CHAPTER I.

How the Moor Alhafiz came for the Lady Bertha.

It was late in the evening, at the castle of the Lady Gabrielle in Gascony, when Bertha von Lichtenried sat, studiously, with a large book open on a reading-desk before her. The book contained the history of pious saints and canonized martyrs; and she could devote her attention thereto the more uninterruptedly, as, with the exception of a few servants, she was now left quite alone in the castle, having through many days looked in vain for the return of Sir Folko and the two damsels. It seemed as if departing summer had taken her last farewell; and this farewell was uttered in fearful claps of thunder, while the ocean mirrored on its vasty depths the frequent bursts of lightning. A heavy shower also beat upon the garden-terrace, and meanwhile the warder failed not to ring with great perseverance the consecrated bell, whose notes were to protect the castle from all injury. He was answered, too, by the church-bells of all the neighbouring towns and villages, so that it seemed as if the reverberations from the clouds had been met and changed on earth into pious and pleasant harmony. Threefold, therefore, was the piety of the Lady Bertha strengthened and increased; first, by the thunder’s mighty voice above; then by the musical notes of the church-bells; lastly, by the pious legends which she then read in her favourite volumes.

So it happened at this time that there came into her chamber an old Moorish woman, a servant at the castle, with an uncouth and swarth visage, for she was a native of Africa, though now converted to the Christian faith, and accustomed to the manners of life in Europe. By her dress and conduct one would have thought that she was an ordinary Suabian peasant, had it not been, that her dark complexion and strange features betrayed her eastern origin.

“What news bring’st thou, Zulma?” said the lady. To which the old Moor answered, “Nothing, forsooth, but an earnest entreaty which I must especially address to the Lady Bertha von Lichtenried. On the plain here, not far from the castle, there is a strange man, a Moorish soldier, who lies mortally wounded. I know not if he has been attacked by banditti, or overthrown in single combat. He wishes to obtain a blessing ere he dies, according to the forms of the Catholic church; but this he will not receive from any one but you; for the Lady Bertha of Lichtenried has been renowned and praised, far and near, ever since that evening, when, by clinging to the cross, and waving her hand, she was able to repulse and drive away a bold-hearted and wicked comrade of the Prince Mutza. It is not far from that old cross that I found the wounded Moor, as I returned home from the sheepfold.”

“Call the chaplain then, that he may go with me,” said Bertha, hastily searching for her veil and mantle; “order some squires also to attend on us, and to render assistance to the poor man.”

“The chaplain,” answered Zulma, “is already gone to bed, and the squires are snoring in the stables. Before we could rouse them, and they were ready to go with us, the unfortunate Moor would have breathed his last. What if he should thus depart without consolation, and without the blessings of our holy religion, after which he so earnestly longs?--But you, noble lady, must know the consequences far better than I can describe them.”

“How comes it, Zulma,” said the Lady of Lichtenried, “that you know so well how to bestow just reproaches on my slowness and over-caution?--Doubtless what you have said is just and true. When we are called on to fulfil our duties to God, we must not tarry nor look round for assistance and protection. Let us then go forth straightway to the wounded man. Good Heaven!--how much have the monks and nuns achieved, of whose lives I was just now reading the pleasant history! and should I then doubt whether I might go forth alone to the cross on the sea-shore?--Let us hasten, good Zulma; for the poor dying man must long grievously for our coming.”

Having thrown about her a large mantle, as a defence against the rain, she stepped hastily with the Moorish servant down stairs to a private portal, and taking a lamp from the wall to guide them on their way, they walked boldly forth amid the tempest.

Zulma knew the road towards the cross better than the Lady of Lichtenried had expected from such a new convert. She stepped so hastily through the darkness, that Bertha was scarcely able to keep pace with her, admiring all the while the zeal that she displayed for the soul’s weal of the unfortunate Moor. Over hills covered with brush-wood, and through pathless valleys, they pursued their way; and when Bertha inquired why they had come through such lonely places, the answer was,--“Because that was the straightest road. And this you may trust to a native African; for among our sandy deserts, where a well-beaten track may in a moment be effaced by a gust of wind, we learn to find our way by other means.”--So indeed it happened, that as often as a gleam of lightning revealed a rocky cliff, a cottage, or a large tree, Zulma seemed to move on with new confidence; but ere long Bertha perceived that she had more certain means of guiding her course through the darkness. She began at intervals to utter a hateful shrilling sound, like the blending of a whistle and a scream, and she was answered by a voice like her own, that seemed to determine her progress. At this Bertha many times started; and Zulma, observing her fears, said,--“Truly such notes are unpleasant; but, nevertheless, they serve to guide us on our way to the suffering man. It is well that he has learned this Moorish art of making signals, although he belongs not to our tribe of black-visaged Africans, but is rather a comely young Arabian.”

As she thus spoke, a sudden flash of lightning broke forth over the cross, to which they were now drawing very near; and at the same moment they could perceive a man in a Moorish dress, who was endeavouring to raise himself from the ground, by leaning on its rocky pedestal. Bertha immediately hastened up to him.--“Thank Heaven!” cried she, “that we find you still alive. I am Bertha von Lichtenried, whom you have so earnestly desired to see, and I come to offer you the consolations of our holy church.”

But what was her surprise, when the man (who, as she believed, had been mortally wounded), suddenly leaped up, clasped her wildly in his arms, and, while the same shrilling signals which she had before heard from a distance now vibrated in her ears, all the desolate thickets of the forest seemed at once to start into life, and a troop of Moorish warriors formed themselves into a circle round the cross. Meanwhile Zulma laughed aloud.--“Have we caught thee at last,” cried she, “thou rarest and shyest of birds?--Methinks thou wilt not again escape from us!”--The Lady Bertha, however, with a vehemence and strength which the Moor little expected, forced herself out of his embrace, and fled, as she had before done (when Gabrielle and Blanchefleur were carried away), to the cross, climbing up the high rocky pedestal on which it was placed, and clinging to the pillar of this holy emblem. It was indeed moving and wonderful, to behold how that innocent damsel stood there on high, with the light of the lamp on her graceful form, and contrasting in her beauty like a visitant from heaven with the crowd of hateful figures that now moved around her. Zulma, meanwhile, had folded her veil into the shape of a turban round her swarthy visage, and said,--“Now I am again like myself. Did you indeed believe, lady, that I was contented with the life that I have dragged on here among the Christians?--You must now go with us to Carthagena, and will there learn more of this world’s happiness, than in your whole simple life till now you could even have dreamed.”

With contempt and disgust Bertha turned from her, and in a firm voice addressed herself to the Moorish chief, calling on him to remember his own honour as a knight and soldier, and not to debase himself by joining with a mean and lying slave, in order to force from her home a virtuous damsel of noble birth. The reckless libertine, however, answered her with scornful laughter, and then said,--“For this time your old stratagems, your saintly gestures, and severe looks, may not avail; for now, lady, you have no sighing lover before you (like my countryman, who was so easily repulsed), but the wise Alhafiz, who is here to fulfil the commands of Nurreddin, the grand emir, and will without fail bear you to his master’s arms in Carthagena.”

“Let no one approach me who values his own life!” exclaimed Bertha; “I know not indeed whence I obtain this knowledge, but feel that I but speak the truth, as it happened before, when I warned the companion of Prince Mutza. Whoever dares to tear me from the cross, will for that crime forfeit his own life; therefore beware!”--Alhafiz laughed, and stepped boldly towards her; but, at that moment, behold! a broad flash of lightning illuminated all the southern sky, and a clap of thunder broke, as it seemed, right over his head. Hereupon the Moor and his rabble route (the vile Zulma among the rest) were dazzled and confounded, so that they all sank kneeling on the ground.--“The voice of God has now spoken against you,” said Bertha; “and this warning is indeed the last favour that you will receive from Heaven, should you not give up your wicked designs. Be wise then, and return to your ships.”--At these words it seemed as if the multitude of swarthy Moors seemed inclined to disperse; even Alhafiz himself had become silent and irresolute,--turning away from the disdainful glances which the damsel threw upon him. Suddenly, however, the hateful Zulma started up, and called aloud,--“Hast thou forgotten, Alhafiz, the promised third of all Nurreddin’s treasures?--That must not be lost to thee, nor shall I forfeit the eighth share, which by contract was to have been mine!”--Then, with tiger-like swiftness and rage, she flew up to the rocky pedestal, forced the light out of Bertha’s hand, and screamed aloud,--“Thus, you will be dazzled no longer by the sight of this deceitful enchantress. Take her, then, and bear her from hence!”--In the same moment, Alhafiz had come up, and, without farther hesitation, clasped the unfortunate damsel in his arms, and bore her rapidly towards the bay, where his bark was in waiting, his attendants all the while shouting and rejoicing as if for a great victory. Thereafter the skies became wholly dark; no gleams of lightning broke forth on the horizon; they arrived on the shore, and embarked amid this gloom, and, under the same mournful influence, sailed out into the wide desolate sea.