour you have obtained. Still, you know, it is a sort of consolation to
me that luck had a little—just a little—to do with it.”

“In my opinion luck had everything to do with it,” Gervaise said heartily,
“and I feel downright ashamed at there being such a fuss made over it. It
was bad enough before, merely because I had hit on a plan for our escape
from those pirates, but this is worse, and I feel horribly nervous at the
thought of having to appear before the grand master and the council.”

“Well, that brown dye will hide your blushes, Gervaise. I can only say I
wish that I was in your place. By-the-bye, have you heard that they caught
that rascal Greek last night?”

“No, I have not heard anything about it.”

“Yes. The knights hid themselves behind a pile of goods on the wharf.
There was no one about, so far as they could see, but soon after twelve
they saw a figure come up on to the deck of a fishing boat moored by the
quay. It was the Greek; he stood there for a minute or two listening, and
then went down again; he did this five or six times, and at one o'clock
they saw him throw up his arms, as if in despair; he stepped ashore, and
was about to make his way up into the town when they rushed out and seized
him. There is no doubt as to what his fate will be. I am sorry to say that
I hear my friend Vrados has been arrested; but there can be no doubt about
his loyalty, and he will assuredly be able to explain to the satisfaction
of the council how this man became a resident at his house.”

“I am sorry I met him there, Ralph. It is a very unpleasant thing to have
gone to a house, to have been received kindly, and then to be the means of
bringing trouble upon it.”

“Yes. I feel that a little myself, because I took you there; and yet I
cannot regret it, for if you had not seen him and taken an objection to
him, you might not have noticed him particularly when he spoke to one of
the galley slaves. It is certainly curious that you should have doubted
the man, for I have met him there several times, and even after your visit
with me I could see nothing in him to justify your dislike.”

Gervaise went up to the palace, and while waiting in the great hall until
summoned before the council he was warmly accosted by several knights,—some
of whom were quite strangers to him,—who all joined in
congratulating him on the immense service he had done to the Order. It was
upwards of an hour before he was called in.

“The council have received, Sir Gervaise Tresham,” the grand master said,
“full details from Sir John Kendall of the manner in which you first
discovered, and have since followed up the daring plot by which the slaves
at St. Pelagius were to have risen, slain the guards who were faithful,
spiked the cannon in the three water forts, burnt the merchant shipping,
carried off six galleys and burnt the rest, and in their name I thank you
for having saved the Order from a great calamity. The members of the
council agree with me that you have shown an amount of discernment of the
highest kind, and that you are worthy of exceptional favour and reward for
your conduct. I therefore in my own name appoint you to the commandery of
our manor of Maltby in Lincolnshire, which, having fallen vacant, is in my
gift; and I release it from the usual payment of the first year's revenue.
Knowing that you desire to establish yourself here, the council have, at
my request, decided to make an exception to the general rule that a
knight, on promotion to a commandery, must return and take charge of it in
two years from the time the grant is made to him. The commandery will
therefore be administered by the senior of the knights attached to it.

“The council, on their part, have requested the bailiff of Auvergne, as
grand master of the Fleet, to appoint you to the command of the galley now
building, and approaching completion. This he has consented to do,
feeling, as we all feel, that although such an appointment is
unprecedented for a young knight, yet in the present case such an
exception may well be made. I may add that the Admiral has—in order
that no knight greatly your senior should be placed under your command—determined
that he will appoint to it only young knights, who will, we are assured,
gladly serve under one who has so distinguished himself, feeling certain
that, under his command, they will have ample opportunities against the
infidels to prove themselves worthy of the Order. I may add, also, that
the bailiffs of all the langues promise that they will select from among
the young knights such as may seem best fitted for such service, by their
skill in warlike exercises, by their ready obedience to orders, and good
conduct. And I foresee that the spirit of emulation, and the desire to
show that, though still but professed knights, they are capable of
performing as valiant deeds as their elders, will make the galley under
your command one of the most successful in the Order.

“As you are aware, it is a stringent rule, which even in so exceptional a
case we should not be justified in breaking, that a knight must reside in
the Island for five years previous to being promoted to a commandery. It
is now two months more than that time since you were received as page to
the late grand master, and in promoting you to a commandery I have not,
therefore, broken the rule. You may retire, Sir Gervaise.”

Gervaise, overwhelmed by the unlooked for honours thus bestowed upon him,
bowed deeply to the grand master and the members of the council, and then
retired from the chamber. He passed out of the palace by a side door, so
as to avoid being accosted by the knights in the great hall, and took his
way out on to the ramparts, where he walked up and down for a considerable
time before returning to the auberge. He felt no hilarity at his
promotion. He had never entertained any ambition for rising to high office
in the Order, but had hoped only to perform his duty as a true knight, to
fight against the infidels, and some day, if need be, to die for the
Order. The commandery was, he knew, a rich one, and as its chief he would
draw a considerable revenue from the estate. This afforded him no pleasure
whatever, except inasmuch as it would enable him, in his new command of
the galley, to keep a handsome table, and to entertain well the knights
who served under him.

It seemed to him, however, that the reward and honours were so far beyond
his deserts that he felt almost humiliated by their bestowal. The
responsibility, too, was great. Would these young knights, the youngest of
whom could be but a year his junior, serve willingly under his orders?
And, above all, would they be able to emulate the deeds of experienced
warriors, and would the galley worthily maintain the fame of the Order?

At the end of two hours he was joined by Ralph Harcourt.

“I have been looking for you everywhere, Gervaise. You seemed to have
disappeared mysteriously. None had marked you leave the council chamber,
or knew where you had gone; and after searching everywhere I remembered
your fondness for walks upon the walls, so I climbed to the top of St.
John's tower and thence espied you. Well, I congratulate you most heartily
on the honours that have fallen to your share, especially that of the
command of a new galley.”

“It is too much altogether, Ralph. I feel ashamed at being thus thrust
into a post that ought to be given to a knight of age and experience. How
can I expect a number of young knights, of whom well nigh all must be my
seniors in age, to obey me as they would an older man?”

“What has age to do with it?” Ralph said. “You have shown that you have a
head to think, and, as you before proved, you have an arm to strike. Why,
every young knight in the Order must feel proud that one of their own age
has gained such honour. It raises them all in their own esteem, and you
will see that you will get the pick among all the professed knights, and
of a good many who have finished their profession, and are serving here in
the hope of some day getting promotion to a commandery. Not such an one as
you have got; that, in the ordinary course of things, does not fall to a
knight until he is well on in years, and has served in many commanderies
of smaller value. I can tell you, directly Sir John Kendall came back and
told us that you had been appointed commander of the new galley, and that
it was to be manned wholly by young knights, there was not one of those
serving their profession in the auberge who did not beg Sir John to put
down his name for it; and ten or twelve others, myself among them, who
have obtained full knighthood also.”

“You don't mean to say that you have put down your name to serve under me,
Ralph? It would be monstrous.”

“I see nothing monstrous in it, Gervaise. As I said just now, years have
nothing to do with it, and, putting aside our friendship, I would rather
serve under you than under many knights old enough to be your father. I
don't know whether I shall have the luck to be one of the chosen, as Sir
John said that there were to be only seven from each langue, which will
make forty-nine—with yourself fifty. If I am chosen—and,
knowing our friendship, I hope that the bailiff will let me go with you—it
is likely enough I may be named your lieutenant, as I shall be the only
one beside yourself who is a secular knight, and am, therefore, superior
in rank to the rest.”

“That would be pleasant indeed, Ralph, though I would rather that you had
been made commander and I lieutenant; but at any rate, with you to support
me, I shall feel less oppressed by the thought of my responsibility.”

As Ralph had declared would be the case, the young knights in the other
auberges were as anxious as those of England to be enrolled among the crew
of the new galley, and the bailiffs had some trouble in choosing among the
aspirants. Very few were selected outside the rank of professed knights,
and as great pains were taken to comply with the grand master's wishes
that only young knights of good conduct and disposition, and distinguished
by their proficiency in warlike exercises, should be chosen, the crew was
in every way a picked one. Most of them had made one or two of the three
months' voyages in the galleys, though comparatively few had had the good
fortune to be absolutely engaged with the Moslem pirates.

To the great satisfaction of himself and Gervaise, Ralph Harcourt was
nominated lieutenant of the galley. The fact that so many had volunteered
impressed all those who were chosen with the sense that it was at once an
honour and a piece of good fortune to be selected, and all were determined
that the boy galley, as the elder knights laughingly termed it, should do
honour to the Order.

It was a fortnight before she was launched. Gervaise had heard, with great
satisfaction, that it had been decided by the council that no punishment
should be inflicted upon the slaves for their share in the intended rising
at St. Pelagius. All were guilty, and there was no means of saying who had
taken prominent parts in the plot. The council felt that it was but
natural that they should grasp at the prospect of freedom, for they
themselves would have done the same had they been captives of the
infidels. Even the warders and guards were allowed to go unpunished,
although their offence was a much more serious one. Those who could have
named the men who had accepted bribes were dead, and the lesson had been
so severe a one that there was no probability of any again turning
traitors. The author of the rising had been publicly executed. Seeing the
hopelessness of denial, he had boldly avowed his share in the matter, and
had acknowledged that he was acting as agent for the sultan, and had been
supplied with ample funds before leaving Constantinople.

He declared that he was absolutely unable to give any names whatever of
those concerned in the plot, save those of the two overseers, as these had
undertaken the work of suborning the warders and guards, though he
admitted that he had on several occasions spoken to slaves as the gangs
were on their way back to the prison, and had told them to be prepared to
take part in a plan that was on foot for their rescue from slavery. The
torture had not been, as was then the usual custom, applied to extort
information; partly because his story was probable, still more because the
grand master and council did not wish that more publicity should be given
to the affair, and were glad that it should be allowed to drop without any
further trial of the delinquents. In the city generally it was only known
that a plot had been discovered for the liberation and escape of some of
the slaves; and, outside the members of the Order, none were aware of its
extent and dangerous character. To the satisfaction of Gervaise and Ralph,
Vrados was able to produce letters and documents that satisfied the
council that he had been deceived as to the character of the Greek, and
was wholly innocent in the matter.

CHAPTER XII THE BOY GALLEY

Among those most pleased at the appointment of Gervaise to the command of
the galley was Sir John Boswell. Ever since the adventure with the
pirates, the knight had exhibited an almost fatherly interest in him; had
encouraged him in his studies, ridden with him on such occasions as he had
permitted himself a short holiday, and had, whenever they were together,
related to him stories of war, sieges, battles, and escapes, from which he
thought the young knight might gain lessons for his future guidance.