HAT day the muezzin did not call from the minarets at the noon hour. Will Bunsley and Ellen had grown accustomed to hearing the cry to prayer when the sun was at its highest point, and they looked up at the white spires without seeing turbaned figures in the tiny platforms that stood against the blue of the sky.
It was a cloudless day, and no wind stirred the spray of the fountain in the garden. Ellen hung about the path, making pretense of gathering flowers, but really listening with all her ears to the sounds in the street beyond the wall, to be ready to unbar the door the moment she heard Robert's
“Gate ho!”
She noticed that the noises of the street had changed. There was a steady mutter of voices and a shuffling of feet. The cries of children and the quarreling of loiterers were lacking. And no word came of Robert.
“Lady,” quoth Will Bunsley, arranging his collection of arrows in sundry quivers, “the foe doth make a bruit with drum and horn, so methinks Sir Robert is yet upon the wall.”
“But there is no fighting now.”
Will scratched his head and looked up at the sky dubiously.
“Fighting? Nay, I think so. Armed bands do pass anigh us; so perchance Sir Robert hath driven the foe out upon the plain.”
“Master Will! You know as well as that my lord would permit of no sally!”
Squinting down an arrow, the archer paused to cut back the feathering a trifle. Every day of their stay in the garden he had come in with news of Robert's deeds and his health, and he was well aware that the maid loved the knight with an enduring love.
“Hum. Why then, being weary, my lord doth sleep. For, look ye, a night of sword-strokes doth weary a wight somewhat. Even I”
Ellen smiled at him.
“You are a brave liar and a hardy rogue, Will Bunsley. Think you Sir Robert would sleep when the clarions were sounding? Oh, for one word”
She broke off to listen to the murmur outside the gate, her brown eyes dark with anxiety, for Ellen herself had not slept while the clarions were heard upon the wall.
“Why, lass, he will be here anon,” nodded the archer confidently. “Aye, he sought you out i' the mountain pass and in the wizarder's palace. So go thou within and change to thy warrior dress to greet him.”
The girl knew that Will was hiding his misgivings and wished her to be clad as a man because he thought danger was at hand. So she went to her chamber and donned the light mail and steel cap, thrusting her hair beneath the cotton drop. Casting the silk khalat over her shoulders, she hurried forth to the garden. For a moment her glance quested in search of Will, who had disappeared. Then she heard his voice, loud with amazement.
“Lass—lass! The good father sees—he sees! A miracle hath come to pass!”
Ellen caught her breath, and, realizing better than the yeoman what his words portended, ran swiftly to the room of Father Evagrius. The patriarch was sitting up, one hand clasping his thin chest, the other outstretched in the air; his emaciated face was flushed, and his lips quivered. Will Bunsley stood agape in a far corner.
“Monseigneur!” cried the girl.
The eyes of the priest held a new light; no longer did they wander or lift viewlessly to the sky. They were fixed on the white wall, where the sunlight struck through a latticed embrasure.
“The mercy of God!”
Evagrius framed the words with difficulty, and then his voice grew clearer.
“I see the light of the sun! O blessed and fortunate! Nay, this is no abode of payrams!”
He glanced into the shadows, and Ellen sank on her knees beside him, supporting his shoulders with her arm. The hand of the patriarch felt her mailed throat and the steel head-piece.
“Who attends me? I can not see you, but surely you must be one of the warriors of the Sepulcher. Behold—” his finger darted at the wall—“the tomb! Aye, the sun is bright on the Via Dolorosa and the walls of the blessed city. I can see the ensign of the cross—there.”
His eyes closed, and Ellen felt under her hand the heat of the fever that had made him delirious. Yet his lips twitched in a ceaseless smile.
“Happy are those who have taken up the cross!” he cried again, stretching out his thin arms. “They are at home in Jerusalem, and the weary lie here at rest. O warrior, will you come with me to the tomb—yonder, a little way?”
“Aye, father,” said Ellen, bowing her head.
“And bring the good knight Robert. For the Lord hath called to him the mighty men, and they come from the far places.”
“Aye, father.”